From yon blue heavens, above us bent,
The gard'ner Adam and his wife
Smile at the claims of long descent:
Howe'er it be, it seems to me,
'Tis only noble to be good;
Kind hearts are more than coronets,
And simple faith than Norman blood.
TENNYSON.
The news of the discovery of the relationship between Holden and
Pownal had reached Hillsdale before their arrival, and the friends
and acquaintances of both, comprising pretty much the whole village,
hastened to present their congratulations. Many supposed now they had
obtained a clue to the singularities of the Solitary, and expected
that since he had recovered his son, he would resume the habits of
ordinary life. But nothing seemed further from Holden's intention. In
spite of the entreaties of his son, and the remonstrances of those few
who ventured to speak to him on the subject, he returned on the very
day of their arrival to his cabin. It was, however, with no harshness,
but with gentle and even exculpatory language, he refused their
request.
"Think not hard of me, my son, nor you, kind friends," he said, "if my
ears are deaf to your solicitations. The old man is weary and seeketh
rest. The trembling nerves still quiver to the cries of the horsemen
and the rattling of chariots, nor may the tumult pass away till old
sights and sounds stealing in with soft ministry compose the excited
yet not unpleased spirit. I would gladly in solitude lay my tired head
on the bosom of the Father, and thank Him in the silence of His works
for mercies exceeding thought."
Holden, however, could not refuse to allow his son to accompany him,
and to provide such little necessaries, as were esteemed essential
to his comfort. But he permitted the young man to remain only a short
time. "Go," he said, "the world is bright before thee; enjoy its
transient sunshine. The time may come when even thou, with hope and
confidence in thy heart, and heaven in thine eyes, shalt say, 'I have
no pleasure therein.'" Pownal therefore returned to Hillsdale, without
reluctance it may be supposed, when we add, that the same evening
found him at the house of Mr. Bernard. It will be recollected he had
commissions to execute for both the Judge and his wife, but if the
reader thinks that not a sufficient reason why he should call
upon them so soon, we have no objection to his adopting any other
conjecture, even to the extravagant supposition, that there was some
magnet to attract the young man's wandering feet.
It was a happy evening Pownal spent at the Judge's house. All seemed
glad to see him again, and expressed their delight and wonder at the
discovery of his parent. And yet the young man could not help fancying
there was a greater difference between his reception by the members
of the family, than he had been accustomed to. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard,
indeed, were equally cordial as of old, but Anne, though she tendered
him her hand with her usual frankness, and allowed it to linger in
his, appeared graver, and less disposed to indulge an exuberance of
spirits, while William Bernard was evidently more distant, and formal.
There was, however, no want of politeness on his part, for he mingled
with his usual grace and intelligence in the conversation, and
the change was perceptible rather in the omission of old terms of
familiarity, than in any manifestation of coldness. He seemed to pay
the same attention, and evince a like interest with the rest, in the
particulars of the adventures of Pownal, which, at the request of Mrs.
Bernard, he narrated. Had a stranger, or one who saw the two young
men together for the first time, been present, he would have noticed
nothing inconsistent with ordinary friendship, but Pownal compared
the present with the past, and his jealous sensitiveness detected a
something wanting. But for all that, his enjoyment, though it might be
lessened, was not, as we have intimated, destroyed. He half suspected
the cause, and his proud spirit rose with resentment. But so long as
he enjoyed the esteem of the parents, and was a welcome visitor at
their house, and Miss Bernard treated him with unabated regard, he
could well afford, he thought, to pass by without notice humors,
which, in his changed condition, he considered equally unreasonable
and absurd. For, he was no longer a mere clerk, without position in
society, but the member of a long-established and wealthy firm, and
a favorite of its head, who seemed to have taken the fortunes of his
young partner into his own hands, with a determination to secure their
success. True, he was the son of a poor and eccentric man, but no
dishonor was attached to his father's name, and so far as education
and genuine refinement were concerned, he was the equal of any, and
the superior of most, by whom he was surrounded. With far different
feelings, therefore, from those in the earlier period of his
acquaintance with Miss Bernard, when he discovered she was becoming
dearer to him than prudence permitted, did he now approach her. He
dared to look forward to the time when it would be no presumption to
avow his feelings.
The cause of William Bernard's coldness will be better understood by a
reference to a conversation between him and his sister, shortly before
the return of Pownal to Hillsdale. Rumor, with her thousand tongues,
had been busy, and, as is not unusual on such occasions, embellished
the story with innumerable fanciful ornaments. The brother and
sister had both heard the reports, and they were the subject of their
discussion.
