"Do," cried Faith; "do not let them insult him."

"Let us go with him," said the impulsive Anne.

"You would make a fine appearance in a justice court," said her brother "No, I will see you home, and afterwards join Pownal."

But an occurrence now happened which made any such arrangement unnecessary. Tom Gladding, who all this while had been quietly whittling out his chain and listening to the conversation, here interposed:

"Basset," he said, "you hain't showed your warrant."

"It's all safe enough," cried the constable, striking his hand on his pocket.

"Well, if that's the case you're safe enough, too," said Tom, as if not disposed to press an inquiry.

But the hint had answered its purpose, and several voices demanded the exhibition of the warrant, to which the constable replied, that it was none of their business; he knew what he was about.

Contrary, however, to what might have been expected from his former submission, the prisoner required to see the written authority by which he was to be consigned to bonds, and refused to move until it had been shown, in which determination he was sustained by the bystanders. Thus unexpectedly resisted, the constable had no alternative but to release Holden or produce the instrument. He, therefore, put his hand into his pocket, and pulling out a number of papers, sought for the document. It was in vain; no warrant was to be found; and, after repeatedly shuffling the papers, he exclaimed: "I declare I must have lost it."

Whether he discovered the loss then for the first time, or what is far more probable, did not anticipate its demand from one so flighty as Holden, and meant to procure one afterwards, is not certainly known, but the fact is certain, he had no written authority to arrest.

"You never had one. Is this the way you treat a free American? You desarve a ducking; you had better make tracks," exclaimed several indignant voices from the crowd, with whom a constable cannot be a popular character.

"It's my opinion," said the man in the fox skin cap, "Basset has made himself liable for assault and battery. What do you think, Captain?"

"I ain't clear on that point," returned his cautious companion, "but free trade and sailors' rights, I say, and I've no notion of a man's being took without law. I'm clear so far."

The discomfited constable not venturing to proceed, and, indeed, unable to conceive how, without Holden's assent, he could take him before the justice, now relinquished his prey, and endeavored to make his way out of the circle. Hereupon an agitation arose, none could say how, the persons composing it began to be swayed backwards and forwards in a strange manner, and somehow or other poor Basset's heels got tripped up, and before he could rise, several men and boys fell over him and crushed him with their weight, so that when he became visible in the heap, he presented a most pitiable appearance. His coat was torn, his neckerchief twisted so tight about his neck, that he was half choked, and his hat jammed out of all shape. It is doubtful whether he would have escaped so cheaply, had it not been for Gladding, who, after he thought Basset had suffered sufficiently, came to his assistance.

"I always stand by the law," said Tom, helping him to his feet, "but I admire your imprudence, Basset, in trying to take up a man without a warrant."

Basset's faculties were too confused to enter into a discussion of the subject then, and with many threats of taking the law against his tormentors, and, attended by Tom, he limped off the ice.

Loud and boisterous were the congratulations with which the crowd had greeted Holden on his escape from the clutches of the constable, but he waved them off with a dignity which repressed their advances, and gave some offence.

"If I'd known the old fellow was so proud," said one, "I guess Basset might have taken him for all I cared."

"I sort o' sprained my wrist in that last jam agin the constable," said another, laughing, "and it's een about as good as thrown away."

"Perhaps," cried a third, "when he's took agin, I'll be there to help, and perhaps I won't."

While these various speeches were being made, the young men with the ladies, had gathered around Holden, and were expressing their mortification at the annoyance he had experienced, and their pleasure at his escape.

"Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?" cried the enthusiast. "Surely their devices shall be brought to naught, and their counsels to no effect. He that sitteth on the circle of the heavens shall laugh them to scorn, and spurn them in His displeasure. Because for Thy sake, I have borne reproach; shame hath covered my face. I am become a stranger unto my brethren, and an alien unto my mother's children."

He waited for no remark; he looked at no one; but taking up the pile of baskets which were tied together, threw them upon his back, and stalked over the ice in the direction of his cabin.

On their way home the young people discussed the events of the afternoon, dwelling on the meeting with Holden as on that which most occupied their minds.

"It is with a painful interest," said Pownal, "that I meet the old man, nor can I think of him without a feeling of more than common regard. I am sure it is not merely because he was lately of so great service to me, that I cannot listen to the tones of his voice without emotion. There is in them a wild melancholy, like the sighing of the wind through pine trees, that affects me more than I can describe."

"I know the feeling," said Faith. "There is to me also a strange pathos in his voice that brings the tears sometimes into my eyes before I am aware. What is the cause, I do not know. I never heard it spoken of till now, and did not suppose there was another affected like myself."

"You are a couple of romantic, silly things," cried Anne. "I flatter myself there is some poetry in me, but it takes a different shape. Now, when I see Father Holden, I begin to think of Jeremiah and Zachariah, and all the old prophets, but with no disposition to cry."

"Tears were never meant to dim those blue eyes, dear Anne," said Faith.



CHAPTER XVI.

Dogberry.—You are thought here to be the most senseless and fit man for the constable of the watch; therefore, bear you the lantern. This is your charge; you shall comprehend all vagrom men.

MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING.

It may well be supposed that the misadventures on the ice were ill calculated to soothe the excited mind of the constable. He bore a grudge towards the Solitary before, for his failure and the beating he had received at the island, and now to be made the object of such abuse in the presence of his townsmen, and that on account of a person whom he looked down upon as a sort of vagrant, was more than his philosophy could bear. For Basset, with that kind of logic which is so common with a certain class of people, could not avoid regarding the Recluse as the culpable cause of his misfortune in both instances. "If he hadn't gone agin the law," he said to himself, "I shouldn't have tried to take him; and if I hadn't tried to take him, I shouldn't have been treated so." Whatever Hedge or Mills may think of such logic, it was satisfactory to Basset.

His lucubrations, moreover, were very different in the daytime from those in the solemn shades of night. As ghosts are said to disappear when they scent the morning air, so the constable's apprehensions of them fled at the rising of the sun. When in the dark at the island he received the blow that prostrated him on the earth, he was unable to determine in his confusion, whether it had been inflicted by the fisherman's ghost or by Holden. It never crossed his mind that it might have come from any one else. On this subject he had mused during the whole time of his return from his nocturnal disaster, without being able to arrive at any conclusion. If in those witching hours, when the stars gleamed mysteriously through the drifting clouds, and the wind moaned among the bare branches, he was inclined to one opinion rather than to another, it was to that which would attribute the blow to the ghost. But with the light of returning day the current of his thoughts changed. Things assumed an altered aspect. Fears of inhabitants of an unseen world vanished, and Basset was angry at himself for entertaining such silly imaginations. It was now evident that Holden by some means had obtained a knowledge of the design to capture him, or had suspected it, or had noticed the approach of the boat and laid in wait to take a most unjustifiable revenge. "I wish I could prove it," thought Basset; "if I wouldn't make him smart for striking an officer!"

We shall not be surprised to find that the constable feeling thus, provided himself with another warrant. Smarting under a sense of injury, both as a man and a baffled administrator of the law, he had immediately sought the Justice, revealed the loss of the instrument, and procured another. Upon returning to the river, where he hoped to triumph in the presence of those who had witnessed his disgrace, over one whom he now regarded as an enemy, he found to his infinite mortification that the bird had flown. He dared not follow alone, and meditating vengeance, he kept the fatal document safely deposited in his pocket-book, where "in grim repose" it waited for a favorable opportunity and its prey.

On the following Monday morning, the constable met Gladding in the street, whom he had not seen since the latter assisted him on the ice.

"How are you?" cried Tom, seizing him by the hand, and affecting the greatest pleasure at the meeting; "how do you feel after your row, friend Basset?"

"Oh, pretty well," answered the constable; "how is it with you?

"Alive and kicking," said Tom. "But, Basset, you hain't got the dents out o' your hat, I see."

"No, and I don't expect they ever will come out. It's good as two dollars damage to me," he added, taking off the hat and looking at it with a woeful face. "You're a little to blame for it, too, Tom."

