THE PENITENT.
I cannot describe the feeling of awe and solemnity with which I
listened to the earnest prayer of Christy Holgate. His voice was broken
with deep emotion, as he pleaded for forgiveness for his sins. I need
not say that Wolf was not less affected than myself, and both listened
in respectful silence to the petition of the penitent. It has been said
that if a man does not grow better, he grows worse; there is no such
thing as standing still in the moral scale.
The place which Christy had chosen for his evening orisons was a little
open space in the bushes. The road, as I have said before, was seldom
travelled, except by pleasure parties and tourists, and at the present
season of the year he was not likely to be interrupted. Wolf beckoned
to me with his hand, and I followed him as he crept gently through the
opening into the little natural arbor.
“O Lord, thou knowest how much I have suffered for my folly and
wickedness! O, help me, and pardon me, and make me a good and true man!
Forgive me O Father in heaven, and give me that peace which I have so
long sought in vain!” were the concluding sentences of Christy’s prayer.
He rose from his knees, taking his hat from the ground as he did so.
Turning to leave, he beheld, in the gloom, our two shadowy forms. He
was startled, and uttered an exclamation of alarm. We stood perfectly
still, and said nothing; for it seemed to me that nothing could be said
on such an occasion.
“Who’s there?” said Christy, in trembling tones.
“Christy Holgate,” replied Wolf, with impressive accents, “I hope you
will find the peace you seek.”
“Who speaks?” demanded the penitent.
“If you have made your peace with God and man, you will be forgiven,”
added Wolf, solemnly.
“Who are you?”
“It does not matter who we are, at present. I came after you; and it
seems to have been the will of Providence that I should find you in the
attitude of prayer.”
“What do you want of me?” asked Christy. “Are you an officer?”
“I am not an officer. Do you feel as though your crime had been
forgiven?”
“What crime?”
“The crime for which you were praying to be forgiven.”
“Do you know about it?”
“I do--all about it. You robbed your friend of twenty-four hundred
dollars two years ago.”
“I did--I did!” groaned the penitent.
“I asked you if you felt as though you had been forgiven. You did not
answer me.”
“Sometimes I feel as though the good Father had pardoned me, and again
I feel as though he had not. To-night I feel more guilty than ever. I
have tried to perform my duty, but I have not had the courage to do it.
Will you tell me who you are? If you are an officer of justice, I will
go with you. I can suffer no more in a prison cell than I suffer here.”
“Why don’t you go back to Middleport, confess your error, and take the
consequences?”
“Because I dare not. I cannot brand my family with infamy by
voluntarily going to a prison.”
“Do your family know you are here?” asked Wolf, deeply interested in
the story of the unhappy man.
“My wife and daughters do; but they dared not trust Lewis with the
secret. I am very wretched, and have been from the moment I stole the
money.”
“What did you do with the money you stole?” inquired Wolf.
“I don’t like to answer that question now. You are a stranger to me.”
“I am Wolf Penniman,” added my companion.
“Wolf Penniman!” exclaimed Christy, starting back, and trying to
recognize in the tall young man at my side the boy who had confronted
him on the locomotive at the time of the robbery. “You are not Wolf!”
he added, incredulously.
“I am.”
“You are taller than you were.”
“I have grown a little.”
“You have come to curse me for the wrong I did your father.”
“No; I curse no one. I can forgive you after hearing your prayer. I
think my father can forgive you also, when he knows how penitent you
are. Come out into the road.”
Wolf led the way to the road, and we seated ourselves on a rock, where
there was light enough to see each other’s faces. The penitent, who had
been a stout, hearty man two years before, was now thin and pale. He
did not look like the same person I used to see in the engine-room of
the old steamer.
“You came after me--did you, Wolf? How did you know I was here?”
“Ned Skotchley saw you yesterday at the fire.”
“Did he? Well, I saw one or two boys in the attic, but I did not know
them, and I didn’t think they would recognize me. But I suppose it is
all for the best.”
“You did not tell me what you had done with my father’s money,
Christy,” continued Wolf.
“I will tell you. I have not dared to tell any one before, for fear my
brother-in-law would find it out.”
“Who is your brother-in-law?”
