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P. Lathrop. i2mo, paper, 25 cents ; cloth, 50 cents. Salem Edition. With Introduction by Lathkop. iSmo, cloth, 30 cents ; paper, 15 cents. TWELVE COMPOSITIONS from "The Scarlet Letter." By F. O. C. Darley. Folio, $10.00. THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Popular Edi~ tton. i2mo, $1.00; paper, socents. Salem Edition. iSmo, cloth, 30 cents. TWICE-TOLD TALES. School Edition. iSmo, 60 cents. TRUE STORIES FROM HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. Illustrated. lamo, $1.25. A WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS. Splendidly illustrated in colors by Walter Crane. Square 8vo, $3 00. The Same. Illustrated. i2mo, $1.25. The Same. Illustrated by F. S. Church. 4to, $2.50. TANGLEWOOD TALES. Illustrated, lamo, $1.25. The Same. Illustrated by George W. Edwards. 4to, $2.50. THE MARBLE FAUN. Holiday Edition. 2 vols. $6,00. OUR OLD HOME. Holiday Edition. 2 vols. $4.00. GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. Popular Edition. i6mo, pa- per, I ■; cents. THE GRAY CHAMPION, AND OTHER STORIES. Riv- erside Aldine Edition. i6mo, $1.00. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY, Boston and New York. THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY GEORGE PARSONS LATHROP SALEM EDITION BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANV 1893 Copyright, 1851, Bt NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE, Copyright, 1879, By rose HAWTHORNE LATHROP. Copyright, 1883, Bt HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & 00 All rights reserved. The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mens., U.S. A. Electrotyped and Printed by H. 0. Houghton &. Co. PREFACE. HEN a writer calls his work a Romance, it need hardly be observed that he wishes to claim a certain latitude, both as to its fashion and ma- terial, which he would not have felt himself entitled to assume, had he professed to be writing a Novel. The latter form of composition is presumed to aim at a very minute fidelity, not merely to the possible, but to the probable and ordinary course of man's experience. The former — while, as a work of art, it must rigidly subject itself to laws, and while it sins unpardonably so far as it may swerv^e aside from the truth of the human heart — has fairly a right to present that truth under circum- stances, to a great extent, of the writer's own choosing or creation. If he think fit, also, he may so manage his atmospherical medium as to bring out or mellow the lights, and deepen and enrich the shadows, of the picture. He will be wise, no doubt, to make a very moderate use of the privileges here stated, and, especially, to mingle the Marvellous rather as a slight, delicate, and evanescent flavor, than as any portion of the actual substance of the 2056139 VI PEEFACE. dish offered to the public. He can hardly be said, how- ever, to commit a literary crime, even if he disregard this caution. In the present work, the author has proposed to him- self — but with what success, fortunately, it is not for him to judge — to keep undeviatingly within his immu- nities. The point of view in which this tale comes under the Romantic definition lies in the attempt to con- nect a bygone time with the very present that is flitting away from us. It is a legend, prolonging itself, from an epoch now gray m the distance, down into our own broad dayhght, and bringing along with it some of its legen- dary mist, which the reader, according to his pleasure, may either disregard, or allow it to float almost imper- ceptibly about the characters and events for the sake of a picturesque effect. The narrative, it may be, is woven of so humble a texture as to require this advantage, and, at the same time, to render it the more difficult of attain- ment. Many wiiters lay very great stress upon some definite moral purpose, at wliich they profess to aim their works. Not to be deficient in this particular, the author has pro- vided himself with a moral ; — the truth, namely, that the wrong-doing of one generation lives into the succes- sive ones, and, divesting itself of every temporary advan- tage, becomes a pure and uncontrollable mischief ; and he would feel it a singular gratification, if this romance might effectually convince mankind — or, indeed, any one man — of the folly of tumblmg down an avalanche of ill- gotten gold, or real estate, on the heads of an unfortu- nate posterity, thereby to maim and crush them, until the PREFACE. VU accumulated mass shall be scattered abroad in its original atoms. In good faith, however, he is not sufficiently imaginative to flatter himself vv^ith the slightest hope of this kind. When romances do really teach anything, or produce any eifective operation, it is usually through a far more subtile process than the ostensible one. The author has considered it hardly worth his while, therefore, relentlessly to impale the story with its moral, as with an iron rod, — or, rather, as by sticking a pin through a but- terfly, — thus at once depriving it of life, and causing it to stiffen in an ungainly and unnatural attitude. A high truth, indeed, fairly, finely, and skilfully wrought out, brightening at every step, and crowning the final devel- opment of a work of fiction, may add an artistic glory, but is never any truer, and seldom any more evident, at the last page than at the first. The reader may perhaps choose to assign an actual locaKty to the imaginary events of this narrative. If permitted by the historical connection, — which, though slight, was essential to his plan, — the author would very willingly have avoided anything of this nature. Not to speak of other objections, it exposes the romance to an inflexible and exceedingly dangerous species of criticism, by bringing his fancy-pictures almost into positive contact with the realities of the moment. It has been no part of his object, however, to describe local maimers, nor in any way to meddle with the characteristics of a commu- nity for whom he cherishes a proper respect and a natural regard. He trusts not to be considered as unpardonably offending, by laying out a street that infringes upon no- body's private rights, and appropriating a lot of land VIU PEEFACE. which had no visible owner, and building a house, of ma- terials long in use for constructing castles in the air. The personages of the tale — though they give themselves out to be of ancient stabiUty and considerable prominence — are really of the author's own making, or, at all events, of his own mixing ; their virtues can shed no lustre, nor their defects redound, in the remotest degree, to the dis- credit of the venerable town of which they profess to be inhabitants. He would be glad, therefore, if — especially in the quarter to which he alludes — the book may be read strictly as a Romance, having a great deal more to do with the clouds overhead than with any portion of the actual soil of the County of Essex. LiNOi, January 27, 1851. mmi*?^ INTRODUCTOEY NOTE. THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. In September of the year during the February ot which Hawthorne had completed " The Scarlet Letter," he began " The House of the Seven Gables." Mean- while he had removed from Salem to Lenox, in Berk- shire County, Massachusetts, where he occupied with his family a small red wooden house, still standing at the date of this edition [1883] near the Stockbridge Bowl. "I shan't have the new story ready by November," he explained to his publisher, on the 1st of October, •* for I am never good for anything in the literary way till after the first autumnal frost, which has somewhat such an effect on my imagination that it does on the foliage here about me — multiplying and brightening its hues." But by vigorous application he was able to complete the new work about the middle of the January following. Since research has disclosed the manner in which the romance is interwoven with incidents from the history of the Hawthorne family , *' The House of the Sevea Gables " has acquired an interest apart from that by X INTKODUCTORY NOTE. which it first appealed to the public. John Hathorne (as the name was then spelled), the great-grandfather of Nathaniel Hawthorne, was a magistrate at Salem iu the latter part of the seventeenth century, and officiated at the famous trials for witchcraft held there. It is of record that he used peculiar severity towards a certain woman who was among the accused ; and the husband af this woman prophesied that God would take revenge apon his wife's persecutors. This circumstance doubt- less furnished a hint for that piece of tradition in the book which represents a Pyncheon of a former gen- eration as having persecuted one Maule, who declared that God would give his enemy " blood to drink." It became a conviction with the Hawthorne family that a eurse had been pronounced upon its members, which contiimed in force in the time of the romancer ; a con- viction perhaps derived from the recorded prophecy of the injured woman's husband just mentioned ; and, here again, we have a correspondence with Maule's male- diction in the, story. Furthermore, there occurs in the '' American Note-Books " (August 27, 1837) a remi- niscence of the author's family, to the following effect. Philip English, a character well known in early Salem innals, was among those who suffered from John Ha- thorne's magisterial harshness, and he maintained in consequence a lasting feud with the old Puritan official. But at his death English left daughters, one of whom is said to have married the son of Justice John Hathorne, ?rhom English had declared he would never forgive. It INTRODUCTOKY NOTE. XI is scarcely necessary to point out how clearly this fore- shadows the filial union of those hereditary foes, the Pyncheons and Maules, through the marriage of Phoebe and Holgrave. The romance, however, describes the Maules as possessing some of the traits known to have been characteristic of the Hav^^thornes : for example, '< so long as any of the race were to be found, they had been marked out from other men — not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line, but with an effect that was felt rather than spoken of — by an hereditary characteristic of reserve." Thus, while the general suggestion of the Hawthorne line and its fortunes was followed in the romance, the Pyncheons taking the place of the author's family, certain distinguishing marks of the Hawthornes were assigned to the imaginary Maule posterity. There are one or two other points which indicate Hawthorne's method of basing his compositions, the result in the main of pure invention, on the solid ground of particular facts. Allusion is made, in the first chap- ter of the "Seven Gables," to a grant of lands in Waldo County, Maine, owned by the Pyncheon family. In the " American Note-Books " there is an entry, dated August 12, 1837, which speaks of the Revolu- tionary general, Knox, and his land-grant in Waldo County, by virtue of which the owner had hoped to establish an estate oii the English plan, with a tenantry to make it profitable for him. An incident of much greater importance in the story is the supposed murder of one of the Pyncheons by his nephew, to whom we are Xll INTRODUCTORY NOTE. introduced as Clifford Pyncheon. In all probability Hawthorne connected with this, in his mind, the murder of Mr. White, a wealthy gentleman of Salem, killed by a man whom his nephew had hired. This took place a few years after Hawthorne's graduation from college. and was one of the celebrated cases of the day, Daniel Webster taking part prominently in the trial. But it should be observed here that such resemblances as these between sundry elements in the work of Haw- thorne's fancy and details of reality are only fragmen- tary, and are rearranged to suit the author's purposes. In the same way he has made his description of Hep- zibah Pyncheon's seven-gabled mansion conform so nearly to several old dwellings formerly or still extant in Salem, that strenuous efforts have been made to fix upon some one of them as the veritable edifice of the romance. A paragraph in the opening chapter has perhaps assisted this delusion that there must have been a single original House of the Seven Gables, framed by flesh - and - blood carpenters ; for it runs thus : — " Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection — tor it has been an object of curiosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of the best and stateli- est architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the scene of events more full of interest perhaps than those of a gray feudal castle — familiar as it stands, in its rusty old age, it is therefore only the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which it first caught the sunshine." INTRODUCTORY NOTE. Xll] Hundreds of pilgrims annually visit a house in Salem, belonging to one branch of the Ingersoll family of that place, which is stoutly maintained to have been the model for Hawthorne's visionary dwelling. Others have supposed that the now vanished house of the iden- tical Philip English, whose blood, as we have already noticed, became mingled with that of the Hawthornes, supplied the pattern ; and still a third building, known as the Curwen mansion, has been declared the only genuine establishment. Notwithstanding persistent popular belief, the authenticity of all these must posi- tively be denied ; although it is possible that isolated reminiscences of all three may have blended with the ideal image in the mind of Hawthorne. He, it will be seen, remarks in the Preface, alluding to himself in the third person, that he trusts not to be condemned for " laying out a street that infringes upon nobody's pri- vate rights . . . and building a house of materials long in use for constructing castles in the air.'^ More than this, he stated to persons still living that the house of the romance was not copied from any actual edifice, but was simply a general reproduction of a style of ar- chitecture belonging to colonial days, examples, of which survived into the period of his youth, but have since been radically modified or destroyed. Here, as else- where, he exercised the liberty of a creative mind to heighten the probability of his pictures without confin- ing himself to a literal description of something he had seen. XIV INTRODUCTORY NOTE. AVliile Hawthorne remained at Lenox, and during the composition of this romance, various other literary personages settled or stayed for a time in the vicinity ; among them, Herman Melville, whose intercourse Haw- thorne greatly enjoyed, Henry James, Sr., Doctor Holmes, J. T. Headley, James Russell Lowell, Edwin P. Whipple, Frederika Bremer, and J. T. Fields ; so that there was no lack of intellectual society in the midst of the beautiful and inspiring mountain scenery of the place. *' In the afternoons, nowadays," he re- cords, shortly before beginning the work, " this valley in which I dwell seems like a vast basin filled with golden sunshine as with wine ; " and, happy in the companionship of his wife and their three children, he led a simple, refined, idyllic life, despite the restrictions of a scanty and uncertain income. A letter written by Mrs. Hawthorne, at this time, to a member of her family, gives incidentally a glimpse of the scene, which may properly find a place here. She says : "I delight to think that you also can look forth, as I do now, upon a broad valley and a fine amphitheatre of hills, and are about to watch the stately ceremony of the sunset from your piazza. But you have not tliis lovely lake, nor, I suppose, the delicate purple mist which folds these slumbering mountains in airy veils. Mr. Hawthorne has been lying down in the sunshine, slightly fleckered with the shadows of a tree, and Una and Julian have been making him look like the mighty Pan, by cover- ing his chin and breast with long grass-blades, that INTRODUCTORY NOTE. XT looked like a verdant aud venerable beard." The pleasantness and peace of his surroundings and of his modest home in Lenox may be taken into account as harmonizing with the mellow serenity of the romance then produced. Of the work, when it appeared in the early spring of 1851, he wrote to Horatio Bridge these words, now published for the first time : — " ' The House of the Seven Gables,' in my opinionj is better than ' The Scarlet Letter ; ' but I should not wonder if I had refined upon the principal character a little too much for popular appreciation, nor if the ro- mance of the book should be somewhat at odds with the humble and familiar scenery in which I mvest it. But I feel that portions of it are as good as anything I can hope to write, and the publisher speaks encour- agingly of its success." From England, especially, came many warm expres- sions of praise, — a fact which Mrs. Hawthorne, in a private letter, commented on as the fulfilment of a possibility which Hawthorne, writing in boyhood to his mother, had looked forward to. He had asked her if she would not like him to become an author and have his books read in England. G. P. L. CONTENTS. Pagb I. The Old Pyncheon Family ... 11 II. The Little Shop-Window ... 39 III. The First Customer 53 IV. A Day behind the Counter . . 69 V. May and November 85 VI. Maule's Well 102 VII. The Guest .115 VIII. The Pyncheon of To-day . . 134 IX. Clifford and Phcebe .... 154 X. The Pyncheon Garden . . . 168 XI. The Arched Window .... 183 XII. The Daguerreotypist .... 199 XIII. Alice Pyncheon 215 XIV. Phcebe's Good-by 241 XV. The Scowl and Smile .... 254 X\111 CONTENTS. XVI. Clifford's Chamber 273 XVII. The Flight of two Owls . . . 287 XVIII. Governor Pyncheon 303 XIX. Alice's Posies . . . . . 321 XX. The Flower of Eden . . . .339 XXI. The Departure 350 mmy'mmmm THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. ^^1 ALr~WA Y down a by-street of one of our New WM England towns stands a rusty wooden house, JImI with seven acutely peaked gables, facmg towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon Street ; the house is the old Pyncheon House ; and an elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm. On my occasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn down Pyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of these two antiquities, — the great elm-tree and the weather-beaten edifice. The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affect- ed me Hke a human countenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm and sunshine, but expressive, also, of the long lapse of mortal Ufe, and accompanying vicissitudes that have passea within. Were these to be worthily recounted, they would form a narrative of no 12 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. small interest and instruction, and possessing, moreover, a certain remarkable unity, which might almost seem the result of artistic arrangement. But the story would in- clude a chain of events extending over the better part of two centuries, and, written out with reasonable amphtude, would fill a bigger folio volume, or a longer series of duo- decimos, than could prudently be appropriated to the annals of all New England during a similar period. It consequently becomes imperative to make short work with most of the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House, otherwise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the theme. With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances amid which the founda- tion of the house was laid, and a rapid glimpse at its quaint exterior, as it grew black in the prevalent east wind, — pointing, too, here and there, at some spot of more verdant mossiness on its roof and walls, — we shall commence the real action of our tale at an epoch not very remote from the present day. Still, there will be a connection with the long past — a reference to for- gotten events and personages, and to manners, feehngs, and opinions, almost or wholly obsolete — which, if ade- quately translated to the reader, would serve to illustrate how much of old material goes to make up the freshest novelty of human hfe. Hence, too, might be drawn a weighty lesson from the httle-regarded truth, that the act of the passhig generation is the germ which may and must produce good or evil fruit, in a far-distant time ; that, together with the seed of the merely temporary crop, which mortals term expediency, they inevitably sow the acorns of a more enduring growth, which may darkly overshadow their posterity. The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks, was not the first habitation erected by civilized THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 13 man on precisely the same spot of ground. Pyncheon Street formerly bore the humbler appellation of Maule's Lane, from the name of the original occupant of the soil, before whose cottage-door it was a cow-path. A natural spring of soft and pleasant water — a rare treas- ure on the sea-girt peninsula, where the Puritan settle- ment was made — had early induced Matthew Maule to build a hut, shaggy with thatch, at this point, although somewhat too remote from what was then the centre of the village. In the growth of the town, however, after some thirty or forty years, the site covered by this rude hovel had become exceedingly desirable in the eyes of a prominent and powerful personage, who asserted plausi- ble claims to the proprietorship of this, and a large adja- cent tract of land, on the strength of a grant from the legislature. Colonel Pyncheon, the claimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are preserved, was characterized by an iron energy of purpose. Matthew Maule, on the other hand, though an obscure man, was stubborn in the defence of what he considered his right ; and, for several years, he succeeded in protecting the acre or two of earth, which, with his own toil, he had hewn out of the primeval forest, to be his garden-ground and homestead. No written record of this dispute is known to be in existence. Our acquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from tradition. It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust, to venture a de- cisive opinion as to its merits ; although it appears to have been at least a matter of doubt, whether Colonel Pyncheon' s claim were not unduly stretched, in order to make it cover the small metes and bounds of Matthew Maule. What greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the fact that this controversy between two ill-matched antagonists — at a period, moreover, laud it as we may. 14 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. when personal influence had far more "weiglit tliau now — remained for years undecided, and came to a close only witli the death of the party occupying the disputed soil. The mode of his death, too, affects the mind dif- ferently, in our day, from what it did a century and a half ago. It was a death that blasted with strange horror the humble name of the dweller in the cottage, and made it seem almost a religious act to drive the plough over the httle area of his habitation, and obliterate his place and memory from among men. Old Matthew Maule, in a word, was executed for the crime of witchcraft. He was one of the martyrs to that terrible delusion, which should teach us, among its other morals, that the influential classes, and those who take upon themselves to be leaders of the people, are fully liable to all the passionate error that has ever character- ized the maddest mob. Clergymen, judges, statesmen, — the wisest, calmest, holiest persons of their day, — stood in the inner circle round about the gallows, loudest to applaud the work of blood, latest to confess themselves miserably deceived. If any one part of their proceed- ings can be said to deserve less blame than another, it was the singular indiscrimination with which they perse- cuted, not merely the poor and aged, as in former judicial massacres, but people of all ranks; theii- own equals, brethren, and wives. Amid the disorder of such various ruin, it is not strange that a man of inconsiderable note, like Manle, should have trodden the martyr's path to the hill of execution almost unremarked in the throng of his fellow-sufferers. But, in after days, when the frenzy of that hideous epoch had subsided, it was remembered how loudly Colonel Pyncheon had joined in the general cry, to purge the land from witchcraft ; nor did it fail to be whispered, that ther^ was an invidious acrimony in the THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 15 zeal with "whicli he had sought the coudemnation of Matthew Maule. It was well known that the victim had recognized the bitterness of personal enmity in his per- secutor's conduct towards him, and that he declared him- self hunted to death for his spoil. At the moment of execution — with the halter about his neck, and while Colonel Pyncheon sat on horseback, grimly gazing at the scene — Maule had addressed him fi'om the scaffold, and uttered a prophecy, of which history, as well as fireside tradition, has preserved the very words. " God," said the dying man, pointing his finger, with a ghastly look, at the undismayed countenance of his enemy, — " God wiU give him blood to drink ! " After the reputed wizard's death, his humble home- stead had fallen an easy spoil into Colonel Pyncheon's grasp. When it was understood, however, that the Colonel intended to erect a family mansion — spacious, ponderously framed of oaken timber, and calculated to endure for many generations of his posterity — over the spot first covered by the log-built hut of Matthew Maule, there was much shaking of the head among the village gossips. Without absolutely expressmg a doubt whether the stalwart Puritan had acted as a man of conscience and integrity, throughout the proceedings which have been sketched, they, nevertheless, hinted that he was about to build his house over an unquiet grave. His home would include the home of the dead and buried wizard, and would thus afford the ghost of the latter a kind of privilege to hamit its new apartments, and the chambers into which future bridegrooms were to lead their brides, and where children of the Pyncheon blood were to be born. The terror and ugliness of Maule 's crime, and the wretchedness of his punishment, would darken the freshly plastered walls, and infect them early 16 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. with the scent of an old and melancholy house, ^liy, then, — while so much of the soil around him was bestrewn with the virgin forest-leaves, — why should Colonel Pyncheon prefer a site that had already been accurst ? But the Puritan soldier and magistrate was not a m^i) to be turned aside from his well-considered scheme, either by dread of the wizard's ghost, or by flimsy sentimentali- ties of any kind, however specious. Had he been told of a bad air, it might have moved him somewhat ; but he was ready to encounter an evil spirit on his own ground. Endowed with common-sense, as massive and hard as blocks of granite, fastened together by stern rigidity of purpose, as with iron clamps, he followed out his original design, probably without so much as imagining an objec- tion to it. On the score of delicacy, or any scrupulous- ness which a finer sensibility might have taught him, the Colonel, like most of his breed and generation, was im- penetrable. He, therefore, dug his cellar, and laid the deep foundations of his mansion, on the square of earth whence Matthew Maule, forty years before, had first swept away the fallen leaves. It was a curious, and, as some people thought, an ominous fact, that, very soon after the workmen began their operations, the spring of water, above mentioned, entirely lost the deliciousness of its pristine quahty. Whether its sources were dis- turbed by the depth of the new cellar, or whatever subtler cause might lurk at the bottom, it is certain that the water of Maule's Well, as it continued to be called, grew hard and brackish. Even such we find it now; and any old woman of the neighborhood will certify that it is productive of intestinal mischief to those who quench their thirst there. The reader may deem it singidar that the head car- THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 17 penter of the new edifice was no otner than the son of the very man from whose dead gripe the property of the soil had been wrested. Not improbably he was the best workman of his time ; or, perhaps, the Colonel thought it expedient, or was impelled by some better feeling, thus openly to cast aside all animosity against the race of his fallen antagonist. Nor was it out of keeping with the general coarseness and matter-of-fact character of the age, that the son should be willing to earn an honest penny, or, rather, a weighty amount of sterHng pounds, from the purse of his father's deadly enemy. At all events, Thomas Maule became the architect of the House of the Seven Gables, and performed his duty so faithfully that the timber framework, fastened by his hands, still holds together. Thus the great house was built. Familiar as it stands in the writer's recollection, — for it has been an object of curiosity with him from boyhood, both as a specimen of the best and stateliest architecture of a long-past epoch, and as the scene of events more full of human interest, perhaps, than those of a gray feudal castle, — familiar as it stands, in its rusty old age, it is therefore only the more difficult to imagine the bright novelty with which it first caught the sunshine. The impression of its actual state, at this distance of a hundred and sixty years, dark- ens inevitably, through the picture which we would fain give of its appearance on the morning when the Puritan magnate bade all the town to be his guests. A ceremony of consecration, festive as well as reli'gious, was now to be performed. A prayer and discourse from the Rev. Mr. Higginson, and the outpouring of a psalm from the general throat of the community, was to be made accept- able to the grosser sense by ale, cider, wine, and brandy, in copious effusion, and, as some authorities aver, by an 18 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. OX, roasted whole, or, at least, by the weight and sub- stance of an ox, in more manageable joints and sirloins. The carcass of a deer, shot within twenty miles, had supplied material for the vast circumference of a pasty. A codfish of sixty pounds, caught in the bay, had been dissolved into the rich liquid of a chowder. The chimney of the new house, in short, belching forth its kitchen- smoke, impregnated the whole air with the scent of meats, fowls, and fishes, spicily concocted with odorifer- ous herbs, and onions in abundance. The mere smell of such festivity, making its vfay to everybody's nostrils, was at once an invitation and an appetite. Maule's Lane, or Pyncheon Street, as it were now more decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as with a congregation on its way to church. All, as they approached, looked upward at the imposing edi- fice, which was henceforth to assume its rank among the habitations of mankind. There it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of the street, but in pride, not modesty. Its whole visible exterior was ornamented with quaint figures, conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic fancy, and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, composed of lime, pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the wood- work of the walls was overspread. On every side, the seven gables pointed sharply towards the sky, and pre- sented the aspect of a whole sisterhood of edifices, breath- ing through the spiracles of one great chimney. The many lattices, with their small, diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sunlight into hall and chamber, while, never- theless, the second story, projecting far over the base, and itself retirmg beneath the third, threw a shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms. Carved globes of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little spii-al rods of iron beautified each of the seven peaks. THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 19 On the triangular portion of tlie gable, that fronted next the street, was a dial, put up that very morning, and on which the sun was still marking the passage of the first bright hour in a history that was not destined to be all so bright. All around were scattered shavings, chips, shingles, and broken halves of bricks; these, together with the lately turned earth, on which the grass had not begun to grow, contributed to the impression of strange- ness and novelty proper to a house that had yet its place to make among men's daily interests. The prmcipal entrance, which had almost the breadth of a church-door, was in the angle between the two front gables, and was covered by an open porch, with benches beneath its shelter. Under this arched doorway, scrap- ing their feet on the unworn threshold, now trod the clergymen, the elders, the magistrates, the deacons, and whatever of aristocracy there was in town or county. Thither, too, thronged the plebeian classes, as freely as their betters, and in larger nmnber. Just within the entrance, however, stood two serving-men, pohiting some of the guests to the neighborhood of the kitchen, and ushering others into the statelier rooms, — hospitable alike to all, but stUl with a scrutinizing regard to the high or low degree of each. Velvet garments, sombre but rich, stiffly plaited ruffs and bands, embroidered gloves, venerable beajds, the mien and countenance of authority, made it easy to distinguish the gentleman of worship, at that period, from the tradesman, with his plodding air, or the laborer, in. his leathern jerkin, steal- ing awe-stricken into the house which he had perhaps helped to build. . One inauspicious circumstance there was, which awak- ened a hardly concealed displeasure in the breasts of a few of the more punctihous visitors. The founder of this 20 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. stately mansion — a gentleman noted for the square and ponderous courtesy of bis demeanor — ought surely to have stood in his own hall, and to have offered the first welcome to so many eminent personages as here pre- sented themselves in honor of his solemn festival. He was as yet invisible; the most favored of the guests had not beheld him. This sluggishness on Colonel Pyn- cheon's part became still more unaccountable, when the second dignitary of the province made his appearance, and found no more ceremonious a reception. The lieu- tenant-governor, although his visit was one of the antici- pated glories of the day, had alighted from his horse, and assisted his lady from her side-saddle, and crossed the Colonel's threshold, without other greeting than that of the principal domestic. This person — a gray-headed man, of quiet and most respectful deportment — found it necessary to explain that his master still remained in his study, or private apartment; on entering which, an hour before, he had expressed a wish on no account to be disturbed. "Do not you see, fellow," said the high-sheriff of the county, taking the servant aside, "that this is no less a man than the lieutenant-governor ? Summon Colonel Pyncheon at once ! I know that he received letters from England, this morning ; and, in the perusal and consider- ation of them, an hour may have passed away, without his noticing it. But he will be ill-pleased, I judge, if you suffer him to neglect the courtesy due to one of our cliief rulers, and who may be said to represent King Wil- liam, in the absence of the governor himself. Call your master mstantly ! " "Nay, please your worship," answered the man, in much perplexity, but with a backwardness that strikingly indicated the hard and severe character of Colonel Pvn- THE OLD PYXCHEOX FAMILY. 21 cheon's domestic rule; "mj master's orders were ex- ceeding strict ; and, as your worsliip knows, he permits of no discretion in the obedience of those who owe him service. Let who list open yonder door; I dare not, though the governor's own voice should bid me do it ! " "Pooh, pooh, master high-sheriff!" cried the lieuten- ant-governor, who had overheard the foregoing discus sion, and felt himself high enough in station to play a Kttle with his dignity. " I will take the matter into my own hands. It is time that the good Colonel came forth to greet his friends ; else we shall be apt to suspect that he has taken a sip too much of his Canary wine, in his extreme dehberation which cask it were best to broach, in honor of the day ! But since he is so much behind- hand, I will give him a remembrancer myself ! " Accordingly, with such a tramp of his ponderous rid- ing-boots as might of itself have been audible in the remotest of the seven gables, he advanced to the door, which the servant pointed out, and made its new panels re-echo with a loud, free knock. Then, looking round, with a smile, to the spectators, he awaited a response. As none came, however, he knocked again, but with the same unsatisfactory result as at first. And now, being a trifle choleric in his temperament, the lieutenant-governor uphfted the heavy hilt of his sword, wherevdth he so beat and banged upon the door, that, as some of the by-stand- ers whispered, the racket might have disturbed the dead. Be that as it might, it seemed to produce no awakening effect on Colonel Pyncheon. When the sound subsided, the silence through the house was deep, dreary, and op pressive, notwithstanding that the tongues of many ol the guests had already been loosened by a surreptitious cup or two of wine or spirits. " Strange, forsooth ! — very strange ! " cried the lieu- 22 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. tenant-governor, -whose smile was changed to a frown. " But seeing that our host sets us the good example of forgetting ceremony, I shall likewise throw it aside, and make free to intrude on his privacy ! " He tried the door, which yielded to his hand, and was flung wide open by a sudden gust of wind that passed, as with a loud sigh, from the outermost portal through all the passages and apartments of the new house. It rustled the silken garments of the ladies, and waved the long curls of the gentlemen's wigs, and shook the win- dow-hangings and the curtams of the bedchambers ; causing everywhere a singular stir, which yet was more like a hush. A shadow of awe and half-fearful anticipa- tion — nobody knew wherefore, nor of what — had all at once fallen over the company. They thronged, however, to the now open door, press- ing the Heutenant-governor, in the eagerness of their curiosity, into the room in advance of them. At the first ghmpse, they beheld nothing extraordinary : a hand- somely furnished room, of moderate size, somewhat dark- ened by curtains; books arranged on shelves; a large map on the wall, and hkewise a portrait of Colonel Pyn- cheon, beneath which sat the original Colonel himself, in an oaken elbow-chair, with a pen in his hand. Let- ters, parchments, and blank sheets of paper were on the table before him. He appeared to gaze at the curious crowd, in front of which stood the lieutenant-governor ; and there was a frown on his dark and massive counte- nance, as if sternly resentful of the boldness that had impelled them into his private retirement. A httle boy — the Colonel's grandchild, and the only human being that ever dared to be familiar with him — now made his way among the guests, and ran towards the seated figui-e; then pausing half-way, he began to THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 23 shriek with terror. The company, tremulous as the leaves of a tree, when all are shaking together, drew nearer, and perceived that there was an unnatural dis- tortion in the fixedness of Colonel Pyncheon's stare; that there was blood on his rufi", and that his hoary beard was saturated with it. It was too late to give assistance. The iron-hearted Puritan, the relentless per- secutor, the grasping and strong-willed man, was dead ! Dead, in his new house ! There is a tradition, only worth alluding to, as lending a tinge of superstitious awe to a scene perhaps gloomy enough without it, that a voice spoke loudly among the guests, the tones of which were like those of old Matthew Maule, the executed wiz- ard, — " God hath given him blood to drink ! " Thus early had that one guest, — the only guest who is certain, at one time or another, to find his way into every human dwelling, — thus early had Death stepped across the threshold of the House of the Seven Gables ! Colonel Pyncheon's sudden and mysterious end made a vast deal of noise in its day. There were many rumors, some of which have vaguely drifted down to the present time, how that appearances indicated violence ; that there were the marks of fingers on his throat, and the print of a bloody hand on his plaited ruff; and that his peaked beard was dishevelled, as if it had been fiercely clutched and pulled. It was averred, likewise, that the lattice- wmdow, near the Colonel's chair, was open; and that, only a few minutes before the fatal occurrence, the figure of a man had been seen clambering over the garden-fence, in the rear of the house. But it were folly to lay any stress on stories of this kind, which are sure to spring up around such an event as ihfi now related, and which, as in the present case, sometimes prolong themselves for ages afterwards, like the toadstools that indicate where 24 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the fallen and buried trunk of a tree has long since mouldered into the earth. For our own part, we allow them just as little credence as to that other fable of the skeleton hand which the heutenant -governor was said to have seen at the Colonel's throat, but which vanished away, as he advanced farther into the room. Certain it is, however, that there was a great consultation and dis- pute of doctors over the dead body. One — John Swin- nerton by name — who appears to have been a man of eminence, upheld it, if we have rightly understood his terms of art, to be a case of apoplexy. His professional brethren, each for himself, adopted various hypotheses, more or less plausible, but all dressed out in a perplexing mystery of phrase, which, if it do not show a bewilder- ment of mind in these erudite physicians, certainly causes it in the unlearned peruser of their opinions. The cor- oner's jury sat upon the corpse, and, like sensible men, returned an unassailable verdict of " Sudden Death ! " It is indeed difficult to imagine that there could hare been a serious suspicion of murder, or the sUghtest grounds for implicating any particular individual as the perpetrar tor. The rank, wealth, and eminent character of the deceased must have insured the strictest scrutiny into every ambiguous circumstance. As none such is on rec- ord, it is safe to assume that none existed. Tradition, — which sometunes brings down truth that history has let slip, but is oftener the wild babble of the time, such as was formerly spoken at the fireside, and now congeals in newspapers, — tradition is responsible for all contra- ry averments. In Colonel Pyncheon's funeral sermon, which was printed, and is still extant, the Rev. Mr. Hig- ginson enumerates, among the many felicities of his dis- tinguished parishioner's earthly career, the happy season- ableness of his death. His duties all performed, — thf THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 25 highest prosperity attained, — his race and future gener- ations fixed on a stable basis, and with a stately roof to shelter them, for centuries to come, — what other upward step remained for this good man to take, save the final step from earth to the golden gate of heaven ! The pious clergyman surely would not have uttered words like these, had he in the least suspected that the Colonel had been thrust into the other world with the clutch of vio- lence upon his throat. The family of Colonel Pyncheon, at the epoch of his death, seemed destined to as fortunate a permanence as can anywise consist with the inherent instability of human affairs. It might fairly be anticipated that the progress of time would rather increase and ripen their prosperity, than wear away and destroy it. Tor, not only had his son and heir come into immediate enjoyment of a rich estate, but there was a claim, through an Indian deed, confirmed by a subsequent grant of the General Court, to a vast and as yet unexplored and unmeasured tract of Eastern lands. These possessions — for as such they might almost certainly be reckoned — comprised the greater part of what is now known as Waldo County, in the State of Maine, and were more extensive than many a dukedom, or even a reigning prince's territory, on European soil. When the pathless forest, that still cov- ered this wild principality, should give place — as it in- evitably must, though perhaps not till ages hence — to the golden fertility of human culture, it would be the source of incalculable wealth to the Pyncheon blood. Had the Colonel survived only a few weeks longer, it is probable that his great political influence, and powerful connections, at home and abroad, would have consum- mated all that was necessary to render the claim available. But, in spite of good Mr. Higginson's cougratulatorj 26 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. eloquence, this appeared to be the one thing which Colo- nel Pyncheon, provident and sagacious as he was, had allowed to go at loose ends. So far as the prospective territory was concerned, he unquestionably died too soon. His son lacked not merely the father's eminent position, but the talent and force of character to achieve it : he could, therefore, effect nothing by dint of political inter- est ; and the bare justice or legality of the claim was not so apparent, after the Colonel's decease, as it had been pronounced in his lifetime. Some connecting link had slipped out of the evidence, and could not anywhere be found. Efforts, it is true, were made by the Pyncheons, not only then, but at various periods for nearly a hundred years afterwards, to obtain what they stubbornly persisted in deeming their right. But, in course of time, the terri- tory was partly re -granted to more favored individuals, and partly cleared and occupied by actual settlers. These last, if they ever heard of the Pyncheon title, would have laughed at the idea of any man's asserting a right — on the strength of mouldy parchments, signed with the faded autographs of governors and legislators long dead and forgotten — to the lands which they or their fathers had wrested from the wild hand of nature, by their own sturdy toil. This impalpable claim, therefore, resulted in noth- ing more soUd than to cherish, from generation to gener- ation, an absurd delusion of family importance, whicli all along characterized the Pyncheons. It caused the poor- est member of the race to feel as if he inherited a kind of nobiHty, and might yet come into the possession of princely wealth to support it. In the better specimens of the breed, this peculiarity threw an ideal grace over the hard material of human life, without stealing away any truly valuable quahty. In the baser sort, its effect THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 27 was to increase tlie liability to sluggishness and depend- ence, and induce the victim of a shadowy hope to remit all self-effort, while awaiting the reahzation of his dreams. Years and years after their claim had passed out of the pubUc memory, the Pyncheons were accustomed to con- sult the Colonel's ancient map, which had been projected while Waldo County was still an unbroken wilderness. Where the old land-surveyor had put down woods, lakes, and rivers, they marked out the cleared spaces, and dotted the villages and towns, and calculated the progressively increasing value of the territory, as if there were yet a prospect of its ultimately forming a princedom for them- selves. In almost every generation, nevertheless, there hap- pened to be some one descendant of the family gifted with a portion of the hard, keen sense, and practical energy, that had so remarkably distinguished the original founder. His character, indeed, might be traced all the way down, as distinctly as if the Colonel himself, a little diluted, had been gifted with a sort of intermittent immortality on earth. At two or three epochs, when the fortunes of the family were low, this representative of hereditary quali- ties had made his appearance, and caused the traditionary gossips of the town to whisper among themselves, — • *' Here is the old Pyncheon come again ! Now the Seven Gables will be new-shingled ! " From father to son, they clung to the ancestral house, with smgular tenacity of home attachment. Por various reasons, how- ever, and from impressions often too vaguely founded to be put on paper, the writer cherishes the behef that many, if not most, of the successive proprietors of this estate were troubled with doubts as to their moral right to hold it. Of their legal tenure there could be no ques- tion ; but old Matthew Maule, it is to be feared, trode 28 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. downward from his own age to a far later one, planting & heavy footstep, all the way, on the conscience of a Pyn- cheon. If so, we are left to dispose of the awful query, whether each inheritor of the property — conscious of wrong, and failing to rectify it — did not commit anew t he great guilt of his ancestor, and incur all its original lesponsibihties. And supposing such to be the case, would it not be a far truer mode of expression to say, of the Pyncheon family, that they inherited a great misfor- tune, than the reverse ? We have abeady hinted, that it is not our purpose to trace down the history of the Pyncheon family, in its un- broken connection with the House of the Seven Gables ; nor to show, as in a magic picture, how the rustiness and infirmity of age gathered over the venerable house itself. As regards its interior life, a large, dim looking-glass used to hang in one of the rooms, and was fabled to con- tain within its depths all the shapes that had ever been reflected there, — the old Colonel himself, and his many descendants, some in the garb of antique babyhood, and others in the bloom of fcmmiue beauty or manly prime, or saddened with the wrinkles of frosty age. Had we the secret of that mirror, we would gladly sit down be- fore it, and transfer its revelations to our page. But there was a story, for which it is diflBcult to conceive any foundation, that the posterity of Matthew Maule had some connection with the mystery of the looking-glass, and that, by what appears to have been a sort of mes- meric process, they could make its inner region all alive vdth the departed Pyncheons ; not as they had shown themselves to the world nor in their better and happier hours, but as doing over agam some deed of sin, or in the crisis of hfe's iDitterest sorrow. The popular imagi- nation, indeed, long kept itself busy with the afi^ir of the ^ THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 29 old Puritan Pyncheon and the wizard Maule ; the curse, which the latter flung from his scaffold, was remembered, with the very important addition, that it had become a part of the Pynclieon inheritance. If one of the family did but gurgle in his throat, a by-stander would be likely enough to whisper, between jest and earnest, — " He lias Maule's blood to drink ! " The sudden death of a Pyncheon, about a hundred years ago, with circum- stances very similar to what have been related of the Colonel's exit, was held as giving additional probabiHty to the received opinion on this topic. It was considered, moreover, an ugly and ominous circumstance, that Colonel Pyncheon's picture — in obedience, it was said, to a provision of his will — remained affixed to the wall of the room in which he died. Those stern, immitigable features seemed to symbolize an evil influence, and so darkly to mingle the shadow of their presence with the sunshine of the passing hour, that no good thoughts or purposes could ever spring up and blossom there. To the thoughtful mind, there will be no tinge of supersti- tion in what we figuratively express, by affirming that the ghost of a dead progenitor — perhaps as a portion of his own punishment — is often doomed to become the Evil Genius of his family. The Pyncheons, in brief, hved along, for the better part of two centuries, with perhaps less of outward vicissitude than has attended most other New England families, during the same period of time. Possessing very distinctive traits of their own, they nevertheless took the general characteristics of the little community in which they dwelt; a town noted for its frugal, dis- creet, well-ordered, and home-loving mhabitants, as well as for the somewhat confined scope of its sympathies; but in which, be it said, there are odder individuals, and. 30 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. now and then, stranger occurrences, tlian one meeta witli almost anywhere else. During the Revolution, the Pyncheon of that epoch, adopting the royal side, became a refugee ; but repented, and made his reappearance, just at the point of time to preserve the House of the Seven Gables from confiscation. For the last seventy years, the most noted event in the Pyncheon annals had been likewise the heaviest calamity that ever befell the i-ace ; no less than the violent death — for so it was ad- judged — of one member of the family, by the criminal act of another. Certain circumstances, attending this fatal occurrence, had brought the deed irresistibly home to a nephew of the deceased Pyncheon. The young man was tried and convicted of the crime ; but either the cir- cumstantial natui'e of the evidence, and possibly some lurking doubt in the breast of the executive, or, lastly, — an argument of greater weight in a republic than it could have been under a monarchy, — the high respecta- bility and political influence of the criminal's connections, had availed to mitigate his doom from death to perpetual imprisonment. This sad affair had chanced about thirty years before the action of our story commences. Lat- terly, there were rumors (which few beheved, and only one or two felt greatly interested in) that this long-buried man was Hkely, for some reason or other, to be sum- moned forth from his living tomb. It is essential to say a few words respecting the victim of this now almost forgotten murder. He was an old bachelor, and possessed of great wealth, in addition to the house and real estate which constituted what remained of the ancient Pyncheon property. Being of an eccentric and melancholy turn of mind, and greatly given to rum- maging old records and hearkening to old traditions, he had brought himself, it is averred, to the conclusion that THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 31 Matthew Maule, the wizard, had been foully wronged ou-t of his homestead, if not out of his life. Such being the case, and he, the old bachelor, in possession of the ill-gotten spoil, — with the black stain of blood sunken deep into it, and still to be scented by conscientious nos- trils, — the question occurred, whether it were not im- perative upon him, even at this late hour, to make resti- tution to Maule's posterity. To a man living so much in the past, and so little in the present, as the secluded and antiquarian old bachelor, a century and a half seemed not so vast a period as to obviate the propriety of sub- stituting right for wrong. It was the belief of those who knew him best, that he would positively have taken the very singular step of giving up the House of the Seven Gables to the representative of Matthew Maule, but for the unspeakable tumult which a suspicion of the old gentleman's project awakened among his Pyncheon relatives. Their exertions had the effect of suspending his purpose ; but it was feared that he would perform, after death, by the operation of his last will, what he had so hardly been prevented from doing, in his proper lifetime. But there is no one thing which men so rarely do, whatever the provocation or inducement, as to be- queath patrimonial property away from their own blood. They may love other individuals far better than their relatives, — they may even cherish dislike, or positive hatred, to the latter; but yet, in view of death, the strong prejudice of propinquity revives, and impels the testator to send down his estate in the line marked out by custom so immemorial that it looks like nature. In all the Pyncheons, this feeUng had the energy of dis- ease. It was too powerful for the conscientious scruples of the old bachelor; at whose death, accordingly, the mansion-house, together with most of his other riches, 32 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. passed into the possession of his next legal represent- ative. This was a nephew, the cousin of the miserable young man who had been convicted of the uncle's murder. The new heir, up to the period of his accession, was reckoned rather a dissipated youth, but had at once reformed, and made himself an exceedingly respectable member of soci- ety. In fact, he showed more of the Pyncheon quality, and had won higher eminence in the world, than any of his race, since the time of the original Puritan. Apply- ing himself in earher manhood to the study of the law, and having a natural tendency towards office, he had attained, many years ago, to a judicial situation in some inferior court, which gave him for life the very desirable and imposing title of judge. Later, he had engaged in politics, and served a part of two terms in Congress, be- sides making a considerable figure in both branches of the State legislature. Judge P^Ticheon was unquestiona- bly an honor to his race. He had built hunself a coun- try-seat within a few miles of his native town, and there spent such portions of his time as could be spared from public service in the display of every grace and virtue — as a newspaper phrased it, on the eve of an election — befitting the Christian, the good citizen, the horticultu- rist, and the gentleman. There were few of the Pyncheons left to sun them- selves in the glow of the Judge's prosperity. In respect to natural increase, the breed had not thriven ; it ap- peared rather to be dying out. The only members of the family known to be extant were, first, the Judge him- self, and a single surviving son, who was now travelling in Europe ; next, the thirty years' prisoner, already alluded to, and a sister of the latter, who occupied, in an extremely retired manner, the House of the Seven THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 33 Gables, in which she had a life-estate by the will of the old bachelor. She was understood to be wretchedly poor, and seemed to make it her choice to remain so ; inas- much as her affluent cousin, the Judge, had repeatedly offered her all the comforts of life, either in the old man- sion or his own modern residence. The last and young- est Pyncheon was a little country-girl of seventeen, the daughter of another of the Judge's cousins, who had married a young woman of no family or property, and died early, and in poor circumstances. His widow had recently taken another husband. As for Matthew Maule's posterity, it was supposed now to be extinct. For a very long period after the witchcraft delusion, however, the Maules had continued to inhabit the town where their progenitor had suffered so unjust a death. To all appearance, they were a quiet, honest, well-meaning race of people, cherishing no malice against individuals or the public, for the wrong which had been done them ; or if, at their own fireside^ they transmitted, from father to child, any hostile recollection of the wizard's fate, and their lost patrimony, it was never acted upon, nor openly expressed. Nor would it have been singular had they ceased to remember that the House of the Seven Gables was resting its heavy framework on a foundation that was rightfully their own. There is something so massive, stable, and almost irresistibly imposing in the exterior presentment of es- tablished rank and great possessions, that their very existence seems to give them a right to exist ; at least, so excellent a counterfeit of right, that few poor and humble men have moral force enough to question it, even in their secret minds. Such is the case now, after 80 many ancient prejudices have been overthrown ; and it was far more so in ante-Revolutionary days, when the 34 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. aristocracy could venture to be proud, and the low were content to be abased. Thus the Maules, at all events, kept their resentments within their own breasts. They were generally poverty-stricken ; always plebeian and obscure ; working with unsuccessful diligence at handi- crafts ; labormg on the wharves, or following the sea, as sailors before the mast ; Hvmg here and there about the town, in hired tenements, and coming finally to the alms- house, as the natural home of their old age. At last, after creeping, as it were, for such a length of time, along the utmost verge of the opaque puddle of obscurity, they had taken that downright plunge, which, sooner or later, is the destiny of all famihes, whether princely or plebeian. Tor thirty years past, neither town-record, nor gravestone, nor the directory, nor the knowledge or memory of man, bore any trace of Matthew Maule's de- scendants. His blood might possibly exist elsewhere ; here, where its lowly current could be traced so far back, it had ceased to keep an onward course. So long as any of the race were to be found, they had been marked out fi'om other men — not strikingly, nor as with a sharp line, but with an effect that was felt, rather than spoken of — by an hereditary character of reserve. Their companions, or those who endeavored to become such, grew conscious of a circle round about the Maules, within the sanctity or the spell of which, in spite of an exterior of suflacient frankness and good- fellowship, it was impossible for any man to step. It was this indefinable peculiarity, perhaps, that, by in- sulating them from human aid, kept them always so unfortunate in life. It certainly operated to prolong, in their case, and to confirm to them, as their only inher- itance, those feelings of repugnance and superstitious terror with which the people of the town, even after THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 35 awakening from their frenzy, continued to regard the memory of the reputed witches. The mantle, or rather the ragged cloak, of old Matthew Maule, had fallen upon his children. They were half believed to inherit mys- terious attributes; the family eye was said to possess strange power. Among other good-for-nothing proper- ties and privileges, one was especially assigned them: that of exercising an influence over people's dreams. The Pyncheons, if all stories were true, haughtily as they bore themselves m the noonday streets of their native town, were no better than bond-servants to these plebeian Maules, on entering the topsy-turvy commonwealth of sleep. Modern pyschology, it may be, will endeavor to reduce these alleged necromancies within a system, in- stead of rejecting thcDi as altogether fabulous. A descriptive paragraph or two, treating of the seven- gabled mansion in its more recent aspect, will bring this preliminary chapter to a close. The street in which it upreared its venerable peaks has long ceased to be a fasliionable quarter of the town ; so that, though the old edifice was surrounded by habitations of modern date, they were mostly small, built entirely of wood, and typi- cal of the most plodding uniformity of common life. Doubtless, however, the whole story of human existence may be latent in each of them, but with no picturesque- ness, externally, that can attract the imagination or sym- pathy to seek it there. But as for the old structure of our story, its white-oark frame, and its boards, shingles, and crumbling plaster, and even the huge, clustered chimney in the midst, seemed to constitute only the least and meanest part of its reality. So much of man- kind's varied experience had passed there, — so much had been suffered, and something, too, enjoyed, — that the very timbers were oozy, as with the moisture of a 86 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. heart. It was itself like a great human heart, Avith a life of its own, and full of rich and sombre reminiscences. The deep projection of the second story gave the house such a meditative look, that you could not pass it with- out the idea that it had secrets to keep, and an eventful history to moralize upon. In front, just on the edge of the unpaved sidewalk, grew the Pyncheon Elm, which, in reference to such trees as one usually meets with, might well be termed gigantic. It had been planted by a great-grandson of the first Pyncheon, and, though now fourscore years of age, or perhaps nearer a hundred, was still in its strong and broad maturity, throwing its shadow from side to side of the street, overtopping the seven gables, and sweeping the whole black roof with its pendent foliage. It gave beauty to the old edifice, and seemed to make it a part of nature. The street having been widened about forty years ago, the front gable was now precisely on a line with it. On either side extended a ruinous wooden fence, of open lattice-work, through which could be seen a grassy yard, a-nd, especially in the angles of the building, an enormous fertility of burdocks, with leaves, it is hardly an exaggeration to say, two or three feet long. Behind the house there appeared to be a garden, which undoubtedly had once been extensive, but was now mfrmged upon by other enclosures, or shut in by habitations and outbuildings that stood on another street. It would be an omission, triiiing, mdeed, but unpardonable, were we to forget the green moss that had long since gathered over the projections of the windows, and on the slopes of the roof; nor must we fail to direct the reader's eye to a crop, not of weeds, but flower- shrubs, which were growing aloft in the air, not a great way from the chimney, in the nook between two of the gables. They were called Alice's Posies. The tradition THE OLD PYNCHEON FAMILY. 37 was, that a certain Alice Pjiiclkeon had flung up the seeds, in sport, and that the dust of the street and the dfX'ay of the roof gradually formed a kind of soil for tliorn, out of which they grew, when Alice had long been in lier grave. However the flowers might have come tliere, it was both sad and sweet to observe how Nature Pidopted to herself this desolate, decaying, gusty, rusty old house of the Pyncheon family ; and how the ever- returaing summer did her best to gladden it with tender beauty, and grew melancholy in the effort. There is one other feature, very essential to be noticed, but which, we greatly fear, may damage any picturesque and romantic impression which we have been willing to throw over our sketch of this respectable edifice. In the front gable, under the impending brow of the second story, and contiguous to the street, was a sliop-door, divided horizontally in the midst, and witli a window for its upper segment, such as is often seen in dwellings of a somewhat ancient date. This same shop-door had -been a subject of no slight mortification to the present occupant of the august Pyncheon House, as well as to some of her prede- cessors. The matter is disagreeably delicate to handle ; but, since the reader must needs be let into the secret, he will please to understand, that, about a century ago, the head of the Pyncheons found himself involved in serious financial difficulties. The fellow (gentleman, as he styled himself) can hardly have been other than a spurious inter- loper ; for, instead of seeking office from the king or the royal governor, or urging his hereditary claim to Eastern lands, he bethought himself of no better avenue to wealth than by cutting a shop-door through the side of his ances- tral residence. It was the custom of the time, indeed, for merchants to store their goods and transact business in their own dwellings. But there was something pitifully So THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLE-S. small iu this old Pyucheou's mode of setting abouc Lis commercial operations ; it was whispered, that, with his own hands, all beruffled as thc}^ were, he used to give change for a shilhug, and would turn a half-penny twice over, to make sure that it was a good one. Beyond all question, he had the blood of a petty huckster in his veins, through whatever channel it may have found its way there. Immediately on his death, the shop-door had been locked, bolted, and barred, and, down to the period of our story, had probably never once been opened. The old counter, shelves, and other fixtures of the httle shop remained just as he had left them. It used to be affirmed, that the dead shopkeeper, iu a white wig, a faded velvet coat, an apron at his waist, and his ruffles carefully turned back from his wrists, might be seen through the chinks of the shutters, any night of the year, ransacking his till, or poring over the dingy pages of his day-book. From the look of unutterable woe upon his face, it appeared to be his doom to spend eternity in a vain effort to make his accounts balance. And now — in a very humble way, as will be seen — we proceed to open our narrative. II. THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. nils T still lacked half an hour of sunrise, when Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon — we will not say awoke; it being doubtful whether the poor lady had so much as closed her eyes, during the brief night of mid- summer — but, at all events, arose from her soHtary pil- low, and began what it would be mockery to term the adornment of her person. Far from us be the indecorum of assistnig, even in imagination, at a maiden lady's toilet ! Our story must therefore await Miss Hepzibah at the threshold of her chamber ; only presuming, meanwhile, to note some of the heavy sighs that labored from her bosom, with httle restraint as to their lugubrious depth and vol- ume of sound, inasmuch as they could be audible to no- body, save a disembodied listener like ourself. The Old Maid was alone in the old house. Alone, except for a certain respectable and orderly young man, an artist in the daguerreotype line, who, for about three months back, had been a lodger in a remote gable, — quite a house by itself, indeed, — with locks, bolts, and oaken bars on all the intervening doors. Inaudible, consequently, were poor Miss Hepzibah's gusty sighs. Inaudible, the creak- ing joints of her stiffened knees, as she knelt down by 40 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the bedside. And inaudible, too, by mortal ear, but heard with all-comprehendmg love and pity in the farthest heaven, that almost agony of prayer — now wliispered, now a groan, now a struggling silence — wherewith she besought the Divine assistance through the day ! Evi- dently, this is to be a day of more than ordinary trial to Miss Hepzibah, who, for above a quarter of a century gone by, has dwelt in strict seclusion, taking no part in the business of life, and just as little in its intercourse and pleasures. Not with such fervor prays the torpid recluse, looking forward to the cold, sunless, stagnant calm of a day that is to be like innumerable yesterdays ! The maiden lady's devotions are concluded. Will she now issue forth over the threshold of our story ? Not yet, by many moments. First, every drawer in the tall, old-fashioned bureau is to be opened, with difficulty, and with a succession of spasmodic jerks ; then, all must close again, with the same fidgety reluctance. There is a rustling of stiff silks ; a tread of backward and for- ward footsteps, to and fro across the chamber. We suspect Miss Hepzibah, moreover, of taking a step up- ward into a chair, in order to give heedful regard to her appearance on all sides, and at full length, in the oval, dingy-framed toilet-glass, that hangs above her table. Truly ! well, indeed ! who would have thought it ! Is all this precious time to be lavished on the matutinal repair and beautifying of an elderly person, who never goes abroad, whom nobody ever visits, and from whom, when she shall have done her utmost, it were the best charity to turn one's eyes another way ? Now she is almost ready. Let us pardon her one other pause ; for it is given to the sole sentiment, or, we might better say, — heightened and rendered intense, as it has been, by sorrow and seclusion, — to the strong passion of THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. 41 her life. We heard the turning of a key in a small lock ; she has opened a secret drawer of an escritoire, and is probably looking at a certain miniature, done in Mal- bone's most perfect style, and representing a face worthy of no less delicate a pencil. It was once our good for- tune to see this picture. It is a likeness of a young man, in a silken dressing-gown of an old fashion, the soft richness of which is well adapted to the countenance of revery, with its full, tender lips, and beautiful eyes, that seem to" indicate not so much capacity of thought, as gentle and voluptuous emotion. Of the possessor of such features we shall have a right to ask nothing, except that he would take the rude world easily, and make himself happy in it. Can it have been an early lover of Miss Hepzibah ? No ; she never had a lover — poor thmg, how could she? — nor ever knew, by her own experi- ence, what love technically means. And yet, her undying faith and trust, her fresh remembrance, and continual devotedness towards the original of that miniature, have been the only substance for her heart to feed upon. She seems to have put aside the miniature, and is standing again before the toilet-glass. There are tears to be wiped off. A few more footsteps to and fro ; and here, at last, — with another pitiful sigh, like a gust of chill, damp wind out of a long-closed vault, the door of which has accidentally been set ajar, — here comes Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon! Forth she steps into the dusky, time-darkened passage ; a tall figure, clad in black silk, with a long and shrunken waist, feeling her way towards the stairs like a near-sighted person, as in truth she is. The sun, meanwhile, if not already above the horizon, was ascending nearer and nearer to its verge. A few clouds, floating high upward, caught some of the earliest 42 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. light, and threw down its golden gleam on the wmdoTTS of all the houses in the street, not forgetting the House of the Seven Gables, which — many such sunrises as it had witnessed — looked cheerfully at the present one. The reflected radiance served to show, pretty distinctly, the aspect and arrangement of the room which Hepzibah entered, after descending the stairs. It was a low- studded room, with a beam across the ceiling, panelled with dark wood, and having a large chimney-piece, set round with pictured tiles, but now closed by an iron fire- board, through which ran the funnel of a modern stove. There was a carpet on the floor, originally of rich tex- ture, but so worn and faded, in these latter years, that its once brilliant figure had quite vanished into one indis- tinguishable hue. In the way of furniture, there were two tables : one, constructed with perplexing intricacy and exhibiting as many feet as a centipede ; the other, most delicately wi'ought, with four long and slender legs, so apparently fi'ail that it was almost incredible what a length of time the ancient tea-table had stood upon them. Half a dozen chairs stood about the room, straight and stiff, and so ingeniously contrived for the discomfort of the human person that they were irksome even to sight, and conveyed the ugliest possible idea of the state of society to which they could have been adapted. One exception there was, however, in a very antique elbow- chair, with a high back, carved elaborately in oak, and a roomy depth within its arms, that made up, by its spacious comprehensiveness, for the lack of any of those artistic curves which abound in a modem chair. As for ornamental articles of furniture, we recollect but two, if such they may be called. One was a map of the Pyncheon temtory at the eastward, not engraved, but the handiwork of some skilful old draughtsman, and THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. 43 grotesquely illuminated witli pictures of Indians and wild beasts, among wliicli was seen a lion ; the natural history of the region being as little known as its geography, which was put down most fantastically awry. The other adornment was the portrait of old Colonel Pyncheon, at two thirds length, representing the stern features of a Puritanic-looking personage, in a skull-cap, with a laced band and a grizzly beard ; holdmg a Bible with one hand, and in the other uplifting an iron sword-hilt. The latter object, being more successfully depicted % the artist, stood out in far greater prominence than the sacred vol- ume. Face to face with this picture, on entering the apartment, Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon came to a pause ; regarding it with a singular scowl, a strange contortion of the brow, which, by people who did not know her^ would probably have been interpreted as an expression of bitter anger and ill-will. But it was no such thing. She, in fact, felt a reverence for the pictured visage, of which only a far-descended and time-stricken virghi could be susceptible ; and this forbidding scowl was the inno- cent result of her near-sightedness, and an eifort so to concentrate her powers of vision as to substitute a firm outline of the object instead of a vague one. We must linger a moment on this unfortunate expres- sion of poor Hepzibah's brow. Her scowl, — as the world, or such part of it as sometimes caught a transi- tory glimpse of her at the window, wickedly persisted in calHng it, — her scowl had done Miss Hepzibah a very ill office, in establishing her character as an ill-tempered old maid ; nor does it appear improbable, that, by often gazing at herself in a dim looking-glass, and perpetually encountering her own frown within its ghostly sphere, she had been led to interpret the expression almost as unjustly as the world did. "How miserably cross I 44; THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. look ! " slie must often have whispered to herself ; and ultimately have fancied herself so, by a sense of inevita- ble doom. But her heart never frowned. It was natu- rally tender, sensitive, and full of Kttle tremors and palpitations ; all of which weaknesses it retained, while her visage was growing so perversely stem, and even fierce. Nor had Hepzibah ever any hardihood, except what came from the very warmest nook in her affec- tions. All this time, however, we are loitering faint-heartedly on the threshold of our story. In very truth, we have an invincible reluctance to disclose what Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon was about to do. It has already been observed, that, in the basement story of the gable fronting on the street, an unworthy ancestor, nearly a century ago, had fitted up a shop. Ever since the old gentleman retired from trade, and fell asleep under his coffin-lid, not only the shop-door, but the inner arrangements, had been suffered to remain un- changed ; while the dust of ages gathered inch-deep over the shelves and counter, and partly filled an old pair of scales, as if it were of value enough to be weighed. It treasured itself up, too, in the half-open till, where there still lingered a base sixpence, worth neither more nor less than the hereditary pride which had here been put to shame. Such had been the state and condition of the little shop in old Hepzibah' s childhood, when she and her brother used to play at hide-and-seek in its forsaken pre- cincts. So it had remained, until within a few days past. But now, though the shop-window was still closely curtained from the public gaze, a remarkable change had taken place in its interior. The rich and heavy festoons of cobweb, which it had cost a long ancestral succession of spiders their life's labor to spin and weave, had been THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. 