STEADFAST 
 
C 713 
 
ky 
 
 f 
 
 r * r *-*7 
 
STEADFAST 
 
 THE STORY OF 
 
 A SAINT AND A SINNER 
 
 BY 
 
 ROSE TERRY COOKE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 " SOMEBODY S NEIGHBOR 1 ?, V, M THE SPHINX S CHILDREN," 
 
 BOSTON 
 TICKNOK AND COMPANY 
 
 211 Eremont Street 
 
 1889 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1889, 
 BY TJCKNOR ANp COMPANY. 
 
 . V : : - 
 
 . -- , 
 
 . 
 
 ELECTKOTYPED BY 
 C. J. PETERS & SON, BOSTON, 
 U. S. A. 
 
I OFFER THIS BOOK TO 
 
 r, 
 
 It is hers as much as mine, for without her beneficent 
 powers it would never have existed. 
 
 I cannot mention her name, for she is too modest to 
 permit it ; so I can only write myself " under the stars " as 
 
 l^cr Globing ant! ratrfttl jFrientJ, 
 
 ROSE TERRY COOKE 
 
 941341 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 IN sending out this book, I am aware that I shall 
 meet with some sharp criticism about the statements 
 made therein concerning the action of a certain eccle 
 siastical body. I have only to say that everything I 
 have recorded relating to the acts of the consociation 
 of Congregational churches of " Newport " county is 
 strictly historical fact ; that, as far as - his experience 
 with that consociation goes, Philemon " Hall " was a 
 living man ; though I have changed his surname, as 
 well as the name of the county. 
 
 I also desire to express here my obligations to the 
 history of Wallingford, Connecticut, by Dr. Charles 
 H. S. Davis, from which I have drawn the aforesaid 
 facts, and copied the manifestoes of the consociations 
 and Mr. Hall s replies. 
 
 ROSE TERRY COOKE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. DEATH 11 
 
 II. LOVE 23 
 
 III. CONTINUANCE 36 
 
 IV. CIRCUMSTANCE 47 
 
 V. HEBE 59 
 
 VI. CLOUDY * 70 
 
 VII. CLEAR 80 
 
 VIII. AT MIDNIGHT 88 
 
 IX. AFTER 97 
 
 X. FRAUD 107 
 
 XI. DONE 117 
 
 XII. L IMPRKVU 126 
 
 XIII. A WILL 136 
 
 XIV. DESPAIR 146 
 
 XV. A CHANGE 158 
 
 XVI. AGAIN 169 
 
 XVII. REWARD 181 
 
 XVIII. GRIST 192 
 
 XIX. DELAY 202 
 
 XX. JUDGMENT 212 
 
 XXI. TEMPY S TURN 223 
 
 XXII. COUNSEL 234 
 
 XXIII. FINALITY 246 
 
 XXIV. A CONFLICT 257 
 
 XXV. DOWNWARD - f>7 
 
 XXVI. THE LAY SISTEK 278 
 
 9 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 XXVII. A CLIMAX 289 
 
 XXVIII. THE CURSE OF A GRANTED PRAYER . . 300 
 
 XXIX. A COMPACT 309 
 
 XXX. DAILY 319 
 
 XXXI. IN THE BEGINNING 329 
 
 XXXII. A SURPRISE 339 
 
 XXXIII. No! 348 
 
 XXXIV. PATIENCE 358 
 
 XXXV. A CONFIDENCE 368 
 
 XXXVI. THE WORLD 378 
 
 XXXVII. MORE 389 
 
 XXXVIII. AT LAST 399 
 
 XXXIX. NOT DESTROYED 409 
 
 XXXX. LIFE , , 418 
 
 
STEADFAST. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 Whereunto is money good ? 
 "Who has it not wants hardihood. 
 
 " MOTHEK ! " said Esther Dennis, looking at the 
 bowed head, clenched hands, and quivering figure that 
 sat crouched in an old flag-bottomed rocker by the 
 dying kitchen fire ; a black bombazine bonnet, evi 
 dently new, poked over the face in a distracted fash 
 ion ; a limpsy crape veil, by no means new, dragging 
 on the floor, and a gown and cloak like the bonnet, 
 draping the slight shape of a woman whose heart 
 was not only broken, but just buried with her dead 
 husband. She did not answer Esther ; sob after sob 
 burst slowly from her dry lips as if wrenched upward 
 by some pressure no longer endurable, though long 
 resisted. 
 
 Mrs. Dennis had preserved unbroken silence through 
 that weary and dreary funeral service in house and 
 church ; she sat like a stone through the long ser 
 mon in which Priest Beach detailed her loss and be 
 moaned her sufferings in a way to exasperate any 
 creature not brought up in the reticence and self-con- 
 
 11 
 
12 STEADFAST. 
 
 trol of her place and time ; the long wailing minor 
 of the doleful hymns that went shrieking about the 
 cold bare meeting-house like orthodox Banshees, did 
 not move one rigid muscle of her pale, delicate face, 
 or moisten the long eyelashes that drooped on her 
 cheek, and the mitigated tenderness of the almost 
 interminable prayer never caused a quiver on her set 
 white lips. She walked to the graveyard, only a few 
 rods from the meeting-house, clutching Esther s arm 
 as a drowning man clutches a plank ; she saw the 
 cold shape, whose arms had upheld her so many years, 
 whose eyes had smiled at her in all her sorrows, whose 
 lips had kissed her at the altar, and on the edge of 
 death, uncovered in its dead unanswering terror for 
 the neighbors and friends to see once more ; and then 
 she saw it lowered into its kindred clay, forever 
 hidden from her sight, without one sigh or tear. But 
 now, when all the funeral company were gone, when 
 the decencies and conventions riled away from her 
 door and left her alone with her only child, nature 
 revenged itself on propriety ; all its waves and bil 
 lows went over her; a positive convulsion of grief 
 racked her delicate physical constitution, and despair, 
 black as death, settled on her timid soul. 
 
 "Mother!" sobbed Esther in despair, kneeling 
 down by the poor woman and leaning her head against 
 the chair. " Mother ! don t ! oh, don t ; oh, what shall 
 I do ? Mother ! ain t he happy ? " 
 
 If she had seen the thought that answered her, she 
 would have recoiled ; it was the outcry of bereft love, 
 
DEATH. 13 
 
 of breaking life. " What of that ? am / not misera 
 ble ? " but the poor woman had been trained in rigid 
 obedience to her duty ; her lips parted, she gasped 
 out, " Oh yes, yes ! I ought to submit, Esther ! It s 
 all right ; it s all right." Yet the heart within her 
 tolled back, " It s all wrong ; all wrong ; all wrong ! " 
 Poor enough were the surroundings of this homely, 
 everyday tragedy ; nothing more than the old furniture 
 of a kitchen in a New England farmhouse of the last 
 century. A cross-legged table stood against the wall ; 
 three or four spindle-backed wooden-bottomed chairs 
 were ranged formally about the room, a high settle 
 and the wainscoting of the wall were painted alike 
 a livid leaden blue ; a tall clock stood in one corner 
 and swung its pendulum to and fro with relentless 
 accuracy, passing and repassing its ornamented and 
 glazed hole in the clock door, as if to impress its duti 
 ful life on the sight as well as hearing of its house 
 mates ; there was an open fireplace in which swung a 
 crane ; pothooks and trammels hung from nails in 
 the chimney corners ; a half-burned stick of wood 
 just uncovered from the ashes simmered now on the 
 iron firedogs ; the high shelf above held sundry 
 kitchen utensils, flatirons, brass and tin candlesticks, 
 a tinder-box, a horn lantern, a Farmer s Almanac ; on 
 one side of the fire stood a bake-kettle and a four- 
 legged pot ; by the south window a flax wheel stood 
 at rest ; a small cherry table with two leaves, and a 
 corner cupboard, with a smaller one in the wall above 
 the shelf, completed the belongings of the dingy little 
 
14 STEADFAST. 
 
 room used as living-room and kitchen at this season, 
 and dull enough now that no sunshine came through 
 its green-pane d windows, but only the gathering gloom 
 of a dark November storm. 
 
 Esther Dennis was not demonstrative ; she had said 
 all she could ; she too loved her father, with the hon 
 est, but not inconsolable affection a young girl has for 
 a silent busy father, whom she seldom sees, but she 
 had no sort of idea what this loss was to her mother ; 
 she could not fathom or understand a sorrow that 
 shook that ordinarily bright, gentle, and unselfish 
 nature into such a rebellious passion of wild grief. 
 She had not been taught or even allowed to learn the 
 sweet tongue of caresses and coaxing ; it never 
 occurred to her to put her arms about her mother, to 
 kiss the agonized face, to smooth the ruffled hair, to 
 take away the heavy insignia of mourning and per 
 suade the shaken woman to lie down, as a girl of this 
 day would have done ; she had ventured as far as she 
 could; a certain sense of propriety in her soul, of 
 respect for religion and the eternal fitness of things, 
 had been appeased by her mother s admission that all 
 this sorrow was " right," or as she dared only to 
 faintly guess, not to formulate the thought, God had 
 not done wrong in removing from these two women 
 the centre and support of their lives. There comes a 
 time to most of us, if we ourselves live long enough, 
 when we can see that the death we most resented and 
 wept was the best thing possible to be ordained when 
 and where it was, both for the dead and the living ; 
 
DEATH. 15 
 
 but it takes years of grief and pain why should I 
 not say of life ? to teach us this lesson ; it could 
 not be expected to pour its awful consolation into 
 these newly stricken souls. 
 
 Esther got up from her position by her mother, feel 
 ing that there was nothing more to be said ; instinct 
 ively she turned and looked at the clock; as if it 
 answered her, it immediately struck five, and in habit 
 ual obedience to that summons, she went into the shed 
 for kindling wood, started the fire afresh, filled and 
 hung on the tea-kettle, brought bread and butter from 
 the swinging shelf in the cellar, milk from the pantry, 
 made her tea as soon as the kettle boiled, raked out 
 some roasted potatoes from the ashes in the chimney 
 corner, brushing them clean with a turkey s wing from 
 one of the small closets, and set the frugal supper on 
 one leaf of the round table previously laid with a 
 homespun linen cloth. By the time this was done, 
 her mother had recovered self-control enough to rise 
 from her chair, take off her outer garments, cool her 
 hot eyes at the sink in the shed, where a pipe supplied 
 them with living water from a mountain spring, and 
 make her scanty hair smooth and decent. Mrs. 
 Dennis was swayed by long habit in all she did ; she 
 would not have thought, even in her despair, of com 
 ing to supper with ruffled locks or weeping eyes ; she 
 did not even know, consciously, that she was going 
 through that routine, all she did know was that it was 
 tea time, that food was on the table, and that she must 
 sit down to it. The tea was made of sage leaves, the 
 
16 STEADFAST. 
 
 bread of rye flour, but the mere effort to eat and drink 
 was of service to this disconsolate woman, whose only 
 real wish was to die and go to her husband. How 
 ever the hot drink warmed her chilly blood, and the 
 homely sweetness of the food rekindled her flickering 
 vitality and set her back into her orbit ; she was too 
 honest and unconscious to feel anything but relief at 
 the scanty cheer that food and fire brought to her; 
 the very leap and crackle of the blaze had a sound of 
 comfort in it, and the song of the kettle as it piped 
 away on the shortened hook, where it kept hot for 
 the dish washing, had a customary familiarity about 
 it that soothed her. It was not till everything was 
 restored in spotless cleanliness to its usual order, the 
 one candle lighted, the fire replenished, and the wild 
 November wind rose, yelling in the spout of the shed 
 roof like a lost spirit, that her grief faced her, not 
 now with the chaotic aspect of despair, but in its 
 everyday practical bearings. 
 
 Doctor Dennis had been the only physician in Plain- 
 field for years ; night and day his shabby gig and raw- 
 boned horse had traversed this hilly country to bring 
 relief or healing; his work had been the work of a 
 country doctor, the hardest, most unremitting, worst- 
 paid work in the world, but he had been faithful to 
 his calling. That grave, kindly face had stood beside 
 many a dying man and woman, that steady, cheerful 
 voice had brought words of hope to many an anxious 
 soul, and when a sudden and sharp fever, the result 
 of overwork and constant exposure to the treacherous 
 
DEATH. 17 
 
 and exasperating New England weather, carried him 
 out of this life spent in alleviating and restoring the 
 lives of others, he was mourned wherever he was 
 known. 
 
 But his books were sadly in arrears ; many a poor 
 creature never figured on those red-lined pages, though 
 he had provided medicine as well as counsel for them, 
 sometimes for year after year ; others had paid him 
 in produce, apples, potatoes, poultry, hay, all consumed 
 as they came in, when their value in money could and 
 would have been far more useful and more economi 
 cally disposed of than these supplies. Here and 
 there a bill was paid in cash, but daily necessities 
 had forestalled all such payments always, and they 
 were few and far between, for Plainfield was a farm 
 ing town, and farming in New England was then but 
 a delusion and a snare ; it could be summed up in the 
 epigrammatic sentence of Triptolemus Yellowley, 
 concerning agriculture in the Shetland Isles : " The 
 carles and the cart-avers make it all, and the carles 
 and the cart-avers take it all ! " 
 
 What scant food the iron-bound and rock-ribbed 
 country yielded to the demands of incessant and 
 severe labor was consumed by the laborer ; there was 
 but a living, and a squalid living, to be wrung from 
 the thin dry soil that clothes our beautiful hills, and 
 the tiny, alluvions of the brooks that rush madly 
 from their mountain springs to the one great river ; 
 true, the grass was sweet, but the milk was scanty, 
 and if rye grew up to the very edge of sharp granite 
 
18 STEADFAST. 
 
 ledges, it was never luxuriant enough to supply the 
 full demand for it. Wheat was a rare luxury ; pota 
 toes indeed grew as they always grow on newly up 
 turned ground, abundantly, and of good quality, and 
 orchards were lavish of their spicy fruit, but all these 
 things did not mean or make money; these hills 
 raised men, not crops, and when Doctor Dennis died, 
 there was left for his wife and child one hundred and 
 fifty dollars in a pigeon-hole of his desk, two or three 
 medical books, a few poor old implements of surgery, 
 and the small brown farmhouse with its garden and 
 orchard under the ledge of Pine Hill ; that was all. 
 He had no debts, and funeral expenses were light 
 enough in Plainfield. Through the doctor s illness 
 the neighbors had sent in good store of food, to 
 express sympathy and save the two women from any 
 trouble of cookery, so that they might devote them 
 selves to the sick man. There was at least two weeks 
 provision in the house ; three barrels of potatoes and 
 four of apples in the cellar, a bushel of white beans, 
 a keg of pork, a half barrel of flour also in the pan 
 try, and the neighbor who supplied them with milk 
 and butter had by no means paid up her bill to Doctor 
 Dennis yet, but after this ? 
 
 " I don t know, Esther, what upon earth we shall 
 do," said the widow, after a little preliminary talk, 
 and taking of stock with the aforesaid results. 
 
 " I don t see where our livin is to come from. You 
 a n t old enough nor eddicated enough to teach, and 
 if you was we haven t got but one school in the town- 
 
DEATH. 19 
 
 ship, and that s two mile off. I can t do anything hut 
 take care of a house, and knit and sew. I shall be 
 able to do that quite a spell, but the outlook s pretty 
 dark, pretty dark." 
 
 " A n t there any bills coming in at all, mother ? " 
 asked Esther. 
 
 " I presume there may be ; I presume likely we can 
 collect as much as ten dollars more n is down on the 
 books. There s Squire Pettigrew had typhus fever 
 you know, two months back; I don t see as he is 
 paid up yet ; and Lawyer Green s wife had a spell of 
 rheumatiz, that ain t charged for, but that is skerce 
 enough to be much help." Esther leaned her head on 
 her hand and looked into the fire. She was sixteen 
 years old, a tall, thin girl, only saved from being angu 
 lar by her small bones, which, even ill covered as they 
 were, showed no obtrusive joints or coarse outlines. 
 Her noble head and slender throat, her dark pensive 
 eyes, sensitive mouth, and rich abundance of dark 
 hair, brown hair with red lights in it, gave her a cer 
 tain distinction of aspect that lasts and attracts 
 longer than positive beauty, if it is not so bewilder 
 ing and gracious. She was yet a child in directness, 
 unworldliness, and the undreaming sleep of passion 
 within her ; she loved nobody but her parents, for she 
 knew no one else ; there were no young men in 
 Plainville, even in the Centre, as the nucleus of the 
 village was called, except a clerk in the " store," and 
 an hostler at the tavern ; such boys as had grown up 
 there had naturally gone out into the world to seek 
 
20 STEADFAST. 
 
 the fortunes their fathers had never found on those 
 barren hills, and as this girl had never read either 
 novels or poetry, she was still only a girl, only a child. 
 
 But suddenly an idea came to her as she stared into 
 the red coals. 
 
 " Mother ! " she said, starting up. " Haven t you 
 got an uncle somewheres down by the shore ? " 
 
 "Why, yes. Uncle Dyer lives down to Trumbull; 
 he always has lived there since he married Squire 
 Kent s daughter." 
 
 " Well ; he s your own uncle, ain t he ? " 
 
 " To be sure ; he was mother s brother ; all the kith 
 and kin, near to, that she had. I used to see him 
 quite frequenfwhen I was a child, for our folks lived 
 next door ; but when I was eight years old, he went to 
 Trumbull to live, and we skercely ever saw him ; not 
 once after he married Judge Kent s daughter, for she 
 had means, and he went into the West Indy trade, 
 and what travellin he did do, was done to York, and 
 sometimes a voyage to Jamaica. Then mother died, 
 and father he didn t live a year after I married, and 
 moved up here to live, so I expect I sort of slipped 
 Uncle Dyer s memory, though I m all the niece he 
 ever had." 
 
 " Well, mother, can t you write to him and ask if 
 he can t find some work for us ? I expect there must 
 be more to do where there is more people, and Trum 
 bull is quite a sizeable place I ve heard." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Esther. I don t know as I darst ; poor 
 folks want a welcome everywhere, Grandsir Starks 
 
DEATH. 21 
 
 used to say. Seems to me I haven t got a mite of 
 courage left. Father dead, and we comin to want ; 
 why, it seems as though I couldn t anyway have it so. 
 I don t know which way to turn." 
 
 " You re awful tired, mother ; that s what ails you. 
 You wouldn t be so scary if you wa nt. Why there s 
 lots of poor folks in the world that live somehow ; and 
 why shouldn t we ? I guess you had better go to 
 bed ; I ll fetch down the cot, and set it right here by 
 your door, so s you won t be lonesome, and I guess by 
 time it s morning, you ll take heart some, and think 
 it s a good plan to write to Uncle Dyer." 
 
 This ignorant, girlish courage somewhat reassured 
 the timid woman who had lost heart, and lost all 
 thereby ; she went to bed, and at last to sleep ; wak 
 ing at early dawn with that dim frightful sense of 
 lurking trouble, of fatal loss, that the outwearied soul 
 cannot at once grasp with the scarce awakened senses, 
 but that comes fully in sight at last, and, like an 
 armed man, despoils the mourner of the sole good life 
 has left him, a temporary unconsciousness, a brief 
 forgetting, and arouses with the pang of its first 
 fresh bitterness the agony we must needs accept 
 anew. 
 
 It was with difficulty Esther made her mother try, 
 at least, to take food to-day ; she no longer felt the 
 faintness of exhaustion that urged her to eat, but at 
 length that sense of duty in which her life had been 
 moulded came to her aid ; she took a cup of rye coffee, 
 a decoction calculated to divert any sort of thought 
 
22 STEADFAST. 
 
 from the unaccustomed taste, but which afforded no 
 diversion of feeling to her, used as she was to its bit 
 terness and flat flavor : and, encouraged by the reso 
 lution her mother showed, Esther began again to talk 
 . of her idea about Uncle Dyer. 
 
 "Well, Esther, if it s best, and I don t know but 
 what tis best, I will write to him. I presume likely 
 there would be more openings for them that want 
 work down there than there is here amongst the 
 mountains ; anyway, I should like a change ; I can t 
 feel but what father s comin in to the door every 
 minute ; and then it comes home to me that he won t 
 never step in any more, and seems as though I should 
 give up ! If it s so to be that you and me can earn a 
 living down to Trumbull, why I shall learn to sense 
 it better that father s gone for good, and it won t stir 
 me up so. I do strive to be real resigned, but seems 
 as though I d got to have something else to think of 
 but what s always been here and ain t here no more, 
 before I can really feel to say, the will o the Lord be 
 done. Yes. I ll write to Uncle Dyer to-night." 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 LOVE 
 
 Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, 
 Passed in music out of sight. 
 
 FIVE years before this day of loss to the Dennis 
 family, Eachel Mather, an orphan girl in Deerfield, 
 had married Philemon Hall, a young minister to whom 
 she had been engaged for five years. 
 
 There is nothing strange in so long an engagement, 
 when the young man has to wait for his education 
 and settlement, but yet this marriage made an unusual 
 stir and talk in Deerfield. Eachel was poor, as well as 
 an orphan, and had lived from her tenth year in the 
 house of her aunt, the Widow Peek ; but her beauty 
 and her sweetness of temper would have excused any 
 man in those primitive days for loving and marrying 
 her, had it been the governor of the State himself. 
 She had more than one lover, but only one love, and 
 that was Philemon Hall. She had been his sweet 
 heart from the days when they trudged up to the 
 Eock Corner schoolhouse hand in hand ; and when he 
 made up his mind to become a minister, and asked 
 Eachel if she would wait for him, it seemed to her as 
 if a sudden glory out of heaven had fallen upon her. 
 
 She had a hard life in her aunt s house ; four little 
 children and but a small amount of money were Mrs. 
 
 23 
 
24 STEADFAST. 
 
 Peek s portion in this world, and she was a hard-na- 
 tured, energetic woman, not inclined to indulge her 
 self in laziness, or anybody else. Rachel was up 
 before dawn and kept at her tasks till night. If 
 candles had not been a luxury, even night would not 
 have been spared to her. In winter a roaring fire of 
 pine and hickory gave her light enough to spin by, 
 but when a fire was no longer needed she could sit out 
 on the doorstep, sometimes with Philemon beside her, 
 and find in the fragrant breath of field and forest, the 
 cries of young birds in their nest, the soft whisper of 
 summer winds in the leaves, and the consciousness of 
 a dear presence beside her, such a rest and refresh 
 ment as helped her to possess her soul in patience 
 through the days of loveless and exhausting toil that 
 were her lot. Day by day she seemed to grow love 
 lier ; her figure was slight and angular, there was no 
 grace in its movement, no rounded outlines, no dim 
 ples; her chest was flat and narrow, her shoulders 
 square, but her head was the head of a Greek statue, 
 the straight features, the calm full lips, the low up 
 right forehead and level brows, all illuminated by 
 great blue eyes with thick golden lashes, and a wealth 
 of pale gold hair waving, coiling, clinging about her 
 beautiful head in classic fashion, as rare as lovely. 
 Her skin was pale, but its colorless glow was the tint 
 of health, and any sudden emotion flushed it with the 
 very pink of a wild rose, as fair and as fleeting as 
 that most delicate blossom. 
 
 Aunt Peek was furious when, before Philemon left 
 
LOVE. 25 
 
 Deerfield to study theology witL Father Niles in New 
 Haven, he avowed his engagement to Rachel. It 
 seemed as if for the next four years she set herself to 
 work to devise fresh toils for the poor girl daily, toils 
 whose only respite was the brief annual visit of her 
 lover, who after a good old fashion spent his vacations 
 teaching school, in order to help defray the expense 
 of his own education. But Rachel worked in hope, 
 and therefore uncomplainingly, undergoing a disci 
 pline she was soon to need. Mrs. Peek did not hesi 
 tate to express her feelings openly as the time for 
 Philemon s return drew near. 
 
 "It s everlastin hard," she confided to a neighbor 
 at an apple-bee. " I ve fetched her up sence her folks 
 died ; I ve gin her fair schooling board, lodgin , an 
 clo thin , and jest as she s gettin real useful, she s got 
 to up and get married. Seems as thougk she had 
 ought to hev thought some of me." 
 
 " Couldn t ha done no more ef she d been your own 
 daughter," dryly answered Mrs. Allen. 
 
 The Widow Peek stared ; like many other people, 
 she had looked so intently on her own side of the 
 matter that there seemed no other view possible to 
 take, no other interest concerned in it. 
 
 The next day it happened to be Rachel s duty, after 
 baking and ironing, to spread out a whole piece of 
 homespun linen on the grass to bleach, and every 
 hour or two to wet it thoroughly ; the heat of the In 
 dian summer day was unusual and intense ; the girl 
 was worn out with her work in the hot kitchen, and 
 
26 STEADFAST. 
 
 about four o clock one of those autumnal thunder 
 storms set in that are so furious and so sudden. Oc 
 cupied with her duties, she had not stepped out of 
 doors since last she sprinkled the lengths of cloth 
 lying across the sward of the home lot, but she was 
 startled by a rapid darkness in the air, and looking 
 out at the door she saw the black curtain of the storm 
 coming over the mountain fast and furious, and a 
 heavy rattling peal of thunder told how near its van 
 guard hung ; without stopping even for her sun-bon 
 net, she ran for the linen ; it must be brought in or 
 the heavy rains would beat it into the grass and stain 
 it, the wind tear it up and away, or, possibly, sharp 
 assaults of hail riddle it. But the storm was swifter 
 than her flying steps; before she could fold those 
 lengths of solid linen, it was doubly weighty with 
 water, and she herself drenched to the skin. Hold 
 ing it up in her slender arms, blinded by the light 
 ning and dazed by the loud thunder, she stumbled and 
 groped slowly back to the house and then set herself, 
 with no consideration for her own condition, to wring 
 ing the soaked cloth till it was dry again, or at least 
 fit to hang before the fire, and not drip on the clean 
 floor. Kegardless of herself still, and afraid lest her 
 aunt should come back to find the work of the, day 
 undone, she finished the last few bits of her ironing, 
 hurried up into the shed loft to turn the heavy cheeses, 
 and by that time the shower had passed over, and she 
 must go to pasture after the cow, milk her, give her 
 water, and then get supper. 
 
LOVE. 27 
 
 Mrs. Peek and all her children had gone nutting in 
 some distant woods that day, and they were sure to 
 come back hungry, and expect Eachel to take back the 
 neighbor s horse and wagon they had borrowed ; so it 
 came about that her wet clothes were not changed till, 
 as soon as darkness put an end to labor, she crept up 
 stairs to the " garret-chamber " where she slept, and, 
 aching in every fibre lay down to sleep if she could. 
 
 But people on the rack do not sleep : Kachel could 
 not even rise when the dawn came ; she was helpless 
 as a man fettered to his dungeon wall. 
 
 Her aunt scolded and fretted, but was forced for 
 her own sake to fetch the doctor, and he shook his 
 wise old head ; it was rheumatic fever, no one could 
 tell how long it might last, or in what condition leave 
 the patient. It is idle to detail her long and weary 
 sufferings : ill with the most agonizing of diseases ; 
 one that demands careful handling, exquisite nursing, 
 warmth, nourishment, cheer ; Eachel had not one of 
 these necessities ; her room was colder even than the 
 barn, for that at least had a deep lining of hay, but 
 her roof was leaky and old, snows drifted on her bed, 
 and rain beat in at the dormer window, dripping in a 
 pool to the floor beneath ; her food was scanty and 
 grudgingly doled out to her ; and such nursing as she 
 got was occasional voluntary service from the neigh 
 bors ; when spring at last came, the old doctor said, 
 sadly and unwillingly enough, that there was no hope 
 for her, not even the hope of dying ; she must live a 
 bedridden cripple so long as life remained to her. 
 
28 STEADFAST. 
 
 Mrs. Peek was furious ; she had no pity at all for this 
 young life brought to so terrible; a stand in the midst 
 of its bloom and promise ; she considered this a per 
 sonal injury done to herself, and never wearied of as 
 suring Rachel that just as soon as the roads settled 
 she should " cart her off to the town-house " a threat 
 she was only too likely to fulfil. But, in her heavy 
 trouble, Eachel had learned where the one consola 
 tion of loss can be found; educated in the Puritan 
 strictness of the time, she had learned chapter after 
 chapter of the Bible, by heart, and almost all the 
 hymn-book ; and now that her wandering mind, 
 shaken first by physical and then by mental torture, 
 began to grasp the situation, and try, with that won 
 derful instinct the mind has, to adapt itself to its 
 surroundings, she betook herself to such prayer as 
 only the despairing can offer ; it seemed to her that 
 her strong pleadings laid hold on heaven ; for in the 
 very anguish of the flesh the gracious words of the 
 Father, the pitiful and tender promises of the Son 
 fell upon her like dew upon the parched ground and 
 gave her strength to endure j that strength so hard to 
 attain. 
 
 While she lay ill in her garret, Philemon had more 
 than once written her ; but the epistles had been 
 thrown on the fire by Aunt Peek, who had no time to 
 read them either to herself or Rachel, and neither 
 wish nor ability to answer them. 
 
 But those were days of heavy postage, and weekly 
 mails, sometimes lost from the boot of the stage that 
 
LOVE. 29 
 
 carried them, swept out in the fording of a swollen 
 river, or dropped by the breakage of a strap on some 
 lonely mountain road. Philemon did not wonder that 
 his epistles were not answered ; his character was 
 generous, confiding, unselfish, and just by nature ; and 
 his earnest religious faith had but confirmed these 
 traits, reformed his native obstinacy into persever 
 ance, and controlled to an imprisoned and safe motive 
 force that strong, high temper which might otherwise 
 have desolated his life and the lives of those most 
 dear to him. He never had a doubt of Rachel s affec 
 tion, and the one refreshment of his heart through 
 this, his last winter of theological grubbing, was the 
 prospect of his return to Deerfield and to her, in the 
 coming spring. 
 
 To her, the thought of seeing him again was ex 
 quisitely painful ; she knew that her life was set 
 apart from all the ties that help women to live and be 
 helpful ; she knew just how hard it would be for 
 Philemon to give her up ; and, in her pure pity and 
 love, wept bitterer tears for him than ever she shed 
 for her own wreck of hope and health; she tried 
 every day, fortified by prayer and the remembered 
 word of Scripture, to look forward and realize in her 
 imagination the long future of poverty, solitude, and 
 pain in store for her ; she did not yet know that the 
 daily manna of the wanderers in the desert was but a 
 type of the bread wherewith God feeds our hungry 
 souls, a provision only given with the hour of need j 
 and she wondered sorrowfully why she could not 
 
30 STEADFAST. 
 
 gather courage to accept the life ordained for her, 
 though not yet visited upon her as a fulfilled terror. 
 
 At last Philemon came back to Deerfield ; it was a 
 sunny April day; the season was early, and Aunt 
 Peek had said to her oldest girl that very morning, 
 
 "The roads is most settled; I must go up to the 
 poorhouse an tell Simonses folks to fix up one o 
 them rooms, below stairs for Eachel, for I shall jest 
 git rid of her as soon as ever the turnpike s got so a 
 cart can be driv over it. I m most tuckered out with 
 fetchin an carryin ; its nigh about noonspell now, 
 Mary Ann, you carry up her gruel, it s warm enough ; 
 I dono but what it s smoked a mite, but beggars 
 mustn t be choosers." 
 
 Hard indeed and rough of speech was KachePs un 
 willing hostess; yet would the blade have cut less 
 deep had it been inlaid and polished steel ? You can 
 answer, poor and pitiable sisterhood, who live by suf 
 ferance in houses where your richer brothers and sis 
 ters endure you as a necessary evil ; where you wear 
 your lives out in thankless service, scantily rewarded, 
 " traversing another man s stairs " in lifelong humili 
 ation, and abject acceptance of such a fate. Why 
 have you not the courage to go out boldly and earn 
 your bread in some honest calling for a just wage ? 
 Why cannot you break these poor fetters of custom, 
 and heartily and contentedly find and fill the places 
 crying aloud, all about you, for the work of just such 
 women as you are ? Is your false pride of position 
 agreeable or comfortable enough to compensate you 
 
LOVE. 31 
 
 for a life of sufferance, of contempt, of real oppres 
 sion, and nominal reward ? If it is, if you prefer 
 husks to bread, continue then to eat them ; but never 
 complain to man or woman of their huskiness, or 
 stretch out your feeble hands for alms of pity. 
 
 However, though she did not know it, or expect 
 him, Philemon had come, and he had not been an 
 hour in the village before he heard of Kachel s 
 wretched condition, and her aunt s intention. He, 
 too, was an orphan, with an old uncle in Deerfield, 
 his guardian and only relative ; a simple, kindly, good 
 old man, who considered Philemon the " expectancy 
 and rose " of all New England, and would not have 
 thwarted him in his wildest wishes had it been in 
 his power to grant them. There had been times in 
 this young man s life when he thought sadly of his 
 homeless state, and longed for the tender affection of 
 a mother, or steady and wise fatherly guidance ; but 
 now he felt a half unwilling thrill of joy that he was 
 entirely his own master, and in full possession of the 
 two thousand dollars that remained of his small prop 
 erty, since his education was finished and paid for. 
 His first step was to visit old Doctor Prime and hold 
 a long consultation with him, from which the doctor 
 emerged winking his eyes very hard, growling under 
 his breath, shaking his head, and generally behaving 
 in an ominous manner. The two repaired at once to 
 the parsonage, where a younger brother of the doctor 
 held sway, and there another hour was spent in triple 
 council ; all these movements eagerly observed and 
 
32 STEADFAST. 
 
 commented on by female eyes, wherever the line of 
 vision made it possible. But all that even the most 
 assiduously observant woman heard, was these four 
 words from Philemon s lips, as he shut the parsonage 
 door after him in coming out, " Remember ! half- 
 past four." 
 
 It was three already when Philemon Hall arrived 
 at Mrs. Peek s house, and nodding to the astonished 
 Mary Ann, left on guard while her mother had gone 
 up to settle Rachel s affairs with Mr. Simons, went 
 straight up to that dingy garret where his Rachel lay. 
 
 She did not faint or cry out when he entered ; she 
 had so long dreamed of this hour, waited, watched 
 for, prayed over, feared it, that there was no shock of 
 surprise, no start of unexpected emotion in her soul ; 
 she looked up and smiled. 
 
 But Philemon stopped short on the threshold, and 
 the love that, in tranquil surety of fulfilment, had so 
 long grown with his growth and strengthened with 
 his strength, seemed suddenly to reveal itself and 
 take possession of his whole nature with a power 
 that shook him to the heart. 
 
 It was not the beautiful, innocent, gentle girl he 
 had left, who lay in that squalid bed, with eyes as 
 large and limpid as the rock pools of an ebbing sea, 
 with tangled masses of dull gold hair fringing the 
 blue-veined forehead and wan, sunken cheeks; the 
 Rachel of the past was a child, this was a saint ; the 
 very calm of heaven on her emaciated features, and 
 its light in her tranquil eyes just dewed with unshed 
 
LOVE. 33 
 
 tears. He knelt down beside her and set a reverent 
 kiss on her forehead, and then looked at her without 
 a word. She was first to break the silence. 
 
 " Are you well, Philemon ? " she said, gently and 
 primly, as a daisy might speak if it could. 
 
 " But you, Eachel ! " he answered, careless of any 
 answer to her speech. "Do you suffer? do you 
 ache ? cannot you be lifted ? " 
 
 " I ache some," she said ; " sometimes not so much, 
 though," with a piteous little smile. "Nobody has 
 tried to lift me ; I can move just a little." 
 
 "I m coming back in one minute," he said, hur 
 riedly. 
 
 Rachel thought he had gone out to control himself, 
 that he could not endure the change in her aspect ; 
 she did not know that she was lovelier than ever ; she 
 sighed, for she was a woman, and she loved him. 
 
 But, in the shortest possible time, if it was more than 
 a minute, he returned with Aunt Ruthy Wells, the 
 nurse and friend of all the village ; and with her soft, 
 strong hands, her skill of experience, her tenderness, 
 and gentle ways, another hour saw Rachel bathed, 
 clothed afresh, her bed daintily neat, her hair un 
 tangled, smoothed, braided loosely about her head 
 and covered with a little linen cap ; then she fetched 
 her a cup of hot broth with a spoonful of wine in it, 
 and fed her like a child; rested and refreshed she 
 looked up at Aunt Ruthy with grateful eyes, and had 
 parted her lips to speak, when the door opened, and 
 in walked Parson Prime, the doctor, and Philemon. 
 
34 STEADFAST. 
 
 It was a stroke of strategy to be so sudden. Phile 
 mon did not stop to consider ; this was not a matter 
 of duty ; he loved Eachel with all his strong, faithful 
 heart ; he could not leave her an hour longer in suf 
 fering 5 there was, in his eyes, but one thing to do, 
 and that was to marry her. If he gave her so much 
 as an hour to consider, he knew where her unselfish 
 ness and good sense would land his plans and pur 
 poses, therefore, he would not give her that hour, but 
 took for granted that her consent, given so long ago, 
 was valid still ; and refused to listen to the hurried 
 remonstrances she tried even now to make. 
 
 "I guess you d as good keep still; talking 11 only 
 wear ye out. 7 grimly remarked the doctor. " He s as 
 sot in his way as I ever see a man, and you haven t 
 had dealings with em so long as I have. I tell you 
 what! if the man s the head of the woman, as the 
 Scripter says, you ll have a big head, Rachel, and you 
 can t bend it much ! " 
 
 "Brother!" said Parson Prime, with an official 
 scowl, "this is not a time to laugh." 
 
 The doctor took a pinch of snuff, and shut his 
 mouth, but his eyes twinkled wickedly; and over 
 borne by persuasion, by masculine dogmatism, by the 
 suddenness and surprise of the thing ; protesting with 
 every power of her mind, assenting with every throb 
 of her heart, looking up at Philemon with the depre 
 cating adoration of a mortal who beholds an angel 
 stooping to earth s helpless, needy level, Eachel 
 Mather was married to Philemon Hall without a 
 
LOVE. 85 
 
 crowd of friends, a wedding feast, a veiled bride, or 
 even the flowers that ^hould have lent the last adorn 
 ment to such a scene ; but no death-bed marriage could 
 have been more solemn or as serene ; it was like a 
 translation to the hopeless, earthly life of the woman ; 
 an opening of heaven s gates j and it was the rapture 
 of fulfilment to the man, without one tinge of earth 
 or self in its joy ; the stainless rapture of a seraph 
 over the soul gathered to the love of eternity, safe in 
 the heavenly rest. Strange, unworldly, unwise, im 
 possible to mortal man as this tale seems, oh ! 
 friendly reader, it is true. And while you stare and 
 wonder and almost disbelieve, just as Deerfield people 
 did ; yet knowing that it was, and is, a fact of well- 
 attested history, will you not for this man s sake 
 have a grain of faith hereafter in the possibilities of 
 humanity, when God breathes into its shape once 
 more the breath of His life ? 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 CONTINUANCE. 
 
 Here may ye see that men can be 
 In love meek, kind, and stable. 
 
 WHEN Mrs. Peek came home from her visit to the 
 poorhouse, which had been prolonged beyond her ex 
 pectance by a sturdy squabble with Simmons, who 
 kept it, concerning certain arrangements for Kachel, 
 she was stunned to find her burden taken off her 
 hands in such a way. She did not dare encounter 
 Philemon s keen gray eye, which looked through her 
 flimsy pretence of kindness, to the cruelty and in 
 justice beneath ; and he, with that masculine wisdom 
 which teaches a man to be silent in cases where a 
 woman thinks, or rather feels that she must speak or 
 die, did not offer any accusations or ask any explana 
 tions concerning the past. 
 
 He merely entered into certain discussions of a 
 business nature, for it was needful that Rachel should 
 have a place where she could be comfortable till he 
 had a home of his own. He could have taken her to 
 his uncle s house, but Doctor Prime would not allow 
 her to be moved twice ; her extreme exhaustion and 
 delicacy forbade the attempt. Philemon had been 
 preaching during his last term of study in the little 
 36 
 
CONTINUANCE. 37 
 
 village of Trumbull, a growing town on the seashore, 
 where certain magnates of the West India trade in 
 New Haven had built them goodly homes, and at 
 tracted by their daily needs such tradesmen as the 
 scant custom of an ordinary village did not allow. 
 There was little doubt that when the young student 
 was ready to be ordained he would receive a call to 
 this parish, but till he was fairly settled it seemed 
 best to have Eachel remain in her aunt s house. 
 
 After much higgling on Widow Peek s side, and a 
 certain thrifty demur and sense of justice on Mr. 
 Hall s, it was at last arranged that Eachel should oc 
 cupy the spare room, which had a cheerful, sunny 
 outlook, and an open fireplace ; and Aunt Euthy be 
 established as her nurse, providing and cooking both 
 her food and Eachel s ; the bargain including the use 
 of Mrs. Peek s kitchen fire for the latter purpose. 
 
 This being decided, Philemon set himself to his 
 outside work, visiting his wife daily, bringing refresh 
 ment and rest in his very presence ; reading to her ; 
 praying at her side; soothing her fears, her self- 
 reproach, her doubts, with all the patience of love and 
 the fervor of faith. Eachel grew happier, and, in that 
 way, better, basking in all this sunshine ; but even the 
 most profound affection, faithful care, and skilful 
 nursing cannot restore to the distorted muscles and 
 shattered nerves their supple strength and healthy 
 calm. It became more and more unquestionable that 
 she was to be a cripple for life ; and when, in the early 
 fall, Philemon received and accepted his call to the 
 
38 STEADFAST. 
 
 church in Trumbull, and by slow and painful stages, 
 in a vehicle fitted up for the purpose, Eachel was car 
 ried to her new home, she felt that it was for life and 
 death ; that never again her feet would tread the 
 elastic sward, her eyes see the hills and valleys of her 
 native township, or her knotted fingers pluck the 
 spring-born blossoms from their lonely woodland 
 haunts. 
 
 Aunt Euthy had resolved to stay with her charge, 
 whom she had learned to love with almost maternal 
 affection, as general servant, nurse, and friend. She 
 was tired of nursing from house to house, she was 
 well-nigh fifty years old, and begun to hunger for a 
 home ; and as her only child was a sailor, wandering 
 from land to land with that craze for adventure that 
 lays hold on some men to the extinction of natural 
 ties, she had no prospect for her old age better than 
 that offered her in the house of the minister. In 
 those days a settlement in any parish meant a life 
 long position, except under some peculiar circum 
 stances, and Aunt Euthy in becoming a member of 
 Philemon Hall s family felt herself secure. 
 
