VI.
_A STRANGE COAT FOR A QUAKER._
Now, Virginia Villars was the very last person by whom Penn would havewished to be seen. He was well aware how utterly grotesque and ludicroushe must appear. But he was not in a condition to be very fastidious onthis point. Stunned by blows, stripped of his clothing (which could notbe put on again, for reasons), cruelly suffering from the violence donehim, exposed to the cold, excluded from Mrs. Sprowl's virtuous abode, hehad no choice but to seek the protection of those whom he believed to behis truest friends.
In the little sitting-room of the blind old minister he had always beengladly welcomed. Such minds as his were rare in Curryville. His purityof thought, his Christian charity, his ardent love of justice, and(quite as much as any thing) his delight in the free and friendlydiscussion of principles, whether moral, political, or theological, madehim a great favorite with the lonely old man. His coming made the winterevenings bloom. Then the aged clergyman, deprived of sight, bereft ofthe companionship of books, and of the varied consolations of an activelife, felt his heart warmed and his brain enlivened by the wine ofconversation. He and Penn, to be sure, did not always agree. Especiallyon the subject of _non-resistance_ they had many warm and well-contestedarguments; the young Quaker manifesting, by his zeal in the controversy,that he had an abundance of "fight" in him without knowing it.
Nor to Mr. Villars alone did Penn's visits bring pleasure. Theydelighted equally young Carl and old Toby. And Virginia? Why, beingaltogether devoted to her blind parent, for whose happiness she couldnever do enough, she was, of course, enchanted with the attentions shesaw Penn pay _him_. That was all; at least, the dear girl thought thatwas all.
As for Salina, forsaken spouse of the gay Lysander Sprowl, she too,after sulkily brooding over her misfortunes all day, was glad enough tohave any intelligent person come in and break the monotony of her sadlife in the evening.
Such were Penn's relations with the family to whom alone he durst applyfor refuge in his distress. Others might indeed have ventured to shelterhim; but they, like Stackridge, were hated Unionists, and any mercyshown to him would have brought evil upon themselves. Mr. Villars,however, blind and venerated old man, had sufficient influence over thepeople, Penn believed, to serve as a protection to his household evenwith him in it.
So hither he came--how unwillingly let the proud and sensitive judge.For Penn, though belonging to the meekest of sects, was of a soul bynature aspiring and proud. He had the good sense to know that theoutrage committed on him was in reality no disgrace, except to thoseguilty of perpetrating it. Yet no one likes to appear ridiculous. Andthe man of elevated spirit instinctively shrinks from making known hismisfortunes even to his best friends; he is ashamed of that for which heis in no sense to blame, and he would rather suffer heroically insecret, than become an object of pity.
Most of all, as I have said, Penn dreaded the pure Virginia's eyes. Mr.Villars could not see him, and for Salina he did not caremuch--singularly enough, for she alone was of an acrid and sarcastictemper. What he devoutly desired was, to creep quietly to the kitchendoor, call out Carl if he was there, or secretly make known hiscondition to old Toby, and thus obtain admission to the house,seclusion, and assistance, without letting Virginia, or her father even,know of his presence.
How this honest wish was thwarted we have seen. When the door was firstopened, he had turned to fly. But that was cowardly; so he returned, andknocked, and called the negro by name, to reassure him. And the door wasonce more opened, and Virginia saw him--recognized him--knew in aninstant what brutal deed had been done, and covered her eyesinstinctively to shut out the hideous sight.
But it was no time to indulge in feelings of false modesty, if she feltany. It was no time to be weak, or foolish, or frightened, or ashamed.
"It is Penn!" she exclaimed in a burst of indignation and grief. "Toby!Toby! you great stupid----! what are you staring for? Take him in! whydon't you? O, father!" And she threw herself on the old man's bosom, andhid her face.
"What has happened to Penn?" asked the old man.
"I have been tarred-and-feathered," answered Penn, entering, and closingthe door behind him. "And I have been shut out of Mrs. Sprowl's house.This is my excuse for coming here. I must go somewhere, you know!"
"And where but here?" answered the old man. He had suppressed anoutburst of feeling, and now stood calm, compassionating, extending hishands,--his staff fallen upon the floor. "I feared it might come tothis! Terrible times are upon us, and you are only one of the first tosuffer. You did well to come to us. Are you hurt?"
"I hardly know," replied Penn. "I beg of you, don't be alarmed ortroubled. I hope you will excuse me. I know I am a fearful object tolook at, and did not intend to be seen."
He stood holding the bed-tick over him, and his clothes before him, toconceal as much as possible his hideous guise, suffering, in that momentof pause, unutterable things. Was ever a hero of romance in such adismal plight? Surely no writer of fiction would venture to show hishero in so ridiculous and damaging an aspect. But this is not altogethera romance, and I must relate facts as they occurred.
"Do not be sorry that I have seen you," said Virginia, lifting her faceagain, flashing with tears. "I see in this shameful disguise only theshame of those who have so cruelly treated you! Toby will help you. Andthere is Carl at last!"
She retreated from the room by one door just as Carl and Stackridgeentered by the other.
Poor Penn! gentle and shrinking Penn! it was painful enough for him tomeet even these coarser eyes, friendly though they were. The shock uponhis system had been terrible; and now, his strength and resolutiongiving way, his bewildered senses began to reel, and he swooned in thefarmer's arms.