VIII The Pyncheon of To-day
PHOEBE, on entering the shop, beheld there the already familiar face ofthe little devourer--if we can reckon his mighty deeds aright--of JimCrow, the elephant, the camel, the dromedaries, and the locomotive.Having expended his private fortune, on the two preceding days, in thepurchase of the above unheard-of luxuries, the young gentleman'spresent errand was on the part of his mother, in quest of three eggsand half a pound of raisins. These articles Phoebe accordinglysupplied, and, as a mark of gratitude for his previous patronage, and aslight super-added morsel after breakfast, put likewise into his hand awhale! The great fish, reversing his experience with the prophet ofNineveh, immediately began his progress down the same red pathway offate whither so varied a caravan had preceded him. This remarkableurchin, in truth, was the very emblem of old Father Time, both inrespect of his all-devouring appetite for men and things, and becausehe, as well as Time, after ingulfing thus much of creation, lookedalmost as youthful as if he had been just that moment made.
After partly closing the door, the child turned back, and mumbledsomething to Phoebe, which, as the whale was but half disposed of, shecould not perfectly understand.
"What did you say, my little fellow?" asked she.
"Mother wants to know" repeated Ned Higgins more distinctly, "how OldMaid Pyncheon's brother does? Folks say he has got home."
"My cousin Hepzibah's brother?" exclaimed Phoebe, surprised at thissudden explanation of the relationship between Hepzibah and her guest."Her brother! And where can he have been?"
The little boy only put his thumb to his broad snub-nose, with thatlook of shrewdness which a child, spending much of his time in thestreet, so soon learns to throw over his features, howeverunintelligent in themselves. Then as Phoebe continued to gaze at him,without answering his mother's message, he took his departure.
As the child went down the steps, a gentleman ascended them, and madehis entrance into the shop. It was the portly, and, had it possessedthe advantage of a little more height, would have been the statelyfigure of a man considerably in the decline of life, dressed in a blacksuit of some thin stuff, resembling broadcloth as closely as possible.A gold-headed cane, of rare Oriental wood, added materially to the highrespectability of his aspect, as did also a neckcloth of the utmostsnowy purity, and the conscientious polish of his boots. His dark,square countenance, with its almost shaggy depth of eyebrows, wasnaturally impressive, and would, perhaps, have been rather stern, hadnot the gentleman considerately taken upon himself to mitigate theharsh effect by a look of exceeding good-humor and benevolence. Owing,however, to a somewhat massive accumulation of animal substance aboutthe lower region of his face, the look was, perhaps, unctuous ratherthan spiritual, and had, so to speak, a kind of fleshly effulgence, notaltogether so satisfactory as he doubtless intended it to be. Asusceptible observer, at any rate, might have regarded it as affordingvery little evidence of the general benignity of soul whereof itpurported to be the outward reflection. And if the observer chanced tobe ill-natured, as well as acute and susceptible, he would probablysuspect that the smile on the gentleman's face was a good deal akin tothe shine on his boots, and that each must have cost him and hisboot-black, respectively, a good deal of hard labor to bring out andpreserve them.
As the stranger entered the little shop, where the projection of thesecond story and the thick foliage of the elm-tree, as well as thecommodities at the window, created a sort of gray medium, his smilegrew as intense as if he had set his heart on counteracting the wholegloom of the atmosphere (besides any moral gloom pertaining to Hepzibahand her inmates) by the unassisted light of his countenance. Onperceiving a young rose-bud of a girl, instead of the gaunt presence ofthe old maid, a look of surprise was manifest. He at first knit hisbrows; then smiled with more unctuous benignity than ever.
"Ah, I see how it is!" said he in a deep voice,--a voice which, had itcome from the throat of an uncultivated man, would have been gruff,but, by dint of careful training, was now sufficiently agreeable,--"Iwas not aware that Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon had commenced business undersuch favorable auspices. You are her assistant, I suppose?"
"I certainly am," answered Phoebe, and added, with a little air oflady-like assumption (for, civil as the gentleman was, he evidentlytook her to be a young person serving for wages), "I am a cousin ofMiss Hepzibah, on a visit to her."
