From that hour he was another man. His heart was alive with a new hope.
The dark desolate chambers thereof were lighted up with a new joy.
And what if there was no love, nor beauty, nor music sounding in them
all the day through, such as there had been a few brief years before,
in the spring-tide of his youthful courage; they were no longer what
they had been at another period, neither very dark, nor altogether
uninhabited, nor perplexed with apparitions that were enough to drive
him distracted--the apparition of a child--the apparition of a dead
hope--for with him, after the death of a second wife, hope itself was
no more. He was now a messenger of the Most High, with every faculty
and every power of his mind at work to baffle and expose the treachery
of those, who pretending to be afflicted by witchcraft, were wasting
the heritage of the white man as with fire and sword. He strove to
entrap them; he set spies about their path. He prayed in the public
highway, and preached in the market place, for they would not suffer
him to appear in the House of the Lord. He besought his Maker, the
Searcher of Hearts, day after day, when the people were about him, to
stay the destroyer, to make plain the way of the judges, to speak in
the dead of the night with a voice of thunder to the doers of iniquity;
to comfort and support the souls of the accused however guilty they
might appear, and (if consistant with his Almighty pleasure) to repeat
as with the noise of a multitude of trumpets in the sky, the terrible
words, THOU SHALT NOT BEAR FALSE WITNESS.
But the death of Martha Cory discouraged him. His heart was heavy with
a dreadful fear when he saw her die, and before anybody knew that
he was among the multitude, he started up in the midst of them, and
broke forth into loud prayer--a prayer which had well nigh exposed
him to the law for blasphemy; and having made himself heard in spite
of the rebuke of the preachers and magistrates, who stood in his way
at the foot of the gallows, he uttered a prophecy and shook off the
dust from his feet in testimony against the rulers of the land, the
churches and the people, and departed for the habitation of Mr. Paris,
where the frightful malady first broke out resolved in his own soul
whatever should come of it--life or death--to Bridget Pope, or to
Abigail Paris--or to the preacher himself, his old associate in grief,
straightway to look into every part of the fearful mystery, to search
into it as with fire, and to bring every accuser with whom there should
be found guile, whether high or low, or young or old, a flower of hope,
or a blossom of pride, before the ministers of the law,--every accuser
in whom he should be able to see a sign of bad faith or a look of
trepidation at his inquiry--though it were the aged servant of the Lord
himself; and every visited and afflicted one, whether male or female,
in whose language or behaviour he might see anything to justify his
fear.
It was pitch dark when he arrived at the log-hut of Matthew Paris,
and his heart died within him, as he walked up to the door and set
his foot upon the broad step, which rocked beneath his agitated and
powerful tread; for the windows were all shut and secured with new and
heavy wooden bars--and what appeared very surprising at such an early
hour, there was neither light nor life, neither sound nor motion, so
far as he could percieve in the whole house. He knocked however, and
as he did so, the shadow of something--or the shape of something just
visible in the deep darkness through which he was beginning to see his
way, moved athwart his path and over the step, as if it had pursued him
up to the very door. He was a brave man--but he caught his breath and
stepped back, and felt happy when a light flashed over the wet smooth
turf, and a voice like that of Mr. Paris bid him walk in, for he was
expected and waited for, and had nothing to fear.
Nothing to fear, brother Paris.... He stopped short and stood awhile in
the door-way as if debating with himself whether to go forward or back.
Why--how pale and tired you are--said Mr. Paris, lifting up the candle
and holding it so that he could see the face of Burroughs, while his
own was in deep shadow. You appear to have a--the Lord have pity on us
and help us, dear brother! what can be the matter with you?--why do you
hold back in that way?--why do you stand as if you haven’t the power to
move? why do you look at me as if you no longer know me?--
True--true, said Burroughs--very true--talking to himself in a low
voice and without appearing to observe that another was near. No, no
... it is too late now ... there’s no going back now, if I would ...
but of a truth, it is very wonderful, very ... very ... that I should
not have recollected my rash vow ... a vow like that of Jeptha ... very
... very ... till I had passed over that rocky threshold which five
years ago this very night, I took an oath never to pass again. What if
the day that I spoke of be near?... What if I should be taken at my
word! Our Father who art in....
Sir--Mr. Burroughs--my dear friend--
Well.
What is the matter with you?
With me? ... nothing.... Oh ... ah ... I pray you, brother, do not
regard my speech; I am weary of this work, and the sooner we give it up
now, the better. I have done very little good, I fear ... two deaths
to my charge, where I had hoped a ... ah, forgive me, brother; pray
forgive me.... But how is this?... What’s the matter with _you_?
With me!
Yes--with you. What have I done, that you should block up the door-way
of your own house, when you see me approach? And what have I done that
you should try to hide your face from me, while you are searching mine
with fire, and looking at me with half-averted eyes?
With half-averted eyes--
Matthew, Matthew--we are losing time--we should know each other better.
You are much less cordial to me than you were a few days ago, and you
know it. Speak out like a man ... like a preacher of truth--what have I
done?