45 carefully brushed away from the ceiling. The counter, shelves, and floor had all been scoured, and the latter was overstrewn with fresh blue sand. The brown scales, too, had evidently undergone rigid discipline, in an un- availmg effort to rub off the rust, which, alas ! had eaten through and through their substance. Neither was the little old shop any longer empty of merchantable goods. A curious eye, privileged to take an account of stock, and investigate behind the counter, would have discovered a barrel, — yea, two or three barrels and half ditto, — one containing flour, another apples, and a third, perhaps, Indian meal. There was likewise a square box of pine- wood, full of soap in bars ; also, another of the same size, in which were tallow-candles, ten to the pound. A small stock of brown sugar, some white beans and split peas, and a few other commodities of low price, and such as are constantly in demand, made up the bulkier portion of the merchandise. It might have been taken for a ghostly or phantasmagoric reflection of the old shop- keeper Pyncheon's shabbily provided shelves, save that some of the articles were of a description and outward form which could hardly have been knoAvn in his day. For instance, there was a glass pickle-jar, filled with fragments of Gibraltar rock ; not, indeed, splinters of the veritable stone foundation of the famous fortress, but bits of delectable candy, neatly done up in white paper. Jim Crow, moreover, was seen executing his world-renowned dance, in gingerbread. A party of leaden dragoons were galloping along one of the shelves, in equipments and uniform of modern cut ; and there were some sugar figures, with no strong resemblance to the humaniiy of any epoch, but less unsatisfactorily representing our own fashions than those of a hundred years ago. Another phenomenon, still more strikingly modern, was a package 46 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. of lucifer matciies, which, in old times, would have been thought actually to borrow their instantaneous flame from the nether fires of Tophet. In short, to bring the matter at once to a point, it was incontrovertibly evident that somebody had taken the shop and fixtures of the long-retired and forgotten Mr, Pyn- cheon, and was about to renew the enterprise of that de- parted worthy, with a different set of customers. Wlio could this bold adventurer be ? And, of all places in the world, why had he chosen the House of the Seven Gables as the scene of his commercial speculations ? We return to the elderly maiden. She at length with- drew her eyes fi*om the dark countenance of the Colonel's portrait, heaved a sigh, — indeed, her breast was a very cave of jEoIus, that morning, — and stept across the room on tiptoe, as is the customary gait of elderly wo- men. Passing through an intervening passage, she opened a door that communicated with the shop, just now so elaborately described. Owing to the projection of the upper story — and still more to the thick shadow of the Pyncheon Elm, which stood almost directly in front of the gable — the twilight, here, was still as much akin to night as morning. Another heavy sigh from Miss Hepzibah ! After a moment's pause on the threshold, peering towards the window with her near-sighted scowl, as if frowning down some bitter enemy, she suddenly projected herself into the shop. The haste, and, as it were, the galvanic impulse of the movement, were really quite startling. Nervously — in a sort of frenzy, we might almost say — she began to busy herself in arranging some children's playthings, and other little wares, on the shelves and at the shop-window. In the aspect of this dark-arrayed, pale-faced, lady-like old figure there was a deeply tragic THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. 47 character, that contrasted irreconcilably with the ludi- crous pettiness of her employment. It seemed a queer anomaly, that so gaunt and dismal a personage should take a toy in hand ; a miracle, that the toy did not vanish in her grasp ; a miserably absurd idea, that she should go on perplexing her stiff and sombre intellect with the question how to tempt little boys into her premises! Yet such is undoubtedly her object. Now she places a gingerbread elephant against the window, but with so tremulous a touch that it tumbles upon the floor, with the dismemberment of three legs and its trunk ; it has ceased to be an elephant, and has become a few bits of musty gingerbread. There, again, she has upset a tum- bler of marbles, all of which roll different ways, and each individual marble, devil-directed, into the most difficult obscurity that it can find. Heaven help our poor old Hep- zibah, and forgive us for taking a ludicrous view of her position ! As her rigid and rusty frame goes down upon its hands and knees, in quest of the absconding marbles, we positively feel so much the more inclined to shed tears of sympathy, from the very fact that we must needs turn aside and laugh at her. For here, — and if we fail to impress it suitably upon the reader, it is our own fault, not that of the theme, — here is one of the truest points of melancholy interest that occur in ordinary life. It was the final throe of what called itself old gentility. A lady — who had fed herself from childhood with the shadowy food of aristocratic reminiscences, and whose religion it was that a lady's hand soils itself irremediably by doing aught for bread — this born lady, after sixty years of narrowing means, is fain to step down from her pedestal of imaginary rank. Poverty, treading closely at her heels for a lifetime, has come up with her at last. She must cam her own food, or starve ! And we have stolen 48 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. upon Miss Hepzibah Pyncbeou, too irreverently, at the instant of time wlien the patrician lady is to be trans- formed into the plebeian woman. In this republican couutry, amid the fluctuating waves of our social life, somebody is always at the drowning- point. The tragedy is enacted with as continual a repe- tition as that of a popular drama on a holiday; and, nevertheless, is felt as deeply, perhaps, as when an hereditary noble sinks below his order. More deeply; since, with us, rank is the grosser substance of weaUh and a splendid establishment, and has no spiritual ex- istence after the death of these, but dies hopelessly along with them. And, therefore, since we have been unfortu- nate enough to introduce our heroine at so inauspicious a juncture, we would entreat for a mood of due solemnity in the spectators of her fate. Let us behold, in poor Hepzibah, the immemorial lady, — two hundred years old, on this side of the water, and thrice as many on the other, — with her antique portraits, pedigrees, coats of arms, records and traditions, and her claim, as jomt heiress, to that prmceiy territory at the eastward, no longer a wilderness, but a populous fertihty, — born, too, in Pyncheon Street, under the Pyncheon Elm, and in the Pyncheon House, where she has spent all her days, — reduced now, in that very house, to be the hucksteress of a cent-shop. This business of setting up a petty shop is almost the only resource of women, in circumstances at all similar to those of our unfortunate recluse. With her near- sightedness, and those tremulous fingers of hers, at once inflexible and delicate, she could not be a seamstress; although her sampler, of fifty years gone by, exhibited some of the most recondite specimens of ornamental needlework. A school for little children had been often THE LITTLE SHOP-WINDOW. 49 in her thoughts ; and, at one time, she had begun a review of her early studies in the New England Primer, with a view to prepare herself for the office of instructress- But the love of children had never been quickened in Hepzibah's heart, and was now torpid, if not extinct; she watched the httle people of the neighborhood from her chamber-window, and doubted whether she could tolerate a more intimate acquaintance with them. Be- sides, in our day, the very ABC has become a science, greatly too abstruse to be any longer taught by pointing a pm from letter to letter. A modern child could teach old Hepzibah more than old Hepzibah could teach the child. So — with many a cold, deep heart-quake at the idea of at last coming into sordid contact with the world, from which she had so long kept aloof, while every added day of seclusion had rolled another stone against the cavern-door of her hermitage — the poor thing bethought herself of the ancient shop-window, the rusty scales, and dusty till. She might have held back a little longer; but another circumstance, not yet hinted at, had some- what hastened her decision. Her humble preparations, therefore, were duly made, and the enterprise was now to be commenced. Nor was she entitled to complain of any remarkable singularity in her fate ; for, in the town of her nativity, we might point to several little shops of a similar description ; some of them in houses as ancient as that of the Seven Gables ; and one or two, it may be, where a decayed gentlewoman stands behind the counter, as grim an image of family pride as Miss Hepzibah Pyn- cheon herself. It was overpoweringly ridiculous — we must honestly confess it — the deportment of the maiden lady while setting her shop in order for the public eye. She stole on tiptoe to the window, as cautiously as if she conceived 3 D 50 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. some bloody-minded villain to be watching behind the elm-tree, with intent to take her life. Stretching out her long, lank arm, she put a paper of pearl buttons, a Jew's- harp, or whatever the small article might be, in its des- tined place, and straightway vanished back into the dusk, as if the world need never hope for another glimpse of her. It might have been fancied, indeed, that she ex- pected to minister to the wants of the community unseen, like a disembodied divinity, or enchantress, holding forth her bargains to the reverential and awe-stricken pur- chaser, in an invisible hand. But Hepzibah had no such flattering dream. She was well aware that she must ultimately come forward, and stand revealed in her proper individuality; but, Hke other sensitive persons, she could not bear to be observed in the gradual process, and chose rather to flash forth on the world's astonished gaze at once. The inevitable moment was not much longer to be delayed. The sunshine might now be seen steahng down the front of the opposite house, from the windows of which came a reflected gleam, struggling through the boughs of the elm-tree, aud enlightening the interior of the shop more distinctly than heretofore. The town appeared to be waking up. A baker's cart had already rattled through the street, chasing away the latest vestige of night's sanctity with the jingle-jangle of its dissonant bells. A milkman was distributing the contents of his cans from door to door ; and the harsh peal of a fisher- man's conch-shell was heard far off, around the corner. None of these tokens escaped Hepzibah's notice. The moment had arrived. To delay longer would be only to lengthen out her misery. Nothing remained, except to take down the bar from the shop-door, leaving the en- trance free — more than free — welcome, as if all were THE LITTLE SHOP- WINDOW. 51 household friends — to every passer-by, whose eyes might be attracted by the commodities at the wuidow. This last act Hepzibah now performed, letting the bar fall with what smote upon her excited nerves as a most astounding clatter. Then — as if the only barrier be- twixt herself and the world had been thrown down, and a flood of evil consequences would come tumbling through the gap — she fled into the inner parlor, threw herself into the ancestral elbow-chair, and wept. Our miserable old Hepzibah ! It is a heavy annoyance to a writer, who endeavors to represent nature, its va- rious attitudes and circumstances, in a reasonably correct outhne and true coloring, that so much of the mean and ludicrous should be hopelessly mixed up with the purest pathos which life anywhere supplies to him. What tragic dignity, for example, can be wrought into a scene like this ! How can we elevate our history of retribution for the sin of long ago, when, as one of our most prominent figures, we are compelled to introduce — not a young and lovely woman, nor even the stately remains of beauty, storm- shattered by affliction — but a gaunt, sallow, rusty- jointed maiden, in a long-waisted silk gown, and with the strange horror of a turban on her head ! Her visage is not even ugly. It is redeemed from insignificance only by the contraction of her eyebrows into a near-sighted scowl. And, finally, her great life-trial seems to be, that, after sixty years of idleness, she finds it convenient to earn comfortable bread by setting up a shop in a small way. Nevertheless, if we look through all the heroic fortunes of mankind, we shall find this same entanglement of something mean and trivial with whatever is noblest in joy or sorrow. Life is made up of marble and mud. And, without all the deeper trust in a comprehensive sympathy above us, we might hence be led to suspect the 52 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. insult of a sneer, as well as an immitigable frown, on the iron countenance of fate. What is called poetic insight is the gift of discerning, in this sphere of strangely mingled elements, the beauty and the majesty which are compelled to assume a garb so sordid. in. THE FIRST CUSTOMER. rSS HEPZIBAH PYNCHEON sat in the oak- en elbow-chair, with her hands over her face, giving way to that heavy down-sinkmg of the heart which most persons have experienced, when the image of hope itself seems ponderously moulded of lead, on the eve of an enterprise at once doubtful and momen- tous. She was suddenly startled by the tinkling alarum — high, sharp, and irregular — of a little bell. The maiden lady arose upon her feet, as pale as a ghost at cock-crow ; for she was an enslaved spirit, and this the talisman to which she owed obedience. This little bell, — to speak in plainer terms, — being fastened over the shop-door, was so contrived as to vibrate by means of a steel spring, and thus convey notice to the inner regions of the house, when any customer should cross the thresh- old. Its ugly and spiteful little din (heard now for the first time, perhaps, since Hepzibah's periwigged predecessor had retired from trade) at once set every nerve of her body in responsive and tumultuous vibration. The crisis was upon her ! Her first customer was at the door ! Without giving herself time for a second thought, she rushed into the shop, pale, wild, desperate in gesture and 54 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. expression, scowling portentously, and looking far better qualified to do fierce battle with a house-breaker than to stand smiling behind the counter, bartering small wares for a copper recompense. Any ordinary customer, indeed, would have turned his back and fled. And yet there was nothing fierce in Hepzibah's poor old heart ; nor had she, at the moment, a single bitter thought against the world ■ d large, or one individual man or woman. She wished ihem all well, but wished, too, that she herself were done with them, and in her quiet grave. The applicant, by this time, stood within the doorway. Coming freshly, as he did, out of the morning hght, he appeared to have brought some of its cheery influences into the shop along with him. It was a slender young man, not more than one or two and twenty years old, with rather a grave and thoughtful expression for his years, but likewise a springy alacrity and vigor. These quali- ties were not only perceptible, physically, in his make and motions, but made themselves felt almost immediate- ly in his character. A brown beard, not too silken in its texture, fringed his chin, but as yet without completely hiding it ; he wore a short mustache, too, and his dark, high-featured countenance looked all the better for these natural ornaments. As for his dress, it was of the simplest kind; a summer sack of cheap and ordinary material, thin checkered pantaloons, and a straw hat, by no means of the finest braid. Oak Hall might have supplied his entire equipment. He was chiefly marked as a gentleman — if such, indeed, he made any claim to be — by the rather remarkable whiteness and nicety of his clean linen. He met the scowl of old Hepzibah without apparent alarm, as having heretofore encountered it, and found it harmless. THE FIRST CUSTOMER. 55 " So, my dear Miss Pyncheon," said the daguerreo- typist, — for it was that sole other occupant of the seven- gabled mansian, — "I am glad to see that you have not shrunk from your good purpose. I merely look in to offer my best wishes, and to ask if I can assist you any further in your preparations." People in difficulty and distress, or in any manner at odds with the world, can endure a vast amount of harsh treatment, and perhaps be only the stronger for it; whereas, they give way at once before the simplest ex- pression of what they perceive to be genuine sympathy. So it proved with poor Hepzibah ; for, when she saw the young man's smile, — looking so much the brighter on a thoughtful face, — and heard his kindly tone, she broke first into a hysteric giggle, and then began to sob. "Ah, Mr. Holgrave," cried she, as soon as she could speak, " I never can go through with it ! Never, never, never ! I wish I were dead, and in th-e old family -tomb, with all my forefathers ! With my father, and my mother., and my sister ! Yes, and with my brother, who had fai better find me there than here ! The world is too chill and hard, — and I am too old, and too feeble, and too hopeless ! " " O, believe me. Miss Hepzibah," said the young man, quietly, " these feelings will not trouble you any longer, after you are once fairly in the midst of your enterprise. They are unavoidable at this moment, standing, as you do, on the outer verge of your long seclusion, and peo- pling the world with ugly shapes, which you will soon find to be as unreal as the giants and ogres of a child's story-book. I find nothing so singular in life, as that everything appears to lose its substance, the instant one actually grapples with it. So it will be with what you think so terrible." 56 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " But I am a woman ! " said Hepzibah, piteously. " I was going to say, a lady, — but I consider that as past." s " Well ; no matter if it be past ! " answered the artist, a strange gleam of half-hidden sarcasm flashing through the kindliness of his manner. " Let it go ! You are the better without it. I speak frankly, my dear Mis^ Pyncheon ! for are we not friends ? I look upon this as one of the fortunate days of your life. It ends an epoch, and begins one. Hitherto, the life-blood has been grad- ually chiUing in your veins as you sat aloof, within your circle of gentility, while the rest of the world was fight- ing out its battle with one kind of necessity or another. Henceforth, you will at least have the sense of healthy and natural effort for a purpose, and of iendhig your strength — be it great or small — to the united struggle of mankind. This is success, — all the success that any- body meets with ! " " It is natural enough, Mr. Ilolgrave, that you should have ideas like these," rejoined Hepzibah, drawing up her gaunt figure, with slightly offended dignity. " You are a man, a young man, and brought up, I suppose, as almost everybody is nowadays, with a view to seeking your fortune. But I was born a lady, and have always lived one ; no matter m what narrowness of means, al- ways a lady ! " " But I was not born a gentleman ; neither have I lived like one," said Holgrave, sHghtly smiling; "so, my dear madam, you will hardly expect me to sympathize with sensibilities of this kind ; though, unless I deceive myself, I have some imperfect comprehension of them. These names of gentleman and lady had a meaning, in the past history of the world, and conferred privileges, desirable or otherwise, on those entitled to bear them. , THE FIRST CUSTOMER. 57 In the present — and still more in the future condition of society — they imply, not privilege, but restriction ! " " These are new notions," said the old gentlewoman, shaking her head. "I shall never understand them; neither do I wish it." " We will cease to speak of them, then," replied tho artist, with a friendUer smile than his last one, " and I will leave you to feel whether it is not better to be a true woman than a lady. Do you really think, Misa Hepzibah, that any lady of your family has ever done a more heroic thing, since this house was built, than you are performing in it to-day ? Never ; and if the Pyn- cheons had always acted so nobly, I doubt whether an old wizard Maule's anathema, of which you told me once, would have had much weight with Providence against them." " Ah ! — no, no ! " said Hepzibah, not displeased at this allusion to the sombre dignity of an inherited curse. "If old Maule's ghost, or a descendant of his, could see me behind the counter to-day, he would call it the fulfilment of his worst wishes. But I thank you for your kindness, Mr. Holgrave, and wUl do my utmost to be a good shop-keeper." "Pray do," said Holgrave, "and let me have the pleasure of being your first customer. I am about taking a walk to the sea-shore, before going to my rooms, where I misuse Heaven's blessed sunshine, by tracing out human features, through its agency. A few of those biscuits, dipt in sea-water, will be just what I need for breakfast. What is the price of half a dozen ? " "Let me be a lady a moment longer," replied Hepzi- bah, with a manner of antique statehness, to which a melancholy smile lent a kind of grace. She put the bis- cuits into his hand, but rejected the compensation. " A 58 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Pyncheon must not, at all events, under her forefathers' roof, receive money for a morsel of bread; fi-om her only friend ! " Holgrave took his departure, leaving her, for the mo- ment, \vith spirits not quite so much depressed. Soon, however, they had subsided nearly to their former dead level. With a beating heart, she listened to the foot- steps of early passengers, which now began to be fre- quent along the street. Once or twice they seemed to linger ; these strangers, or neighbors, as the case might be, were looking at the display of toys and petty commod- ities in Hepzibah's shop-window. She was doubly tor- tured ; in part, with a sense of overwhelming sliame, that strange and unloving eyes should have the privilege of gazing, and partly because the idea occurred to her, with ridiculous importunity, that the window was not arranged so skilfully, nor nearly to so much advantage, as it might have been. It seemed as if the whole fortune or failure of her shop might depend on the display of a different set of articles, or substituting a fairer apple for one which appeared to be specked. So she made the change, and straightway fancied that everything was spoiled by it; not recognizing that it was the nervousness of the juncture, and her own native squeamishness, as an old maid, that wi'ought all the seeming mischief. Anon, there was an encounter, just at the door-step., betwixt two laboring men, as their rough voices denoted them to be. After some slight talk about their own af- fairs, one of them chanced to notice the shop-window, and directed the other's attention to it. " See here ! " cried he ; " what do you think of this ? Trade seems to be lookhig up, in Pyncheon Street ! " " Well, well, this is a sight, to be sure ! " exclaimed the other. " In the old Pvncheon House, and underneath THE FIRST CUSTOxMER. 59 the Pyncheoa Elm ! Wlio would have thought it ? Old Maid Pyucheou is setting up a cent-shop ! " " Will she make it go, think you, Dixey ? " said his friend. " I don't call it a very good stand. There 's another shop, just round the comer." " Make it go ! " cried Dixey, with a most contemptu- ous expression, as if the very idea were impossible to be conceived. " Not a bit of it ! Why, her face — I 've seen it, for I dug her garden for her, one year — her face is enough to frighten the Old Nick himself, if he had ever so great a mind to trade with her. People can't stand it, I tell you ! She scowls dreadfully, reason or none, out of pure uglmess of temper ! " "Well, that's not so much matter," remarked the other man " These sour-tempered folks are mostly handy at business, and know pretty well what they are about. But, as you say, I don't think she '11 do much. This business of -keeping cent-shops is overdone, like all other kinds of trade, handicraft, and bodily labor. I know it, to my cost ! My wife kept a cent-shop three months, and lost five dollars on her outlay ! " " Poor business ! " responded Dixey, in a tone as if he were shaking his head, — " poor business ! " For some reason or other, not very easy to analyze, there had hardly been so bitter a pang, in all her previous misery about the matter, as what thrilled Hepzibah's heart, on overhearing the above conversation. The tes- timony in regard to her scowl was frightfully important ; it seemed to hold up her image, wholly relieved from the false light of her self-partialities, and so hideous that she dared not look at it. Slie was absurdly hurt, moreover, by the slight and idle effect that her setting up shop — an event of such breathless interest to herself — appeared to have upon the public, of which these two men were 60 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the nearest representatives. A glance ; a passing word or two ; a coarse laugh ; and she was doubtless forgotten, before they turned the corner ! They cared nothing for her dignity, and just as hitle for her degradation. Then, also, the augury of ill-success, uttered from the sure wis- aom of experience, fell upon her half-dead hope like a clod into a grave. The man's wife had already tried the same experiment, and failed ! How could the born lady, — the recluse of half a lifetime, utterly unpractised in the world, at sixty years of age, — how could she ever dream of succeeding, when the hard, vulgar, keen, busy, hack- neyed New England woman had lost live dollars on her httle outlay ! Success presented itself as an impossibility, and the hope of it as a wild hallucination. Some malevolent spirit, doing his utmost to drive Hep- zibah mad, unrolled before her imagination a kind of pan- orama, representing the great thoroughfare of a city, all astir with customers. So many and so magnificent shops as there were ! Groceries, toy-shops, dry-goods stores, with their immense panes of plate-glass, their gorgeous fixtures, their vast and complete assortments of merchan- dise, in which fortunes had been invested ; and those noble mirrors at the farther end of each establishment, doubling all this wealth by a brightly burnished vista of unrealities ! On one side of the street, this splendid bazaar, with a multitude of perfumed and glossy sales- men, smirking, smiling, bowing, and measurmg out the goods. On the other, the dusky old House of the Seven Gables, with the antiquated shop-window under its pro- jecting story, and Hepzibah herself, in a gown of rusty black silk, behind the counter, scowhng at the world as it went by ! This mighty contrast thrust itself forward, as a fair expression of the odds against which she was to begin her struggle for a subsistence. Success ? Pre- THE FIRST CUSTOMER. ' 61 posterous! She would never think of.it again! The house might just as well be buried in an eternal fog, while all other houses had the sunshine on them ; for not a foot would ever cross the threshold, nor a hand so much as try the door ! But, at this instant, the shop-bell, right over her head, tinkled as if it were bewitched. The old gentlewoman's heart seemed to be attached to the same steel sprmg, for it went through a series of sharp jerks, in unison with the sound. The door was thrust open, although no hu- man form was perceptible on the other side of the half- window. Hepzibah, nevertheless, stood at a gaze, with her hands clasped, looking very much as if she had sum- moned up an evil spirit, and were afraid, yet resolved, to hazard the encounter. " Heaven help me ! " she groaned, mentally. " Now is my hour of need ! " The door, which moved with difficulty on its creaking and rusty hinges, being forced quite open, a square and sturdy little urchin became apparent, with cheeks as red as an apple. He was clad rather shabbily (but, as it seemed, more owing to his mother's carelessness than his father's poverty), in a blue apron, very wide and short trousers, shoes somewhi^t out at the toes, and a chip-hat, with the frizzles of his curly hair sticking through its crevices. A book and a small slate, under his arm, indicated that he was on his way to school. He stared at Hepzibah a moment, as an elder customer than himself would have been likely enough to do, not know- ing what to make of the tragic attitude and queer scowl wherewith she regarded him. " Well, child," said she, taking heart at sight of a per- sonage so little formidable, — " well, my child, what did you wish for ? " 62 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " That Jim Crow, there, in the window," answered the urchin, holding out a cent, and pointmg to the ginger- bread figure that had attracted his notice, as he loitered along to school ; " the one that has not a broken foot." So Hepzibah put forth her lank arm, and taking the effigy from the shop-window, delivered it to her first cus- tomer. "No matter for the money," said she, giving him a little push towards the door ; for her old gentility was contumaciously squeamish at sight of the copper coin, and, besides, it seemed such pitiful meanness to take the child's pocket-money in exchange for a bit of stale ginger- bread. " No matter for the cent. You are welcome to Jim Crow." The child, staring, with round eyes, at this instance of liberality, wholly unprecedented in his large experience of cent-shops, took the man of gingerbread, and quitted the premises. No sooner had he reached the sidewalk (little cannibal that he was !) than Jim -Crow's head was in his mouth. As he had not been careful to shut the door, Hepzibah was at the pains of closing it after him, with a pettish ejaculation or two about the troublesome- ness of young people, and particularly of small boys. She had just placed another representative of the re- nowned Jim Crow at the window, when again the shop- bell tinkled clamorously, and again the door being thrust open, with its characteristic jerk and jar, disclosed the same sturdy little urchin who, precisely two minutes ago, had made his exit. The crumbs and discoloration of the cannibal feast, as yet hardly consummated, were exceed- ingly visible about his mouth. " What is it now, child ? " asked the maiden lady, rather impatiently; "did you come back to shut the door ? " THE FIEST CUSTOMER. 63 " No," answered the urchiu, pointing to the figure that had just been put up ; "I want that other Jim Crow." " Well, here it is for you," said Hepzibah, reaching it down; but, recognizing that this pertinacious customer woidd not quit her on any other terms, so long as she had a gingerbread figure in her shop, she partly drew back her extended hand, — " Where is the cent ? " The Httle boy had the cent ready, but, Hke a true-born Yankee, would have preferred the better bargain to the worse. Looking somewhat chagrined, he put the coin into Hepzibah's hand, and departed, sending the second Jim Crow in quest of the former one. The new shop- keeper dropped the first solid result of her commercial enterprise into the till. It was done ! The sordid stain of that copper coin could never be washed away from her palm. The little school-boy, aided by the impish figure of the negro dancer, had wrought an irreparable min. The structure of ancient aristocracy had been demohshed by him, even as if his childish gripe had torn down the seven-gabled mansion. Now let Hepzibah turn the old Pyncheon portraits with their faces to the wall, and take the map of her Eastern territory to kindle the kitchen fire, and blow up the flame with the empty breath of her an- cestral traditions ! What had she to do with ancestry ? Nothing ; no more than with posterity ! No lady, now, but simply Hepzibah Pyncheon, a forlorn old maid, and keeper of a cent-shop ! Nevertheless, even while she paraded these ideas some- what ostentatiously through her mind, it is altogether surprising what a calmness had come over her. The anx- iety and misgivings which had tormented her, whether asleep or in melancholy day-dreams, ever since her proj- ect began to take an aspect of solidity, had now van- ished quite away. She felt the novelty of her position. 64 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. indeed, but no longer with disturbance or affright. Now and then, there came a thrill of almost youthful enjoy- ment. It was the invigorating breath of a fresh outward atmosphere, after the long torpor and monotonous seclu- sion of her life. So wholesome is effort ! So miraculous the strength that we do not know of ! The healthiest glow that Hepzibah had known for years had come now, in the dreaded crisis, when, for the first time, she had put forth her hand to help herself. The little circlet of the school-boy's copper coin — dim and lustreless though it was, with the small services which it had been doing, here and there about the world — had proved a talisman, fragrant with good, and deserving to be set in gold and worn next her heart. It was as potent, and perhaps en- dowed with the same kind of efficacy, as a galvanic ring ! Hepzibah, at all events, was indebted to its subtile operation, both in body and spirit ; so much the more, as it inspired her with energy to get some breakfast, at which, still the better to keep up her courage, she allowed herself an extra spoonful in her infusion of black tea. Her introductory day of shop-keeping did not run on, however, without many and serious interruptions of this mood of cheerful vigor. As a general rule. Providence seldom vouchsafes to mortals any more than just that degree of encouragement which suffices to keep them at a reasonably full exertion of their powers. In the case of our old gentlewoman, after the excitement of new effort had subsided, the despondency of her whole life threatened, ever and anou, to return. It was like the heavy mass of clouds which we may often see obscuring the sky, and making a gray twilight everywhere, until, towards nightfall, it yields temporarily to a glimpse of simshine. But, always, the envious cloud strives to gather again across the streak of celestial azure. THE FIRST CUSTOMEE. 65 Customers came in, as the forenoon advanced, but rather slowly ; in^ some cases, too, it must be owned, with little satisfaction either to themselves or Miss Hep- zibah ; nor, on the whole, with an aggregate of very rich emolument to the till. A little girl, sent by her mother to match a skein of cotton thread, of a peculiar hue, took one that the near-sighted old lady pronounced extremely like, but soon came running back, with a blunt and cross message, that it would not do, and, besides, was very rotten! Then, there was a pale, care-wi'inkled woman, not old but haggard, and already with streaks of gray among her hair, like silver ribbons; one of those women, naturally delicate, whom you at once recognize as worn to death by a brute — probably a drunken brute — of a husband, and at least nine chil- dren. She wanted a few pounds of flour, and offered the money, which the decayed gentlewoman silently re- jected, and gave the poor soul better measure than if she had taken it. Shortly afterwards, a man in a blue cot- ton frock, much soiled, came in and bought a pipe, fiUing the whole shop, meanwhile, with the hot odor of strong drink, not only exhaled in the torrid atmosphere of his breath, but oozing out of his entire system, like an in- flammable gas. It was impressed on Hepzibah's mind that this was the husband of the care-wrinkled woman. He asked for a paper of tobacco ; and as she had neg- lected to provide herself with the article, her brutal customer dashed down his newly bought pipe, and left the shop, muttering some unintelligible words, which had the tone and bitterness of a curse. Hereupon, Hep- zibah threw up her eyes, unintentionally scowKng in the face of Providence ! No less than five persons, during the forenoon, in- quired for ginger-beer, or root-beer, or any drink of a 66 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. similar brewage, and, obtaining nothing of the kind, went oif in an exceedingly bad humor. Three of them left the door open, and the other two pulled it so spite- fully in going out that the little bell played the very deuce with Hepzibah's nerves. A round, bustling, fire- ruddy housewife of the neighborhood burst breathless into the shop, fiercely demanding yeast ; and when the poor gentlewoman, M^ith her cold shyness of manner, gave her hot customer to understand that she did not keep the article, this very capable housewife took upon herself to administer a regular rebuke. " A cent-shop, and no yeast ! " quoth she ; " that will never do ! Who ever heard of such a thing ? Your loaf will never rise, no more than mine will to-day. You had better shut up shop at once." "Well," said Hepzibah, heaving a deep sigh, "per- haps I had ! " Several times, moreover, besides the above instance, her lady-like sensibilities were seriously infringed upon by the familiar, if not rude tone with which people ad- dressed her. They evidently considered themselves not merely her equals, but her patrons and superiors. Now, Hepzibah had unconsciously flattered herself with the idea that there would be a gleam or halo, of some kind or other, about her person, which would insure an obei- sance to her sterHng gentility, or, at least, a tacit recog- nition of it. On the other hand, nothing tortured her more intolerably than when this recognition was too prominently expressed. To one or two rather officious offers of sympathy, her responses were little short of acri- monious ; and, we regret to say, Hepzibah was thrown into a positively unchristian state of mind, by the sus- picion that one of her customers was dra\\Ti to the shop, not by any real need of the article which she pretended THE FIRST CUSTOMER. 67 to seek, but by a wicked wish to stare at her. The vul- gar creature was determined to see for herself what sort of a figure a mildewed piece of aristocracy, after wasting all the bloom, and much of the decline of her life apart from the world, would cut behind a -counter. In this particular case, however mechanical aifd innocuous it might be at other times, Hepzibah's contortion of brow served her in good stead. " I never was so frightened in my Hfe ! " said the curious customer, in describing the incident to one of her acquaintances. " She 's a real old vixen, take my word of it ! She says little, to be sure ; but if you could only see the mischief in her eye ! " On the whole, therefore, her new experience led our decayed gentlewoman to very disagreeable conclusions as to the temper and manners of what she termed the lower classes, whom heretofore she had looked down upon with a gentle and pitying complaisance, as herself occupying a sphere of unquestionable superiority. But, unfortu- nately, she had likewise to struggle against a bitter emo- tion of a directly opposite kind : a sentiment of virulence, we mean, towards the idle aristocracy to which it had so recently been her pride to belong. When a lady, in a delicate and costly summer garb, with a floating veil and gracefully swaying gown, and, altogether, an ethereal lightness that made you look at her beautifully slippered feet, to see whether she trod on the dust or floated in the air, — when such a vision happened to pass through this retired street, leaving it tenderly and delusively fra- grant with her passage, as if a bouquet of tea-roses had been borne along, — then, again, it is to be feared, old Hepzibah's scowl could no longer vindicate itself entirely on the plea of near-sightedness. " For what end," thought she, giving vent to that feel- 68 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. :jLg of hostility which is the only real abasement of the poor, in presence of the rich, — " for what good end, in the wisdom of Providence, does that woman live ? Must the whole world toil, that the palms of her hands may be kept white and delicate ? " Then, ashamed and penitent; she hid her face. " May God forgive me ! " said she. Doubtless, God did forgive her. But, taking the in- ward and outward history of the first half-day into con- sideration, Hepzibah began to fear that the shop would prove her ruin in a moral and religious point of view, without contributing very essentially towards even her temporal welfare. IV. A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. |pjMpl||0 WARDS noou, Hepzibab saw an elderly gen- ^1^ tleiiian, large aud portly, and of remarkably dig- ^^ft^lj nifled demeanor, passing slowly along, on the opposite side of the white and dusty street. On coming within the shadow of the Pyncheon Elm, he stopt, and (taking off his hat, meanwhile, to wipe the perspiration from his brow) seemed to scrutinize, with especial in- terest, the dilapidated and rusty-visaged House of the Seven Gables. He himself, in a very different style, was as well worth looking at as the house. No better model need be sought, nor could have been found, of a very high order of respectability, which, by some indescribable magic, not merely expressed itself iu his looks and ges- tures, but even governed the fashion of his garments, and rendered them all proper and essential to the man. Without appearing to differ, in any tangible way, from other people's clothes, there was yet a wide and rich gravity about them, that must have been a characteristic of the wearer, since it could not be defined as pertaining either to the cut or material. His gold-headed cane, too, — a serviceable staff, of dark polished wood, — had sim- ilar traits, and, had it chosen to take a walk bv itself, 70 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. ■would have been recognized anywhere as a tolerably adequate representative of its master. This character — which showed itself so strikingly in everything about him, and the effect of wliich wo seek to convey to the reader — went no deeper than his station, habits of life, and external circumstances. One perceived him to be a person- age of marked influence, and authority ; and, especially, you could feel just as certain that he was opulent, as if he had exhibited his bank account, or as if you had seen him touching the twigs of the Pyncheon Elm, and, Midas-like, transmuting them to gold. In his youth, he had probably been considered a hand- some man ; at liis present age, his brow was too heavy, his temples too bare, his remaining hair too gray, his eye too cold, his lips too closely compressed, to bear any re- lation to mere personal beauty. He would have made a good and massive portrait ; better now, perhaps, than at any previous period of his life, although his look might grow positively harsh in the process. of being fixed upon the canvas. The artist would have found it desirable to study his face, and prove its capacity for varieii ex- pression ; to darken it with a frowu, — to kindle it up with a smile. While the elderly gentleman stood looking at the Pyn- cheon House, both the frown and the smile passed suc- cessively over his countenance. His eye rested on the shop-window, and, putting up a pair of gold-bowed spec- tacles, which he held in his hand, he mmutely surveyed Hepzibah's little aiTangement of toys and commodities. At first it seemed not to please him, — nay, to cause him exceeding displeasure, — and yet, the very next moment, he smiled. While the latter expression was yet on his lips, he caught a glimpse of Hepzibah, who had involun- tarily bent forward to the window ; and then the smile A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 71 changed from acrid and disagreeable to the sunniest com- placency and benevolence. He bowed, with a happy mix- ture of dignity and courteous kindliness, and pursued his way. " There he is ! " said Hepzibah to herself, gulping down a very bitter emotion, and, since she could not rid herself of it, trying to drive it back into her heart. " What does he think of it, I wonder ? Does it please him ? Ah ! — he is looking back ! " The gentleman had paused in the street, and turned himself half about, still with his eyes fixed on the shop- window. In fact, he wheeled wholly round, and com- menced a step or two, as if designing to enter the shop ; but, as it chanced, his purpose was anticipated by Hep- zibah's first customer, the little cannibal of Jim Crow, who, staring up at the window, was irresistibly attracted by an elephant of gingerbread. What a grand appetite had this small urchin ! — two Jim Crows immediately after breakfast ! — and now an elephant, as a preliminary whet before dinner ! By the time this latter purchase was completed, the elderly gentleman had resumed his way, and turned the street corner. " Take it as you like, Cousin Jaffrey ! " muttered the maiden lady, as she drew back, after cautiously thrusting out her head, and looking up and down the street, — " take it as you Hke ! You have seen my little shop -window ! Well ! — what have you to say ? — is not the Pyncheon House my own, while I 'm alive ? " After this incident, Hepzibah retreated to the back parlor, where she at first caught up a half-finished stocking, and began knitting at it with nervous and irregular jerks ; but quickly finding herself at odds with the stitclies, she threw it aside, and walked hurriedly about the room. At length, she paused before the portrait of the stern old 72 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Puritan, her ancestor, and the founder of the house. In one sense, this picture had ahnost faded into the canvas, and hidden itself behind the duskiness of age ; in another, she could not but fancy that it had been growing more prominent, and strikingly expressive, ever since her earh- est famiUarity with it, as a child. For, while the physical outline and substance were darkening away from the be- holder's eye, the bold, hard, and, at the same time, indi- rect character of the man seemed to be brought out in a kind of spiritual relief. Such an effect may occasion- ally be observed in pictures of antique date. They acquire a look wliich an artist (if he have anything like the complacency of artists nowadays) would never dream of presenting to a patron as his own characteristic expression, but which, nevertheless, we at once recognize as reflecting the unlovely truth of a human soul. In such cases, the painter's deep conception of his subject's inward traits has wrought itself into the essence of the picture, and is seen after the superficial coloring has been rubbed off by time. While gazmg at the portrait, Hepzibah trembled under its eye. Her hereditary reverence made her afraid to judge the character of the original so harshly as a per- ception of the truth compelled her to do. But still she gazed, because the face of the picture enabled her — at least, she fancied so — to read more accurately, and to a greater depth, the face which she had just seen in the street. " This is the very man ! " murmured she to herself. "Let Jaffrey Pyiicheon smile as he will, there is that look beneath! Put on him a skull-cap, and a band, and a black cloak, and a Bible in one hand and a sword in the other, — then let Jaffrey smile as he might, — no- body would doubt that it was the old Pyncheon come A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 73 'again! He has proved himself the very man to build up a new house ! Perhaps, too, to draw down a new curse ! " Thus did Hepzibah bewilder herself with these fanta- sies of the old time. She had dwelt too much alone, — too long in the Pvncheon House, — until her very brain was impregnated with the dry-rot of its timbers. She needed a walk along the noonday street, to keep her sane. By the spell of contrast, another portrait rose up be- fore her, painted with more daring flattery than any artist would have ventured upon, but yet so delicately touched that the likeness remained perfect. Malbone's minia- ture, though from the same original, was far inferior to Hepzibah's air-drawn picture, at wliich affection and sorrowful remembrance wrought together. Soft, mildly, and cheerfully contemplative, with full, red lips, just on the verge of a smile, which the eyes seemed to herald by a gentle kindliug-up of their orbs ! Eerainine traits, moulded inseparably with those of the other sex ! The miniature, likewise, had this last peculiarity; so that you inevitably thought of the original as resembling his mother, and she, a lovely and lovable woman, with per- haps some beautiful infirmity of character, that made it all the pleasanter to know, and easier to love her. " Yes," thought Hepzibah, with grief of which it was only the more tolerable portion that welled up from her heart to her eyelids, "they persecuted his mother in him ! He never was a Pyncheon ! " But here the shop -bell rang ; it was like a sound from -i remote distance, — so far had Hepzibah descended into the sepulchral depths of her reminiscences. On entering the shop, she found an old man there, a humble resident of Pyncheon Street, and whom, for a great many years 74 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. past, she had suffered to be a kind of familiar of the house. He was au immemorial personage, who seemed always to have had a white head and wrinkles, and never to have possessed but a single tooth, and that a half- decayed one, in the front of the upper jaw. Well ad- vanced as Hepzibah was, she could not remember when Uncle Venner, as the neighborhood called him, had not gone up and down the street, stooping a httle and draw- ing his feet heavily over the gravel or pavement. But still there was somethmg tough and vigorous about him, that not only kept him in daily breath, but enabled him to fill a place which would else have been vacant in the apparently crowded world. To go of errands with his slow and shufiiiug gait, which made you doubt how he ever was to arrive anywhere ; to saw a small household's foot or two of firewood, or knock to pieces an old barrel, or split up a pine board, for kindling-stuff; in summer, to dig the few yards of garden ground appertain- ing to a low-rented tenement, and share the produce of his labor at the halves ; in winter, to shovel away the snow from the sidewalk, or open paths to the woodshed, or along the clothes-line ; such were some of the essential offices which Uncle Venner performed among at least a score of families. Within that circle, he claimed the same sort of privilege, and probably felt as much warmth of interest, as a clergyman does in the range of his parishioners. Not that he laid claim to the tithe pig; but, as an analogous mode of reverence, he went his rounds, every morning, to gather up the crumbs of the table and overflowings of the dinner-pot, as food for a pig of his own. In his younger days — for, after all, there was a dim tradition that he had been, not young, but younger — Uncle Venner was commonly regarded as rather deficient. A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 75 than otherwise, in his wits. In truth, he had virtually pleaded guilty to the charge, by scarcely aiming at such success as other men seek, and by taking only that hum- ble and modest part, in the intercourse of life, which belongs to the alleged deficiency. But now, in his ex- treme old age, — whether it were that his long and hard experience had actually brightened him, or that his decaying judgment rendered him less capable of fairly measuring himself, — the venerable man made pretensions to no little wisdom, and really enjoyed the credit of it. There was likewise, at times, a vein of something Hke poetry in him ; it was the moss or wall-flower of his mind in its small dilapidation, and gave a charm to what might have been vulgar and commonplace in his earlier and middle life. Hepzibah had a regard for liim, because his name was ancient in the town, and had formerly been respectable. It was a still better reason for awarding him a species of famihar reverence, that Uncle Venner was himself the most ancient existence, whether of man or thing, in Pyncheon Street, except the House of the Seven Gables, and perhaps the elm that overshadowed it. This patriarch now presented himself before Hepzibah, clad in an old blue coat, which had a fashionable air, and must have accrued to him from the cast-off wardrobe of some dashing clerk. As for his trousers, they were of tow-cloth, very short in the legs, and bagging down strangely in the rear, but yet having a suitableness to his figure which his other garment entirely lacked. His hat had relation to no other part of his dress, and but very little to the head that wore it. Thus Uncle Vemier was a miscellaneous old gentleman, partly himself, but, in good measure, somebody else ; patched together, too, of different epochs : an epitome of times and fashions. " So, you have really bogun trade," said he, — " really 76 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. begun trauo ; Well, I 'm glad to see it. Youiig people should never live idle in the world, nor old ones neither, unless when the rheumatize gets hold of them. It has given me warning already : and in two or three years longer, I shall think of putting aside business, and re- tiring to my farm. That 's yonder, — the great brick house, you know, — the workhouse, most folks call it ; but I mean to do my work first, and go there to be idle and enjoy myself. And I 'm glad to see you beginning to do your work, Miss Hepzibah ! " " Thank you. Uncle Venner," said Hepzibah, smiling ; for she always felt kindly towards the simple and talka- tive old man. Had he been an old woman, she might probably have repelled the freedom which she now took in good part. " It is time for me to begin work, indeed ! Or, to speak the truth, I have just begun, when I ought to be giving it up." " O, never say that. Miss Hepzibah ! " answered the old man. "You are a young woman yet. Why, I hardly thought myself younger than I am now, it seems so little while ago since I used to see you playing about the door of the old house, quite a small child ! Oftener, though, you used to be sitting at the threshold, and looking gravely into the street ; for you had always a grave kind of way with you, — a grown-up air, when you were only the height of my knee. It seems as if I saw you now ; and your grandfather with bis red cloak, and his white wig, and his cocked hat, and his cane, coming out of the bouse, and stepping so grandly up the street! Those old gentlemen tliat grew up before the Revolution used to put on grand airs. In my young days, the great man of the towTi was commonly called Kmg ; and his wife, not Queen to be sure, but Lady. Nowadays, a man would not dare to be called King ; and if he feels himw«!*jlf A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 77 a little above common folks, he only stoops so much the lower to them. I met your cousin, the Judge, ten minutes ago ; and, in my old tow-cloth trousers, as you see, the Judge raised his hat to me, I do beheve ! At any rate, the Judge bowed and smiled ! " " Yes," said Hepzibah, with something bitter stealing unawares into her tone ; " my cousin Jaffrey is thought to have a very pleasant smile ! " " And so he has ! " replied Uncle Venner. " And that 's rather remarkable in a Pyncheon ; for, begging your pardon. Miss Hepzibah, they never had the name of being an easy and agreeable set of folks. There was no getting close to them. But now. Miss Hepzibah, if an old man may be bold to ask, why don't Judge Pyncheon, with his great means, step forward, and tell his cousin to shut up her little shop at once ? It 's for your credit to be doing something, but it 's not for the Judge's credit to let you ! " " We won't talk of this, if you please, Uncle Venner,'* said Hepzibah, coldly. " I ought to say, however, that, if I choose to earn bread for myself, it is not Judge Pyncheon's fault. Neither will he deserve the blame," added she, more kindly, remembering Uncle Venner's privileges of age and humble familiarity, " if I should, by and by, find it convenient to retire with you to your farm." " And it 's no bad place, either, that farm of mine ! " cried the old man, 3heerily, as if there were something positively dehghtful in the prospect. " No bad place is the great brick farm-house, especially for them that will find a good many old cronies there, as will be my case. I quite long to be among tliem, sometimes, of the winter evenings ; for it is but dull business for a lonesome elderly man, like me, to be nodding, by the hour together, with no company but his air-tight stove. Summer or winter. 78 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. there 's a great deal to be said in favor of my farm ! And, take it in the autumn, what can be pleasanter than to spend a whole day on the sunny side of a barn or a wood- pile, chatting with somebody as old as one's self; or, pcrliaps, idling away the time with a natural-born simple- ton, who knows how to be idle, because even our busy Yankees never have found out how to put him to any use ? Upon my word, Miss Hepzibah, I doubt whether I 've ever been so comfortable as I mean to be at my farm, which most folks call the workhouse. But you, — you 're a young woman yet, — you never need go there ! Something still better will turn up for vou. I 'm sure of it ! " Hepzibah fancied that there was something peculiar in her venerable friend's look and tone ; insomuch, that she gazed mto his face with considerable earnestness, endeav- oring to discover what secret meaning, if any, might be lurking there. Individuals whose affairs have reached an utterly desperate crisis almost invariably keep themselves alive with hopes, so much the more airily magnificent, as they have the less of solid matter within their grasp, whereof to mould any judicious and moderate expectation of good. Thus, all the while Hepzibah was perfecting the scheme of her little shop, she had cherished an unac- knowledged idea that some harlequin trick of fortune would intervene in her favor. For example, an uncle — who had sailed for India, fifty years before, and never been heard of since — might yet return, and adopt her to be the comfort of his very extreme and decrepit age, and adorn her with pearls, diamonds, and Oriental shawls and turbans, and make her the ultimate heiress of his un- reckonable riches. Or the member of Parliament, now at the head of the English branch of the family, — with which the elder stock, on this side of the Atlantic, had A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 79 held little or no intercourse for the last two centuries, — this eminent gentlem^ might invite Hepzibah to quit the ruinous House of the Seven Gables, and come over to dwell with her kmdred at Pvncheon Hall. But, for rea- sons the most imperative, she could not yield to his re- quest. It was more probable, therefore, that the descend- ants of a Pyncheon who had emigrated to Virginia, in some past generation, and became a great planter there, — hearing of Hepzibah's destitution, and impelled by the splendid generosity of character with which their Vir- ginian mixture must have enriched the New England blood, — would send her a remittance of a thousand dol- lars, with a hint of repeating the favor, annually. Or — and, surely, anything so undeniably just could not be beyond the limits of reasonable anticipation — the great claim to the heritage of Waldo County might finally be decided in favor of the Pyncheons ; so that, instead of keeping a cent-shop, Hepzibah would build a palace, and look down from its highest tower on hill, dale, forest, field, and town, as her ovm share of the ancestral terri- tory. These were some of the fantasies which she had long dreamed about ; and, aided by these. Uncle Veuner's casual attempt at encouragement kindled a strange festal glory in the poor, bare, melancholy chambers of her brain, as if that inner world were suddenly lighted up with gas. But either he knew nothing of her castles in the air — as how should he ? — or else her earnest scowl disturbed his recollection, as it might a more courageous man's. Instead of pursuing any weighter topic. Uncle Venner was pleased to favor Hepzibah with some sage counsel in her shop-keeping capacity. " Give no credit ! " — these were some of his golden maxims, — " Never take paper-money ! Look well to 80 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. your change ! Ring the silver on the four-pound weight ! Shove back all Enghsh half-pence and base copper tokens, such as are very plenty about town ! At your leisure hours, knit children's woollen socks and mittens ! Brew your own yeast, and make your own ginger-beer ! " And while Hepzibah was doing her utmost to digest the hard little pellets of his already uttered wisdom, he gave vent to his final, and what he declared to be his all- important advice, as follows : — " Put on a bright face for your customers, and smile pleasantly as you hand them what they ask for ! A stale article, if you dip it in a good, warm, sunny smile, will go off better than a fresii one that you 've scowled upon." To this last apothegm poor Hepzibah responded vrith a sigh so deep and heavy that it almost rustled Uncle Vernier quite away, like a withered leaf, — as he was, — before an autumnal gale. Recovering himself, however, he bent forward, and, with a good deal of feehng in his ancient visage, beckoned her nearer to him. "When do you expect him home ? " whispered he. " Whom do you mean ? " asked liepzibah, turning pale. "Ah? you don't love to talk about it," said Tncle Venner. " Well, well ! we '11 say no more, though there 's word of it, all over town. I remember him. Miss Hepzibah, before he could run alone ! " During the remamder of the day, poor Hepzibah ac- quitted herself even less creditably, as a shop-keeper, than in her earlier efforts. She appeared to be walking in a dream ; or, more truly, the vivid life and reality assumed by her emotions made all outward occurrences unsubstan- tial, like the teasing phantasms of a half-conscious slum- ber. She still responded, mechanically, to the frequent A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTER. 81 summons of the shop-bell, and, at the demand of her cus- tomers, went prying with vague eyes about the shop, proJSPering them one article after another, and thrustmg aside — perversely, as most of them supposed — the identical thing they asked for. There is sad confusion, indeed, when the spirit thus flits away into the past, or into the more avv^ful future, or, in any manner, steps across the spaceless boundary betwixt its own region and the actual world ; where the body remains to guide itself, as best it may, with little more than the mechanism of animal life. It is like death, without death's quiet privilege, — its freedom from mortal care. Worst of all, when the actual duties are comprised in such petty details as now vexed the brooding soul of the old gentlewoman. As the animosity of fate would have it, there was a great influx of custom, in the course of the afternoon. Hepzi- bah blundered to and fro about her small place of busi- ness, committmg the most unheard-of errors : now string- ing up twelve, and now seven tallow-candles, instead of ten to the pound ; selling ginger for Scotch snuff, pins for needles, and needles for pins ; misreckoning her change, sometimes to the public detriment, and much oftener to her own ; and thus she went on, doing her utmost to bring chaos back again, until, at the close of the day's labor, to her inexplicable astonishment, she found the money-drawer almost destitute of coin. After all her painful traffic, the whole proceeds were perhaps half a dozen coppers, and a questionable ninepence, which ultimately proved to be copper likevase. At this price, or at whatever price, she rejoiced that the day had reached its end. Never before had she had such a sense of the intolerable length of time that creeps between dawn and sunset, and of the miserable irksome- ness of havins: aujrlit to do, and of the better wisdom 82 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. that it would be, to lie down at once, in sullen resigna- tion, and let life, and its toils and vexations, trample over one's prostrate body as they may ! Hepzibali's final operation was with the little devourer of Jim Crow and the elephant, who now proposed to eat a camel. In her bewilderment, she offered him first a wooden dragoon, and next a handful of marbles ; neither of which being adapted to his else omnivorous appetite, she hastily held out her whole remaining stock of natural history in gin- gerbread, and huddled the small customer out of the shop. She then mufiled the beU in an unfinished stock- ing, and put up the oaken bar across the door. During the latter process, an omnibus came to a stand- still under the branches of the elm-tree. Hepzibah's heart was in her mouth. Remote and dusky, and with no sunshine- on all the intervening space, was that region of the Past whence her only guest might be expected to arrive ! Was she to meet him now ? Somebody, at all events, was passing from the farthest interior of the omnibus towards its entrance. A gentle- man alighted ; but it was only to offer his hand to a young girl whose slender figure, nowise needing such assistance, now hghtly descended the steps, and made an airy little jump from the final one to the sidewalk. She rewarded her cavalier with a smile, the cheery glow of which was seen reflected on his own face as he re- entered the vehicle. The girl then tui'ned towards the House of the Seven Gables, to the door of which, mean- while, — not the shop-door, but the antique portal, — the omnibus-man had carried a light trunk and a band- box. First giving a sharp rap of the old iron knocker, he left his passenger and her luggage at the doorstep, and departed. ** Who can it be ? " thought Hepzibah, who had been A DAY BEHIND THE COUNTEE. 83 screwing her visual organs into the acutest focus of which they were capable, " The girl must have mistaken tha house ! " She stole softly into the hall, and, herself invisible, gazed through the dusty side-lights of the portal at the young, blooming, and very cheerful face, wliich presented itself for admittance into the gloomy old mansion. It was a face to which almost any door would have opened of its own accord. The young girl, so fresh, so unconventional, and yet so orderly and obedient to common rules, as you at once recognized her to be, was widely in contrast, at that mo- ment, with everything about her. The sordid and ugly luxuriance of gigantic weeds that grew in the angle of the house, and the heavy projection that overshadowed her, and the time-worn framework of the door, — none of these things belonged to her sphere. But, even as a ray of sunshine, fall into what dismal place it may, instan- taneously creates for itself a propriety in being there, so did it seem altogether fit that the girl should be stand- ing at the threshold. It was no less evidently proper that the door should swing open to admit her. The maiden lady, herself, sternly inhospitable in her first pur- poses, soon began to feel that the door ougbt to be .shoved back, and the rusty key be turned in the reluctant lock. "Can it be Phoebe?" questioned she within herself. " It must be little Phoebe ; for it can be nobody else, — and there is a look of her father about her, too ! But what does she want here ? And how like a country cousin, to come down upon a poor body in this way, without so much as a day's notice, or asking whether she would he welcome ! Well ; she must have a night's lodging, I suppose; and ^o-morrow the child shall go back to her mother ! " 84 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEK GABLES. Phoebe, it must be understood, was that one little off- shoot of the Pjncheon race to whom we have already referred, as a native of a rural part of New England, where the old fashions and feelings of relationship are still partially kept up. In her own circle, it was re- garded as by no means improper for kinsfolk to visit one another, without invitation, or prehminary and ceremo- nious warmng. Yet, in consideration of Miss Hepzibah's recluse way of life, a letter had actually been written and despatched, conveying information of Phcebe's projected visit. This epistle, for three or four days past, had been in the pocket of the penny-postman, who, happening to have no other business in Pyucheon Street, had not yet made it convenient to call at the House of the Seven Gables. " No ! — she can stay only one night," said Hepzibah, unbolting the door. " If Clifford were to iind her here, it might disturb him ! " V. MAY AND NOVEMBER. HOEBE PYNCHEON slept, ou the night of her arrival, in a chamber that looked down on the garden of the old house. It fi'onted towards the east, so that at a very seasonable hour a glow of crimson light came flooding through the window, and bathed the dingy ceiling and paper-hangings in its own hue. There were curtains to Phoebe's bed ; a dark, an- tique canopy and ponderous festoons, of a stuff which had been rich, and even magnificent, in its time ; but which now brooded over the girl like a cloud, making a night in that one corner, while elsewhere it was begin- ning to be day. The morning light, however, soon stole into the aperture at the foot of the bed. betwixt those faded curtains. Finding the new guest there, — with & bloom on her cheeks like the morning's own, and a gentle stir of departing slumber in her limbs, as when an early breeze moves the foliage, — the dawn kissed her brow. It was the caress which a dewy maiden — such as the Dawn is, immortally — gives to her sleeping sister, part- ly from the impulse of irresistible fondness, and partly as a pretty hint that it is time now to unclose her eyes. At the touch of those lips of light, Phoebe quietly awoke, and, for a moment, did not recognize where she 86 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. was, nor how those heavy curtains chanced to be fes- tooned around her. Nothing, indeed, was absolutely plain to her, except that it was now early morning, and that, whatever might happen next, it was proper, first of aU, to get up and say her prayers. She was the more inclined to devotion, from the grim aspect of the cham- ber and its furniture, especially the tall, stiif chairs ; one of which stood close by her bedside, and looked as if some old-fashioned personage had been sitting there all night, and had vanished only just in season to escape discovery. When Phcebe was quite dressed, she peeped out of the window, and saw a rose-bush in the garden. Being a very tall one, and of luxuriant growth, it had been propped up agamst the side of the house, and was liter- ally covered with a rare and very beautiful species of white rose. A large portion of them, as the girl after- wards discovered, had blight or mildew at their hearts ; but, viewed at a fair distance, the whole rose-bush looked as if it had been brought from Eden that very summer, together with the mould in which it grew. The truth was, nevertheless, that it had been planted by AHce Pyn- cheon, — she was Phoebe's great-great -grand-aunt, — in soil which, reckoning only its cultivation as a garden- plat, was now unctuous with nearly two hundred years of vegetable decay. Growing as they did, however, out of the old earth, the flowers still sent a fresh and sweet incense up to their Creator ; nor could it have been the less pure and acceptable, because Phoebe's young breath mingled with it, as the fragrance floated past the window. Hastening down the creaking and carpetless staircase, she found her way into the garden, gathered some of the most perfect of the roses, and brought them to her chamber. MAY AND NOVEMBER. 87 Little PhcBbe was one of those persons who possess, as their exclusive patrimony, the gift of practical arrange- ment. It is a kind of natural magic that enables these favored ones to bring out the hidden capabilities of things around them ; and particularly to give a look of comfort and habitableness to any place which, for however brief a period, may happen to be their home. A wild hut of underbrush, tossed together by wayfarers through the primitive forest, would acquire the home aspect by one night's lodging of such a woman, and would retain it long after her quiet figure had disappeared into the sur- rounding shade. No less a. portion of such homely witchcraft was requisite, to reclaim, as it were, Phoebe's waste, cheerless, and dusky chamber, which had been un- tenanted so long — except by spiders, and mice, and rats, and ghosts — that it was all overgrown with the deso- lation which watches to obhterate every trace of man's happier hours. What was precisely Phoebe's process, we find it impossible to say. She appeared to have no preliminary design, but gave a touch here, and another there; brought some articles of furniture to light, and dragged others into the shadow ; looped up or let down a window-curtain; and, in the course of half an hour, had fully succeeded in throwing a kindly and hospitable smUe over the apartment. No longer ago than the night before, it had resembled nothing so much as the old maid's heart ; for there was neither sunshine nor house- hold fire in one nor the other, and, save for ghosts and ghostly reminiscences, not a guest, for many years gone by, had entered the heart or the chamber. There was still another pecuHarity of this inscrutable charm. The bedchamber, no doubt, was a chamber of very great and varied experience, as a scene of human life: the joy of bridal nights had throbbed itself away 88 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. here; new ixmortals had first drawn earthly breath here ; and here old people had died. But — whether it were the white roses, or whatever the subtile influence might be — a person of delicate instinct would have known, at once, that it was now a maiden's bedcham- ber, and had been purified of all former evil and sorrow by her sweet breath and hal^py thoughts. Her dreams of the past night, being such cheerful ones, had exor- cised the gloom, and now haunted the chamber in its stead. After arranging matters to her satisfaction, Phoebe emerged from her chamber with a purpose to descend again into the garden. Beanies tile rose-bush, she had observed several other spiecies of flowers, growing there in a wilderness of neglect, and obstructing ^iie another's development (as is often the parallel case in human so- ciety) by their uneducated entanglement and confusion. At the head of the stairs, however, she met Hcpzibah, who, it being still early, invited her into a room which she would probably have called her boudoir, had her edu- cation embraced any such French phrase. It was strewn about with a few old books, and a work-basket, and a dusty writmg-desk ; and had, on one side, a large, black article of furniture, of very strange appearance, which the old gentlewoman told Phcebe was a harpsichord. It looked more like a coffin than anything else; and, m- deed, — not having been played upon, or opened, for years, — there must have been a vast deal of dead music in it, stifled for want of air. Human finger was hardly known to have touched its chords since the days of Alice Pyn- cheon, who had learned the sweet accomplishment of melody m Europe. Hcpzibah bade her young guest sit down, and, herself takmg a chair near by, looked as earnestly at Phoebe's MAY AND NOVEMBER. 