"Me! You ongrateful critter," exclaimed Gladding, indignantly. "You want me to give you a new hat, don't ye?"

"What made you ask if I'd got the warrant?"

"I never said no such a thing. I only said sort o' promiscuously, you hadn't showed your document."

"Well, what was the use o' that? If you'd kept still there wouldn't been no fuss."

"Who'd ha' thought you'd ha' gone to take a man without being able to show your authority? Now I call that plaguy green, Basset. But who stood by you when everybody else desarted you, and got you out from under them rough boys, and helped you clean out o' the scrape? Darn it all, Basset, you're the ongratefullest varmint I ever did see, when, in a manner, I saved your life. Really, I did think, instead o' blowing a fellow up in this way, you'd a stood treat."

"So I will," said Basset, who began to fancy he had found too much fault, and was unwilling to lose his ally; "so come along into Jenkins', and we'll take it on the spot. But you must give in, Tom, your observation was unfortunate"

"Unfortunate for you," returned Tom; "but I guess Holden thought 'twasn't unfortunate for him. Howsomever, you'll let the old fellow slip now, won't you?"

"Let him slip!" almost screamed the exasperated Basset, whom Tom's manner of treating the subject was not calculated to mollify. "Let him slip, you say. I'll see him, I'll see him"—but in vain he sought words to express the direful purpose; language broke down under the effort.

"Poh, poh," said Tom, "don't take on so, man—forget and forgive—luck's been on his side, that's all."

"I tell you what," said Basset, "who do you think struck me the other night?"

"Why, what could it be but Lanfear's ghost?"

"Don't talk to me about sperits; whose afraid o' them? But tell us one thing, did you see Holden when you looked into the window!"

"What makes you ask?" said the cautious Tom, "supposing I did, or supposing I didn't?"

"'Cause I know you didn't. Now it's my opinion," said Basset, lowering his voice and looking round suspiciously as if he were afraid of an action for slander should he be overheard, "that Holden himself made the assault."

"That ain't possible," said Gladding, confidently. "You and Prime stood by the door and would ha' seen him if he'd come out there, and I know he didn't jump out o' the window, for I should ha' seen him."

"But, perhaps he wasn't in the house at all," persisted Basset; "it was plaguy dark, and perhaps he heard us coming and hid himself outside on purpose to play the trick and take an unfair advantage on us."

"You'll never make me believe that story," said Gladding, shaking his head. "I'd as soon believe it was me as the old man. Prime and me are of the same opinion, and we should both be witnesses agin you."

The two, at this stage of the conversation, reached the door of the grocer's shop, into which we will not follow them, but turn our attention elsewhere.

Meanwhile, the cause of all this excitement was quietly pursuing the ordinary tenor of his life. It will have been observed that when Basset attempted to arrest him, Holden did not even inquire with what offence he was charged, unless demanding the production of the warrant may be considered so, and that upon the constable relinquishing his purpose, he turned away without giving any attention to the observations addressed to him. It is not probable that his design was to avoid the service of process, all unconscious as he was of any violation of the laws of the State; and certain it is he made not the slightest difference in his habits. As before, he pursued his occupation of basket-making at his hut and his recreations of fishing and strolling through the woods, as though no such formidable character as Basset was in existence. If he did not appear in the village it was an accidental circumstance, it being only at irregular intervals that he ever made his appearance there. Thus, then, passed a week longer; the petulant constable on the watch, and the steady malignity of Davenport gradually becoming impatient for gratification. But the little drama had a course of its own to run.

One morning Primus saw the tall figure of Holden passing his cabin. The veteran was at the window smoking his pipe when the Recluse first came in sight. A secret must have been very closely kept, indeed, in the village, not to come to his ears, and the warlike equipment and intentions of Basset were well known to him. "Dere he come," said the negro to himself, "jist like a fly flying into de spider-web. I guess I gib him warning." With this benevolent intention, Primus went to the door, and as Holden approached, addressed him with the salutation of the morning. It was courteously acknowledged, and the General commenced as if he wished to engage in a conversation.

"Beautiful wedder dis marning, Missa Holden."

"Old man, thy days are too short to be wasted in chattering about the weather," said Holden. "Speak, if thou hast aught to say."

The General's attempt at familiarity was effectually checked, and he felt somewhat chagrined at the reply; but for all that he would not give up his friendly purpose.

"Dey say," he said, with military precision, "dat de Constable Basset hab a warrant agin Missa Holden."

"Thanks, Primus," said Holden, resuming his walk, "but I fear the face of no man."

"De obstinate pusson!" exclaimed the negro. "And den to talk about my short day! Dat is bery onpleasaut. Short day, Missa Holden, eh? Not as you knows on. I can tell you dis child born somewhere about de twenty ob June (at any rate de wedder was warm), and mean to lib accordingly. Oh, you git out, Missa Holden! Poor parwarse pusson! What a pity he hab no suspect for de voice ob de charmer! I always hear," he added, chuckling, in that curious, mirth-inspiring way so peculiar to the blacks, "dat de black snake know how to charm best, but all sign fail in dry wedder, and de pan flash in de powder dis time."

Holden paid not the least regard to the information. According to his system of fatalism he would have considered it beyond his power to alter the predetermined course of things, but it is not probable that his mind dwelt upon the thought of personal security. He went straight forward to the village, calling at places where he thought he would most likely find customers for his wares, and in no respect avoiding public observation. He had sold his baskets, and was on his return to the river, over whose frozen surface lay his road home, when he beheld a scene that solicited his attention and arrested his steps.

It was an Indian burial. Holden in his round had strolled as far as the piece of table land, of which mention was made in the first chapter, to a distance of nearly a mile from the head of the Severn, and was at the moment opposite a spot reserved by the tribe, of which a small number were lingering in the neighborhood, as the revered resting-place of the bones of their ancestors, whence they themselves hoped to start for the happy hunting grounds. It was a place of singular beauty, selected apparently with a delicate appreciation of the loveliness of the scenery, for nowhere else in the vicinity was there so attractive a combination of hill and dale, and wood and water, to compose a landscape.

The little burying-ground, shorn of its original dimensions by the encroachments of the fatal race that came from the rising sun, contained less than half an acre, and was situated at the top of a ravine, running down from the level land, on which the gravestones were erected, to the Yaupaae, where that river expands itself into a lake. The sides of the ravine, along its whole sweep upwards, was covered quite to the top with immense oaks and chestnuts, the growth of centuries, interspersed with ash trees, while in the colder and moister part in the centre, the smooth-barked birch threw out its gnarled branches. There was no undergrowth, and under and between the limbs of the trees, the eye caught a view towards the south of the widened Yaupaae and of the islands that dotted its surface, with hills sweeping round in a curve, and presenting an irregular outline like that made by the backs of a school of porpoises. Towards the three other quarters of the compass, a level plain extended for a short distance, and then was broken up into an undulating surface which rose into eminences covered with woods that hemmed in the whole. The falls of the Yaupaae were at a distance of only a few rods, but invisible, being hidden by the plain that occupied the intervening space, at an elevation of some forty feet higher than the point where the river, rushing down its rocky bed, made its presence known by a ceaseless roar, and seemed to chant a dirge over the vanished greatness of the tribe.

Here were assembled some sixty or seventy Indians to perform the rights of sepulture to one of their number. No vestige of their original wildness was to be traced among them. They were clothed in the garments of civilization, but of a coarse and mean quality, and appeared broken down and dispirited. One half, at least, were women, and at the moment of which we are speaking they were collecting together from among the blue slate gravestones, where they had been dispersed, around a newly dug grave. The rites were of a Christian character, and performed by an elder of one of the neighboring churches, who offered up a prayer, on the conclusion of which he retired. The grave was immediately filled, and then commenced a ceremony of a singular character.