 The patriarchal relation of servants to the served 
 in the older times was, in the country, almost univer 
 sal ; and though Aunt Euthy cooked, washed, ironed, 
 swept, dusted, sewed, and cared for the invalid beside, 
 when her methodic and capable strength had done 
 the day s work up with a calm despatch and neatness 
 modern service knows nothing about, she put on her 
 tamboured collar, changed her stuff skirt and check 
 
CONTINUANCE. 39 
 
 short gown for a gay chintz gown and petticoat, put a 
 clean mob-cap on her gray hair rolled neatly over a 
 small cushion, and sat down by Rachel to keep her 
 company, helped to entertain her guests, and, with the 
 quiet tact of an intelligent and self-respecting woman, 
 made herself agreeable without being intrusive, and 
 companionable without presumption or impertinence. 
 Dear old Aunt Euthy ! you, whom I remember in 
 your old age, with dark, dovelike eyes in whose 
 depths lurked a great sorrow and a greater love ; your 
 benign face and suave features lit with affection and 
 appreciation, with love to God and man. You, who 
 had the royal heart and the lavish hand of the ideal 
 queen, where are your kind gone to ? Why have we, 
 instead, a tribe of over-dressed, flaunting, silly, selfish 
 creatures, good only for factory hands ? Is it educa 
 tion, is it liberty, is it cheap manufactures, or yellow- 
 covered novels that have wrought this result in our 
 women ? 
 
 It is not to be supposed that when the first flush of 
 enthusiasm, generosity, pity, and indignation passed 
 by, and Philemon Hall took up his life with a daily 
 increasing consciousness of its incompleteness, that he 
 was a happy, or a contented man ; for him, in lieu of 
 the active joyful wife, ready to share in his work, to 
 bear and guide his children, to be his heart s delight, 
 companion as well as comforter, there was only this 
 sweet, pale saint shrined in her chamber, a creature 
 
 quite, 
 
 . . . " Too bright and good 
 For human nature s daily food." 
 
40 STEADFAST. 
 
 and he was not yet old enough or disciplined enough 
 to like daily manna, though it tasted of heaven. 
 
 He might almost as well have been a monk in a cell, 
 with a shrined Madonna for his household goddess ; 
 only that the image would not have been sensitive to 
 every sad look, long-drawn breath, or heavy-hearted 
 expression of its votary. It is hard to be a martyr at 
 the stake, no doubt, but there are the exultation of 
 triumphant faith, the wondering eyes of the crowd 
 of witnesses, the rapture of victory, the abstraction of 
 soul and spirit, all enabling the flesh to endure that 
 sharp short agony ; but a martyr by pin-pricks, or 
 stung to death by mosquitoes would demand wonderful 
 grace and faith to live to the end of his slow torture. 
 
 Yet Philemon Hall was so generous a man, so 
 patient in his strength, so filled with deep affection 
 for this shipwrecked love of his childhood and youth, 
 that never a word of regret, of impatience, or coldness 
 met her ear ; and if, in her morbid sense of dereliction 
 from duty and unfitness for her position, she imagined 
 traces of loss or weariness in his eye or voice, he 
 learned at once to detect her thought, to meet the up 
 turned eye with a look of cheerful affection, and 
 soothe the apprehensive ear with words of tenderness 
 and consolation. 
 
 If his struggles were sharp in the solitude of his 
 study, or in his long lonely walks through the odorous 
 pine woods, or along the sea-resounding shore ; if the 
 life that might have been arose at times and tempted 
 him with its visionary troops of possible delights and 
 
CONTINUANCE. 41 
 
 broader experiences ; he learned from the very temp 
 tation he endured, to be tender of his brethren who 
 yielded to the assaults his position and his circum 
 stances, as well as divine aid, enabled him to resist ; 
 and, walking side by side with Him, who fought the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil, in their most alluring 
 shapes on a lonely mountain top of Judea, and came 
 off more than conqueror, this humble follower of the 
 Master fought his own good fight, proved his armor 
 thoroughly, and fitted himself to speak as one having 
 authority and also sympathy with his human audience. 
 And Rachel too, unaided by education, or outward 
 nature, shut in upon herself, and conscious of a mis 
 take in her life that to her rigid sense of duty seemed 
 a sin ; though at first she fretted silently and long to 
 think she had not had the fortitude and persistence 
 to refuse to marry Philemon, at last she learned that, 
 
 " Where thou art placed, serenely there to stand," 
 is the great virtue of daily life, and demands the most 
 thorough subjection of the soul to its religious faith 
 and immortal necessities. In this she was mightily 
 aided by the vigorous common sense of Aunt Ruthy, 
 who understood perfectly the danger of morbid feel 
 ing in a person placed in Rachel s exceptional circum 
 stances. 
 
 One day, for the first time since they were settled 
 in Trumbull, as Aunt Ruthy sat in the bedroom knit 
 ting, and her charge half dozed in the bed, Rachel 
 turned her head, and unconscious of any hearer 
 sighed out faintly, 
 
42 STEADFAST. 
 
 " why ! why, did I let him marry me ? " 
 "Well/ said Aunt Kuthy, placidly, as if the ques 
 tion had been addressed to her, " I expect there was 
 several reasons, dear ; first and foremost, he was sot 
 that ye should, and he ain t one to stay nor delay 
 with, when he starts out ; then you was took sudden ; 
 you hadn t no time to think about it, bein weak and 
 stunned as it might be. He knoweth our frame and 
 remembereth that we are dust, ye know. I ve seen 
 too many sick folks not to know how often the sperit 
 is willin , but the flesh is too weak not to block the 
 way, and I don t b lieve the Lord that made us is 
 goin to overlook our weak spots any more n our 
 strong ones. But land! why be I talkin all abroad 
 this way ? The thing s done ; its laid away ; and you 
 nor me ha n t no call with what s over ; we must for 
 get them things that s behind an press forrard ; do 
 the best we can with what we ve got. We ve all got 
 to go to school, I expect, and we don t all get the same 
 lesson to 1 arn, but the one we do get is our n, taint 
 nobody else s, and if its real hard, why it shows the 
 teacher thinks we re capable." 
 
 Eachel drank in this homely wisdom and laid it up 
 in her heart ; it had the true ring, and in these weary 
 days and years, her simple conscientious nature strove 
 daily to accept not only patiently, but gratefully, the 
 burden that was laid upon her ; she interested her 
 self in all the sick and poor of the parish, and instead 
 of complaining of her own aches learned to be thank 
 ful that she had such a home, such care, and such love 
 
CONTINUANCE. 43 
 
 as surrounded her every hour, when so many others 
 lacked even daily bread in the tortures of disease, 
 and worse than all, had to witness helplessly the pov 
 erty and distress of their families. Even, after a long 
 time, she learned to thank God that if she had missed 
 the joys of maternity, she had also missed its awful 
 responsibilities, that she had no living soul to answer 
 for but her own, in that day ever present to her 
 thought, ever near to her expectancy. Her white- 
 draped bed and cheerful room became a sort of chapel 
 to the good, and also to the bad people in Trumbull, 
 where they went for confession, counsel, or to ask 
 prayers in some stress of life or death. She had a 
 welcome hand and look for every one ; she knew their 
 joys, their sorrows, and their doubts ; to her the 
 family skeletons were unveiled, and the family hopes 
 confided; her table had the first and latest flowers 
 brought to adorn it, and nobody in the village ever 
 made a social celebration of any sort but a bit of its 
 daintiest morsels was set aside for Mrs. Hall. 
 
 Madam Stanley, the governor s lady, a shrewish but 
 handsome dignified woman of thirty when Parson 
 Hall came to Trumbull, let no week pass without a 
 visit at the invalid s bedside. Her skilful hands con 
 cocted many a delicious dish to tempt Eachel s fastid 
 ious appetite, and she herself carried it to the parson 
 age in some quaint old basket, with a nosegay of lav 
 ender, damask roses, smellage, old man, clove pinks, 
 heartsease, or whatever sweet old-fashioned flower 
 her parterres furnished. It was like a picture to see 
 
44 STEADFAST. 
 
 her, stately in her dove-colored paduasoy gown and 
 lilac satin petticoat, her full kerchief and thread-lace 
 ruff, a black lace mantle with a hood across her bosom 
 and on her powdered hair, her pouting lips, deep gen 
 tian blue eyes, and rosy countenance full of pride, 
 passion, and yet kindly withal, beside the white bed 
 of this frail gold-haired creature, as evanescent of 
 aspect as a pearly cloud in heaven tinged by the dying 
 sun. Hither too came Sybil Saltonstall, the gover 
 nor s niece, a girl in the blush and bloom of seventeen. 
 Shy, reticent, alive to every shade or shine of life, a 
 strange compound of dreams and realities, so proud 
 that she would not show even her kindest and truest 
 feelings, so true that she paraded her faults and hid 
 her virtues lest she should gain credit she did not 
 deserve; she was a delight and a puzzle to Rachel, 
 whose nature was limpid as a mountain tarn, and could 
 no more understand Sybil s flights and notions than 
 a blossom can understand a bird, yet she could not 
 help loving the girl, feeling, though she did not see, 
 the depth and devotion dormant in her heart, and 
 refreshed with delight by her noble aspect, the breadth 
 of her white forehead, her clear, sea-gray eyes, pellucid 
 as a spring, yet holding deep the spark of a star under 
 the long veiling lashes, her peach-bloom cheeks and 
 crimson lips, her frank, proud glance. 
 
 Even the little children made Mrs. Hall s room a 
 place of resort ; hushed their noisy laughter, calmed 
 their rosy faces, and stole in smilingly and gently 
 with their small offerings ; sometimes a red apple or 
 
CONTINUANCE. 45 
 
 two, sometimes a handful of nuts, an early wild 
 blossom half crushed in the eager hand that had 
 plucked it, or a new-laid egg from the pet pullet. 
 
 "It beats all!" said Isaac Bunnel, the man who 
 came daily to do the minister s "chores" about the 
 barn. " She s the most of a sick woman I ever see. 
 When my woman-folks is ailin they let me know on t, 
 now, I tell ye ! It s Isik ! fetch me some sage ; Isik ! 
 do get that are brick ; oh land ! I shall die, Isik, ef 
 ye don t make haste ; but she s as mum as a clam. 
 Don t fret none, Aunt Euthy says, nor don t scold; 
 jest lies there an looks like a ship s figger-head a- 
 smilin , as though the world run on greased wheels. I 
 know there s a lot o grace to work, as they tell about ; 
 but seems as ef grace could work in some naters bet 
 ter n others ; jest, you may say, as the same sort o 
 corn grows a sight higher in good land. She must 
 ha been medder soil to begin with, I expect. " 
 
 And beside her in this quiet village, hidden from 
 the sight of the world lying in wickedness, not 
 shaped by the agencies of life s central seething fires, 
 such as shake it with war, and persecution, and strife ; 
 but moulded by the daily forces of the tranquil hour, 
 growing from within by virtue of the deep root, the 
 dropping dew, the sudden shower and stressful winds, 
 the sunshine and the night ; grew up to the full stat 
 ure of a man in Christ Jesus, the saint who left behind 
 him a real saint s record, Philemon Hall. If his wife 
 could have known how much her influence had done 
 to refine and sweeten his firm and powerful character; 
 
46 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 how much he owed of his strong enduring purpose, 
 and patient faith to the working of the very position 
 he had so rashly assumed, and she so deeply regretted, 
 she would have been satisfied.; but these things work 
 like the forces of nature upon us, and we know them 
 not till we see the results ; and it is herein we walk 
 by faith, not by sight. And now, when Parson Hall 
 and his wife had, after four years hard service and 
 patience, become at home in every sense in Trumbull ; 
 found their place in the hearts of its people and grown 
 into their lives ; far away in the mountain town of 
 Plainfield, Doctor Dennis dies, and his stricken, home 
 less wife writes a letter to Uncle Dyer, a retired mer 
 chant living also in Trumbull, a letter about to bring 
 together Esther Dennis and her fate. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCE. 
 
 We consider not sufficiently the good of evils. 
 WHEN Mr. Dyer received his niece s letter, he found 
 it difficult to answer. His wife was lying ill of a 
 lingering consumption. It was impossible for him to 
 ask his relations to come and visit him, as he would 
 gladly have done. He could not but perceive that in 
 the event of his wife s death he should himself be 
 glad of Mrs. Dennis s care and companionship, but 
 this was a prospect he could not decently offer as an 
 inducement. Nothing occurred to him as a probable 
 or possible occupation for two lonely women, and at 
 last after much thought he sent them the following 
 letter. If it is not orthographically correct, let us 
 have the charity to remember that spelling was not 
 a test of education in those days ; even George 
 Washington was incorrect in that particular. Can I 
 offer greater excuse ? 
 
 TBUMBULL, Nov r ye 27, 1748. 
 
 MY DEAR NEICE, I Kec d your favor of ye 19th inst 
 Per Male duly. I regret to hear of y r Mellancholly Afliction; 
 death spares no Man; Wee must all dye Sooner or Later. I 
 hope you are Resign d to the Will of god; having Comfortabel 
 Asurance that ye Deceas d is depparted to a Better Condishion 
 of Things. 
 
 In Respect of ye Matter of w ch you Writ, I see nothing at 
 Present open to your Intention: but I think when Spring arives 
 
 47 
 
48 STEADFAST. 
 
 their may Bee something found. I Forward in this a Bill ov 
 Draft w ch you can have Cash d in the Town by Mr. Seers, he 
 Being a Customer in time past of Mine. It will help you in 
 the Winter time to wait more Comfortable, and I will keap you 
 in Mind, if, as I now Think there may be Need of you Herafter. 
 
 Yours to Command 
 
 JOSHUA DYEK. 
 
 Mrs. Dennis handed the letter to Esther without a 
 word ; she was disappointed. Her hope and thought 
 had been to escape at once from this house haunted 
 by the idea and shape of her husband ; for it seemed 
 to her bereft soul that he stood beside the fireplace 
 when she entered the room, but eluded her sight when 
 the door opened ; or, that he still leaned over the 
 office table and vanished when she looked in; every 
 step startled her, every sound struck sharp upon her 
 ear with a possibility never realized, and she wanted 
 to get away to some place where no association tor 
 tured her. But this letter put an end to the thought ; 
 a woman has so little resource in such a position, she 
 is so helpless, so cramped. A man can go and come 
 as he will ; find some place in life out of and beyond 
 the dwelling of his dead ; but a woman must sit down 
 and endure. She took the bill for two hundred dol 
 lars as simply as if it were her right ; Uncle Dyer 
 had enough and to spare, it was kind in him ; but she 
 was not humiliated or angered by the gift, she had 
 that rare generosity which can take as cordially as it 
 can give. 
 
 Esther was not as surprised or as grieved as her 
 mother ; she had not built much on the help Uncle 
 
CIRCUMSTANCE. 49 
 
 Dyer would give them, and it was a sort of respite to 
 her not to leave the home where she had always lived. 
 She was a true New England girl, shy, sturdy in 
 resolve, quick in action, reticent, and perhaps proud, 
 having under all a character that circumstances alone 
 could develop, that was even yet a mystery to herself. 
 So they endured in their little house the long Ver 
 mont winter. Esther cleared the snow from doorsteps 
 and paths herself, went for the milk, kept the fires 
 going, cooked their slight meals, and helped the heav 
 ier work along, while her mother spun yarn on the big 
 wheel to supply the knitting that occupied their even 
 ings, and once a week the butcher, whose cart stopped 
 every Saturday at the door, carried such socks and 
 mittens as were finished to " the store " in Plainfield 
 and exchanged them for groceries which he .carried 
 back the next week. The winter was long and lonely, 
 but it wore away ; the last week in February came a 
 brief note from Uncle Dyer, telling them of his wife s 
 death, and three weeks after, a longer letter asking 
 them to come at once to Trumbull, and live with him, 
 as he needed care and company as much as they needed 
 a home. It did not take many days to dispose of their 
 few goods ; fortunately, the butcher, who had been so 
 friendly to them through the winter, wanted to rent a 
 farm, and would take their scanty furniture and other 
 household goods at a fair valuation; two old hair- 
 trunks with initials in brass nails on the top, and 
 trimmings of pinked leather nailed on all around, 
 held their clothes, and a great bandbox carried preca- 
 
50 STEADFAST. 
 
 riously their best bonnets. The drive was long and 
 tedious, travel by stage coach has become a faint mem 
 ory to-day to the few who recall it at all, yet there are 
 a few who cannot forget the swaying and bouncing 
 motion of those great stiff springs, a motion as dis 
 turbing to the reeling head and sympathizing stomach, 
 as if the luckless traveller were given over to be bandied 
 about between the centrifugal and centripetal forces of 
 nature, yielding now to one and now to the other, 
 neither getting the victory in the end, but tossing the 
 victim to and fro at their seething point of contact 
 till he wished either of the tormentors might conquer, 
 though it were his own death. Then there were the 
 slippery cushions, the unsavory straw under foot, the 
 windows never open but that some one else wanted 
 them shut, or shut but that some one insisted on their 
 opening ; the evil smell of damp leather, the enforced 
 companionship, the cramped position, all these ex 
 changed now for the ease, the swiftness, the compara 
 tive privacy of a railway car, where at least there is 
 some attempt at ventilation, and only your very near 
 est neighbor dare growl at your window. It was with 
 an extreme- sense of exhaustion and relief that Esther 
 and her mother at last clambered down the rattling 
 steps of the "stage," at Uncle Dyer s door, and 
 received his warm and earnest welcome. 
 
 Joshua Dyer was a kindly, just, and honest man. 
 If he had made money in trade, it was done in the 
 most conscientious way; gifted with that talent for 
 business that is in its way as much a separate gift as 
 
CIRCUMSTANCE. 51 
 
 genius, he had been able to seize the moment of pro 
 pitious circumstance in all his long mercantile life, 
 just when there was a demand which he could supply, 
 and he had retired to private life carrying with him 
 the respect of all his compeers and those whom he 
 had employed. His wife was a dull, uninteresting 
 woman, whom he had married in one of those youth 
 ful passions inspired by a vivid complexion, shining 
 hair, and capacity for giggling, and whom he had dis 
 covered, when the passion burned out as rapidly as 
 light wood will, to have nothing companionable, in 
 spiring, helpful, or even amusing about her, yet to 
 have a capacity for jealousy, for hoarding, and for med 
 dling, that showed how narrow was the nature, how 
 uneducated the mind beneath her roseate cheeks and 
 sparkling eyes. 
 
 If she had been jealous of him alone, perhaps 
 Joshua Dyer might have looked on her more kindly, 
 considering it a proof of her love for him, as indeed 
 in some ardent and direct natures it is. That cannot 
 be necessarily a low emotion whose earthly name God 
 himself condescends to apply to his own will that his 
 children should love him supremely, and there is a 
 human love which has, from its own utter and entire 
 forgetfulness of self and its eager devotion, an inaliena 
 ble right to demand that the love given to it in return 
 shall be equally pure, single, monopolizing, and faith 
 ful ; but Mrs. Dyer had no such noble hunger or divine 
 right within her narrow nature ; she was jealous of 
 her position, her precedence, her social privileges, her 
 
02 STEADFAST. 
 
 due honor, and the respect she imagined she deserved. 
 Her life was one long accusation of those about her, 
 and consequently their alienation ; and it was a relief 
 to her husband, though he dared not acknowledge it 
 even to himself, when death, the inexorable leveller, 
 put an end to Mrs. Dyer s claims, and calmed with his 
 tyrannic silencing her perturbed soul. It was a real 
 home that the Widow Dennis found in Truinbull. She 
 stepped into the right place quietly and thankfully. 
 Nothing was required of her but to order and super 
 intend the house, the kitchen was out of her province 
 and had its own ruler and governor. " The constant 
 service of the antique world," had its representative 
 there in the person of a ten years occupant, who was 
 glad enough to relinquish the sweeping and sewing 
 into other hands. Uncle Dyer was easy to provide 
 for, since he had little company to entertain, and was 
 of the simplest tastes and habits himself. 
 
 Esther, too, was happier than she had expected to 
 be. Mr. Dyer had read a great deal in his later years, 
 and read judiciously ; he saw at once that Esther s 
 education had been necessarily slight and superficial, 
 and it was a real pleasure to him to direct her choice 
 of books ; she spent her mornings in his quiet library, 
 and, in the evening, told him what she had read, and 
 talked her books over with him, adding to her own in 
 telligent comprehension the wider ideas of a man who 
 had not only read, but seen, observed, and indeed 
 lived in a world whose motives, passions, influences, 
 and results were all unknown as yet to her. 
 
CIRCUMSTANCE. 53 
 
 In the afternoons of the slow-coming spring, she 
 rode abroad with her uncle in the yellow chaise, or 
 took long and lonely walks; nature had been her 
 friend and companion through all these years at home, 
 and the new faces of the old friend that this sea- 
 softened air and sandy soil showed her, had an added 
 charm of novelty to her observant eye. She had, too, 
 for the first time in her life, a girl friend ; for Sybil 
 Saltonstall and she met on certain social occasions, 
 and were at once attracted to each other from the 
 very difference of their natures. Esther s childlike 
 direct simplicity, her credulous acceptance of things 
 for their outward seeming, her yet unsullied faith in 
 life and man, were all interesting and amusing to 
 Sybil. She had herself lived too long in society, been 
 too conversant with the political machinery that pene 
 trated with its subtle atmosphere even the upright 
 family life at Governor Stanley s, to trust any one 
 with that infantile confidence and ignorance of char 
 acter Esther showed ; but she loved the fresh soul and 
 unspotted nature of this country girl just as a lover of 
 hot-house splendors delights to see the shy grace and 
 dew-born purity of a woodland blossom lighting the 
 green forest solitude. 
 
 So a year passed by. Esther learned much in its 
 tranquil progress ; to her already fine face, awakening 
 intellect added now its subtle charm, and the warm 
 love she had given to Uncle Dyer and Sybil gave her 
 beautiful sad eyes a tender depth they had never 
 worn before; if there lay within them any deeper 
 
54 STEADFAST. 
 
 radiance it still slept ; no dream of love had yet dis 
 turbed their depths, wearing the too facile wings, the 
 too keen-pointed arrow of the Annoyer. She saw but 
 few young men, only one who interested her at all ; 
 and if she gave curious and strenuous thought to 
 young Colonel Stonebridge, it was because he came to 
 Trumbull as Sybil s declared admirer, though not yet 
 her accepted lover. 
 
 Yet all this time Uncle Dyer, who had his own 
 match-making instincts, as most old people have, 
 careless and fearless about laying their hands on the 
 Ark of the Lord, had planned a future for this girl, 
 becoming so dear to him daily ; though he wisely re 
 frained from speaking of it to any one. But whenever 
 the chance came in naturally, he would talk to and 
 before Esther of his nephew Philip, the only child of 
 his wife s dead brother, a boy who had come to him 
 in his lonely orphanhood, and been taken at once into 
 his heart, and as far into his home as Mrs. Dyer s 
 jealousy and thrift would permit. 
 
 Philip Kent was now in the West Indies, settling 
 some business for his uncle ; he had gone there just 
 after his aunt s death, and was still absent ; another 
 year might bring him back, and it seemed to this old 
 man that his last years would be his best if he could 
 see Philip and Esther sharing his home, ministering 
 to his comfort, and going down with him in his loneli 
 ness to the edge of the grave. Day after day he 
 dropped some word or two about Philip; his char 
 acter, his business capacity, his early youth, his 
 
CIRCUMSTANCE. 55 
 
 aspect, till gradually Mrs. Dennis and Esther felt as 
 if he had always been one of the family with them, 
 and was gone but a little while. 
 
 But only one person, with that keen insight that 
 nothing gives but an entire withdrawal of personal 
 interest in outer things, perceived the thought of Mr. 
 Dyer s heart. 
 
 Rachel Hall, lying quietly in her bed, had wel 
 comed the new-comers to Trumbull, and so fascinated 
 Esther that scarcely a day passed without finding the 
 girl a visitor to the minister s wife ; in her girlish un 
 reserve she poured out all her thought into Rachel s 
 ear, and often spoke of this unknown Philip, not with 
 a marked interest, but as a factor in the life of the 
 Dyer household as truly as if he were always counted 
 among its constant inmates. 
 
 Uncle Dyer, too, made it his duty to go and see 
 Mrs. Hall once a week, and in the delight and pride 
 in Esther which he expressed freely there, Rachel ob 
 served that he always linked, quite unconsciously, a 
 thought or a word for Philip with his mention of his 
 grand-niece, as if they were so inseparably linked in 
 his mind, or his intention, that he could not think of 
 them apart. 
 
 One day as the minister was sitting beside her with 
 his book, now and then reading, but more often look 
 ing up to say a tender or cheerful word to his wife, 
 Rachel said in her gentle voice, 
 
 " Husband, my mind misgives me that our good old 
 friend, Joshua Dyer, has a thing borne in upon his 
 
56 STEADFAST. 
 
 mind that may be troublous to him ; has he spoken 
 aught of his plans or hopes about Philip to 
 you ? " 
 
 "No, Rachel," answered the minister; "he is not a 
 man who is free to speak. But why should he vex 
 his soul about Philip, who is beyond his influencing 
 now, and, if I know the lad, ever will be ? " 
 
 "I think he has it in mind to have Esther and 
 Philip more than friendly when the youth returns. 
 He holds them both very dear. Philip has ever been 
 the apple of his eye, as you know, and Esther is, I 
 think, almost as precious in his sight. It would be 
 pleasing indeed if he could have them both to comfort 
 his later days, and share his worldly goods, but I fear 
 a disappointment for him ; those things do not fall 
 out like seedtime and harvest ; and men are wilful in 
 their youth, they love not interference." 
 
 "Nor much better in their age, Rachel," said the 
 minister, smiling. 
 
 " I have ever thought that even as no man can help 
 the bird of the air to build her curious nest or choose 
 her mate, but rather terrifies the pairing and casts 
 down that wonderful architecture with touch or taint 
 of mortal finger, so it is more vain to put forth the 
 hand to aid those solemn conditions of humanity 
 which are the fountain of life, both earthly and 
 heavenly. " Guide not the hand of God," saith the 
 learned and wise Sir Thomas Browne, and indeed it 
 is but vanity and presumption to try such irreverent 
 guidance. I, too, should be sorry to see our good old 
 
CIRCUMSTANCE. 57 
 
 friend s purposes broken off; but what can we do, 
 Kachel?" 
 
 " Nothing but pray," she said, softly. 
 
 " Yes, prayer is left, and it is mighty to save ; but 
 who shall say in what path the salvation cometh ? 
 Its delivering steps perchance tread the very path 
 of our fears, the way of our disappointment. If it 
 be Thy will, Father! 5 Think on these words, 
 beloved, for He who spake them found no escape 
 from the cross or the agony ; shall the disciple be 
 above his master, or the servant above his lord ? " 
 
 Rachel sighed ; for her own sorrows she had not a 
 complaint when Philemon was with her, but she had 
 thrown her whole heart out in sympathy with the 
 little world around her till it truly seemed as if, in a 
 finite sense, she bare their griefs and carried their 
 sorrows. 
 
 She knew Philip Kent, though she had seen him 
 less than almost any other transient member of her 
 husband s parish; but her perception of character 
 was keen, and she did not thoroughly trust him ; she 
 would not willingly have seen him married to Esther. 
 Her sweet soul, too, was in anxious dread just now 
 about Sybil s future ; for she knew by report that 
 Colonel Stonebridge was hovering about the govern 
 or s mansion with intent apparent to carry away its 
 brightest jewel, and well she knew what record the 
 Stonebridge race held in colonial history, what wild 
 blood ran in their veins ; they were a reckless, god 
 less tribe; wearing all the polish and glitter that 
 
58 STEADFAST. 
 
 attracts ; courtly, debonair, handsome, and quick 
 witted; here and there a woman had sprung from 
 this black soil pure as a lily from the slimy substra 
 tum of a shallow pool, but the legend ran that Stone- 
 bridge men were granite and their women wax ; such 
 a race was no garden whereupon to set the rose of the 
 Saltonstalls. 
 
 While Kachel Hall lay pondering these things in 
 her heart, her husband having betaken himself to his 
 study, her door opened and in came Sybil and Esther. 
 Their bloom and freshness, their smiling beauty, and 
 dainty attire, were like a fresh breath of life to the 
 invalid ; Esther had developed a taste in dress hith 
 erto latent for want of means and observation, but 
 Mr. Dyer s ample allowance and Sybil s friendly 
 hints enabled her to carry out her ideas ; and to-day 
 in her rose-pink chintz gown, and little white cloak ; 
 the tiny rose-wreathed chip hat, set aslant on her 
 high-heaped dark hair, yet unpowdered; her face, 
 warm with the rich glow of health and feeling ; she 
 was as fair a contrast to Sybil in her sea-green satin 
 petticoat and pearl-colored gown, with a satin hood 
 to match the petticoat, drawn about her head and 
 shoulders, and ruffs of rich lace at her throat and 
 elbows, as a painter ever dreamed. It seemed almost 
 an answer to Kachel s tearful, prayerful thought so 
 suddenly banished, almost a warning, when Esther 
 said, with a ring of delight in her voice, 
 
 " Dear Aunt Hall ! Philip is coming home to-mor 
 row, and we are all so pleased ! " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HERE. 
 
 Well I know 
 Thou strikest, like Olympian Jove, but once. 
 
 UNCLE DYER had gone into the garden to inspect 
 his currant bushes, just now set thick with branches 
 of fruit which the sun was turning here and there a 
 dusky pink, the first shade of their ripe crimson, and 
 Mrs. Dennis was packing away blankets in the cam 
 phor chest upstairs when Philip came ; he did not 
 come by the coach, but rode over from New Haven 
 where he had landed the night before, on a strong 
 dapple-grey horse he had bought at his uncle s re 
 quest to replace the old roan ; a purchase that had, 
 as he wrote, delayed his arrival in Trumbull a day 
 or two, so that he was not expected definitely. So 
 Esther was alone in the summer parlor when he came 
 in; filling the great china punch bowl with those 
 exquisite old-fashioned white roses almost unknown 
 to florists now, but like Eve in Milton s involved 
 description 
 
 "Loveliest of her daughters." 
 
 One half-blown bud, holding in its milky cup the 
 mellow saffron tinge of dawn, and set in its own blue- 
 green leaves, Esther had put into the dark rolls of her 
 
 59 
 
60 STEADFAST. 
 
 hair, which it illumined and perfumed, and just as 
 Philip entered she was leaning with her chin in the 
 hollow of her hand over the mass of roses before her, 
 delighting her eyes with their perfect dewy loveliness, 
 unconscious that she herself was as striking as the 
 flowers. Philip stopped on the threshold, and Esther 
 looked up at him; a gleam of recognition banished 
 the dreamy expression of her eyes, but the long deep 
 look he gave her arrested her in a moment ; there was 
 some strange thrill borne on that cool ray into her 
 very soul ; the quick color rushed across her face, she 
 made an instinctive effort at self-possession and said 
 slowly, " You are Philip ? " 
 
 A keen smile twisted his lips" oddly ; it was partly 
 amusement, partly sarcasm, but she was too unsus 
 pecting to analyze it. 
 
 " Yes," he said, I am Philip." 
 
 " I will go and call Uncle Dyer," and with that she 
 went out of the other door filled with a strange feel 
 ing, a new blind consciousness she did not observe, 
 or therefore, stop to interpret. 
 
 Philip Kent was not a man to attract men ; he was 
 not particularly brilliant, well bred, or well educated, 
 nor was he handsome ; his features were coarse, his 
 stature below the average height of men ; nothing 
 about him was remarkable but a pair of almost fem 
 ininely beautiful deep-set gray eyes, those blue-gray 
 eyes that have in them the deceit of blue and the 
 perception of gray, thoroughly different from the sea- 
 gray that in their lucent greenish clarity have the 
 
HEBE. 61 
 
 deep sparkle of the sea still shining, and mean genius, 
 passion, purity, and strength. 
 
 Still, to women, there was something curiously 
 attractive about the man, something so intangible 
 that the phrase of charlatanism, "magnetic," comes 
 nearest to its description. He was thoroughly selfish, 
 exacting, and self-conscious, capable of a certain sort 
 of lasting affection for anything that belonged to him, 
 an outgrowth of his selfishness ; and a man who 
 amused himself in studying and drawing out charac 
 ter, pulling the strings of feeling and action, experi 
 menting on the sacredest emotions and passions of his 
 kind, as if the world were his puppet-show, and when 
 his marionettes had played their parts to his satisfac 
 tion, throwing them aside with an easy manner of 
 idleness and custom, as if indeed they were painted 
 wood and cloth, and had not hearts and souls far more 
 capable of suffering than his own. 
 
 He added to these evil traits a sort of careless gen 
 erosity in money matters, underlaid by the minutest 
 thrift in trifles ; it gave him such a comfortable sense 
 of superiority to lend his friends money, and receive 
 their gratitude ; it was so agreeable to be admired, 
 lauded, spoken of as the best friend in the world, that 
 his vanity drank and was satisfied, though of costly 
 draughts. 
 
 But to women perhaps his chief charm was the 
 romantic confidences always given in charge to the 
 reigning favorite ; his misanthropy, his doubts, his 
 sufferings always his were poured into the tender 
 
62 STEADFAST. 
 
 and sympathizing soul that ached with and wept for 
 him. If a woman is a true woman, nothing is so be 
 witching, so absorbing to her, as the office of consoler. 
 I once heard a man say of a certain acquaintance, " If 
 I had a friend who wanted Miss Blank to fall in love 
 with him, I should advise him to break his leg at her 
 door," and what he thought true of one woman is in 
 reality true of almost all. None of them paused to 
 observe that Philip never stirred hand or foot to aid 
 their troubles, or found any interest in their griefs. 
 He had learned in his intimate friendships many a 
 small art to interest the young girls who one after 
 another played at friendship with him ; he could tie 
 up flowers like an artist ; he played the flute with as 
 dulcet strains as Apollo ; he danced a minuet with 
 consummate grace, and was learned in female frip 
 pery such as laces, gloves, and ribbons, while no saint 
 or hero could evolve in language, as if from his inner 
 experience, more lofty theories or nobler sentiments 
 than this man who knew not at all how to be noble, 
 high-minded, or really generous. 
 
 It seemed however to Esther Dennis, when she had 
 brought Uncle Dyer and her mother in to welcome 
 this son of the house, and set herself in the corner to 
 look and listen, that this man was the one man on 
 earth. There are those doubters who say that love at 
 first sight is a myth, the nonsense of a school girl, the 
 dream of a rhymester; but nevertheless it is true 
 that this is first love, and this only. This full-born 
 passion that strikes the heart like lightning, and 
 
HEBE. 63 
 
 makes it captive with one blow, is the Eros of classic 
 anthology, king and conqueror by divine right. Few 
 indeed there are, who are direct, unworldly, pure 
 enough to receive the heavenly visitation, but to them 
 it is life or death. The Cupid of men and women at 
 large is a lesser god than this awful and beauteous 
 shape of a victorious angel ; he is a thwart and mis 
 chievous baby who makes confusion, laughter, mad 
 ness, brief joy, inconstant passion, idle tears, despair, 
 weariness, disgust ; the methods of his warfare and 
 the consequences of his reign ; annoyer and destroyer ; 
 but the rightful monarch has for his crown faith, 
 devotion, trust, truth, reliance, and a passion pure and 
 solemn as the silent planets in a night-blue heaven, 
 and his reign is like the reign of death, once and for 
 ever. Whatever wrong, whatever cruelty, neglect, 
 cold acceptance or bitter rejection it meets with, it 
 still lives, like the shrinking bulb that withdraws 
 itself into the humility of the dust, and folds its 
 radiant blossom close in its heart while winter shames 
 and repels it, but is ready to spring and bloom when 
 the sun looks and smiles for it, so long as life shall 
 endure, yet even that life will die of too long hiding, 
 perish for lack of light. To this young girl, in the 
 first dreamy hours of her womanhood, so the king 
 came. All night long from her sleepless pillow her 
 great dark eyes looked at the starry heavens of June, 
 and a voice in her heart sang over and over " Philip ! 
 Philip ! dear Philip ! " 
 
 It did not seem to her unmaidenly, strange, dread- 
 
64 STEADFAST. 
 
 ful, a thing to be resisted; for she never once was 
 conscious of herself. Another identity filled her 
 heart and permeated her brain ; she was in a sort of 
 wonderful happy trance, and when at last the sun 
 shot a long, bright ray athwart the coolness of her 
 chamber, full of the rose-scented air of the night and 
 the freshness of summer dews, she felt like an adorer 
 in the adytum of a temple, unwilling to return from 
 the high converse of his divinity in the vaulted 
 silence of that sacred abode, to the dust, the glare, 
 the common humanities of the usual day. 
 
 Philip, with the acuteness, native and experimental 
 both, that belonged to him, saw in the droop and 
 quiver of the long lashes that veiled Esther s eyes 
 from his greeting look when they met that morning, 
 some part of her thought; he certainly understood 
 that his usual power of interesting women had not 
 failed here ; but the real depth and strength of feel 
 ing he had awakened he did not at all appreciate. 
 He only set himself to be pleasant to the companions 
 of his coming life, and succeeded; he liked to have 
 some people like him, not the crowd, but those neces 
 sarily about him, for so his life was made more com 
 fortable, more exciting, amusing, and less wearisome. 
 His own traits, wants, ideas, occupied him it is true, 
 most of the time ; but he had not yet arrived at the 
 age when all other things fall into insignificance, and 
 the voracious "I" of the egotist becomes his own 
 tyrant, and the despot of all around him. 
 
 Philip Kent soon discovered how interesting a 
 
HEBE. 65 
 
 character was here brought into contact with his own ; 
 he had seen women before, but they were the average 
 sort of women ; silly, sensible, or only commonplace 
 and pretty. He had flirted in his own quiet forcible 
 way with many another girl, but Esther s simple 
 nature, her quick intellect, her utter girlishness 
 untouched by folly or affectation, her devotion to her 
 mother and Uncle Dyer, were all new traits to him. 
 
 He had before gathered his flowers from the garden ; 
 cultivated, conventional, well-bred posies, proper for 
 nosegays, to make life bright or sweet, while they 
 lasted ; here was a spray from a wild grapevine, per 
 fumed with the very breath of pure nature, full of 
 promise for the future ; and he devoted himself to 
 the new exploration. 
 
 It is so easy to destroy promise and performance, 
 so easy to gather the clusters that no time can ever 
 recall to fruitage, or even restore to fragrance, but 
 who thinks of it in the eager desire to make that 
 bloom his own ? Certainly Philip Kent was not one 
 of those rare natures that 
 
 " Loved the wild rose and left it on its stalk." 
 
 He had time and opportunity enough now to study 
 Esther at his leisure ; the dapple-gray horse was a 
 good roadster and Uncle Dyer had two outlying farms ; 
 one six miles further on the shore, where he still bred 
 a few horses for home trade ; another three miles 
 inland, a sheep-farm, where his flocks whitened the 
 Connecticut hills, and yielded stores of heavy fleeces, 
 
66 STEADFAST. 
 
 both for sale and for use in his own family ; for in 
 those days the plague of dogs did not infest the coun 
 try, and sheep could live and die in peace when every 
 laboring man did not add to his labor and expenses 
 the keep of a ravening cur, like unto their spiritual 
 congener who "goeth about seeking what he may 
 devour " continuously. 
 
 Many an errand Uncle Dyer found for Philip to do 
 at the Long Beach farm, or at Hillside ; and almost 
 every day Esther was offered a place in the old 
 chaise, and rolled along the silent green-bowered 
 roads talking with Philip; or, in that silence more 
 eloquent than words for which the air has an echo, 
 and the stillness of the woods an answer. 
 
 Then there were so many pleasant walks about the 
 village ; there were paths through the stunted cedars 
 and scrub oaks that led down through tall, glittering 
 beach grasses to the clean sand and abrupt rocks of 
 the shore. 
 
 Was Paradise sweeter than those long moonlit 
 evenings on a buttress of granite, with the quiet 
 sea breaking and recoiling at their feet, the distant 
 plash and rattle of a row-boat s oars, the long celes 
 tial ray upon the waters, across which now and then 
 flitted the ghostly sail of a coasting vessel, like a 
 dream of another life? Esther was as one who 
 walked in her sleep ; the daily duties of life began to 
 jar upon her, she went less often to see Mrs. Hall, 
 she had little time to walk or talk with Sybil Salton- 
 stall, and was really almost glad when Sybil went to 
 
HERE. 67 
 
 Albany, a long and awful journey in those days, to 
 visit her aunt there. 
 
 Poor Esther ! her world was fast narrowing to the 
 measure of one man ! As Philip and she grew more 
 intimate, and he poured into her pitying ear the sor 
 rows of his soul sorrows compounded, be it said, 
 of selfishness and dyspepsia, she felt for him that 
 exquisite, that almost supernatural sympathy, that is 
 the child of pure passion and utterly selfless affection. 
 She lay awake at night in terror lest Philip should 
 commit suicide from sheer despair of happiness ; a 
 hint he had darkly thrown out for the express pur 
 pose of seeing how it would affect Esther ; for he 
 would not have cut his own little finger on any con 
 sideration ! 
 
 She felt for him that divine pity that is only possi 
 ble for utter love to feel ; in her eyes he was some 
 thing so far above her, even in his sorrow, that she 
 would have laid down her life to serve or to save him, 
 and gloried in the thought that she, a simple, com 
 monplace little country girl could be the friend of 
 one so lofty, so good, so proudly sad. For Philip had 
 imbued her with those stale ideas of friendship, a tie 
 stainless, enduring, rapturous, with no tinge of earth 
 about it, that were all new to Esther,* though they 
 were the staple of Philip s conversation with women, 
 and their use had enabled him for years to make pas 
 sionate love under the pose of a "friend." Subtle 
 disguise ! illusion that has betrayed and broken the 
 heart of many a girl, before the abounding novel had 
 
68 STEADFAST. 
 
 portrayed its futility, and scoffed at its method ; we 
 " have changed all that " in our modern wisdom ; one 
 good that should be scored for the luckless novelist, 
 so scorned and denounced by the "unco guid." It was 
 Eachel Hall whose observant eyes first discovered 
 Esther s condition. Lying there on her pallet, freed 
 from the personal experiences of life wherein the soul 
 is driven to and fro, confused and perturbed by its 
 own emotions, it seemed to Aunt Ruthy who had also 
 lived her life, but in the usual fashion, that Rachel 
 was like a guardian spirit, who sees through the veil 
 ing mists of earth the vagaries of its wayward chil 
 dren, and inspires them with discretion when they 
 need guidance, or hope when they would else des 
 pair. 
 