What have you done, brother George--how do I know?
Matthew Paris ... are we never to meet again as we have met? never
while we two breathe the breath of life?
I hope ... I do hope.... I am not less glad to see you than I should
be; I do not mean to give you up, whatever others may do, but--but
these are ticklish times brother, and just now (in a whisper) situated
as we are, we cannot be too cautious. To tell you the truth ... I was
not altogether prepared to see you, after the--
Not prepared to see me! Why you told me before you lifted the latch
that I was expected, and waited for--
So I did brother ... so I did, I confess--
And yet, I told nobody of my intention; how did you know I was to be
with you?--
One of the children said so above a week ago, in her sleep.
In--deed.
Ah, you may smile now, brother George; but you looked serious enough a
moment ago, when I opened the door, and if what they say is true--
How did I look, pray?
Why--to tell you the truth, you looked as if you saw something.
Well ... what if I did see something?
The Lord help us brother--what did you see?
I do not say--I am not sure ... but I thought I saw something.
The Lord have mercy on you, brother--what was it?
A shadow--a short black shadow that sped swiftly by me, but whether of
man or beast, I do not know. All that I do know, is--
Lower ... lower ... speak lower, I beseech you, brother B.
No brother P. I shall not speak lower.
Do ... do--
I shall not. For I would have the shadow hear me, and the body to know,
whether it be man or devil, that if either cross my path again, I will
pursue the shadow till I discover the body, or the body till I have
made a shadow of that--
Walk in brother ... walk in, I beseech you.
I’ll not be startled again for nothing. Ah--what are you afraid of?
Afraid--I--
Brother Paris--
There now!
Look you brother Paris. You have something to say to me, and you have
not the courage to say it. You are sorry to see me here ... you would
have me go away.... I do not know wherefore ... I do not ask; but I
know by the tone of your voice, by your look, and by everything I hear
and see, that so it is. In a word therefore ... let us understand each
other. I shall not go away ... here I am Sir, and here I shall abide
Sir, until the mystery which brought me hither is cleared up.
Indeed, indeed Mr. Burroughs, you are mistaken.
I do not believe you.
Sir!
I do not believe you, I say; and I shall put you to the proof.
George Burroughs--I will not be spoken to, thus.
Poh--poh--
I will not, Sir. Who am I, Sir--and who are you, that I should suffer
this of you?--I, a preacher of the gospel--you, an outcast and a
fugitive--
Burroughs drew up with a smile. He knew the temper of the aged man, he
foresaw that he should soon have the whole truth out of him, and he was
prepared for whatever might be the issue.
--Yea, an outcast and a fugitive, pursued by the law it may be, while
I speak; I, a man old enough to be your father--By what authority am
I waylaid here, underneath my own roof--a roof that would have been a
refuge for you, if you were not a--
A what Sir?
I have done--
So I perceive Matthew. I am satisfied now--I see the cause now of
what I charged you with. I do not blame you--grievous though it be
to the hope I had when I thought of you--my--my--brother. I feel for
you--I pity you--I am sorry now for what I said--I pray you to forgive
me--farewell--
Hey--what--
Farewell. You saw me, as you thought, pursued by the law--flying to
the shadow of your roof as to a refuge, and so, you stood at the door
and rebuked me, Matthew.
You wrong me--I love you--I respect you--there is no treachery here,
and what I have said, I said rashly, and I know not why. Forgive me
brother George ... forgive the old man, whose fear hath made him
overlook what is due to them, whoever they are, that fly to his
habitation for shelter.
I do forgive you ... my brother. Let me also be forgiven.
Be it so ... there ... there ... be it so.
But before I take another step, assure me that if I enter the door,
neither you nor yours will be put in jeopardy.
In jeopardy!
Am I pursued by the law? ... am I, of a truth?
Not pursued by the law, George: I did not say you were; I do not know
that you will be ... but indeed, indeed, my poor unhappy friend, here
is my roof, and here am I, ready to share the peril with you, whatever
it may be, and whatever the judges and elders and the people may say.
You are.
Yes.
I am satisfied. You have done your duty.... I shall now do mine. You
are a true brother; let me prove that I know how to value such truth. I
am not pursued by the law, so far as I know or have reason to believe,
and if I was ... I should not come hither you may be assured for safety
... nay, nay, I do not mean a reproach.... I have absolute faith in
your word now; I do believe that you would suffer with me and for me
... but you shall not. If I _were_ hunted for my life, why should I
fly to you?... You could be of no use to me ... you could neither
conceal me nor save me ... and I might bring trouble upon you and
yours forever. What would become of you, were I to be tracked by the
blood-hounds up to your very door?
I pray you, said the aged man, I do pray you ... looking about on
every side, shadowing the light with his meagre hand, the whole
inward structure whereof was thereby revealed, and speaking in a low
subdued whisper--as if he knew that they were overheard by invisible
creatures.... I pray you brother ... dear brother ... let us have done
with such talk--
Why so ... what are you afraid of?