At a given signal the assembled company began with slow and measured steps, and in silence, to encircle the grave. It must have been a custom peculiar to the tribe, at least we do not recollect seeing it alluded to by any traveller or describer of Indian manners, and consisted in walking one after the other around the grave, in the manner called Indian file, and recounting the good qualities of the departed; nor was it considered permissible to leave until something had been said in his praise. The Indians walked round and round in unbroken silence, each one modestly waiting, as it seemed at first, for another to speak. But no one begun, and it soon became evident that some other cause than modesty restrained their speech. Thus, with downcast eyes, or casting side long glances at each other, as in expectation of the wished-for eulogy, and with the deepest gravity, they followed round and round, but still with sealed lips. The defunct must have been a strange being to deserve no commendation. Could it be? Did he possess no one good quality by which he could be remembered? Had he never done a kind act? Could he not hunt, or fish, or make baskets, or plant corn, or beans, or potatoes? Surely he must have been able to do something. Had it never happened that he did some good by mistake? Perhaps that would answer the purpose. Or had he been the mere shape and appearance of a man, and nothing more? He had vanished like a shadow; was he as unsubstantial? Were they not mistaken in supposing he had lived among them! Had he been a dream?

Confused thoughts like these passed through the simple minds of the rude race, as with tired steps they followed one another in that weary round. But was there to be no cessation of those perpetual gyrations? Yet no gesture, no devious step betrayed impatience. On they went, as if destined to move thus for ever. Looks long and earnest began now to be cast upon the new-made hillock, as if striving to draw inspiration thence, or reproaching its tenant with his unworthiness. No inspiration came, and gradually the steps became slower and more languid, yet still the measured tread went on. A darker and darker cloud settled on their weary faces, but they could not stop; the duty was too sacred to remain unfulfilled. They could not leave without a word to cheer their friend upon his way, and yet the word came not. When would some one speak? Who would relieve them from the difficulty? At length the countenance of an old squaw lighted up, and in low tones she said, "He was a bery good smoker." The welcome words were instantly caught up by all, and with renewed strength each one moved on, and rejoicing at the solution of the dilemma, exclaimed, "He was a bery good smoker." The charm had taken effect; the word of affectionate remembrance was spoken; the duty performed; and each with an approving conscience could now return home.

What thin partitions divide the mirthful from the mournful, the sublime from the ridiculous! At the wedding we weep, and at the funeral we can smile.

Holden who had been standing with folded arms leaning against the rail fence that enclosed the yard, and contemplating the ceremonies till the last Indian departed, now turned to leave, when the constable with a paper in one hand approached, and touching Holden with the other, told him he was his prisoner. The Solitary asked no questions, but waving his hand to the constable to advance, followed him in silence.



CHAPTER XVII.

"If it please your honor, I am the poor duke's constable, and my name is Elbow. I do lean upon justice, sir, and do bring in here before your good honor two notorious benefactors."

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The efforts of the Solitary's friends to ward off the blow were unavailing, and the perseverance of the constable was crowned with success. Of course it was impossible for Holden to walk through the streets of Hillsdale with such a companion without attracting observation. Long before he reached the office, where he was to have his trial, a crowd of idle boys was gathered at his heels, attending in a sort of triumphal procession, and wondering what was to be done with the prisoner. Basset had need of all his natural dignity, and more than he could assume besides, to keep the little mob in tolerable order. It is true the conduct of Holden, who, to the great astonishment of the constable, followed him like a lamb to the slaughter, made the task less difficult.

The place to which he was taken was no other than the office of Ketchum, it not being usual for justices to have offices of their own, the amount of business not warranting such an expense. On occasions like the present it was customary for the lawyer who took charge of the case to supply the court-room, and this, of course, was his own office, as the most convenient place where law books and other necessary instruments were at hand. Here, then, Holden was left by the constable with Ketchum, the officer of the law meanwhile proceeding to hunt up Squire Miller. During his absence, Ketchum addressed some remarks to the prisoner, and endeavored to engage him in conversation, but without success, Holden receiving his advances with coldness, and evidently averse to establish the relation of even speaking acquaintanceship. Ketchum finding all efforts vain, at last desisted, and Holden sat in silence, brooding over his own thoughts.

Upon Basset's return, he was accompanied not only by the justice, but also by Pownal, who had accidentally heard of the arrest, and by two or three other persons attracted by curiosity. Pownal immediately walked up to his friend, and, grasping his hand, expressed his interest, and tendered his services.

"I know not," said Holden, in reply to his expressions of sympathy, "why I am to be made a gazing-stock for curious eyes; but the Lord's will be done."

Pownal requested to see the warrant, and for the first time learned the nature of the accusation; he then sent a messenger after Mr. Tippit, and that gentleman, in compliance with the summons, soon made his appearance. Him Pownal engaged to defend the prisoner. By this time the little office was filled with an inquisitive crowd, eager to hear the eloquence of the counsel, and to watch the vibrations of the scales of justice, among whom Judge Bernard might be seen seated by the side of the prisoner. Any person entered and departed as he pleased, the room being, for the time of the trial, converted into a public place; and while preparations were being made preliminary to the opening of the court, the spectators amused themselves with making observations to each other.

"What have they took Holden up for?" said a man to Mr. Davenport, who, of course, was present.

"I hear it is for profane speaking and reviling," answered Davenport.

"If everybody was to have his desarts," said our friend, Tom Gladding, squirting a stream of tobacco juice over the floor, "I guess, some others would be worse off," and he looked sharply at Davenport.

"It is time such things should be punished," said Davenport. "People begin to act as if there was no law in the country."

"Don't you be quite so hard on a fellow," said Tom. "I recollect the time before you were convarted, squire, when you swore like a trooper."

The face of Davenport faded into a dusky grey with anger, and he looked as if he would have liked to annihilate the audacious Tom, but, by a violent effort, controlling his passion, he said:

"I trust the Lord has forgiven me the sin."

"I hope he has," said Tom, "and seems to me it would be a good thing for Squire Miller to follow his example."

"Suppose you tell him so," said Davenport, sarcastically.

"Well, seeing as how you're so pressing," said Gladding "I don't care if I do. Squire," he cried, addressing the Justice, and drawing the attention of all to himself, "here's Squire Davenport says, he expects the Lord's forgive his cussing and swearing, and thinks you'd better do as well by Father Holden, and let him run."

A general shout of laughter greeted this speech of Gladding's, and there were exclamations of "Well said, Tom," and "He had him, there," and "Who would have thought that of Davenport?"

The unfortunate victim glared, with fury in his eyes, at Tom, who, interpreting his looks to suit himself, cried—

"He's coming, Squire, to speak for himself."

Davenport here protested, he had said no such thing, and that it was a shame he should be abused by a scurrilous fellow, in such a manner.

"What's that you say?" said Gladding, stepping up to Davenport; "I'm no more squirrilous, than you are yourself; though, for that matter, there ain't a squirrel on a walnut tree, but would be ashamed to be seen in your company,—squirrilous fellow, eh!"

"Silence!" cried the Justice. "Mister Gladding, I must say, I think such language very improper; and I hope, if you expect to remain here, you will stop it."

"Squire," said Gladding, "he begun it; I'll leave it to the company, if he didn't first call me a squirrel."

"Silence!" reiterated the Justice; "we must have order; and, if you don't choose to observe order, you must leave the room."

"You hain't opened court yet," persisted the pertinacious Tom. "I guess we know our rights."

Here Basset came up to Tom, and, taking him by the arm, whispered a few words into his ear. They seemed to be of a sedative character, for the latter, contenting himself with an occasional glance of mischievous fun at his late opponent, abstained from further remark.

By this time, the subpoena for the witnesses had been returned, and the persons summoned made their appearance. The overt act was so notorious, that it had not been considered necessary to summon many, and the few needed were soon hunted up. Hereupon, Mr. Ketchum having intimated a readiness, on the part of the State, to proceed, Mr. Tippit, after some conversation with Judge Bernard and Pownal, Holden refusing to hold any intercourse with him also, entered the plea of "not guilty," for his client.