 Rachel watched Esther with a yearning of that 
 maternal affection denied its natural channels ; she 
 grieved silently over the distant look of the great dark 
 eyes that quickened into vivid light and ardor if she 
 heard Philip s step or voice ; the rapid glow of color 
 that illuminated her pale face, the brooding, languid 
 sweetness of her voice ; but she dared not speak to 
 her with any questioning, she knew too well how dan 
 gerous it is to force open a delaying bud, and so blast 
 it with premature light. Yet in her wise heart, she 
 distrusted Philip Kent, and dreaded Esther s future. 
 
 Aunt Ruthy saw and understood the sad, thoughtful 
 face she wore after Esther s visit. 
 
 " It does seem hard sometimes, now don t it ? " said 
 the good woman. " to think we can t fix other folkses 
 
HEBE. 69 
 
 ways just as we would have em to be. But I think 
 likely we should make some amazin blunders, if we 
 could, and did. The Lord made em, and he certinly 
 knows best how to manage em ; and it s good to think 
 He doos." 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CLOUDY. 
 
 Oh, how this Spring of love resembleth 
 The uncertain glory of an April day. 
 
 WHEN winter fairly began in the nominally autumn 
 month of November, Philip was obliged to leave Trum- 
 bull for New York, to manage some business for Uncle 
 Dyer ; Esther parted from him with outward tranquil 
 lity ; no one knew that the night before he had said his 
 farewell to her on the way from " evening lecture," 
 with all the tender words of friendship ! that her 
 hungry heart could ask. Not by one incautious syl 
 lable had he ever intimated any deeper feeling, any 
 desire for a dearer tie ; he had pressed Esther s hand 
 long and fervently, he had paid her all the small and 
 thoughtful attentions a lover could show, he antici 
 pated her little wants, cultivated a knowledge of her 
 tastes, brought her nosegays from field and wood, 
 dainty leaf-baskets of fruit, stores of nuts ; he helped 
 her gather blossoms for her bowpot, and perfumed 
 leaves for her pot-pourri that sent out its quaint 
 musty odor on the air of the unfrequented parlor, and 
 made an atmosphere of its own about the sea-green 
 satin furniture, with its odd gimp borders, the Indian 
 matting on the floor, the " hundred-legged " ebony 
 tables, the wheezy spinnet, the Chinese dragons, and 
 
 70 
 
CLOUDY. 71 
 
 the alabaster vases on that high, carved mantel. Yet 
 Philip had never said, " Esther, I love you ! do yon 
 love me ? " and the dreaming, innocent, ignorant girl 
 had never noticed the omission, never even acknowl 
 edged to herself that she loved Philip, any more than 
 she had said to herself, " I breathe." 
 
 Bnt now, in the awful blank that his absence made, 
 the stillness and tastelessness of her life, she began to 
 recognize that her heart had gone away from her pos 
 session that Philip had won it utterly and entirely. 
 
 She was neither introverted, proper, or proud ; she 
 was a girl of that direct and simple nature which is 
 now traditional only ; she was glad to love Philip, to 
 feel that she had given him her whole soul ; she nei 
 ther looked forward to consequences, or considered if 
 he returned her devotion; it was enough that she 
 loved him, and the sweet absorbing consciousness 
 beguiled her grief at his absence, filled her dreams 
 with joy, woke with her in the morning like the scent 
 of the roses that June had breathed into her window 
 at dawn, filled her eyes with tender light, colored her 
 fair face with roseate bloom, and made her gracious 
 and sweet to all about her. 
 
 If her mother had been a woman of suspicious or 
 penetrative nature she would have witnessed this 
 change in Esther with dread; but ever since her 
 husband s death, Mrs. Dennis had seemed wrapped in 
 the past ; she was perfect in all her duties ; Uncle 
 Dyer s house was kept in the extremest order ; flies 
 dare not invade any room therein, and spiders found 
 
72 STEADFAST. 
 
 their occupation gone ; dust was eliminated from the 
 premises as fast as the inconsiderate air deposited it 
 there ; every crack in linen, every rent or hole in 
 wearing apparel, was exquisitely darned, and when 
 these daily tasks were over she sat down in the back 
 porch in summer or by the "keeping-room" fire 
 in winter and perused "Boston s Fourfold State," 
 "Jenks Devotion," Jeremy Taylor s "Holy Living 
 and Dying," and her well-worn Bible by turns ; an 
 Irishwoman would have said she was "makin her 
 sowl," and it was neither more nor less than the 
 Protestant shape of that occupation. She was natu 
 rally a timid woman, and her husband s death was 
 her first experience not only of loss but of death 
 itself, for she was too young to remember the death 
 of her parents ; so this had crushed her to earth, 
 filled her with desolation, and absorbed her in the 
 contemplation of that nearing fate for herself, and 
 that awful veiled eternity to follow, that she must 
 face, and for which she must prepare herself. So 
 long as Esther made no complaint and obeyed her 
 without remonstrance, when she set her to certain 
 household tasks, Mrs. Dennis saw no further ; as long 
 as Uncle Dyer s long stockings were evenly knitted 
 and well shaped it did not occur to her that those 
 flying needles kept time to a fast beating heart 
 all ready to leave every other tie and cleave utterly 
 and solely to the new love. 
 
 Uncle Dyer, grave, reserved, but kindly and shrewd, 
 perceived the matter but said nothing, for it was his 
 
CLOUDY. 73 
 
 hope that Esther and Philip should marry ; he had 
 already learned to love this girl with a warmth he 
 supposed his old heart incapable of feeling, and when 
 through this bitter winter he watched the lovely 
 dreaming face at the fireside, or beside him in the 
 sleigh, for she always accompanied him on those 
 drives of inspection Philip used to take, he thanked 
 God that these two young people, both so dear to 
 him, would inherit his home and his fortune and take 
 the place therein of the children never granted to 
 him. 
 
 And there^ was another inmate of the household 
 also in possession of Esther s open secret: Delia 
 Pratt was " hired girl " in Mr. Dyer s family, and 
 had ruled over the kitchen for the last ten years ; she 
 was one of those- old-fashioned servants well called 
 " help " a capable, brisk woman of thirty, her crisp 
 black hair knotted tightly on the top of her head, 
 and secured by a horn comb. Her black eyes, high 
 cheek bones, firm chin, well-colored cheeks, all ex 
 pressing energy and strength ; while the sparkle of 
 her eye, and the dimple of her cheek, betrayed an 
 underlying fund of humor that softened the other 
 wise harsh traits of her nature. Her reign in the 
 kitchen was despotic, even Mrs. Dennis never inter 
 fered there. Delia knew just what Mr. Dyer liked, 
 and it was the business of her life to see that he had 
 it. Nobody in Trumbull could make such pot-pie, 
 such baked beans, such Indian pudding, such rye 
 bread, or such shortcakes, lection cake, or pound 
 
74 STEADFAST. 
 
 cake as Delia Pratt, and she knew it; a "b iled 
 dinner " was her glory ; everybody wanted some of 
 her " empt ins " to set their own, and her fresh apple 
 pies were an unattainable delicacy anywhere else. 
 
 Her own especial captive and slave was Hiram 
 Perkins, the hired man, a shock-headed, slow, honest 
 creature, who "did chores" all the year round for 
 Mr. Dyer, slept in the " shed charmber," and wor 
 shipped Delia with all his faithful slow-moulded 
 heart. It was the hope of his life that some day 
 Delia would marry him, but there was a fatal obsta 
 cle in the way ; he was not a professor of religion, 
 and Delia was fixed in her resolution not to marry a 
 child of the devil, as she was pleased to style all out 
 side her own church. 
 
 " Well ! " said the remonstrant Hiram, " I can t go 
 an j ine meetin ef I ain t converted, Delye, now 
 can I?" 
 
 " I dono as anybody asked ye to ! " retorted Delia ; 
 tf tain t real necessary t I should marry ye, as I know 
 of. I m reasonable well off where I be ; and as for 
 havin to do with a hypocrite why twould be worse n 
 Ananias an Sapphiry, in the Bible. I wish you d 
 stop tewin around, and gettin in a swivet about a 
 small matter like that ! " 
 
 "Tain t real small to me, I d hev ye to know, 
 Delye, and I don t see what harm it would do ye any 
 way. I go to meetin real reg lar, the tithing man 
 never pokes me neither ; you would t lose no means 
 of grace through me. I ain t no ways sot aginst 
 
CLOUDY. 75 
 
 religion in the main ; I like the talk, but I don t like 
 the way folks perfess an don t perform. I d be 
 ashamed to say I was convarted an act like half the 
 folks in your meetin that do perfess." 
 
 "I don t calculate to marry nobody t ain t a pro 
 fessor, any way," sharply answered Delia. "It s 
 clear forbid in the Bible, and I d be dealt with if I 
 done it, so you no need to talk. Land s sakes ! ain t 
 you well off where you be ? And I hope I don t set 
 by no man livin, enough to rile me a mite, if I can t 
 marry of him." 
 
 " I know ye don t ! I know ye don t ! If ye 
 did"- 
 
 The possibility was too much for Hiram. He 
 walked off dejectedly to the barn, and Delia s great 
 wheel flew round faster than ever; certainly if she 
 did not care for Hiram she cared for no other. 
 
 It was those same sharp eyes that pierced the hired 
 man s heart that had watched the progress of Esther s 
 innocent passion, and been aware of it even before 
 Esther herself. 
 
 Delia did not like Philip Kent. She had known 
 him from a boy, and arrived at a juster appreciation 
 of his character than the uncle he had tried to please, 
 for the sake of that uncle s possessions ; or the vari 
 ous girls he had made love to for his own amusement. 
 
 He had no special reason for ingratiating himself 
 with Delia ; he was not given to dainties like most 
 boys ; the generous and savory food always served on 
 his uncle s table satisfied his appetite, and he was 
 
76 STEADFAST. 
 
 always careful of liis clothes. Neither did any innate 
 generosity prompt him to give Delia anything, since 
 he asked, and needed nothing from her ; and she 
 weighed him in her balance without compunction or 
 hesitancy. 
 
 " I don t take no stock in that feller ! " she confided 
 to Hiram. " I ve summered him an wintered him, 
 and he ain t one to tie to, now I tell ye ; the ain t but 
 one God an Lord to his notion, and that one s name 
 is Philip Kent. Land ! I hope he won t go to makin 
 eyes at our Esther ! She s jest the one to swaller him 
 whole without pepper; and she d jest as good swaller 
 p ison." 
 
 " He s a perfessor, though," dryly remarked Hiram. 
 
 " Well, what ef he is ! Judas was, wa n t he ? I 
 dono as I ever said t all perfessors was Christians, 
 but I don t b lieve the s any Christians thet ain t per 
 fessors." 
 
 Hiram was tossed on the horns of this dilemma 
 effectually. 
 
 " Got it now, hain t ye ? " chuckled old Isaac Bun- 
 nell, who had come in to the shed door unperceived 
 of Delia, after a dole of poke-berry rum for his rheu 
 matism, promised by Mr. Dyer. Delia turned on him 
 sharply. 
 
 " Is it a concern of your n ef he has ? " she asked, 
 with a wrathful spark in her eyes. 
 
 " Well, now ! the old sayin is, don t ye never put 
 in betwixt the bark and the tree ; but I didn t know 
 as Hi was so clus to ye, really now I didn t ! " 
 
CLOUDY. 77 
 
 The angry color flooded Delia s face ; but she had 
 the wisdom to hold her tongue even when Isaac 
 chuckled. Hiram, smiling to himself, had also been 
 wise, and stepped out of the back door ; he was slow, 
 but he was not a fool, and instinct warned him not to 
 let Delia see his enjoyment of her tell-tale wrath. 
 
 In her silent fashion Delia too, loved Esther ; she 
 even admitted to Hiram that she "sot by that girl 
 considerable," which meant a great deal from Delia ; 
 and it grieved her proportionately to see how Esther 
 had thrown herself away on Philip Kent. 
 
 " I can t noways help it ! " she soliloquized, as she 
 sat by her kitchen fire at night. " If I could help it 
 twouldn t fret me, not nigh so much. When you can 
 do somethin , either to help or hinder, it s a comfort ; 
 but I ve jest got to set and see it a goin on, an I 
 know what it 11 come to ! Dear sus ! the ways of 
 Providence are dreadful mysterious, as Priest Hall 
 was a saying last Sabba day ; and the wust of it is 
 you can t neither change em nor see into em." And 
 with a sigh over the inevitable, Delia raked up her 
 fire and went to bed. 
 
 Meanwhile, Philip was enjoying himself after his 
 own fashion in New York. He was well known there, 
 and being a personable, well-to-do youth, made an 
 important item in the society of the small city ; he 
 found many a pretty girl ready and willing to dance 
 a minuet with him at the assemblies, drive with him 
 on sleighing parties up the river, or play spadille and 
 loo in the formal stuffy parlors of the comfortable 
 
78 STEADFAST. 
 
 Dutch houses, afterward refreshing him with hot flip, 
 oly koeks, or Indian preserves and arrack punch, sup 
 plemented perhaps by a hot supper. 
 
 If Esther on her sleepless pillow, thinking of him 
 as solitary and hard working, could have looked in on 
 these feasts and revels, have seen his cheek flushed, 
 his eye sparkling, heard the low, tender whisper in 
 Annetje Schuyler s ear as he turned her respectfully 
 in the dance, or seen the embracing arm wherewith he 
 helped Mina Van Alen into the sleigh, drawing her 
 closer at every fresh drift, as if he dreaded an over 
 turn, and Mina was precious, would she have closed 
 those deep eyes so tranquilly, and slept so calmly, 
 even in the repose of soul that came of her ardent 
 evening prayer ? 
 
 Who can tell ! We resent once and again the bar 
 riers of time and space ; we long madly and rebel_ 
 liously to see and hear what space and time conceal 
 from us, but if we could overleap these screens of 
 God, would it not always draw down on us that " curse 
 of a granted prayer " that is the worst of maledictions, 
 since it is of our own procuring ? No, Esther was 
 far happier in her own love, voiceless as it was, 
 in the dull round of duties which gave her time to 
 dream, in the rare letters Philip sent to Uncle Dyer, 
 stiff and businesslike as they were. He would not 
 write to her ; he would not commit himself so far ; 
 he knew, so he told her, that of course her mother 
 and perhaps her uncle would not allow her to receive 
 any letters that they did not expect to see, and could 
 
CLOUDY. 79 
 
 he write to his dear little friend such epistles as 
 might be read by every one ? She must wait, some 
 better day would come. 
 
 Vague promise ! but full and definite to Esther ; 
 she was content to do Philip s will ; confident in his 
 wisdom; certain of his truth and goodness. Philip 
 was not surprised ; he expected it ; so his winter in 
 New York was one of unsullied enjoyment, and 
 Esther said to herself as the slow days dropped away 
 one by one, " It is almost spring ! " 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CLEAR. 
 Which now shows all the glory of the sun. 
 
 AT last spring came ; not in the sudden splendor of 
 the South, but shy, delaying, tender ; bursts of cold 
 rain ; a slow greening of mosses in the woods ; then 
 a chilly south wind ; a day of sleet ; here and there 
 hours of pale sunshine ; a season of doubt, of feeble 
 hope, of reluctant promise, but still spring. The 
 woo ds began to look misty with gray buds ; the cow 
 slips in the swampy meadows opened here and there 
 a yellow star; Esther found pink buds of arbutus 
 hidden away in and under the dead grass and dry 
 leaves on the north side of Pine Eidge, and inhaled 
 their delicate woodland fragrance as if it were a mes 
 sage from Philip. Had he not fetched them to her 
 the year before, tied up with graceful brown catkins 
 and whorled stems of the upright ground pine ? A 
 gift so delicately lovely that a princess might have 
 accepted it, and in Esther s sight an expression of a 
 love she unconsciously believed in/ With the spring 
 came Sybil, more beautiful than ever to Esther s eyes, 
 yet more reticent than ever. She said little about her 
 winter in Albany ; once, sitting by Mrs. Hall s bed 
 side, she said slowly, 
 
 " It was a gay winter, Aunt Rachel ; there are good 
 80 
 
CLEAR. 81 
 
 store of youths and maidens in Albany ; there were 
 balls, and sleigh parties, and revels enough. I have 
 had enough. I am glad to be beside thee again." 
 
 "Dear child," murmured Eachel, "And was there 
 none of these gallants to make Albany more pleasant 
 to my Sybil than this small village ? " A soft color 
 stole into Sybil s cheek, a distant look into her eyes. 
 
 " Nay. I do not concern myself about marriage ; 
 I do not consider it as a state desirable for me. I 
 have had my lesson, Aunt Eachel." 
 
 Rachel Hall held her peace ; the unshed tears in 
 those clear eyes told their own story ; had John Stone- 
 bridge proved faithless ? or unworthy ? Eachel never 
 knew ; yet Sybil was but repeating Delia Pratt s expe 
 rience. So strong was the influence of religion in 
 those days, so stringent its demands on its professors, 
 that to inarry an unbeliever was to give sure proof to 
 the church and the world that the professed Christian 
 so transgressing, had no part nor lot in the church, 
 and must either be dealt with and brought to open 
 confession and repentance, or cut off from commun 
 ion and fellowship with the elect. It was in fact a 
 contempt of the spiritual courts. But Sybil, daughter 
 of the reverend and godly Parson Staltonstall, of 
 Long Neck, and niece of Governor Stanley, a man as 
 pious as he was profound in learning, at once a pillar 
 of Church and State, was trained up from very in 
 fancy in the straitest . fashion of her time, ; and sect. 
 The Westminster Catechism had been ground into her 
 b^ain an4 ; soul fr.om early childhood ; $b$ knew 
 
82 STEADFAST. 
 
 chapters in the Bible by heart ; she had experienced 
 religion in a marked and wonderful manner at the age 
 of fourteen, and her walk and conversation were those 
 of the very elect. 
 
 Who could discern in this beautiful saint that 
 burning enthusiasm of nature, that lofty pride, that 
 stifled ambition, that strength of passion overborne by 
 greater strength of will, that might have made her a 
 canonized saint and martyr of the Eomish church; 
 or, undisciplined and unguided, the empress of a great 
 nation, herself great in sin and tyrannous in power as 
 Messalina, or Cleopatra, or Elizabeth of England ? 
 
 Perhaps John Stonebridge instinctively recognized 
 in this girl the elements he could best understand, 
 suppressed as they were by education and principle ; 
 certain it is that he made himself inexpressibly inter 
 esting to Sybil by appealing to springs of thought and 
 action that she had scarcely known in herself. But 
 when he sank from the theoretic talk of politics, 
 travel, and such literature as was fit to talk of to a 
 damsel of that day, and implored her with stormy 
 bursts of passion to " make him happy, 7 with her 
 heart and hand, Sybil recoiled. His oaths of love and 
 constancy, his beaming eyes, his ardent countenance, 
 appalled her, for they shook the citadel within, and 
 thrilled her with the consciousness that she could love 
 him even as he swore he loved her, madly, blindly, 
 better than heaven itself. But her heart was resolute 
 as fervid, and her faith like the rocks of her birth 
 place ; she held no parley with this besieger ; she 
 
CLEAR. 83 
 
 gave his troop no entrance ; all her lifelong principles 
 swarmed to the rescue. 
 
 " No/ 7 she said, rising from the tall chair where she 
 sat, as if it had been a throne, and she dismissing a 
 traitor ; " I cannot answer you, Colonel Stonebridge, 
 in the way you desire. I can marry no man who is 
 not a godly man, and one who walketh in righteous 
 ness." 
 
 John Stonebridge muttered a sharp oath as he 
 looked at her pale, resolute countenance. 
 
 " So you would turn me out to pasture among the 
 goats forever, because I bleat not like a sheep ? " he 
 said, with haughty scorn. " Seemeth to me, beautiful 
 Sybil, you godly ones mete out hard measure to us 
 who are astray in the wilderness." 
 
 "It is the measure of God," answered Sybil, 
 gravely. "Doth not Scripture say, How can two 
 walk together, except they be agreed ? and is it not 
 so according to the wisdom of this world ? " 
 
 " But how know you that I might not learn of you 
 to walk in that straight way ? " he said ; for that face 
 before him grew more and more beautiful as contend 
 ing emotions swept across it as cloud shadows across a 
 limpid lake, and his whole nature longed with almost 
 uncontrollable passion to make this stately beauty 
 return his devotion. Sybil looked away from him ; 
 over the outer fields of spotless snow, the sky arched 
 blue and clear ; she looked up into heaven for help 
 against herself ; had John Stonebridge known it, that 
 moment had for him one frail hope of victory ; her 
 
84 STEADFAST. 
 
 heart pleaded for his specious argument, her soul 
 refused it ; old, well-known words, repeated over 
 and over so often with so little knowledge of their 
 awful need and meaning flashed across her doubtful 
 thought : " Lead us not into temptation, deliver us 
 from evil." A spasm of agony, a look of stern 
 strength, in turn passed across her expressive face. 
 
 " I may not do evil that good may come ; else were 
 my damnation just, according to the word of the 
 Lord." 
 
 " So I am to take my damnation at your hands ! 
 Well, beautiful . saint j save your own soul, and send 
 me to the devil if you will ; but, hark ye ! you throw 
 aside a bliss you know not of, a rapture you will 
 taste not again : for, Sybil, had you listened to your 
 woman s heart instead of your Puritan conscience, I 
 would for I could have made you more blessed 
 than the angels you dream of, or the heaven you 
 strive so hardly to earn." 
 
 Sybil shuddered; she could endure those blazing 
 eyes, those bitter, godless words no longer; she 
 turned away and left him without a word. Swearing 
 savagely, John Stonebridge left the house, his sword 
 clattering on the high stone steps, as he ran down to 
 the river-edge, flung himself into his waiting boat, 
 and was rowed out to the British sloop riding at 
 anchor in the river, just ready to sail for New York 
 with her load of peltry. 
 Sybil went up ..to her chamber, and, locking the 
 
 v flung t herself on the. floor in a tempest of agony ; 
 
CLEAR. 85 
 
 what words shall ever tell the strife of passion and 
 principle that can rack such a woman s heart with 
 all but mortal torture ? She knew John Stonebridge 
 had spoken true in that last scoff. Every fibre of her 
 nature cried out for him as the crown and comple 
 ment of her natural life ; all the waves and billows of 
 pain, doubt, loss, of thwarted love, and denied pas 
 sion, tossed her as if by torrid hurricanes on a raging 
 ocean ; but her will held firm, a mighty cable ; and 
 her anchor was caught in the clefts of a rock. " It 
 was right ! it was right/ 7 sung the howling storm, 
 and that one echo kept her soul alive. Was it strange 
 that she should tell Kachel Hall that she had " had 
 her lesson ? " 
 
 Martyrdom is grand, but the martyr suffers ; his 
 flesh and blood are even as ours, my brethren ; fire 
 can burn them and steel wound, just as we are burned 
 and wounded ; and the exaltation of soul that sup 
 ports unto death, would not, does not, always last 
 through a lifetime ; it is the slow martyrdoms of liv 
 ing that earn the surest psalms, and vindicate most 
 effectively the faith of those who endure to the end. 
 
 Esther Dennis could not have done this ; she had 
 not the moral stamina or the spiritual training of 
 Sybil Saltonstall ; with her, love would still be " lord 
 of all" in whatever guise it came. She was a typical 
 woman, full of tender, unhesitating devotion, of ab 
 sorbing love ; of selfless sacrifice ; if in her nature 
 there was that touch of earth called passion it was so 
 slight, so pure, so unconscious, that its reign would be 
 
86 STEADFAST. 
 
 brief and bright, never tempestuous ; but her devoted 
 affection could never be chilled or alienated so long 
 as it was cherished or returned. 
 
 When Philip came back to Trumbull shortly after 
 Sybil s return, he could not but be touched by the 
 undisguised delight Esther innocently showed in her 
 welcome. No man could have looked coldly on those 
 lovely glowing dark eyes, that speaking face lit with 
 tender joy, or refrained from holding in warm clasp 
 those trembling little hands, so soft, so clinging, so 
 exquisitely feminine in touch and tint. Philip was 
 flattered and therefore moved ; it was a tribute to his 
 own good qualities, his charms, his character, all this 
 devoted feeling, and it amused and pleased him ; how 
 could he help enjoying it ? He even so far forgot 
 his ordinary policy that coming upon Esther that 
 soft May evening, as she sat alone with her happiness 
 on the porch, gazing at the stars through the screen 
 of honeysuckle, and thinking only of Philip, he sat 
 down beside her on the bench, put his arm around 
 her, lifted the drooping head and pressed on those 
 sweet, pure lips a long, loving kiss ; the first that had 
 ever touched their cool crimson from the lips of man. 
 
 There was silence after that ; Esther s dreams had 
 culminated ; rapture laid its spell upon speech ; she 
 could not speak ; Philip would not. 
 
 To her that kiss was a solemn betrothal ; innocent 
 as a baby in its cradle, she thought no man would 
 kiss a woman he did not mean to marry, and in ac 
 cepting that caress she felt that Philip had asked her 
 
CLEAR. 87 
 
 to be his wife and she had consented ; her soul was 
 hushed with bliss, her heart at rest forever. Poor 
 child ! she had yet to learn that earth has no forever. 
 
 As for Philip he was pleased too ; such an easy 
 triumph was quite to his taste ; no fuss, no resistance, 
 no coyness ; evidently, she liked it and so did he. 
 " On n arrdte pas dans un si beau chemin," and after 
 that, Esther s moonlight walks with Philip were 
 marked with long pauses in the shadows of the great 
 pines on the point, or beside the rocks of the cliff, 
 where, with her head on her shoulder, and his kisses 
 on her face, she seemed to drink her fill of that cup 
 which all mortals pine for with the thirst of despera 
 tion, but only a few taste, and still fewer drain to its 
 bitter dregs. That Philip said nothing of a future 
 together, made no plans of life, called her no tenderer 
 name than " dear Esther," counted for nothing to 
 Esther s simplicity ; she had read no novels, even 
 Clarissa Harlow and Sir Charles Grandison being 
 " conspicuous by their absence " from her uncle s 
 library ; and ignorant as innocent, she took it for 
 granted that Philip meant to marry her. 
 
 And perhaps he would have done so had her trust 
 in him been less implicit, her love less easy to win, 
 more difficult of expression; but just now he took 
 the sweetness of the present moment with a sense of 
 irresponsibility delightful to his selfish soul ; and she 
 basked in that " glory of the sun " that does now and 
 then illuminate even "the uncertain glory of an 
 April day," and asked of life nothing more. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AT MIDNIGHT. 
 
 Evening never wore 
 To morning, but some heart did break ! 
 
 AFTER Sybil had come back to her old quiet life in 
 the governor s mansion, she began to long for her 
 dead mother. Beautiful Sybilla Stanley had become 
 the mother of three children during her marriage 
 with Priest Saltonstall, but her two boys died in 
 early infancy, and all her motherly heart had been 
 lavished on Sybil. It is true she tried her best to 
 conceal this affection from its object ; stern coun 
 sellors warned her that she would love her child 
 too much; her creed bade her beware of making 
 earthly idols, lest they should be broken in the 
 shrine by a jealous God, who would be first in the 
 hearts of his creatures, and demanded a sacrifice of 
 natural affection as the only propitiation of his favor ; 
 but mother-love is too powerful, too possessing, to be 
 hid or stifled. Sybil knew, as well as if she had been 
 fed with caresses and fond words, how her mother 
 loved her ; that is, as well as a child can know ; for 
 who that has not felt it can ever know the abundant 
 patience, the selfless devotion,* the all-forgiving, all- 
 enduring, fervent love of a mother? He who made 
 it the symbol of his own affection in the pathetic 
 
AT MIDNIGHT. 89 
 
 words, "As one whom his mother comforteth, so 
 will I comfort you," alone can fathom it. But 
 when her daughter was twelve years old, a sharp 
 fever, bred of the sun-smitten swamps about Long 
 Neck, assailed Mrs. Saltonstall so suddenly and 
 fiercely, with such delirium and exhaustion, that the 
 physician, called in as soon as he could be found, had 
 no hope of her life from the first look. She died, 
 unconscious and speechless, with no farewell for hus 
 band or child, and broken-hearted Sybil was taken 
 home to Connecticut by her Uncle Stanley ; for her 
 father could not look upon that fair face, the very 
 likeness of his lost wife, or bear to hear the passion 
 ate eobs that pierced even the solemn gloom of the 
 study, where he sat with his head on his hands, striv 
 ing by prayer and fasting to conquer the rebellious 
 grief that cried out to God and against Him, " Why 
 hast thou done this ? " 
 
 There, in the stillness of that lonely house, he lived 
 for years, while Sybil found a home at her Uncle 
 Stanley s; there, he died suddenly and alone, one 
 hand clasping a miniature of his wife, the other rest 
 ing on his open Bible, when Sybil was seventeen ; not 
 much to her loss, for he had been absorbed in his 
 duties before her mother s death, and, though he 
 never acknowledged it, he had also resented all those 
 years the fact that this girl had lived and his boys 
 both died. And when his wife left him, he lost all ; 
 neither prayer, nor fasting, nor hard work, nor devo 
 tion to his duties,, availed to reconcile him to that 
 
90 STEADFAST. 
 
 loss. When his faithful servant found him sitting 
 cold and dead at his study table, his hand on that 
 open Bible, she bent with superstitious curiosity to 
 see where that stiffened and bony index finger pointed 
 on the sacred page. It had stopped its slow progress 
 at these words of Job, 
 
 "Know now that God hath overthrown me, and 
 compassed me with his net. 
 
 " Behold I cry out of wrong, but I am not heard ; I 
 cry aloud, but there is no judgment. 
 
 " He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and 
 he hath set darkness in my paths. 
 
 " He hath stripped me of my glory, and taken the 
 crown from my head." 
 
 Words that Sybil in her present stress of soul 
 might also have made her own, for she inherited 
 from her father that combatant strength of spirit, 
 that stern judgment, and that reserve, which were 
 his chief characteristics ; somewhat modified in his 
 daughter by her feminine organization, and that 
 mental difference of the sexes as certain and in 
 eradicable as their physical variation. 
 
 So, all alone in this small world of Trumbull, quite 
 unable to tell her trouble to any one, Sybil set herself 
 to fight out her battle with life. Perhaps, in time, 
 she might have shown so much of her heart to Eachel 
 Hall as to receive from her counsel and consolation, 
 but Rachel after years of patient suffering began to 
 fail, and was obliged to see fewer people than ever, 
 and to talk but very little ; the subtle and remorse- 
 
AT MIDNIGHT. 91 
 
 less disease that had cramped and distorted her 
 limbs and joints, now attacked her slow-beating heart, 
 and she became subject to shortness of breath, faint- 
 ness, and a dreadful exhaustion at times, from which 
 it was hard to rally. 
 
 Still, she gave one short utterance of help and 
 strength to Sybil, for her eyes were clearer than ever 
 now to perceive the need of those she loved, and her 
 heart clave to Sybil more strongly than ever as sJie 
 saw the darkness of sorrow in her lucent eyes, its 
 rigidity on that fair young face that had been so 
 played upon by every fancy and feeling 
 
 " That you might almost say her body thought." 
 
 The last time that Sybil stood beside her, looking 
 at the pure outline of that pain-worn countenance 
 with a peace past all understanding on its wan linea 
 ments, and a glow of unearthly love shining in the 
 great sapphire eyes, Eachel took the girl s hand in 
 her slender lingers and whispered, 
 
 " Bear ye one another s burdens, and so fulfil the 
 law of Christ." 
 
 The words entered Sybil s ear only, but afterward 
 they found a place in her heart and life ; she discov 
 ered that her sole escape from the cruel hunger that 
 consumed her, was in sharing and alleviating the woe 
 about her ; for her own sorrow there was no relief, for 
 her no solace in all time ; she too had yet to learn 
 that earth has no forever. That same day, to that 
 same bed of death, came Esther ; her hands filled 
 
92 STEADFAST. 
 
 with late roses, her face shining with the great joy of 
 her heart, a creature full of life, love, and the glory 
 of youth s vast beatitude. As she stood by Rachel 
 Hall, the two showed like a rich red rose in the garden 
 that glows and blooms in splendid pride beside a 
 smitten lily drooping to its grave. To her Rachel had 
 also a whispered message ; though it were the word of 
 the Lord, it smote almost cruelly on Esther s ear, as 
 she stooped to gather its broken accents, 
 
 " The world passeth away and the lusts thereof, but 
 he that doeth the will of God abide th forever." 
 
 Solemn words, like the knell and echo of a passing 
 bell ; words that would return to her like the long, 
 melancholy, vibrating thrill of that bell, when she too 
 should have " had her lesson " as well as Sybil. Only 
 two nights after, Aunt Ruthy woke Parson Hall and 
 called him to Rachel, for at midnight there was a cry 
 made : " Behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to 
 meet him." 
 
 And when Philemon looked at his wife he recog 
 nized the Presence, and his heart sank within him. 
 
 But Rachel was tranquil as a summer s dawn ; the 
 lines of pain were gone, her face was lit with a celes 
 tial smile. Deeper still would Philemon s heart have 
 sunk had he known how Rachel welcomed this hour. 
 Lying there, helpless and useless, as she thought, all 
 these years (for, few in number, they had seemed a 
 lifetime to her), she had learned slowly what she had 
 not been to her husband ; how utterly useless as a 
 wife ; how great a burden on his position, his means, 
 
AT MIDNIGHT. 98 
 
 his affection ; and while she admired, respected, and 
 loved him better every day for his patience and tender 
 ness, for the wonderful delicacy that never by word 
 or look showed weariness or regret, for the devout 
 and heartfelt religion that had taught and comforted 
 her own dismayed and doubting soul ; she knew that 
 her death would release him from an unnatural bond 
 age, a heavy weight of care, and leave him free to 
 live the full life of a happy man, the husband of some 
 sweet, capable, woman, the head of a Christian house 
 hold. Had there been any hope of recovery held out 
 to her, she might never have arrived at this saintly 
 attainment, but no physician had ever enlarged her 
 prospect this side the grave, and with unspeakable 
 pangs, continual prayers, tears that moistened her 
 pillow, and that strong crying of the soul that has 
 " no speech nor language," whose " voice is not heard," 
 she had wrestled with the longings of the natural 
 heart for life and love, the terror of death and the 
 grave, the doubts and fears of a noble spirit hampered 
 by suffering flesh, and at last prevailed. Now her 
 reward was at hand ! Never in this world would she 
 know that her life had been a spiritual training to 
 Philemon Hall of invaluable service; the stringent 
 circumstances that enforced on him self-denial, self- 
 restraint, that led him up into a mountain-top, even if 
 it brought to him temptation, had so strengthened his 
 soul, so inured it to the strait and narrow way, so 
 caused him to endure hardness, that he had grown to 
 be a good soldier in the Lord s army, and gathered to 
 
94 STEADFAST. 
 
 himself a power and persistence of character that an 
 ordinary experience of life could never have given 
 him. It was to her unconscious ministry that he 
 owed also a diviner patience than commonly falls to 
 man : her unfailing sweetness, her gentleness that was 
 not the result of a feeble nature, but that strong gen 
 tleness that comes of seeing things from the stand 
 point of absolute faith and long-tried love of God, her 
 simple, sublime endurance of pain that might have 
 daunted a martyr, all these had wrought within him a 
 pity and an awed admiration that made him ashamed 
 at his own impulses of perversity or petulance. 
 
 "If this weak, tortured woman can smile and be 
 calm, shall not I, a man, think shame of myself if I 
 am quick of spirit with any who sin or suffer ? " was 
 the voice of his thought, and she who considered her 
 self the clog and cross of this man s life was truly 
 his greatest blessing, his guide and helper. Would 
 the first breath of that other life reveal to her this 
 reality ? Would it be the earliest rapture of heaven 
 to know that she had been a real ministering spirit to 
 her husband ? 
 
 Certainly she knew it not now, as Philemon knelt 
 beside her, and took her burning, transparent hand 
 in his ; her only thought was of and for him ; her 
 strength and joy a union of her pure delight in his 
 unfettered future, and a longing to be free herself and 
 forever with the Lord. 
 
 Yet, as she looked at that head bowed down beside 
 her, one last pang of human affection rent her spirit ; 
 
AT MIDNIGHT. 95 
 
 the actual, the visible, the long-accustomed life and 
 love sent a mighty wave of regret, and a terror of 
 separation over her ; Aunt Kuthy saw the tears well 
 up and dim the solemn brightness of her great, 
 pathetic eyes ; but then Philemon s troubled, broken 
 voice arose in prayer. 
 
 " Oh, Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling-place in 
 all generations. Before the mountains were brought 
 forth, . . . from everlasting to everlasting, Thou art 
 God!" 
 
 He broke down then ; to him, as to his race and 
 time, the tenderness and strength of Christ were yet 
 to be revealed ; a sort of Theism was their positive 
 faith, while they were theoretically Trinitarian ; God 
 the Father, the Judge, the Lord of Hosts was their 
 God ; the Friend, the Brother, touched with human 
 infirmities ; knowing by His human experience every 
 agony of humanity, every infirmity of the flesh, every 
 woe of the spirit, was yet a dead letter ; but Eachel, 
 in the long silences of her sequestered suffering, had 
 been taught of that comforting Spirit who takes of 
 the things of Christ and interprets them to the soul ; 
 now, on the stillness her voice arose, clear and sweet, 
 as it had not been heard for many a long month. 
 
 " Let not your heart be troubled ! Ye believe in 
 God, believe also in Me." 
 
 Philemon raised his head, and looked at her ; a 
 divine light, a look of glory, a smile that reconciled 
 earth to heaven and said at once farewell and wel 
 come, flashed radiantly across her face ; the feeble 
 
96 STEADFAST. 
 
 fingers closed tightly on his, then those wan, white 
 eyelids quivered and drooped, her grasp relaxed, a 
 little fluttering sigh escaped her parted lips, and an 
 awful quietness descended on the delicate, weary linea 
 ments. Rachel Hall had gone home. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AFTER. 
 
 That voice which I did more esteem, 
 Than music in its sweetest key : 
 Those eyes which unto me did seem, 
 More comfortable than the day ; 
 Those now by me as they have been, 
 Shall never more be heard or seen ! 
 
 WITH all the strength of soul that he possessed, 
 Philemon Hall nerved himself to preach his wife s 
 funeral sermon. It was not unusual in those days for 
 a minister to do so, though it was not always ex 
 pected ; but he felt that since a sermon was cus 
 tomary, he could not endure the handling of Rachel s 
 character and memory, sacred as they were, by any 
 one who had not known her; and who could know 
 her as he did ? 
 
 This same delicate instinct made him forbid that 
 any hand but Aunt Ruthy s should prepare that 
 wasted body for the grave, or fold it in its last habili 
 ments ; and he himself carried the inanimate shape 
 from the couch that had been her earthly habitation, 
 in his arms, like a sleeping child, and laid it tenderly 
 in the coffin. As he looked at the wan chrysalis, from 
 which the bright, informing spirit had fled, and felt 
 that those loving and lovely eyes would never meet 
 his again with their look of life and sweetness that 
 
 97 
 
98 STEADFAST. 
 
 had always welcomed him; that never again would 
 those set lips smile at his coming, or return his tender 
 words ; that this yellow pallor of death could not 
 change to the white transparence of a lily s petal, or 
 that dull gold hair fall in its rich beauty about her 
 face ; or the delicate fingers clasp his hand with cling 
 ing and faithful affection ; the full consciousness that 
 this cold, unanswering shape was not his Rachel 
 smote his inmost soul : but with the blow came heal 
 ing ; the word of the Lord sung a triumphant anthem 
 within his brain : " Awake and sing, ye that dwell in 
 dust ; for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the 
 earth shall cast out her dead ! " And from these 
 words he spoke to those who had gathered in the 
 church to do honor once more to Rachel. 
 
 It seemed wonderful to all hearers that Parson Hall 
 could preach with such lofty tranquillity a discourse 
 that was full of appreciation, of tenderness, and of 
 gratitude to his wife ; that it should be almost trium 
 phant in its recognition of the fact that she had but 
 arisen from earth to heaven was not so wonderful ; it 
 was orthodox and proper that he should so speak; 
 but they had expected that he would weep in a decent 
 manner, that his voice would tremble and his words 
 choke him ; the calm deep sadness that stilled both 
 face and voice was not understood. To Sybil it 
 seemed like the renewed tolling of that passing bell 
 which had beaten out on the morning air the news 
 of Rachel s death, so mournful, so unimpassioned, yet 
 so thrilling was his sermon; to Esther, throbbing 
 
AFTER. 99 
 
 with youth, love, and incipient passion, it was like 
 the chill of a slow-falling, silent, snowstorm : she 
 asked herself if she were to die if Philip would be 
 so calm, so self-possessed ? and felt indignant that 
 even of herself she could ask such a question. 
 
 But neither she nor Sybil could fathom the real 
 state of mind in which Mr. Hall preached. It was 
 not a wife whom he had lost, but a suffering saint 
 whose shrine had been in his house ; the elusive 
 shadow of his earliest love ; the disappointment and 
 the blessing of his life. No pang of thwarted mortal 
 passion rent his soul ; no loss of that entire intimacy 
 known to no other relation of life, disturbed him ; he 
 mourned as one might who had entertained an angel 
 not unawares, but conscious that its flight upward 
 was a certainty, however it might be delayed. Per 
 haps Aunt Ruthy felt her loss most deeply ; her 
 constant care of the delicate, gentle creature ; the 
 motherly love that had grown toward her daily more 
 and more ; the continual watch and ward lest even 
 the air should visit her too roughly, or the sun smite 
 her with too fierce heat ; all these had lost their occu 
 pation, their end and aim ; her heart cried out for her 
 charge as a mother s for its baby ; and her eyes kept 
 her heart company, as she sat in the front pew and 
 beheld that fair waxen shape lying in its formal 
 shroud below the pulpit, that the congregation might 
 by and by take their last farewell of the minister s 
 wife, whom all spoke well of by report, and whom 
 the few that knew her admired and loved. After 
 
100 STEADFAST. 
 
 the wail and woe of funeral psalm and hymn were 
 over, and the parish had said farewell to that impas 
 sive shape for all time, the bearers took up the coffin 
 and bore it to the near graveyard. Even there, beside 
 the yawning earth that was to receive this new dust, 
 Philemon Hall preserved his quiet self-possession, he 
 saw the sods piled above that forsaken body, he im 
 plored the usual blessing upon the few spectators, 
 and turned away to his empty home without a sigh, a 
 tear, a quiver of feeling, on his composed countenance. 
 