89 trim little figure as if she expected to see right into its springs and motive secrets. " Cousin Phoebe," said she, at last, " I really can't see my way clear to keep you with me." These words, however, had not the inhospitable blunt- ness with which they may strike the reader ; for the two relatives, in a talk before bedtime, had arrived at a certain degree of mutual understandhig. Hepzibah knew enough to enable her to appreciate the circumstances (resulting from the second marriage of the girl's mother) wliicli made it desirable for Phcebe to establish herself in another home. Nor did she misiiiterpret Phoebe's character, and the genial activity pervading it, — one of the most valuable traits of the true New England woman, — which had im- pelled her forth, as might be said, to seek her fortune, but with a self-respecting purpose to confer as much bene- fit as she could anywise receive. As one of her nearest kindred, she had naturally betaken herself to Hepzibah, with no idea of forcing herself on her cousin's protection, but only for a visit of a week or two, which might be indefinitely extended, should it prove for the happinesp of both. To Hepzibah's blunt observation, therefore, Phoebe re- plied, as frankly, and more cheerfully. " Dear cousin, I cannot tell how it will be," said she. " But I really think we may suit one another much bet- ter than you suppose." " You are a nice girl, — I see it plainly," continued Hepzibah ; " and it is not any question as to that point which makes me hesitate. But, Phoebe, this house of mine is but a melancholy place for a young person to be in. It lets in the wind and rain, and the snow, too, in the gnrret and upper chambers, in winter-time ; but it- never lets in the sunshine.' And .as fo^ myself, you sec 90 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. what 1 am, — a dismal and lonesome old woman (for ^ begin to call myself old, Phoebe), whose temper, I am afraid, is none of the best, and whose spirits are as bad as can be. I cannot make your life pleasant, Cousm Phoebe, neither can I so much as give you bread to eat." " You will find me a cheerful little body," answered Phoebe, smiling, and yet with a kind of gentle dignity ; ■•' and I mean to earn my bread. You know I have not been brought up a Pyncheon. A girl learns many things in a New England viHage." " Ah ! Phoebe," said Hepzibah, sighing, " your knowl- edge would do but little for you here ! And then it is a wretched thought, that you should fling away your young days in a place like this. Those cheeks would not be so rosy, after a month or two. Look at my face ! " — and, indeed, the contrast was very striking, — "you see how pale I am ! It is my idea that the dust and continual decay of these old houses are unwholesome for the lungs." " There is the garden, — the flowers to be taken care of," observed Phcsbe. "I should keep myself healthy with exercise in the open air." "And, after all, child," exclaimed Hepzibah, sud- denly rising, as if to dismiss the subject, " it is not for me to say who shall be a guest or inhabitant of the old Pyncheon House. Its master is coming." " Do you mean Judge Pyncheon ? " asked Phoebe, in surprise. " Judge Pyncheon ! " answered her cousin, angrily. " He will hardly cross the threshold while I live ! No, no ! But, Phoebe, you shall see the face of him I speak of." She went in quest of the miniature already described, and returned with it in her hand. Giving it to Phcebe, MAY AND NOVEMBER. 91 she watched her features narrowly, and with a certain jealousy as to the mode in which the girl would show herself affected by the picture. " How do you like the face ? " asked Hepzibah. " It is handsome ! — it is very beautiful ! " said Phoebe, admiringly. " It is as sweet a face as a man's can be, or ought to be. It has something of a child's expression, — and yet not childish, — only one feels so very kindly towards him ! He ought never to suffer anything. One would bear much for the sake of sparing him toil or sorrow. Who is it. Cousin Hepzibah ? " "Did you never hear," whispered her cousin, bending towards her, " of Clifford Pyncheon ? " " Never ! I thought there were no Pyncheons left, except yourself and our cousin Jaffrey," answered Phcebe. "And yet I seem to have heard the name of Clifford Pyncheon. Yes ! — from my father, or my mother; but has he not been a long while dead/" " Well, well, child, perhaps he has ! " said Hepzibah, with a sad, hollow laugh ; " but, in old houses like this, you know, dead people are very apt to come back again ! We shall see. And, Cousin Phoebe, since, after all that I have said, your courage does not fail you, we will not part so soon. You are welcome, my child, for the pres- ent, to such a home as your kinswoman can offer you." With this measured, but not exactly cold assurance of a hospitable purpose, Hepzibah kissed her cheek. They now went below stairs, where Phoebe — not so much assuming the office as attracting it to herself, by the magnetism of innate fitness — took the most active part in preparing breakfast. The mistress of the house, mean- while, as is usual with persons of her stiff and unmal- leable cast, stood mostly aside ; wilKng to lend her aid, yet conscious that her natural inaptitude would be likely 92 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. to impede tlie business in hand. Phoebe, and the fire that boiled the teakettle, were equally bright, cheerful, and efficient, in their respective offices. Hepzibah gazed forth from her habitual sluggishness, the necessary result of long solitude, as from another sphere. She could not help being interested, however, and even amused, at the readmess with which her new inmate adapted herself to the circumstances, and brought the house, moreover, and all its rusty old apphances, into a suitableness for her purposes. Whatever she did, too, was done without conscious effort, and with frequent outbreaks of song, which were exceedingly pleasant to the ear. This natu- ral tunefulness made Phcebe seem like a bird in a shad- owy tree ; or conveyed the idea that the stream of Hfe warbled through her heart as a brook sometimes warbles through a pleasant little dell. It betokened the cheeri- ness of an active temperament, finding joy in its activity, and, therefore, rendering it beautiful; it was a New England trait, — the stern old stuff of Puritanism with a gold thread in the web. Hepzibah brought out some old silver spoons, with the family crest upon them, and a china tea-set, painted over with grotesque figures of man, bird, and beast, in as gro- tesque a landscape. These pictured people were odd humorists, in a world of their own, — a world of vivid brilliancy, so far as color went, and still unfaded, al- though the teapot and small cups were as ancient as the custom itself of tea-drinking. " Your great-great -great-great -grandmother had these cups, when she was married," said Hepzibah to Phoebe. " She was a Davenport, of a good family. They were almost the first teacups ever seen in the colony ; and if one of them were to be broken, my heart would break with it. But it is nonsense to speak so about a brittle MAY AND NOVEMBER. 93 teacup, when I remember what my heart has gone through, without breaking." The cups — not having been used, perhaps, since Hepzibah's youth — had contracted no small burden of dust, which Phoebe washed away with so much care and delicacy as to satisfy even the proprietor of this invalua- ble china. *' What a nice little housewife you are ! " exclaimed the latter, smiling, and, at the same time, frowning so prodigiously that the smile was sunshine under a thun- der-cloud. " Do you do other things as well ? Are you as good at your book as you are at washing tea- cups ? " " Not quite, I am afraid," said Phoebe, laughing at the form of Hepzibah's question. " But I was school- mistress for the little children in our district, last sum- mer, and might have been so still." " Ah ! 't is all very well ! " observed the maiden lady, drawing herself up. " But these thmgs must have come to you with your mother's blood. I never knew a Pyn- cheon that had any turn for them." It is very queer, but not the less true, that people are generally quite as vain, or even more so, of their deficien- cies, than of their available gifts ; as was Hepzibah of this native inapplicability, so to speak, of the Pyncheons to any useful purpose. She regarded it as an hereditary trait ; and so, perhaps, it was, but, unfortunately, a mor- bid one, such as is often generated in families that remain long above the surface of society. Before they left the breakfast-table, tlie shop-bell rang sharply, and Hepzibah set down the remnant of her final cup of tea, with a look of sallow despair that was truly piteous to behold. In cases of distasteful occupation, the second day is generally worse than the first ; we return 94 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. to the rack with all the soreness of the precedmg torture in our hnibs. At all events, Hepzibah had fully satisfied herself of the impossibility of ever becoming wonted to this peevishly obstreperous little bell. Ring as often as it might, the sound always smote upon her nervous sys- tem rudely and suddenly. And especially now, while, with her crested teaspoons and antique china, she was flattermg herself with ideas of gentility, she felt an un. speakable disinclination to confront a customer. " Do not trouble yourself, dear cousin ! " cried Phoebe, starting lightly up. " I am shop-keeper to-day." " You, child ! " exclaimed Hepzibah, " What can a little country -girl know of such matters ? " " O, I have done all the shopping for the family, at our village store," said Phoebe. "And I have had a table at a fancy fair, and made better sales than anybody. These things are not to be learnt ; they depend upon a knack, that comes, I suppose," added she, smiling, " with one's mother's blood. You shall see that I am as nice a little saleswoman as I am a housewife ! " The old gentlewoman stole behmd Phoebe, and peeped from the passage-way into the shop, to note how she would manage her undertaking. It was a case of some intricacy, A very ancient woman, in a white short gowu and a green petticoat, with a string of gold beads about her neck, and what looked like a nightcap on her head, had brought a quantity of yarn to barter for the com- modities of the shop. She was probably the very last person in town who still kept the time-honored spinning- wheel in constant revolution. It was worth while to hear the croaking and hollow tones of the old lady, and the pleasant voice of Phoebe, mingling in one twisted thread of talk; and still better, to contrast their figures, — so light and bloomy, — so decrepit and dusky, — with only MAY AND NOVEMBER. 95 the counter betwixt them, in one sense, but more than threescore years, in another. As for the bargain, it was wrinkled slyness and craft pitted against native truth and sagacity. "Was not that well done?" asked Phoebe, laughing, when the customer was gone. " Nicely done, indeed, child ! " answered Hepzibah. " I could not have gone through with it nearly so well. As you say, it must be a knack that belongs to you on the mother's side." It is a very genuine admiration, that with which per- sons too shy or too awkward to take a due part in the bustling world regard the real actors in life's stirring scenes ; so genuine, in fact, that the former are usually fain to make it palatable to their self-love, by assuming that these active and forcible qualities are incompatible with others, which they chose to deem higher and more important. Thus, Hepzibah was well content to acknowl- edge Phoebe's vastly superior gifts as a shop-keeper ; she listened, with compliant ear, to her suggestion of various methods whereby the influx of trade might be increased, and rendered profitable, without a hazardous outlay of capital. She consented that the village maiden should manufacture yeast, both liquid and in cakes ; and should brew a certam kind of beer, nectareous to the palate, and T)f rare stomachic virtues ; and, moreover, should bake and exhibit for sale some little spice-cakes, which whoso- ever tasted would longingly desire to taste again. All such proofs of a ready mind and skilful handiwork were highly acceptable to the aristocratic hucksteress, so long as she could murmur to herself, with a grim smile, and a half-natural sigh, and a sentiment of mixed wonder, pity, and growing affection, — " What a nice little body she is ! If she could only be 96 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. a lady, too ! — but that 's impossible ! Plicebe is no Pyn- cheon. She takes everything from her mother." As to Phcebe's not being a lady, or whether she were a lady or no, it was a point, perhaps, difficult to decide, but which could hardly have come up for judgment at all, in any fair and healthy mind. Out of New England, it would be impossible to meet with a person combining so many lady -like attributes with so many others that form no necessary (if compatible) part of the character. She shocked no canon of taste ; she was admirably in keeping with herself, and never jarred against surrounding cir- cumstances. Her figure, to be sure, — so small as to be almost childlike, and so elastic that motion seemed as easy or easier to it than rest, — would hardly have suited one's idea of a countess. Neither did her face — with the brown ringlets on either side, and the slightly piquant nose, and the wholesome bloom, and the clear sliade of tan, and the half a dozen freckles, friendly remembrancers of the April sun and breeze — precisely give us a right to call her beautiful. But there was both lustre and depth in her eyes. She was very pretty ; as graceful as a bird, and graceful much in the same way ; as pleasant about ■*;he house as a gleam of sunshme, falling on the floor through a shadow of twinkling leaves, or as a ray of fire- light that dances on the wall, while evening is drawing nigh. Instead of discussing her claim to rank among ladies, it would be preferable to regard Phoebe as the ex- ample of feminine grace and availability combined, m a state of society, if there were any such, where ladies did not exist. There it should be woman's office to move in {ha midst of practical affairs, and to gild them all, the very homeUest, — were it even the scouring of pots and kettles, — with an atmosphere of loveliness and joy. t-'acl- w:).s tlie sphere of Phoebe. To find the bora and • MAY AND NOVEMBER. 97 educated lady, on the other hand, we need look no farther than Hepzibah, our forlorn old maid, in her rustling and rusty silks, with her deeply cherished and ridiculous con- sciousness of long descent, her shadowy claims to princely territory, and, in the way of accomplishment, her recollec- tions, it may be, of having formerly thrummed on a harp- sichord, and walked a minuet, and worked an antique tapestry-stitch on her sampler. It was a fair parallel between new Plebeianism and old Gentility. It really seemed as if the battered visage of the House of the Seven Gables, black and heavy-browed as it still certainly looked, must have shown a kind of cheerfulness glimmxering through its dusky windows, as Phoebe passed to and fro in the interior. Otherwise, it is impossible to explain how the people of the neighborhood so soon be- came aware of the girl's presence. There was a great run of custom, setting steadily in, from about ten o'clock until towards noon, — relaxing, somewhat, at dimier- time, but recommencing in the afternoon, and, finally, dying away a half an hour or so before the long day's sunset. One of the stanchest patrons was little Ned Higgins, the devourer of Jim Crow and the elephant, who to-day had signalized his omnivorous prowess by swallowing two dromedaries and a locomotive. Phoebe laughed, as she summed up her aggregate of sales, upon the slate ; while Hepzibah, first drawing on a pair of silk gloves, reckoned over the sordid accumulation of copper coin, not without silver intermixed, that had jingled into the till. " We must renew our stock, Cousin Hepzibah ! " cried the little saleswoman. " The gingerbread figures are ail gone, and so are those Dutch wooden milkmaids, and most of our other playthings. There lias been constant inquiry for cheap raisins, and a great cry for whistles, 98 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. and trumpets, and je^r's-liarps ; and at least a dozen little boys have asked for molasses-candy. And we must con- trive to get a peck of russet apples, late in the season as it is. But, dear cousin, 'what an enormous heap of cop- per ! Positively a copper mountain ! " " Well done ! well done ! well done ! " quoth Uucle Venner, who had taken occasion to shuffle in and out of the shop several times, in the course of the day. " Here 's a girl that will never end her days at my farm ! Bless my eyes, what a brisk little soul ! " " Yes, Phoebe is a nice girl ! " said Hepzibah, with a scowl of austere approbation. "But, Uncle Venner, you have known the family a great many years. Can you tell me whether there ever was a Pyncheon whom she takes after ? " " I don't believe there ever was," answered the ven- erable man. " At any rate, it never was ray luck to see her Hke among them, nor, for that matter, anywhere else. I 've seen a great deal of the world, not only m people's kitchens and back-yards, but at the street-corners, and on the whaiwes, and in other places where my business calls me ; and I 'm free to say, Miss Hepzibah, that I never knew a human creature do her work so much like one of God's angels as this child Phoebe does ! " Uncle Venner's eulogium, if it appear rather too high- strained for the person and occasion, had, nevertheless, a sense in which it was both subtile and true. There was a spiritual quality in Phoebe's activity. The life of the long and busy day — spent in occupations that might so easily have taken a squalid and ugly aspect — had been made pleasant, and even lovely, by the spontaneous grace with which these homely duties seemed to bloom out of her character; so that labor, while she dealt with it, had the easy and flexible charm of play. Angels do MAY AND NOVEMBER. 99 not toil, but let their good works grow out of them ; and so did Phoebe. The two relatives — the young maid and the old one — found time, before nightfall, in the intervals of trade, to make rapid advances towards affection and confidence. A recluse, like Hepzibah, usually displays remarkable frankness, and at least temporary affability, on being absolutely cornered, and brought to the point of personal intercourse; like the angel whom Jacob wrestled with, she is ready to bless you, when once overcome. The old gentlewoman took a dreary and proud satis- faction in leading Phoebe from room to room of the house, and recounting the traditions with which, as we may say, the walls were lugubriously frescoed. She showed the indentations made by the lieutenant-governor's sword- hilt in the door-panels of the apartment where old Colo- nel Pyncheon, a dead host, had received his affrighted visitors with an awful frown. The dusky terror of that frown, Hepzibah observed, was thought to be lingering ever since in the passage-way. She bade Phoebe step into one of the tall chairs, and inspect the ancient map of the Pyncheon territory at the eastward. In a tract of land on which she laid her finger, there existed a silver- mine, the locahty of which was precisely pointed out in some memoranda of Colonel Pyncheon himself, but only to be made known when the family claim should be recog- nized by government. Thus it was for the interest of all New England that the Pyncheons should have justice done them. She told, too, how that there was undoubtedly an unmense treasure of English guineas hidden somewhere about the house, or in the cellar, or possibly in the garden. "If you should happen to find it, Phoebe," said Hep- zibah, glancing aside at her, with a grim yet kindly smde, " we wi]^ tie up the shop-bell for good and all 1 " 100 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " Yes, dear cousin," answered Phoebe ; " but, in the mean time, I hear somebody ringing it ! " When the customer was gone, Hepzibah talked rather vaguely, and at great length, about a certain AHce Pyncheon, who had been exceedingly beautiful and ac- compUshed in her lifetime, a hundred years ago. The fragrance of her rich and delightful character still lin- gered about the place where she had hved, as a dried rosebud scents the drawer where it has withered and perished. This lovely Alice had met with some great and mysterious calamity, and had grown tliin and white, and gradually faded out of the world. But, even now, she was supposed to haunt the House of the Seven Ga- bles, and, a great many times, — especially when one of the Pyncheons was to die, — she had been heard playing sadly and beautifully on the harpsichord. One of these tunes, just as it had sounded from her spiritual touch, had been vnitten down by an amateur of music ; it wa^ so exquisitely mournful that nobody, to this day, could bear to hear it played, unless when a great sorrow had made them know the still profounder sweetness of it. " Was it the same harpsichord that you showed me ? " inquired Phoebe. " The very same," said Hepzibah. " It was Alice Pyncheon's harpsichord. When I was learning music, my father would never let me open it. So, as I could only play on my teacher's instrument, I have forgotten all my music, long ago." Leaving these antique themes, the old lady began to talk about the daguerreotypist, whom, as he seemed to be a well-meaning and orderly young man, and in narrow circumstances, she had permitted to take up his residence in one of the seven gables. But, on seeing more of Mr. Holgrave, she hardly knew what to make of him. He MAY AND NOVEMBER. 101 i»ad thft stra-Dgest companions imaginable : men with long beards, and dressed in linen blouses, and other such new- fangled and ill-fitting garments ; reformers, temperance lecturers, and all manner of cross-looking philanthropists; community-iDen, and come-outers, as Hepzibah believed, who acknowledged no law, and ate no solid food, but lived on the scent of other people's cookery, and turned up their noses at the fare. As for the daguerreotjpist, she had read -a paragraph in a penny paper, the other day, accusing him of making a speech full of wild and disorganizing matter, at a meeting of his banditti-like associates. Eor her own part, she had reason to believe that he practised animal magnetism, and, if such things were in fashion nowadays, should be apt to suspect him of studying the Black Art, up there in his lonesome chamber. " But, dear cousin," said Phoebe, " if the young man is so dangerous, why do you let him stay ? If he does nothing worse, he may set the house on fire ! " " Why, sometimes," answered Hepzibah, " I have seriously made it a question, whether I ought not to send him away. But, with all his oddities, he i** a quiet kind of a person, and has such a way of taking hold of one's mind, that, without exactly liking him (for I don't know enough of the young man), I should be sorry to lose sight of him entirely. A woman clings to slight acquaintances, when she lives so much alone as I do.'* " But if Mr. Holgrave is a lawless person ! " remon- strated Phoebe, a part of whose essence it was to kerp within the limits of law. " Oh ! " said Hepzibah, carelessly, — for, formal as she was, stUl, in her life's experience, she had gnashed her teeth against human law, — "I suppose he has a law of his own ! " VI. MAULE'S WELL. ETEE, an early tea, tlie little country -girl strayed into the garden. Tlie enclosure had formerly been very extensive, but was now contracted within small compass, and hemmed about, partly by high wooden fences, and partly by the outbuildings of houses that stood on another street. In its centre was a grass- plat, surrounding a ruinous little structure, which showed just enough of its original design to indicate that it had once been a summer-house. A hop-vine, springing from last year's root, was beginning to clamber over it, but would be long in covering the roof with its green mantle. Three of the seven gables either fronted or looked side- vrays, with a dark solemnity of aspect, down into the garden. The black, rich soil had fed itself with the decay of a long period of time ; such as fallen leaves, the petals of flowers, and the stalks and seed-vessels of vagrant and lawless plants, more useful after their death than ever while flaunting in the san. The evil of these departed years would naturally have sprung up again, in such rank weeds (symbolic of the transmitted vices of society) as are always prone to root themselves about human MAULE'S WELL. 103 dwellings. Phoebe saw, however, that their growth must have been checked by a degree of careful labor, bestowed daily and systematically on the garden. The white double rose-bush had evidently been propped up anew against the house, since the commencement of the season; and a pear-tree and three damson-trees, which, except a row of currant-bushes, constituted the only varieties of fruit, bore marks of the recent amputation of several super- fluous or defective limbs. There were also a few species of antique and hereditary flowers, in no very flourishing condition, but scrupulously weeded ; as if some person, either out of love or curiosity, had been anxious to bring them to such perfection as they were capable of attaining. The remainder of the garden presented a well-selected assortment of esculent vegetables, m a praiseworthy state of advancement. Summer squashes, almost ha their golden blossom; cucumbers, now evincing a ten- dency to spread away from the maiu stock, and ramble far and wide ; two or three rows of string-beans, and as many more that were about to festoon themselves on poles ; tomatoes, occupying a site so sheltered and sunny that the plants were already gigantic, and promised aa early and abundant harvest. Phoebe wondered whose care and toil it could have been that had planted these vegetables, and kept the soil so clean and orderly. Not surely her cousin Hep- zibah's, who had no taste nor spirits for the lady -like employment of cultivating flowers, and — with her re- cluse habits, and tendency to shelter herself within the dismal shadow of the house — would hardly have come forth, under the speck of open sky, to weed and hoe among the fraternity of beans and squashes. It being her first day of complete estrangement from rural objects, Phoebe found an unexpected charm in thia 104 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. little nook of grass, and foliage, and aristocratic flowers, and plebeian vegetables. The eye of Heaven seemeu to look down into it pleasantly, and with a peculiar smile, as if glad to perceive that nature, elsewhere over- v/lielmed, and driven out of tlie dusty town, had here been able to retain a breathing-place. The spot ac quired a somewhat wilder grace, and yet a very gentle one, from the fact that a pair of robins had built their uest in the pear-tree, and were making themselves ex- ceedingly busy and happy in the dark intricacy of its boughs. Bees, too, — strange, to say, — had thought it worth their while to come hither, possibly from the range of hives beside some farm-house miles away. How many aerial voyages might they have made, in quest of honey, or honey-laden, betwixt dawn and sunset ! Yet, late as it now was, there still arose a pleasant hum out of one or two of the squash-blossoms, in the depths of which these bees were plying their golden labor. There was one other object in the garden which Nature might fairly claim as her inahenable property, in spite of wliatever man could do to render it his own. This was a fountain, set round v/ith a rim of old mossy stones, and paved, in its bed, with what appeared to be a sort of mosaic-work of variously colored pebbles. The play and slight agita- tion of the water, in its upward gush, wrought magically with these variegated pebbles, and made a continually shifriug apparition of quaint figures, vanishing too sud- denly to be definable. Thence, swelling over the rim of moss-grown stones, the water stole away under the fence, through what we regret to call a gutter, rather than a channel. Nor must we forget to mention a hen-coop of very reverend antiquity that stood in the farther corner of the garden, not a great way from the foimtain. It now MAULE'S WELL. 105 contained only Chanticleer, liis two wives, and a solitary chicken. All of them were pure specimens of a breed which had been transmitted down as an heirloom in the Pyncheon family, and were said, while in their prime, to have attained almost the size of turkeys, and, on the score of delicate flesh, to be fit for a prince's table. In proof of the authenticity of this legendary renown, Hep- zibah could have exhibited the shell of a great egg, which an ostrich need hardly have been ashamed of. Be that as it might, the hens were now scarcely larger than pigeons, and had a queer, rusty, withered aspect, and a gouty kind of movement, and a sleepy and mel- ancholy tone throughout all the variations of their cluck- ing and cackhng. It was evident that the race had degenerated, like many a noble race besides, in conse- quence of too strict a watchfulness to keep it pure. These feathered people had existed too long in their distinct variety ; a fact of which the present representa- tives, judging by their lugubrious deportment, seemed to be aware. They kept themselves alive, unquestionably, and laid now and then an egg, and hatched a chicken ; not for any pleasure of their own, but that the Avorld might not absolutely lose what had once been so admi-^ rable a breed of fowls. The distinguisliii]g mark of the liens was a crest of lamentably scanty growth, in these latter days, but so oddly and wickedly analogous to Hep- zibah's turban, that Phcebe — to the poignant distress of her conscience, but inevitably — was led to fancy a general resemblance betwixt these forlorn bipeds and her respectable relative. The girl ran into the house to get some crumbs of bread, cold potatoes, and other such scraps as were suit- able to the accommodating appetite of fowls. Returning, she gave a peculiar call, which they seemed to recognize. 106 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. The cbicken crept through the pales of the coop and ran, with some show of liveliuess, to her feet ; while Chanti- cleer and the ladies of his household regarded her with queer, sidelong glances, and then croaked one to another, as if communicating their sage opinions of her character. So wise, as well as antique, was their aspect, as to give color to the idea, not merely that they were the descend- ants of a time-honored race, but that they had existed, in their individual capacity, ever suice the House of the Seven Gables was founded, and were somehow mixed up with its destiny. They were a species of tutelary sprite, or Banshee ; although winged and feathered diiferently from most other guardian angels. "Here, you odd little chicken ! " said Phcebe ; " here are some nice crumbs for you ! " The chicken, hereupon, though almost as venerable in appearance as its mother, — possessing, indeed, the whole antiquity of its progenitors, in miniature, — mustered vi- vacity enough to flutter upward and alight on Phoebe's shoulder. " That little fowl pays you a high comphment ! " said a voice behind Phoebe. ' Turning quickly, she was surprised at sight of a young man, who had found access into the garden by a door opening out of another gable than that whence she had emerged. He held a hoe in his hand, and, while Phoebe was gone in quest of the crumbs, had begun to busy himself with drawing up fi'esh earth about the roots of the tomatoes. " The chicken really treats you like an old acquaint- ance," continued he, m a quiet way, while a smile made his face pleasanter than Phoebe at first fancied it. " Those venerable personages in the coop, too, seem very affably disposed. You are lucky to be in their good MAULE'S WELL. 10? graces so soon ! They have known me much longer, but never honor me with any familiarity, though hardly a day passes without my bringing them food. ]\iiss Hepzibah, I suppose, will interweave the fact with her other tradi- tions, and set it down that the fowls know you to be a Pyncheon ! " "The secret is," said Phoebe, smiling, "that I have learned how to talk with hens and chickens." " Ah, but these hens," answered the young man, — " these hens of aristocratic lineage would scorn to under- stand the vulgar language of a barn-yard fowl. I prefer to think — and so would Miss Hepzibah — that they recognize the family tone. Tor you are a Pyncheon ? " " My name is Phoebe Pyncheon," said the girl, with a manner of some reserve ; for she v/as aware that her new acquaintance could be no other than the daguerreotypist, of whose lawless propensities the old maid had given her a disagreeable idea. " I did not know that my cousin Hepzibah's garden was under another person's care." " Yes," said Holgrave, " I dig, and hoe, and weed, in this black old earth, for the sake of refreshing myself with what little nature and simplicity may be left in it, after men have so long sown and reaped here. I turn up the earth by way of pastime. My sober occupation, so far as I have any, is with a hghter material. In short, I make pictures out of sunshine; and, not to be too much dazzled with my own trade, I have prevailed with Miss Hepzibah to let me lodge in one of these dusky gables. It is like a bandage over one's eyes, to come into it. But would you like to see a specimen of my productions ? " " A daguerreotype likeness, do you mean ? " asked Phoebe, with less reserve ; for, in spite of prejudice, her own youthfulness sprang forward to meet his. " I don't 10b THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. much like pictures of that sort, — they are so hard and stern ; besides dodging a\vay from the eye, and trying to escape altogether. They are conscious of looking very uuamiable, I suppose, and therefore hate to be seen." " If you ^vould permit me," said the artist, looking at Phoebe, " I should like to try whether the daguerreotype can brhig out disagreeable traits on a perfectly amiable face. But there certainly is tinith in what you have said. Most of my likenesses do look unamiable ; but the very sufficient reason, I fancy, is, because the originals are so. There is a wonderful msight in Heaven's broad and simple simshine. While we give it credit only for de- picting the merest surface, it actually brings out the secret character with a truth that no painter would ever venture upon, even could he detect it. There is, at least, no flattery in my humble line of art. Now, here is a likeness which 1 have taken over and over again, and still with no better result. Yet the original wears, to com- mon eyes, a very different expression. It would gratify me to have your judgment on this character." He exhibited a daguerreotype miniature in a mo- rocco case. Phoebe merely glanced at it, and gave it back. "I know the face," she replied; "for its stern eye has been following me about, all day. It is my Puritan aiicestor, who hangs yonder iu the jjarlor. To be sure, you have found some way of copying the portrait without its black velvet cap and gray beard, and have given him a modern coat and satin cravat, instead of his cloak and baud. I don't think him improved by your altera- tions." ''You would have seen other differences, had you looked a little longer," said Holgrave, laughing, yet ap- parently much struck. " I can assure you that this is a MAULE'S WELL. 109 modem face, and one wliich you will very probably meet. Now, the remarkable point is, that the original wears, to the world's eye, — and, for aught I know, to his most intimate friends, — an exceedingly pleasant countenance, indicative of benevolence, openness of heart, sunny good- humor, and other praiseworthy qualities of that cast. The sun, as you see, tells quite another story, and will not be coaxed out of it, after half a dozen patient at- tempts on my part. Here we have the man, sly, subtle, hard, imperious, and, withal, cold as ice. Look at that eye ! Would you like to be at its mercy ? At that mouth ! Could it ever smile ? And yet, if you could only see the benign smile of the original ! It is so much the more unfortunate, as he is a public character of some eminence, and the likeness was intended to be engraved." " Well, I don't wish to see it any more," observed Phoebe, turning away her eyes. "It is certainly very like the old portrait. But my cousin Hepzibah has an- other picture, — a miniature. If the original is still in the world, I think he might defy the sun to make him look stern and hard." " You have seen that picture, then ! " exclaimed the artist, with an expression of much interest. " I never did, but have a great curiosity to do so. And you judge favorably of the face ? " "There never was a sweeter one," said Phnebe. "It is almost too soft and gentle for a man's." " Is there nothing wild in the eye ? " continued IIol- grave, so earnestly that it embarrassed Phoebe, as did also the quiet freedom with which he presumed on their so recent acquaintance. " Is there nothinG: dark or sin- ister, anywhere? Could you not conceive v'le original to have been guilty of a great crime ? " 110 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. "It is nonsense," said Plicebe, a little impatiently, "for us to talk about a picture which you have never seen. You mistake it for some other. A crime, indeed ! Since you are a friend of my cousin Hepzibah's, you should ask her to show you the picture." "It will suit my purpose still better to see the origi- nal," replied tbe daguerreotypist, coolly. "As to his character, we need not discuss its points ; they have already been settled by a competent tribunal, or one which called itself competent. But, stay ! Do not go yet, if you please ! I have a proposition to make you." Phcebe was on the point of retreating, but turned back, with some hesitation ; for she did not exactly com- prehend his manner, although, on better observation, its feature seemed rather to be lack of ceremony than any approach to offensive rudeness. There was an odd kind of authority, too, in what he now proceeded to say, rather as if the garden were his own than a place to which he was admitted merely by Hepzibah's courtesy. "If agreeable to you," he observed, "it would give me pleasure to turn over these flowers, and those an- cient and respectable fowls, to your care. Coming fresh from country air and occupations, you will soon feel the need of some such out-of-door employment. My own sphere does not so much lie among flowers. You can trim and tend them, therefore, as you please ; and I will ask only the least trifle of a blossom, now and then, in ex- change for all the good, honest kitchen-vegetables with which I propose to enrich Miss Hepzibah's table. So we will be fellow-laborers, somewhat on the community system." Silently, and rather surprised at her own compliance, Phoebe accordingly betook herself to weeding a flower bed, but busied herself still more with cogitations re- MAULE'S WELL, 111 specting this young man, with whom she so unexpectedly found herself on terms approachmg to familiarity. She did not altogether like him. His character perplexed the little country -girl, as it might a more practised observer ; for, v/hile the tone of his conversation had generally been playful, the impression left on her mind was that of gravity, and, except as his youth modified it, almost sternness. She rebelled, as it were, against a certain magnetic element in the artist's nature, which he exer- cised towards her, possibly without being conscious of it. After a little while, the twilight, deepened by the shadows of the fruit-trees and the surrounding build- ings, threw an obscurity over the garden. " There," said Holgrave, " it is time to give over work ! That last stroke of the hoe has cut oif a bean- stalk. Good night, Miss Phoebe Pyncheon ! Any bright day, if you will put one of those rosebuds in your hair, and come to my rooms in Central Street, I will seize the purest ray of sunsliine, and make a picture of the flower and its wearer." He retired towards his own solitary gable, but turned his head, on reaching the door, and called to Phoebe, with a tone which certainly had laughter in it, yet which seemed to be more than half in earnest. " Be careful not to drink at Maule's well ! " said he. "Neither drink nor bathe your face in it ! " "Maule's well ! " answered Phoebe. *' Is that it with the rim of mossy stones ? I have no thought of drink- ing there, — but why not ? " " 0," rejoined the daguerreotypist, " because, like an old lady's cup of tea, it is water bewitched ! " He vanished ; and Phoebe, hugermg a moment, saw a glimmering hght, and then the steady beam of a lamp, in a chamber of the gable. On returning into Hepzibah'a 112 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. apartment of the house, she found the low-studded par- lor so diui and dusky that her eyes could not penetrate . the interior. She was indistinctly aware, however, that the gaunt figure of the old gentlewoman was sitting in '. one of the sti-aight-backed chairs, a little withdrawn from the "oindow, the faint gleam of which showed the blanched paleness of her cheek, turned side way towards a comer. " Shall I light a lamp. Cousin Hepzibah?" she asked. " Do, if you please, my dear child," answered Hepzi- bah. '■ But put it on the table in the corner of the passage. My eyes are weak ; and I can seldom bear the lampHght on them." What an instrument is the human voice ! How won- derfully responsive to every emotion of the human soul ! In Hepzibah's tone, at that moment, there was a certain rich depth and moisture, as if the words, commonplace as they were, had been steeped in the warmth of her heart. 'Again, while lighting the lamp in the kitchen, Phoebe fancied that her cousin spoke to her. " In a moment, cousin I " answered the giri. " These matches just glimmer, and go out." But, instead of a response from Hepzibah, she seemed to hear the muraiur of an unknown voice. It was strangely indistinct, however, and less like articulate words than an unshaped sound, such as would be the utterance of feehng and sympathy, rather than of the intellect. So vague was it, that its impression or echo in Phoebe's mind was that of unreality. She concluded that she must have mistaken some other sound for that of the human voice; or else that it was altogether in her fancy. Slie set the lighted lamp in the passage, and again . entered the parlor. Hepzibah's fonn, though its sable ,• outline mingled with the dusk, was now less imperfectly MAULE'S WELL. 113 \dsible. In the remoter parts of the room, however, its walls being so ill adapted to reflect light, there was nearly the same obscurity as before. " Cousin," said Phoebe, " did you speak to me just now ? " " No, child ! " rephed Hepzibah. Eewer words than before, but with the same mysteri- ous music in them ! Mellow, melancholy, yet not mourn- ful, the tone seemed to gush up out of the deep well of Hepzibah's heart, all steeped in its profoundest emotion. There was a tremor in it, too, that — as all strong feeling is electric — partly communicated itself to Phoebe. The girl sat silently for a moment. But soon, her senses being very acute, she became conscious of an irregular respira- tion in an obscure corner of the room. Her physical or- ganization, moreover, being at once delicate and healthy, gave her a perception, operating with almost the effect of a spiritual medium, that somebody was near at hand. '•'My dear cousin," asked she, overcoming an inde- finable reluctance, " is there not some one in the room witli us ? " "Phoebe, my dear little girl," said Hepzibah, after a moment's pause, " you were up betimes, and have been busy all day. Pray go to bed ; for I am sure you must need rest. I will sit in the parlor awhile, and collect my thoughts. It has been my custom for more years, child, than you have hved ! " While thus dismissing her, the maiden lady stept for- ward, kissed Phoebe, and pressed her to her heart, which beat against the girl's bosom with a strong, high, and tumultuous swell. How came there to be so much love in this desolate old heart, that it could aff'ord to well over thus abundantly : " Good night, cousin," said Phoebe, strangely affected 114 THE h:use of the seven gables. by Hepzibah's manner. " If you begin to love me, I an> giad ! " She retired to her chamber, but did not soon fall asleep, nor then very profoundly. At some uncertain period in the depths of night, and, as it were, through the thin veil of a dream, she was conscious of a footstep mounting the stairs heavily, but not with force and de- cision. The voice of Hepzibah, with a hush through it, was going up along with the footsteps ; and, again, responsive to her cousin's voice, Phoebe heard that strange, vague murmur, which might be likened to an jidistinct shadow of human utterance. VII. THE GUEST. HEN Phoebe awoke, — which she did with the early twittering of the conjugal couple of robins in the pear-tree, — she heard movements below stairs, and, hastening down, found Hepzibah already in the kitchen. She stood by a window, holding a book in close contiguity to her nose, as if with the hope of gain- ing an olfactory acquaintance with its contents, since her imperfect vision made it not very easy to read them. If any volume could have manifested its essential wisdom in the mode suggested, it would certainly have been the one now in Hepzibah's hand ; and the kitchen, in such an event, would forthwith have steamed with the fragrance of venison, turkeys, capons, larded partridges, puddings, cakes, and Christmas pies, in all manner of elaborate mixture and concoction. It was a cookery book, full of innumerable old fashions of English dishes, and illus- trated with engravings, which represented the arrange- ments of the table at such banquets as it might have befitted a nobleman to give, in the great hall of his castle. And, amid these rich and potent devices of the culinary art (not one of which, probably, had been tested, within the memory of any man's grandfather), poor Hepzibah 116 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. was seeking for some nimble little titbit, which, with what skill she had, and such materials as were at hand, she might toss up for breakfast. Soon, with a deep sigh, she put aside the savory vol- ume, and inquired of Phoebe whether old Speckle, as she called one of the hens, had laid an egg the preceding day. Phoebe ran to see, but returned without the expected treasure in her hand. At that instant, however, the blast of a fish-dealer's conch was heard, announcing his ap- proach along the street. With energetic raps at the shop- window, Hepzibah summoned the man in, and made pur- chase of what he warranted as the finest mackerel m his cart, and as fat a one as ever he felt with his finger so early in the season. Requesting Phoebe to roast some coffee, — which she casually observed was the real Mocha, and so long kept that each of the small berries ought to be worth its weight in gold, — the maiden lady heaped fuel into the vast receptacle of the ancient fireplace in such quantity as soon to drive the lingering dusk out of the kitchen. The country-girl, willing to give her utmost assistance, proposed to make an Indian cake, after her mother's peculiar method, of easy manufacture, and which she could vouch for as possessing a richness, and, if rightly prepared, a delicacy, unequalled by any other mode of breakfast-cake. Hepzibah gladly assenting, the kitchen was soon the scene of savory preparation. Per- chance, amid their proper element of smoke, which eddied forth from the ill-constructed chimney, the ghosts of departed cook-maids looked wonderingly on, or peeped down the great breadth of the flue, despising the sim- plicity of the projected meal, yet ineffectually pining to thrust their shadowy hands into each inchoate dish. The half-starved rats, at any rate, stole visibly out of their hiding-places, and sat on their hind-legs, snuffing the THE GUEST. 117 fumy atmosphere, and wistfully awaiting an opportunity to nibble. Ilepzibah had no natural turn for cookery, and, to say the truth, had fairly incurred her present meagreness, by often choosing to go without her dinner, rather than be attendant on the rotation of the spit, or ebullition of the pot. Her zeal over the fire, therefore, was quite an heroic test of sentimsnt. It was touching, and positively worthy of tears (if I'licebe, the only spectator, except the rats and ghosts aforesaid, had not been better employed than in shedding them), to see her rake out a bed of fresh and glowing coals, and proceed to broil the mack- erel. Her usually pale cheeks were all ablaze with heat and hurry. She watched the fish with as much tender care and minuteness of attention as if, — we know not how to express it otherwise, — as if her own heart were on the gridiron, and her immortal happiness were in- volved in its being done precisely to a turn ! Life, within doors, has few pleasanter prospects than a neatly arranged and well-provisioned breakfast-table. We come to it freshly, in the dewy youth of the day, and when our spiritual and sensual elements are in better accord than at a later period ; so that the material de- liglits of the morning meal are capable of being fully enjoyed, without any very grievous reproaches, whether gastric or conscientious, for yielding even a trifle over- mucli to the animal department of our nature. The thoughts, too, that run around the ring of famiUar guests, have a piquancy and mirthfulness, and often- times a vivid truth, which more rarely find their way into the elaborate intercourse of dinner. Hepzibah's small and ancient table, supported on its slender and graceful legs, and covered with a cloth of the richest damask, looked worthy to be the scene and centre of one 118 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. of the cheerfullest of parties. The vapor of the broiled fish arose like incense from the shrine of a barbarian idol, while the fragrance of the Mocha might have gratified tlie nostrils of a tutelary Lar, or whatever power has scope over a modern breakfast-table. Phcebe's Indian cakes were the sweetest offering of all, — in their hue befitting the rustic altars of the innocent and golden age, — or, so brightly yellow were they, resembling some of the bread which was changed to glistening gold, when Midas tried to eat it. The butter must not be forgotten, — butter which Phoebe herself had churned, in her own rural home, and brought it to her cousin as a propitia- tory gift, — smelling of clover-blossoms, and diffusing the charm of pastoral scenery through the dark -panelled par- lor. All this, with the quaint gorgeousness of the old china cups and saucers, and the crested spoons, and a silver cream-jug (Hepzibah's only other article of plate, and shaped like the rudest porringer), set out a board at which the statehest of old Colonel Pyncheon's guests need not have scorned to take his place. But the Puri- tan's face scowled down out of the picture, as if nothing on the table pleased his appetite. By way of contributing what grace she could, Phoebe gathered some roses and a few other flowers, possessing either scent or beauty, and arranged them in a glass pitcher, which, having long ago lost its handle, was so much the fitter for a flower-vase. The early sunshine — as fresh as that which peeped into Eve's bower, while she and Adam sat at breakfast there — came twinkling through the branches of the pear-tree, and fell quite across the table. All was now ready. There were chairs and plates for three. A chair and plate for Hep- zibah, — the same for Phoebe, — but what other guest did her cousin look for? THE GUEST. 119 Throughout this preparatiou, there had been a constant tremor in Hepzibah's frame; an agitation so powerful that Phoebe could see the quivering of her gaunt shadow, as thrown by the firelight on the kitchen wall, or by the sunshine on the parlor floor. Its manifestations were so various, and agreed so little with one another, that the girl knew not what to make of it. Sometimes it seemed an ecstasy of delight and happiness. At such moments, Hepzibah would fling out her arms, and infold Phoebe in them, and kiss her cheek as tenderly as ever her mother had ; she appeared to do so by an inevitable impulse, and as if her bosom were oppressed with tenderness, of which she must needs pour out a little, in order to gain breath- ing-room. The next moment, without any visible cause for the change, her unwonted joy shrank back, appalled as it were, and clothed itself in mourning ; or it ran and hid itself, so to speak, in the dungeon of her heart, where it had long lain chained, while a cold, spectral sorrow took the place of the imprisoned joy, that was afraid to be enfranchised, — a sorrow as black as that was bright. She often broke into a little, nervous, hysteric laugh, more touchmg than any tears could be ; and forthwith, as if to try which was the most touching, a gust of tears would follow; or perhaps the laughter and tears came both at once, and surrounded our poor Hepzibah, in a moral sense, with a kind of pale, dim rainbow. Towards Phoebe, as we have said, she was affectionate, — far tenderer than ever before, in their brief acquaintance, except for that one kiss on the preceding night, — yet with a continually recurring pettishness and irritability. She would speak sharply to her; then, throwing aside all the starched reserve of her ordinary manner, ask pardon, and the next instant renew the just-forgiven injury. 120 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. At last, when their mutual labor was all finished, she took Phoebe's hand in her own trembling one. " Bear with me, my dear child," she cried ; " for truly my heart is full to the brim ! Bear with me ; for 1 love you, Phcebe, though I speak so roughly ! Think nothing of it, dearest cliild ! By and by, I shall be kiiid, and only kind ! " " My dearest cousin, cannot you tell me what has hap- pened ? " asked Phoebe, wd:h a sunny and tearful syn^pa- thy. " What is it that moves you so ? " " Hush ! hush ! He is coming! " whispered Hepzibah, hastily wipmg her eyes. "Let him see you first, Phoebe ; for you are young and rosy, and cannot help letting a smile break out, whether or no. He always liked bright faces ! And mine is old, now, and the tears are hardly dry on it. He never could abide tears. There; draw the curtain a little, so that the shadow may fall across his side of the table ! But let there be a good deal of sunshine, too ; for he never was fond of gloom, as some people are. He has had but httle sunshine in his life, — poor CliiFord, — and, 0, what a black shadow ! Poor, poor Cliiford ! " Thus murmuring, in an undertone, as if speaking rather to her own heart than to Phcebe, the old gentlewoman stepped on tiptoe about the room, making such arrange- ments as suggested themselves at the crisis. Meanwhile there was a step in the passage-way, above stairs. Phcebe recognized it as the same which had passed upward, as through hei dream, in the night-time. The approaching guest, whoever it might be, appeared to pause at the head of the staircase; he paused twice or thrice in the descent ; he paused again at the foot. Each time, the delay seemed to be without purpose, but rather fi'om a forgetfubiess of the purpose which had set him in THE GUEST. 1^1 motion, or as if the person's feet came involuntarily to a stand-still because the motive-power was too feeble to sustain his progress. Einally, he made a long pause at the threshold of the parlor. He took hold of the knob of the door ; then loosened his grasp, without opening it. Hepzibah, her hands convulsively clasped, stood gazing at the entrance. " Dear Cousin Hepzibah, pray don't look so ! " said Phoebe, trembling; for her cousin's emotion, and this mysteriously reluctant step, made her feel as if a ghost were coming into the room. " You really frighten me ! Is something awful going to happen ? " " Hush! " whispered Hepzibah. "Be cheerful ! what- ever may happen, be nothing but cheerful ! " The final pause at the threshold proved so long, that Hepzibah, unable to endure the suspense, rushed forward, threw open the door, and led in the stranger by the hand. At the first glance, Phoebe saw an elderly person- age, in an old-fashioned dressing-gown of faded damask, and wearing his gray or almost white hair of an unusual length. It quite overshadowed his forehead, except when he thrust it back, and stared vaguely about the room. After a very brief inspection of his face, it was easy to conceive that his footstep must necessarily be such an one as that which, slowly, and with as indefinite an aim as a child's first journey across a floor, had just brought him hitherward. Yet there were no tokens that his physical strength might not have sufiiced for a free and determined gait. It was the spirit of the man that could not walk. The expression of his countenance — while, notwithstanding, it had the light of reason in it — seemed to waver, and glimmer, and nearly to die away, and feebly to recover itself again. It was like a flame which we see twinkling among half-extinguished embers; 122 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. yre gaze at it more intently than if it ^rere a positive blaze, gushing vividly upward, — more intently, but with a certain impatience, as if it ought either to kindle itself into satisfactory splendor, or be at once extinguished. For an instant after entering the room, the guest stood still, retaining Hepzibah's hand, instinctively, as a child does that of the groTvn person who guides it. He saw Phcebe, however, and caught an illumination from her youthful and pleasant aspect, which, indeed, threw a cheerfulness about the parlor, like the circle of reflected brilliancy around the glass vase of flowers that was standing in the sunshine. He made a salutation, or, to speak nearer the truth, an ill-defined, abortive attempt at courtesy. Imperfect as it was, however, it conveyed an idea, or, at least, gave a hint, of indescribable grace, such as no practised art of external manners could have attained. It was too slight to seize upon at the instant ; yet, as recollected afterwards, seemed to transfigure the whole man. " Dear Clifford," said Hepzibah, in the tone with which one soothes a wayward infant, "this is our cousin Phcebe, — little Phcebe Pyncheon, — Arthur's only child, you know. She has come from the country to stay with us awliile ; for our old house has grown to be very lonely now." " Phoebe ? — Phoebe Pyncheon ? — Phnebe ? " repeated the guest, with a strange, sluggish, ill-defined utterance. "Arthur's child! Ah, I forget! No matter! She is very welcome ! " " Come, dear Cliff'ord, take this chair," said Hepzibah, leading him to his place. " Pray, Phoebe, lower tlie cur- tain a very little more. Now let us begin breakfast." Tlie guest seated himself in the place assigned him, and looked strangely around. TIj was evidently trying THE GUEST. 123 to grapple with the present scene, and bring it home to his mind with a more satisfactory distinctness. He desired to be certain, at least, that he was here, in the low-studded, cross-beamed, oaken-paneUed parlor, and not in some other spot, which had stereotyped itself into his senses. But the effort was too great to be sustained with more than a fragmentary success. Continually, as we may express it, he faded away out of his place ; or, in other words, his mind and consciousness took their departure, leaving his wasted, gray, and melancholy figure — a substantial emptiness, a material ghost — to occupy his seat at table. Again, after a blank moment, there would be a flickering taper-gleam in his eyeballs. It betokened that his spiritual part had returned, and was doing its best to kindle the heart's household fire, and light up intellectual lamps in the dark and ruinous mansion, where it was doomed to be a forlorn inhabitant. At one of these moments, of less torpid, yet still im- perfect animation, Phoebe became convinced of what she had at first rejected as too extravagant and startling an idea. She saw that the person before her must have been the original of the beautiful miniature in her cousin Hepzibah's possession. Indeed, with a feminine eye for costume, she had at once identified the damask dressing- gown, which enveloped him, as the same in figure, mate- rial, and fashion, with that so elaborately represented in the picture. This old, faded garment, with all its pris- tine brilhancy extinct, seemed, in some indescribable way, to translate the shearer's untold misfortune, and make it perceptible to the beholder's eye. It was the better to be discerned, by this exterior type, how worr^ and old were the soul's more immediate garments ; that form and countenance, the beauty and grace of which had almost transcended the skill of the most exquisite of 12-i THE HOrSE OF THE SEYEIT GABLES. artists. It could the more adequately be known that the soul of the man must have suJ'ered some miserable wrong, fiom its earthly experience. There he seemed to sit, with a dim veil of decay and ruin betwixt him and the world, but through which, at flitting iutervals, might be caught the same expression, so refined, so softly im- aginative, which !Malbone — venturing a happy touch, with suspended breath — had imparted to the miniature ! There had been something so innately characteristic in this look, that all the dusky years, and the burden of unfit calamity which had fallen upon him, did not suffice utterly to destroy it. Hepzibah had now poured out a cup of deliciously fra- grant cofi'ee, and presented it to her guest. As his eyes met hers, he seemed bewildered and disquieted. " Is this you, Hepzibah 'r " he murmured, sadly ; then, more apart,, and perhaps unconscious that he was over- heard, " How changed ! how changed ! And is she angry with me ? TThy does she bend her brow so r '* Poor Hepzibah I It was that wretched scowl, which time and her near-sightedness, and the fret of inward discomfort, had rendered so habitual that any vehemence of mood invariably evoked it. But at the indistinct mur- mur of his words, her whole face grew tender, and even lovely, with sorrowful affection; the harshness of her features disappeared, as it were, behind the warm and misty glow. " Angry I " she repeated ; "angry with you, Clifford ! " Her tone, as she uttered the exclamation, had a plain- ^tive and really exquisite melody thrilling through it, yet without subduing a certain something which an obtuse auditor might still have mistaken for asperity. It was as if some transcendent musician should draw a soul-thrilling sweetness out of a cracked instnmient, which makes iU THE GUEST. 125 physical imperfection heard in the midst of ethereal har- mony, — so deep was the sensibility that found an organ in Hepzibah's voice ! " There is nothing but love, here, Clifford," she added, — " nothing but love ! You are at home ! " The guest responded to her tone by a smile, which did not half light up his face. Eeeble as it was, however, and gone in a moment, it had a charm of wonderful beauty. It was followed by a coarser expression; or one that had the effect of coarseness on the fine mould and outline of his countenance, because there was nothing intellectual to temper it. It was a look of appetite. He ate food with what might almost be termed voracity ; and seemed to forget himself, Hepzibah, the young girl, and everything else around him, in the sensual enjoy- ment which the bountifully spread table afforded. In his natural system, though high-wrought and delicately refined, a sensibility to the delights of the palate was probably inherent. It would have been kept in check, however, and even converted into an accomplishment, and one of the thousand modes of intellectual culture, had his more ethereal characteristics retained their vigor. But as it existed now, the effect was painful, and made Phoebe droop her eyes. In a little while the guest became sensible of the fra- grance of the yet untasted coffee. He quaffed it eagerly. The subtle essence acted on him like a charmed draught, and caused the opaque substance of his animal being to grow transparent, or, at least, translucent ; so that a spiritual gleam was transmitted through it, with a clearer lustre than hitherto. " More, more ! " he cried, with nervous haste in his utterance, as if anxious to retain his grasp of what sought to escape him. " This is what I need ! Give me more ! " 126 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Under this delicate and powerful influence, lie sat more erect, and looked out from his eyes with a glance that took note of what it rested on. It was not so much that his expression grew more intellectual ; this, though it had its share, was not the most peculiar effect. Neither was what we call the moral nature so forcibly awakened as to present itself in remarkable prominence. But a certain fine temper of being was now, — not brought out in full relief, but changeably and imperfectly betrayed, — of which it was the function to deal with all beautiful and enjoyable things. In a character where it should exist as the chief attribute, it would bestow on its possessor an exquisite taste, and an enviable susceptibility of happi- ness. Beauty would be his life ; his aspirations would all tend toward it ; and, allowing his frame and pliysical organs to be in consonance, his own developments would likewise be beautiful. Such a man should have nothing to do with sorrow ; nothing with strife ; nothing with the martyrdom which, in an infinite variety of shapes, awaits those who have the heart, and will, and conscience, to fight a battle with the world. To these heroic tempers, such martyrdom is the richest meed in the world's gift. To the individual before us, it could only be a grief, in- tense in due proportion with the severity of the infliction. He had no right to be a martyr ; and, beholding him so fit to be happy, and so feeble for all other purposes, a generous, strong, and noble spirit would, methinks, have been ready to sacrifice what little enjoyment it might have planned for itself, — it would have flung down the hopes, so paltry in its regard, — if thereby the wintry blasts of our rude sphere might come tempered to such a man. Not to speak it harshly or scornfully, it seemed Clif- ford's nature to be a Sybarite. It was perceptible, even there, in the dark old parlor, in the inevitable polarity THE GUEST. 127 with whicli his eyes were attracted towards the quivering play of sunbeams through the shadowy foliage. It was seen in his appreciating notice of the vase of flowers, the scent of which he inhaled with a zest almost peculiar to a physical organization so refined that spiritual ingredi- ents are moulded in with it. It was betrayed in the un- conscious smile with which he regarded Phoebe, whose fresh and maidenly figure was both sunshine and flowers, — their essence, in a prettier and more agreeable mode of manifestation. Not less evident was this love and necessity for the Beautiful, in the instinctive caution with which, even so soon, his eyes turned away from his hostess, and wandered to any quarter rather than come back. It was Hepzibah's misfortune, — not Clifford's fault. How could he, — so yellow as she was, so wrin- kled, so sad of mien, with that odd uncouthness of a tur- ban on h3r head, and that most perverse of scowls contort- ing her brow, — how could he love to gaze at her ? But, did he owe her no affection for so much as she had silently given ? He owed her nothing. A nature hke Clifford's can contract no debts of that kind. It is — we say it without censure, nor in diminution of the claim which it indefeasibly possesses on beings of another mould — it is always selfish in its essence ; and we must give it leave to be so, and heap up our heroic and disinterested love upon it so much the more, without a recompense. Poor Hepzibah knew this truth, or, at least, acted on the in- stinct of it. So long estranged from what was lovely, as Clifford had been, she rejoiced, — rejoiced, though with a present sigh, and a secret purpose to shed tears in her own chamber, — that he had brighter objects now before his eyes than her aged and uncomely features. They never possessed a charm ; and if they had, the canker of her grief for him would long since have destroyed it. 128 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. The guest leaned back iii liis cliair. ISIingled in his countenance with a dreamy delight, there was a troubled look of effort and unrest. He was seeking to make him- self more fully sensible of the scene around him ; or, per- haps, dreading it to be a dream, or a play of imagination, was vexing the fair moment with a struggle for some added brilliancy and more durable illusion. "How pleasant! — How delightful!" he munnured, but not as if addressing any one. " Will it last ? How balmy the atmosphere, through that )pen window ! An open window ! How beautiful that play of sunshine I Those flowers, how very fragrant ! That young girl's face, how cheerful, how blooming ! — a flower with the dew on it, and sunbeams in the dew-drops ! Ah ! this must be all a dream ! A dream ! A dream ! But it has quite hidden the four stone walls ! " Then his face darkened, as if the shadow of a cavern or a dungeon had come over it ; there was no more hght in its expression than might have come through the iron grates of a prison window, — still lessening, too, as if he were sinking farther mto the depths. Phoebe (being of that quickness and activity of temperament that she sel- dom long reframed from takmg a part, and generally a good one, in what was going forward) now felt herself moved to address the stranger. " Here is a new kind of rose, which I found this morn- ing in the garden," said she, choosing a small crimson one from among the flowers in the vase. " There will be but five or six on the bush, this season. This is the most per- fect of them all ; not a speck of bhght or mildew in it. And how sweet it is ! — sweet like no other rose ! One can never forget that scent ! " "Ah! — let me see! — let me hold it!" cried the guest, eagerly seizing the flower, which, by the spell pe- THE GUEST. 129 culiar to remembered odors, brought innumerable associ- ations along with the fragrance that it exhaled. " Thann you ! This has done me good. I remember how I used to prize this flower, — long ago, I suppose, very long ago! — or was it only yesterday? It makes me feel young again ! Am I young ? Either this remembrance is singularly distinct, or this consciousness strangely dim ! But how kind of the fair young girl ! Thank you ! Thank you ! " The favorable excitement derived from this little crim- son rose afforded Clifford the brightest moment which he enjoyed at the breakfast-table. It might have lasted longer, but that his eyes happened, soon afterwards, to rest on the face of the old Puritan, who, out of his dingy frame and lustreless canvas, was looking down on the scene like a ghost, and a most ill-tempered and ungenial one. The guest made an impatient gesture of the hand, and addressed Hepzibah with what might easily be recog- nized as the licensed irritability of a petted member of the family. " Hepzibah ! — Hepzibah ! " cried he, with no little force and distinctness, "why do you keep that odious picture on the wall ? Yes, yes ! — that is precisely your taste ! I have told you, a thousand times, that it was the evil genius of the house ! — my evil genius particu- larly ! Take it down, at once ! " "Dear Clifford," said Hepzibah, sadly, "you know it cannot be ! " " Then, at all events," continued he, still speaking with some energy, " pray cover it with a crimson curtain, broad enough to hang in folds, and with a golden border and tassels, I cannot bear it ! It must not stare me in the face ! " "Yes, dear Chfford, the picture shall be covered," said 130 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Hepzibah, soothingly. " There is a crimson curtain in a trunk above stairs, — a little faded and moth-eaten, I 'm afraid, — but Phoebe and I will do wonders with it." " This very day, remember ! " said he ; and then added, in a low, self-communing voice, " Why should we live in this dismal house at all ? Why not go to tlie South of France? — to Italy? — Paris, Naples, Venice, Rome? Hepzibah will say we have not the means. A droll idea that ! " He smiled to himself, and threw a glance of fine sar^ castic meaning towards Hepzibah. But the several moods of feeling, faintly as they were marked, through which he had passed, occurring in so brief an interval of time, liad evidently wearied the stran- ger. He was probably accustomed to a sad monotony of life, not so much flowing in a stream, however sluggish, as stagnating in a pool around his feet. A slumberous veil diffused itself over his countenance, and had an effect, morally speaking, on its naturally delicate and elegant outline, like that which a brooding mist, with no sunshine in it, throws over the features of a landscape. He ap- peared to become grosser, — almost cloddish. If aught of interest or beauty — even ruined beauty — had here- tofore been visible in this man, the beholder might now begin to doubt it, and to accuse his own imagination of deluding him with whatever grace had flickered over that visage, and whatever exquisite lustre had gleamed in those fihny eyes. Before he had quite sunken away, however, the sharp and peevish tinkle of the shop-bell made itself audible. Striking most disagreeably on Cliff'ord's auditory organs and the characteristic sensibility of his nerves, it caused him to start upright out of his chair. " Good heavens, Hepzibah ! what horrible disturbance THE GUEST. 131 have we now in the house ? " cried he, wreaking his re- sentful impatience — as a matter of course, and a custom of old — on the one person in the w^orld that loved him. " I have never heard such a hateful clamor ! Why do you permit it ? In the name of aU dissonance, what can it be ? " It was very remarkable into what prominent reHef — even as if a dim picture should leap suddenly from its canvas — Clifford's character was thrown, by this appar- ently trifling annoyance. The secret was, that an indi- vidual of his temper can always be pricked more acutely through his sense of the beautiful and harmonious than through his heart. It is even possible — for similar cases have often happened — that if Clifford, in his foregoing life, had enjoyed the means of cultivating his taste to its utmost perfectibility, that subtile attribute might, before this period, have completely eaten out or filed away his affections. Shall we venture to pronounce, therefore, that his long and black calamity may not have had a re- deeming drop of mercy at the bottom ? " Dear Clifford, I wish I could keep the sound from your ears," said Hepzibah, patiently, but reddening with a painful suffusion of shame. " It is very disagreable even to me. But, do you know, Clifford, I have some- thing to tell you ? This ugly noise, — pray run, Phoebe, and see who is there ! — this naughty little tmkle, is noth- ing but our shop-bell ! " " Shop-bell ! " repeated Clifford, with a bewildered stare. " Yes, our shop-bell," said Hepzibah, a certain natural dignity, mingled with deep emotion, now asserting itself in her manner. " Eor you must know, dearest Clifford, that we are very poor. And there was no other resource, but either to accept assistance from a hand that I would 132 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. push aside (and so would you !) were it to offer bread when we were dying for it, — no help, save from him, or else to earn our subsistence with my own hands ! Alone, I might have been content to starve. But you were to be given back to me ! Do you think, then, dear Clifford," added she, with a wretched smile, " that I have brought an irretrievable disgrace on the old house, by opening a little shop in the front gable ? Our great-great-grand- father did the same, when there was far less need ! Are you ashamed of me ? " " Shame ! Disgrace ! Do you speak these words to me, Hepzibah ? " said Chfford, — not angrily, however ; for when a man's spirit has been thoroughly crushed, he may be peevish at small offences, but never resentful of great ones. So he spoke with only a grieved emotion. "It was not kmd to say so, Hepzibah! What shame can befall me now ? " And then the unnerved man — he that had been born for enjoyment, but had met a doom so very wretched — burst into a woman's passion of tears. It was but of brief continuance, however ; soon leavmg him in a qui- escent, and, to judge by his countenance, not an uncom- fortable state. From this mood, too, he partially raUied, for an instant, and looked at Hepzibah with a smile, the keen, half-derisory purport of which was a puzzle to her. " Are we so very poor, Hepzibah ? " said he. Finally, his chair being deep and softly cushioned, Clif- ford fell asleep. Hearing the more regular rise and fall of his breath (which, however, even then, instead of being strong and full, had a feeble kind of tremor, corre- sponding with the lack of vigor in his character), — hear- ing these tokens of settled slumber, Hepzibah seized the opportunity to peruse his face more attentively than she THE GUEST. 