The hour of noon had now arrived, and that being the dinner-time of most present, Justice Miller yielded to the request of Mr. Tippet, and the pleadings of his own stomach, to adjourn the sitting of the court till two o'clock in the afternoon, in order, not only to gratify the demands of appetite, but, also, that the counsel might have an opportunity to confer with his client and prepare his defence. Ketchum remonstrated against the delay as unreasonable, but the Justice, who felt no disposition to hurry himself, and was, at bottom, not an unamiable man, told him, there would be time enough to finish the case in the afternoon, provided he and Mr. Tippit did not talk too long. Meanwhile, upon the promise of Judge Bernard to be responsible for the safety of the prisoner, Holden was allowed to depart with him, and Pownal, who had been invited to dinner with the Judge, accompanied them to his house.

Here they found Faith, in a state of high excitement. "I,"—she said, seizing the old man's hands, while the tears streamed down her cheeks; "I am to blame for this persecution. O, Father Holden, if I had not begged, and almost forced you to go with us that evening, this would not have happened."

"Dear child!" said Holden, "afflict not thyself. Thou and I are but as flying dust on the eternal wheels of destiny. Fear not, nor let thy heart be troubled. Even yet, the Lord will make bare his arm and I shall escape, even as a bird from the snare of the fowler."

But Faith partook not of the enthusiast's confidence. To her alarmed imagination, the deliverance of Holden seemed as improbable as that of Daniel from the den of lions, and the impending doom almost as dreadful as that destined for the prophet. She knew what the consequences would be were Holden found guilty; for, soon after the reading of the warrant by Pownal, its contents had been communicated to her, and she had been informed respecting the punishment. To her delicate and sensitive mind, the charge itself—that of profane speaking and reviling, was inexpressibly revolting. She knew that the condition of mind such language implies, was entirely wanting, and that it was in the performance of what he considered a duty, the old man had spoken. Father Holden capable of profane speaking! He, whose heart was the seat of all noble emotions; he, who had renounced the world, and trampled its temptations and vanities under foot; he, who living in the world, was not of the world! That such an one, so harmless, so guileless, so innocent, should be paraded through the streets like a wild beast which it was unsafe to have at large, that he should be exposed to the prying looks of coarse and unfeeling men, and compelled to hear their vile ribaldry, and, finally, compelled to an ignominious punishment, among the vicious, in a workhouse! The disgrace was more than she could bear. It seemed her heart would break. Overcome by her emotions, she left the room, followed by Anne, who partook of her grief and indignation.

All participated in the feelings of the young ladies, and, as might be supposed, the young men most. To Pownal, a wish of Anne's was a command; nor was there a danger, scarcely, he would have refused to encounter to gratify her. He had never, indeed, breathed a word of love, but he had flattered himself of late that she understood his feelings, and that the knowledge gave her no displeasure; and, in spite of the disparity in their conditions, hope nestled at the bottom of his heart. Besides, Faith was with him a favorite, and it distressed him to witness her excitement.

Nor could William Bernard behold unmoved the tears of Faith, or the agitation of his sister. Never, indeed, before had the divine eyes of Faith Armstrong so affected him as now, when suffused with tears; nor had her beauty ever shone so resplendent. Upon the withdrawal of the girls, he put his arm into that of Pownal, and drawing him into a recess, the young men took counsel together respecting what should be done.

At the appointed hour, all parties were again present in the little office of the lawyer, and the examination commenced. It is unnecessary to recapitulate in full the testimony. In spite of the ingenuity of Mr. Tippit, who closely cross-examined the witnesses for the prosecution, and thereby only made them rather strengthen than weaken the force of their testimony, the facts were fully proved. Indeed, the whole occurrence was too recent and public to make the proof a task of any difficulty. The only differences in the statements of the witnesses were, that some thought Holden was standing at the side of the reading-desk, when he addressed Davenport, while others were as sure he was in front, a circumstance considered by Ketchum and the Court as of no consequence, while Tippit regarded it as of the greatest importance, as a test of the accuracy of the memory, if not of the veracity of the witnesses; and, again, what came out in the persevering cross-examination by Tippit, viz.: that in the opinion of some witnesses, Holden, instead of saying "soul-damning and abominable lies," said "damned, abominable lies". The eyes of Ketchum fairly danced when the efforts of his opponent succeeded in eliciting from the badgered and provoked witness this most mal-a-propos testimony which his own ingenuity had been unable to draw forth, and he took care, in the rest of the examination, to get the same statement if possible from the remainder of the witnesses. In this he was partially successful, each one intending most sincerely to tell the truth, and yet artfully led on by the lawyer, often falsely coloring and distorting the facts. On the conclusion of the testimony on the part of the State, Mr. Tippit produced witnesses to prove the words spoken, who, after all, did not alter the complexion of things, and also the good character of the prisoner, but this latter proposal was stoutly opposed by Ketchum, as irrelevant to the issue.

"What have we to do," said he, "with the character of the prisoner? His character is not at issue. That may be as good as the Court's, for instance (and I desire no higher), and yet the offence charged may have been committed. If brother Tippit is allowed to run into all these side issues, we shall never be done with the examination, and therefore I object to the testimony."

Tippit, in reply, expressed great surprise at the conduct of his brother, Ketchum; "but," said he, "I do not wonder at the anxiety of the gentleman to keep out testimony of so vast importance for my client. Here is a discrepancy. Some witnesses state the language said to have been used by my client in one way, some in another. Now, although a man of good character might use the words 'soul damning and abominable,' which we are constantly hearing in sermons and prayers, and if they are proper there, one might suppose them proper in common discourse, he would be less likely to use the other phrase; though, if he did, I hope I shall be able to convince the court there's no great harm in that."

Here Ketchum's face expressed unutterable astonishment, and the Justice, as if scandalized at the proposition, interrupted the counsel, and told him he hoped he did not mean to justify profane language.

"Far from it, please your honor," answered Tippit, "but I say we have been guilty of no profanity which, at the proper time, I expect to satisfy the court of. We offer the testimony now for two purposes: first, to assist the judgment of the court in coming to a conclusion, whether the words were spoken or not, because if we prove the prisoner's good character, it is less likely they were uttered by him; and secondly, if your honor should be of opinion that the words were used, in mitigation of punishment, if, indeed, the court should be disposed to take notice at all of the trifle of which the prisoner stands accused."

Ketchum reiterated his objections, denying that the testimony was admissible for either purpose. He did not think, he said, that his brother Tippit was able to assist the judgment of the court a great deal; as for judgment, the article was so scarce with a certain gentleman, he advised him to keep the modicum he had for his own use. So far as mitigation of punishment was concerned, he thought the greater the respectability of the offender, the greater should be the punishment, both because his education and opportunities should have taught him better, and by way of example to others, in like case to offend. The doctrine of the gentleman, he added, might do well enough where kings and aristocrats ground the people to powder, but he hoped never to see the day, when, in our own free country, a man might do what he pleased because he was respectable.

This sentiment, notwithstanding the feelings of almost all present were in favor of Holden, was so decidedly patriotic, that it met the most favorable reception, and there was a general whispering and rustling among the audience. After the sensation had subsided, Justice Miller, with some hesitation, decided to receive the testimony for the present. "It is different," he said, "from allowing evidence to go to a jury. I am both court and jury, and will think it over, and reject it, if I think it should be." With this decision the counsel were obliged to acquiesce, and Tippit proceeded with his testimony.

It was easier to prove the good character of Holden than the exact occurrence at the meeting. Judge Bernard, Mr. Armstrong, who came into the court in the afternoon, Pownal, and many others, testified to his irreproachable reputation, and were certain that his conduct proceeded from no evil intent.

After the testimony had all been taken, followed the speeches of the counsel. Ketchum, who, as prosecutor, was entitled to the opening and closing arguments, rose and stated that, as the days were short, and it was growing late, he would waive his right of opening, and reserve what he had to say to the time when his brother Tippit had concluded. To this arrangement Tippit strenuously objected, insisting that the State had made out so poor a case, that he hardly knew what to reply to, and that in all fairness the counsel for the State ought to enlighten him. The court, however, decided, that although it was a strange thing for a lawyer to desire to be excused from making a speech, yet it was a course he felt much obliged to Mr. Ketchum for adopting, and hoped that he would not revenge himself for the abstinence by putting two speeches into one, at the conclusion.