 " Takes it real cool, don t he ? " remarked Hiram 
 to old Isaac Bunnell, who shook his grizzled head in 
 dissent. 
 
 "You can t allers tell: not allers. There s some 
 water runs dreadful still because its deep ; an some 
 because the ain t no stun s into it. I mistrust the 
 parson is kinder stunned, as ye may say ; same as a 
 hen is when ye ketch it by the legs and swing it 
 round sudden , so s to cut its head off. Fliction is 
 kind of curus ; it don t hurt nothing, at the fust go 
 off, to what it does come to set down and chaw on t. 
 His hard time is a comin ; he s uplifted now to 
 heaven on the p int of a privilege, as Domine Witter 
 used to tell, and he don t see nothin but t other 
 world ; but he s got to come down to the mill-grindin 
 an the wood-choppin of this here mortal state pretty 
 consider ble quick, and then he ll sense his fliction. 
 I ve seen em before. I saw old Priest Saltonstall 
 when his wife up an died ; I went over there with 
 the coffin ; why he was as straight up an down as a 
 
AFTEE. 101 
 
 rake-tail, an as hard as a nether mill-stone. Well, 
 come to think on t, he ain t to the p int mither, for 
 he never got over it ; I have heerd that he couldn t 
 never forgive the Lord for afflictin o him. I dono 
 as that made any difference to the Lord ; but twas 
 kind of unpleasant for the parson to feel so, I expect. 
 But there s all sorts of folks in the world, and its no 
 great use to be a studyin of em, an gabbin about 
 em ; I d ruther hoe corn." 
 
 With which brief sentiment Isaac turned on his 
 heel and left Hiram a little confounded; his slow 
 mind had not grasped the train of Isaac s rather 
 desultory remarks. 
 
 " What be you a-gawpin at ? " asked Delia, sharply, 
 as she came by him in her usual brisk fashion. 
 
 " Well, I was just considerin ." 
 
 " Hurry up then, do. I want a lot of oven-wood for 
 to-morrer mornin , and the corn had ought to be hoed 
 right off. Folks have got to go to funerals, I s pose, 
 and I gener lly expect to go, but they do take up 
 time ! " 
 
 Hiram obeyed orders and trotted off ; while Delia 
 poured out her soul to a crony, Sophronia Smith by 
 name, ruler and governor in the Stanley kitchen, a 
 mild, stout, easy creature, as different from Delia as a 
 pincushion is from a pin, and just as intimate as those 
 two opposing articles are. 
 
 " He s so biddable, Hiram is, that it kinder riles me 
 Sophrony ; I hate to see menfolks run an ride when 
 ever you tell em, without a peep or a mutter." 
 
102 STEADFAST. 
 
 " Mabbe, you d hate it wuss if they didn t," chuckled 
 Sophronia. 
 
 " I dono, I douo. Seems as if I d ruther be like 
 that blessed cretur we ve ben a buryin of, than to be 
 a bossin round some man or another ! She jest lay 
 there and kep a prayin and a smilin , and he done 
 for her ; he was the master. I think its nateral for 
 womenfolks to be kind of coddled an took care of ; 
 not to stan for head of the fam ly ; now Hiram won t 
 never be no head to nobody." 
 
 " Don t ye be too sartin, Delye, I ain t real spry 
 myself, but I can see out o my eyes ; men is quite 
 different while they re on the anxious seat, as you 
 may say, from what they be when they ve got into 
 the saddle ; Hiram is wait in on you, now, he ll show 
 out what s in him when you get to waitin on him." 
 
 "Hm ! " said Delia, "it ll be long days first." 
 
 They had reached the Dyer house, and further con 
 fidences ceased ; for Uncle Dyer called out to Delia to 
 ask where Hiram was, and to give her a message for 
 him, and Sophronia waddled away to the governor s 
 mansion. 
 
 These verdicts, unrestrained in their expression by 
 the ties of friendship or the sense of reverence that 
 sealed other lips, were nevertheless the judgment of 
 many another who listened to that sermon; but as 
 time wore on, and Parson Hall s grave face settled 
 into sadder and deeper gravity, his friends began to 
 see that his great loss was greater to him than they 
 had supposed. 
 
AFTER. 103 
 
 He felt more and more how much the presence of a 
 saint like Rachel had been to him ; he longed for her 
 wise and tender counsel, for the never-failing comfort 
 of her smile and voice, for the strength wherewith 
 her patience and courage girded up his own soul, and 
 armed him for his daily duties. Yet even in death 
 she blessed him ; he could enter into the sorrows of 
 his flock with an actual sympathy that he or they had 
 never before known ; his prayers with the sick had a 
 deeper fervor, a more consoling faith than ever ; and 
 the pathos, the trust, the tenderness of his funeral 
 services were known beyond his parish, and required 
 by many a mourner as a consolation. Sybil deeply 
 felt her loss in this ever-ready friend ; her aunt, the 
 governor s lady was an imperious, strong-willed, proud 
 woman, though she had a large, generous nature, and 
 a heart capable of passionate affection ; but she was 
 not sympathetic, and Sybil was not of her blood; 
 she did not try to understand her, and did not 
 enjoy her reserve and pride, so different from her 
 own. 
 
 Madam Stanley had a fine lively temper of her own ; 
 if things went awry with her she would fling the 
 spoons from the table to the floor, stamp her small 
 foot, tear off her lace cap and fling it into the fire, 
 and indulge in the like vagaries ; for which Sybil, 
 with the relentless judgment of a girl, despised her 
 aunt s want of self-control, and made known, by look 
 and -manner, her profound contempt for such ill-breed 
 ing and vulgar fury. This was not altogether sooth- 
 
104 STEADFAST. 
 
 ing, as may be imagined, to Mrs. Stanley s self-love, 
 and though the strict outward respect for their elders 
 in which young women were educated in that day, 
 prevented any open rupture between Sybil and her 
 aunt, there was no love there, and not the least sym 
 pathy. Sybil had spent many an hour by Rachel 
 Hall s bedside, soothed by her tender affection, quieted 
 by her words of counsel and love, and never had she 
 needed that rest and strength more than now, when it 
 failed her ; she recoiled into herself, fought her battle 
 alone and silently, with an aching heart and a re 
 solved soul, and became a woman before her real 
 girlhood had passed. 
 
 Esther, too, missed Rachel ; something as we all 
 regret a beautiful creature, who recalls to us the fact 
 that there is a sphere of loftier intellect and purer 
 souls, than that in which we move, but her strongest 
 feeling was for Mr. Hall ; in the fulness of her own 
 life and love she could measure what his loss might 
 be ; she had forgiven him the manful self-restraint of 
 his sermon, now that his sad visage demonstrated that 
 he did really feel that loss, and she showed in the 
 softened look of her dark eye, and the delicate consid 
 eration of her voice and manner toward him, that she 
 sorrowed for him. 
 
 Now, too, she was beginning to have her own 
 troubles ; Philip was called away oftener on business 
 than ever before, and when alone with her he was too 
 often moody, abstracted, perhaps petulant. If she 
 asked him in the gentlest manner what ailed him, 
 
AFTER. 105 
 
 he made a sharp or evasive answer. The thorns of 
 this rose-wreath began to fret poor Esther, who was 
 so dazzled with the garland she had not reckoned 
 with the nature of roses. Nor did he, though 
 lavish of secret caresses and soft words, make any 
 open or positive avowal of a desire to marry 
 her; she lived in a real fool s paradise, conscious 
 of the paradisaic part, but not of the folly ; and 
 he played with her as with a toy, that having 
 been somewhat enjoyed has ceased to have the 
 charm of freshness, and is a matter of course, but 
 only a toy at that. 
 
 Besides this, Uncle Dyer was not well ; he had, in 
 the midst of that summer s brightness and bloom, a 
 slight shock of paralysis ; it was only a few days of 
 confusion and trembling, a few weeks of one languid 
 hand and arm, one drooping eye, and he was himself 
 again ; but he knew that he had received his first 
 warning, and with quiet, Christian courage he ac 
 cepted it. 
 
 More than ever was he tender to Esther, but he 
 rarely spoke of Philip, who had gone to New York to 
 attend to the business there. 
 
 Some anxiety, unexpressed, yet painful, seemed to 
 occupy his mind ; and after a week or two he sent for 
 Squire Peters, the village lawyer, and had a long inter 
 view with him. Two days after, the squire came 
 again, and his son was with him. Parson Hall was 
 with Mr. Dyer, and remained during the interview. 
 All the family but Esther knew very well what this 
 
106 STEADFAST. 
 
 meant, but she was always and ever dreaming of 
 Philip, longing and waiting for his return ; the pres 
 ent condition of things about her was vague, and did 
 not interest her ; so they all waited, and held their 
 peace. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 FRAUD. 
 
 How many things which for our own sake we should never do, 
 do we perform for the sake of our friends. 
 
 AT last the blow fell. One cool August day, Uncle 
 Dyer was found on the library floor, speechless, 
 motionless, and unconscious. The doctor was called 
 in haste, Delia and Hiram lifted Mr. Dyer on to his 
 bed in the next room, and Mrs. Dennis took charge 
 of him. 
 
 Hitherto a silent, sad, reticent woman, devoted to 
 her sample duties in the household, and undemonstra 
 tive to a painful degree, the widow now stepped into 
 the place she could best fill. With a sudden develop 
 ment of faculties long kept in abeyance, she proved 
 that her one talent was that of nursing. She took 
 possession of this patient, and ruled over him and 
 his room with a steady judgment and strict care of 
 detail that seemed incredible to the rest of the 
 family. 
 
 " It beats all ! " said Delia, confidentially to Hiram. 
 "I d always giv her credit for bein as near nobody 
 as the Lord allows human creturs to be, and lo, you ! 
 she s got the skercest kind.o faculty. I ve always 
 considered that I could do a most anything I turned 
 107 
 
108 STEADFAST. 
 
 my hand to, but I couldn t no more fix up that bed- 
 charmber the way she doos it, nor keep things there 
 so still, an cool, an handy, than I could fly." 
 
 "Well, now, I bet you could, Delye. / never see 
 nothin yet but what was nateral to you to do, ef you 
 undertook it; and to do it up real well." 
 
 " Oh, sho ! you go long ! " 
 
 But the smile that curled Delia s decided lips, and 
 the quick color on her cheek, denied the repellent 
 words. 
 
 Poor feminine nature ! a little shining chaff deludes 
 it better than any dull handful of solid grain ! 
 
 Aunt Euthy, too, gave in her adhesion to Delia s 
 opinion, when at Mr. Hall s request she had been 
 up to the Dyer house to offer any help she could 
 give. 
 
 "I found I couldn t do a thing, Mr. Hall. Mis 
 Dennis has got everything just right ; after all these 
 years I ve been out a nursing, I couldn t find a fault. 
 Its wonderful! wonderful! If the poor man could 
 take notice, he would like it. Clean as a pantry, an 
 tidy as a parlor, that room is ; and no more noise in t 
 than a spider makes spinnin her web. But I don t 
 like his looks ; he lies like a log, and his face has got 
 a kind of purplish shade to it that isn t what it had 
 ought to have, not by no means ! I don t believe he ll 
 ever get up." 
 
 "I think so myself, Miss Kuthy. I fear not; he 
 has already over-lived the allotment of man, three 
 score years and ten. We have no reason to expect 
 
FRAUD. 109 
 
 recovery at that age; it is but borrowed time, at 
 best, that lies before him." 
 
 Aunt Ruthy looked up at the minister as he said 
 this ; stalwart, erect, with health shining in his dark 
 eyes, and vigor expressed in every motion and atti 
 tude ; not yet beyond the half of those years he was 
 pleased to call man s " allotted " time, because David 
 spoke of it as the average length of life. She, who 
 was old enough to be his mother, thought how easy it 
 was for youth to point out the limitations of age ; and 
 while her busy lingers knit away at a pair of blue 
 yarn stockings, her mind, like a veritable woman s, 
 went over all the possibilities included in Uncle 
 Dyer s probable death. What would become of Mrs. 
 Dennis and Esther ? She knew that Mr. Dyer had 
 made a will quite lately, for Mr. Hall had been called 
 in to witness it, and mentioned the fact to Aunt 
 Ruthy as a reason for being late that day to dinner. 
 He had done the same service for Mr. Dyer once 
 before, soon after Mrs. Dyer s death, before Esther 
 and her mother came to Trumbull ; so it was a fair 
 inference in Aunt Kuthy s opinion, that the later will 
 had been made in order to provide for these relatives ; 
 for she had read in Uncle Dyer s face the strong 
 affection he had learned to feel for Esther; though, 
 like his race and his time, he never expressed it in 
 words. But what would Philip say, thought this 
 wise old woman, to any division of the inheritance 
 with these new-found relatives. 
 ...She did not even consider the idea that his inter- 
 
110 STEADFAST. 
 
 ests and Esther s might be one, for she had no faith 
 in him either as friend or lover ; in the course of her 
 long and observant life she had seen too many of his 
 type, the sort that " loves and rides away," not to 
 recognize it easily ; indeed it was one of this kind 
 who had shipwrecked her life, in her early youth, 
 when she, like Esther, had loved, with a devotion that 
 knew no limits, and a passion that rejoiced in self- 
 sacrifice, a man who had lied to and deserted her. 
 She had spent an ordinary lifetime in remorse, humil 
 ity, service, and regret ; yet to-day she shuddered as, 
 recalling the past, she foreboded Esther s future. 
 
 Esther herself was as unhappy as a dreamer in a 
 vision of bliss could be made by exterior things ; she 
 loved her uncle, and she was grieved to lose the com 
 fort of his kind face and steady, friendly voice, but 
 she was so little experienced in sickness that she did 
 not feel his danger, or consider his death as possible, 
 and old Doctor Parker did not even tell Mrs. Dennis 
 his real opinion of the case. 
 
 " I trust he ll rally, ma am ! yes, oh yes. The vital 
 forces are, as you may say, in ah, yes, in retire 
 ment, ma am. The mass of his mortality is not really 
 affected ser ously ; no ma am. We must look for a 
 rally ; yes, yes, a rally. Let me know when there is 
 a change. Good-day, good-day." 
 
 And this oracular utterance was all he vouchsafed 
 to the women of the family. To Parson Hall he was 
 more confiding. Esther had forgotten in Philip s 
 absence, as she always did forget when he was not 
 
FRAUD. Ill 
 
 with her, the little troubles of his recent conduct ; 
 and she was full of joy when she heard from Mr 
 Hall that he was expected home at once, for he had 
 now been absent six weeks. She did not know that 
 Dr. Parker had ordered his return. Nor was she per 
 fectly happy when he came ; beyond his natural grief 
 and consternation, there was a hurried apprehension 
 in his manner, an excitement, an evident distress, 
 that disturbed her ; he was perhaps more affection 
 ate than ever when they were alone, but that subtle 
 and defensive instinct which is a solitary woman s 
 only aid in matters of the heart, warned her dumbly 
 that he was thinking of something beside her and her 
 love, even amid his caresses. After a day or two had 
 passed, during which Uncle Dyer s condition had not 
 changed at all, Philip said it was needful that he 
 should go out to Long Beach farm to see about some 
 sheep he had sent there from New York, and asked 
 Esther to ride with him. It was a lovely day ; warm, 
 tranquil ; the sky pure in its lofty azure, only flecked 
 here and there by a soft, white cloud, floating, like 
 the thistledown that imitated it below, in a silvery 
 silence ; the lanes were full of the perfume a hot day 
 in August beguiles from odorous pine boughs, spiked 
 clethra blossoms, aromatic bushes of sweetbriar and 
 bayberry, the tips of red cedar, and the last water 
 lilies that linger in shady pools among the swamps of 
 the shore country. Yet soothing as the air, the quiet 
 landscape, the distant murmur of the sea all were, 
 Esther felt an indefinite uneasiness ; for Philip was 
 
112 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 silent, his face gloomy, his eyes fixed on some distant 
 point that yet he seemed not to perceive, and his 
 brows knitted and scowling. After a speechless drive 
 of two or three miles, Esther could not bear the still 
 ness between them any longer ; she laid her hand 
 gently on her lover s arm. 
 
 "Philip/ she said, with the most timid sweetness 
 "What is it? can I help?" 
 
 Philip turned round and throwing his arm about 
 her pressed her to his side with sudden violence. 
 
 "Esther! I am out of myself with apprehension, 
 You know that I have always been brought up as 
 Uncle Dyer s heir. After my aunt s death he re-made 
 the will that had left his property to her, and made 
 it in my favor ; but of late he has been somewhat 
 disaffected towards me ; I have not made money so 
 fast as he would have me ; there have been certain 
 liabilities overdue by men whom I have trusted, that 
 he was displeased about ; and this Parson Hall hath 
 gotten his ear, and set his mind earnestly toward 
 building a new meeting-house here, as I am well 
 informed, a matter that will deprive me of more than 
 half the property, and cripple me for years. 
 
 " Do not think, my girl, that I care so much for the 
 money alone, but it will mar my future fatally ; how 
 can I bear to put off for years the home I desire ? 
 How can I ask any woman s hand, when I must bring 
 her to poverty ? " 
 
 Esther could have answered this question with all 
 -.her fieart: Philip, in, poverty would be even dearej to 
 
FRAUD. 113 
 
 her than with such riches that she could not help or 
 serve him ; but maidenly reserve sealed her lips ; she 
 only blushed to her temples, anc], said, 
 
 " Are you sure, Philip, that Uncle Dyer has made a 
 will ? " 
 
 " Yes ; Abner Peters, the squire s son, was an old 
 crony of mine, and for some reason owes me a 
 grudge. I met him in the street t other day, and he 
 flung it at me that the squire had made a will for my 
 uncle that cut me off with a shilling. And was not 
 the squire closeted with my uncle but a short time 
 before this sickness." 
 
 "Yes," said Esther. 
 
 " And was not Parson Hall there, and Ab Peters 
 fetched in as well ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I remember it well. Delia spoke of it 
 when I was sealing up plum conserve in the kitchen. 
 I thought no more of it, but now I do remember that 
 she said Squire Peters was with Uncle Dyer, and she 
 mistrusted twas about his last will, and she liked it 
 not, for it foreboded death." 
 
 " But too well ! and here is death at hand ; the old 
 meeting-house is still strong, it needeth but small 
 repair, I would take that in hand myself ; but, Esther, 
 can you wonder that I am a desperate man so to be 
 cut off from my life s best hope by the devices of a 
 man like Priest Hall, who hath as much of a man s 
 life as a fence-post in his saintly body and cramped 
 soul ! " 
 
 It never occurred to Esther, as her lover stooped and 
 
114 STEADFAST. 
 
 kissed her under the shadow of her broad-leafed hat, 
 that it was odd he should know the contents of Uncle 
 Dyer s will so well,- when it was made so short a time 
 before the paralytic stroke which set its seal on heart 
 and lips alike ; she knew nothing, thought of nothing 
 but Philip and his loss ; she was in that condition of 
 existence when a girl s heart and soul are so merged 
 in the lover she worships, that reason is in abeyance, 
 and common sense drugged to sleep ; whatever Philip 
 chose to tell her she believed, and he, used to this 
 stage of passion in his various experiments, perfectly 
 comprehended the situation. 
 
 He went on, with a voice full of eager longing and 
 pain. "Oh! if I could but know that unjust will 
 were destroyed ! If I could but feel it were cancelled 
 by fire and scattered to the winds of heaven, I could 
 once more be happy ! And well I know it would be 
 Uncle Dyer s wish, if he could listen to what I have 
 to tell him. I had just arrived at the end of my 
 endeavor, just gotten ready to come up and explain 
 to him the difficulties I had at last surmounted, and 
 absolve myself from any shadow of blame, when I 
 was summoned, and behold he is practically dead, and 
 I can never, never, be righted ! " 
 
 Esther s eyes filled with tears ; she clasped his 
 hand more closely : " Oh Philip ! " she said, " it is a 
 shame ! it is too, too hard. Could I but help you ! " 
 
 " You ! little mouse ! " said Philip, with a sad smile, 
 Esther caught the allusion. 
 
 " But a mouse did gnaw the lion s net, you know ! " 
 
FRAUD. 115 
 
 she said, softly. Philip was silent ; he had planted 
 the thought he meant to, in her mind; now, how 
 should he quicken its germination ? 
 
 But Esther thought only of him and the injustice 
 lie suffered. She was so lost to all things but Philip ; 
 so ready to sacrifice all she held dearest to his pleas 
 ure, that it was well for her his selfish soul was too 
 considerate of his future, his position, and his pur 
 poses, to allow him to be swept away by passion as 
 better men have sometimes been in like circumstances, 
 and so shipwreck Esther s life for his own transient 
 gratification. It is true that religion teaches us that 
 sin is sin, whatever be its name or manifestation, but 
 there are gradations of sin in the world s eyes, and 
 some that in a woman are unpardonable. But Esther 
 was an innocent girl, just now carried beyond the 
 domain of ethics or religion ; to her soul one sin 
 ranked with another, and she forgot all other consid 
 erations in her absorbing desire to do what would 
 serve or save her lover, whatever it might be. 
 
 She said no word to him of her thought or inten 
 tion, but from that hour her soul was set on the one 
 purpose of getting at that latest will, and destroying- 
 it before Uncle Dyer s death. 
 
 She was more silent than Philip all the rest of their 
 drive, and he very well understood the reason. When 
 those dark, passionate eyes sought his now and then, 
 with a look of utter devotion and sympathy that 
 touched even his worldly and scheming heart, or her 
 cool, soft lips quivered under the long pressure of his 
 
116 STEADFAST. 
 
 as he bent his head to her s in the fragrant shadow of 
 the forest road, Philip Kent knew as well as if he 
 read it in fiery letters on that twilight sky above 
 them, that Esther would risk her very soul to save 
 him the wealth he so coveted, and it cost even him a 
 slight struggle to cast aside the intrusive idea of 
 releasing her from the unspoken vow he felt she had 
 made. Yet it was but a momentary idea ; he clasped 
 her in his arms as they entered the loveliest part of 
 their homeward way, kissed her passionately again 
 and again, -and as she lifted her languid eyes and burn 
 ing face from his bosom, he felt he had fully rewarded 
 her ; and she felt ready to die or live for him. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 DONE. 
 
 What plea, so tainted and corrupt, 
 But, being seasoned with a gracious voice, 
 Obscures the show of evil ? 
 
 FROM that day on, Esther spent her time in devis 
 ing how to get that obnoxious will and destroy it ; 
 she was so new to deception or scheming, so innocent 
 of evil design, yet so impressed with the need of 
 secresy for Philip s sake, for he had over and again 
 insinuated into her mind that not for the world would 
 he possess himself of the document, since to do so 
 would in itself (if found out) be fatal to his character 
 and his future ; that she lay awake at night and pon 
 dered by day on this purpose, until she was utterly 
 absorbed in ways and means. 
 
 Still Uncle Dyer lay senseless ; Dr. Parker had 
 said that the case was hopeless ; that life might 
 nicker up for a moment at the end, and consciousness 
 return, but it would still be the end of life, and prob 
 ably come about the tenth day ; and time had crept 
 on for a whole week, yet Esther had not got the will. 
 
 But on the eighth day came that opportunity that 
 evil always fetches to those who traffic with its 
 forces ; Mrs. Dennis was seized with a sudden attack 
 of illness, prostrating but not dangerous, and Esther 
 
 117 
 
118 STEADFAST. 
 
 was called to her place at Uncle Dyer s bedside for 
 the day. 
 
 It was Delia s washing-day, but she left her tubs to 
 see that Mrs. Dennis was bestowed safely in her bed. 
 and her present needs provided for ; then she looked 
 in on Esther with an admonition, whispered but 
 peremptory : " She s all right upstairs ; don t you 
 get in a swivet about her ; I ve giv her some ros - 
 berry leaf tea, an put a hot flat to her feet. You 
 just set still alongside of him, and keep a wettin his 
 lips with that slipp ry ellum tea in the mug ; that s all 
 the poor cretur needs ; he dono nothin , an he can t 
 say nothin . I do dread a shockanum palsy myself, 
 dreadfully ; seems as though it made folks just like 
 them cherubs on the tombstones in the yard, all out 
 side as you may say ; neither live nor dead, they re 
 dead I s pose, but they look kind of lively, an he 
 don t. 
 
 "Well, you keep the lib ry fire up, Esther; it s 
 kind of damp on this floor after the rain; and jest 
 lock the door so s nobody won t come in suddin. I 
 ain t real certin sure but what he s a mite nervy, if he 
 don t show it, and anyway sick folks had ought to be 
 kept as quiet as the law allows." 
 
 So Delia, unconscious aide-de-camp of the evil one 
 who stood at Esther s side, shut the door gently and 
 creaked back down the stair to her washing. 
 
 Now was Esther s time ! she felt it with a thrill of 
 mingled satisfaction and terror; she carefully wet 
 Uncle Dyer s parched lips, half closed the door into 
 
DONE. 119 
 
 the library, locked that through which Delia had 
 passed, and softly opening the door of a little cup 
 board above the mantel, took from a nail under the 
 shelf, Uncle Dyer s keys. 
 
 Well she knew where he kept them, for many and 
 many a time she had mounted in that same red 
 moreen-cushioned chair and opened that very same 
 cupboard over the fireplace to get him the keys, 
 which he never carried in his pocket for fear of los 
 ing them, as the locks were intricate and he had no 
 duplicates. 
 
 Esther shut the cupboard, and clasping the keys 
 tightly lest they should rattle, stepped down from the 
 chair ; she selected first the key of the secretary, a 
 tall piece of old cherry-wood furniture on four slender 
 claw-footed legs, with a desk front, and a book closet 
 above that, surmounted by an odd and clumsy cornice 
 with a curving ornament in the middle ; the upper 
 doors were locked, there stood Mr. Dyer s ledgers, and 
 on the shelves above were bundles of bills, filed and 
 receipted ; with these Esther had nothing to do ; she 
 only unlocked the desk, and let the front down on 
 to two supports which she drew out from the sides of 
 the secretary for that purpose ; just then a sudden 
 noise startled her ; her hands trembled, and a quick 
 throb at her heart sent the blood all over her face ; 
 she held her breath and listened ; the noise was out 
 side, Philip had closed the barn door hastily; she 
 stepped to the window and saw him mount his iron- 
 gray horse, and ride oft ; his face was dark and 
 
120 STEADFAST. 
 
 gloomy as the gathering northeast storm that filled 
 the sky above him, and howled with doleful presage 
 about the old house. 
 
 That woful face gave Esther fresh courage ; she 
 hastened back to the desk, applied the little key on 
 the ring to a keyhole hidden under a brass ornament 
 which she had pushed aside, and a secret drawer flew 
 open. There lay two folded sheets of parchment side 
 by side. 
 
 On each was written in Uncle Dyer s flowing hand, 
 " My Laste Wille & Testament " ; but one bore a date 
 of several years before, the other of a fortnight since ; 
 there was no doubt of the matter, this last was the 
 will her poor Philip so dreaded. 
 
 An older, wiser, or less pre-occupied person than 
 Esther would naturally have asked herself why the 
 older will was preserved ; in fact the answer to that 
 question lay folded in the new one, in the shape of a 
 sealed letter to Philip : a letter never to be seen or 
 read, whatever might be its contents. But she was 
 too full of joy at her success to think of anything but 
 that she had achieved her end ; she locked the secret 
 drawer carefully, and closed and locked the desk, 
 pushing in its supports with needless caution, for the 
 only ear to hear them creak was sealed with a pressure 
 close as the numbness of death ; then she mounted 
 into the chair again, hung up the keys in their place, 
 turned the button on the closet door, stepped down, 
 and carefully shook up the red cushion that bore the 
 mark of feet upon it, moved the chair away, and then 
 
DONE. 121 
 
 thrust that obnoxious will right under the great hick 
 ory log that smouldered above a bed of coals in the 
 library fireplace. A cloud of bitter smoke, a sudden 
 crackling, a burst of bright flame, and Philip was 
 righted ! 
 
 Uncle Dyer s calm face looked down from the wall, 
 where he was depicted sitting at that very desk in 
 his Sunday suit, a pen in one hand, the other resting 
 on a parchment scroll, his dark eyes emphasized by 
 the powdered hair above them, and his firm lips and 
 broad brow as nearly like life as oil and canvas can 
 reproduce humanity when a skilful artist uses them. 
 
 Did those grave eyes really glow with indignation 
 and reproach ? or was it but the reflection of that 
 sharp flame that flickered on the portrait ? 
 
 Esther returned to the bedside, and again from the 
 long-necked silver dish that held a little liquid, and 
 was made and used only for this office, she dropped 
 a few drops of the odorous potion on the invalid s 
 hot and dry lips ; was there any expression in those 
 half-shut eyes that she trembled so as she bent above 
 them ? 
 
 What if all this time he were conscious, had heard 
 her and suspected her ? 
 
 She shuddered, and instinctively went back to the 
 library to make sure her work was done ; there was a 
 rank and breathless smell in the room, a smell she 
 knew came from that burnt parchment; there was 
 sure betrayal in the odor ; what could she do to pre 
 vent it ? 
 
122 STEADFAST. 
 
 On the mantelpiece stood two large blue vases ; 
 only a little while before, she had filled them with 
 branches of cedar from a bluff above the shore where 
 she and Philip had often sat together, listening to 
 the crushed whisper of the sea below, as it threw its 
 waves of crested beryl sharply up the beach, and 
 then hissed backward, dragging with it shells and 
 pebbles that clashed together and rasped the sand 
 beneath them into smoothness. 
 
 The branches were misty blue with their fragrant 
 berries, and well dried by the heated air of the room ; 
 she seized them from the vases and flung them on the 
 fire ; -a quick flash followed, then a dull but heavy 
 roar ; Esther knew well what it meant, she had set 
 the soot that had accumulated in the chimney on fire. 
 
 Really there was no danger, but she was excited 
 and unstrung ; the nervous tension that had upheld 
 her gave way, she threw up the window and shrieked 
 to Delia, whose tubs stood in the shed between the 
 kitchen and woodhouse, by an open door. 
 
 " Delia ! Delia ! come quick ! the chimney s 
 burning ! " 
 
 "Well, what if tis ? " calmly answered Delia, lift 
 ing her hands from the suds and wiping them on her 
 apron. " Don t get so scared Esther. I ll come right 
 along up," and in another moment she had run up 
 stairs. 
 
 " Sure enough ! how come it to blaze up so ? " 
 
 " Oh I put those cedar branches on ; there wasn t 
 much fire ; I didn t think ; I " 
 
DONE. 123 
 
 " Why, child, tisn t nothing ; you re as nervy as a 
 settin hen. I should ha thought you d known better 
 than to fling red cedar on top of a fire. Land ! how 
 it smells ! That chimbley had ought to have been 
 burnt out last spring by rights ; my ! how the sut 
 does come down ! " 
 
 Esther shivered with excitement, she knew now 
 there was no danger, the northeaster had thickened, 
 first into a driving mist, now into a solid rain that 
 fell in sharp gusts against the house and prevented 
 all danger from burning soot or sparks on the roof ; 
 she turned away toward the bedroom, mindful of her 
 office for her uncle ; but as she faced the door a stifled 
 cry burst from her lips and startled Delia in her turn. 
 
 Uncle Dyer sat bolt upright in the bed, his face 
 darkly flushed and working fearfully in an effort to 
 speak, his eyes full of horror and despair, every vein 
 swollen, and a cold sweat bursting out on his fore 
 head; what had aroused him so, it was idle to in 
 quire ; struggle as he might, the palsied tongue re 
 fused to obey the yearning desire of the agonized 
 mind ; it was the awful and futile revolt of a spirit in 
 prison, and lasted but for a moment, the dark flush, 
 the convulsion of the muscles, the look of anguish 
 passed away like the lurid cloud of a tempest before 
 the south wind, that sweeps those heaped black fleeces 
 from the sky with gentle but forceful breath, and 
 leaves the sunset to its awful peace. 
 
 One look of deep affection, a half smile, both for 
 Esther; and then the conquered soul withdrew for- 
 
124 STEADFAST. 
 
 ever from its battle with the flesh, and Uncle Dyer 
 dropped back, quite dead. 
 
 "I never shall think twas that burniii chimbly 
 done it," said Delia, two hours afterward, as she stood 
 by that bed, superintending the offices of two old 
 women who made a business of preparing the dead for 
 burial. " I s pose his time had come ; there s been 
 bigger noises n that sence he was took, and he didn t 
 mind em no more n Pharo King of Egypt j the old 
 apple tree blowed down a week ago in that real 
 severe thunder squall we had, and come bang ag inst 
 the side o the house, but he never winked. Esther 
 took on consider ble ; she thought she d killed him 
 sure, a puttin on them cedar branches so s to spunk 
 up the fire, and thereby settin the sut to blazin ; but 
 twasn t that ! " 
 
 " No, no, twan t," said the elder crone, shaking her 
 grizzled head, solemnly. " Twas jest as you say, 
 Miss Pratt, jes so ; his time had come, and when the 
 Lord sees folkses time has come it don t need no 
 airthly cretur s hand to hurry it along ; we ve all got 
 to be took some time or nother, and its good we dono 
 when tis. 7 
 
 "Mm," murmured the other, putting her head on 
 one side, like a bird inspecting some doubtful object, 
 " tis so, certin sure. Well, Squire Dyer was pre 
 pared ; he was a good man, and he makes a bewtiful 
 corpse." 
 
 A murmur of assent confirmed her remark, and 
 then drawing the sheet up over the sharp, still out- 
 
POXE. 125 
 
 lines of the dead, they all withdrew and locked the 
 door upon " the remains." Apt expression ! it was 
 indeed only the remainder which the greater part had 
 left; only the worn-out vesture, the frail, broken 
 chrysalis ; the cloak that hid even from the nearest 
 and dearest, the integral nature of that vital force it 
 shrouded ; why do we honor and adorn it as we do, 
 and speak of the dead as if they slept in the graves 
 we hallow ? 
 
 Rather, should not it be written above the portals 
 of every graveyard, where Christians leave the dust 
 that must be buried out of sight, the remonstrance of 
 that wiser angel to the wondering disciples, 
 
 " Why seek ye the living among the dead ? He is 
 not here, He is risen." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 "L IMPREVU." 
 
 It is always the unexpected that happens. 
 
 MRS. DENNIS was worse the next day; she had 
 known that her uncle s state was precarious, but as 
 long as life lasts on earth, the halo of its essential im 
 mortality surrounds it ; when it really vanishes from 
 the apprehension of sense we are always surprised ; 
 for at heart every human being has the infidelity of 
 the Apostle Thomas hidden in some shadowy recess, 
 where it whispers to itself, " I will not believe what 
 I do not see and touch ! " 
 
 So the widow, already weakened by her illness, re 
 ceived a real shock from the news of her uncle s 
 death ; she had arrived at an age when we feel deeply 
 that " blood is thicker than water," and Mr. Dyer was 
 her only surviving relative. It is true, her daughter 
 was left, but Esther had never really understood or 
 intelligently sympathized with her mother ; she was 
 too young at her father s death to enter into the full 
 sense of her mother s loss or her own, though she 
 mourned him truly, and with the rebellious passion of 
 early youth ; but time and change of scene had really 
 consoled her, and she did not know how the riven 
 heart that had lost its other half, its light, and 
 126 
 
" L IMPREVU." 127 
 
 strength, and joy, still refused to be comforted, still 
 echoed with the sobs she would not utter, and was 
 still overflowed with repressed tears, that her sense 
 of duty and shrinking from demonstration, forbade to 
 fall. 
 
 Then Esther had been so absorbed in her mad love 
 for Philip, that she had, with youth s unconscious self 
 ishness, left her mother much to herself, and in this 
 solitude Uncle Dyer had been her companion ; beside 
 the crackling fire they had talked together of the 
 past ; discussed their losses ; recalled those memories 
 that are as fragrant as the dead leaves of an autumnal 
 forest ; or, after the fashion of their day, reasoned 
 together concerning theological dogmas, obscure texts 
 in the Scripture ; and had insensibly grown nearer to 
 each other thus. 
 
 Then like all over-conscientious women, she tor 
 mented herself with the idea that she ought not to 
 have left him ; forgot the severity of the attack that 
 had forced her to her bed, and felt that a greater 
 effort of- will, a little more courage in pain, might 
 have kept her by his side ; so her bereft and worried 
 mind preyed on her exhausted body, and she was not 
 able even to give a farewell look at the noble and 
 peaceful face that slept so silently in the darkened 
 room below. 
 
 To her Esther s cares were all directed now. She 
 had seen Philip once since her uncle s death, and 
 given him a reassuring look and smile, and a low 
 whisper of " Fear not ! " which said much more to his 
 
128 STEADFAST. 
 
 anxious ear; but further communication had been 
 impossible, and he did not seek it ; he knew too well 
 that any aspect of unusual confidence or collusion, 
 might be brought up against them both, so he did not 
 even inquire for her before he was obliged to leave ; 
 and she spent the three days preceding the funeral in 
 her mother s room. 
 
 Mrs. Dennis lay for the most part quite silent; 
 sometimes she watched Esther as she moved about 
 the room, with the sort of dumb yearning one sees 
 in the eyes of a dog ; for hers was truly a spirit in 
 prison. 
 
 Full of timid, but entire devotion to the very few 
 she loved, she had been taught by her stern religious 
 creed to tremble lest her natural affections should 
 grow into idolatry. She was convinced that for this 
 reason her husband had been taken from her, that she 
 might give to a jealous and angry God the love that 
 had bound itself so utterly to a human being ; and 
 when her heart turned to Esther, the living tie that 
 still clasped her to the dead, as a mother s heart nat 
 urally would turn, she strictly schooled every thought 
 as well as every utterance of maternal love and long 
 ing, lest she too, this lovely and beloved child, should 
 become an "idol." Better that she should die and 
 leave Esther ignorant of her tenderness, than cut 
 short those young days, and jeopard her own hopes of 
 heaven. 
 
 Mrs. Dennis was not a reasonable woman, logic was 
 impossible to her sort of mind, or she might and 
 
" L IMPREVU." 129 
 
 would have asked herself why this God whom she 
 feared had ever implanted within her the power of 
 loving, if it was always to be repressed ; or, why he 
 had compared His own tenderness to that of a mother, 
 if her s was blamable. 
 
 Now she was forced into close company with Esther ; 
 dependent on her for comfort and for society, and her 
 heart yielded itself to that love which has no equal 
 on earth. She dwelt with delight on the noble fig 
 ure the richly expressive face, the wealth of dark 
 brown hair that in the sun showed its intermingling 
 of deep red threads, and glittered like the shining 
 rind of a new horse-chestnut. She basked in the 
 dream-dimmed affection of the great hazel eyes that 
 were so shy, so beautiful, yet at times so sad ; and 
 longed to kiss the exquisite little hands and wrists 
 that fetched her food, lifted her on her pillows, 
 rubbed her tired muscles; or, the taper and rose- 
 tinted fingers that smoothed her gray hair back under 
 the cap border, or fastened the night-dress about her 
 with a gentle deftness, such as a mother might show 
 to a baby. Three days of happiness were hers ; even 
 in her grief she could but own their sweetness ; then 
 came the funeral. A bountiful table, spread with all 
 the " baked meats " Delia well knew how to furnish 
 for such occasions, was set in the great dining-room 
 for the refection of friends and neighbors. The 
 family and relatives, the minister, and ,th,e lawyer, 
 were, to sit by .the coffin in the bedroom, till such 
 time as one prayer had been made, and then the 
 
130 STEADFAST. 
 
 bearers were to carry the dead to the church for pub 
 lic services there. Esther could not be spared from 
 her mother s side to go so far, but she could not 
 refuse to be present at this prayer ; so she tied on 
 a long, black, mourning cloak, and tying its hood 
 above her unpowd^red hair, seated herself by the side 
 of a window, and fixing her eyes on the floor, gave 
 hefself up to solemn thoughts of death, as was 
 proper. 
 
 Her revery was broken by a stir at the door ; she 
 knew that Philip had gone to New York on urgent 
 business, directly after her uncle s death ; but was ex 
 pected to be back for the funeral, of course. Secluded 
 in her mother s room, she had not asked if he had re 
 turned ; but now, as she lifted her head, she saw him 
 come in with a lady on his arm. 
 
 Young, beautiful as a statue, with cold blue eyes, 
 and heaped up gold-brown hair ; a slight, stiff figure ; 
 lips of perfect beauty, but colder in their fixed scarlet 
 curves than even her blue eyes, Esther gazed and 
 wondered at her ; saw that she too wore a long, black 
 cloak, and that the little hat poised daintily upon her 
 hair was also black and crape-wreathed ; even while 
 she looked at the stranger, Philip s voice, low but 
 distinct, met her incredulous ear as he said to Squire 
 Peters, 
 
 " This lady hath a right of entrance here, sir ; she 
 is mine honored wife, the daughter of Peter Stuyve- 
 sant, well known to you by reputation, the merchant 
 prince of our goodly city." 
 
131 
 
 Squire Peters bowed low, well he knew the name ; 
 but just at that moment Parson Hall entered, and, 
 lifting his hand, solemnly begun the prayer. After 
 ward, Esther knew why he spared greeting and pre 
 amble, and why he pleaded fervently and long for the 
 living who were left alone. 
 
 But she heard then no word he uttered; chaos 
 reigned within her ; outraged pride ; incredulous pas 
 sion ; indignation ; despair ; all grappled with her 
 soul at once. Hardly was the " Amen " said, when 
 she glided silently from the room by another door 
 than that of the library, where, as well as in the with 
 drawing room, sat friends from far and near, sorrow 
 ing neighbors, and weeping servants; and through 
 Uncle Dyer s tiny dressing-room and a back entry- 
 way fled up the kitchen staircase and into her own 
 room. 
 
 There, prostrate on the floor, she endured the first 
 onset of an agony that had no outlook, no hope, in its 
 desperate terror ; words were vain, prayer idle, pal 
 liation impossible, she had the woman s only defence, 
 silent endurance, in itself a horror of great darkness ; 
 for to weep, to scream, to beat herself against the 
 stones of the shore and let the fierce water over 
 whelm her, would have been relief ; but as it was she 
 must only endure. 
 