133 had yet dared to do. Her heart melted away in tears ; her profoundest spirit sent forth a moaning voice, low, gentle, but inexpressibly sad. In this depth of grief and pity, she felt that there was no irreverence in gazing at his altered, aged, faded, ruined face. But no sooner was she a little relieved than her conscience smote her for gazmg curiously at him, now that he was so changed ; and, turning hastily away, Hepzibah let down the cur- tain over the sunny wmdow, and left Clifford to slumber there. YIII. THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. HCEBE, on entering the shop, beheld there the ah'eadj familiar face of the little devourer — if vre can reckon his mighty deeds aright — of Jim Crow, the elephant, the camel, the dromedaries, and the locomotive. Havmg expended his private fortune, on the two preceding days, in the purchase of the above unheard-of luxuries, the young gentleman's present er- rand was on the part of his mother, in quest of three eggs and half a pound of raisins. These articles Phoebe accordingly supplied, and, as a mark of gratitude for his previous patronage, and a slight superadded morsel after breakfast, put likewise into his hand a whale ! The great fish, reversing his experience with the prophet of Kineveh, immediately began his progress down the same red pathway of fate whither so varied a caravan had pre- ceded him. This remarkable urchin, in truth, was the very emblem of old Father Time, both in respect of his all-devouring appetite for men and things, and because he, as well as Time, after ingulfing thus much of crea- tion, looked almost as youthful as if he had been just that moment made. After partly closing the door, the child turned back. THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 135 and mumbled something to Phoebe, which, as the whale was but half disposed of, she could not perfectly under- stand. " What did you say, my little fellow ? " asked she. "Mother wants to know," repeated Ned Higgins, more distinctly, "how Old Maid Pyncheon's brother does? Folks say he has got home." " My cousin Hepzibah's brother ! " exclaimed Phoebe, surprised at this sudden 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 that look of shrewdness which a child, spend- ing much of his time in the street, so soon learns to throw over his features, however unintelligent in them- selves. Then as Phoebe continued to gaze at him, with- out answering his mother's message, he took his de- parture. As the child went down the steps, a gentleman as- cended them, and made his entrance into the shop. It was the portly, and, had it possessed the advantage of a little more height, would have been the stately figure of a man considerably in the decline of life, dressed in a black suit of some thin stuff, resembling broadcloth as closely as possible. A gold-headed cane, of rare Oriental wood, added materially to the high respectability of his aspect, as did also a white neckcloth of the utmost snowy purity, and the conscientious polish of his boots. His dark, square countenance, with its almost shaggy depth of eyebrows, was naturally impressive, and would, perhaps, have been rather stern, had not the gentleman considerately taken upon himself to mitigate the harsh effect by a look of exceeding good-humor and benevo- lence. Owing, however, to a somewhat massive accu- 136 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. mulatioii of animal substance about the lower region of his face, the look was, perhaps, unctuous, rather than spiritual, and had, so to speak, a kind of fleshly efful- gence, not altogether so satisfactory as he doubtless in- tended it to be. A susceptible observer, at any rate, ruight have regarded it as affording very little evidence of the genume benignity of soul whereof it purported to be the outward reflection. And if the observer chanced to be ill-natured, as well as acute and susceptible, he would probably suspect that the smile on the gentleman's face was a good deal akin to the shine on his boots, and that each must have cost him and his boot-black, respec- tively, a good deal of hard labor to bring out and preserve them. As the stranger entered the little shop, where the pro- jection of the second story and the thick foliage of the elm-tree, as well as the commodities at the window, cre- ated a sort of gray medium, his smile grew as intense as if he had set his heart on counteracting the whole gloom of the atmosphere (besides any moral gloom pertaining to Hepzibah and her inmates) by the unassisted light of his countenance. On perceiving a young rosebud of a girl, instead of the gaunt presence of the old maid, a look of surprise was manifest. He at first knit his brows ; then smiled with more unctuous benignity than ever. " Ah, I see how it is ! " said he, in a deep voice, — a voice which, had it come from the throat of an unculti- vated man, would have been gruff, but, by dint of careful training, was now sufficiently agreeable, — "I was not aware that Miss Hepzibah Pyncheon had commenced business under such favorable auspices. You are her assistant, I suppose ? " " I certainly am," answered Phoebe, and added, with THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 137 a little air of lady -like assumption (for, civil as the gentle- man was, he evidently took her to be a young person serving for wages), "I am a cousin of Miss Hepzibah, on a visit to her." "Her cousin? — and from the country? Pray par- don m©, then," said the gentleman, bowing and smiling, as Phoebe never had been bowed to nor smiled on before ; " in that case, we must be better acquainted ; for, unless I am sadly mistaken, you are my own little kmswoman likewise ! Let me see, — Mary ? — Dolly ? — Phoebe ? — yes, Phoebe is the name ! Is it possible that you are Phoebe Pyncheon, only child of my dear cousin and class- mate, Arthur ? Ah, I see your father now, about your mouth ! Yes, yes ! we must be better acquainted ! I am your kinsman, my dear. Surely you must have heard of Judge Pyncheon ? " As Phoebe courtesied in reply, the Judge bent forward, with the pardonable and even praiseworthy purpose — considering the nearness of blood, and the difference of age — of bestowing on his young relative a kiss of ac- knowledged kindred and natural affection. Unfortunately (without design, or only with such instinctive design as gives no account of itself to the intellect), Phoebe, just at the critical moment, drew back ; so that her highly respectable kmsman, with his body bent over the counter, and his lips protruded, was betrayed into the rather absurd predicament of kissing the empty air. It was a modern parallel to the case of Ixion embracing a cloud, and was so much the more ridiculous, as the Judge prided himself on eschewing all airy matter, and never mistak- ing a shadow for a substance. The truth was, — and it is Phoebe's only excuse, — that, although Judge Pyn- cheon's glowing benignity might not be absolutely un- pleasant to the feminine beholder, with the width of a 138 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. street, or even an ordinary-sized room, interposed be- tween, yet it became quite too intense, when this dark, fall-fed physiognomy (so roughly bearded, too, that no razor could ever make it smooth) sought to bring itself into actual contact with the object of its regards. The man, the sex, somehow or other, was entirely too promi- nent in the Judge's demonstrations of that sort. Phoebe's eyes sank, and, without knowing why, she felt herself blushing deeply under his look. Yet she had been kissed before, and without any particular squeamishness, by per- haps half a dozen different cousins, younger as well as older, than this dark-browed, grisly-bearded, wb'te-neck- clothed, and unctuously -bsnevolent Judge ! Then, why not by him ? On raising her eyes, Phcebe was startled by the change in Judge Pyncheon's face. It was quite as striking, allowing for the diilerence of scale, as that betwixt a landscape under a broad sunshine and just before a thunder-storm ; not that it had the passionate intensity of the latter aspect, but was cold, hard, immitigable, like a day-long brooding cloud. "bear 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, nor milder than the east wind ! I meant no harm ! Since he is really my cousin, I would have let liim kiss me, if I could ! " Then, all at once, it struck Phoebe that this very Judge Pyncheon was the original of the miniature which the daguerreotypist had shown her in the garden, and that the hard, stern, relentless look, now on his face, was the same that the sun had so inflexibly persisted in bringing out. Was it, therefore, no momentary mood, but, however skil- fully concealed, the settled temper of his life ? And not merely so, but was it hereditary in him, and transmitted THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 139 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 by a kind of prophecy ? A deeper philosopher than Phoebe might have found something very terrible in this idea. It implied that the weaknesses and defects, the bad passions, the mean tendencies, and the moral diseases, which lead to crime, are handed down from one genera- tion to another, by a far surer process of transmission than human law has been able to establish, in respect to the riches and honors which it seeks to entail upon posterity. But, as it happened, scarcely had Phoebe's eyes rested again on the Judge's countenance, than all its ugly stern- ness vanished ; and she found herself quite overpowered by the sultry, dog-day heat, as it were, of benevolence, which tliis excellent man diffused out of his great heart into the surrounding atmosphere ; — very much like a serpent, which, as a preliminary to fascination, is said to fill the air with his pecuHar odor. "I like that. Cousin Phoebe ! " cried he, with an em- phatic nod of approbation. " 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 she be a very pretty one — can never be too chary of her lips." " Indeed, sir," said Phoebe, trying to laugh the matter off, " I did not mean to be unkind." Nevertheless, whether or no it were entirely owing to the inauspicious commencement of their acquaintance, she still acted under a certain reserve, which was by no means customary to her frank and genial nature. The fantasy would not quit her, that the original Puritan, of whom she had heard so many sombre traditions, — the progenitor of the whole race of New England Pyncheons, 140 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the founder of the House of the Seveu Gables, and whe had died so strangely in it, — had now stept into the shop. In these days of off-hand equipment, the matter was easily enough arranged. On his arrival from the other world, he had merely found it necessary to spend a quarter of an hour at a barber's, who had trimmed doMii the Puritan's full beard into a pair of grizzled whiskers ; then, patronizing a ready-made clothmg establishment, he had exchanged his velvet doublet and sable cloak, with the richly worked band under his chin, for a white collar and cravat, coat, vest, and pantaloons; and lastly, putting aside his steel-hilted broadsword to take up a gold-headed cane, the Colonel Pyncheon, of two centuries ago, steps forward as the Judge, of the passing moment ! Of course, Phoebe was far too sensible a girl to en- tertain this idea in any other way than as matter for a smile. Possibly, also, could the two personages have stood together before her eye, many points of difference would have been perceptible, and perhaps only a general resemblance. The long lapse of intervening years, in a climate so unlike that which had fostered the ancestral Englishman, must inevitably have wrought important changes in the physical system of his descendant. The Judge's volume of muscle could hardly be the same as the Colonel's ; there was undoubtedly less beef in him. Though looked upon as a weighty man, among his contemporaries, in respect of animal substance, and as favored with a remarkable degree of fundamental devel- opment, well adapting him for the judicial bench, we conceive that the modern Judge Pyncheon, if weighed in the same balance with his ancestor, would have required at least an old-fashioned fifty-six to keep the scale in equilibrio. Then the Judge's face had lost the ruddy Enghsh hue, that showed its warmth through all the THE PYNCHEON OP TO-DAY. 141 duskiness of tlie Colonel's weather-beaten clieek, and had taken a sallow shade, the established complexion of his countrymen. If we mistake not, moreover, a certain quality of nervousness had become more or less manifest, even in so sohd a specimen of Puritan descent as the gentleman now under discussion. As one of its effects^ it bestowed on his countenance a quicker mobiUty than the old Englishman's had possessed, and keener vivacity, but at the expense of a sturdier something, on which these acute endowments seemed to act like dissolving acids. This process, for aught we know, may belong to the great system of human progress, which, vidth every ascending footstep, as it diminishes the necessity for ani- mal force, may be destined gradually to spiritualize us, by refining away our grosser attributes of body. If so. Judge Pyncheon could endure a century or two more of such refinement, as well as most other men. The similarity, intellectual and moral, between the Judge and his ancestor appears to have been at least as strong as the resemblance of mien and feature would afford reason to anticipate. In old Colonel Pyncheon's funeral discourse, the clergyman absolutely canonized his deceased parishioner, and opening, as it were, a vista through the roof of the church, and thence through the firmament above, showed him seated, harp in hand, among the crowned choristers of the spiritual world. On his tombstone, too, the record is highly eulogistic ; nor does history, so far as he holds a place upon its page, assail the consistency and uprightness of his char- acter. So also, as regards the Judge Pyncheon of to-day, neither clergyman, nor legal critic, nor inscriber of tomb- stones, nor historian of general or local politics, would venture a word against this eminent person's sincerity as a Christian, or respectability as a man, or integrity as 142 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. a judge, or courage and faithfulness as the often-triefll representative of his political party. But, besides these cold, formal, and empty words of the chisel that inscribes, the voice that speaks, and the pen that writes, for the public eye and for distant time, — and which inevitably lose much of their truth and freedom by the fatal con- sciousness of so doing, — there were traditions about the ancestor, and private diurnal gossip about the Judge, remarkably accordant in their testimony. It is often instructive to take the woman's, the private and domestic, view of a public man ; nor can anything be more curious than the vast discrepancy between portraits intended for engraving, and the pencil-sketches that pass from hand to hand, behind the original's back. For example, tradition affirmed that the Puritan had been greedy of wealth ; the Judge, too, with all the show of liberal expenditure, was said to be as close-fisted as if his gripe were of iron. The ancestor had clothed him- self in a grim assumption of kindliness, a rough heartiness of word and manner, which most people took to be the genuine warmth of nature, making its way through the thick and inflexible hide of a manly character. His de- scendant, in compliance with the requirements of a nicer age, had etherealized this rude benevolence into that broad benignity of smile, wherewith he shone like a noon- day sun along the streets, or glowed like a household fire in the drawing-rooms of his private acquaintance. The Puritan — if not belied by some singular stories, mur- mured, even at this day, under the narrator's breath — had fallen into certain transgressions to which men of his great animal development, wliatever their faith or prin- ciples, must continue liable, until they put off" impurity, along with the gross earthly substance that involves it. We must not stain our page with any contemporary scan- THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 143 dal, to a similar purport, that may have been whispered against the Judge. The Puritan, again, an autocrat in his own household, had worn out three wives, and, merely by the remorseless weight and hardness of his character in the conjugal relation, had sent them, one after another, broken-hearted, to their graves. Here, the parallel, 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 was a fable, however, — for such we choose to consider it, though, not impossibly, typical of Judge Pyncheon's marital deportment, — that the lady got her death-blow in the honeymoon, and never smiled again, because her husband compelled her to serve him with coffee every morning at his bedside, in token of fealty to her liege-lord and master. But it is too fruitful a subject, this of hereditary resemblances, — the frequent recurrence of which, in a direct hue, is truly unaccountable, when we consider how large an accumulation of ancestry lies behind every man, at the distance of one or two centuries. We shall only add, therefore, that the Puritan — so, at least, says chinmey-corner tradition, which often preserves traits of character with marvellous fidelity — was bold, imperious, relentless, crafty; laying his purposes deep, and follow- ing them out with an inveteracy of pursuit that knew neither rest nor conscience ; trampling on the weak, and, when essential to his ends, doing his utmost to beat down the strong. Whether the Judge in any degree resembled him, the further progress of our narrative may show. Scarcely any of the items in the above-drawn parallel occurred to Phoebe, whose country birth and residence, in truth, had left her pitifully ignorant of most of the family traditions, which hngered, like cobwebs and in- 144 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. crustatious of smoke, about the rooms aud chimuey-cor- uers of the House of the Seveu Gables. Yet there was a circumstance, very trifling in itself, which impressed her with an odd degree of horror. She had heard of the anathema flung by Maule, the executed wizard, against Colonel Pyncheon and his posterity, — that God would give them blood to drink, — and likewise of the popular notion, that this miraculous blood might now aud then be heard gurgling iu their throats. The latter scandal — as became a person of sense, aud, more especially, a member of the Pyncheon family — Phoebe had set down for the absurdity which it unquestionably was. But ancient superstitions, after being steeped in human hearts, and embodied in human breath, and passing from lip to ear, in manifold repetition, through a series of generations, become imbued with an effect of homely truth. The smoke of the domestic hearth has scented them, through and through. By long transmission among household facts, they grow to look like them, and have such a familiar way of makmg themselves at home, that their inlluence is usually greater than we susj^ect. Thus it happened, that when Phoebe heard a certain noise in Judge Pyncheon's throat, — rather habitual with him, not altogether voluntary, yet indicative of nothing, unless it were a slight bronchial complaint, or, as some people hinted, an apoplectic symptom, — when the girl heard this queer and awkward ingurgitaiion (which the writer never did hear, and therefore cannot describe), she, very fooUshly, started, and clasped her hands. Of course, it was exceedingly ridiculous in Phoebe to be discomposed by such a trifle, and still more unpardon- able to show her discomposure to the individual most concerned in it. But the incident chimed in so oddly with her previous fancies about the Colonel and the THE PYXCHEON OF TO-DAY. 145 Judge, that, for the moment, it seemed quite to mingle their identity. " What is the matter mth you, young womun ? " said Judge Pyncheon, giving her one of his harsh looks. *' Are you afraid of anything ? " " O, nothing, sir, — nothing in the world ! " answered Phoebe, with a little laugh of vexation at herself. " But perhaps you wish to speak with my cousin Hepzibah. Shall I call her?" " Stay a moment, if you please," said the Judge, again beaming sunshine out of his face. " You seem to be a little nervous, this morning. The town air. Cousin Phoebe, does not agree with your good, wholesome coun- try habits. Or, has anythmg happened to disturb you ? — anything remarkable in Cousin Hepzibah's family ? — An arrival, eh ? 1 thought so ! No wonder you are out of sorts, my little cousin. To be an inmate with such a guest may well startle an innocent young girl ! " "You quite puzzle me, sir," repUed Phoebe, gazing inquiringly at the Judge. " 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 not quite in his sound senses ; but so mild and quiet he seems to be, that a mother might trust her baby with him ; and I think he would play with the baby, as if he were only a few years older than itself. He startle me ! — 0, no indeed ! " " I rejoice to hear so favorable and so ingenuous an ac- count of my cousin Clifford," said the benevolent Judge. " Many years ago, when we were boys and young men ■together, I had a great affection for him, and still feel a tender interest in all his concerns. You say. Cousin Phoebe, he appears to be weak-minded. Heaven grant 146 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. him at least enough of mtellect to repent of his past sins ! " " Nobody, I fancy," observed Phoebe, " can have fewer to repent ot?' " And is it possible, my dear," rejoined the Judge, with a commiserating look, " that you have never heard of Clifford Pyncheon ? — that you know nothing of his his- tory ? Well, it is all right ; and your mother has shown a very proper regard for the good name of the family with which she connected herself. Believe the best you can of this unfortunate person, and hope the best ! It is a rule which Christians should always follow, in their judgments of one another; and especially is it right and wise among near relatives, whose characters have neces- sarily a degree of mutual dependence. But is Clifford in the parlor ? I will just 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 of so affectionate a kins- man into the private regions of the house. " Her brother seemed to be just falling asleep, after breakfast ; and I am sure she would not like him to be disturbed. Pray, sir, let me give her notice ! " But the Judge showed a singular determination to enter unannounced ; and as Phoebe, with the vivacity of a person whose movements unconsciously answer to her thoughts, had stepped towards the door, he used Httle or no ceremony in putting her aside. " No, no, Miss Phcebe ! " said Judge Pyncheon, in a voice as deep as a tliunder-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 know her brother Clifford likewise ! — nor need my little country cousin put herself to the trouble of announcing THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 147 me I " — in these latter words, by the by, there were symptoms of a change from his sudden harshness into his previous benignity of manner. " I am at home here, Phoebe, you must recollect, and you are the stranger. I will just step in, therefore, and see for myself how CliflTord is, and assure him and Hepzibah of my kindly feelings and best wishes. It is right, at this juncture, that they 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 the old gentlewoman in the parlor, where she sat, with face averted, waiting on her brother's slumber. She now issued forth, as would appear, to defend the entrance, looking, we must needs say, amaz- ingly like the dragon which, in fairy tales, is wont to be the guardian over an enchanted beauty. The habitual scowl of lier brow was, undeniably, too fierce, at this moment, to pass itself off on the innocent score of near- sightedness ; and it was bent on Judge Pyncheon in a way that seemed to confound, if not alarm him, so inade- quately had he estimated the moral force of a deeply grounded antipathy. She made a repelling gesture witk her hand, and stood, a perfect picture of prohibition, at full length, in the dark frame of the doorway. But we must betray Hepzibah'3 secret, and confess that the native timorousness of her character even now developed itself, in a quick tremor, which, to her own perception, 6et each of her joints at variance with its fellows. Possibly, the Judge was aware how little true hardi- hood lay behind Hepzibah's formidable front. At any rate, being a gentleman of steady nerves, he soon recov- ered himself, and failed not to approach his cousin with outstretched hand; adopting the sensible precaution. 148 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. however, to cover his advance with a smile, so broad and sultry, that, had it been only half as warm as it looked, a treUis of grapes might at once have turned purple under its summer-like exposure. It may have been his purpose. Indeed, to melt poor Hepzibah on the spot, as if she were a figure of yellow wax. " HepzilDah, my beloved cousin, I am rejoiced ! " ex- claimed the Judge, most emphatically. " Now, at length, you have something to live for. Yes, and all of us, let me say, your friends and kindred, have more to live for than we had yesterday. I have lost no time in hastening to offer any assistance in my power towards making Clif- ford comfortable. He belongs to us all. I know how much he requires, — how much he used to require, — with his dehcate taste, and his love of the beautiful. Anything in my house, — pictures, books, wine, luxuries of the table, — he may command them all ! It would afford me most heartfelt gratification to see him ! Shall I step in, this moment ? " "No," rephed Hepzibah, her voice quivering too painfully to allow of many words. " He cannot see visitors ! " " A visitor, my dear cousin ! — do you call me so ? " cried the Judge, whose sensibility, it seems, was hurt by the coldness of the phrase. " Nay, then, let me be Clifford's host, and your ovm likewise. Come at once to my house. The country air, and all the conveniences — I may say luxuries — that I have gathered about me, will do wonders for him. And you and I, dear Hep- zibah, will consult together, and watch together, and labor together, to make our dear Clifford happy. Come ! why should we make more words about what is both a duty and a pleasure, on mv part ? Come to me ai once !'" THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 149 On hearing these so hospitable offers, and such gener- ous recognition of the claims of kindred, Phoebe felt very much in the mood of running up to Judge Pyncheon, and giving him, of her own accord, the kiss from which she had so recently shrunk away. It was quite other- wise with Hepzibah ; the Judge's smile seemed to operate on her acerbity of heart like sunshine upon vinegar, mak- ing it ten times sourer than ever. " Clifford," said she, — still too agitated to utter more than an abrupt sentence, — " Clifford has a home here ! " "May Heaven forgive you, Hepzibah," said Judge Pyncheon, — reverently Hfting his eyes towards that high court of equity to which he appealed, — " if you suffer any ancient prejudice or animosity to weigh with you in this matter ! I stand here, with an open heart, wilhng and anxious to receive yourself and Clifford into it. Do not refuse my good offices, — my earnest propo- sitions for your welfare ! They are such, in all respects, as it behooves your nearest kinsman to make. It will be a heavy responsibility, cousin, if you confine your brother to this dismal house and stifled air, when the delightful freedom of my country-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 is the meaning of all this? Have you other resources ? Nay, I suspected as much ! Take care, Hepzibah, take care ! Clifford is on the brink of aa, black a ruin as ever befell him yet ! But why do I talk with you, woman as you are ? Make way ! — I must see Clifford ! " Hepzibah spread out her gaunt figure across the door, and seemed really to increase in bulk ; looking the more 150 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. terrible, also, because there was so much terror and agi- tation in her heart. But Judge Pyncheon's evident pur- pose of forcing a passage was interrupted by a voice from the inner room ; a weak, tremulous, wailing voice, indicating helpless alarm, with no more energy for self- defence than belongs to a frightened infant. " Hepzibah, Hepzibah ! " cried the voice ; " go down on your knees to him ! Kiss his feet ! Entreat him not to come in ! O, let him have mercy on me ! Mercy ! — mercy ! " For the instant, it appeared doubtful whether it were not the Judge's resolute purpose to set Kepzibah aside, and step across the threshold into the parlor, whence issued that broken and miserable murmur of entreaty. It was not pity that restrained him, for, at the first sound of the enfeebled voice, a red fire kindled in his eyes, and he made a quick pace forward, with somethmg inexpressively fierce and grim darkening forth, as it were, out of the whole man. To know Judge Pynchean, was to see him at that moment. After such a revela?^jn, let him smile with what sultriness he would, he could much sooner turn grapes purple, or pumpkins yellow, than melt the iron-branded impression out of the beholder's memory. And it rendered his aspect not the less, but more frightful, that it seemed not to express wrath or hatred, but a certain hot fellness of purpose, which an- niliilated everything but itself. "Xet, after all, are we not slandering an excellent and amiable man ? Look at the Judge now ! He is appar- ently conscious of having erred, in too energetically pressing his deeds of lovmg-kindness on persons unable to appreciate them. He will await their better mood, and hold himself as ready to assist them tlien, as at this moment. As he draws back from the door, an all-com- THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 151 prehensive benignity blazes from his visage, indicating that he gathers Hepzibah, httle Phcebe, and the mvisible Chfford, ail tliree, together with the wliole world besides, into his immense heart, and gives them a warm bath in its flood of affection. " You do me great wrong, dear Cousin Hepzibah ! " said he, first kindly offermg her his hand, and then draw- ing on his glove preparatory to departure. " Very great wrong ! But I forgive it, and will study to make you think better of me. Of course, our poor Clifford being in so unhappy a state of mind, I cannot think of urging an interview at present. But I shall watch over his welfare, as if he were my own beloved brother ; nor do I at all despair, my dear cousm, of constraining both him and you to acknowledge your injustice. When that, shall happen, I desire no other rev^enge than your ac- ceptance of the best offices in my power to do you." With a bow to Hepzibah, and a degree of paternal benevolence in his parting nod to Phoebe, the Judge left the shop, and went smiling along the street. • As is cus- tomary with the rich, when they aim at the honors of a republic, he apologized, as it were, to the people, for his wealth, prosperity, and elevated station, by a free and hearty manner towards those who knew him ; putting off the more of his dignity, in due proportion with the hum- bleness of the man whom he saluted, and thereby proving a haughty consciousness of his advantages as irrefraga- bly as if he had marched forth preceded by a troop of lackeys to clear the way. On this particular forenoon so excessive was the warmth of Judge Pyncheon's kindly aspect, that (such, at least, was the rumor about town) an extra passage of the water-carts was found essential, in order to lay the dust occasioned by so much extra sunshine! 152 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. No sooner had he disappeared than Hepzibah grew deadly white, and, staggering towards Phoebe, let her head fall on the young girl's shoulder. "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 from trembling long enough to let me tell him what he is ? " " Is he so very wicked ? " asked Phoebe. " Yet his offers were surely kind ! " " 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 would disturb him wretchedly to see me so agitated as I am. There, go, dear child, and I will try "to look after the shop." Phoebe went, accordmgly, but perplexed herself, mean- while, with queries as to the purport of the scene which she had just witnessed, and also, whether judges, clergy- men, and other characters of that eminent stamp and respectability, could really, in any single instance, be otherwise Ihan just and upriglit men. A doubt of this nature has a most disturbing influence, and, if shown to be a fact, comes with fearful and startUng effect, on minds of the trim, orderly, and limit-loving class, in which we find our Httle country-girl. Dispositions more boldly speculative may derive a stern enjoyment from the discovery, since there must be evil in the world, that a high man is as likely to grasp his share of it as a low one. A mder scope of view, and a deeper insight, may see rank, dignity, and station, all proved illusory, so far as regards their claim to human reverence, and yet not feel as if the universe were thereby tumbled head- long into chaos. But Phoebe, in order to keep the universe in its old place, was fain to smother, in some degree, her ovni intuitions as to Judge Pyncheon's THE PYNCHEON OF TO-DAY. 153 character. And as for her cousin's testimony in dispar- agement of it, she concluded that Hepzibah's judgment was imbittered by one of those family feuds, which render hatred the more deadly, by the dead and cor- rupted love that they intermingle with its native poi- IX. CLIFFORD AND PHCEBE. RULY "was there something high, generous, and noble in the native composition of our poor old Hepzibah ! Or else, — and it was quite a§ probably the case, — she had been enriched by poverty, developed by sorrow, elevated by the strong and solitary affection of her hfe. and thus endowed with heroism, which never could have characterized her in what are called happier circumstances. Through dreary years, Hepzibah had looked forward — for the most part de- spairingly, never with auy confidence of hope, but always with the feeling that it was her brightest possibility — to the very position in which she now found herself. In her own behalf, she had asked nothing of Providence, but the opportunity of devoting herself to this brother, whom she had so loved, — so admired tor wtiat he was, i or might have been, — and to whom she had kept her faith, alone of all the world, wholly, unfalteringly, at every instant, and throughout life. And here, in his late decHne, the lost one had come back out of his long and strange misfortune, and was thrown on her sympathy, as it seemed, not merely for the bread of his physical exist- ence, but for everything that should keep him morally CLIFFORD AND PKCEBE. 155 alive. She had responded to the call. She had come forward, — our poor, gaunt Hepzibah, in her rusty silks, with her rigid joints, and the sad perversity of her scowl, — ready to do her utmost ; and with affection enough, if that were all, to do a hundred times as much ! There could be few more tearful sights, — and Heaven forgive us, if a smile insist on mingling with our conception of it ! — few sights with truer pathos in them, than Hep- zibah presented, on that first afternoon. How patiently did she endeavor to wrap Clifford up in her great, warm love, and make it all the w^orld to him, so that he should retain no torturing sense of the cold- ness and dreariness Avithout ! Her little efforts to amuse him ! How pitiful, yet magnanimous, they were ! Remembering his early love of poetry and fiction, she unlocked a bookcase, and took down several books that had been excellent reading in their day. There was a volume of Pope, with the Rape of the Lock in it, and another of the Tatler, and an odd one of Dryden's Mis- cellanies, all with tarnished gilding on their covers, and thoughts of tarnished brilliancy inside. They had no success with ClijEFord. These, and all such writers of society, whose new works glow like the rich texture of a just-woven carpet, must be content to relinquish their charm, for every reader, after an age or two, and could hardly be supposed to retain any portion of it for a mind iliat had utterly lost its estimate of modes and manners. Hepzibah then took up Rasselas, and began to read of the Happy Valley, with a vague idea that some secret of a contented life had there been elaborated, which might at least serve Clifford and herself for this one day. But the Happy Valley had a cloud over it, Hepzibah troub- led her auditor, moreover, by innumerable sins of em- phasis, which he seemed to detect, without any reference 156 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. to the meaning ; nor, in fact, did lie appear to take much note of the sense of "^-hat she read, but evidently felt the tedium of the lecture, without harvestmg its profit. His sister's voice, too, naturally harsh, had, in the course of her sorrowful Hfetime, contracted a kind of croak, which, when it once gets into the human throat, is as ineradi- cable as siu. In both sexes, occasionally, this life-long croak, accompanying each word of joy or sorrow, is one of the symptoms of a settled melancholy ; and wherever it occurs, the whole history of misfortune is conveyed ia its shghtest accent. The effect is as if the voice had been dyed black ; or, — if we must use a more moderate simile, — this miserable croak, rmmmg through all the variations of the voice, is like a black silken thread, on which the crystal beads of speech are strung, and whence they take their hue. Such voices have put on mourning for dead hopes; and they ought to die and be buried along with them ! Discerning that Clifford was not gladdened by her ef- forts, Hepzibah searched about the house for the means of more exhilarating pastime. At one time, her eyes chanced to rest on Ahce Pyncheon's harpsichord. It was a moment of great peril ; for, — despite the traditionary awe that had gathered over this instrument of music, and the dirges which spiritual fingers were said to play on it, — the devoted sister had solemn thoughts of thrumming on its chords for Clifford's benefit, and ac- companymg the performance with her voice. Poor Clif- ford ! Poor Hepzibah ! Poor harpsichord ! AH three would have been miserable together. By some good agency, — possibly, by the unrecognized interposition of the long-buried Alice herself, — the threatening calamity was averted. But the worst of all — the hardest stroke of fate for CLIFFORD AND PHGEBE. 157 Hepzibali to endure, and perhaps for Clifford too — was his invincible distaste for her appearance. Her features, never the most agreeable, and now harsh with age and grief, and resentment against the world for his sake ; her dress, and especially her turban ; the queer and quaint manners, which had unconsciously grown upon her in sohtude ; — such being the poor gentlewoman's outward characteristics, it is no great marvel, although the mourn- fullest of pities, that the instinctive lover of the Beautiful was fain to turn away his eyes. There was no help for it. It would be the latest impulse to die within him. In his last extremity, the expiring breath stealing faintly through Clifford's lips, he would doubtless press Hepzi- bah's hand, in fervent recognition of all her lavished love, and close his eyes, — but not so much to die, as to be constrained to look no longer on her face ! Poor Hepzibah ! She took counsel with herself what might.be done, and thought of putting ribbons on her turban; but, by the instant rush of several guardian angels, was with- held from an experiment that could hardly have proved less than fatal to the beloved object of her anxiety. To be brief, besides Hepzibah's disadvantages of per- son, there was an uncouthness pervading all her deeds ; a clumsy something, that could but ill adapt itself for use, and not at all for ornament. She was a grief to Clifford, and she knew it. In this extremity, the anti- quated virgin turned to Phoebe. No grovelling jealousy was in her heart. Had it pleased Heaven to crown the heroic fidelity of her life by making, her personally the medium of Clifford's happiness, it would have rewarded her for all the past, by a joy with no bright tints, indeed, but deep and true, and worth a thousand gayer ecstasies. This could not be. She therefore turned to Phosbe, and resigned the task into the young girl's hands. The latter 158 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. took it up, cheerfully, as slie did everything, but with no sense of a mission to perform, and succeeding all the better for that same simplicity. By the involuntary effect of a genial temperament, Phoebe soon grew to he absolutely essential to the daily comfort, if not the daily life, of her two forlorn compan- ions. The grime and sordidness of the Housp of the Seven Gables seemed to have vanished, since her appear- ance there ; the gnawing tooth of the dry-rot was stayed, among the old timbers of its skeleton frame ; the dust had ceased to settle down so densely, from the antique ceilings, upon the floors and furniture of the rooms be- low ; — or, at any rate, there was a little housewife, as light-footed as the breeze that sweeps a garden walk, gliding hither and thither, to brush it all away. The shadows of gloomy events, that haunted the else lonely and desolate apartments ; the heavy, breathless scent which death had left in more than one of the bedcham- bers, ever since his visits of long ago ; — these were less powerful than the purifying influence scattered through- out the atmosphere of the household by the presence of one youthful, fresh, and thoroughly wholesome heart. There was no morbidness in Phoebe ; if there had been, the old Pyncheon House was the very locality to ripen it into incurable disease. But now her spirit resembled, in its potency, a minute quantity of ottar of rose in one of Hepzibah's huge, iron-bound trunks, diffusing its fra- grance through the various articles of hnen and wrought- lace, kerchiefs, caps, stockings, folded dresses, gloves, and whatever else was treasured there. As every article in the gi'eat trunk was the sweeter for the rose-scent, so did all the thoughts and emotions of Hepzibah and Clif- ford, sombre as they might seem, acquire a subtile attri- bute of happiness from Phoebe's intermixture with them. CLIFFORD AND PHCEBE. 159 Her activity of body, intellect, and heart impelled her continually to perform the ordinary little toils that offered themselves around her, and to think the thought proper for the moment, and to sympathize, — now with the twittering gayety of the robins in the pear-tree, and now to such a depth as she could with Hepzibah's dark anxiety, or the vague moan of her brother. This facile adaptation was at once the symptom of perfect health, and its best preservative. A nature like Phoebe's has invariably its due influence, but is seldom regarded with due honor. Its spiritual force, however, may be partially estimated by the fact of her having found a place for herself, amid circumstances so stern as those which surrounded the mistress of the house ; and also by the effect which she produced on a character of so much more mass than her own. For the gaunt, bony frame and limbs of Hepzibah, as compared with the tiny lightsomeness of Phoebe's figure, were per- haps in some fit proportion with the moral weight and substance, respectively, of the woman and the girl. To the guest, — to Hepzibah's brother, — or Cousin Clifford, as Phoebe now began to call him, — she was especially necessary. Not that he could ever be said to converse with her, or often manifest, in any other very definite mode, his sense of a charm in her society. But, if she were a long while absent, he became pettish and nervously restless, pacing the room to and fro, witli the uncertainty that characterized all his movements ; or else would sit broodingly in his great chair, resting his head on his hands, and evincing life only by an electric sparkle of ill-humor, whenever Hepzibah endeavored to arouse him. Phoebe's presence, and the contiguity of her fresh hfe to his blighted one, was usually all that he required. Indeed, such was the native gush and play of her spirit, 160 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. that she was seldom perfectly quiet and undemonstrative, any more than a fountain ever ceases to dimple and warble with its flovr. She possessed the gift of song, and that, too, so naturally, that you would as little think of inquiring whence she had caught it, or what master had taught her, as of asking the same questions about a bird, in whose small strain of music we recognize the voice of the Creator as distinctly as in the loudest accents of his thunder. So long as Phoebe sang, she might stray at her own will about the house. Clifford was content, whether the sweet, airy homeliness of her tones came down from the upper chambers, or along the passage-way from the shop, or was sprinkled through the foHage of the pear- tree, inward from the garden, with the twinkling sun- beams. He would sit quietly, with a gentle pleasure gleaming over his face, brighter now, and now a little dimmer, as the song happened to float near him, or was more remotely heard. It pleased him best, however, when she sat on a low footstool at his knee. It is perhaps remarkable, considering her temperament, that Phoebe oftener chose a strain of pathos than of gay- ety. But the young and happy are not iU pleased to temper their hfe with a transparent shadow. The deep- est pathos of Phoebe's voice and song, moreover, came sifted through the golden texture of a cheery spirit, and was somehow so interfused with the quahty thence ac- quired, that one's heart felt ail the Kghter for having wept at it. Broad mirth, in the sacred presence of dark misfortune, would have jarred harshly and irreverently with the solemn symphony that rolled its undertone through Hepzibah's and her brother's life. Therefore, it was well that Phoebe so often chose sad themes, and not amiss that they ceased to be so sad while she was singing them. CLIFFORD AND PHCEBE. 161 Becoming "habituated to lier companionsliip, Clifford readUy showed how capable of imbibing pleasant tiats and gleams of cheerful light fi*om all quarters his nature must originally have been. He grew youthful, while she sat by him. A beauty, — not precisely real, even in its utmost manifestation, and which a painter would have watched long to seize and fix upon his canvas, and, after all, in vain, — beauty, nevertheless, that was not a mere dream, would sometimes play upon and illuminate his face. It did more than to illummate; it transfigured him with an expression that could only be interpreted as the glow of an exquisite and happy spirit. That gray hair, and those furrows, — with their record of mfinite sorrow, so deeply written across his brow, and so com- pressed, as with a futile effort to crowd in all the tale, that the whole inscription was made illegible, — these, for the moment, vanished. An eye, at once tender and acute, might have beheld in the man some shadow of what he was meant to be. Anon, as age came stealing, like a sad twilight, back over his figure, you would have felt tempted to hold an argument with Destiny, and affirm, that either this being should not have been made mortal, or mortal existence should have been tempered to his qualities. There seemed no necessity for his hav- ing drawn breath, at all ; — the world never wanted him ; — but, as he had breathed, it ought always to have been the balmiest of summer air. The same perplexity will invariably haunt us with regard to natures that tend to feed exclusively upon the Beautiful, let their earthly fate be as lenient as it may. Phoebe, it is probable, had but a very imperfect com- prehension of the character over which she had thrown so beneficent a spell. Nor was it necessary. The fire upon the hearth can gladden a whole semicircle of faces 162 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. round about it, but need not know the individuality of one among them all. Indeed, there was something too fine and delicate in Clifford's traits to be perfectly appre- ciated by one whose sphere lay so much in the Actual as Phcebe's did. Eor Clifford, however, the reality, and simplicity, and thorough homeliness, of the girl's nature, were as powerful a charm as any that she possessed. Beauty, it is true, and beauty almost perfect in its own style, was indispensable. Had Phoebe been coarse in feature, shaped clumsily, of a harsh voice, and uncouthly mannered, she might have been rich with all good gifts, beneath tliis unfortunate exterior, and still, so long as she wore the guise of woman, she would have shocked Chfford, and depressed him by her lack of beauty. But nothing more beautiful — nothing prettier, at least — was ever made than Phoebe. And, therefore, to this man, — whose whole poor and impalpable enjoyment of existence, heretofore, and until both his heart and fancy died within him, had been a dream, — whose images of women had more and more lost their warmth and sub- stance, and been frozen, like the pictures of secluded artists, into the chillest ideality, — to him, this little figure of the cheeriest household life was just what he required to bring him back into the breathing world. Persons who have wandered, or been expelled, out of the common track of things, even were it for a better system, desire nothing so much as to be led back. They shiver in their lonehness, be it on a mountain-top or in a dun- geon. Now, Phoebe's presence made a home about her, — that very sphere which the outcast, the prisoner, the potentate, — the wretch beneath mankind, the wretch aside from it, or the wretch above it, — instinctively pines after, — a home ! She was real ! Holding her hand, you felt something; a tender something; a sub- CLIFFORD AND PHCEBE. 163 stance, and a warm one : and so long as you should feel its grasp, soft as it was, you might be certain that your place was good in the whole sympathetic chain of human nature. The world was no longer a delusion. By looking a little further in this direction, we might suggest an explanation of an often-suggested mystery. Why are poets so apt to choose their mates, not for any similarity of poetic endowment, but for qualities which might make the happiness of the rudest handicraftsman as well as that of the ideal craftsman of the spirit ? Be- cause, probably, at his highest elevation, the poet needs no human intercourse ; but he finds it dreary to descend, and be a stranger. There was something very beautiful in the relation that grew up between this pair, so closely and constantly huked together, yet with such a waste of gloomy and mysterious years from his birthday to hers. On ChfFord's part, it was the feeling of a man naturally endowed with the liveliest sensibility to feminine influence, but who had never quaffed the cup of passionate love, and knew that it was now too late. He knew it, with the instinc- tive delicacy that had survived his intellectual decay. Thus, his sentiment for Phoebe, without being paternal, was not less chaste than if she had been his daughter. He was a man, it is true, and recognized her as a wo- man. She was his only representative of womankind. He took unfaihng note of every charm that appertained to her sex, and saw the ripeness of her hps, and the virginal development of her bosom. All her little wo- manly ways, budding out of her like blossoms on a young fruit-tree, had their effect on him, and sometimes caused his very heart to tingle with the keenest thrills of pleas- ure. At such moments, — for the effect was seldom more than momentary, — the half-torpid man would be 164 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. full of harmonious life, just as a loug-silent harp is full of sound, when the musician's fingers sweep across it. But, after all, it seemed rather a perception, or a sympathy, than a sentiment belonging to himself as an individual He read Phoebe, as he would a sweet and simple story ; he listened to her, as if she were a verse of household poetry, which God, in requital of his bleak and dismal lot, had permitted some angel, that most pitied him, to warble through the house. She was not an actual fact for him, but the interpretation of all that he had lacked on earth, brought warmly home to his conception ; so that this mere symbol, or lifelike picture, had almost the comfort of reahty. But we strive in vain to put the idea into words. No adequate expression of the beauty and profound pathos with which it impresses us is attainable. This being, made only for happiness, and heretofore so miserably fail- ing to be happy, — his tendencies so hideously thwarted, that, some unknown time ago, the delicate springs of his character, never morally or intellectually strong, had given way, and he was now imbecile, — this poor, forlorn voyager from the Islands of the Blest, in a frail bark, on a tempestuous sea, had been flung, by the last mountain- wave of his shipwreck, into a quiet harbor. There, as he lay more than half lifeless on the strand, the fragrance of an earthly rosebud had come to his nostrils, and, as odors will, had summoned up reminiscences or visions of all the livuig and breatliing beauty amid which he should have had his home. With his native suscepti- bility of happy influences, he inhales the slight, ethereal rapture into his soul, and expires ! And how did Phoebe regard Clifford ? The girl's was not one of those natures wliich are most attracted by what is strange and exceptional ui human character. CLIFFORD AND PHGEBE. 165 The path which would best have suited her was the well- worn track of ordinary life ; the companions in whom she would most have delighted were such as one encoun- ters at every turn. The mystery which enveloped CHf- ford, so far as it affected her at all, was an annoyance, rather than the piquant charm which many women might have found in it. Still, her native kindliness was brought strongly into play, not by what was darkly picturesque in his situation, nor so touch, even, by the finer graces of his character, as by the simple appeal of a heart so for- lorn as his to one so full of genuine sympathy as hers. She gave him an affectionate regard, because he needed so much love, and seemed to have received so little. With a ready tact, the result of ever-active and whole- some sensibility, she discerned what was good for him, and did it. Whatever was morbid in his mind and ex- perience, she ignored ; and thereby kept their intercourse healthy, by the incautious, but, as it were, heaven- directed freedom of her whole conduct. The sick in mind, and, perhaps, in body, are rendered more darkly and hopelessly so, by the manifold reflection of their dis- ease, mirrored back from all quarters, in the deportment of those about them ; they are compelled to inhale the poison of their own breath, in infinite repetition. But Phoebe afforded her poor patient a supply of purer air. She impregnated it, too, not with a wild-flower scent, — for wildness was no trait of hers, — but with the perfume of garden-roses, pinks, and other blossoms of much sweet- ness, which nature and man have consented together in making grow from summer to summer, and from cen- tury to century. Such a flower was Phoebe, in her rela- tion with Clifford, and such the delight that he inhaled from her. Yet, it must be said, her petals sometimes drooped 166 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. a little, in consequence of the heavy atmosphere about her. She grew more thoughtful than heretofore. Look- ing aside at Clifford's face, and seeing the dim, unsatis- factory elegance and the intellect almost quenched, she would try to inquire what had been his life. Was he always thus ? Had this veil been over him from his birth ? — this veil, under which far more of his spirit was hidden than revealed, and through which he so im- perfectly discerned the actual world, — or was its gray texture woven of some dark calamity ? Phoebe loved no riddles, and would have been glad to escape the perplex- ity of this one. Nevertheless, there was so far a good result of her meditations on Cliiford's character, that, when her involuntary conjectures, together with the ten- dency of every strange circumstance to tell its own story, had gradually taught her the fact, it had no terri- ble effect upon her. Let the world have done him what vast wrong it might, she knew Cousin Clifford too well, — or fancied so, — ever to shudder at the touch of his thin, delicate fingers. Within a few days after the appearance of this remark- able inmate, the routine of life had established itself with a good deal of uniformity in the old house of our narra- tive. In the morning, very shortly after breakfast, it was Clifford's custom to fall asleep in his chair ; nor, unless accidentally disturbed, would he emerge from a dense cloud of slumber or the thinner mists that flitted to and fro, until well towards noonday. These hours of drowsihead were the season of the old gentlewoman's attendance on her brother, while Phoebe took charge of the shop ; an arrangement which the public speedily un- derstood, and evinced their decided preference of the younger shopwoman by the multiphcity of their calls during her administration of affairs. Dinner over, Hep- CLIFFORD AND PHCEBE. 167 eibah took her knitting- work, — a long stocking of gray yarn, for her brother's winter-wear, — and with a sigh, and a scowl of affectionate farewell to Clifford, and a gesture enjoining watchfulness on Phoebe, went to take her seat behind the counter. It was now the young girl's turn to be the nurse, — the guardian, the playmate, — or whatever is the fitter phrase, — of the gray -haired man. X. THE PYNCHEON GARDEN. LIFFOED, except for Phoebe's more active in- stigation, would ordinarily have yielded to the torpor which had crept through all his modes of being, and which sluggishly counselled him to sit in his morning chair till eventide. But the girl seldom failed to propose a removal to the garden, where Uncle Venner and the daguerreotypist had made such repairs on the roof of the ruinous arbor, or summer-house, that it was now a sufficient shelter from sunshine and casual showers. The hop-vine, too, had begun to grow luxu- riantly over the sides of the little edifice, and made an interior of verdant seclusion, with innumerable peeps and glimpses into the wider solitude of the garden. Here, sometimes, in this green play -place of flickering light, Phoebe read to Chfford. Her acquaintance, the art- ist, who appeared to have a literary turn, had supplied lier with works of fiction, in pamphlet-form, and a few volumes of poetry, in altogether a different style and taste from those which Hepzibah selected for his amusement. Small thanks were due to the books, however, if the girl's readings were in any degree more successful than her elderly cousui's. Phoebe's voice had always a pretty THE PYNCHEON GARDEN. 169 music in it, and conld either enliven Clifford by its sparkle and gayety of tone, or soothe him by a contmued flow of .pebbly and brook -like cadences. But the fictions — in ■which the country-girl, unused to works of that nature, often became deeply absorbed — interested her strange auditor very Httle, or not at all. Pictures of life, scenes of passion or sentiment, wit, humor, and pathos, were all thrown away, or worse than thrown away, on Chfford ; either because he lacked an experience by which to test their truth, or because his own griefs were a touch-stone of reality that few feigned emotions could withstand. When Phoebe broke into a peal of merry laughter at what she read, he would now and then laugh for sympathy, but oftener respond with a troubled, questioning look. If a tear — a maiden's sunshiny tear over imaginary woe — dropped upon some melancholy page, Clifford either took it as a token of actual calamity, or else grew peevish, and angrily motioned her to close the volume. And wise- ly too ! Is not the world sad enough, in genuine earnest, without making a pastime of mock-sorrows ? With poetry, it was rather better. He dehghted in the swell and subsidence of the rhythm, and *he happily recurring rhyme. Nor was Clifford incapable of feeling the sentiment of poetry, — not, perhaps, where it was highest or deepest, but where it was most flitting and ethereal. It was impossible to foretell in what exquisite Terse the awakening spell might lurk; but, on raising her eyes from the page to Clifford's face, Phoebe would be made aware, by the light breaking through it, that a more delicate intelligence than her own had caught a lambent flame from what she read. One glow of this kind, however, was often the precursor of gloom for many hours afterward; because, when the glow left him, he seemed conscious of a missing; sense and power, and 170 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. groped about for them, as if a blind man should go seek- ing his lost eyesight. It pleased him more, and was better for his inward welfare, that Phoebe should talk, and make passing oc- currences vivid to his mind by her accompanying descrip- tion and remarks. The Hfe of the garden offered topics enough for such discourse as suited Clifford best. He never failed to inquire what flowers had bloomed since yesterday. His feeling for flowers was very exquisite, and seemed not so much a taste as an emotion ; he was fond of sitting with one in his hand, intently observing it, and looking from its petals into Phoebe's face, as if the garden flower were the sister of the household maiden. Not merely was there a delight in the flower's perfume, or pleasure in its beautiful form, and the delicacy or brightness of its hue ; but Clifford's enjoyment was ac- companied with a perception of life, character, and indi- viduality, that made him love these blossoms of the garden, as if they were endowed with sentiment and in- telligence. This affection and sympathy for flowers is almost exclusively a woman's trait. Men, if endowed with it by nature, soon lose, forget, and learn to despise it, in their contact with coarser things than flowers. Clifford, too, had long forgotten it ; but found it again, now, as he slowly revived from the chill torpor of his life. It is wonderful how many pleasant incidents continu- ally came to pass in that secluded garden-spot, when once Phoebe liad set herself to look for them. She had seen or heard a bee there, on the fi/st day of her acquaintance with the place. And often, — almost continually, indeed, — since then, the bees kept coming thither, Heaven knows why, or by what pertinacious desire for far-fetched sweets, when, no doubt, there were broad clover-fields, and all kinds of garden growth, much nearer home than THE PYNCHEON GARDEN. 171 tnis. Thither the bees came, however, and plunged into the squash-blossoms, as if there were no other squash- vines within a long day's flight, or as if the soil of Hepzi- bah's garden gave its productions just the very quality which these laborious little wizards wanted, in order to impart the Hymettus odor to their whole hive of New England honey. When Clifford heard their sunny, buzz- ing murmur, in the heart of the great yellow blossoms, he looked about him with a joyful sense of warmth, and blue sky, and green grass, and of God's free air in the whole height from earth to heaven. After all, there need be no question why the bees came to that one green nook, in the dusty town. God sent them thither, to gladden our poor Clifford. They brought the rich sum- mer with them, in requital of a little honey. When the bean-vines began to flower on the poles^ there was one particular variety which bore a vivid scar- let blossom. The daguerreotypist had found these beans in a garret, over one of the seven gables, treasured up in an old chest of drawers, by some horticultural Pyncheon of days gone by, who, doubtless, meant to sow them the next summer, but was himself first sown in Death's gar- den-ground. By way of testing whether there was still a living germ in such ancient seeds, Holgrave had planted some of them ; and the result of his experiment was a splendid row of bean-vines, clambering, early, to the full height of the poles, and arraying them, from top to bot- tom, in a spiral profusion of red blossoms. And, ever since the unfolding of the first bud, a multitude of hum- ming-birds had been attracted thither. At times, it seemed as if for every one of the hundred blossoms there was one of these tiniest fowls of the air ; a thumb's big- ness of burnished plumage, hovering and vibrating about the bean-poles. It was with indescribable interest, and 172 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. even more than cliildish deliglit, that Clifford watched the hummmg-birds. He used to thrust his head softly out of the arbor, to see them the better ; all the while, too, motioning Phoebe to be quiet, and snatching glimpses of the smile upon her face, so as to heap his enjoyment up the higher with her sympathy. He had not merely grown young ; — he was a child again. Hepzibah, whenever she happened to witness one of these fits of miniature enthusiasm, would shake her head, with a strange mingling of the mother and sister, and of pleasure and sadness, in her aspect. She said that it had always been thus with Clifford, when the humming-birds came, — always, from his babyhood, — and that his de- light in them had been one of the earliest tokens by which he showed his love for beautiful things. And it was a wonderful coincidence, the good lady thought, that the artist should have planted these scarlet -flowering beans — which the humming-birds sought far and wide, and which had not grown in the Pyncheon garden before for forty years — on the very summer of Clifford's return. Then would the tears stand in poor Hepzibah's eyes, or overflow them with a too abundant gush, so that she was fain to betake herself into some corner, lest ChfPord should espy her agitation. Indeed, all the enjoyments of this period were provocative of tears. Coming so late as it did, it was a kind of Indian summer, with a mist in its balmiest sunshine, and decay and death in its gaudiest delight. The more Clifford seemed to taste the happiness of a child, the sadder was the difference to be recognized. With a mysterious and terrible Past, which had annihi- lated his memory, and a blank Future before him, he had only this visionary and impalpable Now, which, if you once look closely at it, is nothing. He himself, as was perceptible by many symptoms, lay darkly behind Ms THE PYNCHEON GAEDEN. 173 pleasure, and knew it to be a baby -play, which he was to toy and trifle with, instead of thoroughly believing. Clif- ford saw, it may be, in the mirror of his deeper conscious- ness, that he was an example and representative of that great class of people whom an inexplicable Providence is continually putting at cross-purposes with the world ; breaking what seems its own promise in their nature; withholding their proper food, and setting poison before them for a banquet ; and thus — when it might so easily, as one would think, have been adjusted otherwise — making their existence a strangeness, a soHtude and tor- ment. All his life long, he had been learning how to be wretched, as one learns a foreign tongue ; and now, with the lesson thoroughly by heart, he could with difficulty comprehend his little airy happiness. Frequently, there was a dim shadow of doubt in his eyes. " Take my hand, Phoebe," he would say, " and pinch it hard with your little fingers ! Give me a rose, that I may press its thorns, and prove myself awake, by the sharp touch of pain ! " Evi- dently, he desired this prick of a trifling anguish, in order to assure himself, by that quality which he best knew to be real, that the garden, and the seven weather-beaten gables, and Hepzibah's scowl, and Phoebe's ■ smile were real, likewise. Without this signet in his flesh, he could have attributed no more substance to them than to the empty confusion of imaginary scenes with which he had fed his spirit, until even that poor sustenance was exhausted. The author needs great faith in his reader's sympathy ; else he must hesitate to give details so minute, and inci- dents apparently so trifling, as are essential to make up the idea of this garden-life. It was the Eden of a thun- der-smitten Adam, who had fled for refuge thither out of the same dreary and perilous wilderness into which the original Adam was expelled. 174 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. One of the available means of amusement, of vdnch. Phoebe made the most, in Clifford's behalf, was that feathered society, the hens, a breed of whom, as we have already said, was an immemorial heirloom in the Pyn- cheon family. In compliance with a whim of Clifford, as it troubled him to see them in confinement, they had been set at liberty, and now roamed at will about the garden ; doing some httle mischief, but hindered from escape by buildings, on three sides, and the difficult peaks of a wooden fence, on the other. They spent much of their abundant leisure on the margin of Maule's well, which was haunted by a kind of snail, evidently a titbit to their palates ; and the brackish water itself, however nauseous to the rest of the world, was so greatly esteemed by these fowls, that they might be seen tasting, turning up their heads, and smacking their bills, with precisely the air of wine-bibbers round a probationary cask. Their generally quiet, yet often brisk, and constantly diversified talk, one to another, or sometimes in soliloquy, — as they scratched worms out of the rich, black soil, or pecked at such plants as suited their taste, — had such a domestic tone, that it was almost a wonder why you could not establish a reg- ular interchange of ideas about household matters, human and galUnaceous. All hens are well worth studying, for the piquancy and rich variety of their mamiers ; but by no possibility can there have been other fowls of such odd appearance and deportment as these ancestral ones. They probably embodied the traditionary peculiarities of their whole line of progenitors, derived through an unbroken succession of eggs ; or else this individual Chanticleer and his two wives had grown to be humorists, and a little crack- brained withal, on account of their solitary way of hfe, and out of sympathy for Hepzibah, their lady-patroness. Queer, indeed, they looked ! Chanticleer himself, THE PYNCHEON GARDEN. 175 though stalking on two stilt-like legs, with the dignity of interminable descent in all his gestures, was hardly bigger than an ordinary partridge ; his two wives were about the size of quails ; and as for the one chicken, it looked small enough to be still in the egg, and, at the same time, sufficiently old, withered, wizened, and experi- enced, to have been the founder of the antiquated race. Instead of being the youngest of the family, it rather seemed to have aggregated into itself the ages, not only of these living specimens of the breed, but of all its fore- fathers and foremothers, whose united excellences and oddities were squeezed into its Httle body. Its mother evidently regarded it as the one chicken of the world, and as necessary, in fact, to the world's continuance, or, at any rate, to the equihbrium of the present system of affairs, whether in church or state. No lesser sense of the infant fowl's importance could have justified, even in a mother's eyes, the perseverance with which she watched over its safety, rufiling her small person to twice its proper size, aud flying in everybody's face that so much as looked towards her hopeful progeny. No lower estimate could have vindicated the indefatigable zeal with which she scratched, and her unscrupulousness in digging up the choicest flower or vegetable, for the sake of the fat earth- worm at its root. Her nervous cluck, when the chicken happened to be hidden in the long grass or under the squash-leaves ; her gentle croak of satisfaction, while sure of it beneath her wmg; her note of ill-concealed fear and obstreperous defiance, when she saw her arch- enemy, a neighbor's cat, on the top of the high fence ; — • one or other of these sounds was to be heard at almost every moment of the day. By degrees, the observer came to feel nearly as much interest in this chicken of illustri- ous race as the mother-hen did. 176 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Phoebe, after getting ^vell acquainted with the old hen, was sometimes permitted to take the chicken in her hand, which was quite capable of grasping its cubic inch or two of body. While she curiously examined its hereditary marks, — the peculiar speckle of its plumage, the funny tuft on its head, and a knob on each of its legs, — the little biped, as she insisted, kept giving her a sagacious wink. The daguerreotypist once whispered her that these marks betokened the oddities of the Pyucheon family, and that the chicken itself was a symbol of the life of the old house, embodying its interpretation, hkewise, although an uninteUigible one, as such clews generally are. It was a feathered riddle ; a mystery hatched out of an egg, and just as mysterious as if the egg had been addle ! The second of Chanticleer's two wives, ever since Phoebe's arrival, had been in a state of heavy despond- ency, caused, as it afterwards appeared, by her inability to lay an egg. One day, however, by her self-important gait, the sideway turn of her head, and the cock of her eye, as she pried mto one and another nook of the garden, — croaking to herself, all the while, with inexpressible complacency, — it was made evident that this identical hen, much as mankind undervalued her, carried some- thing about her person, the worth of which was not to be estimated either in gold or precious stones. Shortly after, there was a prodigious cackhng and gratulation of Chan- ticleer and all his family, including the wizened chicken, who appeared to understand the matter quite as well as did his sire, his mother, or his aunt. That afternoon Phoebe found a diminutive egg, — not in the regular nest, it was far too precious to be trusted there, — but cun- ningly hidden under the currant-bushes, on some dry stalks of last year's grass. Hepzibah, on learning the fact, took possession of the egg and appropriated it to THE PYNCHEOX GAEDEN. 177 Clifford's breakfast, on account of a certain delicacy of flavor, for which, as she affirmed, these eggs had always been famous. Thus unscrupulously did the old gentle- ■woman sacrifice the continuance, perhaps, of an ancient feathered race, with no better end than to supply her brother with a dainty that hardly filled the bowl of a tea- spoon ! It must have been in reference to this outrage that Chanticleer, the next day, accompanied by the be- reaved mother of the egg, took his post in front of Phoebe and Clifford, and delivered himself of a harangue that might have proved as long as his own pedigree, but for a fit of merriment on Phoebe's part. Hereupon, the of- fended fowl stalked away on his long stilts, and utterly •withdrew his notice from Phoebe and the rest of human nature, until she made her peace with an oS'ering of spice- cake, which, next to snails, was the delicacy most in. favor with his aristocratic tast6. We linger too long, no doubt, beside this paltry rivulet of life that flowed through the garden of the Pynclreon House. But we deem it pardonable to record these mean incidents, and poor delights, because they proved so greatly to Clifford's benefit. They had the earth-smell in them, and contributed to give him health and substance. Some of his occupations wrought less desirably upon him. He had a singular propensity, for example, to hang over Maule's well, and look at the constantly shifting phantas- magoria of figures produced by the agitation of the water over the mosaic-work of colored pebbles at the bottom. He said that faces looked upward to him there, — beauti- ful faces, arrayed in bewitching smiles, — each momentary face so fair and rosy, and every smile so sunny, that he felt wronged at its departure, until the same flitting witch- craft made a new one. But sometimes he would suddenly cry out, " The dark face gazes at me ! " and be miserable 178 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the whole day afterwards. Phoehe, wlien she hung over the fountain by ClifTord's side, could see nothing of all this, — neither the beauty nor the ugliness, — but only the colored pebbles, looking as if the gush of the water shook and disarranged them. And the dark face, that so troubled Clifford, was no more than the shadow thrown from a branch of one of the damson-trees, and breaking the inner light of Maule's well. The truth was, however, that his fancy — reviving faster than his will and judg- ment, and always stronger than they — created shapes of loveliness that were symbohc of his native character, and now and then a stern and dreadful shape, that typified his fate. On Sundays, after Phcebe had been at church, — for the girl liad a church-going conscience, and would hardly have been at ease had she missed either prayer, singing, sermon, or benediction, — after church-time, therefore, there was, ordinarily, a sober little festival in the garden. In addition to Chfford, Hepzibah, and Phoebe, two guests made up the company. One was the artist, Holgrave, who, in spite of his consociation with reformers, and his other queer and questionable traits, continued to hold an elevated place in Hepzibah's regard. The other, we are almost ashamed to say, was the venerable Uncle Venner, in a clean shirt, and a broadcloth coat, more respectable than his ordinary wear, inasmuch as it was neatly patched on each elbow, and might be called an entire garment, except for a slight inequality in the length of its skirts. Clifford, on several occasions, had seemed to enjoy the old man's intercourse, for the sake of his mellow, cheerful vein, which was like the sweet flavor of a frost-bitten apple, such as one picks up under the tree in December. A man at the very lowest point of the social scale was easier and more agreeable for the fallen gentleman to en- THE PYNCHEON GARDEN. 179 counter than a person at any of the intermediate degrees ; and, moreover, as CILfFord's young manhood had been lost, he was fond of feeling himself comparatively youth- ful, now, in apposition with the patriarchal age of Uncle Venner. In fact, it was sometimes observable that Chf- ford half wilfully hid from himself the consciousness of being stricken in years, and cherished visions of an earthly future still before him ; visions, however, too indistinctly drawn to be followed by disappointment — though, doubtless, by depression — when any casual in- cident or recollection made him sensible of the withered leaf. So this oddly composed little social party used to as- semble under the ruinous arbor. Hepzibah — stately as ever at heart, and yielding not an inch of her old gentility, but resting upon it so much the more, as justifying a princess-like condescension — exhibited a not ungraceful hospitality. She talked kindly to the vagrant artist, and took sage counsel — lady as she was — with the wood- sawyer, the messenger of everybody's petty errands, the patched philosopher. And Uiicle Venner, who had studied the world at street-corners, and at other posts equally well adapted for just observation, was as ready to give out his wisdom as a town-pump to give water. " Miss Hepzibah, ma'am," said he once, after they had all been cheerful together, "I really enjoy these quiet httle meetings, of a Sabbath afternoon. They are very much like what I expect to have, after I retire to my farm ! " " Uncle Yenner," observed Clifford, in a drowsy, in- ward tone, "is always talking about his farm. But I have a better scheme for him, by and by. We shall see ! " "Ah, Mr. Clifford Pyncheon!" said the man of 180 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. patches, "you may scheme for me as much as you please ; but I 'm not going to give up this one scheme of my own, even if I never bring it really to pass. It does seem to me that men make a wonderful mistake in trying to heap up property upon property. If I had done so, I should feel as if Providence was not bound to take care of me ; and, at all events, the city would n't be ! I 'm one of those people who think that infinity is big enough for us all, — and eternity long enough." " Why, so they are, Uncle Venner," remarked Phoebe, after a pause; for she had been trying to fathom the profundity and appositeness of this concluding apothegm. " But, for this short life of ours, one would like a house and a moderate garden-spot of one's own." " It appears to me," said the daguerreotypist, smihng, " that Uncle Venner has the principles of Pourier at the bottom of his wisdom ; only they have not quite so much distinctness, in his mind, as in that of the systematizing Prenchraan." " Come, Phoebe," said Hepzibah, " it is time to bring the currants." And then, while the yellow richness of the declining sunshine still fell into the open space of the garden, Phoebe brought out a loaf of bread, and a china bowl of currants, freshly gathered from the bushes, and crushed with sugar. These, with water, — but not from the fountain of ill omen, close at hand, -^ constituted all the entertainment. Meanwhile, Holgrave took some pains to estabhsh an intercourse with Clifford, actuated, it might seem, entirely by an impulse of kindliness, in order that the present hour might be cheerfuUer than most which the poor recluse had spent, or was destined yet to spend. Nevertheless, in the artist's deep, thought- ful, all-observant eyes, there was, now and then, an ex- THE PYXCHEOX GARDEN. 