Smiles and applauding whispers among the audience rewarded the Justice for this brilliant display of wit.

Hereupon Mr. Tippit rose and addressed the court. He begun by hinting at the embarrassment he felt in not having the advantage, to use his own language, of what his brother Ketchum intended to say. For his own part, he had carefully considered the law and evidence, and could not find the shadow of a pretext for detaining the prisoner. He then went on to speak of the prisoner himself, his age, his harmless life, and the excellent character he sustained. All this, he argued, went to show the improbability of his having uttered the language considered most objectionable. He contended that although he would most cheerfully admit that the prisoner had said something in the conference-room, it was impossible to determine accurately what that something was; that if in this state of things the court not be satisfied what the words were exactly, it was as if no words at all had been uttered, and there were none to be passed upon. But what were the words? Here the learned counsel minutely examined the evidence, and arrived at the conclusion, that it was impossible to ascertain them. Hence, he said, the corpus delicti is wanting. But suppose the words were as testified by some, though they are contradicted by others, "damned abominable," what then? Was that reviling or profane speaking? The words were two. Now, no one would pretend that "abominable" was profane language. "The idea is abominable," said Tippit, "and I hope brother Ketchum won't take me up for saying that. What does the other word mean?" Hereupon the counsel referred to a dictionary, to which also we refer our readers. "There you see," said he, "there is no harm in it. At most, the word can in its present application, be considered only as an intensitive, or the like. The fact is, may it please the court, it is but a strong form of expression, and means no more nor less than very, and I should be willing to leave it to the good sense of those who hear me, as to a jury, to say if my construction is not correct."

Here Tom Gladding nodded his head at Tippit.

"Mr. Gladding," continued Tippit, "nods his head, and I honor his judgment, and venture to say there is not a man here better qualified to speak on the subject."

Here there was a general laugh at Tom's expense, in which the court itself joined. Tom, appearing to regard the joke very little, and only saying, "The squire's got it right by chance this time, I guess." Presently, the court commanded silence, and Mr. Tippit proceeded.

"I flatter myself," he added, "that I have satisfied your honor there is no profane language in the case; and that ought to be sufficient for my purpose, even though the court should be of opinion that the prisoner was guilty of reviling; because the words of the statute are in the conjunctive, providing punishment only where profane speaking and reviling are united, being levelled, not at one alone, but at both as one act. It should also be borne in mind, that the statute is penal, and for that reason must be construed, strictly, in favor of liberty. But I will now proceed to inquire whether there has been any reviling in the sense of the statute. Who was intended to be protected against injurious language? Reasonable beings only, certainly. Assuredly not the delicate feelings of horses, or cows, or pigs, and if so, much less those of an inanimate object, like a book. Now, it will be recollected that the language uttered characterized the contents of a book, not Mr. Davenport. The words were consistent with the supposition that the prisoner cherished the highest respect for him, whatever his opinion might be of the sermon. It was then absurd to pursue a man criminally for criticising a book, and requesting another not to read it, which was all that had been done."

Here Ketchum inquired how his brother Tippit would get over the words, "man of sin," which it was testified had been applied by the prisoner to Davenport.

Mr. Tippit treated the inquiry with great contempt. "Does the gentleman," he asked, in turn, "claim for Mr. Davenport a superhuman degree of piety? Would he have us understand that Mr. Davenport is not a sinful man, and is the expression made use of by Mr. Holden more than tantamount to that? I do not think the words worthy of notice," he said, "nor am I disposed to waste time on them." Mr. Tippit concluded by saying, that if a man, in the honest expression of his opinions about a book, was to be dealt with criminally, free speech, free action, the noble inheritance of our ancestors, were gone, and the liberties of the country no more. Collecting himself for a last effort, he represented the Goddess of Liberty, like Niobe, all tears, weeping over the fate of her children, should the iniquity, contemplated by Ketchum, be consummated.

The impression made by the lawyer's speech was favorable, as was evident from the looks of the audience, and the approving hum that filled the room, and prepossessed as they were in favor of Holden, they would undoubtedly have acquitted him, but, alas! they were not the tribunal to decide his fate. We have already dilated on the proceedings of the little court of pied poudre, beyond our original intention, and for that reason shall endeavor, without designing, "with malice prepense," to slight the eloquence of Ketchum, to compress his remarks into as small a compass as possible. He has since risen to the dignity of a County Court Judge, and, therefore, needs no celebrity, which a work so unpretending as the present, can confer.

Mr. Ketchum then began by saying, that to be sure his experience in courts was not very great, but he had some, and, so far as it went, he never knew a case plainer than the one on trial. The gentleman (bowing to Tippit), with all his ingenuity, and he was not going to deny him his due, which was greater than his knowledge of the law, had been unable to affect his own mind, or, as he believed, the mind of his honor, or of any one present. He felt, therefore, that the task before him, though an unpleasant one, was lightened by the inability of his brother Tippit to make out even a plausible defence. Peeling this, he should, if he consulted only his own inclinations, be disposed to leave the case where it was, without comment, but he supposed it was expected he should say something, and in the discharge of his duty, he would comply with the expectation. As for the character of the prisoner, he had nothing to say about it. He would neither admit that it was good, nor claim that it was bad; whatever it might be, it had nothing to do with the case. The question was, what was done at the meeting? All the witnesses agreed that the prisoner interrupted the proceedings. True, they disagreed in respect to the exact words, but take the testimony of any, and sufficient was made out to support the prosecution. Here he dwelt upon a criticism of the words, coming to conclusions precisely the opposite of Tippit's, and contending they were both profane and reviling. "It was preposterous," he claimed, "to say that Holden meant merely to criticise the book. The language was not addressed to the book, but to Davenport: the book was not called, 'man of sin,' but Davenport. The words, 'man of sin' had a peculiar meaning. They were designed in the Scriptures to express condemnation, and horror, and wickedness. They were not synonymous with 'sinful man,' though even these words might be considered words of reviling, had they been used in the same circumstances. The contempt affected by his brother Tippit was so much powder and shot thrown away. Nobody believed he really felt it. It was like the grimaces of a culprit, trying to hide his apprehensions by forced smiles." He concluded by apologizing for not being a poet, like his brother Tippit, nor as familiar with goddesses. He knew that his friend was a gallant young man, and fond of the ladies, and he would confess to the weakness himself, but as for goddesses, they were a touch above him, &c.

The court had listened with patience to both testimony and speech, and was now to pass sentence, acting up to the advice of a shrewd English lawyer, to one who without much legal learning had been appointed to a judgeship in a colony, never to give his reasons when he pronounced judgment, for although the judgment had an equal chance to be right or wrong, the reasons were almost certain to be incorrect, Justice Miller contented himself with finding the prisoner guilty, and sentenced him to a week's confinement in the town workhouse.

It was not without some surprise that the friends of Holden heard the decision. Although contemplating its possibility, they had indulged a hope that the Justice would be unwilling to subject one so harmless, and whom they considered innocent of all intention to violate the law, to any punishment; but with that reverence for law which characterizes New England, and without which there can be no security for free institutions, they submitted, although not without some murmurs. It was in vain, they knew, to ask for any mitigation; Justice Miller having once pronounced sentence, being as inexorable as the Supreme Court. The room was soon nearly emptied of the spectators, none remaining except the particular friends of the prisoner. Nothing remained but to carry the sentence into execution. Holden's friends also at last took a sorrowful leave, and the mittimus being made out, it was handed to Basset, to remove the prisoner to the place of destination.

For the sake of greater security, Basset now produced a pair of handcuffs, which he put on the condemned man's hands, who offered no objection, but calmly submitted to his fate.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Armado.—By my sweet soul, I mean setting thee at liberty, enfreedoming thy person: thou wert immured, captivated, bound.

Costard.—True, true, and now you will be my purgation, and let me loose.

Armado.—I give thee thy liberty, set thee free from durance; and in lieu thereof impose on thee nothing but this.

LOVE'S LABOR LOST.

