"Are you satisfied," inquired Mr. Pownal, "with your situation at Hillsdale?"

"Perfectly," replied the young man. "My time has pa.s.sed very happily there."

"I meant it," continued Mr. Pownal, "only as an interlude. I sent you thither for the purpose of making you better acquainted with the branches of our business, intending to leave it to your choice either to remain or return to the city, and resume your place in the counting-house. I confess, the latter would suit me better, because you would be nearer to me; but consult your inclinations, and I shall be satisfied."

"My dear sir," said Pownal, with some little hesitation, "you are always kind, and since you leave it to my choice, I hope it will not offend you if I say, that for the present I should prefer to remain at Hillsdale."

"It is not at all surprising that you should wish to be with your father, whom, in so wonderful a manner, you have discovered," answered Mr. Pownal. "I am delighted with him, and his n.o.ble qualities must be restored to the world. We must find means to induce him to conquer his repugnance to society and its habits."

"I hope for such a result," said the young man, "but he is evidently now uneasy and pining for solitude."

"'Time and I against any two,' says the Spanish proverb. I'll be bound we will metamorphose him yet. Do you think the business at Hillsdale is capable of much extension?"

"I am sure of it. It may easily be doubled, and safely. I will give you my reasons for the opinion now, if you wish."

"Never mind for the present. It after all can make no difference in what I am about to say. I have been looking at your balance-sheet, and must say that, for a first year's business, you have done remarkably well. You have made very few bad debts, the sales are large, and profits satisfactory. You have the merchant in you, Thomas, and I must try to secure you for us beyond the power of loss. How would you like to become a member of the firm?"

"Sir," said Pownal, "your goodness overpowers me. No father could be more generous. You will do with me as you please. But what say your partners?"

"I have consulted with them, and they are of the same opinion as myself, and desire your admission. I have drawn up the terms, which, I hope, will please you, on this slip of paper, and that you may start to a little better advantage, have directed a small sum to be carried to your credit on the books, which you will also find jotted down on the paper."

"How can I thank you, sir?" said Pownal, receiving the paper, and preparing, without examining it, to place it in his pocket.

"But that is not like a merchant," exclaimed Mr. Pownal smiling, "to accept of a contract without looking at it. Read it, Thomas, and see if you wish to suggest any change."

"I am willing to trust my interests, my life, to you, sir, and it is unnecessary. But it is your command and I obey you."

We must allow, that the thought of becoming at some time a member of the firm, wherein he had received his mercantile education, had pa.s.sed before through the mind of Pownal, but the conditions upon which he was now admitted were favorable beyond his most sanguine expectations.

The sum of money, too, carried to the credit of his account as a capital, on which to commence, deserved a better name than that of a small sum, which the opulent merchant had called it. Pownal saw himself now at once elevated into a condition, not only to supply the wants of his father and himself, but to warrant him to cherish hopes for the success of other plans that lay very near his heart. As the thought of Anne Bernard occurred to him, and he reflected upon the goodness of his generous benefactor, it seemed, to his ingenuous mind, as if he were half guilty of a wrong in withholding any part of his confidence from Mr. Pownal, and he felt strongly tempted to admit him into the inner sanctuary of his soul. But a feeling natural in such cases, and the consideration that he was not perfectly sure his affection was returned by Anne, restrained him, and he contented himself with repeating his thanks for a generosity so much exceeding his hopes.

"Nay," said the merchant, "I must be the judge of these things. This may do to begin with. When you are married I will double it."

The tell-tale cheeks of Pownal excited the suspicions of the old gentleman, whose eyes were fastened on him as he spoke.

"Ah, ha!" cried he, laughing, "have I found you out, Thomas? I do not believe, on the whole, the bribe will be necessary. I understand now your enthusiasm about the beauties of Hillsdale. But never blush.

There's no harm in possessing good taste. I was in love twenty times before I was your age. When shall the wedding be, eh?"

"My dear sir," said Pownal smiling, "it will be time enough years hence, to think of these things. In a matter of this kind, I know of no better example to follow, than your own."

"No, no, no, Thomas, do not imitate me there; I postponed my happiness too long, and were I to commence life again, I should not crawl with such a snail's pace towards it as formerly. But I have no fear of you or that my joints will be too stiff to dance on the joyful occasion."