“Moses Trottwood. He lives in this house. I told him I had buried the
money in the woods; but I told him a lie. He wanted it, and I told him
I could not find the place. He is a hard man,” added the culprit, with
a heavy sigh. “He has made my wife and daughters pay three dollars a
week for my board, though I have always done a man’s work for him ever
since I came here.”
“Why didn’t you leave him, then?”
“I dared not. I went to my room when any one came here, and they said
I was crazy. I am almost crazy. I shall be entirely so, if I stay here
much longer. I am sent to my attic room when any one is here, and I
haven’t spoken to a soul before to-night except my sister, her husband
and son, since I first came.”
“Doesn’t your wife see you?” inquired Wolf, in tones of sympathy.
“No; she has been here once or twice; but they told her I was crazy,
and it wasn’t safe for her to see me. I rebelled once against this
tyranny; but Trottwood threatened to send for an officer. I have had to
work for nothing for two years, cut off from my friends, and all the
comfort I have had has been in my prayers. The money is safe, just as I
took it; for I always meant to give it back to your father.”
“Where is it?”
“I hid it in a box under the barn. I will give it to you this very
night. I feel that God will pardon me after I have given it back to
the owner. Wolf, as true as I’m a living man, I didn’t mean to keep
that money when I took it. Your father and I both had been drinking a
little too much. I meant to give it back to him when I first took it;
but when it was fairly in my pocket, I couldn’t help thinking how much
good it would do me. The whiskey made your father crazy and he pitched
into me so that it made me mad, and I declared he should not have the
money then. After I left the engine, I took to the swamp, and wandered
about for two or three days. I then made my way to my sister’s. She hid
me in the attic for a week, without the knowledge of her husband and
son. When they discovered me, they kept my secret; but they made me pay
heavily for it. I am the servant, in fact the slave, of the family.”
“You shall leave to-night, if you wish,” said Wolf.
“O, I do wish to leave.”
“I will engage you as second engineer on the Ucayga, if you like,”
replied the generous Wolf. “We need another; and I am authorized to
employ one. I don’t think any one will meddle with you, if my father is
satisfied.”
“Now, Christy, you knew Tommy Toppleton--did you not?” I interposed.
“Certainly I did, very well. He was here yesterday, with his soldiers,
and behaved very badly too.”
“I am sorry to say he did. Have you seen him to-day?”
Christy hesitated. After the earnest prayer we had heard him utter in
the solitude of his lonely retreat, where he supposed none but He who
is the fountain of mercy listened to it, I did not expect him to tell a
lie.
“Have you seen Tommy to-day,” he replied, very gently.
“I have seen him to-day,” he replied, after waiting a moment. “He was
brought up to the house by Jed, an hour ago, or more. Jed is a terribly
vindictive young man.”
“What did he do to him?” I asked, anxiously.
“I don’t think he hurt him after he came to the house. His father, who
is more timid than he, tried to have him let the boy go.”
“What have they done with him?”
“They locked him up in the attic room opposite mine. Tommy yelled,
and kicked and pounded the door till he appeared to be worn out with
his exertions. I’m afraid it will be bad business for Jed; for Major
Toppleton is a powerful man. My nephew is a bad fellow; and isn’t
afraid of anything in this world.”
“Did Tommy submit at last?” asked Wolf.
“I suppose he did. He didn’t make any more noise.”
“What does Jed mean to do with him?” I inquired.
“I don’t know. I should not wonder if they meant to keep him a
prisoner, as they have me, until they can make some money out of the
affair. They are mean enough to do anything,” answered Christy.
“Did they give him any supper?”
“I don’t know.”
“How shall we get him?” I asked; for I was determined to release him,
if we had to pull the house down, though I rather preferred not to
encounter Jed to accomplish the purpose.
“I don’t know how we can get him out without waking the folks. If I
had the key of the room, I could manage it; but I suppose, Jed has it
in his pocket. But I am going to get that money before I do anything
else,” said Christy, as he led the way around the wheat field to the
rear of the barn which he entered.
He was absent some time, during which we heard him pulling up the
planks. When he returned, he handed the roll of bills to Wolf, who
carefully deposited it in his pocket. The rest of our mission at the
farm-house was more difficult to accomplish.