By the time the court had concluded its session it was eight o'clock in the evening. It was quite dark, and the snow was falling heavily. When, therefore, the constable stepped into the street, holding his prisoner by the arm, it is not surprising that he encountered but few passengers. Those whom he did meet had their hats or caps slouched over their brows, which were bending down upon their breasts to protect the face from the driving snow. It was impossible, so thick were the flakes, to see more than a few feet before one. It was a fortunate circumstance, inasmuch, at least, as it saved the Recluse from the humiliation of being seen by his townsmen.

The workhouse was situated at the distance of nearly a mile from the centre of the village, on a little farm of some twenty acres, and stood several rods apart from any inhabited house. It was the half of a large unpainted wooden building divided into two sections, the other half of which was used as an alms-house, and might be considered as a sort of auxiliary or ally of the county jail, to receive those minor offenders whom the dignity of the latter rejected.

The road Basset had to travel passed over the lower bridge of the Yaupaae, next went up a hill, and then suddenly turning, skirted the lake-like expanse of water, on which the building was situated. In order, however, to reach the house, it was necessary to leave the main road and pass down a lane of some twenty rods in length.

Together the pair proceeded through the driving snow, Basset keeping hold of Holden, who walked meekly by his side. The fatalism of the latter seemed to have taken entire possession of his mind, and he probably regarded his sufferings as a necessary part of the designs of Providence, which it would be as wicked as vain to resist. The constable had repeatedly endeavored to engage his companion in conversation, striving to comfort him with the opinion, that the keeper of the quasi jail was a "clever man," and that people did not find it as bad as they expected, and a week would quickly pass away. "In winter," said Basset, "when it's hard to get work, I've known many a likely young fellow do some trick on purpose to be put into the workhouse till spring; so it can't be the worst place in the world." Basset stretched the truth a little. He might have known or heard of persons, who, in order to obtain warmth, and food, and shelter during that inclement season, had committed petty crimes, but such instances were exceedingly rare, and the offenders were anything but "likely fellows." But Basset must be excused his leasing, for he felt lonely, and longed to hear the sound of a human voice, and failing that of another, was fain to put up with his own as better than none. But Holden steadily resisted all the advances of the constable, refusing to reply to any question, or to take notice of anything he might say, until the latter, either wearied out by the pertinacity of his captive, or vexed by what he considered sullenness or arrogance, himself relapsed into silence.

They had crossed the bridge, passed up the hill, and traversed the road along the margin of the Yaupaae, and were now just entering the lane that runs down to the house. The storm was raging with unabated fury, and the constable, with clenched teeth, and bent head, and half-shut eyes, was breasting the driving flakes, and congratulating himself with the idea that his exposure would soon be over, and he by the side of a warm stove in one of the stores, the hero of the evening, recounting the adventures of the day and comfortably taking his cheerful glass, when suddenly, without having seen a person, his cap was violently pulled over his eyes, a thick coffee-bag slipped over his head, and a hand applied to his throat to stifle any cries, should he be disposed to make them. But the poor fellow was too much frightened to emit a sound, had he been never so much inclined to scream.

"Make no noise," said a stern but disguised voice, "and you are safe. No injury is designed. I will lead you. Follow quietly."

The man grasped his arm, and led him, as it seemed, out of the travelled path into an adjoining field, for he was directed to lift his feet at a particular spot, and in doing so, struck them against what were evidently wooden bars, such as are everywhere to be found in New England, at the entrances to the stone wall encircled lots. They were followed by Holden, and, as the constable judged, from the slight sounds he succeeded in occasionally catching, by another person. When his captor seemed to think he was in a place where he would be unlikely to be disturbed by a casual passer, he stopped and demanded the key to the handcuffs. Every movement of the constable must have been narrowly watched during the evening, for, as he hesitated, either confused by the unexpected capture, and forgetful of where he had placed the key, or desirous to gain time in the hope that help might arrive—whatever might have been the motive, no time was granted, the same stern voice instantly adding,

"The key is in the right pocket of your pantaloons: give it to me at once."

With a trembling hand, the constable produced the key from his pocket, and was confirmed, by what followed, in the belief that his captor must have a coadjutor, for he still kept his hold, and uttered the single word "here," as if addressing another, and handing him the key. Presently, the handcuffs were thrown down at his feet, and he thought he could detect the sound of receding footsteps. His captor then demanded the mittimus, which he tore into small pieces, and scattered around. In this condition muffled so that he could hardly breathe, with a desperado, or he knew not how many at his side, who, at the least attempt to make an outcry, might do him some bodily injury or perhaps murder him, the next quarter of an hour seemed a whole dismal night to the unfortunate Basset. At the expiration of that time, his guard addressed him again, and in the same carefully feigned voice:

"You are in my power, and who would know it were I to leave your corpse to stiffen on the snow? But I bear you no ill will, and have no intention to hurt you. I would not harm a hair of your head. I will not subject you even to the inconvenience of having these fetters on your wrists, though you were unfeeling enough to place them on a man, the latchet of whose shoes you are unworthy to unloose. Be thankful for the forebearance, and show that you know how to appreciate it. Mark what I say. Remain where you are, nor venture to remove the covering for half an hour. It will keep you warm. Return then to your home, nor seek to discover either Holden or who rescued him, and be assured he was not privy to the intention to release him. Remember, remember. Eyes will be upon you. Good night!" So saying, the unknown departed and left the stupefied constable like a statue, rooted to the spot.

There he remained, not daring to stir or to remove the uncomfortable head-dress—for by what unseen dangers he was surrounded he knew not—until, as he supposed, the half hour was more than passed. Then Basset cautiously and slowly raised his hand to his head, as if to intimate that if any one were watching and wanted him to desist, he was ready to do so, and hearing no sound, proceeded to divest himself of the hood. He looked around but could see nothing; the falling snow effectually shut out all objects from sight. He tried to move, but stiff with cold his limbs refused their office, and he nearly fell down. He took a step forward and his feet struck against the handcuffs. He stooped down and picked them up, comforting himself with the reflection, that bad as was his case, it might have been worse had they been transferred to his wrists. He strove to peer into the fallen snow, to discover, if possible, any tracks, but except his own just made none were distinguishable. The snow had already obliterated them. Faint and weary, and frozen, and vexed and frightened, the melancholy Basset turned his face to the village, not among his cronies with bold brow and loud voice to boast of his achievements, and by the aid of John Barleycorn to screw his courage up to a fabulous pitch, but with drooping crest and dejected spirits to slink to his bachelor's bed, and dream of banditti all the night.

A sadder, if not a wiser man

"He rose the morrow morn."

Not a word spoke he the next day of his misadventure, until it having been ascertained that Holden had not been at the workhouse, inquiry was made respecting his non-appearance. The constable was then obliged to confess the truth, which his captors, as if defying discovery, had not enjoined him to conceal. Faithful to his instructions, he exculpated Holden from all blame, praising him for his submissiveness to the law, expressing his conviction that the old man knew nothing of the intentions of his captors, nor whether they were friends or foes. Notwithstanding the reluctance of the constable, the indignant Justice, in the first ebullition of his anger, made out another mittimus, which he almost forced into the other's unwilling hands, and commanded him to arrest the fugitive, wherever he might find him, by night or by day, on the Lord's Day or on any other day, were the place the Sanctuary itself.

But the rescue had diverted public attention from the Solitary into another channel, and the community had not a stock of indignation sufficient, like the Justice, to expend on Holden as well as on his rescuers. It appeared, even to the few who were originally in favor of his arrest, that he had suffered enough, satisfied as they were, as well from his behavior they had witnessed as from the report of the constable, that he had in no respect contributed to his freedom, but was rather compelled to accept it, and therefore attaching no blame to him for the escape. The resentment of the citizens was now transferred to the daring offenders, who, with a strong hand, had interposed between the sentence and the execution of the law, and this last offence, as being of so much greater magnitude than Holden's, cast it quite into the shade. Who were they? Who would have the audacity, in the midst of a law-loving and law-abiding people, to trample on the laws and defy the State? The constable could give no information. He had not even seen a person. He had only heard a voice he never heard before. Ought not some persons to be arrested on suspicion? Who should they be? Who were obnoxious to suspicion? The friends of the Solitary were among the most respectable people in the place. Would it be safe to proceed against them? There would be some hazard in the experiment. They would be sure to defend themselves to the uttermost, and if successful as they probably would be, would make the movers in the matter rue their officiousness.