181 pression, not sinister, but questionable ; as if he had some other interest in the scene than a stranger, a youthful and unconnected adventurer, might be sup- posed to have. With great mobility of outward mood, however, he applied himself to the task of enlivening the party ; and with so much success, that even dark-hued Hepzibah threw off one tint of melancholy, and made what shift she could with the remaining portion. Phoebe said to herself, — " How pleasant he can be ! " As for Uncle Yenner, as a mark of friendship and approbation, he readily consented to afford the young man his coun- tenance in the way of his profession, — not metaphori- cally, be it understood, but literally, by allowing a da- guerreotype of his face, so familiar to the town, to be exhibited at the entrance of Holgrave's studio. Clifford, as the company partook of their little ban- quet, grew to be the gayest of them all. Either it was one of those up-quivering flashes of the spiiit, to which minds in an abnormal state are Hable, or else the artist had subtly touched some chord that made musical vibra- tion. Indeed, what with the pleasant summer evening, and the sympathy of this little cii-cle of not unkindly souls, it was perhaps natural that a character so sus- ceptible as Clifford's should become animated, and show itself readily responsive to what was said around him. But he gave out his own thoughts, likewise, Avith an airy and fanciful glow; so that they glistened, as it were, through the arbor, and made their escape among the interstices of the foliage. He had been as cheerful, no doubt, while alone with Phoebe, but never with such tokens of acute, although partial intelligence. But, as the sunHght left the peaks of the Seven Gables, so did the excitement fade out of Clifford's eyes. He gazed vaguely and mournfully about him, as if he missed 182 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. sometliing precious, and missed it the more drearily foi not knowing precisely -what it was. " I want niY happiness ! " at last he murmured, hoarsely and indistinctly, hardly shaping out the words. *' Many, many years have I waited for it ! It is late ! It is late ! I want my happiness ! '"' Alas, poor CHfford ! You are old, and worn with troubles that ought never to have befallen you. You are partly crazy, and partly imbecile; a ruin, a failure, as almost everybody is, — though some in less degree, or less perceptibly, than their fellows. Tate has no happi- ness in store for you ; unless your quiet home in the old family residence Mith the faithful Hepzibah, and your long summer afternoons with Phoebe, and these Sabbath festivals with Tucle Tenner and the daguerreotypist, deserve to be called happiness I T\liy not ? If not the thing itself, it is marvellously like it, and the more so for that ethereal and intangible quahty which causes it aU to vanish, at too close an introspection. Take it, therefore, while you may ! Murmur not, — question not, — but make the most of it ! XI. THE ARCHED WINDOW. ROM the inertness, or what we may term the vegetative character, of his ordinary mood, Chf- ibrd would perhaps have been content to spend one day after another, interminably, — or, at least, throughout the summer-time, — in just the kind of life described in the preceding pages. Fancying, however, that it might be for his benefit occasionally to diversify the scene, Phoebe sometimes suggested that he should look out upon the life of the street. For this purpose, they used to mount the staircase together, to the second story of the house, where, at the termination of a wide entry, there was an arched window of unconmionly large dimensions, shaded by a pair of curtains. It opened above the porch, where there had formerly been a bal- cony, the balustrade of which had long since gone to decay, and been removed. At this arched window, throwing it open, but keeping himself in comparative obscurity by means of the curtain, CUfford had an op- portunity of witnessing such a portion of the great world's movement as might be supposed to roll through one of the retired streets of a not very populous city. But he and Phoebe made a sight as well worth seeing a& 184 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. any that the city could exhibit. The pale, gray, childish, aged, melaucholy, yet often simply cheerful, and some- times delicately inteUigent aspect of Clifford, peering from behind the faded crimson of the curtain, — watch- ing the monotony of every-day occurrences with a kmd of inconsequential interest and earnestness, and, at every petty throb of his sensibility, turning for sympathy to the eyes of the bright young girl ! If once he were fairly seated at the window, even Pyn- cheon Street would hardly be so dull and lonely but that, somewhere or other along its extent, Clifford might discover matter to occupy his eye, and titillate, if not engross, his observation. Thmgs famihar to the young- est child that had begun its outlook at existence seemed strange to him. A cab ; an omnibus, with its populous interior, dropping here and there a passenger, and pick- ing up another, and thus typifying that vast rollmg vehicle, the world, the end of whose journey is every- where and nowhere ; — these objects he followed eagerly with his eyes, but forgot them, before the dust raised by the horses and M^heels had settled along then* track. As regarded novelties (among which cabs and omnibuses were to be reckoned), his mind appeared to have lost its proper gripe and retentiveness. Twice or thrice, for ex- ample, during the sunny hours of the day, a water-cart went along by the Pyncheon House, leaving a broad wake of moistened earth, instead of the white dust that had risen at a lady's lightest footfall ; it was like a sum- mer shower, which the city authorities had caught and tamed, and compelled it into the commonest routine of their convenience. With the water-cart Clifford could never grow famihar ; it always affected him with just the same surprise as at first. His mind took an apparently sharp impression from it, but lost the recollection of this THE AB-CHED WINDOW. 185 perambalatory shower, before its next reappearance, as completely as did the street itself, along which the heat so quickly strewed white dust again. It was the same, with the railroad. Clifford could hear the obstreperous howl of the steam-devil, and, by leaning a little way from the arched window, could catch a glimpse of the trains of cars, flashing a brief transit across the extremity of the street. The idea of terrible energy, thus forced upon him, was new at every recurrence, and seemed to affect hirn as disagreeably, and with almost as much surprise, the hundredth time as the first. Nothing gives a sadder sense of decay than this loss or suspension of the power to deal with unaccustomed things, and to keep up with the swiftness of the passing moment. It can merely be a suspended animation ; for, were the power actually to perish, there would be little use of immortality. We are less than ghosts, for the time being, whenever this calamity befalls us. Clifford was indeed the most inveterate of conserva- tives. All the antique fashions of the street were dear to him ; even such as were characterized by a rudeness that would naturally have annoyed his fastidious senses. He loved the old rumbling and jolting carts, the former track of which he still found in his long-buried remem- brance, as the observer of to-day finds the wheel-tracks of ancient vehicles, in Herculaneum. The butcher's cart, with its snowy canopy, was an acceptable object ; so was the fish-cart, heralded by its horn ; so, likewise, was the countryman's cart of vegetables, plodding from door to door, with long pauses of the patient horse, while his owner drove a trade in turnips, carrots, summer-squashes, string-beans, green peas, and new potatoes, with half the housewives of the neighborhood. The baker's cart, with the harsh music of its bells, had a pleasant effect on Ciif- 186 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. ford, because, as few things else did, it jingled the very dissonance of yore. One afternoon, a scissor-grinder chanced to set his wheel a-gomg under the Pyncheou Elm, and just in front of the arched window. Children came rumiing with their mothers' scissors, or the carving- knife, or the paternal razor, or anything else that lacked an edge (except, indeed, poor Clifford's wits), that the grinder might apply the article to his magic wheel, and give it back as good as new. Round went the busily^ revolving machinery, kept in motion by the scissor-grind- er's foot, and wore away the hard steel against the hard stone, whence issued an intense and spiteful prolongation of a hiss, as fierce as those emitted by Satan and his com- peers in Pandemonium, though squeezed into smaller compass. It was an ugly, little, venomous sei-pent of a noise, as ever did petty violence to human ears. But Clifford listened with rapturous delight. The sound, however disagreeable, had very brisk life in it, and, to- gether with the circle of curious children watching the revolutions of the wheel, appeared to give him a more vivid sense of active, bustling, and sunshiny existence fiian he had attained in almost any other way. Never- theless, its charm lay chiefly in the past ; for the scissor- grinder's wheel had hissed in his childish ears. He sometimes made doleful complaint that there were no stage-coaches, nowadays. And he asked, in an in- jured tone, what had become of all those old square-top chaises, with wings sticking out on either side, that used to be drawn by a plough-horse, and driven by a farmer's wife and daughter, peddling whortleberries and black- berries, about the town. Their disappearance made him doubt, he said, whether the berries had not left off grow- ing in the broad pastures and along the shady country lanes. THE ARCHED WINDOW. 187 But anything that appealed to the sense of beauty, in however humble a way, did not require to be recom- mended by these old associations. This was observable when one of those Italian boys (who are rather a modern feature of our streets) came along with his barrel-organ, and stopped under the wide and cool shadows of the ehn. With his quick professional eye, he took note of the two faces watching him from the arched window, and, open- ing his instrument, began to scatter its melodies abroad. He had a monkey on his shoulder, dressed in a Highland plaid ; and, to complete the sum of splendid attractions wherewith he presented himself to the pubHc, there was a company of little figures, whose sphere and habitation was in the mahogany case of his organ, and whose princi- ple of life was the music, which the Italian made it his business to grind out. In all their variety of occupation, — the cobbler, the blacksmith, the soldier, the lady with her fan, the toper with his bottle, the milkmaid sitting by her cow, — this fortunate little society might truly be said to enjoy a harmonious existence, and to make Hfe literally a dance. The Italian turned a crank ; and, be- hold ! eveiy one of these small individuals started into the most curious vivacity. The cobbler wrought upon a shoe; the blacksmith hammered his iron; the soldier waved his glittering blade ; the lady raised a tiny breeze with her fan ; the jolly toper swigged lustily at his bot- tle; a scholar opened his book, with eager thirst for knowledge, and turned his head to and fro along the page ; the milkmaid energetically drained her cow ; and a miser counted gold into his strong-box ; — all at the same turning of a crank. Yes ; and, moved by the self-same impulse, a lover saluted his mistress on her Hps ! Possi- bly, some cynic, at once merry and bitter, had desired to signify, in this pantomimic scene, that we mortals, what- 188 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. ever our business or amusemeut, — however serious, how- ever triiliug, — all dance to one identical tune, and, in spite of our ridiculous activity, bring nothing finally to pass. Tor the most remarkable aspect of the affair was, that, at the cessation of the music, everybody was petri- fied, at once, from the most extravagant life into a dead torpor. Neither was the cobbler's shoe finished, nor the blacksmith's iron shaped out ; nor was there a drop less of brandy in the toper's bottle, nor a drop more of milk in the milkmaid's pail, nor one additional coin in the miser's strong-box, nor was the scholar a page deeper in his book. All were precisely in the same condition as before they made themselves so ridiculous by their haste to toil, to enjoy, to accumulate gold, and to become wise. Saddest of all, moreover, the lover was none the happier for the maiden's granted kiss ! But, rather than swallow this last too acrid ingredient, we reject the whole moral of the show. The monkey, meanwhile, with a thick tail curling out into preposterous prolixity from beneath his tartans, took his station at the Itahan's feet. He turned a wrinkled and abominable little visage to every passer-by, and to the circle of children that soon gathered round, and to Hepzibah's shop-door, and upward to the arched window, whence Phcebe and t^iifford were looking down. Every moment, also, he took off his Highland bonnet, and per- formed a bow and scrape. Sometimes, moreover, he made personal appUcation to individuals, holding out his small black palm, and otherwise plainly signifying his excessive desire for whatever filthy lucre might happen to be in anybody's pocket. The mean and low, yet strangely man-like expression of his wilted countenance ; the pr}dng and crafty glance, that showed km ready to gripe at every miserable advantage ; his enormous tail THE ^ARCHED WINDOW. 189 (too enormous to be decently concealed under his gabar- dine), and the deviltry of nature which it betokened; — • take this monkey just as he was, in short, and you could desire no better image of the Mammon of copper coin, symbolizing the grossest form of the love of money. Neither was there any possibility of satisfying the cov- etous little devil. Phoebe threw down a whole handful of cents, which he picked up with joyless eagerness, handed them over to the Italian for safe-keeping, and immediately recommenced a series of pantomimic peti- tions for more. Doubtless, more than one New-Englander — or, let him be of what country he might, it is as likely to be the case — passed by, and threw a look at the monkey, and went on, without imagining how nearly his own moral condition was here exemplified. CHfFord, however, was a being of another order. He had taken childish delight in the music, and smiled, too, at the figures which it set in motion. But, after looking a while at the long-tailed imp, he was so shocked by his horrible ugliness, spiritual as well as physical, that he actually began to shed tears ; a weakness which men of merely delicate endowments, and destitute of the fiercer, deeper, and more tragic power of laughter, can hardly avoid, when the worst and mean- est aspect of life happens to be presented to them, Pyncheou Street was sometimes enlivened by spectacles of more imposing pretensions than the above, and which brought the multitude along with them. With a shiver- ing repugnance at the idea of personal contact with the world, a powerful impulse still seized on Clifford, when- ever the rush and roar of the human tide grew strongly audible to him. This was made evident, one day, when a political procession, with hundreds of flaunting banners, and drums, fifes, clarions, and cymbals, reverberating 190 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. between the roTvs of buildings, marched all through town, and trailed its length of trampling footsteps, and most infrequent uproar, past the ordinarily quiet House of the Seven Gables. As a mere object of sight, nothing is more deficient in picturesque features than a procession seen in its passage through narrow streets. The spec- tator feels it to be fool's play, when he can distinguish the tedious commonplace of each man's visage, with the perspiration and weary self-importance on it, and the very cut of his pantaloons, and the stiffness or laxity of his shirt -collar, and the dust on the back of his black coat. In order to become majestic, it should be viewed from some vantage-point, as it rolls its slow and long array through the centre of a wide plain, or the stateUest public square of a city ; for then, by its remoteness, it melts all the petty personahties, of which it is made up, into one broad mass of existence, — one great life, — one collected body of mankind, with a vast, homogeneous spirit animating it. But, on the other hand, if an im- pressible person, standing alone over the brink of one of these processions, should behold it, not in its atoms, but in its aggregate, — as a mighty river of life, massive in its tide, and black with mystery, and, out of its depths, calling to the kindred depth within him, — then the con- tiguity would add to the effect. It might so fascinate him that he would hardly be restrained from plunging into the surging stream of human sympathies. So it proved with Clifford. He shuddered ; he grew pale ; he threw an appealing look at Hepzibah and Phoebe, who were with him at the window. They com- prehended nothing of his emotions, and supposed him merely disturbed by the unaccustomed tumult. At last, with tremulous limbs, he started up, set his foot on the ■window-siU, and, in an instant more, would have been ia THE APvCHED WINDOW. 191 the unguarded balcony. As it was, the whole procession might have seen him, a wild, haggard figure, his gray locks floating in the wind that waved their banners ; a lonely being, estranged from his race, but now feehng himself man again, by virtue of the irrepressible instinct that possessed him. Had Clifford attained the balcony, he would probably have leaped into the street; but whether impelled by the species of terror that sometimes urges its victim over the very precipice which he shrinks from, or by a natural magnetism, tending towards the great centre of humanity, it were not easy to decide. Both impulses might have wrought on him at once. But his companions, affrighted by his gesture, — which was that of a man hurried away, in spite of himself, — seized Clifford's garment and held him back. Hepzi- bah shrieked. Phoebe, to whom all extravagance was a horror, burst into sobs and tears. " Clifford, Clifford ! are you crazy ? " cried his sister. "I hardly know, Hepzibah," said Chfford, drawing a long breath. "Eear nothing, — it is over now, — but had I taken that plunge, and survived it, methinks it would have made me another man ! " Possibly, in some sense, Clifford may have been right. He needed a shock; or perhaps he required to take a deep, deep plunge into the ocean of human hfe, and to sink down and be covered by its profoundness, and then to emerge, sobered, invigorated, restored to the world and to himself. Perhaps, again, he required nothing less than the great final remedy, — death I A similar yearning to renew the broken links of broth- erhood with his kind sometimes showed itself in a milder form; and once it was made beautiful by the religion that lay even deeper than itself. In the incident now to be sketched, there was a touching recognition, on 192 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Clifford's part, of God's care and love towards him, — towards this poor, forsaken man, who, if any mortal could, might have been pardoned for regarding himself as thrown aside, forgotten, and left to be the sport of some fiend, whose playfulness was an ecstasy of mis- chief. It was the Sabbath morning; one of those bright, calm Sabbaths, with its own hallowed atmosphere, when Heaven seems to diffuse itself over the earth's face in a solemn smile, no less sweet than solemn. On such a Sabbath morn, were we pure enough to be its medium, we should be conscious of the earth's natural worship ascending through our frames, on whatever spot of ground we stood. The church-bells, with various tones, but all in harmony, were calling out, and responding to one another, — " It is the Sabbath ! — The Sabbath ! — Yea ; the Sabbath ! " — and over the whole city the bells scattered the blessed sounds, now slowly, now with live- lier joy, now one bell alone, now all the bells together, crying earnestly, — "It is the Sabbath!" and flinging their accents afar off, to melt into the air, and pervade it with the holy word. The air, with God's sweetest and tenderest sunshine in it, was meet for mankind to breathe into their hearts, and send it forth again as the utterance of prayer. Clifford sat at the window, with Hepzibah, watching the neighbors as they stepped into the street. All of them, however unspiritual on other days, were transfig- ured by the Sabbath influence ; so that their very gar- ments — whether it were an old man's decent coat well brushed for the thousandth time, or a little boy's first sack and trousers, finished yesterday by his mother's needle — had somewhat of the quality of ascension-robes. Forth, likewise, from the portal of the old house, stepped THE ARCHED WINDOW. 193 Phoebe, putting up ber small green sunshade, and throw- ing upward a glance and smile of parting kindness to the faces at the arched window. In her aspect there was a familiar gladness, and a holiness that you could play with, and yet reverence it as much as ever. She was like a prayer, offered up in the homeliest beauty of one's mother-tongue. Fresh was Phoebe, moreover, and airy and sweet in her apparel ; as if nothing that she wore — neither her gown, nor her small straw bonnet, nor her little kerchief, any more than her snowy stockings — had ever been put on before ; or, if worn, were all the fresher for it, and with a fragrance as if they had lain among the rosebuds. The girl waved her hand to Hepzibah and Clifford, and went up the street ; a religion in herself, warm, simple, true, with a substance that could walk on earth, and a spirit that was capable of heaven. " Hepzibah," asked Clifford, after watching Phoebe to the corner, " do you never go to church ? " " No, Clifford ! " she replied, — " not these many, many years ! " " Were I to be there," he rejoined, "it seems to me that I could pray once more, when so many human souls were praying all around me ! " She looked into Clifford's face, and beheld there a soft natural effusion ; for his heart gushed out, as it were, and ran over at his eyes, in delightful reverence for God, and kindly affection for his human brethren. The emo- tion communicated itself to Hepzibah. She yearned to take him by the hand, and go and kneel down, they two together, — both so long separate from the world, and, as she now recognized, scarcely friends with Him above, — to kneel down among the people, and be reconciled to God and man at once. 194 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. "Dear brotlier/' said she, earnestly, "let us go ! We belong nowhere. We have not a foot of space in any church to kneel upon ; but let us go to some place of worship, even if we stand in the broad aisle. Poor and forsaken as we are, some pew-door will be opened to us ! " So Hepzibah and her brother made themselves ready, — as ready as they could, in the best of their old-fash- ioned garments, which had hung on pegs, or been laid away in trunks, so long that the dampness and mouldy smell of the past was on them, — made themselves ready, in their faded bettermost, to go to church. They descend- ed the staircase together, — gaunt, sallow Hepzibah, and pale, emaciated, age-stricken CUfford ! They pulled open the front door, and stepped across the threshold, and felt, both of them, as if they were standing in the presence of the whole world, and with mankind's great and terrible eye on them alone. The eye of their Father seemed to be withdrawn, and gave them no encouragement. The warm sunny air of the street made them shiver. Their hearts quaked within them, at the idea of takmg one step farther. " It cannot be, Hepzibah ! — it is too late," said Clif- ford, with deep sadness. " We are ghosts ! We have no right among human beings, — no right anywhere, but in this old house, which has a curse on it, and which, therefore, we are doomed to haunt ! And, besides," he continued, with a fastidious sensibility, inalienably char- acteristic of the man, " it would not be fit nor beautiful to go ! It is an ugly thought, that I should be frightful to my fellow-beings, and that children would cling to their mothers' gowns, at sight of me ! " They shrank back into the dusky passage-way, and closed the door. But, going up the staircase again, they THE ARCHED WINDOW. 195 found the "whole interior of the house tenfold more dis- mal, and the air closer and heavier, for the glimpse and breath of freedom which they had just snatched. They could not flee ; their jailer had but left the door ajar, in mockery, and stood behind it, to watch them steal- ing out. At the threshold, they felt his pitiless gripe upon them. Eor, what other dungeon is so dark as one's own heart ! What jailer so inexorable as one's self! But it would be no fair picture of Clifford's state of mind, were we to represent him as continually or prevail- ingly wretched. On the contrary, there was no other man in the city, we are bold to affirm, of so much as half his years, who enjoyed so many lightsome and griefless moments as himself. He had no burden of care upon him ; there were none of those questions and contingen- cies with the future to be settled, which wear away all other Uves, and render them not worth having by the very process of providmg for their support. In this respect, he was a child, — a child for the whole term of his exist- ence, be it long or short. Indeed, his life seemed to be standing still at a period little in advance of childhood, and to cluster all his reminiscences about that epoch ; just as, after the torpor of a heavy blow, the sufferer's reviving consciousness goes back to a moment considera- bly behind the accident that stupefied him. He some- times told Phoebe and Hepzibah his dreams, in which he invariably })layed the part of a child, or a very young man. So vivid were they, in his relation of them, that he once held a dispute with his sister as to the particular figure or print of a chintz morning-dress, which he had seen their mother wear, in the dream of the preceding night. Hepzibah, piquing herself on a woman's accu- racy in such matters, held it to be slightly different from 196 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. what Clifford described ; but, producing the very gown from an old trunk, it proved to be identical with his remembrance of it. Had Clifford, every time that he emerged out of dreams so lifelike, undergone the torture of transformation from a boy into an old and broken man, the daily recurrence of the shock would have been too much to bear. It would have caused an acute agony to thrill, from the morning twilight, all the day through, until bedtime ; and even then would have mingled a dull, inscrutable pain, and pallid hue of misfortune, with the visionary bloom and adolescence of his slumber. But the nightly moonshine interwove itself with the morning mist, and enveloped him as in a robe, which he hugged about his person, and seldom let realities pierce through ; he was not often quite awake, but slept open-eyed, and perhaps fancied himself most dreaming then. Thus, lingering always so near his childhood, he had sympathies with children, and kept his heart the fresher thereby, like a reservoir into which rivulets were pouring, not far from the fountain-head. Though prevented, by a subtile sense of propriety, from desiring to associate with them, he loved few things better than to look out of the arched window, and see a little girl driving her hoop along the sidewalk, or school-boys at a game of ball. Their voices, also, were very pleasant to him, heard at a distance, all swarmmg and intermingling together, as flies do in a sunny room. Clifford would, doubtless, have been glad to share their sports. One afternoon, he was seized with an irresistible desire to blow soap-bubbles ; an amusement, as Hepzibah told Phcebe apart, that had been a favorite one with her brother, when they were both children. Behold him, therefore, at the arched window, with un earthen pipe in his mouth ! Behold him, with his gray hair, and a THE ARCHED WINDOW. 197 •vran, unreal smile over his countenance, where still hov- ered a beautiful grace, which his worst enemy must have acknowledged to be spiritual and immortal, since it had survived so long ! Behold him, scattering airy spheres abroad, from the window into the street ! Little impalpable worlds were those soap-bubbles, with the big world depicted, in hues bright as imagination, on the nothing of their surface. It was curious to see how the passers-by regarded these brilliant fantasies, as they came floating down, and made the dull atmosphere imaginative about them. Some stopped to gaze, and, perhaps, car- ried a pleasant recollection of the bubbles onward as far as the street-corner ; some looked angrily upward, as if poor Clifford wronged them, by setting an image of beauty afloat so near their dusty pathway, A great many put out their fingers or their walking-sticks, to tou'ch, withal; and were perversely gratified, no doubt, when the bubble, with all its pictured earth and sky scene, vanished as if it had never been. At length, just as an elderly gentleman of very digni- fied presence happened to be passing, a large bubble sailed majestically down, and burst right against his nose ! He looked up, — at first with a stern, keen glance, which penetrated at once into the obscurity behind the arched window, — then with a smile which might be conceived as diffusing a dog-day sultriness for the space of several yards about him. " Aha, Cousin Clifford ! " cried Judge Pyncheon. " What ! still blowing soap-bubbles ! " The tone seemed as if meant to be kind and sootliing, but yet had a bitterness of sarcasm in it. As for CHfford, an absolute palsy of fear came over him. Apart from any definite cause of dread which his past experience might have given him, he felt that native and original horror of 198 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the excellent Judge whicli is proper to a weak, delicate, and apprehensive character, in the presence of massive strength. Strength is incomprehensible by weakness, and, therefore, the more terrible. There is no greater bugbear than a strong-willed relative, in the cii'cle of his own connections. XII. THE DAGUEREEOTYPIST. T must not be supposed that the life of a per- sonage naturally so active as Phcebe could be wholly confined A\^thin the precincts of the old Pynciieon House. Clifford's demands upon her time were usually satisfied, in those long days, considerably earlier than sunset. Quiet as his daily existence seemed, it nevertheless drained all the resources by which he lived. It was not physical exercise that overwearied him: for — except that he sometimes wrought a little with a lioe, or paced the garden-walk, or, in rainy weather, traversed a large, unoccupied room — it was his tendency to remain only too quiescent, as regarded any toil of the limbs and muscles. But, either there was a smouldering fire withu> him that consumed his vital energy, or the monotony that would have dragged itself with benumbing effect over a mind differently situated was no monotony to Clifford. Possibly, he was in a state of second growth and recovery, and was constantly assimilating nutriment for his spirit and intellect from sights, sounds, and events, which passed as a perfect void to persons more practised with the world. As all is activity and vicissitude to the new mind of a child, so might it be, likewise, to a mind that 200 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. had undergone a kind of new creation, after its long-sus- pended life. Be the cause what it might, Clifford commonly retu'ed to rest, tlioroughly exhausted, while the sunbeams were still melting through his window-curtains, or were thrown with late lustre on the chamber wall. And while he thus slept early, as other children do, and dreamed of child- hood, Phcebe was free to follow her own tastes for the remainder of the day and evening. This was a freedom essential to the health even of a character so little susceptible of morbid influences as that of Phoebe. The old house, as we have already said, had both the dry-rot and the damp-rot in its walls ; it was not good to breathe no other atmosphere than that. Hepzi- bah, though she had lier valuable and redeeming traits, had grown to be a kind of lunatic, by imprisoning herself so long in one place, with no other company than a single series of ideas, and but one affection, and one bit ter sense of wrong. Clifford, the reader may perhaps imagine, was 100 inert to operate morally on his fellow-creatures, how- ever intimate and exclusive their relations with him. But the sympathy or magnetism among human beings is more subtile and universal than we think ; it exists, indeed, among different classes of organized life, and vibrates from one to another. A flower, for instance, as Phcebe herself observed, always began to droop sooner in Clif- ford's hand, or Hepzibah's, than in her own ; and by the same law, converting her whole daily life into a flower- fragrance for these two sickly spirits, the bloommg girl must inevitably droop and fade much sooner tlian if worn on a younger and happier breast. Unless she had now and then indulged her brisk impulses, and breathed rural air in a suburban walk, or ocean-breezes along the shore, ■^had occasionally obeyed the impulse of nature, in Ne"w THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. 201 England girls, by attending a metaphysical or philosophi- cal lecture, or viewing a seven-mile panorama, or listen- ing to a concert, — had gone shopping about the city, ransacking entire depots of splendid merchandise, and bringing home a ribbon, — had employed, likewise, a little time to read the Bible in her chamber, and had stolen a little more to think of her mother and her native place, — unless for such moral medicines as the above, we should soon have beheld our poor Phoebe grow thin, and put on a bleached, unwholesome aspect, and assume strange, shy ways, prophetic of old-maidenhood and a cheerless future. Even as it was, a change grew visible ; a change partly to be regretted, although whatever charm it infringed upon was repaired by another, perhaps more precious. She was not so constantly gay, but had her moods of thought, which Clifford, on the whole, liked better than her former phase of unmingled cheerfulness ; because now she understood him better and more delicately, and some- times even interpreted him to himself. Her eyes looked larger, and darker, and deeper ; so deep, at some silent moments, that they seemed like Artesian wells, down, down, into the infinite. She was less girlish than when we first beheld her, alighting from the omnibus; less girhsh, but more a woman. The only youthful mind with which Phoebe had an opportunity of frequent intercourse was that of the da- guerreotypist. Inevitably, by the pressure of the seclu- sion about them, they had been brought into habits of some familiarity. Had they met under different circumstances, neither of these young persons would have been likely to bestow much thought upon the other; unless, indeed, their extreme dissimilarity should have proved a principle of mutual attraction. Both, it is true, were characters proper to New England life, and possessing a common 202 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. ground, therefore, in tlieir more external developments ; but as unlike, in tlieir respective interiors, as if their native climes had been at world-wide distance. During the early part of their acquaintance, Phoebe had held back rather more than was customary with her frank and sim- ple manners from Holgrave's not very marked advances. Nor was she yet satisfied that she knew him well, although they almost daily met and talked together, in a kind, friendly, and what seemed to be a familiar way. The artist, in a desultory manner, had imparted to Phoebe something of his history. Young as he was, and had his career terminated at the point already attained, there had been enough of incident to fill, very creditably, an autobiographic volume. A romance on the plan of Gil Bias, adapted to American society and manners, would cease to be a romance. The experience of many individuals among us, who think it hardly worth the tell- ing, would equal the vicissitudes of the Spaniard's earlier life ; while their ultimate success, or the point whither they tend, may be incomparably higher than any that a novelist would imagine for his hero. Holgrave, as he told Phoebe, somewhat proudly, could not boast of his origin, unless as being exceedingly humble, nor of his education, except that it had been the scantiest possible, and obtained by a few winter-months' attendance at a district school. Left early to his omu guidance, he had begun to be self-dependent while yet a boy ; and it was a condition aptly suited to his natural force of will. Though now but twenty-two years old (lacking some months, which are years in such a Hfe), he had already been, first, a country schoolmaster ; next, a salesman ill a country store ; and, either at the same time or after- wards, the political editor of a country newspaper. He* had subsequently travel 'p/1 ]^few England and the Middle THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. 203 States, as a pedler, in the employment of a Connecticut manufactory of cologne-water and other essences. lu an episodical way, he had studied and practised dentistry, and with very flattering success, especially in many of the factory-towns along our inland streams. As a super- numerary official, of some kind or other, aboard a packet- ship, he had visited Europe, and found means, before his return, to see Italy, and part of Erance and Germany. At a later period, he had spent some months in a com- munity of Eourierists. Still more recently, he had been a public lecturer on Mesmerism, for which science (as he assured Phoebe, and, indeed, satisfactorily proved, by putting Chanticleer, who happened to be scratching near by, to sleep) he had very remarkable endowments. His present phase, as a daguerreotypist, was of no more importance in his own view, nor likely to be more perma- nent, than any of the preceding ones. It had been taken up with the careless alacrity of an adventurer, who had his bread to earn. It would be thro^Ti aside as care« lessly, whenever he should choose to earn his bread by some other equally digressive means. But what was most remarkable, and, perhaps, showed a more than common, poise in the young man, was the fact, that, amid all these personal vicissitudes, he had never lost his identity. Homeless as he had been, — continually changing his whereabout, and, therefore, responsible neither to public opinion nor to individuals, — putting off one exterior, and snatching up another, to be soon shifted for a third, — he had never violated the innermost man, but had carried his conscience along with him. It was impossible to know Holgrave, without recognizing this to be the fact. Hep- zibah had seen it. Phoebe soon saw it, likewise, and gave him the sort of confidence which such a certainty inspires. She was startled, however, and sometimes 204 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. repelled^ — not by any doubt of Ids integrity to wbatevei law he acknowledged, — but by a sense that his law dif- fered from her own. He made her uneasy, and seemed to unsettle everythmg around her, by his lack of rever- ence for what was fixed, unless, at a moment's warning, it could eslabhsh its right to hold its ground. Then, moreover, she scarcely thought him affectionate in his nature. He was too calm and cool an obsei-ver. Phoebe felt his eye, often ; his heart, seldom or never. He took a certain kind of interest in Hepzibah and her brother, and Phoebe herseli He studied them attentively, and allowed no sUghtest circumstance of their individual- ities to escape him. He was ready to do them whatever good he might ; but, after all, he never exactly made common cause with them, nor gave any reliable evidence that he loved them better, in proportion as he knew them more. In his relations with them, he seemed to be in quest of mental food, not heart-sustenance. Phoebe could not conceive what mterested him so much in her friends and herself, intellectually, since he cared nothing for them, or, comparatively, so Uttle, as objects of human affection. Always, in his interviews with Phoebe, the artist made especial inquiry as to the welfare of Clifford, whom, ex- cej^ at the Sunday festival, he seldom saw. " Does he still seem happy ? " he asked, one day. " As happy as a child," answered Phoebe ; " but — hke a child, too — very easHy disturbed." "How disturbed?" inquu-ed Holgrave. "By things without, or by thoughts within ? " " I cannot see his thoughts ! How should I ? " repUed Phoebe, with simple piquancy. " Very often, his humor changes without any reason that can be guessed at, just as a cloud comes over the sun. Latterly, since I have THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. 205 begun to know him better, I feel it to be not quite right to look closely into his moods. He has had such a great sorrow, that his heart is made all solemn and sacred by it. When he is cheerful, — when the sun shines into his mind, — then I venture to peep in, just as far as the light reaches, but no further. It is holy ground where the shadow falls ! " " How prettily you express this sentiment ! " said the artist. " I can understand the feelmg, without possess- ing it. Had I your opportunities, no scruples would pre- vent me from fathoming Clifford to the full depth of my plummet-liue ! " " How strange that you should wish it ! " remarked Phoebe, involuntarily. "What is Cousin Clifford to you ? " _ " O, nothing, — of course, nothing ! " answered Hol- grave, with a smile. " Only this is such an odd and in- comprehensible world ! The more I look at it, the more it puzzles me, and I begin to suspect that a man's bewil- derment is the measure of his wisdom. Men and women, and children, too, are such strange creatures, that one never can be certain that he really knows them ; nor ever guess what they have been, from what he sees them to be, now. Judge Pyncheon ! Clifford ! What a com- plex riddle — a complexity of complexities — do they present! It requires intuitive sympathy, like a young girl's, to solve it. A mere obsen^er, like myself (who never have any intuitions, and am, at best, only subtile and acute), is pretty certain to go astray. The artist now turned the conversation to themes less dark than that which they had touched upon. Plioebe and he were young together ; nor had Holgrave, in his premature experience of life, wasted entirely that beauti- ftd spirit of youth, which, gushing forth from one small 206 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. heart and fancy, may diffuse itself over the universe, making it all as briglit as on the first day of creation. Man's own youth is the world's youth ; at least, he feels as if it were, and imagines that the earth's granite sub- stance is something not yet hardened, and w^hich he can mould into whatever shape he likes. So it was with Holgrave. He could talk sagely about the world's old age, but never actually believed what he said; he was a young man still, and therefore looked upon the world — that gray-bearded and wrinkled profligate, decrepit, w^tliout being venerable — as a tender stripling, capable of being improved into all that it ought to be, but scarcely yet had shown the remotest promise of becom- ing. He had that sense, or inward prophecy, — which a young man had better never have been born than not to have, and a mature man had better die at once than utterly to relinquish, — that we are not doomed to creep on forever in the old bad way, but that, this very now, there are the harbingers abroad of a golden era, to be accomphshed in his own lifetime. It seemed to Hol- grave — as doubtless it has seemed to the hopeful of every century, since the epoch of Adam's grandchildren — that in this age, more than ever before, the moss- grown and rotten Past is to be torn down, and lifeless institutions to be thrust out of the way, and their dead corpses buried, and everything to begin anew. As to the main point, — may we never live to doubt it ! — as to the better centuries that are coming, the artist was surely right. His error lay in supposing that this age, more than any past or future one, is destined to see the tattered garments of Antiquity exchanged for a new suit, instead of gradually renewing themselves by patchwork; in applying his own little hfe-span as the measure of an interminable achievement ; and, more than THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. W7 all, in fancying that it mattered anything to the great end in view, whether he himself should contend for it or against it. Yet it was well for him to think so. This enthusiasm, infusing itself through the calmness of his character, and thus takmg an aspect of settled thought and wisdom, would serve to keep his youth pure, and make his aspirations high. And when, with the years setthng down more weightily upon him, his early faith should be modified by inevitable experience, it would be with no harsh and sudden revolution of his sentiments. He would still have faith in man's brighteuhig destmy, and perhaps love him all the better, as he should recog- nize his helplessness in his own behalf; and the haughty faith, with which he began life, would be well bartered for a far humbler one, at its close, in discerning that man's best directed effort accomplishes a kind of dream, while God is the sole worker of realities. Holgrave had read very little, and that little in passing through the thoroughfare of life, where the mystic lan- guage of his books was necessarily mixed up with the babble of the multitude, so that both one and the other were apt to lose any sense that might have been properly their own. He considered himself a thinker, and was certainly of a thoughtful turn, but, with his own path to discover, had perhaps hardly yet reached the point where an educated man begins to think. The true value of his character lay in that deep consciousness of in- ward strength, which made all his past vicissitudes seem merely like a change of garments ; in that enthusiasm, so quiet that he scarcely knew of its existence, but which gave a warmth to everything that he laid his hand on ; in that personal ambition, hidden — from his own as well as other eyes — among his more generous im- pulses, but in which lurked a certain efficacv, that might 208' THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. solidify liim from a theorist into the champion of some practicable cause. Altogether, in his culture and want of culture, — in his crude, wild, and misty philosophy, and tlie practical experience that counteracted some of its tendencies ; in his magnanimous zeal for man's wel- fare, and his recklessness of whatever the ages had es- tablished in man's behalf; in his faith, aud in his infi- delity ; in what he had, and in what he lacked, — the artist might fitly enough stand forth as the representa- tive of many compeers in his native land. His career it would be difficult to prefigure. There appeared to be quaUties in Holgrave, such as, in a country where everything is free to the hand that can grasp it, could hardly fail to put some of the world's prizes within his reach. But these matters are delight- fully uncertain. At almost every step in life, we meet with young men of just about Holgrave's age, for whom we anticipate wonderful things, but of whom, even after much and careful inquiry, we never happen to hear another word. The effervescence of youth aud passion, and the fresh gloss of the intellect and imagination, en- dow them with a false brilliancy, which makes fools of themselves and other people. Like certaiu chintzes, calicoes, and ginghams, they show finely in their first newness, but cannot stand the sun and rain, and assume a very sober aspect after washing-day. But our business is with Holgrave as we find him on this particular afternoon, and in the arbor of the Pyn- cheon garden. In that' point of view, it was a pleasant sight to behold this young man, with so much faith in himself, and so fair an appearance of admirable powers, — so httle harmed, too, by the many tests that had tried his metal, — it was pleasant to see him in his kindly iu- tercourse with Phcebe. Her thought had scarcely done THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. '209 him justice, ■when it pronounced liim cold ; or, if so, he had grown warmer now. Without such purpose on her part, and unconsciously on his, she made the House of the Seven Gables like a home to him, and the garden a familiar precinct. With the insight on which he prided himself, he fancied that he could look through Phcebe, and all around her, and could read her off like a page of a child's story-book. But these transparent natures are often deceptive in their depth ; those pebbles at the bottom of the fountain are farther from us than we think. Thus the artist, whatever he might judge of Phoebe's capacity, was beguiled, by some silent charm of hers, to talk fi'eely of what he dreamed of doing in the world. He poured himself out as to another self. Very possibly, he forgot Phoebe while he talked to her, and was moved only by the inevitable tendency of thought, when rendered sympathetic by enthusiasm and emotion, to flow into the first safe reservoir which it finds. But, had you peeped at them through the chinks of the gar- den-fence, the young man's earnestness and heightened color might have led you to suppose that he was making love to the young girl ! At length, something was said by Holgrave that made it apposite for Phoebe to inquire what had first brought him acquainted with her cousin Hepzibah, and why he now chose to lodge in the desolate old Pyncheon House. Without directly answering her, he turned from the Future, which had heretofore been the theme of his dis- course, and began to speak of the influences of the Past. One subject, indeed, is but the reverberation of the other. " Shall we never, never get rid of this Past ? " cried he, keeping up the earnest tone of his preceding conver- sation, " It lies upon the Present like a giant's dead body ! In fact, the case is just as if a young giant wore 210 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. compelled to waste all his strength in carrying about the corpse of the old giant, his grandfather, who died a long while ago, and only needs to be decently buried. Just think a moment, and it will startle you to see what slaves we are to bygone times, — to Death, if we give the mat- ter the right word ! " "But I do not see it," observed Phoebe. "For example, then," continued Holgrave ; "a dead man, if he happen to have made a will, disposes of wealth no longer his own ; or, if he die intestate, it is distributed in accordance with the notions of men much longer dead than he. A dead man sits on all our judg- ment-seats; and living judges do but search out and repeat his decisions. We read in dead men's books ! "We laugh at dead men's jokes, and cry at dead men's pathos ! We are sick of dead men's diseases, physical and moral, and die of the same remedies with which dead doctors kiUed their patients ! We worship the living Deity according to dead men's forms and creeds. What- ever we seek to do, of our own free motion, a dead man's icy hand obstructs us ! Turn our eyes to what point we may, a dead man's white, immitigable face encounters them, and freezes our very heart ! And we must be dead ourselves, before we can begin to have our proper in- fluence on our own world, which will then be no longer our world, but the world of another generation, wkh which we shall have no shadow of a right to interfere. 1 ought to have said, too, that we live in dead men's houses ; as, for instance, in this of the Seven Gables ! " "And why not," said Phoebe, " so long as we can be comfortable in them ? " "But we shall live to see the day, I trust," went oa the artist, " when no man shall build his house for pos- terity. Why should he ? He might just as reasonably THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. 211 order a durable suit of clothes, — leather, or gutta- percha, or whatever else lasts longest, — so that his great-grandchildren should have the benefit of them, and cut precisely the same figure in the vrorld that he himself does. If each generation were allowed and expected to build its own houses, that single change, comparatively unimportant in itself, would imply almost every reform which society is now suffering for. I doubt whether even our pubUc edifices — our capitols, state-houses, court-houses, city-halls, and churches — ought to be built of such permanent materials as stone or brick. It were better that they should crumble to ruin, once in twenty years, or thereabouts, as a hint to the people to examine into and reform the institutions which they sym- bolize." " How you hate everything old ! " said Phoebe, in dis- may. " It makes me dizzy to think of such a shifting world ! " "I certainly love nothing mouldy," answered Hol- grave. " Now, this old Pyncheon House ! Is it a wholesome place to live in, with its black shingles, and the green moss that shows how damp they are ? — its dark, low-studded rooms ? — its grime and sordidness, which are the crystalHzation on its walls of the human breath, that has been drawn and exhaled here, in discon- tent and anguish ? The house ought to be purified with fire, — purified till only its ashes remain ! " *' Then why do you live in it ? " asked Phoebe, a little piqued. " O, I am pursuing my studies here ; not in books, however," replied Holgrave. " The house, in my view, is expressive of that odious and abominable Past, with all its bad influences, against which I have just been de- claiming. I dwell in it for a while, that I may know the 212 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. better liow to Late it. By the hj, did you ever hear the story of Maule, the wizard, and what happened between him and your immeasurably great-grandfather ? " " Yes indeed ! " said Phcebe ; "I heard it long ago, from my father, and two or three times from my cousin Hepzibah, in the mouth that I have been here. She seems to think that all the calamities of the Pyncheons began from that quarrel with the wizard, as you call him. And you, Mr. Holgrave, look as if you thought so too ! How singular, that you should believe what is so veiy absurd, when you reject many things that are a great deal worthier of credit ! " " I do believe it," said the artist, seriously ; " not as a superstition, however, but as proved by unquestionable facts, and as exempUfying a theory. Kow, see ; — under those seven gables, at which we now look up, — and which old Colonel Pyncheon meant to be the house of his descendants, in prosperity and happmess, down to an epoch far beyond the present, — under that roof, through a portion of three centuries, there has been perpetual remorse of conscience, a constantly defeated hope, strife amongst kindred, various misery, a strange form of death, dark suspicion, unspeakable disgrace, — all, or most of which calamity I have the means of tracing to the old Puritan's inordinate desire to plant and endow a family. To plant a family ! This idea is at the bottom of niost of the wrong and mischief which men do. The truth is, that, once in every half-century, at longest, a family should be merged into the great, obscure mass of human- ity, and forget all about its ancestors. Human blood, in order to keep its freshness, should run in hidden streams, as the water of an aqueduct is conveyed in subterranean pipes. In the family existence of these Pyncheons, for instance, — forgive me, Phoebe : but I cannot think of THE DAGUERREOTYPIST. ^13 you as one of tliem, — in their brief New England pedi- gree, there has been time enough to infect them all with one kind of lunacy or another ! " " You speak very unceremoniously of my kindred/* said Phoebe, debating with herself whether she ought to take offence. " I speak true thoughts to a true mind ! " answered Holgrave, with a vehemence which Phcebe had not before witnessed in him. " The truth is as I say ! Eurther- more, the original perpetrator and father of this mischief appears to have perpetuated himself, and still walks the street, — at least, his very image, in mind and body, — ■ with the fairest prospect of transmitting to posterity as rich and as wretched an inheritance as he has received ! Do you remember the daguerreotype, and its resemblance to the old portrait ? " " How strangely in earnest you are ! " exclaimed PhtBbe, looking at him with surprise and perplexity ; half alarmed and partly inclined to laugh. " You talk of the lunacy of the Pyncheons ; is it contagious? " " I understand you ! " said the artist, coloring and laughing. "I believe I am a little mad. This subject has taken hold of my mind with the strangest tenacity of clutch, since I have lodged in yonder old gable. As one method of throwing it off, I have put an incident of the Fyncheon family history, with which I happen to be acquainted, into the form of a legend, and mean to pub- lish it in a magazine." " Do you write for the magazines ? " inquired Phoebe. "Is it possible you did not know it ? " cried Holgrave. " "Well, such is literary fame ! Yes, Miss Phoebe Pyn- cheon, among the multitude of my marvellous gifts, I have that of writing stories ; and my name has figured, I can assure you, on the covers of Graham and Godey, 214 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. making as respectable an appearance, for angM I could see, as any of the canonized bead-roll vrith. -which it was associated. In the humorous line, I am thought to have a very pretty way with me ; and as for pathos, 1 am as provocative of tears as an onion. But shall I read you my story ? " " Yes, if it is not very long," said Phoebe, — and added laughingly, — " nor very dull." As this latter point was one which the daguerreotypist could not decide for himself, he forthwith produced his roll of manuscript, and, while the late sunbeams gilded the seven gebles, began to read. XIII. ALICE PYNCHEON. HERE was a message brought, one day, from the worshipful Gervayse Pyncheon to young Matthew Maule, the carpenter, desiring his im- mediate presence at the House of the Seven Gables. " And what does your master want with me ? " said the carpenter to Mr. Pyncheon's black servant. " Does the house need any repair ? Well it may, by this time ; and no blame to my father who built it, neither ! I was reading the old Colonel's tombstone, no longer ago than last Sabbath ; and, reckoning from that date, the house has stood seven-and-thirty years. No wonder if there should be a job to do on the roof." "Don't know what massa wants," answered Scipio. " The house is a berry good house, and old Colonel Pyn- cheon think so too, I reckon ; — else why the old man haunt it so, and frighten a poor nigga, as he does ? " " Well, well, friend Scipio ; let your master know that I 'm coming," said the carpenter, with a laugh. " For a fair, workmanlike job, he '11 find me his man. And so the house is haunted, is it ? It will take a tighter work- man than I am to keep the spirits out of the Seven Gables. Even if the Colonel would be quiet," he added. 216 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. muttering to himself, " my old grandfather, the wizard' will be pretty sure to stick to the Pyncheons, as long as their walls hold together." " What 's that you mutter to yourself, Matthew Maule ? " asked Scipio. " And what for do you look so black at me? " " No matter, darky ! " said the carpenter. " Do you think nobody is to look black but yourself? Go tell your master I 'm coming ; and if you happen to see jVIistress Alice, his daughter, give Matthew Maule's humble respects to her. She has brought a fair face from Italy, — fair, and gentle, and proud, — has that same Alice Pyncheou ! " '* He talk of Mistress Alice ! " cried Scipio, as he returned from his errand. "The low carpenter-man! He no business so much as to look at her a great way off!" This young Matthew Maule, the carpenter, it must be observed, was a person little understood, and not very generally liked, in the town where he resided ; not that anything could be alleged against his integrity, or his skill and diligence in the handicraft which he exercised. The aversion (as it might justly be called) with which many persons regarded him was partly the result of his own character and deportment, and partly an inheritance. He was the grandson of a former Matthew Maule, one of the early settlers of the town, and who had been a famous and terrible wizard, in his day. This old repro- bate was one of the sufferers when Cotton Mather, and his brother ministers, and the learned judges, and other wise men, and Sir William Phipps, the sagacious gov- ernor, made such laudable efforts to weaken the great enemy of souls, by sending a multitude of his adherents up the rocky pathway of Gallows Hill. Since those ALICE PYNCHEON. 217 ^ays, no doubt, it had grown to be suspected, that, in consequence of an unfortunate overdoing of a work praiseworthy in itself, the proceedings against the witches had proved far less acceptable to the Beneficent Father than to that very Arch Enemy whom they were intended to distress and utterly overwhelm. It is not the less certain, however, that awe and terror brooded over the memories of those who died for this horrible crime of witchcraft. Their graves, in the crevices of the rocks, were supposed to be incapable of retaming the occupants who had been so hastily thrust into them. Old Matthew Maule, especially, was known to have as little hesitation or difficulty in rising out of his grave as an ordinary man in getting out of bed, and was as often seen at midnight as hving people at noonday. This pestilent wizard (in whom his just punishment seemed to have wrought no manner of amendment) had an inveterate habit of haunt- ing a certain mansion, styled the House of the Seven Gables, against the owner of which he pretended to hold an unsettled claim for ground-rent. The ghost, it ap- pears, — with the pertinacity which was one of his dis- tinguishing characteristics while alive, — insisted that he was the rightful proprietor of the site upon which the house stood. His terms were, that either the aforesaid ground-rent, from the day when the cellar began to be dug, should be paid down, or the mansion itself given up ; else he, the ghostly creditor, would have his finger in all the affairs of the Pyncheons, and make everything go wrong with them, though it should be a thousand years after his death. It was a wild story, perhaps, but seemed not altogether so incredible to those who could remember what an inflexibly obstinate old fellow this wizard Maule had been. Now, the wizard's grandson, the young Matthew 218 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Maule of our story, was popularly supposed to have in. herited some of his ancestor's questionable traits. It is wonderful how many absurdities were promulgated in reference to the young man. He was fabled, for exam- ple, to have a strange po-\^er of getting into people's dreams, and regulating matters there according to his own fancy, pretty much like the stage-manager of a theatre. There was a great deal of talk among the neighbors, particularly the petticoated ones, about what they called the witchcraft of Maule's eye. Some said that he could look into people's minds ; others, that, by the marvellous power of this eye, he could draw people into his own mind, or send them, if he pleased, to do errands to his grandfather, m the spiritual world ; others, again, that it was what is termed an Evil Eye, and pos- sessed the valuable faculty of bhghting corn, and drying children into mummies with the heartburn. But, after all, what worked most to the young carpenter's disad- vantage was, first, the reserve and sternness of his natu- ral disposition, and next, the fact of his not being a church-communicant, and the suspicion of his holding heretical tenets in matters of religion and polity. After receiving Mr. Pyncheon's message, the carpenter merely tarried to finish a small job, which he happened to have in hand, and then took his way towards the House of the Seven Gables. This noted edifice, though its style might be getting a little out of fashion, was still as re- spectable a family residence as that of any gentleman in town. The present owner, Gervayse Pyncheon, was said to have contracted a dislike to the house, in consequence of a shock to his sensibility, in early childhood, from the sudden death of his grandfather. In the very act of run- ning to climb Colonel Pyncheon's knee, the boy had dis- covered the old Puritan to be a corpse ! On arriving at ALICE PYNCHEON. 219 manhood, Mr. Pyncheon had visited England, where he married a lady of fortune, and had subsequently spent many years, partly in the mother country, and partly in various cities on the continent of Europe. During this period, the family mansion had been consigued to the charge of a kinsman, who was allowed to make it his home, for the time being, in consideration of keeping the premises in thorough repair. So faithfully had this con- tract been fulfilled, that now, as the carpenter approached the house, his practised eye could detect nothing to criti- cise in its condition. The peaks of the seven gables rose up sharply ; the shingled roof looked thoroughly water- tight; and the glittering plaster-work entirely covered the exterior walls, and sparkled in the October sun, as if it had been new only a week ago. The house had that pleasant aspect of life which is like the cheery expression of comfortable activity in the hu- man countenance. You could see, at once, that there was the stir of a large family within it. A huge load of oak-wood was passing through the gateway, towards the outbuildings in the rear ; the fat cook — or probably it might be the housekeeper — stood at the side door, bar- gaining for some turkeys and poultry, which a country- man had brought for sale. Now and then, a maid-servant, neatly dressed, and now the shining sable face of a slave, might be seen bustling across the windows, in the lower part of the house. At an open window of a room in the second story, hanging over some pots of beautiful and delicate flowers, — exotics, but which had never known a more genial sunshine than that of the New England au- tumn, — was the figure of a young lady, an exotic, like the flowers, and beautiful and delicate as they. Ilcr pres- ence imparted an indescribable grace and faint witchery to the whole edifice. In other respects, it was a sub- 220 THE HOUSE OP THE SEVEN GABLES. stantial, jolly-looking mansion, and seemed fit to be tlie residence of a patriarch, "who might establish his own headquarters in the front gable, and assign one of the remainder to each of his six children ; while the great chimney in the centre should symbohze the old fellow's hospitable heart, which kept them all warm, and made a great whole of the seven smaller ones. There was a vertical sundial on the front gable ; and as the carpenter passed beneath it, he looked up and noted the hour. " Three o'clock ! " said he to himself. " My father told me that dial was put up only an hour before the old Colonel's death. How truly it has kept time these seven- and-thirty years past ! The shadow creeps and creeps, and is always looking over the shoulder of the sunshine ! " It might have befitted a craftsman, like Matthew Maule, on being sent for to a gentleman's house, to go to the back door, where servants and work-people were usually admitted; or at least to the side entrance, where the bet- ter class of tradesmen made application. But the carpen- ter had a great deal of pride and stiffness in his nature ; and, at this moment, moreover, his heart was bitter with the sense of hereditary wrong, because he con- sidered the great Pyncheon House to be standing on soil Yv'hich should have been his ovra.. On this very site, beside a spring of delicious water, his grandfather had felled the pine-trees and built a cottage, in which children had been born to him ; and it was only from a dead man's stiffened fingers that Colonel Pyncheon had wrested away the title-deeds. So young Maule went straight to the principal entrance, beneath a portal of carved oak, and gave such a peal of the iron knocker that you would have imagined the stern old wizard himself to be standing at the threshold. ALICE PYNCHEON. 221 Black Scipio answered the summons, in a prodigious hurry ; but showed the whites of his eyes, in amazement, on beholding only the carpenter, "Lord-a-mercy ! what a great man he be, this car- penter fellow ! " mumbled Scipio, down in his throat. " Anybody think he beat on the door with his biggest hammer ! " " Here I am ! " said Maule, sternly. " Show me the way to your master's parlor ! " As he stept into the house, a note of sweet and mel- ancholy music thrilled and vibrated along the passage- way, proceeding from one of the rooms above stairs. It was the harpsichord which Alice Pyncheon had brought with her from beyond the sea. The fair Alice bestowed most of her maiden leisure between flowers and music, although the former were apt to droop, and the melodies' were often sad. She was of foreign education, and could not take kindly to the New England modes of life, in which nothing beautiful had ever been developed. As Mr. Pyncheon had been impatiently awaiting Maide's arrival, black Scipio, of course, lost no time in ushering the carpenter into his master's presence. The room in which this gentleman sat was a parlor of moder- ate size, looking out upon the garden of the house, and having its windows partly shadowed by the foliage of fruit-trees. It was Mr. Pyncheon's peculiar apartment, and was provided with furniture, in an elegant and costly style, principally from Paris ; the floor (which was un- usual, at that day) being covered with a carpet, so skil- fully and richly wrought, that it seemed to glow as with living flowers. In one corner stood a marble woman, to whom her own beauty was tlie sole and sufficient gar- ment. Some pictures — that looked old, and had a mel- low tinge diffused through all their artful splendor — 22^ THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. hung on the walls. Near the fireplace was a large and very beautiful cabinet of ebony, inlaid with ivory ; a piece of antique furniture, which Mr. Pyncheou had bought m Venice, and which he used as the treasure-place for med- als, ancient coins, and whatever small and valuable curi- osities he had picked up, on his travels. Through all this variety of decoration, however, the room showed its original characteristics ; its low stud, its cross-beam, its chimney-piece, with the old-fashioned Dutch tiles; so that it was the emblem of a mind industriously stored with foreign ideas, and elaborated into artificial refine- ment, but neither larger, nor, in its proper self, more elegant than before. There were two objects that appeared rather out of place in this very handsomely furnished room. One was a large map, or surveyor's plan, of a tract of land, which looked as if it had been drawn a jood many years ago, and was now dingy with smoke, and soiled, here and tliere, with the touch of fingers. The other was a por- trait of a stem old man, in a Puritan garb, painted roughly, but with a bold efi'ect, and a remarkably strong expression of character. At a small table, before a fire of English sea-coal, sat Mr. Pyncheon, sipping cofi'ee, which had grown to be a very favorite beverage with him in France. He was a middle-aged and really handsome man, with a wig flow- ing down upon his shoulders ; his coat was of blue vel- vet, with lace on the borders and at the buttonholes ; and the firelight glistened on the spacious breadth of his waistcoat, which was flowered all over with gold. On the entrance of Scipio, ushering in the carpenter, Mr. Pyncheon turned partly round, but resumed his former position, and proceeded deliberately to finish his cup of coffee, without immediate notice of the guest whom he A.LICE PYNCHEON. 233 had summoned to his presence. It was not that he in- tended any rudeness, or improper neglect, — which, indeed, he would have blushed to be guilty of, — but it never occurred to him that a person in Maule's station had a claim on his courtesy, or would trouble himself about it, one way or the other. The carpenter, however, stepped at once to the hearth, and turned himself about, so as to look Mr. Pyncheon in the face. " You sent for me," said he. " Be pleased to explain your business, that I may go back to my own affairs." "Ah! excuse me," said Mr. Pyncheon, quietly. "I did not mean to tax your time without a recompense. Your name, I think, is Maule, — Thomas or Matthew Maule, — a son or grandson of the builder of this house ? " " Matthew Maule," replied the carpenter, — " son of him who built the house, — grandson of the rightful pro- prietor of the soil." " I know the dispute to which you allude," observed Mr. Pyncheon with undisturbed equanimity. "I am well aware that my grandfather was compelled to resort to a suit at law, in order to establish his claim to the foundation-site of this edifice. We will not, if you please, renew the discussion. The matter was settled at the time, and by the competent authorities, — equitably, it is to be presumed, — and, at all events, irrevocably. Yet, singularly enough, there is an incidental reference to this very subject in what I am now about to say to you. And this same inveterate grudge, — excuse me, I mean no offence, — this irritability, which you have just shown, is not entirely aside from the matter." " If you can find anything for your purpose, Mr. Pyncheon," said the carpenter, "in a man's natural 224 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GJiCLES. resentment for the wrongs done tc his blood, yon are w^elcome to it I " " I take you at your word, Goodman Maule," said the o-WTier of the Seven Gables, with a smile, " and will pro- ceed to suggest a mode m vvhich your hereditary resent- ments — justifiable, y.: otherwise — may have had a bearing on my affairs. You have heard, I suppose, that the PjTicheon family, ever since my grandfather's days, have been prosecuting a still unsettled claim to a very large extent of territory at the Eastward ? " " Often," replied Maule, — and it is said that a smile came over his face, — " very often, — from my father ! " " This claim," continued Mr. Pyncheon, after pausing a moment, as if to consider what the carpenter's smile might mean, " appeared to be on the very verge of a set- tlement and full allowance, at the period of my grand- father's decease. It was well known, to those in his con- fidence, that he anticipated neither difficulty nor delay. Now, Colonel Pyncheon, I need hardly say, was a prac- tical man, well acquainted with public and private business, and not at all the person to cherish ill-founded hopes, or to attempt the following out of an impracticable scheme. It is obvious to conclude, therefore, that he had grounds, not apparent to his heirs, for his confident anticipation of success in the matter of this Eastern claim. In a word, I believe, — and my legal advisers coincide in the belief, which, moreover, is authorized, to a certain extent, by the family traditions, — that my grandfather was in possession of some deed, or other document, essen- tial to this claim, but which has since disappeared." " Very likely," said Matthew Maule, — and again, it is said, there was a dark smile on his face, — " but what can a poor carpenter have to do with the grand affairs of the Pyncheon family ? " ALICE PYNCHEON. 225 " Perhaps notMiig," returned Mr. Pyncheon, — " pos- sibly, much ! " Here ensued a great many words between Matthew Maule and the proprietor of the Seven Gables, on the subject which the latter had thus broached. It seems (although Mr. Pyncheon had some hesitation in referrmg to stories so exceedingly absurd in their aspect) that the popular belief poinred to some mysterious connection and dependence, existuig between the family of the Maules and these vast, unrealized possessions of the Pyncheons. It was an ordinary saying, that the old wizard, hanged though he was, had obtained the best end of the bargain, in his contest with Colonel Pyn- cheon ; inasmuch as he had got possession of the great Eastern claim, in exchange for an acre or two of garden- ground. A very aged woman, recently dead, had often used the metaphorical expression, in her fireside talk, that miles and miles of the Pyncheon lands had been shovelled into Maule' s grave ; which, by the by, was but a very shallow nook, between two rocks, near the sum- mit of Gallows Hill. Again, when the lawyers were making inquiry for the missing document, it was a by- word, that it would never be found, unless in the wiz- ard's skeleton hand. So much weight had the shrewd lawyers assigned to these fables, that (but Mr. Pyncheon did not see fit to inform the carpenter of the fact) they had secretly caused the wizard's grave to be searched. Nothing was discovered, however, except that, unaccountably, the right hand of the skeleton was gone. Now, what was unquestionably important, a portion of these popular rumors could be traced, though rather doubtfully and indistinctly, to chance words and obscure hints of the executed wizard's son, and the father of this present Matthew Maule. And here Mr. Pyncheon could 226 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. bring an item of Lis own personal evidence into play. Though but a child at the time, he either remembered or fancied that Matthew's father had had some job to perform, on the day before, or possibly the very morning of the Colonel's decease, in the private room where he and the carpenter were at this moment talking. Certain papers belonging to Colonel Pyncheon, as his grandson distinctly recollected, had been spread out on the table. Matthew Maule understood the insinuated suspicion. " My father," he said, — but still there was that dark smile, making a riddle of his countenance, — " my father was an honester man than the bloody old Colonel ! Not to get his rights back again would he have carried off one of those papers ! " " I shall not bandy words with you," observed the foreign-bred Mr. Pyncheon, with haughty composure. " Nor wHl it become me to resent any rudeness towards either my grandfather or myself. A gentleman, before seekuig intercourse with a person of your station and habits, will first consider whether the urgency of the end may compensate for the disagreeableness of the means. It does so in the present instance." He then renewed the conversation, and made great pecuniary offers to the carpenter, in case the latter should give mformation leading to the discovery of the lost document, and the consequent success of the Eastern claim. For a long time Matthew Maule is said to have turned a cold ear to these propositions. At last, how- ever, with a strange kind of laugh, he inquired whether Mr. Pyncheon would make over to him the old wizard's homestead-ground, together with the House of the Seven Gables, now standing on it, in requital of the document- ary evidence so urgently required. The wild, chimney-comer legend (which, without copy- ALICE PYNCHEON. 