I could endure
Chains nowhere patiently: and chains at home
Where I am free by birthright, not at all.
COWPER.
Bright and beautiful broke the morning after that night of storm. The
weather had cleared up towards midnight, and when the rejoicing sun
surveyed the scene, his golden glances fell on a wide expanse of pure,
unsullied white. A slight breeze had arisen, which, gently agitating
the bent and laden boughs of the evergreens, shook off the fleecy
adornment that fell like blossoms from the trees. The air was soft
and almost balmy, as is not unfrequently the case even in "the dead
of winter" in our variable climate, lovelier and dearer for its very
variableness, like a capricious beauty, whose smile is the more prized
for the pout that precedes it. It was a day to seduce the old man into
the sunshine in the stoop on the south side of the house, and to bring
out the girls and young men, and swift trotting horses and pungs and
jingling bells in gay confusion in the streets.
In the course of the forenoon, a bright crimson sleigh, the bottom
filled with clean straw, and the seats covered with bear and buffalo
robes, the horse ornamented around the neck and back with strings of
bells that jangled sweet music every step he took, drove up to the
door of Judge Bernard. A young man stepped out, whom we recognize as
Pownal. He entered the house, and in a few minutes returned with Anne
Bernard, muffled in cloak and boa, and carrying a muff upon her arm.
Health glowed in her cheek and happiness lighted up her eyes. Pownal
assisted her into the sleigh, and carefully disposing the robes about
her, took his seat by her side and drove off.
They drove at first into the older part of the town, as yet
undescribed by us, nor do we now intend a description, save that the
road was wide, and a considerable part of the way bordered by elms and
maples, glorious with beauty in summer, but now standing like mourners
shivering in the wintry air, and as they passed hailed with special
looks and expressions of admiration those two fraternal elms, towering
over all, like patriarchs of the vegetable world, which, once seen,
none will forget.
"Huge trunks, and each particular trunk a growth
Of intertwisted fibres, serpentine,
Upcoiling, and inveterately convolved--
Nor uninformed with Phantasy and looks
That threaten the profane."
Thence, following the street that winds around the village green, and
greeted by the joyous shouts of acquaintances in passing sleighs,
and joining, now and then, in friendly races, they crossed the upper
bridge of the Yaupáae, and leaving the shouts and merriment behind,
struck into a more secluded road.
Whatever charms the conversation that passed between the young
people might have for them, it would not interest the reader, and we
therefore pass it over. It was such as might be expected between two
youthful beings, one of whom knew he was in love, and the other began
to suspect, from emotions never felt before, the commencement of a
partiality that was as sweet as it was strange. To two hearts thus
attached, and tuned to vibrate in harmony, all nature ministers with a
more gracious service. The sun is brighter, the sky bluer, the flower
more fragrant, the chime of the brook has a deeper meaning, and a
richer music swells the throat of the bird. Things unobserved before,
and as unconnected with the new emotion, indifferent, now assume
importance. A look, a tone of the voice, a pressure of the hand, are
events to dream about and feast upon. In the presence of the beloved
object all things else are either unheeded or dwindle into comparative
insignificance.
It will occasion no surprise, then, that Anne, engrossed with her own
happiness, should hardly have observed the road taken by Pownal, or
been conscious of how far they had driven, until some remark of his
attracted her attention to the scenery. She then perceived that they
were in the midst of the Indian settlement on the Severn, and to a
playful question of Pownal, inquiring how she would like to leave her
card with Queen Esther, she replied by expressing her delight at the
proposition. Esther's cabin stood some little distance off from the
main road, towards which a long and narrow winding track led, seldom
travelled by any other vehicles than ox carts and sleds. Over the yet
unbroken snow, Pownal directed the horse, the light pung plunging
with every motion of the animal, and threatening to upset, causing
merriment, however, rather than alarm to the occupants of the
conveyance. In this manner, straining through the snow-drifts, they
finally reached the dwelling of Esther. She herself, attracted by the
sound of the bells, came to the door, and welcomed them with great
cordiality.