Of such a nature were the various questions discussed around the hearths, and in the bank and shops of the little town of Hillsdale. The excitement was a perfect god-send to stir the sluggish blood of winter. Above all it was attractive for the mystery that invested it. But we will leave the village gossips to beat the air with their idle speculations.



CHAPTER XIX.

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 Yaupaae, 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.



CHAPTER XX.

Impelled with steps unceasing to pursue Some fleeting good that mocks me with the view; That, like the circle, bounding earth and skies, Allures from far, and, as I follow, flies.

GOLDSMITH.

Whenever Tom Gladding and Primus put their heads together, it was pretty certain that there was some mischief afoot, and a few words of the conversation, which we overhear, as they walk down the street in company, leave no doubt on the subject.

"You see, Prime," said Gladding, "the foolish fellow ain't cured yet."

"Let us insult ober his case," said Primus.

"I thought he'd got enough; but, he's as parvarse as the nine lives of a cat. Why, there was the whack at the island, and, then, the jam on the ice, and, last, the scare in the snowstorm; a fellow's unreasonable to want more, and, yet, the darn'd crittur's holding out his platter."

"What you want to put in, Missa Gladding?"

"Some of the same mess. I don't care about hurting him; but, I should like to cure him of his parsecuting ways."

"Well, you is a good cook. What you up to dis time?" said the General, grinning at the idea of more tricks.

"Colored people is celebrated for their contrivances; so, scratch your wool, and give us the benefit of your genius."

"De sheep hab no gumption," said Primus, looking grave at this allusion to his hair.

"I tell you what I want you to do," said Tom, taking no notice of Primus' gravity, and certain that the old fellow was unable to resist the temptation to a frolic; "but, don't let's stand here all day talking. Folks may suspicion something; so, push along, and I'll give you my idees."

They must have pleased the General, for, soon, his face began to brighten, and his eyes to glisten; and he parted from his companion, apparently, with the best understanding, and in the highest good humor possible.

In accordance with the arrangement between them, the negro hunted up Basset, and soon learned from him, that he had a mittimus to commit Holden. The cunning fellow, at first, pretended to dissuade him from making use of it, taking care, at the same time, to drop a few words, from which, it might be inferred, there was no difficulty in apprehending the fugitive. He, at last, let out the fact, rather unwillingly, as it seemed, that the Recluse was in the habit of passing his hut, in the evening, on visits—as the General supposed—to his friends in the village. The constable caught at the bait, and, having lost all fear of any resistance, on the part of the Solitary, persuaded Primus, with some difficulty, to allow him to watch at his cabin, for his prey; engaging his assistance, at the same time, should it become necessary. It was, accordingly, agreed, that the same night should be devoted to enforce the demands of justice.

Just before the shades of evening shut in, Basset—agreeably to the preconcerted plan, presented himself at the hut of the General, and took his station at the window that commanded, for quite a distance, a view of the road. The moon was shining, and her beams, reflected from the snow, made it easy to distinguish objects. The constable sighed, as he took his seat, and declared that, in all his experience, he never had so much difficulty in his legal business. It was the General's cue to encourage his visitor, and keep up his resolution. He, therefore, said, in a cheerful tone—

"Folks say, dere is nebber no lane but hab one turn. Now, dis is de turn. See, how de road twist round my house. Dat is a good sign."

"If I don't git him this time," said Basset, "I guess I might as well give it up, and the State of Connecticut may just be reckoned beat."

"Don't ground you arms yet, Missa Basset. In de long run, de raal grit allers carry de day."

"When I think it all over," said the constable, musing, "it seems kind o' queer. I'm sort o' bewitched, and, if the days of witches wasn't gone by, I shouldn't wonder if some of them hadn't got me in tow. But, I ain't going to give it up yet. I don't forget the old chap's knocking me down in the dark behind my back, as though I'd been no better than a woodchuck or a skunk."

"How it feel, Missa Basset?" inquired Primus, with a grin. "Did de old man strike wid de soft side or de hard side ob de cudgel?"

"You needn't show your ivory," said the constable, whom the remembrance of his misfortune irritated; "I wish to conscience you'd felt it yourself; you'd have known, then, without the need of asking questions."

"Golly! Missa Basset," exclaimed Primus. "You tink nobody hab feeling but yousef. You gib my arm sich a winch when de ole man kick you behind, or knock you ober (I nebber know which) dat I feel him now."

"He didn't kick me," said Basset, indignantly. "'Twas a regular assault with a club, I tell you."

"Well, I shouldn't like sich salt on my shoulder, aldo dey say, salt bery good to keep de wound from catching cold."

"I tell you what, darkey," cried the constable, losing patience at the other's sneers. "You talk like an old fool. If you hain't got anything pleasanter to say, you might as well shut up."

"Yes, I be an old fool," said Primus, as if speaking to himself, "and dis is all de tank I git from dis white man. I depose my life on de ribber. I git a'most murdered when de ghost kick him behind; he break my leg made out ob a good piece ob ash; I invite him to my house, like a gen'leman, and de civilest word I get, is—darkey and old fool. Yes, Primus, you complexion is dark, and you be a big fool."

"Don't take on so, Prime," said Basset; "I spoke rash, and I ask your pardon. But, what's the use of aggravating a man in that way!"

"I tink you must 'scuse my keeping company wid you, arter to-night," continued Primus, looking steadily into the fire, and knitting his brows; "I nebber get noting but bad luck in his sarvice. Next time, I git my neck broke, and den 'tis all done wid dis poor niggur. De carpenter find hard work to make one to fit."

"Now, Prime," said Basset, "you're rather too hard. I asked your pardon, and that's all a man can do. I'm sure I didn't mean to set you agoing at this rate."

"It bery easy, Massa Basset, to say I ask you pardon, and bery polite for a white man to say it to a colored pusson, but does dat pay for de breaking ob a leg or de setting ob my neck?"

"What did it cost to mend your leg?"

"I gib Fannin, de carpenter, a halb dollar for a new one dat wasn't half so good as de ole one."

"Well, I vow, that's considerable for an old stick, 'cause I know there wasn't no new iron work about it, for you had the old ferule left; but seeing as how I broke it, I'll split the difference with you, so there's a quarter. But why didn't you speak of it afore?"

"'Cause," said Primus, taking the money with eyes brightening at the sight, "'tween gen'lemen, de trifle was too small."

"Well, you're a curious chap. Now most folks would have dunned me right off for the damage. There's Tom Gladding', if he had a wooden leg, and I broke it, don't you suppose he'd make me settle before sunset next day? Besides the law was all on your side."

"I guess, Massa Gladding 'tend to business in his own way," said the now good-humored General, "but you, Squire, is an old 'quaintance, and you disappointment so great, I didn't like to mention de leg."

As soon as Primus uttered the word "Squire," Basset knew that the reconciliation between them was complete. The General never used the word in reference to his companion, except when pleased and desirous to pay a compliment, and was fully aware of the effect it produced. The constable, born and bred among a people fond of titles, and fond of giving them, was not exempt from the common weakness. He, however, thought it incumbent on him to disclaim the dignity, to which Primus answered, that if he were not a Squire he ought to be, and would be next year.

A tall figure, which, from the gait and dress, appeared to be that of Holden, was now seen approaching deliberately in the moonlight, and the constable addressed himself to the performance of his duty. It was thought best to allow the fugitive to pass the cabin, so that in the event of an attempt at evasion, which was not anticipated indeed, but which the prudent General thought ought to be guarded against, the difficulty of escape might be greater. As the man advanced, the constable was certain it was Holden. There was the long beard falling on his breast, and the grey frock girt with a sash; and had not the cap been pulled down low over his forehead, even the features might have been distinguishable.