 She lay there hour after hour, forgetful of her 
 mother, of her uncle, of all things but one, that she 
 had lost Philip. Through her window, flung open in 
 an instinctive effort to relieve the breathlessness that 
 
132 STEADFAST. 
 
 her fast-beating heart brought on, she heard from the 
 near meeting-house the wail of the funeral hymns, but 
 only noted them with a sort of relief that they ex 
 pressed her own desperate, comfortless anguish ; when 
 they ceased, her self-control had to be more stringent ; 
 but she lay still, silent, solitary, lost in an incredible 
 maze of distress, crushed by an incubus of daylight 
 and reality ; powerless to say to herself, " perhaps it 
 is a dream," and loathing with all her soul the perfect, 
 icy face of the woman who had stepped into her 
 place and taken Philip from her arms and her heart. 
 But Esther was still in a world of woes beside her 
 own ; she was roused after a time by a light knock on 
 her door ; it was a neighbor s child who had been 
 fetched to sit with Mrs. Dennis while Esther attended 
 the prayer. 
 
 The exhausted girl slowly rose, and straightened 
 her clothing ; she recognized her bitter need of dis 
 simulating courage, and her voice was firm as she said, 
 " What is it, Sally ? " 
 
 " Oh, come down ! do ye now, Esther ; I m all of a 
 tremble. Mis Dennis she tried for to get up and see 
 out o the winder, to see the last of him she said, jest 
 as they was goin to the buryin ground, and she s fell 
 down, and I can t noway lift her up ag in." 
 
 Esther did not stay to replace her dishevelled hair, 
 but hurried into her mother s room ; this new shock 
 did not shake her presence of mind, in fact did not 
 shock her as it would have the day before. 
 
 Beside, it brought with it that need for action that 
 
" L IMPREVU." 133 
 
 is so wholesome and so quickening under any severe 
 blow ; she must get her mother at once back to her 
 bed. 
 
 Vainly, however, did she try to lift that rigid, sense 
 less shape, heavy as if already dead ; the effort to pay 
 that. last respect to her uncle had, from her feeble 
 condition and a certain obscure trouble of the spine 
 that had puzzled her physician by complicating an or 
 dinarily manageable disease, brought on an uncon 
 scious condition that was neither a swoon nor paralysis, 
 and only by Sally s help could Esther raise her from 
 the floor and get her back in her bed ; then she sent 
 Sally hastily over to the graveyard to hunt up Dr. 
 Parker, and began to chafe her mother s hands and 
 feet, and apply camphor to her temples. 
 
 The doctor arrived shortly, but his skill could do 
 no more than Esther had done : he could only read 
 that death-warrant that medical authority has so often 
 to issue, in the usual guarded terms that really con 
 ceal nothing of their cruel import, but are a tribute to 
 conventional decencies. 
 
 " Your mother is ser ously ill, Esther ; dangerous ; 
 yes, dangerous ; but we hope she will rally ; yes, 
 rally again ; while there is life there is hope ; the 
 vital fluid is contumacious, and the mass of her mor 
 tality is mabbe more tough than some ; I dono but 
 what she may get around again after a spell ; yes, 
 after a spell ; she s had quite a shock to the brain sub 
 stance, quite ; brain is a difficult region to deal with 
 medicinally. I should apprehend that a mess of 
 
134 STEADFAST. 
 
 wilted burdock leaves clapped to the soles of the feet 
 might draw down the evil ; and I should put some 
 cold sperrits onto the top of her head ; camphire is 
 good, it is revivin , see-c?ative, and purifyin to the 
 blood ; let her smell to the camphire quite frequent, 
 and if she doos not revive considerable quick, why I ll 
 let blood, I ll let blood. In obstinate defluxions 
 nothing is better. But, Esther, you should have some 
 one with you, yes, it is needful ; I will step over to 
 Parson Hall s, and see if he cannot spare Miss Ruthy." 
 
 Esther heard him in absolute silence; she sat by 
 her mother after she had bound the dock-leaves on 
 her feet, and wetted her head with rum, like some 
 creature carved of " dureful marble." Once only she 
 flashed out into quick life. Philip s voice was heard 
 on the stairway. 
 
 " Lock the door, Sally ! " she said, peremptorily. 
 " Let no one in, unless Miss Euth comes," and Sally 
 answering a rap at the door informed Mr. Kent that, 
 " nobody couldn t see neither of em, and the mustn t 
 be a mite o noise." 
 
 How it was brought about Esther did not know, 
 but that night Mr. Hall and Aunt Kuthy were both 
 installed in the Dyer house as nurse and guardian. 
 
 Meanwhile, directly after the funeral, the reading 
 of the will took place ; Esther was not there of course ; 
 she was shut in with her speechless mother, and the 
 doctor gave an authoritative order that she should 
 not be called down. 
 
 It was not proper, Squire Peters insisted, that the 
 
" L IMPREVU." 135 
 
 will should be read without her presence, but he was 
 obliged to yield this point, for Philip said he must go 
 to New York that night, and could not return to 
 Trurnbull in a long time ; the journey was so tedious 
 and the autumnal weather so uncertain ; so Dr. 
 Parker, Parson Hall, Squire Peters, Philip Kent, and 
 Philip Kent s wife, a maiden lady who was a cousin 
 of Mrs. Dyer s and had lately come to live in the vil 
 lage, Miss Temperance Tucker, were summoned to 
 the library to listen to Mr. Dyer s last will and testa 
 ment. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A WILL. 
 
 What deadly things we do, that, being done 
 We think our wish and will forever won ! 
 Ah! creatures short of sight. What mortals know 
 Whether their will fetch joy or bitter woe? 
 They have earth s best, and heaven s most divine 
 Who meekly say " Thy will be done! not mine." 
 
 IT was a small company that assembled about the 
 library table at Mr. Peters s request to hear this will. 
 Nobody looked happy in expectance : Philip was pale 
 as death. 
 
 Squire Peters moved a chair to the closet door as 
 Esther had done, and took down the keys ; evidently, 
 Mr. Dyer had shown him their place in preparation 
 for this occasion; but when he had unlocked and 
 opened the desk, and the secret drawer, he uttered a 
 quaint ejaculation under his breath, and proceeded to 
 search every drawer and pigeon-hole, to untie bundle 
 after bundle of papers, and at last to rummage the 
 upper closet. 
 
 " Amazing ! amazing ! " he said, as he turned to 
 the waiting company, holding a sealed parchment in 
 his hand. 
 
 " It is but a few weeks ago I engrossed a will for 
 Joshua Dyer of a different tenor from that he made 
 succeeding the demise of his late wife j and with my 
 
 136 
 
A WILL. 137 
 
 own hands did I deposit it in this drawer whence I 
 have taken this previous will ; but there is no trace 
 of it among his papers. I cannot think he hath 
 destroyed it in so brief time," and Squire Peters cast 
 a glance of keen inquiry at the group before him, 
 from under his bushy brows. 
 
 Philip had recovered his natural color when he saw 
 the squire begin his search; and looked as surprised 
 as they did. 
 
 " Did any one become aware of the tenor of that 
 later will ? " asked Parson Hall composedly. 
 
 " No, sir ! " was the squire s emphatic answer. " I 
 tell no man s secrets to man or woman ; lawyer and 
 doctor should be like the grave s mouth, which re- 
 ceiveth all things and returneth nothing." 
 
 And the squire spoke truth ; Abner Peters s commu 
 nication to Philip had been an invention of his own 
 to torment the man he never liked. 
 
 Philip knew from Mr. Dyer s own lips what the 
 earlier will had been, but even Squire Peters was not 
 aware that Philip had received such a confidence. 
 
 " I see then," went on Mr. Hall, " no other expla 
 nation of the absence of that document, but that Mr. 
 Dyer changed his mind concerning the provisions 
 thereof, and probably intending so to change it, did 
 away with it, and was too soon smitten with paraly 
 sis to frame another." 
 
 " Mabbe it is so, mabbe it is so," said Squire Peters, 
 reflectively, "but since none other is to be had, I will 
 now advise you all here assembled, of the contents of 
 
138 STEADFAST. 
 
 this one ; if perchance the other should yet be found, 
 these legacies and provisions will be thereby null and 
 void according to the statutes of this colony." 
 
 A wild thrill of fear darted through Philip s mind ; 
 what if Esther had only secreted that new will, and 
 in her indignation at his betrayal of her affection 
 should restore it ? But would she be ready to crimi 
 nate herself ? Eacked by doubts and fears that now 
 began their work, he composed himself as best he 
 could to listen to the reading of Squire Peters. There 
 was the usual preamble, with its farcical gift of the 
 soul to God and the body to the ground ; a foregone 
 conclusion that one might think better omitted, if 
 they stopped to think at all : and then came small 
 legacies to Hiram and Delia ; a gift of valuable books 
 and a gold watch and seals to Parson Hall : a sum of 
 four hundred pounds sterling to Mrs. Dennis ; and the 
 rest and residue of all his estate to Philip Kent ; 
 " nephew of my late lamented wife." 
 
 No mention was made of Esther; indeed when this 
 will was drawn up, Uncle Dyer had never seen the 
 girl ; his wife was but just buried, and he had only 
 been reminded very lately of his niece s existence. 
 Unaware of Mrs. Dennis s extreme poverty, for her 
 letter to him only asked for help to find occupation, 
 and did not at all enter into the details of her desti 
 tution, he had only left her such a sum in his will as 
 would ensure her from starvation, supposing that 
 she must have some property of her own. 
 
 Whatever were the contents of the later will, only 
 
A WILL. 139 
 
 Squire Peters knew now. But there was nothing to 
 be said or done ; Squire Peters was executor, with 
 Parson Hall, and Philip drew the latter aside as the 
 small conclave dispersed and said : " Sir, I am indeed 
 grieved that nothing more hath been left to Mrs. 
 Dennis and her daughter ; believe me, it is my full 
 purpose to provide for them well, as my uncle past 
 doubt intended. I must betake myself at once to 
 New York on urgent affairs ; now that the business 
 hath passed fully into my hands, I must be there 
 directly. But assure the ladies of my good intent ; I 
 would fain have seen them, but was denied." 
 
 There was something so formal and cold-blooded in 
 Philip s speech, that the parson could hardly control 
 his own words to due frigidity ; well he knew how 
 this man had drawn Esther s innocent heart out of 
 her bosom and thrown it away ; how broken and des 
 perate it lay now among the ruined hopes so fondly 
 cherished; it had been almost as great a shock to 
 him as to her when Philip entered that death cham 
 ber with a wife on his arm, and so far as a man can 
 appreciate a woman s feelings, he understood Esther s, 
 and gave her a sympathy so keen and a pity so over 
 flowing, that he felt toward Philip Kent as Adam 
 might have felt toward Cain when he saw the fair 
 shape of Abel the beloved, streaming with blood, and 
 pallid with death, stretched on the turf by his new 
 built altar, himself the first fruits of the sin which 
 "brought death into the world and all our woe." 
 But he controlled his righteous anger enough to say 
 calmly, 
 
140 STEADFAST. 
 
 "Mrs. Dennis is well-nigh at the gate of death; 
 she could see no one save the physician ; her daughter 
 is at her side. I think there can be no more removal 
 of the sick woman for some time to come, if indeed 
 she be ever moved except to the grave. I trust you 
 will permit them to find shelter here for a time." 
 
 Philip put on a grieved expression, though in his 
 heart he was furious at Parson Hall s manner. 
 
 " Indeed, sir, the house is at their service ; I must 
 be gone for months, but I trust yet to abide here as a 
 dweller for good part of the year, and I purpose to 
 leave Hiram and Delia in charge. I trust that Madam 
 and her daughter will be at home while they please 
 here, and I shall leave orders that they be cared for 
 duly." 
 
 With a cold salutation he turned from the parson, 
 and presenting his hand to his wife led her to the 
 chaise waiting for them at the door, and departed. 
 
 Esther neither knew nor cared what was going on 
 downstairs ; her mother s fall had been followed by an 
 unconscious condition, from which she now and then 
 roused, complaining of her head in a gentle, piteous 
 way, and then seeming to sleep again ; Miss Temper 
 ance Tucker had offered to help Aunt Eutliy, but 
 Esther wanted no new face about her, and Miss Tempy 
 went off as Delia described it, " in a fluff." 
 
 " She took on dreadful ! she scolded cause Squire 
 Peters made her stay to the will-readin for nothiri ; 
 she wasn t left so much as a pine-tree shillin in t, and 
 I dono myself what upon airtli lie did keep her for. 
 
A WILL. 141 
 
 And Esther didn t want them black eyes of her n a 
 pryin an a peepin round, nor I didn t ; but she s 
 madder n a settin hen, and she ll set to and tell more 
 tales ! You see if she don t ! " 
 
 Meantime, Esther, regardless of all other things, 
 sat by her mother s bedside in a silent despair ; now 
 that she understood how Philip had deceived her, how 
 she had been a mere tool in his hands, she began to 
 see also that she had committed a great sin in steal 
 ing and destroying Uncle Dyer s will. While Philip 
 loved her, and she loved him, nothing seemed wrong 
 to her that he asked her to do ; there was no sacrifice 
 of herself she would not gladly have made for him ; 
 but when that love was suddenly killed and in her 
 ignorance of herself she thought it slain forever 
 the evil she had done for love s sake arose like the 
 genie from his casket, and filled all her atmosphere 
 with its towering shape. She was a thief ! branded 
 and disgraced forever in her own eyes ; unfit for the 
 company of the good ; cast out on earth ; hopeless of 
 heaven ; and Philip had never loved her. 
 
 Absorbed in this crushing and benumbing conscious 
 ness, she failed to see how fast her mother was sink 
 ing into that last slumber which should leave her or 
 phaned. Once Mrs. Dennis said in a faint whisper, 
 
 "Esther! I am going," but the incredulous girl 
 thought it a dreamy idea of illness, and comforted 
 and reassured her mother as best she could, until the 
 mortal stupor again set in. 
 
 Once more, two days after, she whispered, a sort of 
 
142 STEADFAST. 
 
 dull agony in her voice, a subdued terror : " Esther, 
 pray ! pray ! " and Esther, shuddering, hid her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 She pray ! she, a thief ! an outcast from all good ! 
 she had not lifted heart or voice to God since that 
 hour when she heard Philip present his wife to 
 Squire Peters beside his uncle s coffin. There was no 
 more God for her, the universe was chaos again, and 
 she thrown out into the blackness of darkness forever 
 and ever. 
 
 It was but a few days of stupor, broken now and 
 then by a low moan, or the complaining accent of a 
 hurt child, " Oh, dee ! dee ! dee ! " coming from the 
 weary lips of dying age, and rending the ear that 
 heard, with sharp and cruel pity, and Esther was 
 motherless ; the calm of death stilled the restless lips, 
 the wailing cry, the vain appeal of the tortured eyes. 
 
 There was another funeral from the Dyer house, 
 and after it was over, Sybil Salstonstall led her friend 
 away to her own home and tried her best to pierce 
 the gloom and silence that had settled on that bright 
 face and eager, generous heart. 
 
 For Sybil, wise with her own painful experience, 
 had long seen that Esther loved Philip Kent, and 
 feared as long that her life would be shipwrecked on 
 that affection. 
 
 Young as she was, she had a keen appreciation of 
 character, and she knew that a love so lavish, so un 
 concealed, so utter, as Esther s, would be but a mo 
 mentary amusement to Philip. 
 
A WILL. 143 
 
 And she had judged him rightly ; Annetje Stuyve- 
 sant had won him by her very coldness ; her appear 
 ance of carelessness ; her insistant dignity ; her ap 
 parent self-respect. 
 
 No caresses were permitted him, even after their 
 betrothal, except for earnest pleading and humble re 
 monstrance. 
 
 Here, too, was the old French saying that in all 
 love affairs there is, " L un qul baise, et Vautre qui tend 
 la j one" carried out; if Annetje held her fair cold 
 cheek even, it was as a royal favor, and duly appre 
 ciated. 
 
 For in her soul self-love reigned ; she wanted to be 
 worshipped, but burned no incense herself ; she cared 
 to have an adorer, but she only adored the face in her 
 mirror; and Philip, equally selfish, was stimulated 
 by the difficulty of attaining a creature so beautiful, 
 who must be, he argued, a prize indeed, since she so 
 valued herself. A nature like his could never per 
 ceive the fact that the highest characters are the sim 
 plest, the most generous ; he could hold nothing 
 valuable that was free; nothing worth having that 
 did not imply difficulty of possession ; the air that 
 flowed about him, the abundant light of heaven, the 
 stintless bloom of field and forest, were of no value 
 in his eyes ; idle adjuncts of common life, neither to 
 be cared for or prized ; the slow trickling spring on a 
 mountain-peak, the rare orchid of a hothouse, the 
 odor of a costly blossom might charm him ; he wanted 
 to make a queen his thrall ; a willing slave filled him 
 with contempt. 
 
144 STEADFAST. 
 
 He had found it pleasant enough to be worshipped, 
 to see Esther s soul shine in her eyes when he threw 
 her a tender word, or the rich color come and go in 
 her face when he caressed her; it was pleasant for a 
 time to feel her sweet cool lips quiver and tremble 
 under his long kisses ; and she had served a convenient 
 purpose in regard to his uncle s will ; but what were 
 all these to the charms of Annetje Stuyvesant s co 
 quetry ? the uncertainty that tantalized and bewitched 
 him in her manner ? the cold beautiful eyes and lips 
 that maddened him with longing to make them burn 
 and thrill ? 
 
 He hung between heaven and earth till he de 
 spaired, and then a coy smile, a mutine sparkle in those 
 steely-blue eyes, a tender tone in the somewhat hard 
 voice, would set his heart beating and his blood boil 
 ing with hope and passion 
 
 Yet, perhaps he never would have won Peter Stuy 
 vesant s proud daughter, had not her father earnestly 
 urged upon her the hand of another man, and the 
 Dutch blood in the maiden s veins rose in obstinate 
 revolt against the mere thought of Garret Heidecker s 
 suit. 
 
 But fathers were obstinate too in those days, and 
 Annetje knew her master; she could not rebel, but 
 she could elude, and one fine night she stole out of 
 the stoop door with Philip Kent; her father being 
 well absorbed in drawing out the marriage contract 
 in his library, with Heidecker at his elbow ; and em 
 barking in a small sloop that ran up the Hudson, the 
 
A WILL. 145 
 
 pair were made one by Dominie Kraut at Spuyten 
 Duyvil, before Peter really discovered that his daugh 
 ter had not been sound asleep in her bed all night. 
 
 Peter, however, was a wise man ; he put the mar 
 riage contract in the fire, and hearing, after a while, 
 of Philip s inheritance, forgave his daughter and did 
 not alter his will. 
 
 So Philip had an abundance of worldly goods, 
 and a conscience too well muzzled to trouble him 
 about sin, so long as it succeeded. He was well rid 
 of Esther, and not having thought it needful to attend 
 his aunt s funeral, he was satisfied to hear that she 
 was at Governor Stanley s, and more amused than dis 
 turbed when Parson Hall wrote to him that she re 
 fused to accept anything at his hands, even the 
 shelter of his house ; now her home no longer, but 
 full of the saddest and bitterest associations of her 
 young life. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 He talks to me that never had a son ! 
 
 FOR a time after her removal to Governor Stanley s 
 house, Esther was like one stunned. Dull woe sat on 
 her rigid face ; her eyes were dark with an inner 
 darkness that quenched all their glow and sparkle ; 
 she ate as little as would sustain life, and seemed to 
 care nothing about what she tasted ; had her food been 
 gall and her drink wormwood she could not have been 
 less attracted by them ; her voice was the very echo 
 of despair, and her nights the blackness of darkness, 
 for sleepless as she was, yet her waking was full of 
 visions ; she walked with Philip again by the shore of 
 that sea that once murmured its summer passion at 
 their feet, and sprinkled them with the diamond dews 
 of its breaking wave ; now she heard its melancholy 
 rote through the midnight, and the crushed hiss of 
 the retreating water seemed to scorn her, sinner 
 that she was ! But again came the too tender voice, 
 the fond kisses burned on her lips, the eyes of master 
 ful passion beamed above her, and the long powerful 
 fingers stroked her loosened hair ; ah ! how could he 
 have loved and left her ? Poor child ! 
 
 " That was not love that left! " 
 
 but she did not know it. 
 
 146 
 
DESPAIR. 147 
 
 Then returned upon her the maddening blow that 
 fell at her uncle s funeral ; she lived over the shock ; 
 the choked breath that stifled her; the chaos that 
 seethed in her brain ; and in natural sequence came 
 her mother s long illness, long to her who counted its 
 moments of misery as if they were years. 
 
 She recurred over and over again to that hour 
 when her mother, half consciously struggling with 
 death, whispered "Pray!" and Esther dared not lift 
 her voice to God because of her own sin ; the pathetic, 
 childish wail of the dying woman rung again on her 
 ear, and her tortured conscience fixed all its fangs on 
 her spiritual nature like an angry fiend. How could 
 she sleep ? 
 
 Even when exhausted nature gave way, her dreams 
 were filled with the voices and the presence of the 
 dead ; Uncle Dyer looked at her with grave reproach ; 
 her mother was there beside her, but would not 
 speak; her father, too, arose from the grave to 
 rebuke her ; it seemed to her when she awoke that 
 all her life had been in the gates of death ; that the 
 loving had all forsaken her for a better country, and 
 the living left her of cruel purpose. 
 
 When daylight came and the light cares of arrang 
 ing her chamber, as became a guest were over, she 
 tied on her bonnet and mantle, and slipping quietly 
 out of the house, began her solitary walk over the dry 
 fields and hills ; she went on and on as if pursued by 
 an invisible hunter ; rain nor wind deterred her, her 
 whole soul was in an interior tumult that defied the 
 
148 STEADFAST. 
 
 soulless tempests of nature with a sullen disregard, 
 and a fever that averted physical suffering. 
 
 What was it to her that showers drenched her, or 
 fierce gales tore off her headgear, and blew her man 
 tle from her grasp ? These were matters a broken 
 heart and an indignant spirit neither resented or 
 noticed. 
 
 Day after day she traversed the hills and shores for 
 miles about Trumbull ; her tall, slight shape drawn 
 against the blue or livid sky, or the white water of 
 the surf; her face pallid, her gloomy eyes fixed, her 
 little cold hands clenched, and her lips set. People 
 wondered that Esther should so mourn her mother, 
 but respected a grief so rare and so genuine ; happily 
 for her, but a very few of her best friends understood 
 another part of her loss; not one appreciated its 
 keenest sting, the sense of her own sin in stealing 
 and destroying her uncle s will. 
 
 For Esther was not one of those supernatural young 
 women, sometimes depicted in fiction, who could be 
 comforted for everything by the selfless reflection 
 that Philip had his inheritance secure ; she was only 
 a warm-natured, impulsive girl, with an outraged and 
 indignant heart, a lonely girl, orphaned in every 
 sense, for with the dreadful logic of a conscience 
 educated in the stern New England fashion of rigid 
 law, and unsparing self-inspection, she felt that she 
 had no right even to the consolations of religion; 
 that her Father in heaven, hitherto a mighty, un 
 known, but beneficent parent, had become an angry 
 
DESPAIR. 149 
 
 and an avenging God, and had bereaved her of her 
 nearest friends in swift justice, as punishment for her 
 transgression. 
 
 She felt as if his finger had set a mark upon her, 
 that no power could efface, that she was a reprobate 
 in earth and from heaven. 
 
 A month passed so, and Mrs. Stanley began to feel 
 in her hard, sensible fashion, that Esther was not the 
 sort of guest she liked ; a decent and subdued mourner, 
 who would do her fitting share in the household 
 occupations, and be " company " for Sybil, was one 
 thing ; she would not have objected to a few tears, or 
 sobs even, at proper times, if Esther had offered to 
 spin a run or two of thread, or superintend the cider 
 apple-sauce, or help at the tambour frame, where 
 Madame Stanley was sprigging a linen gown with 
 birds, beasts, fruits, and flowers, in all colors that her 
 knowledge of homely dyestuffs allowed ; but it was 
 quite another thing to have a silent image of despair 
 about, if only at meals and prayers ; a creature so 
 absorbed and crushed as to be a memento mori when 
 in sight, and a continual anxiety when out of it ; for 
 Madam Stanley held these interminable walks of 
 Esther to be a real indecorum, and felt a certain sel 
 fish dread lest she should break down physically 
 under them, and become a burden upon her hands. 
 
 She appealed at last to her niece, " Sybil, I think 
 it is unseemly for Esther to lay her losses to heart as 
 she does. It becomes us all to be resigned to the 
 Lord s will ; and to go abroad as she doth, at all 
 
150 STEADFAST. 
 
 times, has an aspect of rebellion. Moreover, I think 
 it is not wholesome for her to tempt all weathers as 
 she doth. Cannot you speak with her ? " 
 
 Sybil looked up from the tambour-frame with an 
 expression of angelic pity in her great lucid eyes. 
 
 " Dear aunt," she said, " I think Esther is sore of 
 heart ; I know not how to touch her without giving 
 pain." 
 
 "Nevertheless, pain is healing sometimes, Sybil. 
 I wonder that, being a member of the meeting, Parson 
 Hall doth not deal with her." 
 
 " But she is only on the half-way covenant, Aunt 
 Stanley." 
 
 " That hath its duties nevertheless ; she should 
 not hold such controversy with Providence: if you 
 like not to try words with her, niece Sybil, I will do 
 so myself, or send for Parson Hall." 
 
 " I will, I will ! " answered Sybil, hastily ; she 
 dreaded that her aunt should touch Esther s wound 
 with such cautery as her hard spirit would be sure to 
 administer. 
 
 Little did Madam Stanley think that the poor girl 
 sheltered under her roof was much further from hold 
 ing any controversy with Providence than she her 
 self ! Esther submitted to her " judgment " as she 
 considered it, with the submission of despair; the 
 words of Scripture echoed through her brain with re- 
 iterant force, " I acknowledge my transgression, and 
 my sin is ever before me ! Against Thee, Thee only 
 have I sinned, and done this evil in Thy sight ! " 
 
DESPAIR. 151 
 
 If she could have been as indignant with her Maker 
 as she was with Philip, her soul would have been in a 
 more hopeful condition ; anger is a healthier passion 
 than despair, and has in it far more re-constructive 
 elements ; it was the heaviest and most hopeless of 
 all Esther s burdens, that she had no self-respect to 
 uphold her in this sea of trouble. 
 
 One night after prayers, a ceremony duly observed 
 by the governor when he was at home, and by Madam 
 Stanley in his absence, a most dry and formal service, 
 and to Esther s pre-occupied thoughts, a dead letter, 
 Sybil followed her friend upstairs to her chamber. 
 
 Esther had put out her candle as soon as she entered 
 the door, and Sybil, following close on her steps, 
 rapped lightly and came in ; the hunter s moon at its 
 glorious height filled the low-ceiled chamber with 
 cold radiance. Esther sat in the broad seat of the 
 south window, motionless, her eyes fixed on the glit 
 tering waves that plashed gently through the soft 
 autumnal air, her lips as calm and sad as some monu 
 mental statue ; she did not move when Sybil came up 
 to her and slipping to the floor at her feet coaxed 
 apart the cold hands clasped round her knee, and lay 
 ing her cheek softly on the palm of the one nearest 
 her said, in the tenderest tones, 
 
 " Dear Esther, cannot I comfort you ? " 
 Esther turned on her a glowing gaze, but answered 
 nothing. 
 
 " I grieve so for you, Esther : I know your sorrows 
 my poor girl ; I also am an orphan." 
 
152 STEADFAST, 
 
 "A-a-ah!" a sharp hissing sigh parted Esther s 
 closed lips ; an orphan ! was not this that Sybil so 
 pitied the least of her great troubles ? Sybil shivered. 
 
 " My dear, my dear, cannot I say something to help 
 you ? cannot you talk to me ? " 
 
 " Talk to you ! " said Esther, with a little bitter 
 laugh, worse than a cry. " You, Sybil, always good 
 and calm ; why should I talk to you about fire, when 
 the smell of it hath never touched your garment ? " 
 
 " Are you so sure ? " Sybil answered, in the lowest 
 voice. 
 
 " You ! do not I see your still face and your pray 
 ing eyes, always pure, always sweet ? Sybil, were 
 you ever desperate ? " 
 
 "Xo, Esther, for the Lord liveth; I can never 
 despair; though He slay me, yet will I trust in 
 Him. " 
 
 Esther turned her face and looked down at the sad 
 triumph in the beautiful countenance at her knee; 
 how could she tell Sybil that a great sin came between 
 her and the goodness of God ? 
 
 " Listen, Esther," Sybil went on ; and her voice 
 neither failed or faltered as she told in as few words 
 as she could the story of her temptation and her 
 victory. It was like setting before her an awful, yet 
 beautiful martyrdom, unknown to man ; a stake and 
 fagot invisible, a burnt sacrifice of the heart, an offer 
 ing to God of the first-born. Esther quailed as she 
 heard ; there was no comfort in it for her ; only a 
 comparison of saint and sinner that plunged her into 
 
DESPAIR. 153 
 
 deeper self-contempt, and stung her into frantic bit 
 terness. 
 
 " You call that love ? " she said, with hot scorn. 
 " Why had I loved well, any man ; I would have 
 given him my very soul. What would heaven be 
 without him ? What .should I care for hell if he were 
 there, too ? 
 
 " Esther ! " said Sybil in a tone of horror, rising to 
 her feet, pale and fair in the moonlight as an accus 
 ing angel, shocked in every fibre of her nature, " Have 
 you no God ? " 
 
 Esther laughed again. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! I have a God, an avenging God ; infi 
 nite, eternal, and unchangeable in his being, wisdom, 
 power, holiness, justice, goodness, and truth/ At 
 least, the catechism says so ! But what has that God 
 to do with a sinner but to punish ? Do you think I 
 resisted like you ? I am not a stone ! A-a-ah ! " Again 
 the long, bitter sigh that was all but a groan, and 
 spoke more than any words, rasped on Sybil s ear. 
 
 What should she say to this wretched girl whose 
 face was stamped with such passion, such despair ? 
 
 Sybil was unlearned in the tender message of the 
 Gospel ; the Law, in all its unflinching sternness, was 
 the customary preaching and teaching of her day ; if 
 here and there a soul taught of heaven recounted the 
 old, old story, of One who came to seek and to save 
 the lost, to pity and forgive the chiefest of sinners, 
 there was a stir of trouble, a clamor for doctrines, a 
 murmur of " right-hand defections, and left-hand fall- 
 
154 STEADFAST. 
 
 ings off," that silenced the gentle spirit, and daunted 
 with Puritan gfimness all efforts to set aside the 
 stark routine of duty and decrees. 
 
 But the very spirit of heaven filled Sybil s soul; 
 horror gave place to a divine pity ; she laid her cool 
 hand 011 Esther s burning forehead, looked steadily 
 into the eyes that burned with wrath and scorn. 
 
 " My poor sister ! " she said, lowly and slowly, 
 "the Lord heal thee from thy bitterness even as he 
 healed the fountain of Marah by His rod ! " 
 
 Esther s head sank into her hands ; she could nei 
 ther speak nor move : Sybil was far, far above her 
 plane, she could not even reach after her, but as she 
 passed out of the chamber door those gloomy eyes 
 followed her with a look of adoration and abject 
 despair, though the lips dropped no word of recall. 
 
 "Well," said Aunt Stanley, when Esther closed the 
 parlor door behind her, after breakfast the next day, 
 " have you spoke with Esther, Sybil ? " 
 
 "Yes, aunt." 
 
 "And I trust you took her to do, smartly; these 
 airs are unseemly enough. Hath there been no sor 
 row in the world before, that she should make such a 
 matter of hers ? " 
 
 "Aunt Stanley, I believe that Esther is in deep 
 straits of soul ; I cannot reach her. I have done my 
 best ; she is at variance with God and man it seem- 
 eth to me. I wish Parson Hall could be fetched to 
 see her without her knowledge of his purpose. I 
 think it may be he could deal with her as I cannot." 
 
DESPAIR. 155 
 
 " He shall come ! " said the Madam, who was wont 
 to have her word law. 
 
 But happily for Esther, she met Mr. Hall that day 
 far out on the sandhills, where she had wandered ; he 
 came upon her sitting in the long, glittering grass as 
 yet unseared by frost, that waved around the shel 
 tered hollow into which she had sunk, tired with the 
 length of the way. Before her spread the water, blue 
 as the heavens above it ; white gulls played up and 
 down, from sky to sea ; a screaming fish-hawk soared, 
 poised, darted down on its prey, and flapped heavily 
 away to his perch in a dead oak-tree, but Esther saw 
 them not ; she did not even start when Mr. Hall ap 
 peared upon the beach, drew near, and sat down be 
 side her ; she bent her head in greeting, but neither 
 smiled or spoke. 
 
 " I am glad to have come upon you here, Esther," 
 he said, gravely and gently. "I have wished much 
 to see you ; and here in the peace of the shore I can 
 speak with you more freely than when there are others 
 at hand." 
 
 Esther was silent. 
 
 Mr. Hall looked at her with the deepest compas 
 sion ; he understood her better far than Sybil did, for 
 he had lived longer, " My dear young friend," he 
 went on. " I grieve to see you so entirely stricken 
 down by the chastisements that have come upon you. 
 Are you right, Esther, in giving up your young life to 
 such distress ? Have you not much left still to be 
 thankful for ?" 
 
1 56 STEADFAST. 
 
 " Have I ? " she answered, looking back on her 
 loveless youth ; her broken hopes and purposes ; her 
 sin. " I do not think I have, sir. I do not think 
 God wishes me to lie to Him. He knows I am not 
 thankful for my life, and I will not pretend to be ! " 
 
 " My child ! " he said, sadly. " Think of what you 
 deserve, rather than of what you have desired." 
 
 Esther s eye kindled, and the dark blood flushed 
 her cheek; her voice was harsh with pain and de 
 fiance. 
 
 "Why do I deserve it? Did I ask to be born ? 
 Was I ever inquired of if I was willing to have life 
 with all its sufferings and responsibilities thrust upon 
 me ? And yet you say He expects me to be thankful 
 for it. I will not lie to God ! I have had enough of 
 lying!" 
 
 He looked at her with that divine pity that is 
 unisonous with the divinest love ; had Goody Jones, 
 dirty, crooked, and withered, propounded to him such 
 heretical sentiments, perhaps a just and stern remon 
 strance would have been her portion ; but Philemon 
 Hall was a man, and Esther Dennis a beautiful girl, 
 in deep distress. Parson Hall was wise too, as well 
 as harmless ; he made answer according to his light. 
 " We will not guide the hand of God, Esther ; what 
 thou knowest not now, thou shalt know hereafter. I 
 want to give your thoughts a new direction ; I want 
 to set you to work." 
 
 Esther stared ; with the unconscious selfishness of 
 youth she had made her sorrow fill the world. . She: 
 
DESPAIB. 157 
 
 had thought it too much to suffer her wrong ; she had 
 not looked at any other creature s good or ill ; given 
 a thought to any trouble but her own. " Was ever 
 sorrow like unto my sorrow," was her ignorant out 
 cry. She was surprised and disgusted that Parson 
 Hall should think of her as a possible help to any 
 one, so shipwrecked was her heart and soul. 
 But the parson knew better ! 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A CHANGE. 
 Look not every man upon his own things. 
 
 PARSON HALL went on in his calm voice, " I know 
 you must be considering how to take up your life 
 when you shall leave Madam Stanley s house." 
 
 Esther looked up at him sharply : she had not 
 given one thought to the future ; she had not any 
 idea of being a guest or a dependent, any more than 
 a shipwrecked mariner who has been thrown up by 
 the storm under the shelter of a friendly cliff, and 
 lies gasping and placid in its shadow, thinks of going 
 into business and making money ; or of creeping back 
 into the tumultuous sea. 
 
 " I have thought of nothing," she said, in a low, 
 hoarse voice. 
 
 She meant, as women do mean when they say that, 
 that she had only thought of one thing, and Parson 
 Hall knew it. 
 
 " Think upon it now, then, Esther," he said, with 
 austere gravity. " You are young, your life is yet to 
 come, and to be endured if it cannot be enjoyed. The 
 Lord hath work for each of us ; and you cannot give 
 all your days to mourning ; you must awake and work 
 to-day in the vineyard." 
 
 158 
 
A CHANGE. 159 
 
 With his words Esther did awake ; at least, par 
 tially ; it flashed upon her that Madam Stanley had 
 of late eyed her with disapproval, that Sybil since 
 their conversation that night in the chamber had 
 shunned her a little, and looked at her with an ex 
 pression of fear as well as pity ; these things returned 
 to her now, a kind of moral palimpsest, coming to light 
 as impressions do, received unconsciously, but yet 
 stamped on her brain ; a sort of terror seized her, she 
 was so homeless, so helpless. 
 
 " What shall I do ? " she exclaimed, in a tone of 
 terror and grief. 
 
 " I have been thinking for you, Esther," answered 
 Parson Hall. " I have talked with Miss Temperance 
 Tucker of late; she came to Trumbull, sent for to 
 hear the reading of Mr, Dyer s will, therefore expect 
 ing to be therein remembered." 
 
 Esther winced ; here again her sin had found her 
 out. Mr. Hall went on, 
 
 "But being here she thinks to remain, if she can 
 make it possible ; our salt air hath a beneficial effect 
 on her asthma; now Goody Green, who hath kept 
 the dame school for the lesser children, is a mind to 
 give it up and dwell with her daughter in Hartford, 
 hereafter, being extreme rheumatical. It has come 
 to me that if Miss Temperance and you, having about 
 the same amount of worldly goods, should take Goody 
 Green s house; and you were willing to teach the 
 school, she doing the housework as her part, to make 
 up for the further incoming of money on your part. 
 
160 STEADFAST. 
 
 from the school, that you would be doing a good 
 work, and provide her, a lonely woman, with a home." 
 
 Mr. Hall knew Esther better than she did herself. 
 Just now she cared so little what became of her, that 
 had he based his plan on her own wants she would 
 have turned away from it; her desire was merely 
 to die, yet she shrunk from the contemplation of fu 
 ture wrath ; and knew too well the doom of that rash 
 mortal who should anticipate the Lord s time, and 
 end life before He summoned his over-weary creature. 
 But underneath Esther s impulsive, eager, passion- 
 driven nature, lay a great, warm heart ; a heart yet 
 to be developed into its strength and loveliness ; she 
 began to consider favorably the prospect of helping 
 another lonely and homeless woman. 
 
 "I will think of it, and I thank you," she said, 
 slowly, as she rose from her seat, and went her way 
 homeward. 
 
 Parson Hall sent upward an earnest, if silent 
 prayer as he watched her languid, graceful figure 
 disappear among the sand dunes and the glittering 
 grass. He longed for Rachel to touch with her 
 woman s tact the sore heart of this girl, and show to 
 her the way of healing ; never had he missed his wife 
 so much as to-day ; she had been so long his counsel 
 lor and helper that he undervalued his own penetra 
 tion > and, his own power. But Parson Hall made a 
 mistake ; no woman, however wise or saintly, could 
 have roused Esther as he had; in that time, women 
 ot discovered, that new gospel, to them a gos- 
 
A CHANGE. 161 
 
 pel, which sets woman on an equality with man ; 
 then, the old ordinance of God in Eden, the result 
 and need of woman s sin and weakness after the fall, 
 " He shall rule over thee ! " had not been abrogated 
 by the specious reasoning of the "strong-minded" 
 sex ! In those days, women did not head conventions, 
 occupy pulpits, scour the country speechifying, or 
 clamor in print as well as vocally to be put on the 
 same plane with men. St. Paul had not been sneered 
 and jeered at, and relegated to the days of darkness ; 
 and his fiat that " It is a shame for women to speak 
 in the church," was not virtually omitted from the 
 words of inspiration by the argument that times and 
 manners have changed since then. Still, the ordina 
 tion of God and the laws of His natural world made 
 the man head and protector of the woman, and when 
 to his native position he added the office of priest it 
 was a foregone conclusion that his counsel would be 
 authoritative and weighty. 
 
 Esther considered what Parson Hall had said, all 
 the way back to Madam Stanley s house. It was 
 hard enough for her to take up life again, but it was 
 evident that she could not escape from that burden ; 
 she did not know Miss Temperance well ; she had 
 seen her during her mother s last illness, when her 
 brain was reeling with Philip s desertion and her 
 heart dull with impending loss ; but she only recalled 
 a short, energetic little figure, with wiry black hair 
 brushed up over a small cushion, but so indomitably 
 curly that it waved, and frizzed, and bristled out in a 
 
162 STEADFAST. 
 
 hundred resolute little quiiis above the low forehead 
 and snapping black eyes of the dark, shrewd face 
 below. 
 
 Esther s bruised soul longed for some soft and 
 yielding creature to comfort and caress it ; her nature 
 trended strongly toward indolence and enjoyment; 
 with wealth and pleasure at command, she would 
 have been a selfish sybarite ; the sharp, wintry wind 
 of sorrow was needed to arouse and develop her 
 better nature, however she shrank from its discipline. 
 She went to her room, and locked the door as soon as 
 she reached the house. She must be alone to en 
 counter her new idea, and resolve on her future 
 course. More and more as she looked on Mr. HalFs 
 plan, she perceived that it was not only wise and kind, 
 but that there was no other way open for .her. When 
 she went down to supper, she had resolved to accept 
 the position, and make the best of it, and was com 
 forted against the hard look of Madam Stanley s cold 
 steel-blue eyes by the consciousness that she should 
 soon be out of their range, and freed from at least 
 the daily obligation to her chilly charity. 
 
 After supper and prayers Esther laid her intentions 
 before her hostess. Mrs. Stanley was pleased evi 
 dently. 
 
 " I think it a good thing, Esther : it does not 
 become any of us to feel that we are vainly afflicted, 
 or spend our days in mourning, when we pass under 
 the rod of Jehovah. I believe this is an appointed 
 means to help you. But I would have you to remem- 
 
A CHANGE. 163 
 
 her that both my husband and I stand ready at any 
 time to aid and protect the niece of our friend Joshua 
 Dyer." 
 