"Her cousin?--and from the country? Pray pardon me, then," said thegentleman, bowing and smiling, as Phoebe never had been bowed to norsmiled on before; "in that case, we must be better acquainted; for,unless I am sadly mistaken, you are my own little kinswoman likewise!Let me see,--Mary?--Dolly?--Phoebe?--yes, Phoebe is the name! Is itpossible that you are Phoebe Pyncheon, only child of my dear cousin andclassmate, Arthur? Ah, I see your father now, about your mouth! Yes,yes! we must be better acquainted! I am your kinsman, my dear. Surelyyou must have heard of Judge Pyncheon?"
As Phoebe curtsied in reply, the Judge bent forward, with thepardonable and even praiseworthy purpose--considering the nearness ofblood and the difference of age--of bestowing on his young relative akiss of acknowledged kindred and natural affection. Unfortunately(without design, or only with such instinctive design as gives noaccount of itself to the intellect) Phoebe, just at the criticalmoment, drew back; so that her highly respectable kinsman, with hisbody bent over the counter and his lips protruded, was betrayed intothe rather absurd predicament of kissing the empty air. It was amodern parallel to the case of Ixion embracing a cloud, and was so muchthe more ridiculous as the Judge prided himself on eschewing all airymatter, and never mistaking a shadow for a substance. The truthwas,--and it is Phoebe's only excuse,--that, although Judge Pyncheon'sglowing benignity might not be absolutely unpleasant to the femininebeholder, with the width of a street, or even an ordinary-sized room,interposed between, yet it became quite too intense, when this dark,full-fed physiognomy (so roughly bearded, too, that no razor could evermake it smooth) sought to bring itself into actual contact with theobject of its regards. The man, the sex, somehow or other, wasentirely too prominent in the Judge's demonstrations of that sort.Phoebe's eyes sank, and, without knowing why, she felt herself blushingdeeply under his look. Yet she had been kissed before, and withoutany particular squeamishness, by perhaps half a dozen differentcousins, younger as well as older than this dark-browned,grisly-bearded, white-neck-clothed, and unctuously-benevolent Judge!Then, why not by him?
On raising her eyes, Phoebe was startled by the change in JudgePyncheon's face. It was quite as striking, allowing for the differenceof scale, as that betwixt a landscape under a broad sunshine and justbefore a thunder-storm; not that it had the passionate intensity of thelatter aspect, but was cold, hard, immitigable, like a day-longbrooding cloud.
"Dear me! what is to be done now?" thought the country-girl to herself."He looks as if there were nothing softer in him than a rock, normilder than the east wind! I meant no harm! Since he is really mycousin, I would have let him kiss me, if I could!"
Then, all at once, it struck Phoebe that this very Judge Pyncheon wasthe original of the miniature which the daguerreotypist had shown herin the garden, and that the hard, stern, relentless look, now on hisface, was the same that the sun had so inflexibly persisted in bringingout. Was it, therefore, no momentary mood, but, however skilfullyconcealed, the settled temper of his life? And not merely so, but wasit hereditary in him, and transmitted down, as a precious heirloom,from that bearded ancestor, in whose picture both the expression and,to a singular degree, the features of the modern Judge were shown as bya kind of prophecy? A deeper philosopher than Phoebe might have foundsomething very terrible in this idea. It implied that the weaknessesand defects, the bad passions, the mean tendencies, and the moraldiseases which lead to crime are handed down from one generation toanother, by a far surer process of transmission than human law has beenable to establish in respect to the riches and honors which it seeks toentail upon posterity.
But, as it
happened, scarcely had Phoebe's eyes rested again on theJudge's countenance than all its ugly sternness vanished; and she foundherself quite overpowered by the sultry, dog-day heat, as it were, ofbenevolence, which this excellent man diffused out of his great heartinto the surrounding atmosphere,--very much like a serpent, which, as apreliminary to fascination, is said to fill the air with his peculiarodor.
"I like that, Cousin Phoebe!" cried he, with an emphatic nod ofapprobation. "I like it much, my little cousin! You are a good child,and know how to take care of yourself. A young girl--especially if shebe a very pretty one--can never be too chary of her lips."