Softly ... softly ... if they should overhear us--
They ... who ... what on earth are you shaking at?
No matter ... hush ... hush ... you may have no such fear brother B.
... you are a bold man brother B. ... a very bold man ... but as for me
... hark!...
What’s the matter with you? ... What ails you?
Hush! ... hush ... do you not hear people whispering outside the door?
No.
A noise like that of somebody breathing hard?--
Yes--
You do ... the Lord help us.
I do man, I do--but it is yourself--you it is, that are breathing
hard--what folly Matthew--what impiety at your age!
At my age ... ah my dear brother, if you had seen what I have seen, or
heard what I have heard, or suffered as I have, young as you are, and
stout and powerful as you are, you would not speak as you do now, nor
look as you do now....
Seen ... heard ... suffered. Have I not seen ... have I not
suffered!... How little you know of me....
Here Matthew Paris, after securing the door with a multitude of bars
and bolts of oak, led the way with a cautious and fearful step toward
a little room, through the gaping crevices of which, a dim unsteady
light, like the light of a neglected fire could be seen.
Death Sir ... death in every possible shape, I might say ... but who
cares for death? ... peril which, whatever you may suppose Matthew,
at your age--old as you are ... why--what am I to understand by your
behaviour! ... you don’t hear a word I am saying to you.
There, there--not so loud I entreat you ... not so loud--there’s no
knowing what may be near us.
Near us--are you mad?--what can be near us?
There again--there, there!
Stop--I go no further.
My dear friend--
Not another step--if _you_ are crazy, I am not--I will be satisfied
before I go any further. Were I to judge by what I now see and
hear--did I not believe what you said a few moments ago; and were I not
persuaded of your integrity, Matthew, I should believe my foes were on
the look out for me, and that you had been employed to entrap me, as
the strong man of old was entrapped for the Philistines, with a show of
great love--
Brother!
--Nay, nay, it is not so; I know that very well. But were I to judge
by your behavior now, I say, and by that alone, I should prepare my
fingers for the fight, and this weapon for war.
And I--if I were to judge by your looks and behaviour at the door, I
should believe that you were flying for your life, and that betaking
yourself to my roof, without regard for me or mine, you were willing to
betray us to the law.
Man--man--how could you believe such a thing of me?
You were pale as death, George--
Speak louder--
Pale as death, and you did not answer me, nor even appear to see me,
till after I had spoken to you two or three times.
Of a truth?--
You appeared unwilling to trust yourself beneath my roof, when you saw
me--
Did I--
--So that I was driven to recall the transaction which drove us apart
from each other--
Did I, Matthew?--I am sorry for it--
Yes--and your behavior altogether was very strange--is very
strange now; it is in fact, allow me to say so, just what I should
look for in a man who knew that his life was in jeopardy. Take a
chair--you are evidently much disturbed, you appear to have met with
some----surely--surely--my brother, something _has_ happened to you.
--Did I--
You do not hear me--
True enough, Matthew--I am very tired--please to give me a drop of
water and allow me to rest myself here a few minutes--I must be gone
quickly--I have no time to lose now, I perceive.
You take a bed with me to night, of course.
No.
You must--indeed you must, my good brother--I have much to ask--much to
advise with you about. We are in a dreadful way now, and if we--
Impossible Matthew--I cannot--I dare not. I have more to do than you
have to say. Are the children a-bed yet?
Ah brother, brother--you have not forgotten the dear child, I see.
Which dear child?
Which dear child!--why--oh--ah--I thought you meant little Abby--the
very image of my departed wife.
Is Bridget Pope with you now?
--She often speaks of you, the dear little babe ... she wears the
keep-sake you gave her, and won’t let any body sit in your place, and
if we desire to punish her, we have only to say that uncle George won’t
love her....
The dear child! I saw her with Bridget on the day of the trial, but I
had no time to speak to either. I hope they are both well--Bridget has
grown prodigiously, I hear--
And so has Abby--
Indeed!
Indeed--why--is it so very wonderful that Abby should grow?
To be sure--certainly not--she was very fair when I saw her last--when
I left this part of the world, I mean.
Very--
So upright, and so graceful and free in her carriage....
Free in her carriage?
For a child, I mean--so modest, and so remarkable in every way--so
attentive, so quiet--
Ah my dear friend--how happy you make me. You never said half so much
about her, all the time you lived here; and I, who know your sincerity
and worth and soberness--to tell you the truth George--I have been a
little sore....
....So attentive, so quiet and so assiduous....
Very true ... very true ... and to hear _you_ say so, is enough to make
her father’s heart leap for joy.
What--in the grave?...
In the grave?...
And after all, I do not perceive that her eyes are too large....
Too large?
Nor that her complexion is too pale....
Nor I....
Nor that her very black hair is either too....
Black hair ... black ... pray brother B. do you know what you are
saying just now? black hair ... why the child’s hair is no more black
than--large eyes too--why it is Bridget Pope that has the large eyes--
Bridget Pope--to be sure it is--and who else should it be?