 Esther stooped hastily, and put her hot lips on 
 Madam Stanley s hand ; but she said nothing. Sybil 
 held open her arms, and the lonely girl laid her face - 
 against that fair cheek, still speechless. She knew 
 the tender embrace was heartfelt and honest, just as 
 she knew Madam Stanley s words were formal and 
 unfeeling. As Sybil drew her down on the quaint 
 old rush-bottomed settee, with its painted and gilded 
 woodwork, that stood across the end of the keeping- 
 room, Mrs. Stanley placed herself in a tall, straight- 
 backed chair, took out her knotting-bag, and, anxious 
 to turn the subject of her companions thoughts, per 
 haps, also, conscious that Esther had felt her coldness, 
 began to speak of the trivial happenings and hearings 
 of the day. Presently she said, 
 
 "I hear that John Stonebridge is coming to my 
 uncle s at the Point. They will hold their Christmas 
 revels there, instead of in the city this year. I 
 would that these Puritan folk about us could at least 
 respect that holy festival of the Church of England ! " 
 
 Esther felt Sybil shiver. She saw in one swift 
 glance that her face was colorless as the kerchief 
 about her throat. She made no other visible sign, 
 but clasped Esther s hand so tightly that there were 
 deep, white marks left on the pink of that soft palm. 
 Esther longed to clasp her to her own desolate bosom, 
 and so express her sympathy, for she saw that Sybil 
 
164 STEADFAST. 
 
 suffered ; yet her pity was not absolute, for she could 
 not understand why her friend should deliberately 
 deny and stifle her own heart for a mere difference of 
 opinion, as Esther thought. Sybil s heart was wrung : 
 it seemed to her that she could not meet John Stone- 
 bridge again ; yet with the very spirit of a martyr 
 she " betook herself to prayer," as the old chronicles 
 have it, and in silent endurance and f;iith waited for 
 her trial. 
 
 But before Christmas came, Esther had left the 
 Stanley mansion ; it was easier to Sybil to bear her 
 apprehension when her friend s tender eyes and sym 
 pathetic voice no longer tested severely her self-con 
 trol ; she was in that cruel condition when " oil and 
 balsams kill," when the cold eye and careless speech 
 of Madam Stanley were better than consolation ; were 
 such a strength as the tense rope and the staves sunk 
 in ice give to the traveller over an Alpine glacier; 
 the chill unconsidered in the aid they give. 
 
 It seemed strange to Esther, when she now and 
 then considered it, that she could so soon begin to 
 interest herself in outside things : she did not know 
 how her youth helped her. 
 
 Miss Tempy Tucker, too, was a person who was not 
 to be ignored by the most pre-occupied mind : she 
 asserted herself piquantly wherever she went, and 
 had that rare faculty a few women possess of making 
 any place she inhabited homelike and cheerful. The 
 tiny house Goody Green had lived in was plain 
 enough outside ; within, boasting only of two rooms 
 
A CHANGE. 165 
 
 in front, and a long kitchen behind : it had once been 
 a block-house, and its thick walls made pleasant seats 
 now in the windows below stairs ; a sharp-pitched 
 roof, with dormer windows in it, gave room for two 
 small chambers above, warm in winter from the heat 
 of the great central chimney, and cool in summer 
 from the draught of the sea breeze right across them 
 from window to window. 
 
 One of these front rooms, approached from the 
 green yard by an east door, was used as a schoolroom ; 
 the floor was bare of covering other than the white 
 sand strown fresh every morning over the boards. 
 Around the wall low benches were ranged, and in the 
 open fireplace, hickory and maple logs simmered, 
 flamed, and sparkled through the winter, to be re 
 placed in summer by a big " bow-pot " of flowers, or 
 leafy boughs, which it was the children s delight to 
 furnish. 
 
 While Miss Tempy set the house in order, Goody 
 Green still kept her young flock, and hammered cate 
 chism and primer into their shock heads in the kitchen 
 of a neighbor, who was kindly enough to spare it for 
 ten days. 
 
 " Now, Easter, lets you and me fly round," said brisk 
 Miss Tempy. " I want to get to livin again as soon 
 as the law allows. I don t call it livin to be a-visitin 
 round as I be, a-feelin all the time that short stays 
 make a long welcome ; besides bein in other folkses 
 houses ain t noway to my taste. I d ruther live in 
 my own boughten hogshead than in another person s 
 
166 STEADFAST. 
 
 four-story mansion. You and me will be as snug as 
 a bumble-bee s nest when we get fixed." 
 
 Esther smiled. Miss Tempy s voluble cheer was 
 contagious. 
 
 " I am ready to do whatever is to be done, Miss 
 Tempy," she said, in a steady tone. 
 
 \Yell, first an foremost, I wish t you could settle 
 to call me Aunt Tempy. I don t really hanker to 
 have * Miss thrown at me continual. I know I ve 
 missed of a man so fur, ef tis a miss, and so fur 
 forth I haven t, as I knows of, wanted one, but still 
 tis a kind of a slur to be full forty-five and a onmar- 
 ried spinster ; besides, I m sort of connected with 
 you, if there ain t no relationship by blood, and it is 
 real pleasant to make believe as though I had some 
 kin to call me by name. Can you fetch your mind 
 to t ? " 
 
 "I shall like to," said Esther, with a smile, touched 
 by the loneliness and solitude the request conveyed. 
 
 " I haven t anybody either, Aunt Tempy ; not any 
 kith or kin in the world. I am glad to have an aunt." 
 
 Miss Tempy nodded with satisfaction, and, tying 
 on her check apron, she soon introduced Esther into 
 the busy work of arranging the house they were to 
 occupy. Miss Tempy had sent for her furniture 
 the week before. It had come safely on ox-sleds, for 
 now the snow lay deep all over the land ; it had 
 fallen early, and it was well for Esther that she had 
 occupation and exercise of another kind, now that her 
 long walks were impossible. There was much rub- 
 
A CHANGE. 167 
 
 bing and dusting and arranging to do, but the little 
 parlor, which was to be the sitting-room, looked cheer 
 ful enough when it was at last in order. A great 
 stuffed sofa, covered with a loose cover of red and 
 yellow India chintz stood against one wall, and a long 
 frilled cushion of the same chintz made each of the 
 two window-sills, looking south and west out of 
 small-paned windows, at once cheery and comforta 
 ble. Miss Tempy had sacrificed certain bed-curtains 
 for this adornment. Bright fire-irons garnished the 
 open fireplace, a low, wide rocking-chair, cushioned 
 with red moreen, stood by the hearth on one side, and 
 several tall, straight-backed rush-bottomed chairs were 
 ranged about the room, while a claw-footed table, 
 round, and shining with beeswax and rubbing, occu 
 pied one corner; a glass-doored cupboard filled the 
 other, showing a small store of cups, saucers, plates, 
 and pitchers of gay china, that to-day would be worth 
 more than Miss Tempy could have imagined. There 
 were no pictures on the walls, which were wainscoted 
 half-way up, and above the panelled wood the wall 
 was painted a warm yellow, and stencilled in a scroll 
 pattern with dark red. There were shutters to the 
 windows, which could be barred at night, and inside 
 were nankeen curtains, gathered on a string and tied 
 back with cord and tassels of scarlet yarn, evidently 
 home-made. No carpet covered the floor, but half a 
 dozen braided rugs lay about, one before the fire 
 place, where opposite Miss Tempy s rocker a low 
 chair was set for Esther ; and by either jamb a narrow 
 
168 STEADFAST. 
 
 wooden " cricket," as stools were then called, painted 
 black, with green stencilling. Tt was a homely room 
 in the primitive sense; and when candles were lit and 
 the wood fire sparkled on the hearth, it had a peace 
 and cheer in its aspect denied to Uncle Dyer s stately 
 drawing-room, or the rigid splendors of the Stanley 
 mansion; and when, after a look of satisfaction at 
 the exquisitely clean kitchen, with its store of shining 
 pewter and old blue delft displayed on the dresser, 
 Esther stole up the little crooked front stair that 
 clung to the chimney-side, and almost forbade the 
 double outer-door to open fully, and crept into her 
 dimity curtained-bed, she watched from her pillow 
 the wintry moonlight making a path of melancholy 
 glory across the heaving glittering sea, till a strange 
 quiet, like that of a child that has sobbed itself to 
 sleep, stole over her, and her eyes closed peacefully, 
 lulled with the sense of having once more a real 
 home. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AGAIN. 
 
 A child s kiss 
 
 Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad ; 
 A poor man, served by thee, shall make thee rich ; 
 A sick man, helped by thee, shall make thee strong. 
 
 ESTHER dreaded the opening day of her school. 
 She had no knowledge of her duties further than her 
 remembrance of her own schooldays, and those were, 
 she thought, doubtful as guides here; but Parson 
 Hall had thought for her. He had sent a man to 
 make a path through the snow to the schoolroom 
 door, as well as the other doors ; and before a child 
 arrived he was on the spot, seated in a high chair by 
 the fire. Esther took heart at once with such an ally, 
 and smiled to see, as the rosy children trooped in, how 
 every chubby face grew solemn at the sight of the 
 parson, although his face was gentler and sweeter 
 than Esther had ever seen it before. 
 
 When caps and cloaks and hoods were all hung up 
 on the row of nails ready for them, and the children 
 seated on their low benches, Parson Hall stood up 
 beside Esther and said, 
 
 "Children, this is Miss Dennis, come to teach you. 
 
 I hope you will all be good, and mindful of her orders. 
 
 Scripture saith that even a child is known by his 
 
 doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be 
 
 169 
 
170 STEADFAST. 
 
 right. I trust there will be a good report of your 
 doings." 
 
 Then he made a short, simple prayer, and bade 
 them good-by, with a smile that reassured Esther, and 
 gave her courage to begin. 
 
 It is not altogether a delightful task to teach the 
 very young idea how to shoot, the received opinion of 
 the poet to the contrary notwithstanding. It is 
 drudgery of the most stupid sort to go over the alpha 
 bet day after day, in the vain endeavor to make a 
 dozen or two little shockheads see the difference 
 between M and N, or B and R and K; nor is the 
 " Assembly s Catechism," which in Esther s day was 
 a sine qua non in all New-England teaching, a really 
 exhilarating study for teacher or scholars; and the 
 long daily strife with the natural restlessness of the 
 little human animals was tiresome, all the more that 
 Esther was young enough to sympathize with it. 
 
 Perpetual appeal to the water-pail and its tin dip 
 per, nudgings of neighborly elbows, squirming on the 
 hard benches, constant demands to sharpen slate pen 
 cils on the hearth, to have Patty reproved for a sly 
 pinch bestowed on Nancy or Betsy Jane all these 
 weary trivialities would have sickened Esther and 
 worn her out, but for one thing. Suddenly there 
 awakened in her a passionate love of children ; I say 
 awakened, for it was really an integral part of her 
 nature, but it had happened that she had never before 
 been brought into contact with them. Mr. Dyer was 
 not fond of them, and none frequented his house ; 
 
AGAIN. 171 
 
 there were no children at the Stanley mansion, 
 happily for the children, so that their society, 
 "their tricks and their manners," were wholly new to 
 Esther, and utterly delightful. She was one of those 
 women who are born to be mothers, around whose 
 knees little ones instinctively crowd and cling ; had 
 she lived to be the most ancient of spinsters, she 
 would never have outlived that charm that the mother- 
 heart gives to a true woman, or ceased to covet the 
 caresses and companionship of children. 
 
 Eager as she was to do her strict duty by her little 
 school, earnest as to discipline and instruction, there 
 was a look in her eyes, and a sweetness on her lips, 
 that gave confidence to every little bosom, and before 
 she had held her post a week, the children all adored 
 her; and her own heart, dead as she had thought 
 it, awoke and thrilled with the purest of mortal joys 
 at the soft clinging of tiny arms about her neck, the 
 close pressure of round, childish cheeks against her 
 own, the tender little kisses, the pleading of loving 
 eyes, the sound of small, fresh voices lisping or shrill. 
 Her heart-trouble was not gone, it lay like the rocks 
 in a river bed, deep and dark below the stream of 
 daily life ; but she was comforted, and her thoughts 
 diverted from herself, the first step toward cure. 
 Sybil, who came often to see her, noticed that her 
 eyes were brighter, her pale face tinted with a new 
 glow, her voice more cheerful ; but with instinctive 
 tact she avoided speaking of it. It too often awakens 
 a pain or a grief to be reminded that it is less potent 
 
172 STEADFAST. 
 
 than it has been, so curiously and sensitively strung 
 together are the alternations of thought and sense, 
 especially in women. 
 
 Sybil was content to witness and rejoice in Esther s 
 quiet and peace, though she did not understand its 
 source ; for Sybil, though if ever she should have 
 children of her own might love them, was too dainty, 
 too reserved, too fastidious to love the tiny race 
 merely because they were children ; their noise, their 
 untidiness, their quips and tricks, their headlong 
 caresses, all repelled her. Esther was a woman to 
 love even her husband with a maternal passion; to 
 love him the better the more he needed her pity, her 
 care, or her service. But with Sybil it was not so ; 
 she wanted and needed a king whom she could wor 
 ship, to whom she could use the Miltonic formula, 
 
 " God is thy law ; thou, mine. To know no more 
 Is woman s happiest knowledge." 
 
 a phrase which found entire acceptance with her. 
 She pitied Esther for the very thing that made the 
 sweetness of her renewing life ; but had tact enough 
 to keep that needless pity in her own breast. 
 
 Indeed, the time drew near when Sybil s own mind 
 was full of dread; and of prayer for strength to 
 endure the presence of Colonel Stonebridge; for 
 though Christinas as a religious or social festival 
 was scorned and ignored in Trumbull, and but one 
 family there were Episcopalians, or " prelatists," in 
 the terms of the day, yet Madam Stanley had been 
 
AGAIN. 173 
 
 brought up in the Church of England ; and only in 
 deference to her husband s faith and position in the 
 colony went to " meeting," so that Sybil knew well 
 when the holiday would arrive, and it seemed to her 
 that the dark days flew like swift birds by her, so 
 much did she dread their departure. For with all 
 the strength and hidden passion of her intense but 
 reserved nature, did Sybil Saltonstall love John 
 Stonebridge ; his keen wit, his courage, his worldly 
 wisdom, his intellect, his fine, manly presence, his 
 social position, all told on her pride, her ambition, 
 her latent vanity, and his eager passion touched the 
 very depths of her heart ; but with her, duty ruled 
 all things ; the stern asceticism of her race and her 
 education bade her give up and trample under foot 
 every longing of the "natural heart," if it in any 
 way thwarted the will of God, whose avowed and 
 faithful servant she was, and would be, though earth 
 should fail from its foundations and the firmament 
 reel above her. 
 
 She saw from her window, the chariot of the Tal- 
 cott family, John Stonebridge s cousins, drive past ; 
 and she knew it was going to the wharf at Myannis, 
 a small town nine miles away, where sailing vessels 
 touched on their entrance to the mouth of the Con 
 necticut, to deliver lading, or such passengers as 
 might prefer sea to land as the way to journey to 
 certain points on the coast ; she saw that same lofty 
 vehicle pass the next morning with a leathern valise 
 strapped on the rack, the black driver cracking his 
 
174 STEADFAST. 
 
 whip to urge the horses onward, no doubt in haste to 
 warm his own chilly person, for the day was cold, 
 sparkling, and beautiful to look at, but deathly in its 
 bitter atmosphere, and the piercing north wind lashed 
 the sea like a scourge, and drove it backward even 
 further than the ebbing tide was wont to go. 
 
 Sybil shuddered with a deeper chill than the air 
 could give her ; she did not leave the house all day ; 
 and she knew that none would leave the Christmas 
 revels at Judge Talcott s, though now she longed to 
 have her meeting with John Stonebridge over. Still 
 he did not come till the evening of the next day, and 
 when Mrs. Stanley called Sybil to come down, she 
 went with a certain desperate resolution that gave 
 her cheek a color and her eye a brightness that had 
 long since deserted them. She might well have 
 passed for a crownless queen, regnant by natural 
 rather than hereditary right, as she entered the for 
 mal drawing-room to receive Colonel Stonebridge ; 
 her gown of dark wine-colored brocade, figured with 
 trailing vines of hop leaves and blossoms, fell away 
 over a petticoat of deep green poplin, half covered by 
 an apron of India muslin and Mechlin lace ; a hand 
 kerchief of the same delicate and costly materials 
 filled the low-cut bosom of her stiff bodice, and frills 
 of the lace finished her sleeves at the elbow ; the 
 sombre richness of her dress brought into full relief 
 her exquisitely delicate skin, her proud head with its 
 high-piled coronet of pale gold hair, unpowdered, as 
 she wore it at home, and seemed to enhance the sin- 
 
AGAIN. 176 
 
 gular clearness of her sea-gray eyes, as encroaching 
 clouds heighten the lustre of the nearer stars. 
 
 John Stonebridge thought she had never looked so 
 lovely, and his face expressed his thought as he re 
 ceived and answered her coldly civil greeting; ten 
 minutes after he thought he had never seen her look 
 so ill. The glow of resolution and will faded, he 
 could see that the pale cheeks were thin, the temples 
 hollow, the small, rounded ear, surest index of 
 exhaustion, white as wax, and the arms half shaded 
 by their wide laces were lifeless, nerveless, wasted ; 
 while the eyes that had now lost their sparkle were 
 wide and sad as the melancholy winter moon ; neither 
 bracelets nor rings adorned those fragile wrists and 
 fingers, blue veins traced their too prominent record 
 along the transparent skin ; John Stonebridge felt a 
 throb of pride to see that she had really suffered, and 
 suffered for him ; that masculine pride which rejoices 
 in power and disregards pain, when the power is 
 theirs and the pain another s. If Sybil could have 
 read his heart at that moment her own would have 
 recoiled with the shock of the recognition, but, for 
 good and evil both, we wear that organ hidden from 
 the eye of our fellows, and she only saw the courte 
 ous grace of figure, the bold, handsome visage, and 
 nerved herself afresh to resist temptation. 
 
 But John Stonebridge had known a great many 
 women, and had plenty of love affairs ; he showed no 
 desire or intention to renew his addresses to Miss 
 Saltonstall; he expected and intended to make her 
 
176 STEADFAST. 
 
 feel that she had lost a valuable prize ; to awaken 
 her deep regret, perhaps her jealousy; so he was* 
 fluent and graphic in his description of the city gaye- 
 ties he had left to spend Christraastide with his rela 
 tions. He filled Madam Stanley s delighted ear with 
 accounts of the routs, the assemblies, the sledging 
 parties, and the skating frolics of the wintry season 
 just began ; he described the beauties who ruled soci 
 ety, with evident appreciation and admiration, dwell 
 ing warmly on the charms of a certain French damsel 
 a reigning belle in New York, who was by his own 
 description as precisely opposite Sybil as was possi 
 ble. 
 
 Petite, brunette, coquette ; sparkling with wit ; 
 dressed with parisian grace and taste ; dancing like a 
 fairy and singing like an angel ; Madam Stanley was 
 convinced that all these charms had chained Colonel 
 Stonebridge to the car of Mademoiselle Liotard; but 
 the good manners and dignity of that day forbade 
 any allusion to such a personal matter ; so the good 
 lady s thoughts were kept in her own bosom, but cer 
 tainly John Stonebridge did his eloquent best to 
 convey the idea to both of his hearers, that he was a 
 willing victim to Mademoiselle s irresistible graces. 
 But Sybil heard as one who did not hear ; sitting up 
 right in a high chair, Avhose heavy carvings of old 
 mahogany threw her head and shoulders into beauti 
 ful relief, her wistful, lonely eyes sought rest in the 
 world outside ; she seemed to be present in the body, 
 but far, far away in soul ; with a slight start, a faint 
 
AGAIN. 177 
 
 smile, she recalled herself if she were addressed ; but 
 the glowing pictures of city life and pleasure did not 
 interest her ; evidently, the pique and jealousy John 
 Stonebridge hoped to arouse had no place in that pure 
 soul ; it was only saddened by a deepening conscious 
 ness that his life and hers were more widely separ 
 ated than ever, that there was no unison in their aims 
 or opinions, that only her own infatuation, an emo 
 tion that still caused her to thrill at his voice, to 
 shrink from his eye, to feel that beside him she was 
 utterly blessed, and to resist with all her strength, as 
 a mortal sin, the instinctive worship her whole soul 
 longed to offer him, bound her to him with a tie that 
 must be broken, if at the cost of her life. For Sybil, 
 innocent, young, and pure, could not see the hot pas 
 sion that burned under all this talk of society and its 
 leaders, hidden by this fluent speech of pomps and 
 vanities ; she did not know that the red glow in John 
 Stonebridge s eye was the light of a fire that burned 
 more fiercely than ever within him ; never had he 
 loved Sybil as he loved her to-day ; to preserve the 
 decent aspect of society, to carry out his plan of siege, 
 he had to crush down with iron will the longing he 
 had to clasp that delicate, exquisite creature in his 
 arms and carry her away from the Puritanic world 
 about her, to some far country where she would be 
 all his own ; yet never had he felt before as strongly 
 that there was a barrier between them, slight but re 
 lentless as a thin sheet of adamant, through which he 
 might gaze and despair, but which he could never break. 
 
178 STEADFAST. 
 
 All unaware, Sybil was gradually impressing on 
 her lover the fact that there was existent in her soul 
 a vital and powerful principle of right, of duty, which 
 he had never either believed in or accepted ; he knew 
 she loved him, he saw that fact written in fatal char 
 acters on fading cheek and sorrow-darkened eye ; he 
 knew it was her pining heart, her thwarted passion, 
 that had worked its destruction on the fair flesh as 
 well as the tortured spirit; and he could not but 
 recognize that there was something more powerful 
 than the master passion of humanity that could so 
 defend and protect her from its strong assault ; he 
 understood at last, that there is a divine strength at 
 the command of human devotion, which is mighty to 
 save, even when the salvation itself is so as by fire. 
 He said farewell with an echo in his voice that stung 
 Sybil as if the adieu had been for eternity, but only a 
 keen flash of anguish in her eye told that she felt 
 that tone of despair ; and as he strode away from the 
 house with his wide hat slouched over his face as far 
 as might be, a certain awe stole over that wild, bold 
 spirit, a sense of some loftier Power in life than he 
 had hitherto reckoned with, a consciousness, that like 
 Saul of old, it was hard for him to " kick against the 
 pricks " ; not a feeling of submission, but of resistance 
 and defiance, that followed him for many a weary 
 day ; but then Sybil s prayers followed him also, 
 though he knew it not, and so entertained angels un 
 awares. 
 
 Madam Stanley had heard" and rioted all that 
 
AGAIN. 179 
 
 Colonel Stonebridge had said, but she had not re 
 marked Sybil s abstraction ; it was the custom of the 
 time for young people to be silent before their elders ; 
 for young maids to be shy and modest in the presence 
 of gentlemen, strange as it may seem to the girls of 
 to-day ; and Madam Stanley thought nothing of her 
 niece s speechlessness. She herself broke the silence 
 first after the guest s departure. 
 
 " So it seemeth Philip Kent will not be among us 
 this winter ; I suppose his wife is little of a house 
 wife ; but it is not seemly to my mind that a married 
 woman should gad abroad and be so gay as John 
 Stonebridge telleth." 
 
 " I suppose^ it was her wont, before," said Sybil, 
 gently. 
 
 " Then it should cease to be her wont now. Philip 
 would do well not to waste his substance in riotous 
 living, but come back to his own good house here, and 
 teach his wife thrift and godly living." 
 
 Sybil smiled ; she had seen Annetje Stuyvesant in 
 Albany, and understood how far from that selfish 
 nature were either thrift or godliness ; but her face 
 saddened again as her aunt went on. 
 
 "It seems they will make a country mansion of 
 Joshua Dyer s house, and spend their winters in the 
 city ; so I suppose we may look for finery and fashion 
 to alight in our quiet neighborhood when the warm 
 weather is come." 
 
 Sybil thought of Esther, and the cruel trial it would 
 be to her to meet Philip and his wife, to see their 
 
180 STEADFAST. 
 
 happiness, to watch the home, the heart, the life that 
 should have been hers, all lavished on another. How 
 could she serve or save her hapless friend ? Like 
 one of old she gave herself unto prayer, and prayer 
 for Esther. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 REWARD. 
 The mills of the gods grind slowly. 
 
 IT is not always that evil deeds receive their pun 
 ishment in this world, but doubtless they often do 
 receive it in a way invisible to men. Esther s pun 
 ishment was in her own soul, and day by day it 
 seemed to burn in upon her more deeply. If she 
 could have confided or confessed her sin, it would 
 have been less a burden ; but to do that would in 
 volve Philip and blast his character, for she was not 
 subtle enough to imagine a way to blame herself and 
 exonerate him. So she went about feeling that she 
 was branded, though the brand was unseen of man; 
 that she was a hypocrite and could not confess her 
 hypocrisy, deeply as she repented it ; this introspec 
 tion might have turned her brain and ended her short 
 record in a madhouse, but for the daily tender allevi 
 ation of her thoughts in teaching and petting her 
 school children, and the growing affection with which 
 she regarded Aunt Tempy ; a woman gifted with that 
 keen sense of humor and indomitable hopefulness 
 that now and then springs up amid the stern gloom 
 or the superhuman piety of New England records, 
 like the cheerful and persistent glow of the " butter 
 fly weed " on our sandy hillsides ; a blossom gay not 
 
 181 
 
182 STEADFAST. 
 
 only with its own deep orange tint, the concentrated 
 color of a hot sunset, but always alive and glad with 
 the host of winged adorers its beauty and honey 
 attract. Her odd ways, her quaint speech and 
 thought, her interminable fund of apt proverbs and 
 queer stories, amused and interested Esther, who 
 inherited no small share of humorous perception 
 from her father, and often beguiled her from the 
 despairing consciousness of her own moral condition, 
 as she considered it from her morbid point of view. 
 
 Philip was troubled with no such inward distress ; 
 he was too selfish and too fond of his own ease, to let 
 his mind revert to any unpleasantness : what was 
 done was ended, for him ; he did not concern himself 
 about the will; that, as he viewed it, was a mere 
 matter of justice, and as for his love-making to 
 Esther, what man of his type ever gave a remorseful 
 thought to a mere amusement of that kind. 
 
 Indeed, are there many men of any type who think 
 it harm to say sweet words and offer tender caresses 
 to any girl who is willing to hear and receive them ? 
 I leave the answer to the experience of those who 
 have been attractive girls, and the observation of 
 those who have not.. 
 
 But Philip s judgment came upon him, neverthe 
 less, in a more open fashion. Annetje Stuyvesant s 
 great charm to him had been her difficult, inaccessi 
 ble manner ; accustomed to see and conquer, Philip 
 was not a little weary of conquests which were too 
 easy to be exciting or interesting. He had not a 
 
REWARD. 183 
 
 mind capable of analyzing character, a perception 
 quick enough to understand it instinctively. He 
 found in the revelation of personal traits that the 
 solitude a deux of marriage inevitably brings, that 
 Annetje s coolness and pride were owing to a curious 
 mixture of. traits : a cold heart ; a physical nature, 
 self-indulgent and luxurious even to the verge of 
 becoming sensual; an impertinent consciousness of 
 being better than her neighbors ; an indomitable will ; 
 and a prevalent intention of being the one person in 
 the household to whom all its members should be 
 devoted. Natural wit she had ; a clear head, and a 
 vivacious brain; as a man she would have been a 
 little superior to Philip Kent, because she was quicker- 
 witted, otherwise, the bent of their natures was alike ; 
 and their marriage became from its earliest days an 
 individual conflict. And a conflict it was in which, 
 naturally, the woman came off with flying colors; 
 she stung Philip s self-complacency with sarcasms 
 which made him wince, but which he could neither 
 evade, ignore, or return in kind ; and if he showed 
 the hard side of his character, was unfeeling, inatten 
 tive, careless, her fierce temper broke out in a torrent 
 of words, or she went into hysterics, a form of demon 
 stration peculiarly unpleasant and subduing to a man 
 who was not accustomed to that sort of thing. Or 
 sometimes she lavished on him caresses that were 
 like the caresses of a tigress, fierce and passionate, 
 thrilling with the consciousness of talons beneath the 
 velvet. 
 
184 STEADFAST. 
 
 This sort of life was not agreeable to Philip Kent. 
 He did not enjoy the doubt, after a time darkening 
 into the dread, that assailed him whenever he went 
 home from his business, as to whether he should find 
 a sulky, an angry, or a shrieking and laughing wife. 
 
 That she sometimes shone on him like an appeased 
 goddess, and clung to him like a really loving woman, 
 did not atone to him for the general storm that 
 clouded his days : he wanted to enjoy life, to have 
 an abundance of this world s goods, to eat, drink, and 
 be merry ; and he was not only angered and dis 
 tressed, but cowed and disheartened by this continu 
 ous disturbance. And, beside, his strong self-love and 
 self-conceit were wounded to the quick to discover that 
 he could not mould this woman, who was his wife, 
 into the sort of person he would have her ; she re 
 sented his educational experiments, laughed at his 
 theories, and remained Annetje Stuyvesant in spite 
 of being Mrs. Philip Kent. 
 
 It is only an inert or a weak woman, or, in rare 
 cases, a very tender, selfless, and devoted nature, that 
 a man can shape in his own fashion ; and generally 
 he becomes very tired of such a wax puppet, but 
 Annetje was less "married than most women; she 
 had her will and her way, and Philip might make the 
 best or the worst of it. 
 
 Esther had her revenge, though she never knew it, 
 in the repeated hours when Philip recalled her devo 
 tion, her ever-ready sympathy, her readiness to lay 
 down her very life for him ; her sweet, worshipping 
 
REWARD. 185 
 
 eyes ; her soul-lit face, that grew bright or dark with 
 his ; her evident admiration for and pride in him. 
 
 Woe to the woman who feels above her husband in 
 the slightest respect if she lets him know it ! From 
 that hour he is averted from her, he resents the tie 
 between them, he is injured and unrelenting. To 
 wound a man s self-love is to kill all his other love 
 forever. It is true that Philip was still outwardly 
 devoted to his wife ; he waited on her wants, watched 
 over her intimations, guarded her from all the ills and 
 inconveniences of life, and was remarked on as the 
 most patient and thoughtful of husbands, because 
 he well knew that in this way only could he hope for, 
 or expect peace in his own house, and beyond any 
 thing else he desired quiet, if pleasure were denied 
 him. 
 
 But in the first two years of his marriage, he was 
 more than once driven to the conscious acknowledg 
 ment that he had made a mistake, that Annetje was 
 not the woman he ought to have married. 
 
 He would have liked to solace himself with the 
 society of other women, for he was one of those men 
 who enjoy the companionship of women more than 
 that of men. The conversation and fellowship of 
 average men jarred on him, because they did not 
 acknowledge his superiority. He avoided those con 
 claves on the tavern " stoeps " in summer, or in the 
 sanded bar-room, where the heaped logs and the high 
 settles attracted other loungers ; where the harsh 
 cackle of the politician s strident laugh, or the more 
 
186 STEADFAST. 
 
 disgusting chuckle of the low storyteller timed the 
 chorus of applauding listeners; he better liked to 
 pose at the suppers of his numerous acquaintance as 
 a devotee of women in a lofty fashion. Dear to him 
 were the pathetic little confidences made to gentle 
 souls about his low spirits, his failing health, or 
 sundry griefs without a name; dear the pressure 
 soft white hands allowed, the blush of sympathy, 
 the eyes gleaming with pitiful interest, the tender 
 voice of consolation and cheer. He knew that now 
 he could go no further than these permissible in 
 dulgences, being a married man; that the kisses 
 and embraces he had so often stolen in moonlight 
 walks, or sleighrides, where the temptation was so 
 near, could no longer be allowed him; but he soon 
 found out that Annetje, for all her coldness, was as 
 jealous as a woman could be ; not because she loved 
 him, but because she so loved herself. 
 
 It pleased him that she refused to return to Trum- 
 bull, not only for that next summer, but for nearly 
 two years ; he feared lest her wrath should light on 
 Esther, with whom he fully expected not only to be 
 on friendly terms, but to whom he meant to turn for 
 comfort. He calculated acutely on those stringent 
 customs of propriety, no less cultivated in those days 
 in the country than in the town, which should bring 
 Esther to his house, as at least a ceremonious visitor ; 
 and no less keenly he built upon her past devotion 
 and her faithful nature as a guarantee that she would 
 be ready to forgive and comfort him ; so that he really 
 
REWARD. 187 
 
 longed to go back to Trumbull. During that first 
 summer, after Esther began her school, he visited his 
 old home once, on pretext of seeing to his business 
 there, but he did not meet her. Delia still lived in 
 the house, having fetched her old mother to keep her 
 company ; and Hiram, lodging elsewhere, attended to 
 the garden, the horses, and the cow. It was an ex 
 pensive business, this keeping up the old homestead ; 
 but Uncle Dyer, with the desire common to all men 
 to carry out their will or wish after they are gone 
 from the possibility of enjoying either wish or will, 
 had made it an imperative condition with his heir 
 that this place should be kept in order as long as 
 Philip lived. He had the same feeling about his 
 house that some men have about their places of 
 burial, a desire that it should not lapse into neglect 
 and decay ; but then it was not considered decent to 
 allow the graves of kindred to be run over with weeds 
 and briers ; to openly leave their memorials in a state 
 of disrespect and disorder. He needed no clause in 
 his will to provide for such a contingency ; but pin 
 ing, as we all do, not to be utterly forgotten, entirely 
 blotted out as one who had not been, who " had given 
 up the ghost and no eye had seen " him, he left orders 
 in detail concerning his mansion and premises which 
 Philip could not evade. 
 
 Sybil Saltonstall, after the Christmas visit which 
 Colonel Stonebridge made her, saw him no more for 
 many months. She shut up her sorrow in her heart, 
 and grew still more sweet and saint-like ; indeed, her 
 
188 STEADFAST. 
 
 Aunt Stanley s house and society were good training 
 for a saint; but Sybil had no other home, and the 
 customs of the day forbade her travelling about by 
 herself, as independent young women do to-day. She 
 also had a sense of duty toward her uncle and aunt, 
 as standing in the place of her parents, that it would 
 be difficult to explain to the girl of this period. 
 
 It was a great relief to her that her beloved Esther 
 was to be spared the trial of having Philip at hand 
 the next summer, and she hastened to let her know, 
 in an incidental way, that he had lately written as 
 much to her Uncle Stanley. As for Sybil herself, as 
 long as Governor Stanley was absent so often on the 
 business of the Colony, she was glad to have it need 
 ful for her to be at home on her aunt s account. She 
 had friends in New York and Albany both, who would 
 gladly have had her spend the winter and spring 
 months with them, but she excused herself on the 
 plea that she must not leave Madam Stanley alone, 
 rejoicing that she had this valid reason for escaping 
 any possibility of meeting John Stonebridge again ; 
 for Sybil looked upon their separation as final and 
 eternal, and to see his face and hear his voice, was 
 only a renewal of her burnt-sacrifice, and a fresh 
 martyrdom. 
 
 So a year and a half rolled over the heads of these 
 dwellers in a quiet New England village, with as little 
 chance or change as life ever brings ; the elements of 
 woe and wrath and tempest were all there, but they 
 slept. Esther went on her way successfully; her 
 
REWARD. 189 
 
 little pupils adored her ; and if her experience corro 
 borated her well-taught creed of " original sin," in the 
 naughty tricks of little cherubs who looked all milk 
 and roses, but were as sly, as mischievous, and as 
 thorough little spitfires as kittens, and seemed to 
 revel in " actual transgression " ; still her belief in 
 " total depravity," was something shaken, for she 
 found them, even the worst of them, so easy to be 
 coaxed into repentance, so wistful and woful after 
 the ordained spankings, so ready with verbal contri 
 tion at least, that she laid their continuous backslid- 
 ings to the door of their brief baby memories, and 
 kept forgiving the small sinners, till they were half 
 ashamed to sin. Miss Tempy kept the small house 
 in exquisite order, and fed Esther on the most savory 
 if not the most luxurious food ; " the tricks and the 
 manners " of modern or French cookery, were all un 
 known to this thrifty spinster, but her rye and wheat 
 bread were perfect in their way ; her pies crisp of 
 crust and absolutely well-flavored; her "election 
 cake " sought for far and near when the housewives 
 about were straitened for help or expected company ; 
 though then it wore only the style of "raised cake," 
 Election Day being a festival of the future. Nobody 
 made such " sweetmeats " as Aunt Tempy ; such 
 pound-for-pound peaches, in syrup thick and golden 
 like clover honey ; such quart tumblers of red quince 
 slices ; such wine-colored currant-jelly, that cut like a 
 solid ; such great egg-plums, like spheres of clouded 
 amber; or such damson cheese. Meat was not her 
 
190 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 forte ; she did, I grieve to say it, fry her beefsteaks, 
 but then she could roast a chicken to perfection, and 
 her Thanksgiving pig would have made Charles Lamb 
 cry for joy, so round, so crisp, so succulent was the 
 porcine baby, untimely slain to celebrate what is now 
 " a nation s holiday." And as for vegetables ! " I m 
 dreadful fond of green sass," Aunt Tempy candidly 
 avowed. " Meat vittles I do not really set by a great 
 deal ; but now as for sparagrass in the season on t, I 
 never pitied Nebuchadnezzar no great if that was the 
 kind o grass he lived on ; and beans, why beans is 
 good all the year round, biled or baked, and they re 
 so fillin ! Then peas, good green or for porridge, 
 pease porridge hot, that is the porridge I m give to; 
 and corn, I wouldn t ask nothing better for dinner 
 than roasted corn with a leetle mite of sweet butter 
 and salt on to t ; and succotash is fit to set before 
 the king, now I tell ye. Cabbage ? well cabbage will 
 smell ; I lay that up ag inst it ; and you can t drive 
 nor coax the smell on t out of the house noway. 
 Onions is good, proper good, and dreadful hullsome ; 
 more so than what cabbage is ; I ve got to forgive 
 their sin of smellin on that account. Why raw 
 onions with a mess of pepper n vinegar on em is a 
 most amazing purifyin to the blood in springtime ; 
 them and dandelion greens is better n a doctor, or 
 Lixir Pro. I declare if we could have green things 
 the year round, I shouldn t care if I never saw a bit 
 of meat vittles, exceptin a mite of salt pork, any 
 more. But mercy me ! there s nothin but potatoes 
 
REWARD. 
 
 191 
 
 and parsnips eight months in the year that is green, 
 and they ain t, really." 
 
 So the days and months went on, and the second 
 summer coming in, brought back, not only Philip 
 Kent, his wife, his infant son, but also John Stone- 
 bridge, who had all the past year been troubled with 
 rheumatism, and had now obtained a long leave of 
 absence to rest and recruit, and was coming to the 
 Talcotts for the summer. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 GRIST. 
 But they grind exceeding small. 
 
 As Philip Kent had expected, Esther knew that 
 she must pay a ceremonial visit to his wife, or the 
 village gossips would set all their tongues wagging 
 with guesses at a truth nothing would tempt her to 
 have revealed; like many another woman she had 
 hidden her head and thought, as does the proverbial 
 ostrich, that she was altogether out of sight, not at 
 all aware that Philip s devotion and desertion were 
 as patent to the eyes of the townspeople as to hers. 
 Yet instinctively she was right in doing as she did ; 
 for the women who pitied her now would have de 
 spised her had she shown so little pride and self-con 
 trol as to resent her wrongs openly. She did not 
 even ask Sybil to go with her, she preferred to be 
 alone when she should meet the new-comers. 
 
 Mrs. Kent kept her waiting some time ; happily 
 for Esther she was shown into the drawing-room, an 
 apartment that held for her no especially painful 
 associations ; and it was not Hannah who opened the 
 door at her knock, but a serving-man whom Philip 
 had fetched up from his New York house to please 
 Annetje. 
 
 When Mrs. Kent did enter she was not cordial but 
 192 
 
GRIST. 193 
 
 courteous ; nothing in her look or manner touched 
 Esther s heart ; the delicate, haughty face was a little 
 worn, more with ennui than illness, and her languid, 
 indifferent manner seemed to be rather natural than 
 affected. 
 
 Esther was simple and civil ; she put on nothing 
 that she did not feel ; asked after Philip, and heard 
 he had gone to the Long Beach Farm, and, giving 
 thanks inwardly that she was not to meet him, man 
 aged to keep up a slow conversation through the 
 decent amount of time allotted for a call ; and went 
 away, encountering Sybil and Madam Stanley at the 
 door as they came in. Sybil looked earnestly at her 
 friend ; she saw the tranquil face and was glad ; had 
 she seen it ten minutes afterward, pity and distress 
 would have darkened all her soul, for just as Esther 
 neared the gate of her home, Philip, in the old chaise, 
 came up the road and stopped to speak to her. Poor 
 Esther ! She had felt so sure, so safe ; she had seen 
 this man in his absence as he was, not as her passion 
 and imagination had endowed him with heavenly 
 gifts ; but now, here, the eyes that had drawn her 
 soul out into his soul, the lips that had pressed hers 
 so often, once more looking and smiling at her, for 
 Philip drew up to speak as he passed, Esther knew 
 that she loved Philip Kent still; shameful, sinful, 
 horrid, as the past was, the wild tremors of her heart, 
 the quick flush of delight, the forgetfulness of all 
 the past, smote her like a flash of blinding light ; she 
 loved him! oh, yes, God help her! she loved this 
 
194 STEADFAST. 
 
 man yet, and another woman was his wife. Philip 
 saw her agitation ; she could not conceal the sudden 
 pallor and the equally sudden rose-red blush that lit 
 her beautiful face ; she could not master the tremu 
 lous pathos in her voice, or darken the light that illu 
 minated the mournful dusk of her great eyes ; he was 
 himself a little moved, and a little flattered; if 
 Annetje had wounded his self-love to the quick, 
 Esther healed it. She had grown far more lovely 
 since Philip had seen her ; her figure was stately and 
 graceful, her taste modelled her dress as far as the 
 stiff fashions of the day allowed ; in her gown and 
 petticoat of deep green paduasoy, with frills of qulaint 
 old English thread lace ; a little white chip hat pinned 
 on the high puffs of hair whose powdered rolls gave a 
 singular charm to her glowing face and clear brunette 
 skin, with cheeks that rivalled the garland of roses 
 on her hat, Esther was indeed a beauty to have 
 alarmed Annetje, who had only seen her quiet, color 
 less, and wearing a frigid conventional expression as 
 became a formal visitor. Philip said little beyond 
 the ordinary greetings, but his face spoke ; his deep, 
 gray eyes melted and glowed, his smile beamed on 
 her with the old power and sweetness, she felt the 
 divine madness of that dismaying emotion that before 
 rioted in her brain possess and envelop her once 
 more ; and with a wrench of resolution escaped from 
 his sight, and rushing up to her tiny bedroom, threw 
 herself down on the bed, hid her face, and burst into 
 a passion of tears. 
 
GRIST. 195 
 
 I wish Esther had been a stronger woman, but I 
 must paint her as she was, with a heart greater than 
 her brain, an impulsive, undisciplined character, a 
 creature who in the very nature of things could not 
 escape wreck, and loss, and woe, if left to her own 
 guidance ; a girl to whom love was life and breath, 
 but who loved as unwisely as such girls almost inva 
 riably do. 
 