"Indeed, sir," said Phoebe, trying to laugh the matter off, "I did notmean to be unkind."
Nevertheless, whether or no it were entirely owing to the inauspiciouscommencement of their acquaintance, she still acted under a certainreserve, which was by no means customary to her frank and genialnature. The fantasy would not quit her, that the original Puritan, ofwhom she had heard so many sombre traditions,--the progenitor of thewhole race of New England Pyncheons, the founder of the House of theSeven Gables, and who had died so strangely in it,--had now stept intothe shop. In these days of off-hand equipment, the matter was easilyenough arranged. On his arrival from the other world, he had merelyfound it necessary to spend a quarter of an hour at a barber's, who hadtrimmed down the Puritan's full beard into a pair of grizzled whiskers,then, patronizing a ready-made clothing establishment, he had exchangedhis velvet doublet and sable cloak, with the richly worked band underhis chin, for a white collar and cravat, coat, vest, and pantaloons;and lastly, putting aside his steel-hilted broadsword to take up agold-headed cane, the Colonel Pyncheon of two centuries ago stepsforward as the Judge of the passing moment!
Of course, Phoebe was far too sensible a girl to entertain this idea inany other way than as matter for a smile. Possibly, also, could thetwo personages have stood together before her eye, many points ofdifference would have been perceptible, and perhaps only a generalresemblance. The long lapse of intervening years, in a climate sounlike that which had fostered the ancestral Englishman, mustinevitably have wrought important changes in the physical system of hisdescendant. The Judge's volume of muscle could hardly be the same asthe Colonel's; there was undoubtedly less beef in him. Though lookedupon as a weighty man among his contemporaries in respect of animalsubstance, and as favored with a remarkable degree of fundamentaldevelopment, well adapting him for the judicial bench, we conceive thatthe modern Judge Pyncheon, if weighed in the same balance with hisancestor, would have required at least an old-fashioned fifty-six tokeep the scale in equilibrio. Then the Judge's face had lost the ruddyEnglish hue that showed its warmth through all the duskiness of theColonel's weather-beaten cheek, and had taken a sallow shade, theestablished complexion of his countrymen. If we mistake not, moreover,a certain quality of nervousness had become more or less manifest, evenin so solid a specimen of Puritan descent as the gentleman now underdiscussion. As one of its effects, it bestowed on his countenance aquicker mobility than the old Englishman's had possessed, and keenervivacity, but at the expense of a sturdier something, on which theseacute endowments seemed to act like dissolving acids. This process,for aught we know, may belong to the great system of human progress,which, with every ascending footstep, as it diminishes the necessityfor animal force, may be destined gradually to spiritualize us, byrefining away our grosser attributes of body. If so, Judge Pyncheoncould endure a century or two more of such refinement as well as mostother men.
The similarity, intellectual and moral, between the Judge and hisancestor appears to have been at least as strong as the resemblance ofmien and feature would afford reason to anticipate. In old ColonelPyncheon's funeral discourse the clergyman absolutely canonized hisdeceased parishioner, and opening, as it were, a vista through the roofof the church, and thence through the firmament above, showed himseated, harp in hand, among the crowned choristers of the spiritualworld. On his tombstone, too, the record is highly eulogistic; nordoes history, so far as he holds a place upon its page, assail theconsistency and uprightness of his character. So also, as regards theJudge Pyncheon of to-day, neither clergyman, nor legal critic, norinscriber of tombstones, nor historian of general or local politics,would venture a word against this eminent person's sincerity as aChristian, or respectability as a man, or integrity as a judge, orcourage and faithfulness as the often-tried representative of hispolitical party. But, besides these cold, formal, and empty words ofthe chisel that inscribes, the voice that speaks, and the pen thatwrites, for the public eye and for distant time,--and which inevitablylose much of their truth and freedom by the fatal consciousness of sodoing,--there were traditions about the ancestor, and private diurnalgossip about the Judge, remarkably accordant in their testimony. It isoften instructive to take the woman's, the private and domestic, viewof a public man; nor can anything be more curious than the vastdiscrepancy between portraits intended for engraving and thepencil-sketches that pass from hand to hand behind the original's back.