227 ing all its extravagances, my narrative essentially fol- lows) Lere gives au account of some very strange be- havior on the part of Colonel Pyncheon's portrait. This picture, it must be understood, was supposed to be so intimately connected with the fate of the house, and so magically built into its walls, that, if once it should be removed, that very instant the whole edifice would come thundering down m a heap of dusty ruin. All through the foregoing conversation between Mr. Pyncheou and the carpenter, the portrait had been frowning, clenching its fist, and giving many such proofs of excessive dis- composure, but without attracting the notice of either of the two coUoquists. And finally, at Matthew Maule's audacious suggestion of a transfer of the seven-gabled structure, the ghostly portrait is averred to have lost all patience, and to have shown itself on the point of de- scending bodily from its frame. But such incredible incidents are merely to be mentioned aside. " Give up this house ! " exclaimed Mr. Pyncheon, in amazement at the proposal. "Were I to do so, my grandfather would not rest quiet in his grave ! " " He never has, if all stories are true," remarked the carpenter, composedly. " But that matter concerns his grandson more than it does Matthew Maule. I have no other terms to propose." Impossible as he at first thought it to comply with Maule's conditions, still, on a second glance, Mr. Pyn- cheon was of opinion that they might at least be made matter of discussion. He himself had no personal at- tachment for tlie house, nor any pleasant associations connected with his childish residence in it. On the con- trary, after seven-and-thirty years, the presence of his dead grandfather seemed still to pervade it, as on that morning when the affrighted boy had beheld him, with 228 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. SO gliastly an aspect, stiifeuing iu bis chair. His long abode in foreign parts, moreover, and familiarity with many of the castles and ancestral halls of England, and the marble palaces of Italy, had caused him to look con- temptuously at the House of the Seven Gables, whether in point of splendor or convenience. It was a mansion exceedingly inadequate to the style of Hving which it would be incumbent on Mr. Pyncheon to support, after realizing his territorial rights. His steward might deign to occupy it, but never, certainly, the great landed pro- prietor himself. In the event of success, indeed, it was his purpose to return to England ; nor, to say the truth, would he recently have quitted that m^ore congenial home, had not his own fortune, as well as his deceased wife's, begun to give symptoms of exhaustion. The East- ern claim once fairly settled, and put upon the firm basis of actual possession, Mr. Pyncheon's property — to be measured by miles, not acres — would be worth an earl- dom and would reasonably entitle him to soUcit, or enable him to purchase, that elevated dignity from the British monarch. Lord Pyncheon! — or the Earl of Waldo ! — how could such a magnate be expected to contract his grandeur within the pitiful compass of seven shingled gables ? In short, on an enlarged view of the business, the car- penter's terms appeared so ridiculously easy, that Mr. Pyncheon could scarcely forbear laughing in his face. He was quite ashamed, after the foregoing reflections, to propose any diminution of so moderate a recompense for the immense service to be rendered. " I consent to your proposition, Maule," cried he. " Put me in possession of the document essential to es- tablish my rights, and the House of the Seven Gables is your own ! " ALICE PYNCHEON. 229 According to some versions of the story, a regular contract to the above effect was drawn up by a lawyer, and signed and sealed in the presence of witnesses. Others say that Matthew Maule was contented with a private written agreement, in which Mr. Pyncheon pledged his Tionor and integrity to the fulfilment of the terms concluded upon. The gentleman then ordered wine, which he and the carpenter drank together, in con- firmation of their bargain. During the whole preceding discussion and subsequent formalities, the old Puritan's portrait seems to have persisted in its shadowy gestures of disapproval ; but without effect, except that, as Mr. Pyncheon set down the emptied glass, he thought he beheld his grandfather frown. " This sherry is too potent a wine for me •; it has af- fected my brain already," he observed, after a somewhat startled look at the picture. " On returning to Europe, I shall confine myself to the more delicate vintages of Italy and Prance, the best of which will not bear transportation." "My Lord Pyncheon may drink what wine he will, and wherever he pleases," replied the carpenter, as if he had been privy to Mr. Pyncheon's ambitious proj.ects. *'But first, sir, if you desire tidings of this lost docu- ment, I must crave the favor of a little talk with your fair daughter Alice." " You are mad, Maule ! " exclaimed Mr. Pyncheon, haughtily ; and now, at last, there was anger mixed up with his pride. "What can my daughter have to do with a business like this?" Indeed, at this new demand on the carpenter's part, the proprietor of the Seven Gables was even more thun- der-struck than at the cool proposition to surrender his house. There was, at least, an assignable motive for the first stipulation; there appeared to be none whatever 230 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. for the last. Nevertheless, Matthew Maule sturdily in- sisted on the young lady being summoned, and even gave her father to ujiderstand, in a mysterious kind of explanation, — which made the matter considerably darker than it looked before, — that the onlv chance of acquiring the requisite knowledge was through the clear, crystal medium of a pure and virgin intelligence, like that of the fair Ahce. Not to encumber our story with Mr. Pyncheon's scruples, whether of conscience, pride, or fatherly affection, he at length ordered his daughter to be called. He well knew that she was in her chamber, and engaged in no occupation that could not readily be laid aside ; for, as it happened, ever since Alice's name had been spoken, both her father and the carpenter had heard the sad and sweet music of her harpsichord, and the airier melancholy of her accompanying voice. So Alice Pyncheon was summoned, and appeared. A portrait of this young lady, painted by a Venetian artist, and left by her father in England, is said to have fallen into the hands of the present Duke of Devonshire, and to be now preserved at Chatsworth ; not on account of any associations with the original, but for its value as a picture, and the high character of beauty in the counte- nance. If ever there was a lady born, and set apart from the world's vulgar mass by a certain gentle and cold stateliness, it was this very Alice Pyncheon. Yet there was the womanly mixture in her; the tenderness, or, at least, the tender capabihties. For the sake of that redeeming quality, a man of generous nature would liave forgiven all her pride, and have been content, almost, to lie down in her path, and let Alice set her slender foot upon his heart. All that he would have required, was simply the acknowledgment that he was indeed a man, and a fellow-being, moulded of the same elements as she» ALICE PYNCHEON. 231 As Alice came into the room, her eyes fell upon the carpenter, who was standing near its centre, clad in a green woollen jacket, a pair of loose breeches, open at the knees, and with a long pocket for his rule, the end of which protruded ; it was as proper a mark of the artisan's calhng, as Mr. Pjncheon's full-dress sword of that gen- tleman's aristocratic pretensions. A glow of artistic ap- proval brightened over Alice Pyncheon's face; she was struck with admiration — which she made no attempt to conceal — of the remarkable comeliness, strength, and energy of Maule's figure. But that admiring glance (which most other men, perhaps, would have cherished as a sweet recollection, all through life) the carpenter never forgave. It must have been the devil himself that made Maule so subtile in his perception. " Does the girl look at me as if I were a brute beast ? '* thought he, setting his teeth. " She shall know whether I have a human spirit ; and the worse for her, if it prove stronger than her own ! " "My father, you sent for me," said Alice, in her sweet and harp-like voice. "But, if you have business with this young man, pray let me go again. You know I do not love this room, in spite of that Claude, with which you try to bring back sunny recollections." " Stay a moment, young lady, if you please ! " said Matthew Maule. " My business with your father is over. With yourself, it is now to begin ! " Alice looked towards her father, in surprise and in- quiry. " Yes, Alice," said Mr. Pyncheon, with some disturb- ance and confusion. " This young man — his name is Matthew Maule — professes, so far as I can understand him, to be able to discover, through your means, a cer- tain paper or parchment, which was missing long before 232 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. your birth. The importance of the document in question renders it advisable to neglect no possible, even if improb- able, method of regaining it. You will therefore oblige me, my dear Alice, by answering this person's inquiries, and complying with his lawful and reasonable requests, so far as they may appear to have the aforesaid object in view. As I shall remain in the room, you need apprehend no rude nor unbecommg deportment, on the young man's part ; and, at your shghtest wish, of course, the investi- gation, or whatever we may call it, shall immediately be broken off. *' Mistress Alice Pyncheon," remarked Matthew Maule, with the utmost deference, but yet a half-hidden sarcasm in his look and tone, "will no doubt feel herself quite safe in her father's presence, and under his all-sufficient protection." " I certainly shall entertain no manner of apprehension, with my father at hand," said Alice, with maidenly dig- nity. " Neither do I conceive that a lady, while true to herself, can have aught to fear from whomsoever, or in any circumstances ! " Poor Alice ! By what unhappy impulse did she thus put herself at once on terms of defiance against a strength which she could not estimate ? " Then, Mistress AHce," said Matthew Maule, handing a chair, — gracefully enough, for a craftsman, — " will it please you only to sit down, and do me the favor (though altogether beyond a poor carpenter's deserts) to fix your eyes on mine ! " Alice complied. She was very proud. Setting aside all advantages of rank, this fair girl deemed herself con- scious of a power — combined of beauty, high, unsullied purity, and the preservative force of womanhood — that could make her sphere impenetrable, unless betrayed by ALICE PYNCHEON. 233 treachery mthin. She instinctively knew, it may he, that some sinister or evil potency was now striving to pass her barriers ; nor would she decline the contest. So Alice put woman's might against man's might ; a match not often equal, on the part of woman. Her father, meanwhile, had turned away, and seemed absorbed in the contemplation of a landscape by Claude, where a shadowy and sun-streaked vista penetrated so remotely into an ancient wood, that it would have been no wonder if his fancy had lost itself in the picture's be- wildering depths. But, in truth, the picture was no more to him, at that moment, than the blank wall against which it hung. His mind was haunted with the many and strange tales which he had heard, attributing mysterious if not supernatural endowments to these Maules, as well the grandson, here present, as his two immediate ances- tors. Mr. Pyncheon's long residence abroad, and in- tercourse with men of wit and fashion, — courtiers, worldlings, and free-thinkers, — had done much towards obliterating the grim Puritan superstitions, which no man of New England birth, at that early period, could entirely escape. But, on the other hand, had not a whole community beheved Maule's grandfather to be a wizard ? Had not the crime been proved ? Had not the wizard died for it ? Had he not bequeathed a legacy of hatred agamst the Pyncheons to this only grandson, who, as it appeared, was now about to exercise a subtle influence over the daughter of his enemy's house ? Might not this influence be the same that was called witchcraft ? Turning half around, he caught a glimpse of Maule's figure in the looking-glass. At some paces from Alice, with his arms upHfted in the air, the carpenter made a gesture, as if directing downward a slow, ponderous, and invisible weight upon the maiden. 234 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " Stay, Maule ! " exclaimed Mr. Pjiicheon, stepping forward. " I forbid your proceeding further ! " " Pray, my dear father, do not interrupt the young man," said Alice, without changing her position. " His efforts, I assure you, will prove very harmless." Again Mr. Pyncheon turned his eyes towards the Claude. It was then his daughter's will, in opposition to his own, that the experiment should be fully tried. Henceforth, therefore, he did but consent, not urge it. And was it not for her sake, far more than for his own, that he desired its success ? That lost parchment once restored, the beautiful AHce Pyncheon, with the rich dowry which he could then bestow, might wed an Eng- lish duke or a German reigning-prince, instead of some New England clergyman or lawyer ! At the thought, the ambitious father almost consented, in his heart, that, if the devil's power were needed to the accomplishment of this great object, Maule might evoke him. Ahce's own purity would be her safeguard. With his mind full of imaginary magnificence, Mr. Pyncheon heard a half-uttered exclamation from his daughter. It was very faint and low ; so indistinct that there seemed but half a wiU to shape out the words, and too undefined a purport to be intelligible. Yet it was a call for help ! — his conscience never doubted it ; — and, little more than a whisper to his ear, it was a dismal shriek, and long re-echoed so, in the region round Ms heart ! But, this time, the father did not turn. After a further interval, Maule spoke. " Behold your daughter ! " said he. Mr. Pyncheon came hastily forward. The carpenter was standing erect in front of Alice's chair, and pomting his finger towards the maiden with an expression of tri- umphant power, the limits of which could not be defined, ALICE PYNCHEON. 235 as, indeed, its scope stretclied vaguely towards the un.- seen and the infinite. Alice sat in an attitude of pro- found repose, with the long brown lashes drooping over her eyes, " There she is ! "said the carpenter. " Speak to her ! " " Alice ! My daughter ! " exclaimed Mr. Pyncheon. " My own Alice ! " _^ She did not stir. " Louder ! " said Maule, smiling. " Alice ! Awake ! " cried her father. " It troubles me to see you thus ! Awake ! " He spoke loudly, with terror in his voice, and close to that delicate ear, which had always been so sensitive to every discord. But the sound evidently reached her not. It is indescribable what a sense of remote, dim, unattain- able distance, betwixt himself and Alice, was impressed on the father by this impossibility of reaching her with his voice. *' Best touch her ! " said Matthew Maule. " Shake the girl, and roughly too ! My hands are hardened with too much use of axe, saw, and plane, — else I might help you ! " Mr. Pyncheon took her hand, and pressed it with the earnestness of startled emotion. He kissed her, with so great a heart-throb in the kiss, that he thought she must needs feel it. Then, in a gust of anger at her insensi- bility, he shook her maiden form, with a violence which, the next moment, it affrighted him to remember. He withdrew his encircUng arms, and Ahce — whose figure, though flexible, had been wholly impassive — relapsed into the same attitude as before these attempts to arouse her. Maule having shifted liis position, her face was turned towards him, slightly, but with what seemed to be a reference of her very slumber to his guidance. 236 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Then it was a strange sight to behold how the man of conventionalities shook the powder ont of his periwig ; how the reserved and stately gentleman forgot his dig- nity ; how the gold-embroidered waistcoat flickered and glistened in the firelight, with the convulsion of rage, terror, and sorrow, in the human heart that was beating under it. *~" Villain ! " cried Mr. Pyncheon, shaking his clenched fist at Maule. " You and the fiend together have robbed me of my daughter ! Give her back, spawn of the old wizard, or you shall chmb Gallows Hill in your grand- father's footsteps ! " " Softly, Mr. Pyncheon ! " said the carpenter, with scornful composure. " Softly, an' it please your wor- ship, else you will spoil those rich lace rufiles at your wrists ! Is it my crime if you have sold your daughter for the mere hope of getting a sheet of yellow parchment into your clutch? There sits Mistress Ahce, quietly asleep ! Now let Matthew Maule try whether she be as proud as the carpenter found her awhile smce," He spoke, and Ahce responded, with a soft, subdued, inward acquiescence, and a bending of her form towards him, Hke the fiame of a torch when it indicates a gentle draught of air. He beckoned vdih his hand, and, rising from her chair, — blindly, but undoubtingly, as tending to her sure and inevitable centre, — the proud Alice ap- proached him. He waved her back, and, retreating, Ahce sank again into her seat. " She is mine ! " said Matthew Maule. " Mine, by the right of the strongest spirit ! " In the further progress of the legend, there is a long, grotesque, and occasionally awe-striking account of the carpenter's incantations (if so they are to be called), with a view of discovering the lost document. It appears to ALICE PYNCHEON. 237 have been his object to convert the mind of Alice into a kind of telescopic medium, through which Mr. Pyncheon and himself might obtain a ghmpse into the spiritual world. He succeeded, accordingly, in holding an imper- fect sort of intercourse, at one remove, with the departed personages, in whose custody the so much valued secret had been carried beyond the precincts of earth. During her trance, Alice described three figures as being present to her spiritualized perception. One was an aged, digni- fied, stern-looking gentleman, clad, as for a solemn festi- val, in grave and costly attire, but with a great blood- stain on his richly wrought band ; the second, an aged man, meanly dressed, with a dark and malign counte- nance, and a broken halter about his neck ; the third, a person not so advanced in life as the former two, but beyond the middle age, wearing a coarse woollen tunic and leather breeches, and with a carpenter's rule sticking out of his side pocket. These three visionary characters possessed a mutual knowledge of the missing document. One of them, in truth, — it was he with the blood-stain on his band, — seemed, unless his gestures were misun- derstood, to hold the parchment in his immediate keep- ing, but was prevented, by his two partners in the mystery, from disburdening himself of the trust. Finally, when he showed a purpose of shouting forth the secret, loudly enough to be heard from his own sphere into that of mortals, his companions struggled with him, and pressed their hands over his mouth ; and forthwith — whether that he were choked by it, or that the secret itself was of a crimson hue — there was a fresh flow of blood upon his band. Upon this, the two meanly dressed figures mocked and jeered at the much-abashed old dignitary, and pointed their fingers at the stain. At this juncture, Maule turned to Mr. Pyncheon. 238 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " It will never be allowed," said he. " The custody of this secret, that would so enrich his heirs, makes part of your grandfather's retribution. He must choke with it until it is no longer of any value. And keep you the House of the Seven Gables ! It is too dear bouglit an inheritance, and too heavy with the curse upon it, to be shifted yet awhile from the Colonel's posterity ! " Mr. Pyncheon tried to speak, but — what with fear and passion — could make only a gurgling murmur in his throat. The carpenter smiled. " Aha, worshipful sir ! — so, you have old Maule's blood to drink ! " said he, jeeringly. " riend in man's shape ! why dost thou keep dominion over my child ? " cried Mr. Pyncheon, when his choked utterance could make way. " Give me back my daugh- ter ! Then go thy ways ; and may we never meet again ! " " Your daughter ! " said Matthew Maule. " Why, she is fairly mine ! Nevertheless, not to be too hard with fair Mistress Alice, I will leave her in your keeping ; but I do not warrant you that she shall never have occasion to remember Maule, the carpenter." He waved his hands with an upward motion; and, after a few repetitions of similar gestures, the beautiful Alice Pyncheon awoke from. her strange trance. She awoke, without the slightest recollection of her visionary experience ; but as one losing herself in a momentary revery, and returning to the consciousness of actual life, in almost as brief an interval as the down-sinking flame of the heartli should quiver again up the chimney. On recognizing Matthew Maule, she assumed an air of some- what cold but gentle dignity, the rather, as there was a certain peculiar smile on the carpenter's visage, that stirred the native pride of the fair Alice. So ended, for ALICE PYNCHEON. 239 that time, the quest for the lost title-deed of the Pyncheou territory at the Eastward ; nor, though often subsequent- ly renewed, has it ever yet befallen a Pyncheon to set his eye upon tha|,parchment. But, alas for the beautiful, the gentle, yet too haughty Alice ! A power that she little dreamed of had laid its grasp upon her maiden soul. A will, most unUke her own, constrained her to do its grotesque and fantastic bidding. Her father, as it proved, had martyred his poor child to an inordinate desire for measuring his land by miles, instead of acres. And, therefore, while Alice Pyncheon lived, she was Maule's slave, in a bondage more humiliating, a thousand-fold, than that which binds its chain around the body. Seated by his humble fire- side, Maule had but to wave his hand ; and, wherever the proud lady chanced to be, — whether in her chamber, or entertaining her father's stately guests, or worshipping at church, — whatever her place or occupation, her spirit passed from beneath her own control, and bowed itself to Maule. " AUce, laugh ! " — the carpenter, beside his hearth, would say ; or perhaps intensely will it, without a spoken word. And, even were it prayer-time, or at a funeral, Alice must break into wild laughter. "Alice, be sad ! " — and, at the instant, down would come her tears, quenching all the mirth of those around her, like sudden rain upon a bonfire. " Alice, dance ! " — and dance she would, not in such court-hke measures as she had learned abroad, but some high-paced jig, or hop-skip rigadoon, befitting the brisk lasses at a rustic merry- making. It seemed to be Maule's impulse, not to ruin Alice, nor to visit her with any black or gigantic mis- chief, which would have crowned her sorrows with the grace of tragedy, but to wreak a low, ungenerous scorn upon her. Thus all the dignity of life was lost. She 240 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. felt herself too much abased, aud longed to change na- tures with some worm ! " One evening, at a bridal-party (but not her own. ; for, so lost from self-control, she would have deemed it sin to maiTj), poor AHce was beckoned forth by her unseen despot, and constrained, in her gossamer white dress and satin sUppers, to hasten along the street to the mean dwelling of a laboring-man. There was laughter and good cheer within ; for Matthew Maule, that night, was to wed the laborer's daughter, and had summoned proud Alice Pyncheon to wait upon his bride. And so she did ; aud when the twain were one, Alice awoke out of her enchanted sleep. Yet, no longer proud, — hum- bly, and with a smile aU steeped in sadness, — she kissed Maule's wife, and went her way. It was an inclement night ; the southeast wind drove the mingled snow and rain iuto her thinly sheltered bosom ; her satin slippers were wet through aud through, as she trod the muddy sidewalks. The next day, a cold ; soon, a settled cough ; anon, a hectic cheek, a wasted form, that sat beside the hai-psichord, and filled the house with music ! Music, in which a strain of the heavenly choristers was echoed! O, joy ! For Alice had borne her last humihation ! O, greater joy I For Alice was penitent of her one earthly sin, and proud no more ! The Pyncheons made a great funeral for Ahce. The kith and kin were there, and the whole respectabihty of the town besides. But, last in the procession, came Matthew Maule, gnashing his teeth, as if he would have bitten his own heart in twain, — the darkest and woful- lest man that ever walked behind a corpse ! sle meant to humble Alice, not to kUl her; but he had taken a woman's dehcate soul into his rude gripe, to play with, — and she was dead ! XIV. J?H(EBE'S GOOD-BY. OLGRAYE, plunging into his tale with the energy and absorption natural to a young au- thor, had given a good deal of action to the parts capable of being developed and exemplified in that manner. He now observed that a certain remarkable drowsiness (wholly unlike that with which the reader possibly feels himself affected) had been flung over the senses of his auditress. It was the effect, unquestion- ably, of the mystic gesticulations by which he had sought to bring bodily before Phoebe's perception the figure of the mesmerizing cirpenter. With the lids drooping over her eyes, — now lifted, for an instant, and drawn down again, as with leaden weights, — she leaned slightly towards him, and seemed almost to regulate her breath by his. Holgrave gazed at her, as he rolled up his man- uscript, and recognized an incipient stage of that curious psychological condition, which, as he had himself told Phoebe, he possessed more than an ordinary faculty of producing. A veil was beginning to be muffled about her, in which she could behold only him, and live only in his thoughts and emotions. His glance, as he fastened it on the young girl, grew involuntarily more conceo- 242 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. trated; in Ms attitude there was the consciousness o\ power, investing his hardly mature figure with a dignity that did not belong to its physical manifestation. It was evident, that, with but one wave of his hand and a cor- respondhig effort of his will, he could complete his mas- tery over Phoebe's yet free and virgin spirit : he could estabhsh an influence over this good, pure, and simple child, as dangerous, and perhaps as disastrous as that which the carpenter of his legend had acquired and exercised over the ill-fated Alice. To a disposition like Holgrave's, at once speculative and active, there is no temptation so great as the oppor- tunity of acquiring empire over the human spirit; nor any idea more seductive to a young man than to become the arbiter of a young girl's destiny. Let us, therefore, — whatever his defects of nature and education, and in spite of his scorn for creeds and institutions, — concede to the daguerreotypist the rare and high quality of rev- erence for another's individuality. Let us allow him integrity, also, forever after to be confided in ; since he forbade himself to twine that one link more which might have rendered his spell over Phoebe indissoluble. He made a slight gesture upward with his hand. " You really mortify me, my dear Miss Phoebe ! " he exclaimed, smiling half-sarcastically at her. " My poor story, it is but too evident, will never do for Godey or Graham ! Only think of your falling asleep at what I hoped the newspaper critics would pronounce a most brilliant, powerful, imaginative, pathetic, and original winding up ! Well, the manuscript must serve to light lamps with ; — if, indeed, being so imbued with ray gentle dulness, it is any longer capable of flame ! " " Me asleep ! How can you say so ? " answered Phoebe, as unconscious of the crisis through which she PHCEBE'S GOOD-BY. 243 had passed as an infant of the precipice to the verge of which it has rolled. " No, no ! I consider myself as having been very attentive; and, though I don't re- member the incidents quite distinctly, yet I have an impression of a vast deal of trouble and calamity, — so, no doubt, the story will prove exceedingly attrac- tive." By this time the sun had gone down, and was tinting the clouds towards the zenith with those bright hues which are not seen there until some time after sunset, and when the horizon has quite lost its richer brilHancy. The moon, too, which had long been climbing overhead, and unobtrusively melting its disk into the azure, — like au ambitious demagogue, who hides his aspiring purpose by assuming the prevalent hue of popular sentiment, — now began to shine out, broad and oval, in its middle path- way. These silvery beams were already powerful enough to change the character of the lingering daylight. They softened and embellished the aspect of the old house; although the shadows fell deeper into the angles of its many gables, and lay brooding under the projecting story, and within the half-open door. With the lapse of every moment, the garden grew more picturesque; the fruit- trees, shrubbery, and flower-bushes had a dark obscu- rity among them. The commonplace characteristics — which, at noontide, it seemed to have taken a century of sordid hfe to accumulate — were now transfigured by a charm of romance. A hundred mysterious years were whispering among the leaves, whenever the slight sea- breeze found its way thither and stirred them. Through the foliage that roofed the little summer-house the moon- light flickered to and fro, and fell silvery white on the dark floor, the table and the circular bench, with a con- tinual shift and play, according as the chinks and way- 244 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. ward crevices among tlie twigs admitted or shut out the glimmer. So sweetly cool was tlie atmosphere, after all the fever- ish day, that the summer eve might be fancied as sprink- ling dews and liquid moonlight, with a dash of icy temper in them, out of a silver vase. Here and there, a few drops of this freshness were scattered on a human heart, and gave it youth again, and sympathy with the eternal youth of nature. The artist chanced to be one on whom the reviving influence fell. Ic made him feel — what he sometimes almost forgot, thrust so early as he had been into the rude struggle of man with man — how youthful he still was, " It seems to me," he observed, " that I never watched the coming of so beautiful an eve, and never felt anything so very much Hke happiness as at this moment. After all, what a good world we live ia ! How good, and beautiful ! How young it is, too, with nothing really rotten or age-worn in it ! This old house, for example, which sometimes has positively oppressed my breath with its smell of decaying timber ! And this garden, where the black mould always clings to my spade, as if I were a sexton, delving in a graveyard ! Could I keep the feehng that now possesses me, the garden would every day be virgin soil, with the earth's first freshness in the flavor of its beans and squashes; and the house! — it would be like a bower in Eden, blossoming with the earliest roses that God ever made. Moonlight, and the sentiment in man's heart responsive to it, are the great- est of renovators and reformers. And all other reform and renovation, I suppose, will prove to be no better tJian moonshine ! " " I have been happier than I am now ; at least, much gayer," said Phoebe, thoughtfully. " Yet I am sensible PHCEBE'S GOOD-BY. 24«5 of a great charm m this brightening moonhght ; and I love to watch how the day, tired as it is, lags away reluc- tantly, and hates to be called yesterday so soon. I never cared much about moonlight before. What is there^ I wonder, so beautiful in it, to-night ? " "And you have never felt it before?" inquired the artist, looking earnestly at the girl through the twi- Hght. " Never," answered Phoebe ; " and life does not look the same, now that I have felt it so. It seems as if I had looked at everything, hitherto, in broad daylight, or else in the ruddy light of a cheerful fire, glimmering and dan- cing through a room. Ah, poor me ! " she added, with a half-melancholy laugh. " I shall never be so merry as before I knew Cousin Hepzibah and poor Cousin Clif- ford. I have grown a great deal older, in this little time. Older, and, I hope, wiser, and, — not exactly sadder, — but, certainly, with not half so much lightness in my spirits ! I have given them my sunshine, and have been glad to give it ; but, of course, I cannot both give and keep it. They are welcome, notwithstanding ! " " You have lost nothing, Phoebe, worth keepmg, nor which it was possible to keep," said Holgrave, after a pause. " Our first youth is of no value ; for we are never conscious of it, until after it is gone. But sometimes — always, I suspect, unless one is exceedingly unfortunate — there comes a sense of second youth, gushing out of the heart's joy at being in love ; or, possibly, it may come to crown some other grand festival in life, if any other such there be. This bemoaning of one's self (as you do cow) over the first, careless, shallow gayety of youth de- parted, and this profound happiness at youth regained, — ' 80 much deeper and richer than that we lost, — ■ are essen- tial to the soul's development. In some cases, the two 246 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. states come almost simultaneously, and mingle the sadness and the rapture in one mysterious emotion." " I hardly think I understand you," said Phoebe. " No wonder," replied Holgrave, smiling ; " for I have told you a secret which I hardly began to know, before I found myself giving it utterance. Remember it, however; and when the truth becomes clear to you, then think of this moonhght scene ! " " It is entirely moonlight now, except only a little flush of faint crimson, upward from the west, between those buildings," remarked Phcebe. " I must go in. Cousin Hepzibah is not quick at figures, and will give herself a headache over the day's accounts, unless I help her." But Holgrave detained her a little longer. "IMiss Hepzibah tells me," observed he, "that you re- turn to the country, in a few days." " Yes, but only for a little while," answered Phoebe ; " for I look upon this as my present home. I go to make a few arrangements, and to take a more deliberate leave of my mother and friends. It is pleasant to live where one is much desired, and very useful ; and I think I may have the satisfaction of feehng myself so, here." " You surely may, and more than you imagine," said the artist. " Whatever health, comfort, and natural Hfe exists in the house, is embodied in your person. These blessings came along with you, and will vanish when you leave the threshold. Miss Hepzibah, by secluding her- self from society, has lost all true relation with it, and is, in fact, dead ; although she galvanizes herself into a semblance of life, and stands behind her counter, afflicting the world with a greatly-to-be-deprecated scowl. Your poor cousm Clifford is another dead and long-buried per- son, on whom the governor and council have wi-ought a necromantic miracle. I should not wonder if he were to PHCEBE'S GOOD-BY. 247 crumble away, some morning, after you are gone, and nothing be seen of him more, except a heap of dust. Miss Hepzibah, at any rate, will lose what little flexibility she has. They both exist by you." " I should be very sorry to think so," answered Phoebe, gravely. " But it is true that my small abilities were pre- cisely what they needed ; and I have a real interest in. their welfare, — an odd kind of motherly sentiment, — • which I wish you would not laugh at ! And let me teU you frankly, Mr. Holgrave, I am sometimes puzzled ta know whether you wish them well or ill." "Undoubtedly," said the daguerreotypist, "I do feel an interest in this antiquated, poverty-stricken old maiden lady, and this degraded and shattered gentleman, — this abortive lover of the beautiful. A kindly interest, too, helpless old children that they are ! But you have no conception what a different kind of heart mine is from your own. It is not my impulse, as regards these two individuals, either to help or hinder ; but to look on, to analyze, to explain matters to myself, and to comprehend the drama which, for almost two hundred years, has been dragging its slow length over the ground where you and I now tread. If permitted to witness the close, I doubt not to derive a moral satisfaction from it, go matters how they may. There is a conviction within me that the end draws nigh. But, though Providence sent you hither to help, and sends me only as a privileged and meet spec- tator, I pledge myself to lend these unfortunate bemgs whatever aid I can ! " " I wish you would speak more plainly," cried Phcebe/ perplexed and displeased ; " and, above all, that you would feel more like a Christian and a human being! How is it possible to see people in distress, without de- siring, more than anything else, to help and comfort 248 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. them ? You talk as if this old house were a theatre ; and you seem to look at Hepzibah's aud Clifford's misfor- tunes, aud those of generations before them, as a tragedy, such as I have seen acted in the hall of a country hotel, only the present one appears to be played exclusively for your amusement. I do not like this. The play costs the performers too much, and the audience is too cold- hearted." " You are severe," said Holgrave, compelled to recog- nize a degree of truth in this piquant sketch of his own mood. " And then," continued Phoebe, " what can you mean by your conviction, which you tell me of, that the end is drawing near ? Do you know of any new trouble hang- ing over my poor relatives ? If so, tell me at once, and I will not leave them ! " " Forgive me, Phoebe ! " said the daguerreotypist, holding out his hand, to which the girl was constrained to yield her own. " I am somewhat of a mystic, it must be confessed. The tendency is in my blood, together with the faculty of mesmerism, which might have brought me to Gallows Hill, in the good old times of witchcraft. Beheve me, if I were really aware of any secret, the dis- closure of which would benefit your friends, — who are my own friends, likewise, — you should learn it before we part. But I have no such knowledge." " You hold something back ! " siid Phoebe. " Nothing, — no secrets but my own," answered Hol- grave. " I can perceive, indeed, that Judge Pyncheon still keeps his eye on Chfford, in whose ruin he had so large a share. His motives and intentions, however, are a mystery to me. He is a determined and relentless man, with the genuine character of an inquisitor; and had he any object to gain by putting Clifford to the rack, PH(EB«E'S GOOD-BY. 249 1 verily believe that he would wrench his joints from, their sockets, in order to accomplish it. But, so wealthy and eminent as he is, — so powerful in his own strength, and in the support of society on all sides, — what can Judge Pyncheon have to hope or fear from the imbecile, branded, half-torpid ChfFord ? " " Yet," urged Phoebe, "you did speak as if misfortune were impending ! " " 0, that was because I am morbid ! '' replied the artist. "My mind has a twist aside, like almost everybody's mind, except your own. Moreover, it is so strange to find myself an inmate of this old Pyncheon House, and sitting in this old garden — (hark, how Maule's well is murmuring !) — that, were it only for this one circumstance, I cannot help fancying that Des- tiny is arranging its fifth act for a catastrophe." "There!" cried Phoebe with renewed vexation; for she was by nature as hostile to mystery as the sunshine to a dark corner. " You puzzle me more than ever ! " " Then let us part friends ! " said Holgrave, pressing her hand. " Or, if not friends, let us part before you entirely hate me. You, who love everybody else in the world ! " " Good by, then," said Phoebe, frankly. " I do not mean to be angry a great while, and should be sorry to have you think so. There has Cousin Hepzibah been standing in the shadow of the doorway, this quarter of an hour past ! She thinks I stay too long in the damp garden. So, good night, and good by ! " On the second morning thereafter, Phoebe might have been seen, in her straw bonnet, with a shawl on one arm and a Httle carpet-bag on the other, bidding adieu to Hepzibah and Cousin CUfford. She was to take a seat in the next tram of cars, which would transport her to within half a dozen miles of her country village. 250 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Tlie tears vrere in Phcebe's eyes ; a smile, dewy with afFectiouate regret, was glimmering around lier pleasant moutli. She wondered how it came to pass, that her life of a few weeks, here in this heavy-hearted old mansion, had taken such hold of her, and so melted into her as- sociations, as now to seem a more important centre-point of remembrance than all which had gone before. How had Hepzibah — grim, silent, and irresponsive to her overflow of cordial sentiment — contrived to win so much love ? And Clifford, — in his abortive decay, with the mystery of fearful crime upon him, and the close prison-atmosphere yet lurking in his breath, — how had he transformed himself into the simplest child, whom Phcebe felt bound to watch over, and be, as it were, the providence of his unconsidered hours ! Everything, at that instant of farewell, stood out prominently to her view. Look where she would, lay her hand on what she might, the object responded to her consciousness, as if a moist human heart were in it. She peeped from the window into the garden, and felt herself more regretful at leaving this spot of black earth, vitiated with such an age-long growth of weeds, than joyful at the idea of again scenting her pine forests and fresh clover-fields. She called Chanticleer, his two wives, and the venerable chicken, and threw them some crumbs of bread from the breakfast-table. These being hastily gobbled up, the chicken spread its wings, and alighted close by Phoebe on the window-sill, where it looked gravely into her face and vented its emotions in a croak. Phoebe bade it be a good old chicken during her absence, and promised to bring it a little bag of buck- wheat. " Ah, Phoebe ! " remarked Hepzibah, " you do not emile so naturally as when you came to us ! Then the PHCEBE'S GOOD-BY. 251 smile chose to shine out ; now, you choose it should. It is well that you are going back, for a little while, into your native air. There has been too much weight on your spirits. The house is too gloomy and lonesome; the shop is full of vexations ; and as for me, I have no faculty of making things look brighter than they ara Dear Clifford has been your only comfort ! " " Come hither, Phcebe," suddenly cried her cousin Clif- ford, who had said very Uttle, all the morning. " Close ! — closer ! — and look me in the face ! " Phoebe put one of her small hands on each elbow of his chair, and leaned her face towards him, so that he might peruse it as carefully as he would. It is probable that the latent emotions of this parting hour had revived, in some degree, his bedimmed and enfeebled faculties. At any rate, Phoebe soon felt that, if not the profound insight of a seer, yet a more than feminine delicacy of appreciation, was making her heart the subject of its re- gard. A moment before, she had known nothing which she would have sought to hide. Now, as if some secret were hinted to her own consciousness through the medium of another's perception, she was fain to let her eyelids droop beneath Clilford's gaze. A blush, too, — the redder, be- cause she strove hard to keep it down, — ascended higher and higher, in a tide of fitful progress, until even her brow was aU suffused with it. "It is enough, Phoebe," said Clifford, with a melan- choly smile. "When I first saw you, you were the prettiest httle maiden in the world ; and now you have deepened into beauty ! Girlhood has passed into woman- hood ; the bud is a bloom / Go, now ! — I feel lonelier than 1 did." Phoebe took leave of the desolate couple, and passed through the shop, twinkling her eyehds to shake off a 252 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. dewdrop ; for — considering how brief her absence was to be, and therefore the folly of being cast down abont it — she would not so far acknowledge her tears as to dry them with her handkerchief. On the doorstep, she met the little urchin whose marvellous feats of gastronomy have been recorded in the earlier pages of our narrative. She took from the window some specimen or other of natural history, — her eyes being too dim with moisture to inform her accurately whether it was a rabbit or a hippopotamus, — put it into the child's hand, as a part- ing gift, and went her way. Old Uncle Venner was just coming out of his door, with a wood-horse and saw on his shoulder ; and, trudging along the street, he scrupled not to keep company with Phoebe, so far as their paths lay together ; nor, in spite of his patched coat and rusty beaver, and the curious fashion of his tow-cloth trousers, could she find it in her heart to outwalk him. " We shall miss you, next Sabbath afternoon," ob- served the street philosopher. "It is unaccountable how little while it takes some folks to grow just as nat- ural to a man as his own breath; and, begging your pardon. Miss Phcebe (though there can be no offence in an old man's saying it), that's just what you 've grown to me! My years have been a great many, and your life is but just begmning; and yet, you are somehow as familiar to me as if I had found you at my*mother's door, and you had blossomed, like a running vine, all along my pathway since. Come back soon, or I shall be gone to my farm ; for I begin to find these wood-sawing jobs a little too tough for my back-ache." "Very soon, Uncle Venner," replied Phcebe. " And let it be all the sooner, Phoebe, for the sake of those poor souls yonder," continued her companion. " They can never do without you, now, — never, Phoebe, PHCEBE'S GOOD-BY. 253 never ! — no more than if one of God's angels had been living with them, and making their dismal house pleas- ant and comfortable ! Don't it seem to yon they 'd be in a sad case, if, some pleasant summer morning Kke this, the angel should spread his wings, and fly to the place he came from ? Well, just so they feel, now that you 're going home by the railroad ! They can't bear it. Miss Phoebe ; so be sure to come back ! " " I am no angel, Uncle Venner," said Phoebe, smilmg, as she offered-him her hand at the street-corner. " But, I suppose, people never feel so much like angels as when they are doing what little good they may. So I shall " certainly come back ! " Thus parted the old man and the rosy girl; and Phoebe took the wmgs of the morning, and was soon flit- ting almost as rapidly away as if endowed with the aerial locomotion of the angels to whom Uncle Venner had so graciously compared her. XV. THE SCOWL AND SMILE. EVEHAL days passed over the Seven Gables, heavily and drearily enough. In fact (not to attribute the whole gloom of sky and earth to the one inauspicious circumstance of Phoebe's departure), an easterly storm had set in, and indefatigably appUed itself to the task of making the black roof and walls of the old house look more cheerless than ever before. Yet was the outside not half so cheerless as the interior. Poor ChfFord was cut oflp, at once, from all his scanty re- sources of enjoyment. Phoebe was not there ; nor did the sunshine fall upon the floor. The garden, with its muddy walks, and the chill, dripping foliage of its summer-house, was an image to be shuddered at. Noth- ing flourished in the cold, moist, pitiless atmosphere, drifting with the brackish scud of sea-breezes, except the moss along the joints of the shingle-roof, and the great bunch of weeds, that had lately been suff'ering from drought, in the angle between the two front gables. As for Hepzibah, she seemed not merely possessed with the east wind, but to be, in her very person, only another phase of this gray and sullen spell of weather ; the east wind itself, grim and disconsolate, in a rusty THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 255 black silk gown, and with a turban of cloud- wreaths on its head. The custom of the shop fell off because a storj got abroad that she soured her small beer and other damageable commodities, bj scowling on them. It is, perhaps, true that the public had something reasonablj to complain of in her deportment ; but towards Clifford she was neither ill-tempered nor unkmd, nor felt less warmth of heart than always, had it been possible to make it reach him. The inutility of her best efforts, however, palsied the poor old gentlewoman. She could do little else than sit silently in a corner of the room, when the wet pear-tree branches, sweeping across the small windows, created a noonday dusk, which Hepzibah unconsciously darkened with her woebegone aspect. It was no fault of Hepzibah's. Everything — even the old chairs and tables, that had known what weather was for three or four such lifetimes as her own — looked as damp and chill as if the present were their worst experi- ence. The picture of the Puritan Colonel shivered on the wall. The house itself shivered, from every attic of its seven gables, down to the great kitchen fireplace, which served all the better as an emblem of the man- sion's heart, because, though built for warmth, it was now so comfortless and empty. Hepzibah attempted to enliven matters by a fire in the parlor. But the storm-demon kept watch above, and, whenever a flame was kindled, drove the smoke back again, choking the chimney's sooty throat with its own breath. Nevertheless, durmg four days of this miserable storm, Clifford wrapt himself in an old cloak, and occu- pied his customary chair. On the morning of the fifth, when summoned to breakfast, he responded only by a broken-hearted murmur, expressive of a determination not to leave his bed. His sister made no attempt to 256 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. cLange his purpose. In fact, entirely as she loved him, Hepzibah could hardly have borne any longer the "wretched duty — so impracticable by her few and rigid faculties — of seeking pastime for a still sensitive, but ruined mind, critical and fastidious, without force or volition. It was, at least, something short of positive despair, that, to-day, she might sit shivermg alone, and not buffer continually a new grief, and unreasonable pang of remorse, at every fitful sigh of her fellow-suf- ferer. But Clifford, it seemed, though he did not make his appearance below stairs, had, after all, bestirred himseK in quest of amusement. In the course of the forenoon, Hepzibah heard a note of music, which (there being no other tuneful contrivance in the House of the Seven Gables) she knew must proceed from Alice Pyncheon's harpsichord. She was aware that Clifford, in his youth, had possessed a cultivated taste for music, and a con- siderable degree of skill in its practice. It was difficult, however, to conceive of his retaining an accomplishment to which daily exercise is so essential, in the measure indicated by the sweet, airy, and deUcate, though most melancholy strain, that now stole upon her ear. Nor was it less marvellous that the long-silent instrument should be capable of so much melody. Hepzibah invol- iintarily thought of the ghostly harmonies, prelusive of death in the family, which were attributed to the legen- dary Alice. But it was, perhaps, proof of the agency of other than spiritual fingers, that, after a few touches, the chords seemed to snap asunder with their own vibrations, and the music ceased. But a harsher sound succeeded to the mysterious notes; nor was the easterly day fated to pass without an event sufficient in itself to poison, for Hepzibah and Chfford, THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 257 the balmiest air that ever brought the humming-birds plong with it. The final echoes of Ahce Pyncheon's performance (or Clifford's, if his we must consider it) were driven away by no less vulgar a dissonance than the ringing of the shop-bell. A foot was heard scraping itself on the threshold, and thence somewhat ponderously step- ping on the floor. Hepzibah delayed a moment, while muffling herself in a faded shawl, which had been her defensive armor in a forty years' warfare against the east wind. A characteristic sound, however, — neither a cough nor a hem, but a kind of rumbling and rever- berating spasm in somebody's capacious depth of chest, — impelled her to hurry forward, with that aspect of fierce faint-heartedness so common to women in cases of perilous emergency. Few of her sex, on such occasions, have ever looked so terrible as our poor scowling Hep- zibah. But the visitor quietly closed the shop-door behind him, stood up his umbrella against the counter, and turned a visage of composed benignity, to meet the alarm and anger which his appearance had excited. • Hepzibah's presentiment had not deceived her. It was no other than Judge Pyncheon, who, after in vain trymg the front door, had now effected his entrance into the shop. " How do you do. Cousin Hepzibah ? — and how does this most inclement weather affect our poor Clifford ? " began the Judge ; and wonderful it seemed, indeed, that the easterly storm was not put to shame, or, at any rate, a little mollified, by the genial benevolence of his smile. " I could not rest without calling to ask, once more, whether I can in any manner promote his comfort, or your own." " You can do nothing," said Hepzibah, controlling her agitation as well as she could. " I devote myself to 258 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Clifford. He has every comfort Tvliich his situation ad* mits of." "But, allow me to suggest, dear cousin," rejoined the Judge, " you err, — in all affection and kindness, no doubt, and v.dth the very best intentions, — but you do err, nevertheless, in keeping your brother so se- cluded. Why insulate him thus from all sympathy and kmdness ? Clifford, alas ! has had too much of solitude. Now let him try society, — the society, that is to say, of kindred and old friends. Let me, for in- stance, but see Clifford, and I Trill answer for the good effect of the interview." " You cannot see him," answered Hepzibah. " Clif- ford has kept his bed since yesterday." " What ! How ! Is he ill ? " exclaimed Judge Pyn- cheon, starting with what seemed to be angry alarm; for the very frown of the old Puritan darkened through the room as he spoke. " Nay, then, I must and will see him ! What if he should die ? " " He is in no danger of death," said Hepzibah, — and added, with bitterness that she could repress no longer, *' none ; unless he shall be persecuted to death, now, by the same man who long ago attempted it ! " " Cousin Hepzibah," said the Judge, with an impress- ive earnestness of manner, which grew even to tearful pathos, as he proceeded, " is it possible that you do not perceive how unjust, how unkind, how unchristian, is this constant, this long-continued bitterness against me, for a part which I was constrained by duty and con- science, by the force of law, and at my own peril, to act ? What did I do, in detriment to Clifford, which it was possible to leave undone ? How could you, his sis- ter, — if, for your never-ending sorrow, as it has been for mine, you had known what I did, — have shown THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 259 greater tenderness ? And do you think, cousin, that it has cost me no pang ? — that it has left no anguish in my bosom, from that day to this, amidst all the pros- perity with which Heaven has blessed me ? — or that I do not now rejoice, when it is deemed consistent with the dues of public justice and the welfare of society that this dear kinsman, this early friend, this nature so deli- cately and beautifully constituted, — so unfortunate, let us pronounce him, and forbear to say, so guilty, — that our own Clifford, in fine, should be given back to life, and its possibilities of enjoyment ? Ah, you little know me, Cousin Hepzibah ! You little know this heart ! It now throbs at the thought of meeting him ! There lives not the human being (except yourself, — and you not more than I) who has shed so many tears for Clifford's calamity ! You behold some of them now. There is none who would so delight to promote his happiness ! Try me, Hepzibah ! — try me, cousin ! — try the man whom you have treated as your enemy and Clifford's ! — try Jaff'rey Pyncheon, and you shall find him true, to the heart's core ! " " In the name of Heaven," cried Hepzibah, provoked only to intenser indignation by this outgush of the in- estimable tenderness of a stern nature, — "in God's name, whom you insult, and whose power I could al- most question, since he hears you utter so many false words, without palsying your tongue, — give over, I beseech you, this loathsome pretence of affection for your victim ! You hate him ! Say so, like a man ! You cher- ish, at this moment, some black purpose against him, in your heart ! Speak it out, at once ! — or, if you hope so to promote it better, hide it till you can triumph in its success ! But never speak again of your love for my poor brother ! I cannot bear it ! It will drive me beyond '^60 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. a woman's decency ! It will drive me mad ! Eorbear! Not another word ! It will make me spurn you ! " Por once, Hepzibah's wrath had given her courage. She had spoken. But, after all, was this unconquerable distrust of Judge Pyncheon's integi'ity, and this utter denial, apparently, of his claim to stand in the ring of human sympathies, — were they founded in any just perception of his character, or merely the offspring of a woman's unreasonable prejudice, deduced from nothing ? The Judge, beyond all question, was a man of eminent respectability. The church acknowledged it; the state acknowledged it. It was denied by nobody. In all the very extensive sphere of those who knew him, whether in his public or private capacities, there was not an in- dividual — except Hepzibah, and some lawless mystic, like the daguerreotypist, and, possibly, a few political opponents — who would have dreamed of seriously dis- puting his claim to a high and honorable place in the world's regard. Nor (we must do him the further jus- tice to say) did Judge Pyncheon himself, probably, en- tertain many or very frequent doubts, that his enviable reputation accorded with his deserts. His conscience, therefore, usually considered the surest witness to a man's integrity, — his conscience, unless it might be for the little space of five minutes in the twenty-four hours, or, now and then, some black day in the whole year's circle, — his conscience bore an accordant testimony with the world's laudatory voice. And yet, strong as this evidence may seem to be, we should hesitate to peril our own conscience on the assertion, that the Judge and the consenting world were right, and that poor Hepzi- bah, with her soHtary prejudice, was wi'ong. Hidden from mankind, — forgotten by himself, or buried so deeply ander a sculptured and ornamented pile of os- THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 261 tentatious deeds that liis daily life could take no note of it, — there may have lurked some evil and unsightly thing. Nay, we could almost venture to say, further, that a daily guilt might have been acted by him, contin- ually renewed, and reddening forth afresh, like the mi- raculous blood-stain of a murder, without his necessarily and at every moment being aware of it. Men of strong minds, great force of character, and a hard texture of the sensibilities, are very capable of fall- ing into mistakes of this kind. They are ordinarily men to whom forms are of paramount importance. Their field of action lies among the external phenomena of life. They possess vast ability in grasping, and arranging, and appropriating to themselves, the big, heavy, soHd unre- alities, such as gold, landed estate, offices of trust and emolument, and public honors. With these materials, and with deeds of goodly aspect, done in the public eye, an individual of thiis' class builds up, as it were, a tall and stately edifice, which, in the view of other people, and ultimately in his own view, is no other than the man's character, or the man himself. Behold, therefore, a palace ! Its splendid halls, and suites of spacious apartments, are floored with a mosaic-work of costly marbles ; its windows, the whole height of each room, admit the sunshine through the most transparent of plate-glass ; its high cornices are gilded, and its ceilings gorgeously painted ; and a lofty dome — through which, from the central pavement, you may gaze up to the sky, as with no obstructing medium between — surmounts the whole. With what fairer and nobler emblem could any man desire to shadow forth liis character? Ah! but in some low and obscure nook, — some narrow closet on the ground-floor, shut, locked, and bolted, and the key flung away, — or beneath the marble pavement. 262 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. in a stagnant water-puddle, ^vith the richest pattern of mosaic-work above, — may lie a corpse, half decayed, and still decaying, and diffusing its death-scent all through the palace ! The inhabitant "will not be conscious of it, for it has long been his daily breath ! Neither will the visitors, for they smell only the rich odors which the master sedulously scatters through the palace, and the incense which they bring, and delight to burn before him ! Now and then, perchance, comes in a seer, before whose sadly gifted eye the whole structure melts into thin air, leaving only the hidden nook, the bolted closet, with the cobwebs festooned over its forgotten door, or the deadly hole under the pavement, and the decaying corpse within. Here, then, we are to seek the true em- blem of the man's character, and of the deed that gives whatever reahty it possesses to his life. And, beneath the show of a marble palace, that pool of stagnant water, foul with many impurities, and, perhaps, tinged with blood, — that secret abomination, above which, possibly, he may say his prayers, without remembering it, — is this man's miserable soul ! To apply this train of remark somewhat more closely to Judge Pyncheon. We might say (without in the least imputing crime to a personage of his eminent respecta- bihty) that there was enough of splendid rubbish in his life to cover up and paralyze a more active and subtile conscience than the Judge was ever troubled with. The purity of his judicial character, while on the bench ; the faithfulness of his public service in subsequent capaci- ties ; his devotedness to his party, and the rigid consist- ency with which he had adhered to its principles, or, at all events, kept pace with its organized movements ; his remarkable zeal as president of a Bible society; his unimpeachable integrity as treasurer of a widow's and THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 263 orphan's fund ; his benefits to horticulture, by producing two much-esteemed varieties of the pear, and to agri- culture, through the agency of the famous Pyncheon bull ; the cleanliness of his moral deportment, for a great many years past ; the severity with which he had frowned upon, and finally cast off, an expensive and dissipated son, delaying forgiveness until within the final quarter of an hour of the young man's life ; his prayers at morning and eventide, and graces at meal-time ; his efforts in furtherance of the temperance cause ; his confining him- self, since the last attack of the gout, to five diurnal glasses of old sherry wine ; the snowy whiteness of his linen, the polish of his boots, the handsomeness of his gold-headed cane, the square and roomy fashion of his coat, and the fineness of its material, and, in general, the studied propriety of liis dress and equipment; the scrupulousness with which he paid public notice, in the street, by a bow, a lifting of the hat, a nod, or a motion of the hand, to all and sundry of his acquaintances, rich or poor ; the smile of broad benevolence wherewith he made it a point to gladden the whole world; — what room could possibly be found for darker traits, in a portrait made up of lineaments like these ? This proper face was what he beheld in the looking-glass. This admirably ar- ranged life was what he was conscious of, in the progress of every day. Then, might not he claim to be its result and sum, and say to himself and the community, " Behold Judge Pyncheon there " ? And, allowing that, many, many years ago, in his early and reckless youth, he had committed some one wrong act, — or that, even now, the inevitable force of circum- stances should occasionally make him do one questionable deed, among a thousand praiseworthy, or, at least, blame- less ones, — would you characterize the Judge by that 264 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. one necessary deed, and that half-forgotten act, and let it overshadow the fair aspect of a lifetime ? What is there so ponderous in evil, that a thumb's bigness of it should outweigh the mass of thmgs not evil which were heaped into the other scale ! This scale and balance system is a favorite one with people of Judge Pyncheon's brother- hood. A hard, cold man, thus unfortunately situated, seldom or never looking inward, and resolutely taking his idea of himself from what purports to be his image as reflected in the mirror of pubhc opinion, can scarcely ar- rive at true self-knowledge, except through loss of prop- erty and reputation. Sickness wHl not always help him do it ; not always the death-hour ! But our affair now is with Judge Pyncheon as he stood confronting the fierce outbreak of Hepzibah's wrath. Without premeditation, to her own surprise, aud indeed terror, she had given vent, for once, to the inveteracy of her resentment, cherished agamst this kinsman for thirty years. Thus far, the Judge's countenance had expressed mild forbearance, — grave and almost gentle deprecation of his cousin's unbecoming violence, — free and Christian- like forgiveness of the wrong inflicted by her words. But, when those words were irrevocably spoken, his look assumed sternness, the sense of power, and immitigable resolve ; and this with so natural and imperceptible a change, that it seemed as if the iron man had stood there from the first, and the meek man not at all. The eff'ect was as when the light, vapory clouds, with their soft col- oring, suddenly vanish from the stony brow of a precipi- tous mountain, and leave there the frown which you at once feel to be eternal. Hepzibah almost adopted the insane belief that it was her old Puritan ancestor, and not the modern Judge, on whom she had just been wreak- . THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 265 ing the bitterness of her heart. Never did a man sho"^ stronger proof of the lineage attributed to him than Judge Pyncheon, at this crisis, by his unmistakable re- semblance to the picture in the inner room. " Cousin Hepzibah," said he, very calmly, " it is time to ha 76 done with this." " With all my heart ! " answered she. " Then, why do you persecute us any longer ? Leave poor Clifford and me in peace. Neither of us desires anything better ! " " It is my purpose to see Clifford before I leave this house," continued the Judge. " Do not act like a mad- woman, Hepzibah ! I am his only friend, and an all- powerful one. Has it never occurred to you, — are you so blind as not to have seen, — that, without not merely my consent, but my efforts, my representations, the ex- ertion of my whole influence, pohtical, official, personal, Clifford would never have been what you call free ? Did you think his release a triumph over me ? Not so, my good cousin ; not so, by any means ! The furthest pos- sible from that ! No ; but it was the accomplishment of a purpose long entertained on my part. I set him free ! " " You ! " answered Hepzibah. " I never will believe it ! He owed his dungeon to you ; — his freedom to God's providence ! " "I set him free ! " reaffirmed Judge Pyncheon, with the calmest composure. " And I come hither now to decide whether he shall retain his freedom. It will de- pend upon himself. For this purpose, I must see him." " Never ! — it would drive him mad ! " exclaimed Hep- zibah, but with an irresoluteness sufficiently perceptible to the keen eye of the Judge ; for, without the slightest faith in his good intentions, she knew not whether there was most to dread m yielding or resistance. " And why 266 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. should YOU Tvisli to see tliis "^rretcbed, brokeu mau, who retams hardly a fractiou of his iutelleet, and will hide even that from an eye which has no love in it ? " " He shall see love enough in mine, if that be all ! '* said the Judge, with well-grounded confidence in the benignity of his aspect. " But, Cousin Hepzibah, you confess a great deal, and very much to the purpose. Now, listen, and I will frankly explain my reasons for insisting on this interview. At the death, thirty years smce, of our uncle Jaifrey, it was found, — I know not wlietlier the circumstance ever attracted much of your attention, among the sadder interests that clustered round that event, — but it was found that his visible estate, of every kind, feU far short of any estimate ever made of it. He was supposed to be immensely rich. Nobody doubted that he stood among the weightiest men of his day. It was one of his eccentricities, however, — and not altogether a folly, neither, — to conceal the amount of his property by making distant and foreign investments, perhaps under other names than his own, and by various means, familiar enough to capitaUsts, but unnecessary here to be specified. By Uncle Jaffrey's last will and testament, as you are aware, his entire prop- erty was bequeathed to me, with the single exception of a hfe interest to yourself in this old family mansion, and the strip of patrimonial estate remainmg attached to it." " And do you seek to deprive us of that ? " asked Hep- zibah, unable to restrain her bitter contenipt. " Is this your price for ceasing to persecute poor Clifford ? " " Certainly not, my dear cousin ! " answered the Judge, smiling benevolently. "On the contrary, as you must do me the justice to own, I have constantly expressed my readiness to double or treble your resources, when- ever you should make up your mind to accept any kind- THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 267 ness of that nature at the hands of your kinsman. No, no ! But here lies the gist of the matter. Of my uncle's unquestionably great estate, as I have said, not the half — no, not one third, as I am fully convinced — was ap- parent after his death. Now, I have the best possible reasons for believing that your brother Clifford can give me a clew to the recovery of the remainder." " Clifford ! — ChfFord know of any hidden wealth ? — Chfford have it in his power to make you rich ? " cried the old gentlewoman, affected with a sense of something like ridicule, at the idea. " Impossible ! You deceive yourself ! It is really a thing to laugh at ! " " It is as certain as that I stand here ! " said Judge Pyncheon, striking his gold-headed cane on the floor, and at the same time stamping his foot, as if to express his conviction the more forcibly by the whole emphasis of his substantial person. " Clifford told me so himself ! " " No, no ! " exclaimed Hepzibah, incredulously. " You are dreaming, Cousin Jaffrey ! " " I do not belong to the dreaming class of men/' said the Judge, quietly. " Some months before my uncle's death, Clifford boasted to me of the possession of the secret of incalculable wealth. His purpose was to taunt me, and excite my curiosity. I know it well. But, from a pretty distinct recollection of the particulars of our con- versation, I am thoroughly convinced that there was truth in what he said. Clifford, at this moment, if he chooses, — and choose he must ! — can inform me where to find the schedule, the documents, the evidences, in whatever shape they exist, of the vast amount of Uncle Jaffrey's missing property. He has the secret. His boast was no idle word. It had a directness, an emphasis, a partic- ularity, that showed a backbone of solid meaning within the mystery of his expression." 268 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " But what could have been Clifford's object," asked Hepzibah, " iu concealmg it so long ? " " It was one of the bad impulses of our fallen nature/' replied the Judge, turning up his eyes. " He looked upon me as his enemy. He considered me as the cause of his overwhelming disgrace, his imminent peril of death, his irretrievable ruin. There was no great probability, therefore, of his volunteering information, out of his dun- geon, that should elevate me still higher on the ladder of prosperity. But the moment has now come when he must give up his secret." " And what if he should refuse ? " inquired Hepzibah. " Or, — as I steadfastly believe, — what if he has no knowledge of this wealth ? " " My dear cousin," said Judge Pyncheon, with a quie- tude which he had the power of making more formidable than any violence, " since your brother's return, I have taken the precaution (a highly proper one in the near kinsman and natural guardian of an individual so sit- uated) to have his deportment and habits constantly and carefully overlooked. Your neighbors have been eye- witnesses to whatever has passed in the garden. The__ butcher, the baker, the fish-monger, some of the custom- ers of your shop, and many a prying old woman, have told me several of the secrets of your interior. A still larger circle — I myself, among the rest — can testify to his extravagances at the arched window. Thousands beheld him, a week or two ago, on the point of flinging himself thence into the street. From all this testimony, I am led to apprehend — reluctantly, and with deep grief — that CHfford's misfortunes have so affected his intellect, never very strong, that he camiot safely remain at large. The alternative, you must be aware, — and its adoption will depend entirely on the decision which I ajn THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 269 now about to make, — the alternative is his confinement, probably for the remainder of his life, in a public asylum, for persons in his unfortunate state of mind." " You cannot mean it ! " shrieked Hepzibah. " Should my cousin Clifford," continued Judge Pyn- cheon, wholly undisturbed, " from mere malice, and hatred of one whose interests ought naturally to be dear to him, — a mode of passion that, as often as any other, indicates mental disease, — should he refuse me the in- formation so important to myself, and which he assuredly possesses, I shall consider it the one needed jot of evi- dence to satisfy my mind of his insanity. And, once sure of the course pointed out by conscience, you know me too well, Cousin Hepzibah, to entertain a doubt that I shall pursue it." " O Jaffrey, — Cousin Jaffi.*ey ! " cried Hepzibah, mournfully, not passionately, " it is you that are diseased in mind, not Clifford ! You have forgotten that a woman was your mother ! — that you have had sisters, brothers, children of your own ! — or that there ever was affection between man and man, or pity from one man to another, in this miserable world ! Else, how could you have dreamed of this ? You are not young, Cousin Jaffrey ! — no, nor middle-aged, — but already an old man ! The hair is white upon your head ! How many years have you to Kve? Are you not rich enough for that little time ? Shall you be hungry, — shall you lack clothes, or a roof to shelter you, — between this point and the grave ? No ! but, with the half of what you now pos- sess, you could revel in costly food and wines, and build a house twice as splendid as you now inhabit, and make a far greater show to the world, — and yet leave riches to your only son, to make him bless the hour of your death ! Then, why should you do this cruel, cruel £70 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. tiling ? — so mad a thing, that I know not whether to call it wicked! Alas, Cousin JafFrey, this hard and grasping spirit has run in our blood these two hundred years. You are but doing over again, in another shape, what your ancestor before you did, and sending down to your posterity the curse inherited from him ! " " Talk sense, Hepzibah, for Heaven's sake ! " exclaimed the Judge, with the impatience natural to a reasonable man, on hearing anything so utterly absurd as the above, in a discussion about matters of business. " I have told you my determination. I am not apt to change. Clif- ford must give up his secret, or take the consequences. And let him decide quickly ; for I have several affairs to attend to, tliis morning, and an important dinner engage- ment with some political friends." " Clifford has no secret ! " answered Hepzibah. " And God will not let you do the thing you meditate ! " " Yv^e shall see," said the unmoved Judge. " Mean- while, choose whether you will summon Clifford, and al- low this business to be amicably settled by an interview between two kinsmen, or drive me to harsher measures, which I should be most happy to feel myself justified in avoiding. The responsibility is altogether on your part." " You are stronger than I," said Hepzibah, after a brief consideration ; " and you have no pity in your strength ! Clifford is not now insane ; but the interview which you insist upon may go far to make him so. Nevertheless, knowing you as I do, I believe it to be my best course to allow you to judge for yourself as to the improbability of his possessing any valuable secret. I will call Clifford. Be merciful in your deaUngs with him 1 — be far more merciful than your heart bids you be ! — for God is look- ing at you, Jaffi-ey Pyncheon ! " THE SCOWL AND SMILE. 