 Not at first were her tears all bitterness, but rather 
 a relief to her emotion; when she had thoroughly 
 given way to them, a certain calm stole over her ; she 
 began to think of Philip instead of herself. Unself 
 ishness is a good thing if it is not extravagant. 
 When the Lord commanded us to love our neighbors 
 as ourselves, He did not say more than ourselves, but 
 made the measure of our neighborly affection and ser 
 vice the due self-love and self-respect which is every 
 man s and woman s law of moral self-preservation. 
 The mad passion that gives up life, character, honor, 
 even decency for the sake of a beloved object, not 
 only wrecks itself, but ministers to the shame and 
 harm of that object. 
 
 It was well for Esther in that time, unguarded by 
 a deep religious faith, the reserve and sanctity of a 
 true home, and the tender omniscience of motherly 
 love, that Annetje Kent was a resolute and jealous 
 woman, whom Philip feared ; and that Esther s daily 
 life was among the innocent little children whose 
 pure lips and clear eyes shamed her when she con 
 sidered as now and then she did her own position. 
 
196 STEADFAST. 
 
 Not in this fashion did Sybil Saltonstall suffer; 
 she had a refuge and a strength unknown to Esther ; 
 it wrung her heart to encounter John Stonebridge as 
 she was obliged to, often, since he had come to the 
 Talcott mansion, but she held her soul far above in a 
 diviner ether than the mists and clouds of earth ; suf 
 fering drove her to prayer, and earth to heaven ; day 
 after day her face seemed to refine and sweeten, she 
 grew lovelier in every word and deed ; yet she had 
 lonely hours of agonies when she felt sure, not being 
 an Agnostic, that Satan tempted her to fall from her 
 sad sanctity and taste the blisses of human love, the 
 peace of a mortal home, the strength and guidance of 
 a man s heart and hand ; in those hours she asked her 
 self or an evil spirit put the question why she 
 needed to set aside the blessings made for a woman, 
 and endure this gnawing self-denial, simply because 
 her opinions differed from John Stonebridge s ? Why, 
 again, might it not be her actual duty to marry him 
 and bring him by her example and her prayers to such 
 a respect and love for religion, that he should enter 
 its service ? These terrible hours of casuistic ques 
 tion invariably followed a meeting with her lover, 
 though it might even be a silent one ; a little reflec 
 tion on her part would have relegated the queries to 
 Colonel Stonebridge s reproachful gaze, the dark pas 
 sion of his melancholy eyes, rather than to the wan 
 derer and devourer of men ; but Sybil chose to refer 
 all evil to its powerful source instead of his instru 
 ments ; she could not invest her handsome, courteous 
 
GRIST. 197 
 
 lover with the traditional exterior of Satan, or ascribe 
 to him the taunting and sneering suggestions that 
 vexed her pure and tender soul, and tried the strength 
 of her womanly courage. 
 
 To her, as to Esther, this beautiful and beauteous 
 summer was a long torture ; to Esther rather a tumult 
 than a trial, for Philip made pretexts to see her, and 
 used all his arts to awaken her sympathy for him 
 that he might again gather her sweet consolations 
 and condolings. It is true, he led a very uncomfort 
 able life ; Delia felt it for and with him. June was 
 not yet over, the old white roses with saffron hearts 
 that clambered even to Esther s window-sill, had still 
 a few exquisite half-blown buds on the tips of their 
 long slight branches, when one fine day, after school, 
 Delia walked up the little gravel path and tapped at 
 the schoolroom door, Esther opened it. 
 
 " Why, Delia ! " she said. " How glad I am to see 
 you. It is a long day since you came over my door- 
 sill." 
 
 " I know it ! " panted Delia, sinking into the arm 
 chair, and fanning her heated face with a bandana 
 handkerchief of the most vivid yellow. " I couldn t 
 noways help it, I ve been busier n a bee in a tar-barrel 
 ever sence the folks come home, and I m clear done 
 over. I tell you what, Esther, I keep rec lectin old 
 times the hull time. My land ! twas like Paradise in 
 them days, only I didn t sense it. The Squire goin 
 in and out as pleasant as a picter, and when you and 
 your ma came, you was jest as nateral as he was ; 
 
198 STEADFAST. 
 
 you was our folks right away, and Philip wasn t to 
 call bad ; he hectored some, and rid a high horse by 
 times, but he wasn t nothing to complain of. But 
 now ! I tell you there s new times, and I can t stan 
 it. Sech things as she wants cooked up ! Who ever 
 heerd tell of puttin a reason and a bit of citron into 
 the middle of a riz nut-cake before twas fried, and 
 then callin of it a f oly kook ? That ain t my kind 
 of cook ! Then there s her stuff she calls salmagundi ; 
 of all the messes ! raw fish out o the river, chopped 
 up with green inions and mixed till its slimy with 
 warm water ! makes me spleen to think on t ! and 
 that s her vittles. Then in place of real respectable 
 chopped cabbage, she wants her n cut into strings and 
 wilted with hot water, and dreened, then she puts 
 vinegar on to t. I should think them things was fit 
 for swine. That ain t nothin though, folks has differ 
 ent notions, and one man s meat is another man s 
 p ison as they tell ; but she herself is worse n her vit 
 tles. Now I don t never call myself stuck up, but I 
 was always used well by folks I lived with, and re 
 spected when I done as I had ought to have did ; but 
 mercy me ! she thinks hired help is the dirt under 
 her feet ! which I ain t nor ain t a goin to be. An 
 tain t me only ; you d ought to see her a orderin 
 Hiram round ! Ef he was two year old she couldn t 
 ha giv him more talk. He didn t mind it, not 
 greatly ; men-folks will take a sight from a good look- 
 in woman, but I don t feel to see him rid over, hoss 
 and foot, like that. As for Philip, he s her little dog 
 
GRIST. 199 
 
 Tray ; he darsn t do nothin of his own motion ; ef he 
 does she has the highsterics proper bad, and then he 
 flies round ! Well, I don t care such a lot about him, 
 lie a n t nothin to me. I arn my bread myself, and 
 he s made his bed, now he s got to lie oii t, be it how 
 it s made, soft or hard ; but I have giv warning, the 
 same house can t hold her an me to the same time ; 
 I d ruther set up in a hovil and go a berryin for my 
 livin ! " 
 
 " But, Delia ! what are you going to do ? " 
 
 " Now, don t ye smile, a mite ! Fm a goin to get 
 married." 
 
 " What ! married ! " 
 
 " Well, I guess so." snapped Delia ; " do you think 
 I m too humly to try for t ? " 
 
 " Oh, Delia, you know I don t ! I was so sorry for 
 poor Hiram." 
 
 " I guess I shan t bile an eat him," retorted the 
 angry woman. 
 
 " But he will be so hurt at your marriage." 
 
 "I dono about that; I guess he ll be resigned," 
 and Delia laughed; she began to appreciate the 
 situation. 
 
 " But who is it ? " asked the puzzled Esther. 
 
 "Well, now you re come to the p int, I shouldn t 
 think strange if twas reelly, well, I guess it is 
 Hiram ! " 
 
 " Oh ! " said Esther, with an accent of relief. 
 
 " You see," promptly went on Delia, " I stood out 
 quite a spell because he wasn t a professor, and I 
 
200 STEADFAST. 
 
 meant to keep up my end of the matter till he was, 
 but I don t see no signs on t ; he s good, real good, as 
 fur as bein clever to put up with, and havin faculty, 
 but I mistrust his speritooal condition is sort of 
 duberous. Howsoever, I ain t so young as I was, nor 
 so sot in my idees j I ve kind of mellered down, and 
 this bein what your Uncle Dyer used to call a mer- 
 gency, why I thought twould come amazin handy to 
 have a man round for good and all, and he ll be clever 
 to mother, so I kind of giv him a leetle hint ye know, 
 and my ! he took it as spry as a robin takes a worm, 
 and the upshot of the hull is we ve took Hillside 
 Farm of Philip, bein as Kobertses folks are niovin 
 out west as fur as the York settlements, a takin 
 up land there for to clear and plant back of the 
 river, and Philip was lookin about for tenants. So 
 we put in ; I ve got quite a little nest-egg, and so s 
 Hi, and we reckon we shall be married next week, 
 and go out to Hillside, bag and baggage. I want you 
 to come over to the minister s house next Thursday, 
 will ye ? and kind of stiff me up ? I haven t no idee 
 how to behave." 
 
 Esther laughed and promised; Delia s justification 
 of her changed plans was certainly a funny piece of 
 sophistry ; but when Esther told Sybil the tale, with 
 smiles, it smote her heart with a dull pain instead of 
 laughter ; here was a woman who had held out as she 
 had ; yet at last been overcome and was about to be 
 happy in the natural, womanly way ; her sore heart 
 cried out in sudden envy ; it did not strike her that 
 
GRIST. 201 
 
 she and Delia were as incapable of comparison as a 
 seraph and a hen, that for her there was something 
 higher than happiness reserved as a portion; the 
 blessedness of a faithful spirit j the joy and the white 
 robe of them that overcome. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 DELAY. 
 
 Speech is silver, silence is golden. 
 
 WHILE all these things were going on in that quiet 
 that masks the inward strife and progression of 
 earthly life, Mr. Hall was not unobservant or in 
 active. 
 
 He kept a tacit guardianship over Esther and her 
 school ; once a week he examined the children on 
 their primer, and happy was the child who went 
 through it without a stumble, from 
 
 " In Adam s fall 
 We sinned all." 
 to 
 
 "Zaccheus he 
 Did climb the Tree 
 Our Lord to see." 
 
 for when the long alphabet of rhymes was correctly 
 said, some edible reward issued at once from the 
 pocket of the minister s broad-tailed coat ; some red 
 apple, some late sweet peach, perhaps a spicy nut- 
 cake, or a gingerbread monster ; and now and then 
 Parson Hall had a field day in the most literal sense 
 of the word, when he would unexpectedly break up 
 the school, and take them, teacher and all, for a long 
 walk in the woods, the meadows, or by the shore; 
 
 202 
 
DELAY. 203 
 
 teaching them as he went, the uses of herbs that grew 
 by the way,. the difference in the growth, the foliage, 
 and the bark of trees; the varying species of sea 
 weed and shells ; or when the soft autumn days shed 
 their mists of fire over the woods, he took them nut 
 ting, or to gather wild grapes. All this time he was 
 learning to love Esther with the strong, silent passion 
 of a man who has not only suffered loss but been 
 denied the human love that is so dear to men, the 
 home and fireside so coveted, especially by those who 
 do the world s heaviest work, the attempt to teach 
 and improve the race. Eachel had been an angel to 
 him ; Esther was a woman ; her very faults fascinated 
 him; the quick temper, the outspoken tongue; the 
 brief anger, the sudden repentance on its heels ; the 
 capricious humor ; the sweet heart of womanly affec 
 tion for her little flock ; each and all moved and be 
 witched him ; but he knew well that Esther s undis 
 ciplined nature had been wrung to its centre by Philip 
 Kent, and he could see that even yet it bled and 
 moaned in the unhealed anguish of loss ; he did not 
 know that still Esther loved that false man, when he 
 had given his name and his life to another ; he could 
 not have believed it had the thought come into his 
 mind. 
 
 But one thing he did know, that he must wait for 
 this desire of his life ; that to speak now would be 
 idle ; he must be patient, and content himself with 
 giving her all the help and protection his office and 
 position afforded ; sure that time, enlightener as well 
 
204 STEADFAST. 
 
 as consoler, would at least teach Esther the falseness 
 and selfishness of Philip Kent, and then perhaps that 
 empty heart might turn to him for comfort. 
 
 But Esther had no idea of this. Day after day 
 Philip contrived in some way to see her, not every 
 day, but often ; it was so pleasant to turn from 
 Annetje s indifference or petulance, to the tender 
 sweetness of Esther s voice and eyes ; and she, fooled 
 by her own heart, as myriads of women have been 
 before her, grew to pity him more than ever for the 
 unhappiness he half hinted, half confessed, and which 
 Delia s revelations confirmed ; she reasoned with that 
 specious yet convincing sort of sophistry we all resort 
 to when we desire to do a thing we ought not to do, 
 that there was no harm in supplementing to Philip 
 the deficiencies of his life at home. 
 
 She forgot his falseness to her before ; his mar 
 riage which was a deliberate and voluntary step ; the 
 fact that he had made to her all the professions of a 
 lover, and knew that she thoroughly shared what 
 seemed his real passion. A mere woman, forgiving 
 more utterly than a saint, Esther ignored all this, and 
 hastened to meet her prodigal half way. They met 
 in the old places, they lingered together on the lonely 
 shore, when Annetje believed him inspecting his 
 flocks and herds at Hillside : and gradually as before, 
 Philip sunned himself in those warm eyes, held the 
 soft taper fingers to his lips, cradled the dark head 
 on his shoulder, and gathered kisses at his will ; 
 Esther all this while blinded by her re-awakened pas- 
 
DELAY. 205 
 
 sion, filled with, an absorbing love that covered its 
 symbolic wings with the veil of the nun Pity, and 
 wore the aspect of virginal innocence and pure affec 
 tion. 
 
 To what irreclaimable depths this loss of self in 
 utter devotion to Philip Kent might have- plunged 
 her, it is not best to speculate ; there are thousands 
 of other women who have dared these rapids and 
 gone over the great fall to their eternal loss ; it was 
 the good hand of God that saved Esther on its very 
 brink, and bade her shudder and recoil with the 
 heavy consciousness and awful terror of sin premedi 
 tated if uncommitted, when in the after-time she 
 looked back on the sweet poison of those hours. 
 
 In the meantime, some little merit is due to Philip ; 
 either his early training, his fear of Annetje, or his 
 dread of popular reprobation, deterred him from tak 
 ing the worst advantage of Esther ; probably, he 
 might yet have ruined and betrayed her had nothing 
 interposed to prevent, but so far he had in a measure 
 respected her friendless innocence, and understood 
 the pure if mad passion which trusted him so utterly, 
 and worshipped him so boundlessly, and which a 
 worse or stronger man would have misinterpreted. 
 
 Parson Hall had been away from his parish very 
 much this summer ; a brother clergyman, failing in 
 health in his charge in one of the Southern cities, but 
 too poor to leave his home and travel, had come to 
 Trumbull for a short visit to his mother, and was 
 glad to earn a little by supplying Parson Hall s pul- 
 
206 STEADFAST. 
 
 pit, while the parson went up to Northampton to par 
 take in and investigate a state of things new to him, 
 except in theory, now possessing the church of Jona 
 than Edwards. 
 
 It was the beginning of that wonderful interest in 
 religious truth, and conversion to its faith and prac 
 tice that swept over America from North to South at 
 that time ; under the ministrations of the New Eng 
 land clergy first, followed by Whitfield, Tennant, 
 and various others. 
 
 Parson Hall had heard of this spiritual revival, 
 afterward called the Great Awakening, and always 
 alert toward heavenly things he would have gone to 
 Northampton in its beginning but for the needs of 
 his own people ; he could not leave his flock with no 
 shepherd, and loudly as his soul called for the re 
 freshment of this new and lofty experience, he felt 
 that his duty forbade him to go away, and in those 
 days, duty was the dominant chord of every Chris 
 tian man s life. 
 
 But when Mr. Atterbury came back to Trumbull, 
 and confided to Parson Hall that he had fetched with 
 him a goodly parcel of sermons, writ for and deliv 
 ered unto his people in the Carolinas, and desired to 
 find a parish where he might be hired for the sum 
 mer, so to defray his modest expenses in Trumbull ; 
 the parson knew that his earnest prayer, that a way 
 might be opened for him to share in the new light, 
 had been answered. 
 
 He installed Mr. Atterbury, a slight, refined-looking 
 
DELAY. 207 
 
 man with a fervent soul and a persuasive voice, over 
 his congregation, and betook himself up the country, 
 to sit at the feet of the great Jonathan Edwards. 
 
 It was while he was gone, that a great blow and a 
 great deliverance came to Sybil ; John Stonebridge, 
 about the beginning of August left Trumbull sud 
 denly. He had made no overt attempt again to 
 soften Sybil s heart ; it is true he behaved himself in 
 her presence as one desperate and destroyed in hope 
 and life ; his eyes wore a look of gloom and evil, his 
 lips a curling sneer ; but she knew that he shared in 
 all the junketings of the Talcott family and their gay 
 friends ; for hospitality and gayety were marked 
 traits of the Stonebridge tribe to its remotest ramifi 
 cation ; and being " church " people, as Episcopalians 
 were sometimes styled in those days, they were not 
 circumscribed by the rigid regulations of the Presby 
 terians, but took the position of dissenters awarded 
 to all other sects but that one favored by the Puritans, 
 and made the most of their freedom. Sybil knew 
 that John Stonebridge danced ofttimes till the small 
 hours of night; that he was an adept at the card- 
 table, where he won fabulous sums of money ; that he 
 practised at " the fence " with his comrades, and was 
 a keen sportsman. When he passed the house with 
 other laughing and shouting men, comrades of the 
 army, revellers from the city, armed for a hunt in the 
 woods, his face wreathed with jollity and good fellow 
 ship, Sybil learned by sheer repetition the old lesson, 
 
 that 
 
 " Man s love is of man s life, a thing apart." 
 
208 STEADFAST. 
 
 But her pride and her piety both forbade her to ac 
 knowledge that 
 
 " Tis woman s whole existence." 
 
 She tried feebly but honestly to divert her thoughts 
 from their forbidden channel ; she visited among the 
 few poor that the thrifty village harbored, she waited 
 upon the sick, she consoled the suffering, she learned 
 how to make all the delicate viands that please or 
 nourish invalids, and supplied them to cases of need 
 and desert ; she interested herself in the fervent and 
 eloquent sermons of Mr. Atterbury ; her head bent 
 lowest in prayer, her voice rose highest in praise ; she 
 was punctual at every service ; yet against her con 
 victions, her will, her common sense, she was haunted 
 through all by John Stonebridge s face, as if she were 
 a murderer and he a victim. 
 
 One still August day, when the sky was gray, the 
 south wind blowing, and the sullen dash of long, dark 
 waves beating the shore, Hiram drove up to Governor 
 Stanley s house and asked to see Miss Sybil. She left 
 the window where she sat looking at the water, and 
 seeing instead a man s face, and went down. Hiram 
 stood at the hall door, keeping an eye on his gig, 
 which was the pride of his soul, and twirling his old 
 straw hat between his horny hands. 
 
 He made Sybil an awkward bow and plunged at 
 once into his errand. " Say, Miss Sybil, Delye wants 
 to know ef you can come over to Hillside right off ? 
 there s a woman there seems to be sort of crazy-like, 
 
DELAY. 209 
 
 or something and she s bound to see you ; she s got 
 your name writ onto a paper. I tackled up and come 
 over for ye, and I ll fetch ye back ef you ll go." 
 
 "Yes, Hiram, I will go," said Sybil, with a faint, 
 sweet smile. 
 
 She was often so sent for, and only staying to put 
 some simple doses and a jar of gruel into the basket, 
 she used for such purposes, she stepped into the gig 
 beside Hiram, and a half hour s drive through the sad, 
 sunless air brought them to the farm. 
 
 Delia came out to meet them, flushed and tearful. 
 
 " Land of Goshen, Miss Sybil ; she s cleared out ! 
 She hes, and left the babe right here. I am beat ! " 
 
 "How came she here at first ? " asked Sybil. 
 
 " Why, she footed it over from Darby, right along 
 the pike, so she told, and she was real footsore ; but 
 fust thing she come in, she pulled out a paper with 
 your name on t, and asked real prompt, if you lived 
 round here, and when I said you did, she was for goin 
 down to the taown right off, but I said Hi should fetch 
 ye. When that he was gone, she set and meditated 
 quite a spell ; then she wanted some writin paper, so 
 I give her a leaf out of the back side of " Jinkses 
 Devotions," and Hi s quill pen, and she writ a spell, 
 and then she sort of folded up the paper and laid it 
 onto the babe s breast, he lyin asleep onto the settle- 
 bench. I went out to see if my biscuits was riz, and 
 when I come in she was gone, and she ha n t come 
 back yet. I don t know nothing what s come of her." 
 
 Sybil stooped to look at the sleeping child and saw 
 
210 STEADFAST. 
 
 her own name on the paper, under one of its tiny 
 hands. She took it from that slight pressure and 
 opened it. This was written in it, 
 
 " sibil Saltonstol. I heered John say that Name in 
 his slepe ; hee was Mine and You took him : now You 
 can Hav his Childe : You hav stole One, take t other. 
 
 I hav no Concern to liv no More 
 
 "arbell." 
 
 Sybil shuddered and dropped the paper on the 
 floor. This was the way that John Stonebridge con 
 soled himself then. Her face grew stern and white, 
 her pride took fire, her purity recoiled ; traitor alike 
 to God, to this creature, to her, John Stonebridge fell 
 from his pedestal then and there. She loathed with 
 all her soul the feet of clay that her idol stood upon. 
 
 "Is the anything about the babe ? " asked Delia. 
 
 Sybil did not answer her. The child was the sign 
 and seal of guilt and sin. No instinct of womanhood 
 stirred her pity for its evil fate, its hapless innocence. 
 
 "You can take it to the selectmen," she said, at 
 last, speaking like an automaton ; she did not even 
 lift the paper from where it dropped, she drew up the 
 hood of her light riding-cloak and went out to the gig, 
 Hiram following. When he came back he said to 
 Delia, 
 
 "Say, she never spoke a word the hull way. I 
 never see a human critter look the way she did. 
 What upon airth did that paper say ? " For Hiram s 
 keen, marital eyes perceived that it was gone from the 
 floor. 
 
DELAY. 211 
 
 " Oh, land ! a mess of stuff ! The girl wanted for to 
 have her take that child." For Delia sometimes re 
 served her confidences. 
 
 " Well, I shouldn t want no child o mine to be took 
 by one that looked like as she did. She ain t real 
 kindly, now is she, Delye ? " 
 
 "Well, she is, an she ain t. She s proud as all pos 
 sessed, and pious as all natur, and the has ben times 
 when she set by some folks like everything. But I 
 guess she ll let that babe alone." 
 
 " What be you goin to do with t ? " meekly in 
 quired Hiram. 
 
 "Give it some warm milk," was Delia s dry re 
 sponse. 
 
 Sybil was once more alone in her chamber, dry-eyed, 
 wan, silent. 
 
 Out on the lashing water, christened into that new 
 ness of life we call death, by the dripping rain, floated 
 John Stonebridge s idle love, the mother of his for 
 saken child, poor Arbell. 
 
 But Sybil lived to conquer and to serve. 
 
CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 JUDGMENT. 
 
 Sense endureth no extremities ; and sorrows destroy us or 
 themselves. 
 
 THE little village of Trumbull was thrown into 
 wild excitement two days after Sybil s visit to Hill 
 side Farm by the discovery of a young girl s body 
 washed up on the shore close by. Delia at once sus 
 pected that it was her transient guest, and would have 
 kept the surmise to herself, but that she knew Hiram, 
 a real masculine gossip, would never be able to hold 
 his peace on the subject, however she might exhort 
 him. She judged him truly ; no sooner did he hear 
 of the discovery, than he avowed his belief that it 
 was the girl who had left her baby with his wife, and 
 Delia was at once sent for to identify the body. Poor 
 Arbell ! the delicate, rounded figure lay on a bench in 
 a fisherman s hut just out of the village, its clinging 
 garments torn from the strong white arms and marble 
 bosom by the fury of the waves, the bare feet bruised 
 and one wrenched cruelly, but the lovely face undis- 
 figured, tranquil, but oh how ineffably sad ! Its ten 
 der outlines were brought out by the mass of dark 
 wavy hair that poured its wealth, dank and dripping, 
 about the dimpled shoulders even to the knee, and 
 
JUDGMENT. 213 
 
 Delia s tears fell hot and fast as she looked at the 
 hapless wreck of life and loveliness. 
 
 She had, with sudden prevision, thrown the note 
 Sybil read into the fire, and when, posted by Hiram, 
 the justice who presided at this informal inquest, a 
 man of many small offices, being justice of the peace, 
 coroner, hog-hayward, titheing-man, and town clerk, 
 asked her what were the contents of the note, she 
 answered him as she had her husband, that it was a 
 request that Miss Saltonstall should take care of her 
 baby. 
 
 "I spose," added Delia, astutely, "the poor cretur 
 had heerd how good Miss Sybil is to folks, and 
 havin made her mind up to do away with herself, she 
 thought to leave the babe in good hands. Its amazin 
 to me she didn t drownd it along with her." 
 
 The sole item of information beside this was the 
 girl s own confession that she came to Trumbull from 
 Derby, thirty miles up the country, but in the whole 
 some want of communication among the scattered 
 towns of the colony, and the equally wholesome want 
 of gossiping newspapers, Derby gave no sign, and it 
 was nobody s business to go thither and hunt up in 
 formation that could do no good ; this waif of the 
 world was buried in a corner of the Trumbull grave 
 yard, and no stone told her mournful story, or even 
 that her name was Arbell. 
 
 Madam Talcott had her own suspicions ; she remem 
 bered that the day John Stonebridge left her house so 
 suddenly, she had herself taken the few letters from 
 
214 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 the servant who fetched them, and that of the two 
 John had, one was on regimental business evidently, 
 from its outer aspect and peculiarity of address, 
 while the other was directed in an unformed round 
 hand, and in the corner was scrawled "Derby" after 
 the fashion of old-time country postmarks. But 
 Madam Talcott was a wise and a proud woman; she 
 said nothing. Well she knew that the Stonebridge 
 race thought little of what they termed " peccadil 
 loes " of this sort ; many a village girl before Arbell 
 had rued the day when one of that family had noticed 
 their rustic beauty and betrayed their simple faith. 
 She hoped the matter might be hushed up and never 
 come to Sybil s ear, for though she inwardly thought 
 Sybil a stiff prude, she would have been glad to have 
 her cousin John "settle himself" so well, as to 
 wealth and position, and she held the ancient fallacy 
 firmly, that a reformed rake makes the best husband. 
 But for Sybil all " love time," as the old poets call 
 it, was over. Her pride, the besetting sin of her na 
 ture, was up in arms ; she loathed the thought that 
 ever she had stooped to care for an adulterer and 
 murderer, for she looked the truth in the face, revolt 
 ing as its visage was. And to fortify her pride, as 
 Delia had said, came in her piety ; she shuddered to 
 think how near she had come to yielding her life and 
 soul into the guidance of such a reprobate, and 
 thanked God fervently that she had been enabled to 
 fight the good fight of faith and lay hold on eternal 
 life. Alas ! it is a phrase of war that there are some 
 
JUDGMENT. 215 
 
 victories that are worse than defeats ; her purposes 
 were indeed broken off, and an awful void, a sense of 
 outlook into some horrid gulf from the edge of a 
 precipice, such as haunts the troubled dreamer, 
 showed her now that hitherto she had, unconsciously, 
 cherished a little spark of hope in the future, of an 
 swer to prayer. 
 
 She did not in this rirst blank consider that all an 
 swers to prayer are not affirmative, or that John 
 Stonebridge, with the scornful levity characteristic of 
 the man, would resist and defy even the influence of 
 the woman lie loved best, if it tended toward a 
 higher life than he led of his own will. But the 
 release of -Sybil also was the safety of Esther. 
 
 Jealous, without knowing where or upon whom to 
 direct her jealousy, when Annetje heard the sorrow 
 ful story of Arbell, her suspicions, cruel and insulting 
 as the suspicions of jealousy ever are, fell upon 
 Philip ; he was away from her a great deal on plea 
 of business of course, and her own condition of health 
 just now would not admit of her taking long drives ; 
 she put "this and that together," much after the 
 fashion of a modern crazy-quilt, and worked herself 
 up into a conviction, almost amounting to certainty, 
 that Philip was the seducer of the suicide, and the 
 father of the child still in Delia s care ; for Delia had 
 found it hard to part with the baby, who won its way 
 into her childless tender heart, not only because it was 
 a baby and motherless, but because it had all those 
 infantile charms that make babyhood irresistible. 
 
216 STEADFAST. 
 
 That the child was left at Hillside, and that Delia 
 had kept it, confirmed Annetje in her belief : she did 
 not really love Philip, but she loved herself intensely, 
 and treason to her position was a dire offence. Angry 
 and insulted, Philip at first refused to exculpate him 
 self, but frightful hysterics on his wife s part, and a 
 certain sense of guilt on his, as far as losing his affec 
 tion for her and making love to another woman 
 seemed to him guilt, at last drove him into a patched- 
 up peace ; but Annetje was determined to leave Trum- 
 bull at once and return to New York for her confine 
 ment, instead of staying near what she was pleased to 
 call a " rival baby," and in the interim she would not 
 allow Philip a moment out of her sight, and he dared 
 not write a word of farewell to Esther lest it should 
 fall into other hands. 
 
 So again he left her, as suddenly as before, and 
 again with Annetje. 
 
 And having so left her it occurred to him that 
 after all the situation had been embarrassing j he had 
 now a chance to put an end to what might be a pain 
 ful and weary relation in the future, so like a wise 
 man he dropped Esther entirely ; not one word came 
 to refresh her tired and anxious spirit ; she was again 
 alone, with her own thoughts. This second desertion 
 as it seemed to Esther, aroused her to a deeper knowl 
 edge of Philip s real character than she had hitherto 
 possessed. She began to understand the overpower 
 ing self-love that was his dominant trait, and in the 
 new pain of this second loss she also saw how false 
 
JUDGMENT. 217 
 
 and wrong her own conduct had been. Severed from 
 the eyes that had for her the real snake-charm ; hear 
 ing no more the voice of tender passion that had fed 
 her bewitched ear with phrases of love and appeals 
 for consolation, Esther, like Sybil, stood in the midst 
 of the wilderness, alone, but without Sybil s consoling 
 consciousness of a victory over herself, and a stainless 
 heart and life. 
 
 Shortly after Philip and his family returned to New 
 York, Parson Hall came back from his three months 
 stay at Northampton. In his absence, Aunt Kuthy 
 had gone up the country to see relatives, and the 
 parsonage stood empty of life. Trumbull people 
 were glad enough to see its windows thrown open 
 again, and the smoke curling up from its great chim 
 ney ; and Mr. Hall was equally glad to be at home. 
 
 His stay in Northampton had been a fresh and 
 vivid experience to him ; like most of his contempor 
 aries, he had been educated under the precepts of the 
 law of God, and the rigid demands of duty ; the Gos 
 pel was set aside in those days as too mild a doctrine 
 to use freely ; and sinners were driven with scorpion 
 lashes of threatening, fears of judgment to come, 
 horrors of eternal punishment, to accept conversion 
 instead of salvation. 
 
 But Parson Hall s nature, and the sweet charities 
 of Rachel s religion had agreed so well, that long be 
 fore he went to Northampton his belief had grown 
 uneasy to him; he felt a deep need of something 
 more comforting and healing than the stringent de- 
 
218 STEADFAST. 
 
 mands of the decalogue, and the aspect of God as an 
 avenger and punisher. In the midst of the crowds at 
 Northampton who were melted to tears or excited to 
 joyful praise by the divine eloquence of Whitfield 
 and Edwards, he too learned the lesson of the Gospel, 
 that God is love, not in the sense of that feeble human 
 love, that is weak, partial, and incapable of justice ; 
 but love that is spiritual, sacrificial, strong, and tem 
 pering its true judgments with heavenly mercy. 
 
 Full of this new light he returned to his charge, 
 and soon the church at Trumbull was filled to its ex 
 treme capacity, for not only his own people, but those 
 of adjoining parishes flocked to hear him, and the 
 Great Awakening extended all over that part of Con 
 necticut. 
 
 There were meetings thrice a week besides those on 
 Sunday, the small gayeties of the town were sus 
 pended, shopmen closed their doors, fishermen left 
 their nets to dry, farmers forgot their ploughing for 
 winter grain ; men, women, and children poured into 
 the church, all sects and many of no sect flocked to 
 hear the wonderful Gospel ; a story old as ever, but 
 forever new; and more than new in its rekindled 
 aspect, and the heart-thrilled eloquence of him who 
 now delivered it. 
 
 Hiram, driven by Delia to attend these meetings, 
 when the baby kept her at home, soon came under 
 this influence, and to his wife s tearful joy declared 
 himself a changed man, and was admitted to the 
 church. 
 
JUDGMENT. 219 
 
 " He was good enough afore," declared Delia, " as 
 fur as this world goes ; I hadn t never no fault to 
 find with Hi ; he s a good provider, and amazin kind 
 to his own folks, and dretful handy round the house. 
 I dono as he ll be any better in them ways, but he 
 wasn t a professor nor he wa n t reelly converted; 
 didn t never read the Bible, nor pray, nor attend the 
 Sanctooary reg lar. I used to feel consider ble bad 
 when I thought about his future state, and the onsar- 
 tainty of life, and such as that ; for I set quite a little 
 by Hirani ; and its been borne in on my mind that 
 mabbe I done wrong to him as well as to my profes 
 sion by marry in of him. I dono s I did, an I dono 
 as I did ; but it s all right now, glory halleluyer ! an 
 thank the Lord ! " and she wiped her eyes with her 
 checked apron, for they were full to overflowing. 
 
 Even Sybil s rigid, pale face softened and glowed 
 with sympathetic feeling as she too learned further 
 of the love that had only worn to her the stern linea 
 ments of dreary duty. Parson Hall had noticed two 
 faces when he first went up into his pulpit after so 
 long an absence, that made his heart ache ; Sybil s, 
 set in lifeless, icy endurance ; Esther s, full of unen 
 durable woe. For Esther s face was one of wonder 
 ful expression, it varied with every thought : when 
 she was gay it absolutely sparkled, when she was sad 
 all its lineaments were surcharged with grief so 
 patent that even the little children of her charge 
 stole to her side with mute caresses, and whispered 
 wistfully among themselves. It wrung Parson Hall s 
 
220 STEADFAST. 
 
 heart to look at Esther ; he had left her blooming 
 and blissful, now she was the image of despair. He 
 knew Philip Kent had left Truinbull somewhat sud 
 denly, but he had only just heard it, and he shrank 
 from attributing to this fact, Esther s unhappiness. 
 Sybil s face pained him too, but she had never inter 
 ested him like Esther. Sybil had the capacity for 
 being a saint, but one saint at a time is as much as 
 the best of men can endure as a companion ; it was 
 Esther s total unlikeness to Eachel that attracted 
 Parson Hall ; whatever life might bring to her of a 
 new love or a religious experience, Esther would 
 always be a woman j warm, jealous perhaps, faithful, 
 loving, and impulsive ; the sort of creature to pet, 
 to caress, to be a companion; amusing and tender, 
 " everything by turns, and nothing long," but never a 
 saint j that sort of material was not in her. 
 
 The story of Arbell, too, had but recently been told 
 to the minister, and he had his opinion of the matter ; 
 but it did not, like Annetje s, cast a shadow of suspi 
 cion on Philip, rather did it find confirmation in 
 Sybil s wan and frigid aspect, the look of one who 
 has lost all that made earth dear, and was not yet 
 comforted by the peace of heaven. 
 
 But as the days went on, Esther was carried out of 
 herself and her grief ; her heart, sad and vacant, 
 turned to the hopes of the gospel as a flower opens to 
 the dawn : she saw no longer an angry and avenging 
 God ready to visit her with direct judgment for her 
 sin, but she perceived a redeeming Saviour, come to 
 
JUDGMENT. 221 
 
 deliver her at once from its penalty and its bondage, 
 and with all her enthusiastic nature she devoted her 
 self to His service, and basked in the sweetness of 
 forgiveness, the joy of a new spiritual life ; she, too, 
 with a crowd of others, stood up with Hiram to 
 acknowledge her inward change and pledge herself to 
 the Master, and Parson Hall bitterly rebuked himself 
 that in that solemn hour he could notice the rapt 
 loveliness of her countenance, the peace and glory, of 
 her beautiful eyes ; he forgot that he was a man as 
 well as a minister. 
 
 But Esther knew she was still a woman ; even in 
 those hours of prayer that filled her soul with the 
 divine tranquillity that comes of communion with the 
 divine, she could not yet pray for Philip ; she felt her 
 past sin with renewed poignance since she also felt 
 that it was forgiven of God ; and she felt, too, more 
 bitterly, the sin and shame belonging to a man who, 
 himself a professor of the same religion, could so 
 belie his avowed faith by his walk and conversation. 
 It was as yet impossible, even in the humility and 
 joy of her own forgiveness, that she should forgive 
 Philip or pray for him. She had yet to learn that 
 forgiveness does not mean excuse or condemnation, 
 but a fulness of superhuman goodness that 
 
 " Like a mighty stream 
 
 O er all our sins divinely flows." 
 
 It was not so with Sybil ; in the new uplifting of 
 her already consecrated soul, she prayed for John 
 Stonebridge as a cherub, image of wisdom and 
 
222 STEADFAST. 
 
 strength, might have prayed for a sinful man ; with 
 out one throb of emotion or personal interest, but on 
 general principles ; just as she prayed for all the 
 people of the colony, for heathens and publicans and 
 sinners everywhere. John Stonebridge as a man and 
 a lover was forever dead to her, and she had made 
 " suttee " upon his memory, of this world s passions 
 and hopes, as far as she had any share in them ; but 
 as a sinner among other sinners, still going astray 
 and beguiling others into sin, he still lived and 
 needed prayer. He would not have been nattered 
 by his position in Sybil s mind; even if he ever 
 should know it. Could it be true here too, that 
 
 " It was uot love that went " ? 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 TEMPY S TURN. 
 
 An odd little god, 
 
 Dan Cupid, is he ! 
 His arrows do fly, alow and ahigh ; 
 
 A wonder to me. 
 
 AMONG others who crowded in from the neighbor 
 ing villages during this period, to hear Parson Hall 
 preach at the " protracted meetings." was a certain 
 little man of discreet age, who had met Miss Temper 
 ance Tucker before she came to live in Trumbull. 
 
 Deacon Ammi Hopkins was a short, fierce-looking, 
 alert person ; his gray hair was brushed as upright on 
 his head, as if it were a bristle brush; his deep-set 
 eyes snapped with determination, and his shaggy, 
 heavy eyebrows gave him a perpetual frown ; while 
 his thick, red nose, and firm lips gave you the idea of 
 a will and temper not easily moved or placated. But 
 it was not so ; it is true Ammi was a man of loud and 
 aggressive speech, but at heart kindly, simple, and in 
 tent to do all his duty according to his "light." 
 
 He came in to call on Miss Tempy one night, after 
 tea, and poured out his story to her sympathetic ear, 
 for he had a story. The unlucky little man had just 
 been admonished by the church in Pickering, where 
 he lived, and his whole soul was roused with what he 
 would have called righteous indignation. 
 223 
 
224 STEADFAST. 
 
 "I ll tell ye jest how twas, Miss Tempy," he said, 
 carefully depositing his broad-brimmed beaver hat on 
 the floor, spreading his red and yellow bandana hand 
 kerchief across his knees, and pursing up his lips with 
 a pleased consciousness that he had a tale of woe to 
 impart. 
 
 " You see, Parson Dyer, he was a puttin forth con- 
 sider ble strong doctrine one Sabbath day. I guess 
 twas in July last; yes, twas; because I remember 
 twas the sixth day of July, of a Saturday, I had 
 bought a cow-critter of Minadab Sparks, down to 
 Dog s Misery, n he d got the better of nie on the 
 trade ; for come to rind out that cow was nine year 
 old, ef she was a day, and I ve faith to b lieve he 
 knowed it the hull time. Well, that sot me a thinkin 
 about the sinfulness of sin, nd how bad twas for 
 other folks besides the sinner ; and I fell back, as I 
 hed ofttimes before, onto the myster ous workins of 
 Providence. I ve always ruther consated that the 
 wasn t no good puppus in sin. I can t see none, 
 and to look at it in a common sense p int o view now, 
 how can the be good to evil ? It s a clear contradic 
 tion to my mind. I d had it revolvin around in my 
 head all Sat day evenin . I d read over the Catechiz, 
 but that didn t p int out any way of escape, as you 
 may say, nor I couldn t find none in Scriptur so fur 
 as I had time to study on t that night, concernin the 
 matter ; and Sunday mornin too, some* Well, I went 
 to meetin , and there I sot, still consarned in my mind 
 on the subjeck-matter, when sure enough, Parson Dyer 
 
TEMPY S TURN. 225 
 
 he up and give us a most an amazin discourse, where 
 in he went for to say that sin was a part of the dis 
 pensation of Providence, and ther fore wasn t to be 
 questioned about ; nor no vain seekin to be entered 
 into about the cos or beginnin on t. 
 
 " Well, I was stounded, so to speak, and clear put 
 about ; and I shook my head consider ble smart, as 
 who should say No ! no ! I purtest aginst that view 
 on t. I dono as I should have did it in meetin if I 
 had have considered the matter real thorough ; p raps 
 I shouldn t ; but I was took aback, and I sort of spoke 
 in meetin . There wasn t no speech nor language, as 
 Scriptur says, but in the eye on t I sort of made as 
 though I would speak, and Deacon Small he see me. 
 Now, Miss Tempy, I should like to ask ye what s 
 your onprejudiced mind on the subject ? Did I do 
 what I hadn t ought to hev did ? Did I disturb pub 
 lic worship an rile the meetin ? " 
 
 "Well," answered Miss Tempy, briskly, laying 
 down the stocking she was always knitting, and look 
 ing at him over her spectacles. "I m free to say I 
 dono wherein you done wrong. Who was to know 
 you wasn t asleep, and a dreamin ? " 
 
 " Me ! " screamed the outraged Ammi. " Me asleep 
 in meetin ! Why, I d ruther you d said I had spoke 
 my mind right out. Haven t I sot under Parson Dyer 
 this twenty odd year and heered him down to nine- 
 teenthly every Sabba -day, but one when he was off to 
 his sister s funeral, and never so much as nodded ? " 
 
 "Well, well. Sam Small might ha 7 mistrusted. ye, 
 
226 STEADFAST. 
 
 for all. The spirit is willin ye know sometimes, 
 when the flesh ain t. As fur as the doctrine goes, why, 
 I ha n t looked into it myself. I m considerable taken 
 up with my work week days, and Sabba -days I feel 
 as though twas the most I could do to listen to the 
 sermons without tryin to take em all in. Leastways 
 I done so when I lived to Pickering ; but here tis dif 
 ferent. Parson Hall is a real searchin and comfortin 
 preacher. He don t fuss much with doctrines and 
 sech." 
 