For example: tradition affirmed that the Puritan had been greedy ofwealth; the Judge, too, with all the show of liberal expenditure, wassaid to be as close-fisted as if his gripe were of iron. The ancestorhad clothed himself in a grim assumption of kindliness, a roughheartiness of word and manner, which most people took to be the genuinewarmth of nature, making its way through the thick and inflexible hideof a manly character. His descendant, in compliance with therequirements of a nicer age, had etherealized this rude benevolenceinto that broad benignity of smile wherewith he shone like a noondaysun along the streets, or glowed like a household fire in thedrawing-rooms of his private acquaintance. The Puritan--if not beliedby some singular stories, murmured, even at this day, under thenarrator's breath--had fallen into certain transgressions to which menof his great animal development, whatever their faith or principles,must continue liable, until they put off impurity, along with the grossearthly substance that involves it. We must not stain our page withany contemporary scandal, to a similar purport, that may have beenwhispered against the Judge. The Puritan, again, an autocrat in hisown household, had worn out three wives, and, merely by the remorselessweight and hardness of his character in the conjugal relation, had sentthem, one after another, broken-hearted, to their graves. Here theparallel, in some sort, fails. The Judge had wedded but a single wife,and lost her in the third or fourth year of their marriage. There wasa fable, however,--for such we choose to consider it, though, notimpossibly, typical of Judge Pyncheon's marital deportment,--that thelady got her death-blow in the honeymoon, and never smiled again,because her husband compelled her to serve him with coffee everymorning at his bedside, in token of fealty to her liege-lord and master.
But it is too fruitful a subject, this of hereditary resemblances,--thefrequent recurrence of which, in a direct line, is truly unaccountable,when we consider how large an accumulation of ancestry lies behindevery man at the distance of one or two centuries. We shall only add,therefore, that the Puritan--so, at least, says chimney-cornertradition, which often preserves traits of character with marvellousfidelity--was bold, imperious, relentless, crafty; laying his purposesdeep, and following them out with an inveteracy of pursuit that knewneither rest nor conscience; trampling on the weak, and, when essentialto his ends, doing his utmost to beat down the strong. Whether theJudge in any degree resembled him, the further progress of ournarrative may show.
Scarcely any of the items in the above-drawn parallel occurred toPhoebe, whose country birth and residence, in truth, had left herpitifully ignorant of most of the family traditions, which lingered,like cobwebs and incrustations of smoke, about the rooms andchimney-corners of the House of the Seven Gables. Yet there was acircumstance, very trifling in itself, which impressed her with an odddegree of horror. She had heard of the anathema flung by Maule, theexecuted wizard, against Colonel Pyncheon and his posterity,--that Godwould give them blood to drink,--and likewise of the popular notion,that this miraculous b
lood might now and then be heard gurgling intheir throats. The latter scandal--as became a person of sense, and,more especially, a member of the Pyncheon family--Phoebe had set downfor the absurdity which it unquestionably was. But ancientsuperstitions, after being steeped in human hearts and embodied inhuman breath, and passing from lip to ear in manifold repetition,through a series of generations, become imbued with an effect of homelytruth. The smoke of the domestic hearth has scented them through andthrough. By long transmission among household facts, they grow to looklike them, and have such a familiar way of making themselves at homethat their influence is usually greater than we suspect. Thus ithappened, that when Phoebe heard a certain noise in Judge Pyncheon'sthroat,--rather habitual with him, not altogether voluntary, yetindicative of nothing, unless it were a slight bronchial complaint, or,as some people hinted, an apoplectic symptom,--when the girl heard thisqueer and awkward ingurgitation (which the writer never did hear, andtherefore cannot describe), she very foolishly started, and clasped herhands.
Of course, it was exceedingly ridiculous in Phoebe to be discomposed bysuch a trifle, and still more unpardonable to show her discomposure tothe individual most concerned in it. But the incident chimed in sooddly with her previous fancies about the Colonel and the Judge, that,for the moment, it seemed quite to mingle their identity.
"What is the matter with you, young woman?" said Judge Pyncheon, givingher one of his harsh looks. "Are you afraid of anything?"