The parting was such as might be expected between persons brought together under circ.u.mstances so singular, where on the one side there was a sense of obligation, it was a pleasure to cherish, and on the other, the yet higher gratification of conferring happiness. As Holden wrung the hand of Mr. Pownal who accompanied them to the vessel, that was to take them home, he invoked, in his enthusiastic way, a blessing upon his head. "The Almighty bless thee," he exclaimed, "with blessings of Heaven above, and blessings of the deep that lieth under.

May thy bow abide in strength, and the arms of thy hands be made strong by the hands of the mighty G.o.d of Jacob."

Knowing how little his father prized the things of this world. Pownal had not communicated to him before their departure the liberal conduct of the n.o.ble merchant they had just left, but now, in a conversation one day, in which they reviewed the past, and, notwithstanding the Solitary's faith in the speedy coming of a mighty change, speculated on the future, he disclosed the last evidence of the affection of his preserver. Holden listened with a gratified air, for how could he be otherwise than pleased that the worth and amiable qualities of his son, had awakened so deep an interest in the heart of another, but replied,

"It was well meant, but unnecessary. Thou hast no need of the gold and silver of others."

The young man, supposing his father had reference to his peculiar religious notions, was silent, for it was a subject which could not be adverted to without great delicacy, and danger of vehement bursts of enthusiasm.

"Thou comprehendest me not," said Holden. "I say thou art in no want of the dross with which men buy, to their grief and shame, the deluding vanities of the world."

"If it is your wish, father, I will return the gift," said Pownal, "though I know it will hurt the generous heart of the giver."

"I interpose not. No voice calleth me thereto. But my meaning is still dark, and I know not whether it is best to admit thee fully to my counsels. Yet, thus much mayest thou now know, and more shalt thou know hereafter, that thy father is no pauper, to crave the wealth of others, and that his poverty is voluntary. The body is kept poor, that divine grace may the more readily enrich the soul."

"Believe me, sir, I do not wish to intrude into anything which it is your desire to keep secret."

"There is nothing secret that shall not be revealed," exclaimed Holden, catching at the last word, "but everything in its own order.

Let it satisfy thee, therefore, my son, to know for the present that thy father hath but to stretch forth his hand and it shall be filled, but to knock and it shall be opened. But this is not the day, nor for my own sake, should the clock of time ever strike the hour, when that which was thrown away shall be taken again, that which was despised shall be valued. Yet because of thee may I not lawfully withhold the hand, and as I gaze upon thy fair young face, thou seemest one whose spirit is so balanced that what men call prosperity will not hurt thee. But affection is blind, and my heart may deceive me, and therefore will I wait until He speaks who cannot lead astray or deceive."

It was partly to himself, and partly to his son, that the Solitary spoke, nor was Pownal at all certain that he comprehended his meaning.

He had at first fancied, his father was offended at his acceptance of the rich merchant's bounty, but he soon saw that Holden regarded money too little to consider the mere giving or receiving of it as of much consequence. Upon further reflection, and a consideration of the manner in which his father had lived for so many years, the idea which yet seemed shadowed forth by his language, that he was possessed of property, appeared utterly chimerical. He was therefore disposed to attach to his father's words some mystical sense, or to suppose that he imagined himself in possession of a secret, by means of which he could command the wealth he scorned. Of course the young man considered such antic.i.p.ations as visionary as the immediate coming of that millenium for which the longing eyes of the enthusiast daily looked forth.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

From yon blue heavens, above us bent, The gard'ner Adam and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent: Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only n.o.ble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, And simple faith than Norman blood.

TENNYSON.

The news of the discovery of the relationship between Holden and Pownal had reached Hillsdale before their arrival, and the friends and acquaintances of both, comprising pretty much the whole village, hastened to present their congratulations. Many supposed now they had obtained a clue to the singularities of the Solitary, and expected that since he had recovered his son, he would resume the habits of ordinary life. But nothing seemed further from Holden's intention. In spite of the entreaties of his son, and the remonstrances of those few who ventured to speak to him on the subject, he returned on the very day of their arrival to his cabin. It was, however, with no harshness, but with gentle and even exculpatory language, he refused their request.