After the person had passed, Basset cautiously opened the door and quietly stole after him, but, in spite of every precaution, it was impossible to move without making a sound on the crisp snow, easily heard in the still night. The person heard it, and turning his head, beheld the constable two or three rods in the rear. Basset observing him look round, quickened his pace, and advanced confidently to make the capture; but in the same proportion the figure hastened his steps. Thereupon the constable increased his speed, in which he was imitated by the other, until both pursuer and pursued were in a run.

It was now who should run the fastest. The race had hitherto been in the road, and Basset was evidently gaining on the fugitive, when, turning short, the latter jumped over some bars which had been left down, and directed his course across a field. The constable's blood was up, and without hesitation, he followed, every moment lessening the distance between himself and the chase. He could not help, as he ran, wondering at the agility of Holden, from whom, on account of his seeming age, he had not anticipated such activity, and ascribed it now to his greater length of limb, and habit of constant exercise and exposure. And now he was within a few feet of him, and extending his arm to place his hand on the captive's shoulder, when suddenly the ground gave way under his feet, and he was precipitated to an unknown depth, while the snow came tumbling down upon his head, blinding and covering him up, so as to leave him at first in total darkness. The astonished and confused constable, by dint of struggling and floundering about, succeeded at length in disencumbering himself of the superincumbent load of snow and cornstalks, and was able to form an idea of his situation. He found himself in a large hole, at a depth of six or seven feet below the surface of the ground, to escape from which every effort proved fruitless. In vain the entrapped Basset sprung up the sides again and again, and grasped at the snow, in hope to catch hold of some object on which to retain a hold; it yielded to his hands, and every time he fell back more and more exhausted. He endeavored to attract assistance by shouting, but it seemed as if his voice mounted no higher than to the top of the hole. He looked up. Nothing was to be seen but the moon gazing sadly upon him, and the stars winking at him their glittering eyes. Frightened and vexed, he threw himself upon the bottom of the hole, then got up, and dashing down his cap, stamped upon it in ungovernable rage, vowing vengeance against the traitor, Primus, who, he did not doubt, had led him into the snare. At first the violent exercise, and next vexation and resentment, kept him warm; but gradually the effect of the first passed off, and then the latter, without its aid, was found ineffectual to ward off the cold. The teeth of poor Basset began to chatter, and tears of anger and apprehension fell from his eyes. He started up, and again tried the walls of his prison, but they were too steep, and too slippery, to permit exit, and at last, with desperate calmness, he resigned himself to his fate, and awaited such result as Providence might send. The thought of starvation and freezing to death passed through his mind, but he was too fully convinced of the complicity of the black to believe he was ignorant of his condition, and satisfied that, however tricky, he intended no serious harm. There was comfort in the thought, and as these reflections prevailed he became more composed, while a sense of shame succeeded to that of despair. Shrugging himself together to keep warm, and lifting up his voice from time to time in a shout, if, perchance, some casual wayfarer might catch the sound, the constable waited for deliverance.

Meanwhile, Gladding, for it was no other, who personated the Solitary, and the General were cozily seated by the fire in the hut of the latter, discussing the events of the evening. The false beard was lying on a chair, and a large stone pitcher, containing cider, was placed near the centre of a table, on which the elbow of Tom was leaning, who, from time to time, replenished a mug with the liquor, which made frequent journeys to his mouth. The old General, with his pipe, was seated on the other side of the table, and appeared as fervent in his devotions to the pitcher as his guest.

"I tell you what, Prime," said Tom, "I come plaguy nigh tumbling in myself. I thought I marked the spot exactly, but somehow or other the snow light sort o' blinded me, and I stepped right on the edge, and had to spring for't like all natur'."

"Dat would a been fust rate, to catch two fox in one trap," said the General, the whites of whose eyes gleamed plainer than ever in the fire light at the thought.

"Fun for you, but not for me by a long chalk. Basset would have the best on't, too, for he'd have come right top on me. How the crittur would have crowed!"

"I hear him crow two or tree time already," said Primus, who had been to the door several times, and could detect faint sounds whenever the imprisoned Basset shouted.

"Let him try his lungs a little longer. It will clear his voice for singing school. I guess I must go to meeting next Sabbath, if for nothing else, to hear him perform."

"But I 'fraid de poor man freeze," said the compassionate General.

"Never fear, 'twon't hurt him. It will do him good to freeze some of the ugliness out of him. Besides it's best to wait awhile. Perhaps, somebody coming along will help him out, and that will save you the trouble."

"Me! Missa Gladding! what hab I to do wid it? You put him dere, and you is de one to pull him out."

"Don't be onreasonable, Prime, now. You see, if I should go, he'd know, of course, all about it. Why, he'd recollect the clothes, and next thing I should be took up for assault and battery."

"And who save me from being took up?"

"O, there ain't no danger of that. They can't git no hold on ye. You can say you hearn crying for help, and didn't know but what Holden had turned on him, and so come to assist."

Primus shook his head dubiously. He hardly knew what to reply, yet was evidently disinclined to the adventure. For that reason, perhaps, he allowed Basset to remain in durance longer than his own good-nature prompted, in the hope that relief might arrive from some other quarter.

"I vow," at last exclaimed Gladding, "if I don't believe you're afraid Basset will give you a licking."

"Basset, nor no oder man, ebber see de day nor night to make me 'fraid," said the valorous General, whose natural courage was a little stimulated by the cider he had been drinking, starting up and preparing for his expedition. "But, Missa Gladding, you promise to stand by me if dis scrape go any furder."

"Sartainly," answered Tom, "I never left a friend in the lurch, I tell you."

"Gib us you hand on dat."

Tom extended a great sledge-hammer fist, and the two shook hands in sign of inviolable fidelity.

"Now," said Tom, "I guess, I'll make myself scarce. I wouldn't have him see me in this rig for all the cider I drank to-night. There's some left in the old pitcher, so fetch him along, and comfort the critter's heart with a few swigs."

With these words, Tom took his leave, first altering somewhat the disposition of his garments, divesting himself of the sash, placing the cap higher on his brows, and depositing the false beard in his pocket, while Primus, lighting a fresh pipe, sallied forth on his errand of benevolence.

As he approached he could hear plainer the halloo which Basset occasionally emitted from his trap. The ears of the latter sharpened by expectation, caught the sound of the advancing steps, while as yet the deliverer was at too great a distance to see the hole, and his cries for assistance were redoubled.

"Help!" he cried, "help! They want to murder me. This way—here, in the old well—this way—O, Lord!"

Such were the cries that saluted the ears of Primus, as soon as he was near enough to distinguish articulate sounds.

"Who dere?" cried the General.

"O, Prime, help us out of this tarnation hole," groaned Basset.

"Onpossible! can dis be you, Missa Basset?" inquired Primus, peering over the edge of the pit. "How come you dere?"

"Don't ask no questions, now, though, I guess, you know as well as me."

"His head turn wid de scare, probumbly," soliloquized Primus, loud enough to be heard by the captive. "I curus to larn how you fall in. Ebberybody know dis hole, Missa Basset."

"Haul me out, and I'll let you know."

There was something in the tone of voice that did not at all please the General, so looking around, and observing no one in sight, for it was a lonely place, and having all the advantage on his side, he resolved to parley, and secure satisfactory terms before he delivered the prisoner.

"I bery sorry for you, Missa Basset," he said, "and if you wait awhile, I go to de village to git a rope to haul you out."

But this proposition was far from suiting the constable. Now that assistance was near at hand, he dreaded to lose it out of sight or hearing. He knew there was no necessity for procuring any rope, and feared that if Primus put his threatened plan into execution, he would bring along with him a rabble of men and boys, to jeer at and ridicule his sufferings. This now seemed worse than all he had already endured; he was, therefore, willing to make any compromise to avert the disaster.

"Don't go, don't go, Prime," begged the constable. "Just give us your hand, and pull us out of this infarnal place. There's no need of any rope."

"But suppose you pull me in arter you, what we do den? De fire would be all in de fat. Beside, you talk as if you respect me. No, I tink I be safer if oder folks be here, too."