"Oh, nothing, sir--nothing in the world!" answered Phoebe, with alittle laugh of vexation at herself. "But perhaps you wish to speakwith my cousin Hepzibah. Shall I call her?"
"Stay a moment, if you please," said the Judge, again beaming sunshineout of his face. "You seem to be a little nervous this morning. Thetown air, Cousin Phoebe, does not agree with your good, wholesomecountry habits. Or has anything happened to disturb you?--anythingremarkable in Cousin Hepzibah's family?-- An arrival, eh? I thoughtso! No wonder you are out of sorts, my little cousin. To be an inmatewith such a guest may well startle an innocent young girl!"
"You quite puzzle me, sir," replied Phoebe, gazing inquiringly at theJudge. "There is no frightful guest in the house, but only a poor,gentle, childlike man, whom I believe to be Cousin Hepzibah's brother.I am afraid (but you, sir, will know better than I) that he is notquite in his sound senses; but so mild and quiet he seems to be, that amother might trust her baby with him; and I think he would play withthe baby as if he were only a few years older than itself. He startleme!--Oh, no indeed!"
"I rejoice to hear so favorable and so ingenuous an account of mycousin Clifford," said the benevolent Judge. "Many years ago, when wewere boys and young men together, I had a great affection for him, andstill feel a tender interest in all his concerns. You say, CousinPhoebe, he appears to be weak minded. Heaven grant him at least enoughof intellect to repent of his past sins!"
"Nobody, I fancy," observed Phoebe, "can have fewer to repent of."
"And is it possible, my dear," rejoined the Judge, with a commiseratinglook, "that you have never heard of Clifford Pyncheon?--that you knownothing of his history? Well, it is all right; and your mother hasshown a very proper regard for the good name of the family with whichshe connected herself. Believe the best you can of this unfortunateperson, and hope the best! It is a rule which Christians should alwaysfollow, in their judgments of one another; and especially is it rightand wise among near relatives, whose characters have necessarily adegree of mutual dependence. But is Clifford in the parlor? I willjust step in and see."
"Perhaps, sir, I had better call my cousin Hepzibah," said Phoebe;hardly knowing, however, whether she ought to obstruct the entrance ofso affectionate a kinsman into the private regions of the house. "Herbrother seemed to be just falling asleep after breakfast; and I am sureshe would not like him to be disturbed. Pray, sir, let me give hernotice!"
But the Judge showed a singular determination to enter unannounced; andas Phoebe, with the vivacity of a person whose movements unconsciouslyanswer to her thoughts, had stepped towards the door, he used little orno ceremony in putting her aside.
"No, no, Miss Phoebe!" said Judge Pyncheon in a voice as deep as athunder-growl, and with a frown as black as the cloud whence it issues."Stay you here! I know the house, and know my cousin Hepzibah, and knowher brother Clifford likewise.--nor need my little country cousin putherself to the trouble of announcing me!"--in these latter words, bythe bye, there were symptoms of a change from his sudden harshness intohis previous benignity of manner. "I am at home here, Phoebe, you mustrecollect, and you are the stranger. I will just step in, therefore,and see for myself how Clifford is, and assure him and Hepzibah of mykindly feelings and best wishes. It is right, at this juncture, thatthey should both hear from my own lips how much I desire to serve them.Ha! here is Hepzibah herself!"
Such was the case. The vibrations of the Judge's voice had reached theold gentlewoman in the parlor, where she sat, with face averted,waiting on her brother's slumber. She now issued forth, as wouldappear, to defend the entrance, looking, we must needs say, amazinglylike the dragon which, in fairy tales, is wont to be the guardian overan enchanted beauty. The habitual scowl of her brow was undeniably toofierce, at this moment, to pass itself off on the innocent score ofnear-sightedness; and it was bent on Judge Pyncheon in a way thatseemed to confound, if not alarm him, so inadequately had he estimatedthe moral force of a deeply grounded antipathy. She made a repellinggesture with her hand, and stood a perfect picture of prohibition, atfull length, in the dark frame of the doorway. But we must betrayHepzibah's secret, and confess that the native timorousness of hercharacter even now developed itself in a quick tremor, which, to herown perception, set each of her joints at variance with its fellows.