"Why, Anne!" said William, "this is more wonderful than Robinson
Crusoe, or the Children of the Abbey. How do you think Pownal, or Mr.
Holden, as I suppose we must call him now, relishes the relationship?"
"How, William, can he be otherwise than glad to find a father?"
replied his sister.
"A vast deal depends upon who the father is."
"What! is it you who speak so?" cried Anne, with sparkling eyes. "What
is there in the father unworthy of the son?"
"Were I now in Pownal's place, I should have preferred to discover a
parent in some one else than in a half crazy man, who supports himself
by basket-making."
"And can you not," said his sister, indignantly, "under the mask
which circumstances have imposed upon him, detect the noble-hearted
gentleman? This is not at all like you, William, and I think his very
misfortunes ought to be a passport to your kindness."
"So they should be, and so they are, but the facts, which I will not
repeat, because it offends you, remain. Think you, it can be very
pleasant, for a young man, to have precisely--precisely such a
connection?"
"I should despise Thomas Pownal, if he felt anything but pride in his
father. I am the daughter of a republican, and care little for the
distinctions which the tailor makes. The noblest hearts are not always
those which beat under the finest broadcloth."
"The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the gowd for a' that."
"Well, Anne," said her brother, "I never expected to take a lesson, in
democracy, from you, nor fancied you were a politician before; but,
it seems to me you have become lately very sharp-sighted, to detect
Holden's merits. What is it that has so improved your vision?"
"You are trying to tease me, now, but I will not be angry. You know,
as well as I do, that from the first I took a liking to Mr. Holden. So
far from being frightened at him, when I was a child, nothing pleased
me better that when he took Faith and me into his arms, and told us
stories out of the Bible. I do believe I had then a presentiment he
was something different from what he seemed."
"But you have shown an extraordinary interest in him lately. Even now,
your voice trembles, and your color is raised beyond the requirements
of the occasion."
"How is it possible to avoid being excited, when my brother speaks
disparagingly of one who has every title to compassion and respect?
Is it not enough to soften your heart, to think of the wretchedness
he suffered so many years, and which shattered his fine understanding?
And now, that his--Oh, William!" she cried, bursting into tears, "I
did not think you were so hard-hearted."
"My dear Anne! my dear sister!" exclaimed her brother, putting his arm
around her and drawing her towards him, "forgive me. I never meant to
hurt your feelings, though I am sorry they are so much interested."
"I will not affect to misunderstand you, brother," she said,
recovering herself; "but you are mistaken, if you suppose that Mr.
Pownal has ever--has ever--spoken to me in a manner different from the
way in which he is in the habit of conversing with other ladies."
"Heaven be praised for that," said her brother. "But I ought to have
known you never would permit it."
"You ought to have known that, had he done so, I should not have
kept it a secret. My father and mother, and you, would have been made
acquainted with it."
"And, now, dear Annie, since things are as they are, I hope you
will not give Pownal any encouragement. Whatever may be your present
feelings, he cannot disguise the fact, that he loves dearly to visit
here."
"Encouragement!" cried Anne, her natural vivacity flashing up at
the imputation. "What do you take me for, William Bernard, that you
venture to use such a word? Am I one of those old maids whom some
wicked wag has described as crying out in despair, 'Who will have me?'
or a cherry, at which any bird can pick?"
"There spoke the spirit of my sister. I hear, now, Anne Bernard. You
will not forget the position of our family in society, and that upon
you and myself are centered the hopes of our parents."
"I trust I shall never forget my love and duty, or have any secrets
from them. They have a right to be acquainted with every emotion of my
heart, nor am I ashamed they should be seen."
"The accomplishments of Pownal entitle him to move in the first
society, I cannot deny that," continued young Bernard, "but, in my
judgment, something more is necessary in order to warrant his boldness
in aspiring to connect himself with one of the first families in the
country."
"You will continue to harp on that string, William, but my opinion
differs from yours. In our country there should be no distinctions but
such as are created by goodness and intelligence."
"It all sounds very well in theory, but the application of the rule is
impossible. The dreamers of Utopian schemes may amuse themselves with
such hallucinations, but practical people can only smile at them."
"Class me among the dreamers. Nor will I believe that whatever is true
and just is impracticable. Does redder blood flow in the veins of the
child cradled under a silken canopy, than in those of one rocked in a
kneading-trough?"
"You have profited to some purpose by the French lessons of our
father," said Bernard, bitterly. "Principles like these may yet
produce as much confusion in our family on a small scale, as they did
in France on a mighty theatre."