271 The ^'udge followed Ids cousin from the shop, where the foregoing conversation had passed, into the parlor, and flung himself heavily into the great ancestral chair. Many a former Pyncheon had found repose in its capa- cious arms : — rosy children, after their sports ; young men, dreamy with love ; grown men, weary with cares ; old men, burdened with wmters ; — they had mused, and slumbered, and departed to a yet profounder sleep. It had been a long tradition, though a doubtful one, that this was the very chair, seated in which, the earliest of the Judge's New England forefathers — he whose picture still hung upon the wall — had given a dead man's silent and stern reception to the throng of distinguished guests. From that hour of evil omen, until the present, it may be, — though we know not the secret of his heart, — but it may be that no wearier and sadder man had ever sunk into the chair than this same Judge Pyncheon, whom we have just beheld so immitigably hard and resolute. Surely, it must have been at no slight cost that he had thus forti- fied his soul with iron. Such calmness is a mightier effort than the violence of weaker men. And there was yet a heavy task for him to do. Was it a little matter, — a trifle to be prepared for in a single moment, and to be rested from in another moment, — that he must now, after thirty years, encounter a kinsman risen from a liv- ing tomb, and wrench a secret from him, or else consign him to a living tomb again ? " Did you speak ? " asked Hepzibah, looking in from the thresliold of the parlor; for she imagined that the Judge had uttered some sound which she was anxious to interpret as a relentmg impulse. " I thought you called me back." " No, no ! " gruffly answered Judge Pyncheon, with a harsh frown, while his brow grew almost a black purple. 072 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. m the shadow of the room. " Why. should I call you back ? Time flies ! Bid Clifford come to me ! " The Judge had taken his watch from his vest-pocket, and now held it in his hand, measuring the interval which was to ensue before the appearance of Clifford. XVI. CLIFFORD'S CHAMBEE. EVER had the old house appeared so dismal to poor Hepzibah as when she departed on that IE\ wretched errand. There was a strange aspect in it. As she trode along the foot-worn passages, and opened one crazy door after another, and ascended the creaking staircase, she gazed wistfully and fearfully around. It would have been no marvel, to her excited mind, if, behind or beside her, there had been the rustle of dead people's garments, or pale visages awaiting her on the landing-place above. Her nerves were set all ajar by the scene of passion and terror through which she had just struggled. Her colloquy with Judge Pyncheon, who so perfectly represented the person and attributes of the founder of the family, had called back the dreary past. It weighed upon her heart. Whatever she had heard, from legendary aunts and grandmothers, concerning the good or evil fortunes of the Pyncheons, — stories which had heretofore been kept warm in her remembrance by the chimney-corner glow that was associated with them, — now recurred to her, sombre, ghastly, cold, like most passages of family history, when brooded over in melan- choly mood. The whole seemed little else but a series 274 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. of calamity, reproducing itself in successive generations, with one general hue, and varying in Httle, save the out- line. But Hepzibah noTv felt as if the Judge, and CHf- ford, and herself, — they three together, — were on the point of adding another incident to the annals of the house, with a bolder relief of wrong and sorrow, which would cause it to stand out from all the rest. Thus it is that the grief of the passing moment takes upon itself an individuahty, and a character of climax, which it is des- tined to lose, after a while, and to fade into the dark gray tissue common to the grave or glad events of many years ago. It is but for a moment, comparatively, that anything looks strange or startling ; — a truth that has the bitter and the sweet in it. But Hepzibah could not rid herself of the sense of something miprecedented at that instant passing and soon to be accomplished. Her nerves were in a shake. Instinctively she paused before the arched window, and looked out upon the street, in order to seize its perma- nent objects with her mental grasp, and thus to steady herself from the reel and %-ibration which affected her more immediate sphere. It brought her up, as we may say, with a kind of shock, when she beheld everything under the same appearance as the day before, and num- berless preceding days, except for the difference between sunshine and sullen storm. Her eyes travelled along the street, from doorstep to doorstep, noting the wet side- walks, with here and there a puddle in hollows that had been imperceptible until filled with water. She screwed her dim optics to their acutest point, in the hope of mak- ing out, with greater distinctness, a certain window, where she half saw, half guessed, that a tailor's seam- stress was sitting at her work. Hepzibah flung herself upon that unknown woman's companionship, even thus CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 275 far off. Then she was attracted by a chaise rapidly pass- ing, and watched its moist and glistening top, and its splashing wheels, until it had turned the corner, and refused to carry any further her idly trifling, because appalled and overburdened, mind. When the vehicle had disappeared, she allowed herself still another loiter- ing moment ; for the patched figure of good Uncle Ven- ner was now visible, coming slowly from the head of the street downward, with a rheumatic Ump, because the east wind had got into his joints. Hepzibah wished that he would pass yet more slowly, and befriend her shivering sohtude a little longer. Anything that would take her out of the grievous present, and interpose human beings betwixt herself and what was nearest to her, — whatever would defer, for an instant, the inevitable errand on which she was bound, — all such impediments were welcome. Next to the lightest heart, the heaviest is apt to be most playful. Hepzibah had little hardihood for her own proper pain, and far less for what ^,he must inflict on Clifford. Of so slight a nature, and so shattered by his previous calami- ties, it could not well be short of utter ruin to bring liim face to face with the hard, relentless man, who had been his evil destiny through life. Even had there been no bitter recollections, nor any hostile interest now at stake between them, the mere natural repugnance of the more sensitive system to the massive, weighty, and unimpres- sible one, must, in itself, have been disastrous to the Jprmer. It would be hke flinging a porcelain vase, with already a crack in it, against a granite column. Never before had Hepzibah so adequately estimated the power- ful character of her Cousin Jaff'rey, — powerful by intel- lect, energy of will, the long habit of acting among men, and, as she believed, by his unscrupulous pursuit of 276 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. selfish ends througli evil means. It did but increase the difficulty, that Judge Pjiicheon was under a delusion as to the secret which he supposed Clifford to possess. Men of his strength of purpose, and customary sagacity, if they chance to adopt a mistaken opinion in practical matters, so wedge it and fasten it among things known to be true, that to wrench it out of their minds is hardly less difficult than pulling up an oak. Thus, as the Judge required an impossibility of Clifford, the lat- ter, as he could not perform it, must needs perish. For what, in the grasp of a man hke this, was to be- come of Chfford's soft, poetic nature, that never should have had a task more stubborn than to set a life of beautiful enjoyment to the flow and rhythm of musical cadences ! Indeed, what had become of it already ? Broken ! BUghted ! All but annihilated ! Soon to be wholly so! ■ For a moment, the thought crossed Hepzibah's mind, whether CHfFord might not really have such knowledge of their deceased uncle's vanished, estate as the Judge imputed to him. She remembered some vague intima- tions, on her brother's part, which — if the supposition were not essentially preposterous — might have been so interpreted. There had been schemes of travel and resi- dence abroad, day-dreams of brilHaut life at home, and splendid castles in the air, which it would have required boundless wealth to build and realize. Had this wealth been in her power, how gladly would Hepzibah have be- stowed it all upon her iron-hearted kinsman, to buy for Clifford the freedom and seclusion of the desolate old^ house! But she believed that her brother's schemes were as destitute of actual substance and purpose as a child's pictures of its future life, while sitting in a Httle chair by its mother's knee. Clifford had none but shad- CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 277 owy gold at his command ; and it was not the stuff to satisfy Judge Pyneheon ! Was there no help, in their extremity ? It seemed strange that there should be none, with a city round about her. It would be so easy to throw up the win- dow, and send forth a shriek, at the strange agony of which everybody would come hastening to the rescue, well understanding it to be the cry of a human soul, at some dreadful crisis ! But how wild, how almost laugh- able, the fatality, — and yet how continually it comes to pass, thought Hepzibah, in this dull delirium of a world, — that whosoever, and with however kindly a purpose, should come to help, they would be sure to help the strongest side ! Might and wrong combined, like iron magnetized, are endowed with irresistible attraction. There would be Judge Pyneheon, — a person eminent in the public view, of high station and great wealth, a phi- lanthropist, a member of Congress and of the church, and intimately associated with whatever else bestows good name, — so imposing, in these advantageous lights, that Hepzibah herself could hardly help shrinking from her own conclusions as to his hollow integrity. The Judge, on one side ! And who, on the other ? The guilty Clif- ford ! Once a by-word ! Now, an indistinctly remem- bered ignominy ! Nevertheless, in spite of this perception that the Judge would draw all human aid to his own behalf, Hepzibah was so unaccustomed to act for herself, that the least word of counsel would have swayed her to any mode of action. Little Phcebe Pyneheon would at once have lighted up the whole scene, if not by any available suggestion, yet simply by the warm vivacity of her character. The idea of the artist occurred to Hepzibah. Young and unknowTi, mere yagrant adventurer as he was, she had been conscious of 278 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. a force in Holgrave which might well adapt hiin to be the champion of a crisis. With this thought in her mind, she unbolted a door, cobwebbed and long disused, but which had served as a former medium of communication between her own part of the house and the gable where the wandering daguerreotypist had now. estabhshed his temporary home. He was not there. A book, face downward, on the table, a roll of manuscript, a half- writ- ten sheet, a newspaper, some tools of his present occupa- tion, and several rejected daguerreotypes, conveyed an impression as if he were close at hand. But, at this period of tne day, as Hepzibah might have anticipated, the artist was at his public rooms. With an impulse of idle curiosity, that flickered among her heavy thoughts, she looked at one of the daguerreotypes, and beheld Judge Pyncheon frowning at her. Fate stared her in the face, fehe turned back from her fruitless quest, with a heart-sinking sense of disappointment. In all her years of seclusion, she had never felt, as now, what it was to be alone. It seemed as if the house stood in a desert, or, Dy some spell, was made invisible to those who dwelt around, or passed beside it ; so that any mode of misfortune, miserable accident, or crime might happen in it without the possibility of aid. In her grief and wounded pride, Hepzibah had spent her life in divesting herself of friends ; she had wilfully cast off the support which God has ordained his creatures to need from one another ; and it was now her punishment, that Clifford and herself would fall the easier victims to their kindred enemy. Returning to the arched window, she lifted her eyes, — scowhng, poor, dim-sighted Hepzibah, in the face of Heaven ! — and strove hard to send up a prayer through the dense gray pavement of clouds. Those mists had CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 279 gathered, as if to symbolize a great, brooding mass of human trouble, doubt, confusion, and chill indifference, between earth and the better regions. Her faith was too weak ; the prayer too heavy to be thus uplifted. It fell back, a lump of lead, upon her heart. It smote her with the wretched conviction that Providence intermeddled not in these petty wrongs of one individual to bis fel- low, nor had any balm for these little agonies of a soli- tary soul ; but shed its justice, and its mercy, in a broad, sunlike sweep, over half the universe at once. Its vast- ness made it nothmg. But Hepzibah did not see that, just as there comes a warm sunbeam into every cottage wmdow, so comes a love-beam of God's care and pity, for every separate need. At last, finduig no other pretext for deferring tlie tor- ture that she was to inflict on Chfford, — her reluctance to which was the true cause of her loitering at the win- dow, her search for the artist, and even her abortive prayer, — dreading, also, to hear the stern voice of Judge Pyncheon from below stairs, chiding her delay, — she crept slowly, a pale, grief-stricken figure, a dismal shape of woman, with almost torpid hmbs, slowly to her broth- er's door, aud knocked ! There was no reply ! And how should there have been ? Her hand, tremu- lous with the shrinking purpose which directed it, had smitten so feebly against the door that the sound could hardly have gone inward. She knocked again. Still, no response ! Nor was it to be wondered at. She had struck with the entire force of her heart's vibration, com- municating, by some subtile magnetism, her own terror to the summons. Clifford would turn his face to the pil- low, and cover his head beneath the bedclothes, like a startled child at midnight. She knocked a third time, 280 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. three regular strokes, gentle, but perfectly distinct, and with meaning in them ; for, modulate it with what cau- tious art we will, the hand cannot help playing some tune of what we feel, upon the senseless wood. Clifford returned no answer. " Clifford ! dear brother ! " said Hepzibah. " Shall I come in ? " A silence. Two or three times, and more, Hepzibah repeated his name, without result ; till, thinking her brother's sleep unwontedly profound, she undid the door, and entermg, found the chamber vacant. How could he have come forth, and when, without her knowledge ? Was it possi- ble that, in spite of the stormy day, and worn out with the irksomeness within doors, he had betaken himself to his customary haunt in the garden, and was now shiver- iug under the cheerless shelter of the summer-house ? She hastily threw up a window, thrust forth her turbaued head and the half of her gaunt figure, and searched the whole garden through, as completely as her dim vision would allow. She could see the interior of the summer- house, and its circular seat, kept moist by the droppings of the roof. It had no occupant. Clifford was not there- abouts; unless, indeed, he had crepe for concealment (as, for a moment, Hepzibah fancied might be the case) into a great wet mass of tangled and broad-leaved shadow, where the squash-vines were clambering tumult- uously upon an old wooden framework, set casually aslant against the fence. This could not be, however; he was not there ; for, wliile Hepzibah was looking, a strange grimalkin stole fortli from the very spot, and picked his way across the garden. Twice he paused to snuff the air, and then anew directed his course towards the parlor window. Whether it was only on account of CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 281 the stealthy, paying manner common to the race, or that this cat seemed to have more than ordinary mischief in his thoughts, the old gentlewoman, in spite of her much perplexity, felt an impulse to drive the animal away, and accordingly flung down a window-stick. The cat stared up at her, like a detected thief or murderer, and, the next instant, took to flight. No other living creature was visible in the garden. Chanticleer and his family had either not left their roost, disheartened by the intermina- ble rain, or had done the next wisest thing, by seasonably returning to it. Hepzibah closed the window. But where was Clifford ? Could it be that, aware of the presence of his Evil Destiny, he had crept silently down the staircase, while the Judge and Hepzibah stood talking in the shop, and had softly undone the fastenings of the outer door, and made his escape into the street ? With that thought, she seemed to behold his gray, wrin- kled, yet childlike aspect, in the old-fashioned garments which he wore about the house; a figure such as one sometimes imagines himself to be, with the world's eye upon him, in a troubled dream. This figure of her wretched brother would go wandering through the city, attracting all eyes, and everybody's wonder and repug- nance, like a ghost, the more to be shuddered at because visible at noontide. To incur the ridicule of the younger crowd, that knew him not, — the harsher scorn and in- dignation of a few old men, who might recall his once familiar features ! To be the sport of boys, who, when old enough to run about the streets, have no more rever- ence for what is beautiful and holy, nor pity for what is sad, — no more sense of sacred misery, sanctifying tha human shape in which it embodies itself, — than if Satan were the father of them all ! Goaded by their taunts, their loud, shrill cries, and cruel laughter, — insulte^^ bj" 282 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. the filth of the public ways, which they would fling upo» him, — or, as it might well be, distracted by the mere strangeness of his situation, though nobody should afflict him with so much as a thoughtless word, — what wonder if Clifford were to break into some wild extravagance which was certain to be interpreted as lunacy ? Thus Judge Pyncheon's fiendish scheme would be ready accom- pHshed to his hands ! Then Hepzibah reflected that the town was almost com- pletely water-girdled. The wharves stretched out towards the centre of the harbor, and, in this inclement weather, were deserted by the ordinary throng of merchants, labor- ers, and sea-faring men ; each wharf a solitude, with the vessels moored stem and stern, along its misty length. Should her brother's aimless footsteps stray thitherward, and he but bend, one moment, over the deep, black tide, would he not bethink himself that here was the sure refuge within his reach, and that, with a single step, or the slightest overbalance of his body, he might be forever beyond his kinsman's gripe ? O, the temptation ! To make of his ponderous sorrow a security ! To sink, with its leaden weight upon him, and never rise again ! The horror of this last conception was too much for Hepzibah. Even Jaffrey Pyncheon must help her now ! She hastened down the staircase, shrieking as she went. " Cliff"ord is gone ! " she cried. " I cannot find my brother ! Help, Jaffrey Pyncheon ! Some harm will happen to him ! " She threw open the parlor-door. But, what with the shade of branches across the windows, and the smoke- blackened ceiling, and the dark oak-panelling of the walls, there was hardly so much daylight in the room that Hep- zibah's imperfect sight could accurately distinguish the Judge's figure. She was certain, however, that she saw CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 283 him sitting in the ancestral arm-chair, near the centre of the floor, with his face somewhat averted, and looking towards a window. So firm and quiet is the nervous sys- tem of such men as Judge Pyncheon, that he had perhaps stirred not more than once since her departure, but, in the hard composure of his temperament, retained the posi- tion into which accident had thrown him. " I tell you, Jaffrey," cried Hepzibah, impatiently, as she turned from the parlor-door to search other rooms, " my brother is not in his chamber ! You must help me seek him ! " But Judge Pyncheon was not the man to let himself be startled from an easy-chair with haste ill-befitting either the dignity of his character or his broad personal basis, by the alarm of an hysteric woman. Yet, consid- ering his own interest in the matter, he might have be- stirred himself with a little more alacrity. " Do you hear me, Jafi'rey Pyncheon ? " screamed Hep- zibah, as she again approached the parlor-door, after an inefi'ectual search elsewhere. " Clifford is gone ! " At this instant, on the threshold of the parlor, emer- ging from within, appeared Clifford himself! His face was preteriiaturally pale ; so deadly white, indeed, that, through all the glimmering indistinctness of the passage- way, Hepzibah could discern his features, as if a light fell on them alone. Their vivid and wild expression seemed likewise sufficient to illuminate them ; it was an expression of scorn and mockery, coinciding with the emotions indicated by his gesture. As Ciifibrd stood on the threshold, partly turning back, he pointed his finger within the parlor, and shook it slowly as thougli he would have summoned, not Hepzibah alone, but the whole world, to gaze at some object inconceivably ridic- ulous. This action, so iU-timed and extra vaf?ant, — ao 284 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. companied, too, witli a look that showed more like joy than any other kind of excitement, — compelled Hepzi- bah to dread that her stern kinsman's ominous visit had driven her poor brother to absolute insanity. Nor could she otherwise account for the Judge's quiescent mood than by supposing him craftily on the watch, while Clif- ford developed these symptoms of a distracted mind. " Be quiet, Chfford ! " whispered his sister, raising her hand, to impress caution. " 0, for Heaven's sake, be quiet ! " " Let him be quiet ! What can he do better ? " an- swered Clifford, with a still wilder gesture, pointing into the room which he had just quitted. " As for us, Hep- zibah, we can dance now ! — we can sing, laugh, play, do what we will ! The weight is gone, Hepzibah ! it is gone off this weary old world, and we may be as light- hearted as little Phoebe herself! " And, in accordance with his words, he began to laugh, still pointing his finger at the object, invisible to Hepzi- bah, within the parlor. She was seized with a sudden intuition of some horrible thing. She thrust herself past Clifford, and disappeared into the room ; but almost im- mediately returned, with a cry choking in her throat. Gazing at her brother, with an affrighted glance of in- quiry, she beheld him all in a tremor and a quake, from head to foot, while, amid these commoted elements of passion or alarm, still flickered his gusty mirth. " My God ! what is to become of us ? " gasped Hep- zibah. " Come ! " said Clifford, in a tone of brief decision, most unlike what was usual with him. *' We stay here too long ! Let us leave the old house to our cousin Jaffrey ! He will take good care of it ! " Hepzibah now noticed that Clifford had on a cloak, — • CLIFFORD'S CHAMBER. 285 a garment of long ago, — in which he had constantly muffled himself during these days of easterly storm. He beckoned with his hand, and intimated, so far as she could comprehend him, his purpose that they should go together from the house. There are chaotic, blind, or drunken moments, in the lives of persons who lack real force of character, — moments of test, in which courage would most assert itself, — but where these individuals, if left to themselves, stagger aimlessly along, or follow implicitly whatever guidance may befall them, even if it be a child's. No matter how preposterous or insane, a purpose is a God-send to them. Hepzibah had reached this point. Unaccustomed to action or responsibility, — full ot horror at what she had seen, and afraid to in- quire, or almost to imagine, how it had come to pass, — affrighted at the fatality which seemed to pursue her brother, — stupefied by the dim, thick, stifling atmos- phere of dread, which filled the house as with a death- smell, and obliterated all definiteness of thought, — she yielded without a question, and on the instant, to the will which Clifford expressed. For herself, she was like a person in a dream, when the will always sleeps. Clif- ford, ordinarily so destitute of this faculty, had found it in the tension of the crisis. " Why do you delay so ? " cried he, sharply. " Put on your cloak and hood, or whatever it pleases you to wear ! No matter what ; — you cannot look beautiful nor brilliant, my poor Hepzibah ! Take your purse, with money in it, and come along ! " Hepzibah obeyed these instructions, as if nothing else were to be done or thought of. She began to wonder, it is true, why she did not wake up, and at what still more intolerable pitch of dizzy trouble her spirit would strug- gle out of the maze, and make her conscious that nothing 286 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. of all this had actually happened. Of course it vrhs not real ; no such black, easterly day as this had yet begun to be ; Judge Pyncheon had not talked with her ; Clif- ford had not laughed, pointed, beckoned her away with him ; but she had merely been afflicted — as lonely sleep- ers often are -7- with a great deal of unreasonable misery, in a morning dream ! "Now — now — I shall cert.iinly awake!" thought Hepzibah, as she went to and fro, making her little preparations. " I can bear it no longer ! I must wake up now ! " But it came not, that awakening moment ! It came not, even when, just before they left the house, Chfford. stole to the parlor-door, and made a parting obeisance to the sole occupant of the room. " What an absurd figure the old fellow cuts now ! " whispered he to Hepzibah. " Just when he fancied he had me completely under his thumb ! Come, come ; make haste ! or he will start up, like Giant Despair in pursuit of Christian and Hopeful, and catch us yet ! " As they passed into the street, CUfford directed Hep- zibah's attention to something on one of the posts of the front door. It was merely the initials of his own name, which, with somewhat of his characteristic grace about the forms of the letters, he had cut there, when a boy. The brotlier and sister departed, and left Judge Pyn- cheon sitting in the old home of his forefathers, all by himself ; so heavy and lumpish that we can liken him to nothing better than a defunct nightmare, which had per- ished in the midst of its wickedness, and left its flabby corpse on the breast of the tormented one, to be gotten rid of as it might ! XYII. THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. UMMEU as it was, the east -wind set poor Ixep- zibali's few remaining teeth chattering in her head, as she and Clilford faced it, on their way up P;yncheon Street, and towards the centre of the town. Not merely was it the shiver which this pitiless blast brought to her frame (although her feet and hands, espe- cially, had never seemed so death-a-cold as now), but there was a moral sensation, mingling itself with the physical chill, and causing her to shake more jn spirit than in body. The world's broad, bleak atmosphere was all so comfortless ! Such, indeed, is the impression which it makes on every new adventurer, even if he plunge into it while the warmest tide of life is bubbling through his veins. What, then, must it have been to Hepzibah and CliiFord, — so time-stricken as they were, yet so like chil- dren in their inexperience, — as they left the doorstep, and passed from beneath the wide shelter of the Pyn- cheon Elm ! They were wandering all abroad, on pre- cisely such a pilgrimage as a child often meditates, to the world's end, with perhaps a sixpence and a biscuit in his pocket. In Hepzibah's mind, there was the wretched consciousness of being adrift. She had lost the faculty 288 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. of self-guidance ; but, in view of tte difficulties around her, felt it hardly worth an effort to regaui it, and was, moreover, incapable of making one. As they proceeded on their strange expedition she now and then cast a look sidelong at Clifford, and could not but observe that he was possessed and swayed by a powerful excitement. It was this, indeed, that gave him the control which he had at once, and so irresistibly, established over his movements. It not a little resembled the exhilaration of wine. Or, it might more fancifully be compared to a joyous piece of music, played with wild vivacity, but upon a disordered instrument. As the cracked jarring note might always be heard, and as it jarred loudest amid the loftiest exultation of the melody, so was there a continual quake through Clifford, causing him most to quiver while he wore a triumphant smile, and seemed almost under a necessity to skip in his gait. They met few people abroad, even on passing from the retired neighborhood of the House of the Seven Gables into what was ordinarily the more thronged and busier portion of the town. Ghstening sidewalks, with Httle pools of rain, here and there, along their unequal surface ; umbrellas displayed ostentatiously in the shop-windows, as if the hfe of trade had concentred itself in that one article ; wet leaves of the horse-chestnut or elm trees, torn off untimely by the blast and scattered along the public way ; an unsightly accumulation of mud in the middle of the street, which perversely grew the more un- clean for its long and laborious washing ; — these were the more definable pomts of a very sombre picture. In the way of movement, and human life, there was the hasty rattle of a cab or coach, its driver protected by a water-proof cr.p over his head and shoulders ; the forlorn figure of an old man, who seemed to have crept out of some THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 28^ subterranean sewer, and was stooping along the kennel, and poking the wet rubbish with a stick, in quest of rusty nails ; a merchant or two, at the door of the post- office, together with an editor, and a miscellaneous politi- cian, awaiting a dilatory mail ; a few visages of retired sea-captains at the window of an insurance office, look- ing out vacantly at the vacant street, blaspheming at the weather, and fretting at the dearth as well of public news as local gossip. What a treasure-trove to these venerable quidnuncs, could they have guessed the secret which Hep- zibah and Clifford were carrying along with them ! But their two figures attracted hardly so much notice as that of a young girl, who passed at the same instant, and happened to raise her skirt a trifle too high above her an- kles. Had it been a sunny and cheerful day, they could hardly have gone through the streets without making themselves obnoxious to remark. Now, probably, they were felt to be in keeping with the dismal and bitter weather, and therefore did not stand out in strong relief, as if the sun were shining on them, but melted into the gray gloom and were forgotten as soon as gone. Poor Hepzibah ! Could she have understood this fact, it would have brought her some little comfort ; for, to all her other troubles, — strange to say ! — there waa added the womanish and old-maiden-like misery arising from a sense of unseemliness in her attire. Thus, she was fain to shrink deeper into herself, as it were, as if in the hope of making people suppose that here was only a cloak and hood, threadbare and wofully faded, taking aq airing in the midst of the storm, without any wearer! As they went on, the feeling of indistinctness and un- reality kept dimly hovering round about her, and so dif- fusing itself into her system that one of her hands waa hardly palpable to the touch of the other. Any certainty 290 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. would have been preferable to this. She whispered tb herself, again and again, " Am I awake ? — Am I awake ? " and sometimes exposed her face to the chill spatter of the wind, for the sake of its rude assurance that she was. Whether it was CHfFord's purpose, or only chance, had led them thither, they now found themselves passing beneath the arched entrance of a large structure of gray stone. Within, there was a spacious breadth, and an airy height from floor to roof, now partially filled with smoke and steam, which eddied voluminously up- ward, and formed a mimic cloud-region over their heads. A train of cars was just ready for a start ; the locomo- tive was fretting and fuming, like a steed impatient for a headlong rush ; and the bell rang out its hasty peal, so well expressing the brief summons which life vouchsafes to us, in its hurried career. Without question or delay, — with the irresistible decision, if not rather to be called recklessness, which had so strangely taken possession of him, and through him of Hepzibah, — Clifford impelled her towards the cars, and assisted her to enter. The signal was given ; the engine puffed forth its short, quick breaths ; the train began its movement ; and, along wdth a hundred other passengers, these two unwonted travel- lers sped onward like the wind. At last, therefore, and after so long estrangement from everything that the world acted or enjoyed, they had been drawn into the great current of human life, and were swept away with it, as by the suction of fate it- self. Still haunted with the idea that not one of the past incidents, inclusive of Judge Pyncheon's visit, could be real, the recluse of the Seven Gabks murmured in hei brother's ear, — " Chfford ! Clifford ! Is not this a dream ? " THE FLIGHT OF TWO 0T7LS. 291 *'A dream, Hepzibah ! " repeated he, almost laughing in her face. " On the CDntrary, I have never been awake before ! " Meanwhile, looking from the window, they could see the world racing past them. At one moment, they were rattling through a solitude; the next, a village had grown up around them ; a few breaths more, and it had vanished, as if swallowed by an earthquake. The spires of meeting-houses seemed set adrift frcftn their founda- tions ; the broad-based hills ghded away. Everything was unfixed from its age-long rest, and moving at whirl- wind speed in a direction opposite to their own. Within the car, there was the usual interior life of the railroad, offering httle to the observation of other pas- sengers, but full of novelty for this pair of strangely en- franchised prisoners. It was novelty enough, indeed, that there were fifty human beings in close relation witK them, under one long and narrow roof, and drawn onward by the same nftghty influence that had taken their two selves into its grasp. It seemed marvellous how all these people could remain so quietly in their seats, while so much noisy strength was at work in their behalf. Some, with tickets in. their hats (long travellers these, before whom lay a hundred miles of railroad), had plunged mto the English scenery and adventures of pamphlet novels, and were keeping company with dukes and earls. Others, whose briefer span forbade their de- voting themselves to studies so abstruse, beguiled the little tedium of the way with penny-papers. A party of girls, and one young man, on opposite sides of the car, found huge amusement in a game of ball. They tossed it to and fro, with peals of laughter that might be meas- nred by mile-lengths; for, faster than the nimble ball could fly, the merry players fled unconsciously along. 292 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. leaving the trail of tlieir mirtli afar beliiud, and ending their game under another sky than had witnessed its commencement. Boys, with apples, cakes, candy, and roUs of variously tinctured lozenges, — merchandise that reminded Hepzibah of her deserted shop, — appeared at each momentary stoppiag-place, doing up their business in a hurry, or breaking it short off, lest the market should ravish them away with it. New people contmu- ally entered. Old acquaintances — for such they soon grew to be, in this rapid current of affairs — continually departed. Here and there, amid the rumble and the tu- mult, sat one asleep. Sleep; sport; business; graver or lighter study ; and the common and inevitable move- ment onward ! It was life itself ! Chfford's naturally poignant sympathies were all aroused. He caught the color of what was passing about him, and threw it back more vividly than he received it, but mixed, nevertheless, with a lurid and portentous hue. Hepzibah, on the other hand, felt hersfelf more apart from human kmd than even in the seclusion which she had just quitted. " You are not happy, Hepzibah ! " said Clifford, apart, in a tone of reproach. " You are thmking of that dismal old house, and of Cousin Jaffrey," — here came the quake through him, — " and of Cousin Jaffrey sitting there, all by himself ! Take my advice, — follow my example, — and let such things slip aside. Here we are, in the world, Hepzibah ! — in the midst of life ! — in the throng of our fellow-beings ! Let you and I be happy ! As happy as that youth, and those pretty girls, at their game of ball ! " "Happy!" thought Hepzibah, bitterly conscious, at the word, of her dull and heavy heart, with the frozen pain in it, — " happy ! He is mad already ; and, if I THE .FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 293 could once feel myself broad awake, I should go mad too ! " If a fixed idea be madness, she was perhaps not remote from it. Fast and far as they had rattled and clattered along the iron track, they might just as well, as regarded Hepzibah's mental images, have been passing up and down Pyncheon Street. With miles and miles of varied scenery between, there was no scene for her, save the seven old gable-peaks, with their moss, and the tuft of weeds in one of the angles, and the shop-window, and a customer shaking the door, and compelling the little bell to jingle fiercely, but without disturbing Judge Pyncheon ! This one old house was everywhere ! It transported its great, lumbering bulk, with more than railroad speed, and set itself phlegmatically down on whatever spot she glanced at. The quality of Hepzibah's mind was too un- malleable to take new impressions so readily as Cliff'ord's. He had a winged nature ; she was rather of the vegetable kind, and could hardly be kept long alive, if drawn up by the roots. Thus it happened that the relation heretofore existing between her brother and herself was changed. At home, she was his guardian ; here, Chff'ord had become hers, and seemed to comprehend whatever belonged to their new position with a singular rapidity of intelligence. He had been startled into manhood and intellectual vigor ; or, at least, into a condition that resembled them, though it might be both diseased and transitory. The conductor now applied for their tickets ; and Clif- ford, who had made himself the purse-bearer, put a bank- note into his hand, as he had observed others do. " For the lady and yourself ? " asked the conductor. "And how far?" " As far as that will carry us," said Clifi'ord. " It is no great matter. We are riding for pleasure merely ! " 294 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. " You choose a strange day for it, sir ! " remarked a gimlet-eyed old gentleirian, on the other side of the car, looking at Clifford and his companion, as if curious to make them out. "The best chance of pleasure, in an easterly rain, I take it, is in a man's own house, with s: nice little fire in the chimney." "I cannot precisely agree with you," said Clifford, courteously bowing to the old gentleman, and at once taking up the clew of conversation which the latter had proffered. " It had just occurred to me, on the contrary, that this admirable invention of the railroad — with the vast and inevitable improvements to be looked for, both as to sjDced and convenience — is destined to do away with those stale ideas of home and fireside, and substitute something better." " In the name of common-sense," asked the old gentle- man, rather testily, " what can be better for a man than his own parlor and chimney-corner ? " "These things have not the merit which many good people attribute to them," replied Clifford. " They may be said, in few and pithy words, to have ill served a poor purpose. My impression is, that our wonderfully in- creased and still increasing facilities of locomotion are destined to bring us round again to the nomadic state. You arc aware, my dear sir, — you must have observed it, in your own experience, — that all human progress is in a circle ; or, to use a more accurate and beautiful figure, in an ascending spiral curve. While we fancy ourselves going straight forward, and attaining, at every step, an entirely new position of affairs, we do actually return to something long ago tried and abandoned, but which we now find ethcrealized, refined, and perfected to its ideal. The past is but a coarse and sensual prophecy of the present and the future. To apply this truth to the topic THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 295 now under discussion. In the early epochs of our race, men dwelt iu temporary huts, of bowers of branches, as easily constructed as a bird's nest, and which they built, — if it should be called building, when such sweet homes of a summer solstice rather grew than were made with hands, — which Nature, we will say, assisted them to rear, where fruit abounded, where fish and game were plentiful, or, most especially, where the sense of beauty was to be gratitled by a loveUer shade than elsewhere, and a more exquisite arrangement of late, wood, and hill. This life possessed a charm, which, ever since man quitted it, has vanished from existence. And it typified some- thing better than itself. It had its drawbacks; such as hunger mid thirst, inclement weather, hot sunshine, and weary and foot-blistering marches over barren and ugly tracts, that lay between the sites desirable for their fer- tility and beauty. But, 'in our ascending spiral, we escape all this. These railroads — could but the whistle be made musical, and the rumble and the jar got rid of — are positively the greatest blessing that the ages have wrought out for us. They give us wings ; they annihi- late the toil and dust of pilgrimage ; they spiritualize travel ! Transition being so facile, what can be any man's inducement to tarry in one spot ? Why, there- fore, should he build a more euiubrous habitation than can readily be carried ofi' with him? Wiiy should he make himself a prisoner for life in brick, and stone, and old worm-eaten timber, when he may just as easily dwell, in one sense, nowhere, — in a better sense, wherever the tit and beautiful shall offer him a home ? " Clifford's countenance glowed, as he divulged this theory ; a youthful character shone out from within, con- verting the wrinkles and pallid duskiness of age hito an almost tniusparent mask. Tlie merry girls let their ball 296 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. drop upon the floor, and gazed at him. They said to themselves, perhaps, that, before his hair was gray and the crow's-feet tracked bis temples, this now decaying man must have stamped the impress of his features on many a woman's heart. But, alas ! no woman's eye had seen his face while it was beautifid. " I should scarcely call it an improved state of things," ohsen-ed Clifford's new acquaintance, " to hve everywhere and nowhere ! " " Would you not ? " exclaimed Chfford, with singular energy. " It is as clear to me as sunshine, — were there any in the sky, — that the greatest possible stumbling- blocks in the path of human happiness and improvement are these heaps of bricks and stones, consolidated with mortar, or hewn timber, fastened together with spike- nails, which men painfully contrive for their own tor- ment, and call them house and home ! The soul needs air ; a wide sweep and frequent change of it Morbid influences, in a thousand-fold variety, gather about hearths, and pollute the hfe of households. There is no such unwholesome atmosphere as that of an old home, rendered poisonous by one's defunct forefathers and rela- tives. I speak of what I know. There is a certain house within my famUiar recollection, — one of those peaked- gable (there are seven of them), projecting-storied edi- fices, such as you occasionally see, in our older towns, — a rusty, crazy, creaky, dry-rotted, damp-rotted, dingy, dark, and miserable old dungeon, with an arched window over the porch, and a httle shop-door on one side, and a great, melancholy elm before it ! Now, sir, whenever my thoughts recur to this seven-gabled mansion (the fact is so very curious that I must needs mention it), immediately I have a vision or image of an elderly man, cf remarkably stern countenance, sitting in an oaken THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 2Q ( elbow-chair, dead, stone-dead, with an ugly flow of blood upon his shirt-bosom ! Dead, but with open eyes ! He taints the whole house, as I remember it. I could never flourish there, nor be happy, nor do nor enjoy what God meant me to do and enjoy ! " His face darkened, and seemed to contract, and shrivel itself up, and wither into age. " Never, sir ! " he repeated. " I could never draw- cheerful breath there ! " " I should think not," said the old gentleman, eying CHfford earnestly, and rather apprehensively. " I should conceive not, sir, with that notion in your head ! " "Surely not," continued Clifford; "and it were a relief to me if that house could be torn down, or burnt up, and so the earth be rid of it, and grass be sown abundantly over its foundation. Not that I should ever visit its site again ! for, sir, the farther I get away from it, the more does the joy, the lightsome freshness, the heart-leap, the intellectual dance, the youth, in short, — yes, my youth, my youth ! — the more does it come back to me. No longer ago than this morning, I was old. I remember looking in the glass, and wondering at my own gray hair, and the wrinkles, many and deep, right across my brow, and the furrows down my cheeks, and the prodigious trampling of crow's-feet about my tem- ples ! It was too soon ! I could not bear it ! Age had no right to come ! I had not lived ! But now do I look old ? If so, my aspect belies me strangely ; for — a great weight being off my mind — I feel in the very heyday of my youth, with the world and my best days before me ! " " I trust you may find it so," said the old gentleman, who seemed rather embarrassed, and desirous of avoiding the observation which Clifford's wild talk drew on them both. " You have my best wishes for it." 298 THE HOUSE OP THE SEVEN GABLES. " Por Heaven's sake, dear Clifford, be quiet ! " whisk pared Ms sister. " They think you mad." " Be quiet yourself, Hepzibah ! " returned her brother. " No matter what they think ! I am not mad. For the first time in thirty years, my thoughts gush up and find words ready for them. I must talk, and I will ! " He turned again towards the old gentleman, and re- newed the conversation. *' Yes, my dear sir," said he, "it is my firm belief and hope, that these terms of roof and hearth-stone, which have so long been held to embody something sacred, are soon to pass out of men's daily use, and be forgotten. Just imagine, for a moment, how much of human evil will crumble away, with this one change! What we call real estate — the solid ground to build a house on — is the broad foundation on which nearly all the guilt of this world rests. A man will commit almost any wrong, — he will heap up an immense pile of wicked- ness, as hard as granite, and which will weigh as heavily upon his soul, to eternal ages, — only to build a great, gloomy, dark-chambered mansion, for himself to die in, and for his posterity to be miserable in. He lays his own dead corpse beneath the underpinning, as one may say, and hangs his frowning picture on the wall, and, after thus converting himself into an evil destiny, ex- pects his remotest great-grandchildren to be happy there ! I do not speak wildly. I have just such a house in my mind's eye ! " " Then, sir," said the old gentleman, getting anxious to drop the subject, " you are not to blame for leaving it." "Within the lifetime of the child already born," Clif. ford went on, " all this will be done away. The world is growing too ethereal and spiritual to bear these enor- THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 299 mities a great while longer. To me, — though, for a considerable period of time, I have lived chiefly in re- tirement, and know less of such things than most men, — even to me, the harbingers of a better era are unmis- takable. Mesmerism, now ! Will that effect nothing, think you, towards purging away the grossness out of human life ? '' "All a humbug ! " growled the old gentleman. "These rapping spirits, that little Phoebe told us of, the other day," said Clifford, — " what are these but the messengers of the spiritual world, knocking at the door of substance ? And it shall be flung wide open ! " "A humbug, again! " cried the old gentleman, grow- ing more and more testy, at these glimpses of Clifford's metaphysics. "I should like to rap with a good stick on the empty pates of the dolts who circulate such non- sense ! " " Then there is electricity ; — the demon, the angel, the mighty physical power, the all-pervading intelli- gence ! " exclaimed Clifford. " Is that a humbug, too ? Is it a fact — or have I dreamt it — that, by means of electricity, the world of matter has become a great nerve, vibrating thousands of miles in a breathless point of time ? Rather, the round globe is a vast head, a brain, instinct with intelligence ! Or, shall we say, it is itself a thought, nothing but thought, and no longer the sub- stance which we deemed it ! " " If you mean the telegraph," said the old gentleman, glancing his eye toward its wire, alongside the rail-track, " it is an excellent thing ; — that is, of course, if the speculators in cotton and politics don't get possession of it. A great thing, indeed, sir; particularly as re- gards the detection of bank-robbers and murderers." *' I don't quite like it, in that point of view," replied 300 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Clifford. "A bauk-robber, and what you call a mur- derer, likewise, has his rights, which men of enlightened humanity and conscience should regard in so much the more liberal spirit, because the bulk of society is prone to controvert their existence. An almost spiritual me- dium, like the electric telegraph, should be consecrated to high, deep, joyful, and holy missions. Lovers, day by day, — hour by hour, if so often moved to do it, — might send their heart-throbs from Maine to Florida, with some such words as these, 'I love you for- ever ! ' — * My heart runs over with love ! ' — 'I love you more than I can ! ' and, again, at the next mes- sage, ' I have lived an hour longer, and love you twice as much ! ' Or, when a good man has departed, his distant friend should be conscious of an electric thrill, as from the world of happy spirits, telhng him, ' Your dear friend is in bhss ! ' Or, to an absent husband, should come tidings thus, 'An immortal being, of whom you are the father, has this moment come from God ! ' and immediately its Httle voice would seem to have reached so far, and to be echoing in his heart. But for these poor rogues, the bank-robbers, — who after all, are about as honest as nine people in ten, except that they disregard certain formahties, and pre- fer to transact business at midnight, rather ^.an 'Change- hours, — and for these murderers, as you phrase it, who are often excusable in the motives of their deed, and deserve to be ranked among public benefactors, if we consider only its result, — for unfortunate individuals like these, I really cannot applaud the enlistment of an immaterial and miraculous power in the universal world-hunt at their heels ! " "You can't, hey?" cried the old gentleman, with a hard look. THE FLIGHT OF TWO OWLS. 301 " Positively, no ! " answered Clifford. " It puts them too miserably at disadvantage. Eor example, sir, in a dark, low, cross-beamed, panelled room of an old house, let us suppose a dead man, sitting in an arm-chair, with a blood-stain on his shirt-bosom, — and let us add to our hypothesis another man, issuing from the house, which he feels to be over-filled with the dead man's pres- ence, — and let us lastly imagine him fleeing. Heaven knows whither, at the speed of a hurricane, by railroad ! Now, sir, if the fugitive alight in some distant town, and find all the people babbling about that self-same dead man, whom he has fled so far to avoid the sight and thought of, will you not allow that his natural rights have been infringed ? He has been deprived of his city of refuge, and, in my humble opinion, has suffered in- finite wrong ! " " You are a strange man, sir ! " said the old gentleman, bringing his gimlet-eye to a point on Clifford, as if deter- mined to bore right into him. "I can't see through you ! " " No, I 'U be bound you can't ! " cried Clifford, laugh- ing. " And yet, my dear sir, I am as transparent as the water of Maule's well ! But come, Hepzibah ! We have flown far enough for once. Let us alight, as the birds do, and perch ourselves on the nearest twig, and consult whither we shall fly next ! " Just then, as it happened, the train reached a solitary way-station. Taking advantage of the brief pause, Clif- ford left the car, and drew Hepzibah along with him. A moment afterwards, the train — with all the life of its interior, amid which Clifford had made himself so con- spicuous an object — was gliding away in the distance, and rapidly lessening to a point, which, in another mo- ment, vanished. The world had fled away from these 802 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. two wanderers. Tliej gazed drearily about them. At a little distance stood a wooden church, black with age, and in a dismal state of ruin and decay, with broken windows, a great rift through the main body of the edi- fice, and a rafter dangling from the top of the square tower. Farther off was a farm-house, in the old style, as venerably black as the church, with a roof sloping downward from the three-story peak, to within a man's height of the ground. It seemed uninhabited. There were the relics of a wood-pile, indeed, near the door, but with grass sprouting up among the chips and scattered logs. The small rain-drops came down aslant ; the wind was not turbulent, but sullen, and full of chilly moisture. Clifford shivered from head to foot. The wild effer- vescence of his mood — which had so readily supplied thoughts, fantasies, and a strange aptitude of words, and impelled him to talk from the mere necessity of giving vent to this bubbling-up gush of ideas — had entirely subsided. A powerful excitement had given him energy and vivacity. Its operation over, he forthwith began to sink. " You must take the lead now, Hepzibah ! " murmured he, with a torpid and reluctant utterance. " Do with me as you will ! " She knelt down upon the platform where they were standing, and lifted her clasped hands to the sky. The dull, gray weight of clouds made it invisible ; but it was no hour for disbelief ; - — no juncture this, to question that there was a sky above, and an Almighty Father looking down from it ! "O God ! " — ejaculated poor, gaunt Hepzibah, — then paused a moment, to consider what her prayer should be, — " O God, — our Father, — are we not thy children P Have mercy on us ! " XYin. GOVEENOR PYNCHEON. UDGE PYNCHEON, while his two relatives have fled away with such ill-considered haste, still sits in the old parlor, keeping house, as the familiar phrase is, in the absence of its ordinary oc- cupants. To him, and to the venerable House of the Seven Gables, does our story now betake itself, like an owl, bewildered in the daylight, and hastening back to his hollow tree. The Judge has not shifted his position for a long while now. He has not stirred hand or foot, nor withdrawn his eyes so much as a hair's-breadth from their fixed gaze towards the corner of the room, since the footsteps of Hepzibah and Clifford creaked along the passage, and the outer door was closed cautiously behind their exit. He holds his watch in his left hand, but clutched m such a manner that you cannot see the dial-plate. How pro- found a fit of meditation! Or, supposing him asleep, how infantile a quietude of conscience, and what whole- some order in the gastric region, are betokened by slum- ber so entirely undisturbed with starts, cramp, twitches, muttered dream-talk, trumpet-blasts through the nasal organ, or ar^ the sUghtest irregularity of breath ! You 804 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. must hold your own breath, to satisfy yourself \vhethei he breathes at all. It is quite iuaudible. You hear the ticking of his watch ; his breath you do not hear. A most refreshing slumber, doubtless ! And yet, the Judge cannot be asleep. His eyes are open ! A veteran poh- tician, such as he, would never fall asleep with wide-open eyes, lest some enemy or mischief-maker, taking him thus at unawares, should peep through these windows into his consciousness, and make strange discoveries among the reminiscences, projects, hopes, apprehensions, weak- nesses, and strong points, which he has heretofore shared with nobody. A cautious man is proverbially said to sleep with one eye open. That may be wisdom. But not with both ; for this were heedlessness ! No, no ! Judge Pyncheon cannot be asleep. It is odd, however, that a gentleman so burdened with engagements, — and noted, too, for punctuality, — should luiger thus in an old lonely mansion, which he has never seemed very fond of visiting. The oaken chair, to be sure, may tempt him with its roominess. It is, indeed, a spacious, and, allowing for the rude age that fashioned it, a moderately easy seat, with capacity enough, at all events, and offering no restraint to the Judge's breadth of beam. A bigger man might find ample accommodation in it. His ancestor, now pictured upon the wall, with aU his Enghsh beef about him, used hardly to present a front extendmg from elbow to elbow of this chair, or a base that would cover its whole cushion. But there are better chairs than this, — mahogany, black-walnut, rosewood, spring-seated and damask-cushioned, with va- ried slopes, and innumerable artifices to make them easy, and obviate the irksomeness of too tame an ease ; — a score of such might be at Judge Pyncheon's service. Yes! in a score of drawing-rooms he would be more GOVERNOR PYNCHEON. 805 than welcome. Marama would advance to meet him, with outstretched hand ; the virgin daughter, elderly as he has now got to be, — an old widower, as he smilingly describes himself, — would shake up the cushion for the Judge, and do her pretty little utmost to malce him comfortable. For the Judge is a prosperous man. He clierishes his schemes, moreover, like other people, and reasonably brighter than most others ; or did so, at least, as he lay abed, this morning, in an agreeable half-drowse, planning the business of the day, and speculating on the probabilities of the next fifteen years. With his firm health, and the little inroad that age has made upon him, fifteen years or twenty — yes, or perhaps five-and-twenty ! — are no more than he may fairly call his own. Five-and- twenty years for the enjoyment of his real estate in town and country, his railroad, bank, and insurance shares, his United States stock, — his wealth, in short, however invested, now in possession, or soon to be acquired; together with the public honors that have fallen upon him, and the weightier ones that are yet to fall ! It is good ! It is excellent ! It is enough ! Still lingering in the old chair ! If the Judge has a little time to throw away, why does not he visit the insurance ofiice, as is his frequent custom, and sit awhile in one of their leathern-cushioned arm-chairs, listening to the gossip of the day, and dropping some deeply designed chance-word, which will be certain to become the gossip of to-morrow! And have not the bank directors a meeting at which it was the Judge's purpose to be present, and his oflBce to preside ? Indeed they have ; and the hour is noted on a card, which is, or ought to be, in Judge Pyncheon's right vest-pocket. Let him go thither, and loll at ease upon his money-bags ! He has lounged long enough in the old chair ! 806 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEX GABLES. THs VTRS to have been sucli a busy day I In the iBfsi place, the mtervieTv \nth CliiFord. Half an hour, by the Judge's reckoning, was to suffice for that ; it would prob- ably be less, but — taking into consideration that Hep- zibah was first to be dealt with, and that these women are apt to make many words where a few would do much better — it might be safest to allow half an hour. Half an hour ? TThy, Judge, it is already two hours, by your own undeviatingly accurate chronometer ! Glance your eye down at it and see ! Ah ! he will not give himself the trouble either to bend his head, or elevate his hand, so as to bring the faithful time-keeper within his range of vision ! Time, all at once, appears to have become a matter of no moment with the Judge I And has he forgotten all the other items of his memo- randa ? Clifford's affair arranged, he was to meet a State Street broker, who has undertaken to procure a heavy percentage, and the best of paper, for a few loose thousands which the Judge happens to have by him, uninvested. The wrinkled note-shaver will have taken his railroad trip in vain. HaK an hour later, in the street next to this, there was to be an auction of real estate, including a portion of the old Pyncheon property, originally belongmg to Maule's garden-ground. It has been alienated from the Pyncheons these fourscore years ; but the Judge had kept it in his eye, and had set his heart on reannexing it to the small demesne still left; around the Seven Gables ; — and now, during this odd fit of oblivion, the fatal hammer must have fallen, and transferred our ancient patrimony to some alien possessor ! Possibly, indeed, the sale may have been postponed till fairer weather. If so, will the Judge make it convenient to be present, and favor the auctioneer with his bid, on the proximate occasion? GOVERNOE PYNCHEON. 807 The next affair was to buy a horse for his own driving. The one heretofore his favorite stumbled, tliis very morn- ing, on the road to town, and must be at once discarded. Judge Pyiicheon's neck is too precious to be risked on such a contingency as a stumbUug steed. Should all the above business be seasonably got through with, he might attend the meeting of a charitable society ; the very name of which, however, in the multiplicity of his benev- olence, is quite forgotten ; so that this engagement may pass unfulfilled, and no great harm done. And if he have time, amid the press of more urgent matters, he must take measures for the renewal of Mrs, Pyncheon's tombstone, which, the sexton teUs him, lias fallen on its marble face, and is cracked quite in twain. She was a praiseworthy woman enough, thinks the Judge, in spite of her nervousness, and the tears that she was so oozy with, and her foohsh behavior about the coffee ; and as she took her departure so seasonably, he will not grudge the second tombstone. It is better, at least, than if she had never needed any! The next item on his hst was to give orders for some fruit-trees, of a ra^e variety, to be dehverable at his country-seat, in the ensuing autumn. Yes, buy them, by all means ; and may the peaches be luscious iu your mouth. Judge Pyncheon! After this comes something more important. A committee of his pohtical party has besought him for a hundred or two of dollars, in addition to his previous disbursements, towards carrying on the fall campaign. The Judge is a patriot ; the fate of the country is staked on the November elec- tion ; and besides, as will be shadowed forth in another paragraph, he has no trifling stake of his own, in the same great game. He will do what the committee asks; nay, he will be liberal beyond their expectations ; they shall have a check for five hundred dollars, and more 308 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. anon, if it be needed. What next ? A decayed widow, whose husband was Judge Pyncheon's early friend, has laid her case of destitution before him, in a very moving letter. She and her fair daughter have scarcely bread to eat. He partly intends to call on her, to-day, — perhaps so — perhaps not, — accordingly as he may happen to have leisure, and a small bank-note. Another business, 'which, however, he puts no great weight on (it is well, you know, to be heedful, but not over-anxious, as respects one's personal health), — another business, then, was to consult his family physician. About what, for Heaven's sake ? Why, it is rather difficult to describe the symptoms. A mere dimness of sight and dizziness of brain, was it ? — or a disagreeable choking, or stifling, or gurgling, or bubbling, in the region of the thorax, as the anatomists say ? — or was it a pretty severe throbbmg and kicking of the heart, rather cred- itable to him than otherwise, as showing that the organ had not been left out of the Judge's physical contrivance? No matter what it was. The doctor, probably, would smile at the statement of such trifles to his professional ear; the Judge would smile, in his turn; and meeting one another's eyes, they would enjoy a hearty laugh to- gether ! But a fig for medical advice ! The Judge will never need it. Pray, pray. Judge Pyncheon, look at your watch, now ! What — not a glance ! It is within ten minutes of the dmner-hour ! It surely cannot have shpped your memory that the dinner of to-day is to be the most important, in its consequences, of all the dimiers you ever ate. Yes, precisely the most important ; although, in the course of your somewhat eminent career, you have been placed high towards the head of the table, at splendid banquets, and have poured out your festive eloquence to ears yet GOVERNOR PYNCHEON. 309 echoing with Webster's mighty organ-tones. No public dinner this, however. It is merely a gathering of some dozen or so of friends from several districts of the State ; men of distinguished character and influence, assembhng, almost casually, at the house of a common friend, likewise distinguished, who will make them welcome to a little better than his ordinary fare. Nothing in the way of French cookery, but an excellent dinner, nevertheless. Real turtle, we understand, and salmon, tautog, canvas- backs, pig, English mutton, good roast-beef, or dainties of that serious kind, fit for substantial country gentlemen, as these honorable persons mostly are. The delicacies of the season, in short, and flavored by a brand of old Ma- deira which has been the pride of many seasons. It is the Juno brand; a glorious wine, fragrant, and full of gentle might ; a bottled-up happiness, put by for use ; a golden liquid, worth more than liquid gold ; so rare and admirable, that veteran wine-bibbers count it among their epochs to have tasted it ! It drives away the heart-ache, and substitutes no head-ache ! Could the Judge but quaff a glass, it might enable him to shake off the unac- countable lethargy which (for the ten intervening min- utes, and five to boot, are already past) has made him such a laggard at this momentous dinner. It would all but revive a dead man ! Would you like to sip it now, Judge Pyncheon ? Alas, this dinner ! Have you really forgotten its true object ? Then let us whisper it, that you may start at once out of the oaken chair, which really seems to be enchanted, like the one in Comus, or that in which MoU Pitcher imprisoned your own grandfather. But ambition is a tahsman more powerful than witchcraft. Start up, then, and, hurrying through the streets, burst in upon the company, that they may begin before the fish is 810 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. spoiled ! They wait for you ; and it is little for your interest that tliey should wait. These gentlemen — need you be told it ? — have assembled, not without purpose, from every quarter of the State. They are practised poli- ticians, every man of them, and skilled to adjust those preliminary measures which steal from the people, with- out its knowledge, the power of choosing its own rulers. The popular voice, at the next gubernatorial election, though loud as thunder, will be really but an echo of what these gentlemen shall speak, under their breath, at your friend's festive board. They meet to decide upon their candidate. This little knot of subtle schemers will control the convention, and, through it, dictate to the party. And what worthier candidate, — more wise and learned, more noted for philanthropic liberality, truer to safe principles, tried oftener by public trusts, more spot- less in private character, with a larger stake in the com- mon welfare, and deeper grounded, by hereditary descent, in the faith and practice of the Puritans, — what man can be presented for the suffrage of the people, so emi- nently combining all these claims to the chief-rulership as Judge Pyncheon here before us? Make haste, then ! Do your part ! The meed for which you have toiled, and fought, and clnnbed, and crept, is ready for your grasp ! Be present at this din- ner ! — drink a glass or two of that noble wine ! — make your pledges in as low a whisper as you will ! — and you rise up from table virtually governor of the glorious old State ! Governor Pyncheon, of Massachusetts ! And is there no potent and exhilarating cordial in a certainty like this ? It has been the grand purpose of half your lifetime to obtain it. Now, when there needs little more than to signify your acceptance, why do you sit so lumpishly in your great-great-grandfather's oaken GOVEENOE PYNCHEON. 311 chair, as if preferring it to the gubernatorial one ? We have ail heard of King Log ; but, in these josthng times, one of tliat rojal kindred will hardly win the race for an elective chief-magistracy. Well ! it is absolutely too late for dinner ! Turtle, salmon, tautog, woodcock, boiled turkey, South-Down mutton, pig, roast-beef, have vanished, or exist only in fragments, with lukewarm potatoes, and gravies crusted over with cold fat. The Judge, had he done nothing else, would have achieved wonders with his knife and fork. It was he, you know, of whom it used to be said, in reference to his ogre-like appetite, that his Creator made him a great animal, but that the dinner-hour made- him a great beast. Persons of his large sensual endow- ments must claim indulgence, at their feeding-time. But, for once, the Judge is entirely too late for dinner ! Too late, we fear, even to join the party at their wine ! The guests are warm and merry ; they have given up the Judge ; and, concluding that the Free-Soilers have him, they will fix upon another candidate. Were our friend now to stalk in among them, with that wide-open stare, at once wild and stoLd, his ungenial presence would be apt to change their cheer. Neither would it be seemlj in Judge Pyncheon, generally so scrupulous in his attire, to show himself at a dinner-table with that crimson stain upon his shirt -bosom. By the by, how came it there ? It is an ugly sight, at any rate; ; and the wisest way for the Judg3 IS to button his coat closely over his breast, and, taking his horse and chaise from the livery -stable, to make all speed to his own house. There, after a glass of brandy and water, and a mutton-chop, a beefsteak, a broiled fowl, or some such hasty little dinner and supper all in one, he had better spend the evening by the fire- side. He must toast his shppers a long while, in order 312 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. to get rid of the cliillmess whicli the air of this vile old house has sent curdling through liis veins. Up, therefore, Ju.dge Pyncheon, up ! You have lost a day. But to-morrow will be here anon. Will you rise, betimes, and make the most of it ? To-morrow ! To- morrow ! To-morrow ! We, that are alive, may rise be- times to-morrow. As for him that has died to-day, his morrow will be the resurrection morn. Meanwhile the twilight is glooming upward out of the corners of the room. The shadows of the tall furniture grow desper, and at first become more definite; then, spreading wider, they lose their distinctness of outline in the dark gray tide of oblivion, as it were, that creeps slowly over the various objects, and the one human figure sitting in the midst of them. The gloom has not en- tered from without ; it has brooded here all day, and now, taking its own inevitable time, will possess itself of every- thing. The Judge's face, indeed, rigid, and singularly white, refuses to melt into this universal solvent. Painter and fainter grows the light. It is as if another double- handful of darkness had been scattered through the air. Now it is no longer gray, but sable. There is still a faint appearance at the window ; neither a glow, nor a gleam, nor a glimmer, — any phrase of light would express some- thing far brighter than this doubtful perception, or sense, rather, that there is a window there. Has it yet van- ished ? No ! — yes ! — not quite ! And there is still the swarthy whiteness, — we shall venture to marry these ill- agreeing words, — the swarthy whiteness of Judge Pyn- cheon's face. The features are all gone; there is only the paleness of them left. And how looks it now ? There is no windoo^ ! There is no face ! An infinite, inscru- table blackness has amiihilated sight ! Where is our universe ? All crumbled away from us ; and we, adrift GOVERNOR PYNCHEON. 313 in chaos, may hearken to the gusts of homeless wind, that go sighmg and murmuring about, in quest of what was once a world ! Is there no other sound ? One other, and a fearfid one. It is the ticking of the Judge's watch, which, ever since Hepzibah left the room in search of Clifford, he has been holding in his hand. Be the cause w^hat it may, this ht- tle, quiet, never-ceasing throb of Time's pulse, repeating its small strokes with such busy regularity, in Judge Pyncheon's motionless hand, has an effect of terror, which we do not find in any other accompaniment of the scene. But, listen ! That puff of the breeze was louder ; it had a tone unlike the dreary and sullen one which has bemoaned itself, and afflicted all mankind with miserable sympathy, for five days past. The wind has veered about ! It now comes boisterously from the northwest, and, taking hold of the aged framework of the Seven Gables, gives it a shake, like a wrestler that would try strength with his antagonist. Another and another stur- dy tussle with the blast ! The old house creaks again, and makes a vociferous but somewhat unintelligible bel- lowing in its sooty throat (the big flue, we mean, of its wide chimney), partly in complamt at the rude wind, but rather, as befits their century and a half of hostile intimacy, in tough defiance. A rumbling kind of a bluster roars behind the fire-board. A door has slammed above stairs. A window, perhaps, has been left open, or else is driven m by an unruly gust. It is not to be conceived, beforehand, what wonderful wind- instruments are these old timber mansions, and ho^r haunted with the strangest noises, which immediately begin to sing, and sigh, and sob, and shriek, — and to smite with sledge-hammers, airy but ponderous, in some 314 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. distant chamber, — and to tread along the entries as with stately footsteps, and rustle up and down the stair- case, as with silks miraculously stiff, — whenever the gale catches the house with a window open, and gets fairly into it. Would that we were not an attendant spirit here ! It is too awful ! This clamor of the wind through the lonely house ; the Judge's quietude, as he sits invisi- ble ; and that pertinacious ticking of liis watch ! As regards Judge Pyncheon's invisibility, however, that matter will soon be remedied. The northwest wind has swept the sky clear. The window is distinctly seen. Through its panes, moreover, we dimly catch the sweep of the dark, clustering foliage, outside, flutteriug with a constant irregularity of movement, and letting in a peep of starlight, now here, now there. Oftener than any other object, these glimpses illuminate the Judge's face. But here comes more effectual light. Observe that sil- very dance upon the upper branches of the pear-tree, and now a httle lower, and now on the whole mass of boughs, while, through their shifting mtricacies, the moonbeams fall aslant into the room. They play over the Judge's figure and show that he has not stirred throughout the hours of darkness. They follow the shadows, in change- ful sport, across his unchanging features. They gleam upon his watch. His grasp conceals the dial-plate ; but we know that the faithful hands have met ; for one of the city clocks tells midnight. A man of sturdy understanding, like Judge Pyncheon, cares no more for twelve o'clock at night than for tlie corresponding hour of noon. However just the parallel drawn, in some of the preceding pages, between his Pu- ritan ancestor and himself, it fails in this point. The Pvncheon of two centuries ago, in common with most of his contemporaries, professed his full belief in spiritual GOVEENOR PYNCHEON. 