Possibly, the Judge was aware how little true hardihood lay behindHepzibah's formidable front. At any rate, being a gentleman of steadynerves, he soon recovered himself, and failed not to approach hiscousin with outstretched hand; adopting the sensible precaution,however, to cover his advance with a smile, so broad and sultry, that,had it been only half as warm as it looked, a trellis of grapes mightat once have turned purple under its summer-like exposure. It may havebeen his purpose, indeed, to melt poor Hepzibah on the spot, as if shewere a figure of yellow wax.
"Hepzibah, my beloved cousin, I am rejoiced!" exclaimed the Judge mostemphatically. "Now, at length, you have something to live for. Yes,and all of us, let me say, your friends and kindred, have more to livefor than we had yesterday. I have lost no time in hastening to offerany assistance in my power towards making Clifford comfortable. Hebelongs to us all. I know how much he requires,--how much he used torequire,--with his delicate taste, and his love of the beautiful.Anything in my house,--pictures, books, wine, luxuries of thetable,--he may command them all! It would afford me most heartfeltgratification to see him! Shall I step in, this moment?"
"No," replied Hepzibah, her voice quivering too painfully to allow ofmany words. "He cannot see visitors!"
"A visitor, my dear cousin!--do you call me so?" cried the Judge, whosesensibility, it seems, was hurt by the coldness of the phrase. "Nay,then, let me be Clifford's host, and your own likewise. Come at onceto my house. The country air, and all the conveniences,--I may sayluxuries,--that I have gathered about me, will do wonders for him. Andyou and I, dear Hepzibah, will consult together, and watch together,and labor together, to make our dear Clifford happy. Come! why shouldwe make more words about what is both a duty and a pleasure on my part?Come to me at once!"
On hearing these so hospitable offers, and such generous recognition ofthe claims of kindred, Phoebe felt very much in the mood of running upto Judge Pyncheon, and giving him, of her own accord, the kiss fromwhich she had so recently shrunk away. It was quite otherwise withHepzibah; the Judge's smile seemed to operate on her acerbity of heartlike sunshine upon vinegar, making it ten times sourer than ever.
"Clifford," said she,--still too agitated to utter more than an abr
uptsentence,--"Clifford has a home here!"
"May Heaven forgive you, Hepzibah," said Judge Pyncheon,--reverentlylifting his eyes towards that high court of equity to which heappealed,--"if you suffer any ancient prejudice or animosity to weighwith you in this matter. I stand here with an open heart, willing andanxious to receive yourself and Clifford into it. Do not refuse mygood offices,--my earnest propositions for your welfare! They are such,in all respects, as it behooves your nearest kinsman to make. It willbe a heavy responsibility, cousin, if you confine your brother to thisdismal house and stifled air, when the delightful freedom of mycountry-seat is at his command."
"It would never suit Clifford," said Hepzibah, as briefly as before.
"Woman!" broke forth the Judge, giving way to his resentment, "what isthe meaning of all this? Have you other resources? Nay, I suspected asmuch! Take care, Hepzibah, take care! Clifford is on the brink of asblack a ruin as ever befell him yet! But why do I talk with you, womanas you are? Make way!--I must see Clifford!"
Hepzibah spread out her gaunt figure across the door, and seemed reallyto increase in bulk; looking the more terrible, also, because there wasso much terror and agitation in her heart. But Judge Pyncheon'sevident purpose of forcing a passage was interrupted by a voice fromthe inner room; a weak, tremulous, wailing voice, indicating helplessalarm, with no more energy for self-defence than belongs to afrightened infant.
"Hepzibah, Hepzibah!" cried the voice; "go down on your knees to him!Kiss his feet! Entreat him not to come in! Oh, let him have mercy onme! Mercy! mercy!"