"You are losing yourself in the clouds, dear brother. But there can be
no danger in following the guidance of one so wise and experienced as
our father, nor does it become you to speak slightingly of any opinion
he may adopt."
"I did not mean to do so. I should be the last one to do so, though I
cannot always agree with him. But you take an unfair advantage of the
little excitement I feel, to put me in the wrong. Do you think I can
look on without being painfully interested, when I see my only sister
about to throw herself away upon this obscure stranger, for you cannot
conceal it from me that you love him?"
"Throw myself away! Obscure stranger! You are unkind William. Love
him! it will be time enough to grant my love when it is asked for. It
does not become me, perhaps, to say it, but Mr. Pownal is not here to
answer for himself, and for that reason I will defend him. There lives
not the woman who might not be proud of the love of so noble and
pure a heart. But you are not in a humor to hear reason," she added,
rising, "and I will leave you until your returning good sense shall
have driven away suspicions equally unfounded and unjust."
"Stay, Anne, stop, sister," cried Bernard, as with a heightened color
she hastened out of the room. "She is too much offended," he said to
himself, "to heed me, and I must wait for a more favorable opportunity
to renew the conversation. I have seen this fancy gradually coming on,
and, fool that I was, was afraid to speak for fear of making things
worse. I thought it might be only a passing whim, like those which
flutter twenty times through girls' silly heads before they are
married, and was unwilling to treat it as of any consequence. But does
Anne mean to deceive me? It is not at all like her. She never did so
before. No, she has courage enough for anything, and is incapable of
deception. But these foolish feelings strangely affect young women
and--young men, too. She must, herself, be deceived. She cannot be
acquainted with the state of her own heart. Yet it may not have gone
so far that it cannot be stopped. I had other plans for her, nor will
I give them up. Father! mother! Pooh! nothing can be done with them.
He would not see her lip quiver or a tear stand in her eye, if it
could be prevented at the expense of half his fortune, and mother
always thinks both perfection. No, if anything is to be done it must
be with Anne herself, or Pownal, perhaps. Yet I would not make the
little minx unhappy. But to be the brother-in-law of the son of an
insane basket-maker! It is too ridiculous."
No two persons could be more unlike in temperament, and in many
respects in the organization of their minds, than William Bernard and
his sister. She, the creature of impulse, arriving at her conclusions
by a process like intuition: he, calm, thoughtful, deliberately
weighing and revising every argument before he made up his mind: she,
destitute of all worldly prudence and trusting to the inspirations
of an ingenuous and bold nature: he, worldly wise, cautious, and
calculating the end from the beginning. Yet were his aspirations noble
and untainted with a sordid or mean motive. He would not for a world
have sacrificed the happiness of his sister, but he thought it not
unbecoming to promote his personal views by her means, provided it
could be done without injury to herself. He was a politician, and
young as he was his scheming brain already formed plans of family and
personal aggrandizement, extending far into the future. Anne was mixed
up with these in his mind, and he hoped, by the marriage connection
she might form, to increase a family influence in furtherance of his
plans. These seemed likely to be defeated by Anne's partiality for
Pownal, and the young man felt the disappointment as keenly as his
cool philosophical nature would permit. But let it not be thought that
William Bernard brought worldly prudence into all his plans. His love
of Faith Armstrong had no connection with any such feelings, and she
would have been equally the object of his admiration and choice, had
she been a portionless maiden instead of the heiress of the wealthy
Mr. Armstrong. We will not say that her prospect of succeeding to
a large fortune was disagreeable to her lover, but though when he
thought of her it would sometimes occur to his mind, yet was it no
consideration that corrupted the purity of his affection.
Anne, when she left her brother, hastened to her chamber and subjected
her heart to a scrutiny it had never experienced. She was startled
upon an examination her brother's language had suggested, to find the
interest Pownal had awakened in her bosom. She had been pleased to be
in his company, and to receive from him those little attentions which
young men are in the habit of rendering to those of the same age of
the other sex: a party never seemed complete from which he was absent:
there was no one whose hand she more willingly accepted for the dance,
or whose praise was more welcome when she rose from the piano: but
though the emotions she felt in his presence were so agreeable, she
had not suspected them to be those of love. Her brother had abruptly
awakened her to the reality. In the simplicity of her innocence, and
with somewhat of a maiden shame, she blamed herself for allowing any
young man to become to her an object of so much interest, and shrunk
from the idea of having at some time unwittingly betrayed herself. She
determined, whatever pain it might cost, to reveal to her mother all
her feelings, and to be guided by her advice.
True hearted, guileless girl! instinctively she felt that the path of
duty leads to peace and happiness.