315 ministrations, although reckoning them chiefly of a ma- lignant character. The Pyncheon of to-night, who sits in yonder arm-chair, believes in no such nonsense. Such, at least, was his creed, some few hours since. His hair will not bristle, therefore, at the stories which — in times when chimney-corners had benches in them, where old people sat poking into the ashes of the past, and raking out traditions like Hve coals — used to be told about this very room of his ancestral house. In fact, these tales are too absurd to bristle even childhood's hair. What sense, meaning, or moral, for example, such as even ghost-sto- ries should be susceptible of, can be traced m the ridicu- lous legend, that, at midnight, all the dead Pyncheons are bound to assemble in this parlor ? And, pray, for what? Why, to see whether the portrait of their ances- tor still keeps its place upon the wall, in compliance with his testamentary directions ! Is it worth while to come out of their graves for that ? We are tempted to make a little sport with the idea. Ghost-stories are hardly to be treated seriously, any longer. The family-party of the defunct Pyncheons, we presume, goes off in this wise. Pirst comes the ancestor himself, in his black cloak, steeple-hat, and trunk-breeches, girt about the waist with a leathern belt, in which hangs his steel-hilted sword; he has a long staff in his hand, such as gentlemen in ad- vanced life used to carry, as much for the dignity of the thing as for the support to be derived from it. He looks up at the portrait ; a thing of no substance, gazing at its own painted image ! All is safe. The picture is still there. The purpose of his brain has been kept sacred thus long after the man himself has sprouted up in grave- yard grass. See ! he lifts his ineffectual hand, and tries the frame. All safe ! But is that a smile ? — is it not, 316 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. rather, a frowii of deadly import, that darkens over the shadow of his features ? The stout Colonel is dissatis- fied ! So decided is his look of discontent as to impart additional distinctness to his features ; through which, nevertheless, the moonUght passes, and flickers on the wall beyond. Something has strangely vexed the ances- tor ! With a grim shake of the head, he turns away. Here come other Pyncheons, the whole tribe, in theii half a dozen generations, jostling and elbowing one an- other, to reach the picture. We behold aged men and grandames, a clergyman with the Puritanic stiffness still in his garb and mien, and a red-coated officer of the old French war ; and there comes the shop-keeping Pyn- cheon of a century ago, with the ruffles turned back from his wrists ; and there the periwigged and brocaded gentleman of the artist's legend, with the beautiful and pensive Ahce, who brings no pride out of her virgin grave. All try the picture-frame. What do these ghostly people seek ? A mother hfts her child, that his Uttle hands may touch it ! There is evidently a mys- tery about the picture, that perplexes these poor Pyn- cheons when they ought to be at rest. In a corner, meanwhile, stands the figure of an elderly man, in a leather jerkin and breeches, with a carpenter's rule sticking out of his side pocket ; he points his iuiger at the bearded Colonel and his descendants, nodding, jeer- ing, mocking, and finally bursting into obstreperous, though inaudible laughter. Indulging our fancy in this fi'cak, we have partly lost the power of restramt and guidance. We distinguish an unlooked-for figure in our visionary scene. Among those ancestral people there is a young man, dressed in the very fashion of to-day ; he wears a dark frock-coat, almost des- titute of skirts, gray pantaloons, gaiter boots of pateni QOVEENOR PYNCHEON. 317 leather, and has a finely wrouglit gold chain across his breast, and a little silver-headed whalebone stick in his hand. Were we to meet this figure at noonday, we should greet him as young Jaff'rey Pyncheon, the Judge's only surviving child, who has been spending the last two years in foreign travel. If still in life, how comes his shadow hither ? If dead, what a misfortune ! The old Pyncheon property, together with the great estate acquired by the young man's father, would devolve on whom ? On poor, foolish Clifford, gaunt Hepzibah, and rustic little Phoebe I But another and a greater marvel greets us ! Can we believe our eyes ? A stout, elderly gentleman has made his appearance ; he has an aspect of eminent respectabil- ity, wears a black coat and pantaloons, of roomy width,, and might be pronounced scrupulously neat in his attire,, but for a broad crimson stain across his snowy neckcloth and down his shirt -bosom. Is it the Judge, or no? How can it be Judge Pyncheon ? We discern his figure, as plainly as the flickering moonbeams can show us any- thing, still seated in the oaken chair ! Be the apparition whose it may, it advances to the picture, seems to seize the frame, tries to peep behind it, and turns away, with a frown as black as the ancestral one. The fantastic scene just hinted at must by no means be considered as forming an actual portion of our story. We were betrayed into this brief extravagance by the quiver of the moonbeams ; they dance hand-in-hand with shadows, and are reflected in the looking-glass, which, you are aware, is always a kind of window or doorway into the spiritual world. We needed relief, moreover, from our too long and exclusive contemplation of that figure in the chair. This wild wind, too, has tossed our thoughts into strange confusion, but without tearing them away from their one determined centre. Yonder leaden 318 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Judge sits immovably upon our soul. Will he never stir again? We shall go mad unless he stirs ! Youmajthe better estimate his quietude by the fearlessness of a little mouse, which sits on its hind legs, m a streak of moon- light, close by Judge Pyncheon's foot, and seems to medi- tate a journey of exploration over this great black bulk. Ha ! what has startled the nimble Httle mouse ^ It is the visage of grimalkin, outside of the window, where he appears to have posted himself for a deliberate watch. This grimalkm has a very ugly look. Is it a cat watch- ing for a mouse, or the devil for a human soul ? Would we could scare him from the window ! Thank Heaven, the night is wellnigh past ! The moon- beams have no longer so silvery a gleam, nor contrast so strongly with the blackness of the shadows among "which they fall. They are paler, now ; the shadows look gray, not black. The boisterous wind is hushed. What is the hour ? Ah ! the watch has at last ceased to tick ; for the Judge's forgetful fingers neglected to wind it up, as usual, at ten o'clock, being half an hour or so before his ordinary bedtime ; — and it has run down, for the first time in five years. But the great world-clock of Time still keeps its beat. The dreary night — for, O, how dreary seems its haunted waste, behind us ! — gives place to a fresh, transparent, cloudless morn. Blessed, blessed radiance ! The day-beam — even what little of it finds its way into this always dnsky parlor — seems part of the universal benediction, annulling evil, and ren- dering all goodness possible, and happiness attainable. Will Judge Pyncheon now rise up from his chair ? Will he go forth, and receive the early sunbeams on his brow? Will he begin this new day, — which God has smiled upon, and blessed, and given to mankind, — will he begin it with better purposes than the many that have been GOVERNOR PYNCHEON. 319 spent amiss ? Or are all the deep-laid schemes of yester- day as stubborn in his heart, and as busy in his brain, as ever? In this latter case, there is much to do. Will the Judge still insist with Hepzibah on the interview with Clifford ? Will he buy a safe, elderly gentleman's horse ? Will he persuade the purchaser of the old Pyncheon property to relinquish the bargain, in his favor ? Will he see his family physician, and obtain a medicine that shall pre-- serve him, to be an honor and blessing to his race, until the utmost term of patriarchal longevity ? Will Judge Pyncheon, above all, make due apologies to that company of honorable friends, and satisfy them that his absence from the festive board was unavoidable, and so fully re- trieve himself in their good opinion that he shall yet be Governor of Massachusetts ? And, all these great pur- poses accomplished, will he walk the streets again, with that dog-day smile of elaborate benevolence, sultry enough to tempt flies to come and buzz in it ? Or wiU he, after the tomb-like seclusion of the past day and night, go forth a humbled and repentant man, sorrowful, gentle, seeking no profit, shrinking from worldly honor, hardly daring to love God, but bold to love his fellow-man, and to do him what good he may ? Will he bear about with him, — no odious grin of feigned benignity, insolent ia its pretence, and loathsome in its falsehood, — but the tender sadness of a contrite heart, broken, at last, be- neath its own weight of sin ? For it is our belief, what- ever show of honor he may have piled upon it, that there was heavy sin at the base of this man's being. Rise up. Judge Pyncheon ! The morning sunshine glimmers through the foHage, and, beautiful and holy as it is, shuns not to kindle up your face. Rise up, thou subtle, worldly, selfish, iron-hearted hypocrite, and make •520 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. thy choice whether still to be subtle, worldly, selfish, iron-hearted, and hypocritical, or to tear these sins out of thy nature, though they bring the hfe-blood wdth them ! The Avenger is upon thee ! Rise up, before it be too late ! What ! Thou art not stiiTcd by tliis last appeal ? No, not a jot ! And there we see a fly, — one of your com- mon house-flies, such as are always buzzing on the win- dow-pane, — which has smelt out Governor Pyncheon, and ahghts, now on his forehead, now on his chin, and now. Heaven help us ! is creeping over the bridge of his nose, towards the would-be chief-magistrate's wide-open eyes ! Canst thou not brash the fly away ? Art thou too sluggish ? Thou man, that hadst so many busy projects, yesterday! Art thou too weak, that wast so powerful ? Not brash away a fly ? Nay, then, we give thee up ! And, hark ! the shop-bell rings. After hours like these latter ones, through which we have borne our heavy tale, it is good to be made sensible that there is a living world, and that even this old, lonely mansion retains some man- ner of connection with it. We breathe more freely, emerging from Judge Pyncheon's presence into the street before the Seven Gables. XIX. ALICE'S POSIES. NCLE YENNER, trundling a wheelbarrow, was the earliest person stirring in the neighbor- hood, the day after the storm. Pjncheon Street, in front of the House of the Seven Gables, was a far pleasanter scene than a by-lane, con- fined by shabby fences, and bordered with wooden dwell- ings of the meaner class, could reasonably be expected to present. Nature made sweet amends, that morning, for the five unkindly days which had preceded it. It would have been enough to live for, merely to look up at the wide benediction of the sky, or as much of it as was vis- ible between the houses, genial once more with sunshine. Every object was agreeable, whether to be gazed at in the breadth, or examined more minutely. Such, for example, were the well-washed pebbles and gravel of the sidewalk ; even the sky-reflecting pools in the centre of the street ; and the grass, now freshly verdant, that crept along the base of the fences, on the other side of which, if one peeped over, was seen the multifarious growth of gardens. Vegetable productions, of whatever kind, seemed more than negatively happy, in the juicy warmth and abundance of their life. The Pyncheon EJm, throughout its great 822 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. circumference, was all alive, and full of the morning sun and a sweet-tempered little breeze, which lingered within this verdant sphere, and set a thousand leafy tongues a-whispering all at once. This aged tree appeared to have suffered nothing from the gale. It had kept its boughs unshattered, and its full complement of leaves; and the whole in perfect verdure, except a single branch, that, by the earlier change with which the elm-tree some- times prophesies the autumn, had been transmuted to bright gold. It was like the golden branch, that gained jEneas and the Sibyl admittance into Hades. This one mystic branch hung down before the main en- trance of the Seven Gables, so nigh the ground that any passer-by might have stood on tiptoe and plucked it off. Presented at the door, it would have been a symbol of his right to enter, and be made acquainted with all the secrets of the house. So little faith is due to external appear- ance, that there was really an inviting aspect over the venerable edifice, conveying an idea that its history must be a decorous and happy one, and such as would be de- lightful for a fireside tale. Its windows gleamed cheer- fully in the slanting sunlight. The lines and tufts of green moss, here and there, seemed pledges of familiarity and sisterhood with Nature ; as if this human dwelling- place, being of such old date, had established its prescrip- tive title among primeval oaks and whatever other objects, by virtue of their long continuance, have acquired a gracious right to be. A person of imaginative tempera- ment, while passing by the house, would turn, once and again, and peruse it well : — its many peaks, consenting together in the clustered chimney ; the deep projection over its basement-story ; the arched window, imparting a look, if not of grandeur, yet of antique gentility, to the broken portal over which it opened ; the luxuriance of ALICE'S POSIES. 323 gigantic burdocks, near the tliresliold : — lie would note all these characteristics, and be conscious of something deeper than he saw. He would conceive the mansion to have been the residence of the stubborn old Puritan, In- tegrity, who, dying in some forgotten generation, had left a blessing in all its rooms and chambers, the efficacy of which was to be seen in the religion, honesty, moderate competence, or upright poverty and sohd happiness, of his descendants, to this day. One object, above all others, would take root in the imaginative observer's memory. It was the great tuft of flowers, — weeds, you would have called them, only a week ago, — the tuft of crimson-spotted flowers, in the angle between the two front gables. The old people used to give them the name of Ahce's Posies, in remem- brance of fair Alice Pyncheon, who was believed to have brought their seeds from Italy. They were flaunting in rich beauty and full bloom to-day, and seemed, as it were, a mystic expression that something within the 'house was consummated. It was but little after sunrise, when Uncle Vernier made his appearance, as aforesaid, impelling a wheel- barrow along the street. He was going his matutinal rounds to collect cabbage-leaves, turnip-tops, potato- skins, and the miscellaneous refuse of the dinner-pot, which the thrifty housewives of the iieigliborhood were accustomed to put aside, as fit only to feed a pig. Un- cle Venner's pig was fed entirely, and kept in prime order, on these eleemosynary contributions; insomuch that the patched philosopher used to promise that, before retiring to his farm, he would make a feast of the portly grunter, and invite all his neighbors to partake of the joints and spare-ribs which they had helped to fatten. Miss Hepzibah Pyncheou's housekeeping had so greatly 8£4 rzz SOUSE of ihe seven- gables. iiE^TiTed, snee CBE^jrd hecame a madDex of xhc finniiT, that her share of tiie bsuaqiiet vooM hare been no leaa Gcue; a.Ti<^ Upcie TeaiEter, accord ipgly, iras a gx>od deal disa^DQinied net to find the lar^ earth en pan, full ol fragmentszy eaiables. that ordinarily awaited his eommg xt the back doorstep of tbe Seven Gafaks. " I nexer knev Miss Hepzibah so forgetful before,^ said the patriarch, to himsell " She must have had a dm-npr Testerday, — no question of that ! She always has cme, nowadays. So where '*s the pot-liqitor and potatQ-^dns, I ask? Shall I knock, and see if she's stirriLis' ypt ? No, no, — "t won't do ! If little Phoebe was ab :-5e, I should not mind knocking ; but Itfls s H _iely as not, would scowl down at me, oiLt of tijc w^dow, and look cross, eroi if she Mt pleas- ainly. Sd, I "H corae back at noon." With tliese reflections, the old man was Cutting ihe gate of the lirtle baek-yard. Creaking on its hinges, iaowerer, tikp erery other gate and door aboot the prem- ises, the soxmd readied the ears of the occupant of the* Dorthem gable, one of tbe windows c^ which had a sade- Tiew towards the gate. " Good morning, Unck Tenner ! " said tbe daguerreo- typist- kaning out of the window. " Do yoa hear no- body snrrrng r ~ "' N:t a soul,-*' : :.zi of paidufs. " ftut tbat 's -G -wzndsr. Th --J an kwr past snaiise, yet. But I "m really glad to see you, Mr. Holgrave ! There *s a strange, lonesome kok about this ade of lie hsouse ; so that my heart misgave me, somehow or other, and I Ml as if there was nobody alive 'm it. Tbe frcait of the house koks a good deal cheerier ; and Abee's Poaes are hioomimg tiiere beauni&illy ; aiid if I w»e a young maa, Mr. Ho%EaEve, my sweedaeart aiaodid have ooe of Ikom AlACrS PDSZES, Si5 floir35 in her boscn. zzz^isrb. I r^ed hit nrck -■'-- "■'-->»• for it!— Wdl, a-i i.i ii:r ui^- irrr V— air^- lasi " It did. indeed ! ~ ansvered tise ardsr. g^-Tfn-p - = H I -- . ^ : .w ^. — especi^/ziA^-s Ze;. is verv QTner nr^^."" _ " y=5' v;:?^ Ef-r -in -Tin be apt to OTET- tr iH nistt, lirli tiie ■ r^ - ;- —in be odi -:^. It, if t_ til ks coQsizts imo ' try alci-^ _ .^_— rir:L go izuo tbe sn. _• ^^ta- terdav." ^ Ai -iriiai bour ' " :z - ~ " . •'O, akm^intbefoT: ■ WeB, ▼ell! I musi st> 217 - -w^jeel. lOT Wrov. Bui I 'II be pi? likes a dinQex ss ^cu^ is _ 2\o time, and no son :f -:r~£5, er,: - - - ec»i»e TO my pi^. G: r to yoa 1 And. 3ifr. Hol- errare^, if I -w^ne :i ; __ _^ii. Hte yoiL I 'd cer aae of Alice's Posies, and keep it in vai^ lill Pbcebe esmxa back/* '• I bare beaid,^ said tbe dagrjerrecwyjasi, ss be drev in bis bead, ''tiaifc tie -rater erf Manie's irell saEBs tiose flc^rrs best* Here tbe eoHTCKsstHa eaaed, and TJvfe XmagtwcMdt (mbis^y. IVir ^a^ » ksv ioi^er, bo^Mi^ eBstio^ni &e Impose of tbe Seren Gabfes; ior vss iber^ sziy -vis- itOT, except a e&rrier-boy, -wbo, ats be passed ibe frank doorstep, ibrev do-srn zNne of Lis ne-B^iapers ; lor i&y- lib&h, of kte, bad re£-£ir> r^f - :: iiL After a -»^fe^ 326 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. there came a fat woman, making prodigious speed, and stumbling as she ran up the steps of the shop-door. Her face glowed with fire-heat, and, it being a pretty warm morning, she bubbled and hissed, as it were, as if all a-fry with chimney -warmth, and summer-warmth, and the warmth of her own corpulent velocity. She tried the shop-door; — it was fast. She tried it again, with so angry a jar that the bell tinkled angrily back at her. " The deuce take Old Maid Pyncheon ! " muttered the irascible housewife. " Think of her pretending to set up a cent-shop, and then lying abed till noon ! Tliese are what she calls gentlefolk's airs, I suppose ! But I '11 either start her ladyship, or break the door down ! " She shook it accordingly, and the bell, having a spite- ful little temper of its own, rang obstreperously, making its remonstrances heard, — not, indeed, by the ears for which they were intended, — but by a good lady on the opposite side of the street. She opened her window, and addressed the impatient applicant. " You '11 find nobody there, Mrs. Gubbms." " But I must and will find somebody here ! '* cried Mrs. Gubbins, inflicting another outrage on the bell. "I want a half-pound of pork, to fry some first-rate flounders, for Mr. Gubbins' s breakfast ; and, lady or not, Old Maid Pyncheon shall get up and serve me with it ! '* " But do hear reason, Mrs. Gubbins ! " responded the lady opposite. "She and her brother, too, have both gone to their cousin, Judge Pyncheon's, at his country- seat. There 's not a soul in the house, but that young daguerreotype-man, that sleeps in the north gable. I saw old Hepzibah and Clifford go away yesterday ; and a queer couple of ducks they were, paddling through the mud-puddles ! They 're gone, I '11 assure you." " And how do you know they 're gone to the Judge's ? " ALICE'S POSIES. S27 asked Mrs. Gubbins. " He 's a rich man ; and there 's been a quarrel between him and Hepzibah, this many a day, because he won't give her a living. That's the main reason of her setting up a cent-shop." "I know that well enough," said the neighbor. "But they 're gone, — that 's one thing certain. And who but a blood-relation, that couldn't help himself, I ask you, would take in that awful-tempered old maid, and that dreadful Clifford ? That 's it, you may be sure." Mrs. Gubbins took her departure, still brimming over with hot wrath against the absent Hepzibah. Eor an- other half-hour, or, perhaps, considerably more, there was almost as much quiet on the outside of the house as within. The elm, however, made a pleasant, cheerful, sunny sigh, responsive to the breeze that was elsewhere imperceptible ; a swarm of insects buzzed merrily under its drooping shadow, and became specks of light, when- ever they darted into the sunshine ; a locust sang, once or twice, in some inscrutable seclusion of the tree ; and a solitary little bird, with plumage of pale gold, came and hovered about Alice's Posies. At last, our small acquaintance, Ned Higgins, trudged up the street, on his way to school ; and happenmg, for the first time in a fortnight, to be the possessor of a cent, he could by no means get past the shop-door of the Seven Gables. But it would not open. Again and again, however, and half a dozen other agains, with the inexorable pertinacity of a child intent upon some object important to itself, did he renew his efforts for admit- tance. He had, doubtless, set his heart upon an ele- phant ; or, possibly, with Hamlet, he meant to eat a crocodile. In response to his more violent attacks, the bell gave, now and then, a moderate tinkle, but could not be stirred into clamor by any exertion of the 328 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEX GABLES. little fello-ff-'s cliildish and tiptoe strength. Holding by the door-handle, he peeped through a crevice of the curtain, and saw that the inner door, communicating with the passage towards the parlor, was closed. " Miss Pvncheon ! " screamed the child, rapping on the window-pane, " I want an elephant ! " There being no answer to several repetitions of the summons, Ised began to grow impatient ; and bis little pot of passion quickly boilmg over, he picked up a stone, with a naughty purpose to fling it through the window ; at the same time blubbering and sputteriug with wrath. A man — one of two who happened to be passing by — caught the urchm's arm. " "What 's the trouble, old gentleman ? " he asked. " I want old Hepzibah, or Phcebe, or any of them ! " answered Ned, sobbing. "They won't open the door; and I can't get my elephant ! " " Go to school, you Httle scamp ! " said the man. " There 's another cent-shop round the corner. 'T is very strange, Dixey," added he to his companion, "what's become of all these Pyncheons ! Smith, the livery-stable keeper, tells me Judge Pvncheon put his horse up yesterday, to stand till after dinner, and has not taken him away yet. And one of the Judge's hired men has been in, this morning, to make inquiry about him. He's a kind of person, they say, that seldom breaks his habits, or stays out o' nights." " O, he '11 turn up safe enough ! " said Dixey. " And as for Old Maid Pyncheon, take my word for it, she has run in debt, and gone off from her creditors. I foretold, you remember, the first morning she set up shop, that her devilish scowl wouid frighten away cus- tomers. They could n't stand it ! " "I never thought she'd make it go," remarked his ALICE'S POSIES. 329 friend. " This business of cent-shops is overdone among the womenfolks. My wife tried it, and lost five dollars on her outlay ! " " Poor business ! " said Dixey, shaking his head. "Poor business ! " In the course of the morning, there were various other attempts to open a communication Avith the supposed in- habitants of this silent and impenetrable mansion. The man of root -beer came, in his neatly painted wagon, with a couple of dozen full bottles, to be exchanged for empty ones ; the baker, with a lot of crackers which Hepzibah had ordered for her retail custom ; the butcher, with a nice titbit which he fancied she would be eager to secure for CUfford. Had any observer of these proceedings been aware of the fearful secret hidden within the house, it would have affected him with a singular shape and modification of horror, to see the current of human hfe making this small eddy hereabouts ; — whirling sticks, straws, and all such trifles, round and round, right over the black depth where a dead corpse lay unseen ! The butcher was so much in earnest with his sweet- bread of lamb, or whatever the dainty might be, that he tried every accessible door of the Seven Gables, and at length came round again to the shop, where he ordinarily found admittance. " It 's a nice article, and I know the old lady would jump at it," said he to himself. " She can't be gone away ! In fifteen years that I have driven my cart through Pyncheon Street, I 've never known her to be away from home ; though often enough, to be sure, a man might knock all day without bringing her to the door. But that was when she 'd only herself to provide for." Peeping through the same crevice of the curtain where. 830 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. only a little while before, the urchin of elephantine appe- tite had peeped, the butcher beheld the inner door, not closed, as the child had seen it, but ajar, and almost wide open. However it might have happened, it was the fact. Through the passage-way there was a dark vista into the lighter but still obscure interior of the parlor. It ap- peared to the butcher that he could pretty clearly discern what seemed to be the stalwart legs, clad in black pan- taloons, of a man sitting in a large oaken chair, the back of which concealed all the remainder of his figure. This contemptuous tranquillity on the part of an occupant of the house, in response to the butcher's indefatigable efforts to attract notice, so piqued the man of flesh that he determined to withdraw, "So," thought he, "there sits Old Maid Pyncheon's bloody brother, while I 've been giving myself all this trouble ! Why, if a hog had n't more manners, I 'd stick him ! I call it demeaning a man's business to trade with such people ; and from this time forth, if they want a sausage or an ounce of liver, they shall run after the cart for it ! " He tossed the titbit angrily into his cart, and drove off in a pet. Not a great while afterwards, there was a sound of music turning the corner, and approaching down the street, with several intervals of silence, and then a re- newed and nearer outbreak of brisk melody. A mob of children was seen moving onward, or stopping, in unison with the sound, which appeared to proceed from the centre of the throng; so that they were loosely bound together by slender strains of harmony, and drawn along captive ; with ever and anon an accession of some Httle fellow in an apron and straw-hat, capering forth from door or gateway. Arriving under the shadow of ALICE'S POSIES. 331 the Pjncheon Elm, it proved to be the Italian boj, who, with his monkey and show of puppets, had once before played his hurdy-gurdy beneath the arched window. The pleasant face of Phoebe — and doubtless, too, the liberal recompense which she had flung him — still dwelt in his remembrance. His expressive features kindled up, as he recognized the spot where this trifling incident of his erratic life had clianced. He entered the neglected yard (now wilder than ever, with its growth of hog-weed and burdock), stationed himself on the doorstep of the main entrance, and opening his show-box, began to play. Each mdividual of the automatic community forthwith set to work, according to his or her proper vocation: the monkey, taking off his Highland bonnet, bowed and scraped to the by-standers most obsequiously, with ever an observant eye to pick up a stray cent ; and the young foreigner himself, as he turned the crank of his machine, glanced upward to the arched window, expectant of a presence that would make his music the livelier and sweeter. The throng of children stood near; some on the sidewalk; some within the yard; two or three es- tabHshing themselves on the very doorstep ; and one squatting on the threshold. Meanwhile, the locust kept singing in the great old Pyncheou Elm. " I don't hear anybody in the house," said one of the children to another. " The monkey won't pick up any- thing here." " There is somebody at home," ajfirmed the urchin on the threshold. " I heard a step ! " Still the young ItaHan's eye turned sidelong upward ; and it really seemed as if the touch of genuine, though slight and almost playful, emotion communicated a juicier sweetness to the dry, mechanical process of his min- strelsy. These wanderers are readily responsive to any 332 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. natural kindness — be it no more than a smile, or a word, itself not understood, but only a warmth in it — -which befalls them on the roadside of hfe. They remember these things, because they are the little enchantments which, for the instant, — for the space that reflects a landscape in a soap-bubble, — build up a home about them. Therefore, the Itahan boy would not be dis- couraged by the heavy silence with which the old house seemed resolute to clog the vivacity of his instrmnent. He persisted in his melodious appeals ; he still looked upward, trusting that his dark, alien countenance would soon be brightened by Phoebe's sunny aspect. Neither could he be wilhug to depart without again beholding Clifford, whose sensibility, like Phoebe's smile, had talked a kind of heart's language to the foreigner. He repeated all his music, over and over again, until his auditors were getting weary. So were the httle wooden people in his show-box, and the monkey most of all. There was no response, save the singing of the locust. " No children live in this house," said a school-boy, at last. " Nobody lives here but an old maid and an old man. You '11 get nothing here ! Why don't you go along?" " You fool, you, why do you tell him ? " whispered a shrewd httle Yankee, caring nothing for the music, but a good -deal for the cheap rate at which it was had. " Let him play as long as he likes ! If there 's nobody to pay him, that 's his own lookout ! " Once more, however, the Italian ran over his round of melodies. To the common observer — who could under- stand nothing of the case, except the music and the sun- shine on the hither side of the door — it might have been amusing to watch the pertinacity of the street-per- former. Will he succeed at last ? Will that stubborn ALICE'S POSIES. 333 door be suddenly flung open ? Will a group of joyous children, the young ones of the house, come dancing, shouting, laughing, into the open air, and cluster round the show-box, looking with eager merriment at the pup- pets, and tossing each a copper for long-tailed Mammon, the monkey, to pick up ? But, to us, who know the inner heart of the Seven Gables, as well as its exterior face, there is a ghastly effect in this repetition of light popular tunes at its door- step. It would be an ugly business, indeed, if Judge Pyncheon (who would not have cared a fig for Paganini's fiddle, in his most harmonious mood) should make his appearance at the door, with a bloody shirt-bosom, and a grim frown on his swarthily wliite visage, and motion the foreign vagabond away ! Was ever before such a grind- ing out of jigs and waltzes, where nobody was in the cue to dance ? Yes, very often. This contrast, or inter- minghng of tragedy with mirth, happens daily, hourly, momently. The gloomy and desolate old house, deserted of life, and with awful Death sitting sternly in its soli- tude, was the emblem of many a human heart, which, nevertheless, is compelled to hear the thrill and echo of the world's gayety around it. Before the conclusion of the Italian's performance, a couple of men happened to be passing, on their way to dmner. " I say, you young Prench fellow ! " called out one of them, — " come away from that doorstep, and go some- where else with your nonsense ! The Pyncheon family live there ; and they are in great trouble, just about this time. They don't feel musical to-day. It is reported, all over town, that Judge Pyncheon, who owns the house, has been murdered ; and the city marshal is going to look into the matter. So be off with you, at once ! " 834 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. As the Italian shouldered his hurdy-gurdy, he saw on the doorstep a card, which had been covered, all the morning, by the newspaper that the carrier had flung upon it, but was now shuffled into sight. He picked it up, and perceiving something written in pencil, gave it to the man to read. In fact, it was an engraved card of Judge Pyncheon's, with certain pencilled memoranda on the back, referring to various businesses, wliich it had been his purpose to transact during the preceding day. It formed a prospective epitome of the day's history; only that affairs had not turned out altogether in accord- ance with the programme. The card must have been lost from the Judge's vest-pocket, in his preUminary at- tempt to gain access by the main entrance of the house. Though well soaked with rain, it was still partially legi- ble. "Look here, Dixey ! " cried the man. "This has something to do with Judge Pyncheon. See! — here's his name printed on it ; and here, I suppose, is some of his handwriting." " Let's go to the city marshal with it ! " said Dixey. " It may give him just the clew he wants. After all," whis- pered he in his companion's ear, " it would be no wonder if the Judge has gone into that door, and never come out again ! A certain cousin of his may have been at his old tricks. And Old Maid Pyncheon having got herself in debt by the cent-shop, — and the Judge's pocket-book being well filled, — and bad blood amongst them al- ready ! ?ut all these things together, and see what they make ! " " Hush, hush ! " whispered the other. "It seems hke a sin to be the first to speak of such a thing. But I think, with you, that we had better go to the city marshal." ALICE'S POSIES. 335 " Yes, yes ! " said Dixey. " Well ! — I always said there was sometiiiiig devilish in that "woman's scowl ! " The men wheeled about, accordingly, and retraced their steps up the street. The Italian, also, made the best of his way off, "udth a parting glance up at the arched win- dow. As for the children, they took to their heels, with one accord, and scampered as if some giant or ogre wert in pursuit, until, at a good distance from the house, they stopped as suddenly and simultaneously as they had set out. Their susceptible nerves took an indefinite alarm from what they had overheard. Looking back at the grotesque peaks and shadowy angles of the old mansion, they fancied a gloom diffused about it, which no bright- ness of the sunshine could dispel. An imaginary Hep- zibah scowled and shook her finger at them, from several windows at the same moment. An imaginary Clifford — for (and it would have deeply wounded him to know it) he had always been a horror to these small people — stood behind the unreal Hepzibah, making awful gestures, in a faded dressing-gown. Children are even more apt, if possible, than grown people, to catch the contagion of a panic terror. Eor the rest of the day, the more timid went whole streets about, for the sake of avoiding the Seven Gables; while the bolder signalized their hardi- hood by challenging their comrades to race past the man- sion at full speed. It could not have been more than half an hour after the disappearance of the Italian boy, with his unseason- able melodies, when a cab drove down the street. It stopped beneath the Pyncheon Elm ; the cabman took a trunk, a canvas bag, and a bandbox, from the top of his vehicle, and deposited them on the doorstep of the old house ; a straw bonnet, and then the pretty figure of a young girl, came into view from the interior of the cab. 836 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. It was Phcebe ! Though not altogether so blooming as when she first tripped into our story, — for, in the few intervening weeks, her experiences had made her graver, more womanly, and deeper-eyed, in token of a heart that had begun to suspect its depths, — still there was the quiet glow of natural sunshine over her. Neither had she forfeited her proper gift of making things look real, rather than fantastic, withm her sphere. Yet we feel it to be a questionable venture, even for Phoebe, at this juncture, to cross the threshold of the Seven Gables. Is her healthful presence potent enough to chase away the crowd of pale, hideous, and sinful phantoms, that have gained admittance there since her departure ? Or will she, likewise, fade, sicken, sadden, and grow into deform- ity, and be only another pallid phantom, to glide noise- lessly up and down the stairs, and affright children, as she pauses at the window ? At least, we would gladly forewarn the unsuspecting girl that there is nothing in human shape or substance to receive her, unless it be the figure of Judge Pyncheon, who — wretched spectacle that he is, and frightful in our remembrance, since our night-long vigil with him ! — still keeps his place in the oaken chair. Phcebe first tried the shop-door. It did not yield to her hand ; and the white curtain, drawn across the win- dow which formed the upper section of the door, struck her quick perceptive faculty as something unusual. Without making another effort to enter here, she betook herself to the great portal, under the arched wiudow. Finding it fastened, she knocked. A reverberation came from the emptiness within. She knocked again, and a third tune ; and, listening intently, fancied that the floor creaked, as if Hepzibah were coming, with her ordinary tiptoe movement, to admit her. But so dead a silence ALICE'S POSIES. 337 ensued upon this imaginary sound, that she began to question whether she might not have mistaken the house, familiar as she thought herself with its exterior. Her notice was now attracted by a child's voice, at some distance. It appeared to call her name. Looking in the direction whence it proceeded, Phoebe saw little Ned Higgins, a good way down the street, stamping, shaking his head violently, making deprecatory gestures with both hands, and shouting to her at mouth-wide screech. " No, no, Phoebe ! " he screamed. " Don't you go in ! There 's something wicked there ! Don't — don't — don't go in ! " But, as the httle personage could not be induced to ap- proach near enough to explain himself, Phoebe concluded that he had been frightened, on some of his visits to the shop, by her cousin Hepzibah ; for the good lady's mani- festations, in truth, ran about an equal chance of scaring children out of their wits, or compelling them to unseemly laughter. Still, she felt the more, for this incident, how unaccountably silent and impenetrable the house had be- come. As her next resort, Phoebe made her way into the garden, where, on so warm and bright a day as the pres- ent, she had Httle doubt of finding Clifford, and perhaps Hepzibah also, idling away the noontide in the shadow of the arbor. Immediately on her entering the garden- gate, the family of hens half ran, half flew, to meet her ; while a strange grimalkin, which was prowling under the parlor window, took to his heels, clambered hastily over the fence, and vanished. The arbor was vacant, and its floor, table, and circular bench were still damp, and be- strewn with twigs, and the disarray of the past storm. The growth of the garden seemed to have got quite out of bounds ; the weeds had taken advantage of Phoebe's 838 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. absence, and the long-continued rain, to rnn rampant over the flowers and kitchen-vegetables. Maule's well had ovei-flowed its stone border, and made a pool of for- midable breadth, in that corner of the garden. The impression of the whole scene was that of a spot where no human foot had left its print for many pre- ceding days, — probably not since Phoebe's departure, — for she saw a side-comb of her own under tlie table of the arbor, where it must have fallen on the last afternoon when she and Clifford sat there. The girl knew that her two relatives were capable of far greater oddities than that of shutting themselves up in their old house, as they appeared now to have done. Nevertheless, with indistmct misgivings of something amiss, and apprehensions to which she could not give shape, she approached the door that formed the custom- ary communication between the house and garden. It was secured within, like the two which she had already tried. She knocked, however; and immediately, as if the appHcation had been expected, the door was drawn open, by a considerable exertion of some unseen person's strength, not wide, but far enough to afford her a side- long entrance. As Hepzibah, in order not to expose herself to inspection from without, invariably opened a door in this manner, Phoebe necessarily concluded that it was her cousin who now admitted her. Without hesitation, therefore, she stepped across the threshold, and had no sooner entered than the door closed behmd her. XX. THE FLOWER OF EDEN. HCEBE, coming so suddenly from the sunny day- light, was altogether bedimmed in such density of shadow as lurked in most of the passages of the old house. She was not at first aware by whom she had been admitted. Before her eyes had adapted them- selves to the obscurity, a hand grasped her own, with a firm but gentle and warm pressure, thus imparting a wel- come wiiich caused her heart to leap and thrill with an indefinable shiver of enjoyment. She felt herself drawn along, not towards the parlor, but into a large and un- occupied apartment, which had formerly been the grand reception-i'oom of the Seven Gables. The sunshine came freely into all the uncurtained windows of this room, and fell upon the dusty floor; so that Phcebe now clearly saw — what, indeed, had been no secret, after the encounter of a warm hand with hers — that it was not Hepzibah nor Clifford, but Holgrave, to whom she owed her reception. The subtile, intuitive communi- cation, or, rather, the vague and formless impression of something to be told, had made her yield unresistingly to his impulse. Without taking away her hand, she looked eagerly in his face, not quick to forebode evil, but un- 840 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. avoidably conscious that the state of the family had changed since her departure, and therefore anxious for an explanation. The artist looked paler than ordinary ; there was a thoughtful and severe contraction of his forehead, tracing a deep, vertical line between the eyebrows. His smile, however, was full of genuine warmth, and had in it a joy, by far the most vivid expression that Phoebe had ever witnessed, shming out of the New England reserve with which Holgrave habitually masked whatever lay near his heart. It was the look wherewith a man, brooding alone over some fearful object, in a dreary forest, or ilhmitable desert, would recognize the familiar aspect of his dearest friend, bringing up all the peaceful ideas that belong to home, and the gentle current of every-day affairs. And yet, as he felt the necessity of responding to her look of inquiry, the smile disappeared. " I ought not to rejoice that you have come, Phoebe," said he. " We meet at a strange moment ! " " What has happened ? " she exclaimed. " Why is the house so deserted ? Where are Hepzibah and Clif- ford?" " Gone ! I cannot imagine where they are ! " an- swered Holgrave. " We are alone in the house ! " " Hepzibah and Clifford gone ? " cried Phoebe. " It is not possible ! And why have you brought me into this room, instead of the parlor ? Ah, something terrible has happened ! I must run and see ! " " No, no, Phoebe ! " said Holgrave, holding her back. *'It is as I have told you. They are gone, and I know not whither. A terrible event has, indeed, happened, but not to them, nor, as I undoubtingly believe, through any agency of theirs. If I read your character rightly, Phoebe," he continued, fixing his eyes on hers, with stem THE FLOWER OF EDEN. 341 anxiety, intermixed with tenderness, " gentle as you are, and seeming to have your sphere among common tilings, you yet possess remarkable strength. You have won- derful poise, and a faculty which, when tested, will prove itself capable of dealmg with matters that fall far out of the ordinary rule." " 0, no, I am very weak ! " replied Phoebe, trembling. " But tell me what has happened ! " " You are strong ! " persisted Holgrave. " You must be both strong and wise ; for I am all astray, and need your counsel. It may be you can suggest the one right thing to do ! " " Tell me ! — tell me ! " said Phoebe, all in a tremble. " It oppresses, — it terrifies me, — this mystery ! Any- thing else I can bear ! " The artist hesitated. Notwithstanding what he had just said, and most sincerely, in regard to the self- balancing power with which Phoebe impressed him, it still seemed almost wicked to bring the awful secret of yesterday to her knowledge. It was like dragging a hid- eous shape of deatli into the cleanly and cheerful space before a household fire, where it would present all the uglier aspect, amid the decorousness of everything about it. Yet it could not be concealed from her; she must needs know it. " Phoebe," said he, " do you remember this ? " He put into her hand a daguerreotype ; the same that he had shown her at their first interview, in the garden, and which so strikingly brought out the hard and relent- less traits of the original. " What has this to do with Hepzibah and Cliiford ? " asked Phoebe, with impatient surprise that Holgrave should so trifle with her, at such a moment. "It is Judge Pyncheon ! You have shown it to me before ! " 842 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. "But here is the same face, taken T^dthin tMs half- hour," said the artist, presenting her with another min- iature. " 1 had just finished it, when I heard you at the door," " This is death ! " shuddered Phoebe, turnmg very pale. ** Judge Pyncheon dead ! " " Such as there represented," said Holgrave, " he sits in the next room. The Judge is dead, and Clifford and Hepzibah have vanished ! I know no more. All beyond is conjecture. On returning to my solitary cliamber, last evening, I noticed no light, either in the parlor, or Hep- zibah's room, or Clifford's ; no stir nor footstep about the house. This morning there was the same death-like quiet. From my window, I overheard the testimony of a neighbor, that your relatives were seen leaving the house, in the midst of yesterday's storm. A rumor reached me, too, of Judge Pyncheon being missed. A feeling which I cannot describe — an indefinite sense of some catastrophe, or consummation — impelled me to make my way into this part of the house, where I dis- covered what you see. As a point of evidence that may be useful to Clifford, and also as a memorial valuable to myself, — for, Phoebe, there are hereditary reasons that connect me strangely with that man's fate, — I used the means at my disposal to preserve this pictorial record of Judge Pyncheon's death." Even in her agitation, Phoebe could not help remark- ing the calmness of Holgrave's demeanor. He appeared, it is true, to feel the whole awfulness of the Judge's death, yet had received the fact into his mmd without any mixture of surprise, but as an event preordained, happening inevitably, and so fitting itself into past occur- rences that it could ahnost have been prophesied. " Why have you not thrown open the doors, and called THE FLOWER OF EDEN. 343 in witnesses ? " inquired she, with a painful shudder. "It is terrible to be here alone ! " " But Clifford ! " suggested the artist. " Clifford and Hepzibah ! We must consider what is best to be done in their behalf. It is a wretched fatality, that they should have disappeared! Their flight will throw the worst coloring over this event of which it is susceptible. Yet how easy is the explanation, to those who know them ! Bewildered and terror-stricken by the similarity of this death to a former one, which was attended with such disastrous consequences to Clifford, they have had no idea but of removing themselves from the scene. How miserably unfortunate ! Had Hepzibah but shrieked aloud, — had Clifford flung wide the door, and proclaimed Judge Pyncheon's death, — it would have been, however awful in itself, an event fruitful of good consequences to them. As I view it, it would have gone far towards obliterating the black stain on Clifford's character." "And how," asked Phcebe, "could any good come from what is so very dreadful?" "Because," said the artist, "if the matter can be fairly considered, and candidly interpreted, it must be evident that Judge Pjncheon could not have come unfairly to his end. This mode of death has been an idiosyncrasy with his family, for generations past; not often occurring, indeed, but, when it does occur, usually attacking indi- viduals about the Judge's time of life, and generally in the tension of some mental crisis, or, perhaps, in an access of wrath. Old Maule's prophecy was probably founded on a knowledge of this physical predisposition in the Pyncheon race. Now, there is a minute and almost exact similarity in the appearances connected with the death that occurred yesterday and those recorded of the death of Clifford's uncle, thirty years ago. It is true, 344 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. there was a certain arrangement of circumstances, un- necessary to be recounted, which made it possible — nay, as men look at these things, probable, or even certain — that old Jaffrey Pyncheon came to a violent death, and by Clifford's hands." " Whence came those circumstances ? " exclaimed Phoe- be ; " he being innocent, as we know him to be ! " "They were arranged," said Holgrave, — "at least, such has long been my conviction, — they were arranged after the uncle's death, and before it was made public, by the man who sits in yonder parlor. His own death, so like that former one, yet attended with none of those suspicious circumstances, seems the stroke of God upon him, at once a punishment for his wickedness, and mak- ing plain the innocence of Clifford. But this flight, — it distorts everything ! He may be in concealment, near at hand. Could we but bring him back before the discovery of the Judge's death, the evil might be rectified." " We must not hide this thing a moment longer ! " said Phoebe. "It is dreadful to keep it so closely in our hearts. Clifford is innocent. God will make it mani- fest ! Let us throw open the doors, and call all the neighborhood to see the truth ! " " You are right, Phcebe," rejoined Holgrave. " Doubt- less you are right." Yet the artist did not feel the horror, which was proper to Phoebe's sweet and order-loving character, at thus finding herself at issue with society, and brought in contact with an event that transcended ordinary rules. Neither was he in haste, like her, to betake himself with- in the precincts of common life. On the contrary, he gathered a wild enjoyment, — as it were, a flower of strange beauty, growing in a desolate spot, and blossom- ing in the wind, — such a flower of momentary happiness THE FLOWER OF EDEN. 345 he gathered from liis present position. It separated Phoebe and himself from the world, and bound them to each other, by their exclusive knowledge of Judge Pyn- cheon's mysterious death, and the counsel which they were forced to hold respecting it. The secret, so long as it should continue such, kept them within the circle of a spell, a solitude in the midst of men, a remoteness as entire as that of an island in mid-ocean ; — once divulged, the ocean would flow betwixt them, standing on its widely sundered shores. Meanwhile, all the cir- cumstances of their situation seemed to draw them to- gether; they were like two children who go hand in hand, pressing closely to one another's side, through a shadow-haunted passage. The image of awful Death, which filled the house, held them united by his stiffened grasp. These influences hastened the development of emotions that might not otherwise have flowered so soon. Possi- bly, indeed, it had been Holgrave's purpose to let them die in their undeveloped germs. "Why do we delay so ? " asked Phoebe. " This secret takes away my breath ! Let us throw open the doors ! " " In all our lives, there can never come another mo- ment like this ! " said Holgrave. " Phoebe, is it all ter- ror ? — nothing but terror ? Are you conscious of* no joy, as I am, that has made this the only point of life worth living for?" " It seems a sin," replied Phoebe, trembling, " to think of joy at such a time ! " " Could you but know, Phoebe, how it was with me, the hour before you came ! " exclaimed the artist. "A dark, cold, miserable hour! The presence of yonder dead man threw a great black shadow over everything; he made the universe, so far as my perception could 846 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. reach, a scene of guilt and of retribution more dreadful than the guilt. The sense of it took away my youth. I never hoped to feel young again ! The world looked *itrange, wild, evil, hostile ; — my past I'fe, so lonesome md dreary ; my future, a shapeless gloom, which I must mould into gloomy shapes ! But, Phoebe, you crossed the threshold ; and hope, warmth, and joy cair.e in with you ! The black moment became at once a blissful one. It must not pass without the spoken word. I love you ! '* " How can you love a simple girl like me ? " asked Phoebe, compelled by his earnestness to speak. "You have many, many thoughts, with which I should try in vain to sympathize. And I, — I, too, — I have tenden- cies with which you would sympathize as little. That is less matter. But I have not scope enough to make you happy." " You are my only possibility of happiness ! " answered Holgrave. " I have no faith in it, except as you bestow it on me ! " " And then — I am afraid ! " continued Phoebe, shrink- ing towards Holgrave, even while she told him so frankly the doubts with which he affected her. " You will lead me out of my own quiet path. You will make me strive to follow you, where it is pathless. I cannot do so. It is not my nature. I shall sink down and perish ! " " Ah, Plioebe ! " exclaimed Holgrave, with almost a sigh, and a smile that was burdened with thought. " It will be far otherwise than as you forebode. The world owes all its onward impulses to men ill at ease. The happy man inevitably confines himself within ancient limits. I have a presentiment that, hereafter, it will be my lot to set out trees, to make fences, — perhaps, even, in due time, to build a house for another generation, — in a word, to conform myself to laws, and the peaceful THE FLOWER OF EDEN. 347 practice of society. Your poise will be more powerful than any oscillating tendency of mine." " 1 would not have it so ! " said Phoebe, earnestly. " Do you love me ? " asked Holgrave. " If we love one another, the moment has room for nothmg more. Let us pause upon it, and be satisfied. Do you love me, Phoebe ? " " You look into my heart," said she, lettmg her eyes drop. " You know I love you ! " And it was in this hour, so full of doubt and awe, that the one miracle was wrought, without which every human existence is a blank. The bliss which makes ail things true, beautiful, and holy shone around this youth and majden. They were conscious of nothing sad nor old. They transfigured the earth, and made it Eden again, and themselves the two first dwellers in it. The dead man, so close beside them, was forgotten. At such a crisis, there is no death ; for immortality is revealed anew, and embraces everything in its hallowed atmosphere. But how soon the heavy earth-dream settled down again ! " Hark ! " whispered Phoebe. " Somebody is at the street-door ! " " Now let us meet the world ! " said Holgrave. " No doubt, the rumor of Judge Pyncheon's visit to this house, and the flight of Hepzibah and Clifford, is about to lead to the investigation of the premises. We have no way but to meet it. Let us open the, door at once." But, to their surprise, before they could reach the street-door, — even before they quitted the room in which the foregoing interview had passed, — they heard foot- steps in the farther passage. The door, therefore, which they supposed to be securelv locked, — which Holgrave, 648 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. indeed, had seen to be so, and at wliich Phoebe had vainly tried to enter, — must have been opened from without. The sound of footsteps was not harsh, bold, decided, and intrusive, as the gait of strangers would naturally be, making authoritative entrance into a dwelling where they knew themselves unwelcome. It was feeble, as of per- sons either weak or weary ; there was the mmgled mur- mur of two voices, familiar to both the listeners. " Can it be ? " whispered Holgrave, " It is they ! " answered Phoebe. '' Thank God ! — thank God ! " And then, as if in sympathy with Phoebe's whis- pered ejaculation, they heard Hepzibah's voice, more distinctly. " Thank God, my brother, we are at home ! " "WeU! — Yes!— thank God!" responded Clifford. ** A dreary home, Hepzibah ! But you have done well to brmg me hither ! Stay ! That parlor-door is open. I cannot pass by it ! Let me go and rest me in the arbor, where I used, — O, very long ago, it seems to me, after M'hat has befallen us, — where I used to be so happy with little Phoebe!" But the house was not altogether so dreary as Clifford imagined it. They bad not made many steps, — in truth, they were hngering in the entry, with the listnessness of 'jsh accomplished purpose, uncertain what to do next, — when Phoebe ran to meet them. On beholding her, Hep- zibah burst into tears. With all her might, she had staggered onward beneath the burden of grief and re- sponsibility, until now that it was safe to fling it down. Indeed, she had not energy to fling it down, but had ceased to uphold it, and suffered it to press her to the earth. Clifford appeared the stronger of the two. ^ It is our own httle Phoebe ! — Ah ! and Holgrave THE FLOWER OF EDEN. 349 with her/' exclaimed he, with a glance of keen and deli- cate insight, and a smile, beautiful, kind, but melancholy. "1 thought of you both, as we came down the street, and beheld Alice's Posies in full bloom. And so the flower of Eden has bloomed, likewise, in this old, dark- some house to-day.'* li^f^'S?*^ -U*' :-^i^^-^A a^ ^/iTJ^y^ _>.- lV^#^-®>^^ — m^^ '&. ^ :U^m^^^^^:u\^ y» ^?^^^ V»>\ - .v--i; ASIvS^^'A XXI. THE DEPARTITRE. HE sudden death of so promment a memlDer of the social world as the Honorable Judge Jaffrey Pyncheon created a sensation (at least, in the circles more immediately connected with the deceased) which had hardly quite subsided in a fortnight. It may be remarked, however, that, of all the events which constitute a person's biography, there is scarcely one — none, certainly, of anything like a similar impor- tance — to which the 'world so easily reconciles itself as to bis death. In most other cases and contingencies, the indi^adual is present among us, mixed up with the daily revolution of affairs, and affording a definite point for observation. At liis decease, there is only a vacancy, and a momentary eddy, — very small, as compared with the apparent magnitude of the ingurgitated object, — and a bubble or two, ascending out of the black depth, and bursting at the surface. As regarded Judge P}ti- cheon, it seemed probable, at first blush, that the mode of his final departure might give him a larger and longer posthumous vogue than ordinarily attends the memory of a distinguished man. But when it came to be under- stood, on the highest professional authority, that the THE DEPAETUEB. 351 event was a natural, and — except for some unimportant particulars, denoting a sHght idiosyncrasy — by no means an unusual form of death, the public, with its customary alacrity, proceeded to forget that he had ever lived. In short, the honorable Judge was beginning to be a stale subject, before half the county newspapers had found time to put their columns in mourning, and pubhsh his exceedingly eulogistic obituary. Nevertheless, creeping darkly through the places which this excellent person had haunted in his lifethne, there was a hidden stream of private talk, such as it would have shocked aU decency to speak loudly at the street- comers. It is very singular, how the fact of a man's death often seems to give people a truer idea of his char- acter, whether for good or evil, than they have ever possessed whHe he was hving and acthig among them. Death is so genuine a fact that it excludes falsehood, or betrays its emptiness ; it is a touchstone that proves the gold, and dishonors the baser metal. Could the d& parted, whoever he may be, return in a week after his decease, he would almost invariably find himself at a higher or lower point than he had formerly occupied, on the scale of pubhc appreciation. But the talk, or scan- dal, to which we now allude, had reference to matters of no 'less old a date than the supposed murder, thirty or forty years ago, of the late Judge Pyncheon's uncle. The medical opinion, with regard to his own recent and regretted decease, had almost entirely obviated the idea that a murder was committed, in the former case. Yet, as the record showed, there were circumstances irrefraga- bly indicating that some person had gained access to old JaflPrey Pyncheon's private apartments, at or near the moment of his death. His desk and private drawers, in a room contiguous to his bedchamber, had been ran-. 352 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. sacked ; money and valuable articles were missing ; there was a bloody hand-print on the old man's linen; and, by a powerfully welded chain of deductive evidence, the guilt of the robbery and apparent murder had been fixed on Clifford, then residing with his uncle in the House of the Seven Gables. "Whencesoever originating, there now arose a theory that undertook so to account for these circumstances as to exclude the idea of Clifford's agency. Many persons affirmed that the history and elucidation of the facts, long so mysterious, had been obtained by the daguerreotypist from one of those mesmerical seers, who, nowadays, so strangely perplex the aspect of human affairs, and put everybody's natural vision to the blush, by the marvels which they see with their eyes shut. According to this version of the story. Judge Pyncheon, exemplary as we have portrayed him in our narrative, was, in his youth, an apparently irreclaimable scapegrace. The brutish, the animal instincts, as is often the case, had been developed earlier than the intellectual qualities, and the force of character, for which he was afterwards remarkable. He had shown himself wild, dissipated, addicted to low pleasures, Httle short of ruffianly in his propensities, and recklessly expensive, with no other re- sources than the bounty of his uncle. This course of conduct had alienated the old bachelor's affection, once strongly fixed upon him. Now it is averred, — but whether on authority available in a court of justice, we do not pretend to have investigated, — that the young man was tempted by the devil, one night, to search his uncle's private drawers, to which he had unsuspected means of access. While tlms criminally occupied, he was startled by the opening of the chamber-door. There Btood old Jaffrey Pyncheon, in his nightclothes ! The sur- THE DEPARTURE. 353 prise of such a discovery, his agitation, alarm, and hor- ror, brought on the crisis of a disorder to which the old bachelor had an hereditary hability ; he seemed to choke with blood, and fell upon the floor, striking his temple a heavy blow against the corner of a table. What was to be done ? The old man was surely dead ! Assistance would come too late ! What a misfortune, indeed, should it come too soon, since his reviving consciousness would bring the recollection of the ignomuiious offence which he had beheld his nephew in the very act of committing ! But he never did revive. With the cool hardihood that always pertained to him, the young man continued his search of the drawers, and found a will, of recent date, in favor of Clifford, — which he destroyed, — and an older one, in his own favor, which he suffered to remain. But before retiring, Jaffrey bethought himself of the evi- dence, in these ransacked drawers, that some one had visited the chamber with sinister purposes. Suspicion, unless averted, might fix upon the real offender. In the very presence of the dead man, therefore, he laid a scheme that should free himself at the expense of Clifford, his rival, for whose character he had at once a contempt and a repugnance. It is not probable, be it said, that he acted with any set purpose of involving Clifford in a charge of murder. Knowing that his uncle did not die by violence, it may not have occurred to him, in the hur- ry of the crisis, that such an inference might be drawn. But, when the affair took this darker aspect, Jaffrey's previous steps had already pledged him to those which remained. So craftily had he arranged the circumstances, that, at Clifford's trial, his cousin hardly found it neces- sary to swear to anything false, but only to withhold the one decisive explanation, by refraining to state what he had himself done and witnessed. 854 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Thus Jaffii'ey Pynclieon's inward criminality, as regard, ed Cliiford, was, indeed, black and damnable; while its mere outward show and positive commission was the smallest that could possibly consist with so great a sin. This is just the sort of guilt that a man of eminent re- spectability finds it easiest to dispose of. It was suffered to fade out of sight or be reckoned a venial matter, in the Honorable Judge Pyncheon's long subsequent survey of his own Ufe. He shuffled it aside, among the forgot- ten and forgiven frailties of his youth, and seldom thought of it agam. We leave the Judge to his repose. He could not be styled fortunate, at the hour of death. Unknowingly, he was a childless man, while striving to add more wealth to his only child's inheritance. Hardly a week after his decease, one of the Cunard steamers brought intelHgence of the death, by cholera, of Judge Pyn- cheon's son, just at the pomt of embarkation for his na- tive land. By this misfortune, Clifford became rich ; so did Hepzibah; so did our little village maiden, and, through her, that sworn foe of wealth and all manner of conservatism, — the wild reformer, — Holgrave ! It was now far too late in Clifford's hfe for the good opinion of society to be worth the trouble and anguish of a formal vindication. What he needed was the love of a very few ; not the admiration, or even the respect, of the unknown many. The latter might probably have been won for him, had those on whom the guardianship of his welfare had fallen deemed it advisable to expose Clifford to a miserable resuscitation of past ideas, when the con- dition of whatever comfort he might expect lay in the calm of forgetfulness. After such wrong as he had suf- fered, there is no reparation. The pitiable mockery of it, which the world might have been ready enough to THE DEPARTURE. 355 offer, coming so long after the agony had done its utmost work, would have been fit only to provoke bitterer laugh- ter than poor Cliiford was ever capable of. It is a truth (and it would be a very sad one, but for the higher hopes which it suggests) that no great mistake, whether acted or endured, in our mortal sphere, is ever really set right. Time, the continual vicissitude of circumstances, and the invariable inopportunity of death, render it impossible. If, after long lapse of years, the right seems to be in our power, we find no niche to set it in. The better remedy is for the sufferer to pass on, and leave what he once thought his irreparable ruin far behind him. The shock of Judge Pyncheon's death had a perma- nently invigorating and ultimately beneficial effect on Clifford. That strong and ponderous man had been Chfford's nightmare. There was no free breath to be drawn, within the sphere of so malevolent an influence. The first effect of freedom, as we have witnessed in Clif- ford's aimless flight, was a tremulous exhilaration. Sub- siding from it, he did not sink into his former intellectual apathy. He never, it is true, attained to nearly the full measure of what might have been his faculties. But he recovered enough of them partially to light up his char- acter, to display some outline of the marvellous grace that was abortive in it, and to make him the object of no less deep, although less melancholy interest than hereto- fore. He was evidently happy. Could we pause to give another picture of his daily life, with all the appliances now at command to gratify his mstinct for the Beautiful, the garden scenes, that seemed so sweet to him, would look mean and trivial in comparison. Very soon after their change of fortune, Clifford, Hep- zibah, and httle Phoebe, with the approval of the artist, concluded to remove from the di=^al old House of the 356 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Seven Gables, and take up their abode, for the present, at the elegant country-seat of the late Judge Pyncheon. Chanticleer and his family had already been transported thither, where the two hens had forthwith begun an inde- fatigable process of egg-laying, with an evident design, as a matter of duty and conscience, to continue their il- lustrious breed under better auspices than for a century past. On the day set for their departure, the principal personages of our story, including good Uncle Yenner, were assembled in the parlor. " The couutry-house is certainly a very fine one, so far as the plan goes," observed Holgrave, as the party were discussing their future arrangements. "But I wonder that the late Judge — being so opulent, and with a reasonable prospect of transmitting his wealth to de- scendants of his own — should not have felt the propri- ety of embodying so excellent a piece of domestic archi- tecture in stoue, rather than in wood. Then, every generation of the family might have altered the interior, to suit its own taste and convenience ; while the exterior, through the lapse of years, might have been adding ven- erableness to its original beauty, and thus givuig that impression of permanence which I consider essential to the happiness of any one moment." "Why," cried Phcebe, gazing into the artist's face with infinite amazement, " how wonderfully your ideas are changed ! A house of stone, indeed ! It is but two or three weeks ago, that you seemed to wish people to live in something as fragile and temporary as a bird's nest ! " " Ah, Phoebe, I told you how it would be ! " said the artist, with a half-melancholy laugh. " You find me a conservative already ! Little did I think ever to be- come one. It is especially unpardonable in this dwelling THE DEPARTUEE. 357 of SO much hereditary misfortune, and under the eye of yonder portrait of a model conservative, who, in that very character, rendered himself so long the evil destiny of his race." " That picture ! " said Cliiford, seeming to shrink from its stern glance. " Whenever I look at it, there is an old, dreamy recollection haunting me, but keepmg just beyond the grasp of my mind. Wealth, it seems to say ! — boundless wealth ! — unimaginable wealth ! I could fancy that, when I was a child, or a youth, that portrait had spoken, and told me a rich secret, or had held forth its hand, with the written record of hidden opulence. But those old matters are so dim with me, nowadays ! What could this dream have been ? " " Perhaps I can recall it," answerd Holgrave. " See ! There are a hundred chances to one, that no person, unacquainted with the secret, would ever touch this spring." " A secret spring ! " cried Clifford. " Ah, I remem- ber now! I did discover it, one summer afternoon, when I was idlmg and dreaming about the house, long, long ago. But the mystery escapes me." The artist put his finger on the contrivance to which he had referred. In former days, the effect would prob- ably have been to cause the picture to start forward. But, in so long a period of concealment, the machinery had been eaten through with rust ; so that at Holgrave's pressure, the portrait, frame and all, tumbled suddenly from its position, and lay face downward on the floor. A recess in the wall was thus brought to light, in which lay an object so covered with a century's dust that it could not immediately be recognized as a folded sheet of parchment. Holgrave opened it, and displayed an an- cient deed, signed with the hieroglyphics of several 358 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. Indian sagamores, and conveying to Colonel Pyncheon and his heirs, forever, a vast extent of territory at the Eastward. " This is the very parchment the attempt to recover which cost the beautiful Ahce Pyncheon her happiness and life," said the artist, alluding to his legend. " It is what the Pyncheons sought in vain, while it was valuable ; and now that they find the treasure, it has long been worthless." " Poor Cousin JafPrey ! This is what deceived him,'* exclaimed Hepzibah. " When they were young together, Clifford probably made a kind of fairy-tale of this dis- covery. He was always dreaming hither and thither about the house, and lighting up its dark corners with beautiful stories. And poor Jaffrey, who took hold of everything as if it were real, thought my brother had found out his uncle's wealth. He died with this delu- sion in his mind ! " "But," said Phoebe, apart to Holgrave, "how came you to know the secret ? " "My dearest Phoebe," said Holgrave, "how will it please you to assume the name of Maule ? As for the secret, it is the only inheritance that has come down to me from my ancestors. You should have known sooner (only that I was afraid of fi'ightening you away) that, in this long drama of wrong and retribution, I represent the old wizard, and am probably as much of a wizard as ever he was. The son of the executed Matthew Maule, while building this house, took the opportunity to construct that recess, and hide away the Indian deed, on which depended the immense land-claim of the Pyn- cheons. Thus they bartered their Eastern territory for Maule's garden-ground." "And now," said Uncle Tenner, "I suppose their THE DEPARTUEE. 359 whole claim is not worth one man's share in my farm yonder ! " "Uncle Venner," cried Phoebe, taking the patched philosopher's hand, "you must never talk any more about your farm ! You shall never go there, as long as you live ! There is a cottage in our new garden, — the prettiest little yellowish-brown cottage you ever saw; and the sweetest-looking place, for it looks just as if it were made of gingerbread, — and we are going to fit it up and furnish it, on purpose for you. And you shall do notliing but what you choose, and shall be as happy as the day is long, and shall keep Cousin CKfford in spirits with the wisdom and pleasantness which is always dropping from your hps ! " " Ah ! my dear child," quoth good Uncle Venner, quite overcome, " if you were to speak to a young man as you do to an old one, his chance of keeping his heart another minute would not be worth one of the buttons on my waistcoat ! And — soul alive ! — that great sigh, which 70U made me heave, has burst off the very last of them ! But, never mind ! It was the happiest sigh I ever did heave ; and it seems as if I must have drawn in a gulp of neavenly breath, to make it with. Well, well. Miss Phcebe ! They '11 miss me in the gardens, hereabouts, and round by the back doors; and Pyncheon Street, I 'm airaid, will hardly look the same without old Uncle Vennen who remembers it with a mowing field on one side, and the garden of the Seven Gables on the other. But either I must go to your country-seat, or you must come to my farm, — that 's one of two things certain ; and I leave you to choose which ! " " 0, come with us, by all means, Uncle Venner ! " said Chfford, who had a remarkable enjoyment of the old man's mellow, quiet, and simple spirit " I want 860 THE HOUSE OF THE SEVEN GABLES. you always to be within five minutes' saunter of my chair. You are the only philosopher I ever knew of, whose wisdom has not a drop of bitter essence at the bottom ! " " Dear me ! " cried Uncle Venner, beginning partly to realize what manner of man he was. "And yet folks used to set me down among the simple ones, in my younger days ! But I suppose I am like a Roxbury russet, — a great deal the better, the longer I can be kept. Yes ; and my words of wisdom, that you and Phoebe tell me of, are like the golden dandehons, which never grow in the hot months, but may be seen glis- tening among the withered grass, and under the dry leaves, sometimes as late as December. And you are welcome, friends, to my mess of dandelions, if there were twice as many ! " A plain, but handsome, dark-green barouche had now drawn up in front of the ruinous portal of the old man- sion-house. The party came forth, and (with the excep- tion of good Uncle Venner, who was to follow in a few days) proceeded to take their places. They were chatting and laughing very pleasantly together ; and — as proves to be often the case, at moments when we ought to pal- pitate with sensibility — Clifi'ord and Hepzibah bade a final farewell to the abode of their forefathers, with hardly more emotion than if they had made it their arrangement to return thither at tea-time. Several children were drawn to the spot by so unusual a spectacle as the ba- rouche and pair of gray horses. Recognizing little Ned Higgins among them, Hepzibah put her hand into her pocket, and presented the urchin, her earliest and stanch- est customer, with silver enough to people the Dom- daniel cavern of his interior with as various a procession of quadrupeds as passed into the ark. THE DEPARTURE. 861 Two men were passing, just as the barouche drove off. " Well, Dixey," said one of them, " what do you think of this ? My wife kept a cent-shop three months, and lost five dollars on her outlay. 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