For the instant, it appeared doubtful whether it were not the Judge'sresolute purpose to set Hepzibah aside, and step across the thresholdinto the parlor, whence issued that broken and miserable murmur ofentreaty. It was not pity that restrained him, for, at the first soundof the enfeebled voice, a red fire kindled in his eyes, and he made aquick pace forward, with something inexpressibly fierce and grimdarkening forth, as it were, out of the whole man. To know JudgePyncheon was to see him at that moment. After such a revelation, lethim smile with what sultriness he would, he could much sooner turngrapes purple, or pumpkins yellow, than melt the iron-brandedimpression out of the beholder's memory. And it rendered his aspectnot the less, but more frightful, that it seemed not to express wrathor hatred, but a certain hot fellness of purpose, which annihilatedeverything but itself.
Yet, after all, are we not slandering an excellent and amiable man?Look at the Judge now! He is apparently conscious of having erred, intoo energetically pressing his deeds of loving-kindness on personsunable to appreciate them. He will await their better mood, and holdhimself as ready to assist them then as at this moment. As he drawsback from the door, an all-comprehensive benignity blazes from hisvisage, indicating that he gathers Hepzibah, little Phoebe, and theinvisible Clifford, all three, together with the whole world besides,into his immense heart, and gives them a warm bath in its flood ofaffection.
"You do me great wrong, dear Cousin Hepzibah!" said he, first kindlyoffering her his hand, and then drawing on his glove preparatory todeparture. "Very great wrong! But I forgive it, and will study to makeyou think better of me. Of course, our poor Clifford being in sounhappy a state of mind, I cannot think of urging an interview atpresent. But I shall watch over his welfare as if he were my ownbeloved brother; nor do I at all despair, my dear cousin, ofconstraining both him and you to acknowledge your injustice. When thatshall happen, I desire no other revenge than your acceptance of thebest offices in my power to do you."
With a bow to Hepzibah, and a degree of paternal benevolence in hisparting nod to Phoebe, the Judge left the shop, and went smiling alongthe street. As is customary with the rich, when they aim at the honorsof a republic, he apologized, as it were, to the people, for hiswealth, prosperity, and elevated station, by a free and hearty mannertowards those who knew him; putting off the more of his dignity in dueproportion with the humbleness of the man whom he saluted, and therebyproving a haughty consciousness of his advantages as irrefragably as ifhe had marched forth preceded by a troop of lackeys to clear the way.On this particular forenoon, so excessive was the warmth of JudgePyncheon's kindly aspect, that (such, at least, was the rumor abouttown) an extra passage of the water-carts was found essential, in orderto lay the dust occasioned by so much extra sunshine!
No sooner had he disappeared than Hepzibah grew deadly white, and,staggering towards Phoebe, let her head fall on the young girl'sshoulder.
"O Phoebe!" murmured she, "that man has been the horror of my life!Shall I never, never have the courage,--will my voice never cease fromtrembling long enough to let me tell him what he is?"
"Is he so very wicked?" asked Phoebe. "Yet his offers were surelykind!"
"Do not speak of them,--he has a heart of iron!" rejoined Hepzibah."Go, now, and talk to Clifford! Amuse and keep him quiet! It woulddisturb him wretchedly to see me so agitated as I am. There, go, dearchild, and I will try to look after the shop."
Phoebe went accordingly, but perplexed herself, meanwhile, with queriesas to the purport of the scene which she had just witnessed, and alsowhether judges, clergymen, and other characters of that eminent stampand respectability, could really, in any single instance, be otherwisethan just and upright men. A doubt of this nature has a mostdisturbing influence, and, if shown to be a fact, comes with fearfuland startling effect on minds of the trim, orderly, and limit-lovingclass, in which we find our little country-girl. Dispositions moreboldly speculative may derive a stern enjoyment from the discovery,since there must be evil in the world, that a high man is as likely tograsp his share of it as a low one. A wider scope of view, and adeeper insight, may see rank, dignity, and station, all provedillusory, so far as regards their claim to human reverence, and yet notfeel as if the universe were thereby tumbled headlong into chaos. ButPhoebe, in order to keep the universe in its old place, was fain tosmother, in some degree, her own intuitions as to Judge Pyncheon'scharacter. And as for her cousin's testimony in disparagement of it,she concluded that Hepzibah's judgment was embittered by one of thosefamily feuds which render hatred the more deadly by the dead andcorrupted love that they intermingle with its native poison.