"Think not hard of me, my son, nor you, kind friends," he said, "if my ears are deaf to your solicitations. The old man is weary and seeketh rest. The trembling nerves still quiver to the cries of the hors.e.m.e.n and the rattling of chariots, nor may the tumult pa.s.s away till old sights and sounds stealing in with soft ministry compose the excited yet not unpleased spirit. I would gladly in solitude lay my tired head on the bosom of the Father, and thank Him in the silence of His works for mercies exceeding thought."

Holden, however, could not refuse to allow his son to accompany him, and to provide such little necessaries, as were esteemed essential to his comfort. But he permitted the young man to remain only a short time. "Go," he said, "the world is bright before thee; enjoy its transient sunshine. The time may come when even thou, with hope and confidence in thy heart, and heaven in thine eyes, shalt say, 'I have no pleasure therein.'" Pownal therefore returned to Hillsdale, without reluctance it may be supposed, when we add, that the same evening found him at the house of Mr. Bernard. It will be recollected he had commissions to execute for both the Judge and his wife, but if the reader thinks that not a sufficient reason why he should call upon them so soon, we have no objection to his adopting any other conjecture, even to the extravagant supposition, that there was some magnet to attract the young man's wandering feet.

It was a happy evening Pownal spent at the Judge's house. All seemed glad to see him again, and expressed their delight and wonder at the discovery of his parent. And yet the young man could not help fancying there was a greater difference between his reception by the members of the family, than he had been accustomed to. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard, indeed, were equally cordial as of old, but Anne, though she tendered him her hand with her usual frankness, and allowed it to linger in his, appeared graver, and less disposed to indulge an exuberance of spirits, while William Bernard was evidently more distant, and formal.

There was, however, no want of politeness on his part, for he mingled with his usual grace and intelligence in the conversation, and the change was perceptible rather in the omission of old terms of familiarity, than in any manifestation of coldness. He seemed to pay the same attention, and evince a like interest with the rest, in the particulars of the adventures of Pownal, which, at the request of Mrs.

Bernard, he narrated. Had a stranger, or one who saw the two young men together for the first time, been present, he would have noticed nothing inconsistent with ordinary friendship, but Pownal compared the present with the past, and his jealous sensitiveness detected a something wanting. But for all that, his enjoyment, though it might be lessened, was not, as we have intimated, destroyed. He half suspected the cause, and his proud spirit rose with resentment. But so long as he enjoyed the esteem of the parents, and was a welcome visitor at their house, and Miss Bernard treated him with unabated regard, he could well afford, he thought, to pa.s.s by without notice humors, which, in his changed condition, he considered equally unreasonable and absurd. For, he was no longer a mere clerk, without position in society, but the member of a long-established and wealthy firm, and a favorite of its head, who seemed to have taken the fortunes of his young partner into his own hands, with a determination to secure their success. True, he was the son of a poor and eccentric man, but no dishonor was attached to his father's name, and so far as education and genuine refinement were concerned, he was the equal of any, and the superior of most, by whom he was surrounded. With far different feelings, therefore, from those in the earlier period of his acquaintance with Miss Bernard, when he discovered she was becoming dearer to him than prudence permitted, did he now approach her. He dared to look forward to the time when it would be no presumption to avow his feelings.

The cause of William Bernard's coldness will be better understood by a reference to a conversation between him and his sister, shortly before the return of Pownal to Hillsdale. Rumor, with her thousand tongues, had been busy, and, as is not unusual on such occasions, embellished the story with innumerable fanciful ornaments. The brother and sister had both heard the reports, and they were the subject of their discussion.

"Why, Anne!" said William, "this is more wonderful than Robinson Crusoe, or the Children of the Abbey. How do you think Pownal, or Mr.

Holden, as I suppose we must call him now, relishes the relationship?"

"How, William, can he be otherwise than glad to find a father?"

replied his sister.

"A vast deal depends upon who the father is."

"What! is it you who speak so?" cried Anne, with sparkling eyes. "What is there in the father unworthy of the son?"

"Were I now in Pownal's place, I should have preferred to discover a parent in some one else than in a half crazy man, who supports himself by basket-making."

"And can you not," said his sister, indignantly, "under the mask which circ.u.mstances have imposed upon him, detect the n.o.ble-hearted gentleman? This is not at all like you, William, and I think his very misfortunes ought to be a pa.s.sport to your kindness."