"Mr. Pownal and I," cried the lively Anne, "are come to make a
New-Year's call, Esther. I have not your presents with me, but the
next time you are at our house, you shall have them."
"Miss Anne more'n all present," replied the pleased Esther. "She cold;
she must come to the fire."
"No," said Anne, as she was being ushered by the squaw into the cabin,
"I am not cold. Why, what a nice"--but the sentence was not concluded.
Her eyes had fallen on the stately form of Holden, who sat on a bench
near to the fire.
"O, father Holden!" exclaimed the lovely girl, running up to him,
throwing her arms round his neck, and kissing his forehead, "is it
you? How glad I am you escaped from those abominable men. Tell me all
about it. How was it? Did they do you any harm?"
At this moment, Pownal entered, and advancing, grasped the old man's
hand, and congratulated him on his escape.
"My God," said Holden, in his wild way, "hath sent His angel and shut
the lions' mouths that they have not hurt me. He raiseth the poor out
of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the mire."
"But," urged Anne, with feminine curiosity, "we are anxious to hear
how you escaped."
The Recluse did not seem to consider it necessary to make any
secret--at least to those present--of the events of the past night,
and, with the frankness that characterized him, spoke of them without
hesitation.
After stating what we already know, he said he was led away rapidly by
a man dressed in a sailor's suit, whose face he did not see, and who
accompanied him until they had passed the last house on the street.
They met no one, and, on parting, the man forced a purse into his
hand, and entreated him to make his way to the cabin of Esther, where
he would be safe and welcome, and there to remain until his friends
should be apprised of his retreat.
"To me," concluded the Solitary, "a dungeon or a palace ought to be
alike indifferent; but I will not thwart the minds of those who love
me, however vain their desires. The Lord hath brought this light
affliction upon me for His own good purpose, and I await the
revelation of His will."
"I do not doubt we shall be able soon to release you from your
confinement," said Pownal; "meanwhile, tell us what we can do to make
your condition tolerable."
"I lack nothing," said Holden. "These hands have ever supplied my
necessities, and I am a stranger to luxury. Nor liveth man by bread
alone, but on sweet tones, and kind looks, and gracious deeds, and I
am encompassed by them. I am rich above gold, and silver, and precious
stones."
"If there is anything you desire, you will let me know? Command me
in all things; there is nothing I am not ready to do for you," said
Pownal.
"The blessing of one who is ready to depart be upon thee, for thy kind
words and loving intentions; and should real trouble arise, I will
call upon thee for aid. I know not now," he continued, "why I should
hide like a wounded beast. I fear 'tis but for a visionary point
of honor. Why should not a gentleman,"--this he said
sarcastically--"occupy the workhouse as well as a boor. In the eyes of
One, we are all equal. Ah, it might do this hard heart good."
"You have promised to respect the prejudices of your friends," said
Pownal, "whatever you may think of their weakness."
"You shall never endure the disgrace," said Anne, with kindling
cheeks. "See how Providence itself interposes to protect you!"
"Your suggestions, my children, find an echo, alas! too truly in my
own heart to be rejected," said Holden, dejectedly. "I repeat, I will
obey you."
The young people remained for an hour or more at the hut, conversing
with the Solitary, to whom their presence appeared to give great
pleasure; and, before parting, Pownal exchanged some words apart with
Esther, having for their object the promotion of her guest's and
her own comfort. The kind heart of the squaw needed no incentives
to conceal and protect Holden, but Pownal felt he had no right to
encroach upon her slender means, and such arrangements were made as
would more than compensate her.
As the sleigh started from the door, Anne said to Pownal, with some
tenderness in the tone of her voice:
"You need not tell me, Mr. Pownal, the name of one of the strange
Paladins last night. How will Faith thank and admire you. But, O, let
me beg you to be prudent, lest you fall into the power of these bad
men."
It would have better suited the feelings of Pownal, had Anne uttered
her own thanks more directly. His inexperience and distrust of himself
did not comprehend that it was in reality the way in which the modest
girl expressed the admiration that swelled her heart.