 " Well, I make no doubt, Sister Tucker, but what 
 he s sooted to your sect. The woman was in the 
 transgression ye know, and ain t on an ekality with 
 men folks. Milk for babes, Scripter says, and it 
 ain t strange that Parson Hall soots you ; but I wa nt 
 so much inquirin as to your opinion about the idea of 
 sin bein a good or no, as I was askin ef you seemed 
 to sense that I d did enough to be called up before the 
 meetin and admonished." 
 
 " No ; I don t," sharply replied Tempy. " I don t 
 think you done a thing out o the way. I dono why 
 a man can t shake his head in meetin , if so be he 
 feels to do it. Parson Dyer ain t the king, nor yet 
 he ain t nyther pope nor bishop. I guess our folks 
 didn t cross the water to get rid o them church an 
 state things to put up with em in these colonies." 
 
 The first spark of the Eevolution snapped in Miss 
 Tempy s black eye, and its battle-flag cast a red glow 
 on her cheek as she spoke; yet she herself would 
 never have dared to defy such a constituted authority 
 
TEMPY S TURN. 227 
 
 as a minister s, for herself. It was her womanly 
 sympathy with Ammi ; it was her womanly nature 
 that made her add, 
 
 " As to what you was a sayin about * milk for 
 babes ef my mind serves me, the is a Scriptur 
 about the pure milk of the word and sech it is, to 
 my thinkin , that we get from Parson Hall." 
 
 "Well, well, well !" testily replied Ammi, "that s 
 nyther here nor there ; the matter in hand is I was 
 fetched up and admonished ; and I don t fellowship 
 that proceedin . I shook my head a puppus ; and I ll 
 do it agin, ef I m a mind to. I don t care a corn- 
 shuck about bein admonished by em ; the church has 
 backslid in these latter days ; its full of what the 
 Tostle calls false doctrines, heresies and schisms ; 
 there s the abominable doctrines of the Quakers down 
 to Ehody ; there s the Baptists sinnin aginst light 
 with their dippin and what not; there s the Hop- 
 kinsites, and Sandeman s follerin , and the Lord only 
 knows what else beside ; Prelatists right here amongst 
 ye, and Papists, for- t-I-know ; and you set light by 
 doctrines. I tell ye, Miss Tempy, they re the bone 
 an sinner of the church of God ; might as well build 
 a barn thout rafters as a church with no doctrines 
 nor covenant nor platform." 
 
 " Tis said they re dispensin with the half-way 
 covenant mostly," put in Miss Tempy, with feminine 
 evasion of the question. 
 
 " I guess they be, I guess they be. To my mind 
 twas worse than nothin ; nyther fish nor flesh, nor 
 
228 STEADFAST. 
 
 good red herrin as the say is. The Lord says, < Come 
 ye out of her my people ! meanin the world an its 
 comp ny, and comin out is comin out, ta n t settin 
 on the fence and lookin cross-eyed both ways." 
 
 " Well, we re havin an amazin season of refreshin 
 here, Deacon Hopkins," smiled Miss Tempy, her own 
 snap having hospitably given place to the deacon s. 
 
 " Yes, yes, you be. I come over a puppus to see ef 
 twas a real visitation, and so fur as I see it doos ap 
 pear to be a genooine outpourin . I wish t Parson 
 Dyer would have the mind to come along an light his 
 lamp to this burnin bush." 
 
 Miss Tempy did not second the wish ; she was more 
 interested in her visitor than in Parson Dyer. She 
 rose nimbly from her low chair and opening the door 
 of the corner cupboard extracted from its upper shelf 
 a goodly seed cake set on a plate of old china ; a small 
 decanter of currant wine, and two thin spindle-legged 
 wineglasses, setting them on the table by the guest 
 with an air of pleased hospitality. The deacon ac 
 cepted a wedge of the dainty loaf, and Miss Tempy 
 poured a brimming glass of wine. 
 
 " You ve no need to be afraid on t, deacon," she as 
 sured him. " I made it myself, and your mother giv 
 me the rewl. The s loaf sugar into % and I picked 
 the currants myself." 
 
 "I am extreme fond of seed cake," murmured the 
 deacon, his mouth filled with a huge bite of that 
 viand. " I haven t tasted none like this sence my 
 first died ; the second Mis Hopkins she was sickly, ye 
 
TBMPY S TURN. 229 
 
 know, and couldn t do round the house at all; she 
 wan t nothin but a bill of expense for them four year, 
 and then I berried her ; but I trust she s in glory ; ef 
 she is, I know she relishes it ; yes, she relishes it ; she 
 lived in a poor dyin frame, as the hymn-book says, 
 all them years, and we didn t have real good hired 
 help; our vittles wan t real relishin . I used to 
 hanker consider ble for a biled dinner such as my first 
 used to get a Saturdays. Then my third, she was a 
 stirrer, I tell ye ! dre dful savin ; most too much so ; 
 but twas a good p int, a good p int. Ef so be I d 
 have come acrost her first time I should ha had con- 
 sider ble more means ; not but what I ve got enough 
 now, but more is handy, ye know. Yes, Almiry hed 
 faculty, lots on t ; but she was kinder sharp, had 
 spells on t. So she bu st a vessel one day in one o 
 them spells ; sort of tempery she was, an it ris her 
 blood too fur ye see, and she dropped like a stun. 
 Yes, I ve be n widdered goin on eight months, and 
 I m some lonesome, I tell ye." 
 
 Here he took a long drink at his glass of wine, as if 
 to recover courage, or breath. Miss Tempy sprung 
 to refill it. 
 
 " Things is goin wrong with me ye see, Tempy." 
 (she observed he had left out the formality of Miss ) 
 " I ve got nobody but old Sally Steele to look after 
 me ; it s comin on killin time and who ll put down 
 my pork and beef as Almiry did ? I m gettin along 
 in years too, and I feel to say a loud Amen to that 
 Scripter which obsarves It is not good for man to be 
 
230 STEADFAST. 
 
 alone. I had a leadin ; yes, a powerful leadin to 
 come over to Trumbull for to hear Priest Hall s tell 
 about this here Great Awakenin ; but the minnit I 
 sot eyes on you, Tempy, acrost the meetin house I 
 knowed there was another puppus in that leadin . 
 I ve got means, and I ll give ye a comfortable home 
 and a good livin , and be to you one that ll walk toge 
 ther with you in righteousness, the same as Isaac and 
 Rebecca, if so you feel a leadin to answer me ac- 
 cordin as I would have you to answer," and the 
 deacon wiped his lips with one corner of the big red 
 handkerchief in which he had dutifully collected the 
 crumbs of the seed cake, and fixed his little gray eyes 
 on Tempy with the intelligent and questioning deter 
 mination of that maligned animal, the pig, when it 
 watches the apple or the ear of corn that a mischiev 
 ous hand holds a little out of reach. 
 
 A dark, painful flush rose among and over Miss 
 Tempy s wrinkles. " Why ! why ! " she stammered. 
 " Why, I hadn t no thought of such a thing, Deacon 
 Hopkins. Dear me ! I dono what to say. I d calker- 
 lated to abide as I was cordin to Scripter in the 
 mouth of the Tostle Poll." 
 
 " Marriage is honorable in all," answered the Dea 
 con, solemnly. " Poll says, accordin to my judg 
 ment, in the place you kote ; but tis an institootion 
 of God, marryin is ; and there seems to be a clear 
 leadin to our n, Tempy. Howsoever, I don t want to 
 hurry ye none ; marriage is -a sollum thing, and I 
 wouldn t hev ye to do it in haste and repent at leesure ; 
 
TEMPY S TURN. 231 
 
 Fm willin to hev ye think on t a spell, same as I 
 have. I ve got a little tradin in critturs to do over 
 to Niantic, betwixt meetin s, and I calculate that will 
 keep me here a hull week to the least. Tis Thursday 
 to-day ; you take a week to consider on t, and Thurs 
 day week I ll come back and see how tis." 
 
 " W-e-11," said Tempy, almost reluctantly. 
 
 The deacon emptied his crumbs neatly back on to 
 the cake plate, set down his glass, after draining the 
 last drop, lifted his beaver hat from the floor, and 
 with a frigid "Good-day," stalked out of the front 
 door with as much dignity as his short legs would 
 allow. 
 
 Miss Tempy sat down, threw her checked apron 
 over her face, and first laughed and then cried. 
 
 This proposal was a mere matter of business to 
 Ammi Hopkins ; he wanted a woman to keep his 
 house in order, provide the savory meat his soul loved, 
 and prevent waste and unthrif tiness in his household ; 
 a woman who would have no wages beside her needful 
 food and clothing, and save him the money paid out 
 now to an inefficient helper. He had his eye on two 
 or three other women if Tempy should fail him, but 
 he had selected her first because she had a small pit 
 tance of her own, certainly enough to clothe her, and 
 pay her contributions to the sparse church charities 
 which it was respectable to recognize. 
 
 But Tempy, poor Tempy ! was a woman. In 
 all her solitary life she had never before had an offer 
 of marriage, and it came to her like a shock ; pleasant, 
 
232 STEADFAST. 
 
 but startling. She had never read a novel in her life ; 
 nor had she the first idea of that over-mastering and 
 headlong passion called love. Diligent as her life had 
 been, full of little pleasures and small duties which 
 Esther would have scorned to consider as either pleas 
 ures or duties, and Sybil would have simply passed 
 by as trivial incidents, Miss Tempy had yet been 
 happier in her dull round than either of these heart- 
 wrecked young girls ; though sometimes it had been 
 a mortification to her, as it is to every woman in her 
 position, to think that no one had asked her in mar 
 riage, or even approached her with such an intention. 
 
 But now her crown had come. 
 
 A sagacious but cynical old gentleman once coun 
 selled a " seeking " widower, in this wise ; " Marry 
 an old maid, my dear fellow, if you re resolved to 
 marry. They re so grateful." 
 
 And the cynic showed some keenness of perception 
 in the advice. If Tempy had once tried the experi 
 ment of marriage, she might have been less pleased 
 and more cautious in this sudden prospect, but as she 
 sat there, in the darkness of her check apron, she 
 saw a vision of the pleasant old farmhouse at Picker 
 ing Centre, its goodly barns ; its ample garden, stocked 
 with vegetables and herbs ; its orchards, red and 
 golden with apples ; the flocks of fat poultry ; the 
 herd of sleek cows ; the pair of dapple-grey horses, 
 that would carry her " to mill and to meetin ," and 
 the warm respectable shelter such a house and home 
 would be for her coming age. 
 
233 
 
 She felt heartily grateful for the deacon s thought 
 of her, a lonely spinster ; and she thought no farther, 
 at least not yet ; she would talk with Esther ; she 
 would consult Parson Hall ; she would think and pray 
 about this all the week. Honestly, she thought the 
 question was yet to decide ; the answer yet in her own 
 power; she had never even heard of the sneering 
 French axiom, 
 
 "Chateau qui parle, femme qui ecoute, 
 Tous deux vont se rendre." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 COUNSEL. 
 
 Ask, and ask, and spend breath o the asking; then do what 
 thou wiliest in the end thereof. Tis a woman s way, good madam, 
 ever since Eve parleyed with the devil. 
 
 Miss TEMPY considered it her duty to lay this mat 
 ter before Parson Hall first, in his quality of her spirit 
 ual director ; for the directorship of the Papacy was 
 founded, as most of their rites are, on a knowledge of 
 human character, and human tendencies, and it is and 
 always will be as natural for a woman to have a con 
 fessor, be she ever so Protestant, as for a bird to fly. 
 There is not the smallest country parish or the great 
 est city congregation where the average woman does 
 not tell or wish to tell the pastor of the flock to 
 which she belongs, her troubles, inward or outward ; 
 if she dislikes or distrusts him, her doctor fills the 
 niche. Blessed is that woman who in place of either, 
 has a devoted and sensible husband to shrive and ad 
 vise her in all her mistakes and perplexities ; her 
 true and lawful confessor ; the real priest of his own 
 household. 
 
 But then there are so many widows and old maids : 
 and so many impatient or indifferent husbands. 
 
 Esther was too much absorbed in her own thoughts 
 to notice how Miss Tempy blushed and fidgeted that 
 
COUNSEL. 235 
 
 night at the tea-table, and how silent she was. In 
 her new life, full of bitter penitence and trembling 
 joy ; of the dawning hope that her sin was forgiven 
 of God, and the shrinking consciousness that it was 
 known in all its blackness to one man, Philip Kent, 
 Esther was unaware that she was selfish; yet she 
 was ; the "things of others " interested her no more,- 
 the time for that was not come. Life must rend and 
 convulse us ; shake our faith in ourselves and our 
 trust in others ; drive us to the roughest coverts with 
 its storms of woe ; and shatter the tabernacle of the 
 flesh till it gives up its mastery over the spirit, before 
 we know or act on the divine precept, " Love thy 
 neighbor as thyself." 
 
 Miss Tempy felt a little hurt that Esther did not 
 even ask if she were as well as usual, for her heart 
 was pining for sympathy ; but she smothered her 
 sighs, and after the dishes were " sided away," betook 
 herself to the evening meeting. She took a humble 
 seat just inside the door, not from any impulse of 
 humility, but because she wanted to see Mr. Hall as 
 he went out ; so she kept her place till the discourse, 
 the prayers, the hymns were all over, and the pastor, 
 after the fashion of those days, passed out before any 
 of the congregation stirred. Miss Tempy however, 
 being on the last bench, rose up and followed him to 
 the porch. 
 
 " Can I speak with you this evening, Parson Hall ? " 
 she said, in a timid voice. 
 
 "Surely you can, Miss Tempy," he answered, 
 
236 STEADFAST. 
 
 gravely yet pleasantly. " Will it suit your conven 
 ience to come to my study, or do you prefer that I 
 should accompany you to your home ? " 
 
 " I should like to see you alone, Mr. Hall ; and I 
 can t compass that to my house. Easter is there." 
 
 " True, true ! " said the parson, as if he had not 
 thought of that before. 
 
 He was an honest man, he would not lie, but there 
 is an instinct in the heart of man or woman, that 
 drives to subterfuge in the interest of passion, almost 
 unconsciously. Not for a world would Mr. Hall have 
 had Miss Tempy know that he had hoped she would 
 ask him to her house, that he longed to see Esther in 
 her home, to clasp her hand, and look into her beauti 
 ful, deep eyes ; yet he did not formulate the thought 
 to himself. 
 
 It was but a little way to Mr. Hall s house, and his 
 study door opened from the left hand of the little 
 entry-way into which they stepped from without ; a 
 dim oil lamp was burning on the shelf, and a great 
 bow-pot of early chrysanthemums, " artemishys " Aunt 
 Euthy called them, filled the chimney with their yel 
 low disks, and the air with their bitter, old-fashioned 
 fragrance. Miss Tempy sat down on the rush-bot 
 tomed settee, and plucking at her bonnet-strings with 
 nervous agitation, burst out at once. "You see, Par 
 son Hall, I want advisement. I m in a quandary, as 
 you may say." 
 
 Miss Tempy s face grew redder and redder, even 
 her funny upturned nose became red with her eager 
 
COUNSEL. 237 
 
 embarrassment, and her corkscrew curls seemed to 
 quiver beside the bright snapping of her little black 
 eyes. The parson smiled kindly, but said nothing. 
 " Well, you see the fact on t is, Deacon Hopkins came 
 down from Pickering to tend your meetin s ; he 
 thought he had a leadin to come ; and he naterally 
 called to see me, bein as I came from Pickering down 
 here, and knowed him well before I moved. But, 
 well, hm, I, that is " Miss Tempy made a 
 vigorous effort to swallow her confusion here, and 
 wrung her old linen handkerchief into a screw from 
 which it never recovered, being frayed and worn 
 with the assault ; but went on at last emphatically. 
 
 " Well ! he finally concluded, when he see me, that 
 the leadin had been tow rds marryin me. I dono 
 as twas ; I don t want to gainsay it ; maybe twas ; 
 but / hadn t had no leadin to sech a matter : I hadn t 
 never thought on t. I couldn t say amen right off, 
 and so I told him. He agreed thet I should take a 
 week to think on t, and to counsel with my friends. 
 I haven t got any folks to ask what they think on t ; 
 so, cording as he said, I thought to ask you. Shall 
 I ? or shan t I ? " 
 
 Mr. Hall did not answer at once, he was a little 
 appalled at the question ; in his straightforward, 
 simple heart and his ignorance of feminine human 
 nature, he really imagined that what he said would 
 decide the matter. 
 
 He looked back and thought of his life with 
 Rachel, seeking from experience the knowledge in- 
 
238 STEADRAST. 
 
 stinct denied Mm ; it was as if one walking in the 
 night should look upward to the sad and high stars 
 for guidance to his stumbling feet ; his life with her 
 had been one of denial and sacrifice ; he had married 
 her from a pure impulse of lofty and spiritual feel 
 ing ; a love that had in it no stain of earthly passion, 
 and therefore was unfit for the needs of earth and 
 man ; that had even become irksome and galling at 
 times, as he confessed to himself with bitter remorse 
 when she had at last left him alone. There was 
 nothing in such recollections to help him counsel 
 Tempy. 
 
 Then he thought of Esther, whom he hoped and 
 meant to marry ; this was the warm, bright hearth-fire 
 that comforts a man when he comes in from under 
 the stars, and fills his daily life with charm and con 
 tent, even when its first blaze of passion sinks into 
 the smoulder and whisper of a gentle flame. 
 
 This did not fetch him near Miss Tempy either ; he 
 understood Deacon Hopkins s position perfectly ; he 
 knew the man, and he knew what he wanted ; and, 
 man like, Parson Hall ranked Tempy in the same 
 category ; he considered that marriage was to them 
 both a cool, considerate bargain, the question being 
 whether one or both would be bettered thereby, either 
 in position or possessions. 
 
 He looked askance at Miss Tempy ; could he sup 
 pose that under that odd, withered, yet pungent as 
 pect, there still lived any sentiment ? any warm emo 
 tion ? Never ! she was a capable elderly female, most 
 
COUNSEL. 239 
 
 inauspicious of countenance toward anything but 
 hard sense and honest judgment ; he spoke then. 
 
 " I suppose Deacon Hopkins is a man of some 
 years, Miss Temperance ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, he is ; I expect he s five-and-sixty, if he s a 
 day ; but I ain t young myself." 
 
 " But in so important a step we should consider the 
 future. You may have the care of an aged and help 
 less man on your hands, my friend, when you your 
 self need care." 
 
 " Well, what of that ? Somebody ll hev to take 
 care of him ; might as well be me as the next one ; 
 and no young folks know how to nuss old ones. I 
 took care of pa for ten year after he hed shockanum 
 palsy, and mother was bed-rid fifteen year ; I m used 
 to sick folks." 
 
 " But, my good friend, that is the more reason why 
 you should have rest in your declining years. Is not 
 your home now comfortable and happy ? " 
 
 " Well, yes ; but I haven t no assurance twill last. 
 Easter s young, and reasonable good lookin ; what if 
 she should marry ? and I think likely she will." 
 
 A sharp thrill of dread smote the minister at these 
 words. Tempy went on, all unconscious of their 
 effect. 
 
 " And I a n t reelly declining not yet ; nor likely 
 to. Our folks is long livers, and I m as spry as most 
 folks be, yet." 
 
 "That is true," said the minister, smiling, "but 
 Time is going on, Miss Tempy, and his steps bear 
 
240 STEADFAST. 
 
 hard on us all. I take it Mr. Hopkins is a trusty and 
 well-to-do man." 
 
 This was merely suggestive and complimentary in 
 Parson Hall ; truly, he was at a loss what to say to a 
 woman who confuted as fast as he could offer it the 
 advice she had asked him to give her. 
 
 " Well, he s all o that ; he s been a church mem 
 ber in good an reg lar standin sence he come of age ; 
 he s got a good farm, and int rust money besides, and 
 he s hed three wives theb hevn t never faulted him as 
 I know of j good women they was too ; but he ha n t 
 no livin children, which is a blessiii . I shouldn t 
 ha give a second thought to t ef I d had to mother 
 other folkses children ; tain t a thing to be did, to my 
 mind ; the ain t no livin woman ekal to it. But 
 seein he and me was both kind of lonesome, it did 
 seem, the more I looked on t, to be a leadin of Prov 
 idence as he said. It s a forlorn thing, after all, 
 Parson Hall, not to have a livin cretur belongin 
 to ye ; nor one to say why do ye so whatever 
 you do do ; leastways tis so for a woman ; beshoo- 
 she may." 
 
 A tear that glimmered on Miss Tempy s stubby 
 black eyelashes enlightened as well as surprised the 
 parson. 
 
 " My dear good woman," he said, warmly. " It is 
 the best indication that God is leading you that he 
 inclineth your heart to do this thing ; and I can per 
 ceive that it is so inclined. I trust you may be a 
 helpmeet indeed to Deacon Hopkins, and I think he 
 
COUNSEL. 241 
 
 will be a most fortunate man in that you do not say 
 him nay ! " 
 
 Miss Tempy beamed with delight as she shook 
 hands with the parson for good-by and tripped out of 
 the door. It is so charming to be advised to do that 
 which we want to ; so cheerless to go out on a venture 
 of our own good will, but that of no other. 
 
 It was still hard to tell Esther, but she did not do 
 it as a seeker for advice ; as the two sat by the win 
 dow in the warm October twilight next day, waiting 
 for the church bell to ring, Miss Tempy took heart of 
 grace and told Esther that she meant to marry Deacon 
 Hopkins. 
 
 "Oh," said Esther, "why, Aunt Tempy ! I wonder 
 at you. When did all this come about ? " 
 
 " Well, it come as it come ; the Lord sendin it I 
 expect, Easter. Tis an amazin thing that Deacon 
 Hopkins should have took thought of me. I coun 
 selled with Parson Hall, and he favored it. It hain t 
 but one thwart to t, and that is the idee of leavin you. 
 But, as I told Parson, you re young and good-lookin 
 and pretty-behaved, and its more n likely you d leave 
 me some early day. so havin a chance, it behooved me 
 to jump at it. I shall hev a good home, and some 
 body to look after me, somebody that s got to, whether 
 or no ; so I shan t feel beholden to folks that ain t my 
 folks, if I should live to be old and bed-rid." 
 
 Esther had no more to say ; her heart sank at the 
 prospect of this little home to which she was just 
 growing attached, its kindly shelter, and safe peace, 
 
242 STEADFAST. 
 
 all to be swept away ; but she would not mar Aunt 
 Tempy s outlook with a suggestion of her own loneli 
 ness. She might maintain a servant, for her school 
 increased each season, but she needed for a home, some 
 friend, some companion ; she felt lost and bewildered. 
 
 Safe in her faith that Esther would marry, Miss 
 Tempy had no upbraidings of conscience about leav 
 ing her; and when on that fateful Thursday week 
 Deacon Animi appeared, punctual to the hour, in her 
 small parlor, and said in a pompous and official sort 
 of tone to the blushing old spinster, 
 
 " Well, Tempy, have you pondered on the matter to 
 be considered ? and are you free to acknowledge tis 
 the leadin and will of the Lord ? " 
 
 "I be," said Tempy, modestly but promptly, "the 
 will of the Lord be done." 
 
 Deacon Hopkins having so settled the matter, was 
 much in earnest to have his bargain fulfilled; "kil- 
 lin -time " would come in November, or early in the 
 next month, and if ever a man needed a capable, 
 thrifty wife, it was when salting down, and trying 
 out, hams, flitches, scraps, sausages, head-cheese, and 
 souse, were the matters in hand ; so Tempy s small 
 preparations were hurried; her linen taken in hand; 
 her gowns and petticoats re-fashioned; her winter 
 bonnet, a goodly poke of grey beaver, pressed and 
 new-trimmed ; and store of towels of her own spin 
 ning and weaving brought from a great chest in the 
 garret and "bleached up " from the yellowness of long 
 lying ; so about the third week in November, Parson 
 
COUNSEL. 243 
 
 Dyer came down from Pickering for the ceremony on 
 liis Narragansett pacer, companied by Deacon Hop 
 kins in his one-horse shay. Miss Tempy apologized 
 to Parson Hall for importing the Pickering minister 
 for this office, when naturally she would have had her 
 own clergyman. 
 
 "You see, Parson Hall, I j ined meetin under his 
 ministry, but I shouldn t have made no pi nt of that 
 as I know of, only he s always married Deacon Hop 
 kins, and I thought he d feel kind of strange if any 
 body else done it this time." 
 
 The apology was irresistible ; so in due season 
 Miss Tempy, arrayed in a gown of gray paduasoy, with 
 frills and pinners of pillow lace, her hair rolled over 
 a high cushion, a string of gold beads round her neck, 
 and black lace mitts on her skinny hands, was united 
 to Ammi Hopkins in the little parlor where he pro 
 posed to her ; and after a decent refection of loaf -cake 
 and hot flip, she took her place in the one horse shay 
 beside the Deacon, her coat of blue camlet and the 
 poke bonnet of beaver only half concealing the smiles 
 and airs of the venerable bride. 
 
 It had added the last touch to this quaint wedding, 
 that as soon as the brief ceremony was over, the Dea 
 con turned round to Tempy and remarked with pom 
 pous deliberation, 
 
 " See what a change ! Five minutes ago you was 
 nothin but an old maid ; now you are the honored 
 wife of Deacon Ammi Hopkins, Pickerin Centre." 
 
 Parson Hall took his brother minister off to dinner ; 
 
244 STEADFAST. 
 
 and apologized to him for Esther s want of hospitality 
 by explaining that her school-hours, and her solitary 
 condition now Tempy was gone, both prevented her 
 from entertaining company. 
 
 " Doth Esther Dennis teach a dame-school ? " in 
 quired Parson Dyer in surprise. 
 
 " She has to do something for her support," an 
 swered Mr. Hall, " and this seemed the most available 
 way so to do." 
 
 "But with all her property it seemeth she must 
 have a frugal mind to labor so," went on Parson 
 Dyer. 
 
 "But she has no property, brother." 
 
 "Where, then, is the estate of Joshua Dyer, my 
 cousin ? I was in these parts shortly before he died, 
 and he told me then, concerning his will, that he had 
 left a goodly portion of his means to Esther Dennis ; 
 both from good will and affection to her, and from an 
 assurance he had that she was well-disposed toward 
 Philip Kent, to whom he had left the lesser moiety of 
 his goods ; not thinking it seemly, he said, that a 
 man should owe everything unto his wife. I well 
 remember the will, brother Hall, and it was recalled 
 to me to-day, in that he also left, as he told me, five 
 hundred pounds to Miss Temperance Tucker; and I 
 considered it likely Deacon Hopkins had an eye to 
 that comfortable heritage when he selected the pert 
 little spinster." 
 
 " That will was never found, Brother Dyer. Philip 
 Kent inherited all, save a small sum left to Esther s 
 
COUNSEL. 245 
 
 mother, under an old will, made at Mrs. Dyer s 
 decease." 
 
 "Sho! sho!" burst out Parson Dyer. "There is 
 some iniquity to do somewhere. I was not at the 
 funeral, being laid up with a fever for ten weeks, and 
 thereafter sent to travel by sea for my great weak 
 ness ; but I never heard more of the matter, and fan 
 cied it all as he told me. It is bad, bad." 
 
 "And beyond man s remedy now," sighed Parson 
 Hall. 
 
 " Yes, yes, it must lie as it is, I suppose. Poor 
 girl, poor girl ! " 
 
 Parson Hall added a silent echo to the kind old 
 man s exclamation ; but he had only been confirmed 
 in his own suspicions. He had always doubted the 
 intent of that later will, and believed Esther wronged 
 in its loss. Little did he imagine that Esther herself 
 had wrought with her own hand this evil of her con 
 dition. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 FINALITY 
 
 Unto all things that be cometh an end at the last ; yea, even 
 unto this small round world. Alas! that there should be so much 
 beginning. 
 
 SHORTLY after Miss Tempy s wedding, there came 
 to Sybil an unexpected access of fortune. An Eng 
 lish relative of her father suddenly lost both his sons, 
 and, being old himself, died of the shock, and his 
 large estates devolved upon Mr. SaltonstalPs heirs ; 
 represented solely by this young girl, the only next 
 of kin. There had been a time when Sybil would 
 have been glad to be rich ; her natural pride, and 
 love of power, would once have fed eagerly on those 
 worldly advantages; but to her scathed and lonely 
 soul they were now but ashes and dust. John Stone- 
 bridge, however, held such things in more respect, 
 and hearing of this legacy, bethought himself to 
 make one more effort to melt Sybil s hard heart. He 
 had a sufficient property of his own to meet all his 
 real necessities, and provide for him many of the 
 luxuries of life ; but when a man gambles, and ca 
 rouses, and dissipates his money as well as his health 
 and his character, continuously, it takes a very con 
 siderable fortune to feed all these outlets. He was 
 already deep in the books of a certain usurious Dutch 
 
 246 
 
FINALITY. 247 
 
 money-lender in New York, and a great fortune would 
 be a good thing for him. 
 
 It is true he might have achieved a wealthy mar 
 riage more than once, had he so chosen ; for his hand 
 some person, his fine manners, his keen wit, and his 
 prestige as an officer in the army won for him much 
 admiration among the colonial belles of the day ; but 
 bad as John Stonebridge was, his heart still clung 
 to Sybil Saltonstall. It is hard for a woman to real 
 ize that a man can deeply love her yet be absorbed in 
 a thousand other things all the time ; even be tempo 
 rarily unfaithful to her, yet hold her image dearer 
 and deeper in his soul than any other thing ; but it is 
 sometimes so. Colonel Stonebridge had more than 
 once resolved to defy the power of this cold, proud 
 girl over his life and happiness, but it was stronger 
 than his will. 
 
 At the idea that there was now a reason of worldly 
 wisdom, a valid excuse for once more tempting his 
 fate, the old slumbering passion awoke in fresh 
 strength and swept him to her feet. 
 
 Sybil would have refused to see him, but the ser 
 vant who admitted him was a new comer and garbled 
 his name ; he was shown into the familiar withdraw 
 ing room, and stood looking out on the wintry sea, 
 grey, cold, and foaming under the rush of the north 
 west wind, when a slight rustle roused him from his 
 revery ; he turned and faced Sybil. 
 
 She stood motionless as some pale pillar in a dim- 
 lit church ; the white gown garnished with black rib- 
 
STEADFAST. 
 
 bons < which she wore in honor of her dead yet 
 unknown relative, made no contrast with her paler 
 face, her very hair had faded from its natural glitter, 
 and hung limp and dull in loose ringlets over her 
 shoulders ; her dress, in the phrase of the day, was a 
 dimity " negligee "; negligee indeed was the wearer s 
 aspect. 
 
 "Sybil!" hoarsely cried John Stonebridge, "I 
 have sworn to live without you, never again to 
 tempt your scorn ; but my love has prevailed against 
 vow and oath. I have come again. I could not for 
 bear. Sybil, have you not one kind, one hopeful 
 word for me ? Will you ever find another heart that 
 adores you like mine ? Can you refuse me again ? " 
 
 She raised one hand as if deprecating any such 
 wild language, and looked at him like one who gazes 
 from a mountain peak at some far distance invisible 
 to the watcher below. 
 
 " Never ! " she said, in a low, strange voice. " I 
 have no hope, no thought to give you, John Stone- 
 bridge. 7 
 
 " Never ? " he echoed, " why is it never ? I swear 
 you loved me once, Sybil ; cold as you are, I believe 
 you once held me in your heart." 
 
 It was an instinctive appeal ; he scarce believed 
 what he said in his own mad anxiety. 
 
 " If ever I did," she answered, in the same low, dis 
 tant tone, " I shall never do so more. There is one 
 who will forever stand between us, and fix there a 
 great gulf over which can no man pass," 
 
FINALITY. 249 
 
 " Who the devil dare cross my path like that ? " he 
 answered, wild with passion. 
 
 She looked straight at him ; her voice was like a 
 knell. " Arbell ! " was all she said. 
 
 Furious words rose to his lips, but he could not 
 utter them ; he would have replied to any other 
 woman with a scoff at her use of such a weapon, but 
 the awful lustre of those sad eyes, clear as the ice 
 that seals some crystal spring that, still pellucid, has 
 lost its living sparkle ; the pallor of her wasted cheek ; 
 the pathos of her wan lips half parted over the shin 
 ing teeth as if she could hardly breathe ; the sense of 
 that angelically severe purity which penetrated her 
 voice and her look like a diviner atmosphere than he 
 had ever dreamed of silenced him. For once in his 
 life, John Stonebridge felt a pang of shame, and it 
 stung him like a whiplash ; he dropped his head on 
 his breast, and hid his face in his hands. It was a 
 dumb confession. 
 
 When he lifted his face, Sybil was gone ; never 
 again, in life or death, did they meet ; and both of 
 them knew their parting was final. 
 
 Esther, meanwhile, went on her solitary way as 
 best she could. She established a decent middle- 
 aged black woman in her kitchen, who went to her 
 own home after her daily service was done, and left 
 behind her that terrible and oppressive solitude that 
 only a woman can comprehend. Yet not all women 
 comprehend it; there are many who live out their 
 lives in such loneliness and do not suffer from its ter- 
 
250 STEADFAST. 
 
 rors ; but Esther was nervous, imaginative, and heart- 
 lonely ; to her, the solitude had its own dreadful 
 voices ; its evening apprehensions ; its dumb, mid 
 night oppression. 
 
 She began to feel in another sense than it is used in 
 Scripture, yet no less true, that "it is not good for 
 man to be alone." Her meals, frugal and scanty, 
 went off the little table uneaten, sleep ceased to re 
 fresh her, it was so broken and so brief. She had 
 been many a time annoyed by Miss Tempy s little 
 notions, her fuss about nothing, her incessant flow of 
 talk, quaint and piquant as it was ; but now she would 
 have given anything to see again that round cheery 
 face opposite her at table ; she was absolutely home 
 sick for her companionship. Sybil did what she 
 could to cheer her friend, but Sybil herself after her 
 final interview with Colonel Stonebridge had fallen 
 into a state of languor and melancholy that made her 
 cheerfulness forced and unnatural ; so that Esther 
 was even more dispirited after their interviews than 
 before ; for she knew John Stonebridge had been in 
 Trumbull, had come and gone in the same day ; and 
 from her own experience she interpreted her friend s 
 melancholy, and made shrewd guess at its cause. 
 When, in the course of the winter, advices from Eng 
 land made it needful that Sybil should go over to see 
 to some affairs concerning her inheritance that could 
 not be transacted without her personal presence, she 
 begged Esther to give up her school and accompany 
 her. Governor Stanley was to escort his niece, and 
 
FINALITY. 251 
 
 Sybil would much rather take with her a friend and 
 companion than go alone with her uncle, a taciturn 
 and self-absorbed sort of man. But to Esther, inland 
 born and bred, a sea-voyage had unspeaka-ble terrors ; 
 not even her love for Sybil could tempt her to under 
 take a voyage of six weeks across that treacherous 
 tumbling water which was to her mind the very sea 
 of death. 
 
 Nor could she, either, have left her little school 
 with a clear conscience, since in so short a time as she 
 would have for preparation there could be no one 
 found to take her place ; so she made this her excuse. 
 But to Sybil the sea had no terrors ; she had always 
 lived beside it and loved it, and even to her well-dis 
 ciplined soul it was pleasant to think she could at 
 least escape the scenes of her life s worst anguish, 
 the place so crowded with painful associations. She 
 was obliged to drive out to Hillside Farm on an 
 errand for her Aunt Stanley one day before she left, 
 and, as she entered the door of the keeping-room 
 there was Arbell s child sprawling, in the delight of 
 its freedom from crib and go-cart, on a comfortable 
 Delia had spread across the floor. A pang shot 
 through Sybil s heart as the bold, beautiful infant 
 looked up and laughed in her face ; there were John 
 Stonebridge s dark splendid eyes ; mobile and expres 
 sive lips ; the very dimple that cleft his imperious 
 and determined chin. A pang of disgust and repul 
 sion made Sybil shudder ; and Delia, with feminine 
 acuteness called a woman who was at work in the 
 kitchen to take the child away. 
 
252 STEADFAST. 
 
 Women are curious anomalies ; some among them 
 would have gathered the fatherless baby into their 
 tender arms, and ignored its unconscious sin against 
 them j but Sybil was not of that mould ; she did her 
 errand ; bade Delia and Hiram a kindly and stately 
 farewell, and ordered Moses, the Stanley coachman, 
 to speed his horses as fast as might be safely done, 
 for she must hasten home. 
 
 When at last the Stanleys sailed, Esther felt her 
 desolation settle down about her like a cloud j it was 
 with a sense of relief and gratitude that she opened 
 her door one cold February evening to admit Parson 
 Hall, who hung his furred cloak and cap upon the 
 high nails in the entry wainscot, and coming in smil 
 ing, sat down before the fire in the big chair which 
 Esther placed for him. A quiet, friendly talk ensued ; 
 a discussion of the church and its prospects, and 
 queries concerning the school and its success ; then 
 in a natural way Parson Hall asked Esther if she 
 missed Miss Tempy. 
 
 There was a suspicious glitter in her eyes as she 
 answered, " I do, truly. I have much solitary time, 
 and lacking her cheerful countenance it is lonely in 
 deed." 
 
 " And Miss Saltonstall hath deserted us also." 
 
 " Yes, that was the last blow. I sometimes think 
 there is not another woman so utterly lonesome and 
 set apart as I am." 
 
 " There is another man, Esther, who hath endured 
 the like experience. Think you not that my hearth 
 
FINALITY. 258 
 
 is also cheerless ; and my home lacking smiles and 
 company ? " 
 
 Esther looked up at him with tender sympathy in 
 her eyes ; the parson s lips quivered, his voice was 
 broken and tremulous as he reached his hand across 
 and grasped hers, though his speech was manly and 
 straightforward, and full of simple dignity. 
 
 "Esther, my friend. I have come in hither this 
 evening of set purpose to ask you to come and be my 
 partner, my friend, my beloved wife j to share my 
 home and put away its loneliness ; and to find rest 
 and companionship in my true affection. Will you, 
 my dear ? " 
 
 Esther trembled, her hand quivered in his like 
 some fledgeling bird in the grasp of a schoolboy ; she 
 was surprised, frightened, agitated beyond self-con 
 trol ; the woman s refuge came to her, she burst into 
 tears. 
 
 Parson Hall was moved and pained. "Dear 
 Esther," he said, gently, " I meant not to startle you ; 
 I thought it might be you had read my countenance 
 somewhat, and were aware of the way my heart hath 
 tended for a considerable season." 
 
 "I I never thought of it," sobbed Esther. 
 
 " Think of it now then, dearest girl. I would not 
 have you hasty in decision even to relieve my great sus 
 pense. I have held you in respect and affection a long 
 while, Esther. I have delayed seeking my heart s de 
 sire until it seemed to me you needed solace, and affec 
 tion enough to consider this matter. I am older than 
 
254 STEADFAST. 
 
 I should be, my friend, to mate with a young maiden, 
 perchance ; but my heart is young and beats still with 
 warmth and keen emotion. But consider of it ; it is 
 all I ask. I could serve for thee seven years, my be 
 loved, even as Jacob served for Eachel, if so I were 
 sure of thee at the last." 
 
 Esther wiped her dim eyes, and looked shyly at the 
 parson. 
 
 " I cannot think it ! " she said, naively. " Oh, sir ! 
 I am. noway good enough for you." 
 
 The parson could not repress a smile, but it was 
 very gentle, as he answered. " Dear Esther ; it is not 
 thy province to judge of that. Verily, there is none 
 good, no not one, the Scripture saith ; but it is not 
 mere goodness the human heart asks of its fellow ; 
 it is love, sympathy, care, comradeship, that a man 
 craves from his wife. Can you give none of these for 
 my asking ? " 
 
 Esther s heart sank ; well she knew that no other 
 man would ever awaken in her breast the keen absorb 
 ing passion she had given to Philip Kent ; it was a 
 bitter recollection in this hour ; she remembered too, 
 how lost to all other earthly things she had been in 
 the new delight she found in his love ; nothing like 
 this filled her soul now ; no rush of overmastering 
 emotion ; she was surprised, grieved, humiliated to 
 know herself so all unworthy and irresponsive when 
 a man so saintly, so noble, so far above her, asked for 
 her heart. Confused and distressed beyond expres 
 sion, she rose to her feet and clasping her hands in a 
 
FINALITY. 255 
 
 gesture that was half an effort at calmness, half en 
 treaty, she said, 
 
 "Oh, I cannot, cannot tell ! I am not in my right 
 mind, I think. I can t believe it. Will you will 
 you leave me for a little ? I am confused. I cannot 
 think." 
 
 The parson was a gentleman in the noblest sense ; 
 he rose directly. 
 
 "I will leave you, my friend Esther. I have 
 been over hasty with you. Farewell, my dear; 
 when you will send me a word of welcome I 
 will come again. But hasten not, Esther; ponder 
 well on the matter ; it is for life, death, and I trust 
 Eternity." 
 
 The girl looked up at him with such pitiful trust 
 ful eyes, such an honest and pure desire to do the 
 right evident in their expression, that a sudden 
 change, almost a spasm of emotion passed over the 
 parson s face. With all the strength of his nature he 
 longed to fold her in his arms, and kiss away the 
 tears that bedewed her blushing face, for he loved her 
 as he had never loved before, with all the might and 
 passion of a man s nature ; but his self-control was 
 greater even than his nature ; like a giant it con 
 strained love and longing to hide their heads and 
 bide another day ; he did not even clasp the little 
 hand that was half offered to him ; he only said, 
 " Good-by, Esther. God be with you/ and as the 
 door closed behind him she flung herself down on the 
 
256 STEADFAST. 
 
 sofa, and a tempest of tears put an end to thought or 
 consideration for one while. 
 
 When it was over, Esther took up her candle, 
 raked up the fire, and went up to her bed. Was 
 it to sleep ? 
 

 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 A CONFLICT. 
 
 Shall I then end this life 
 Of solitude and strife 
 
 And live a happy lie? 
 Or leave my love alone : 
 
 Go make a wordless moan 
 Lay down my head and die ? 
 
 No, there was no sleep for Esther that night. 
 Her bed gave her no rest ; she sat up in the darkness 
 and held her cold hands to her burning forehead. 
 She had to face her life as never before ; the past, 
 which she had thought concerned herself alone, 
 turned and rent her now ; for it was not her own 
 any longer ; it was a matter of deep concern to Parson 
 Hall. She had never felt more lonely. Philip and 
 she were separated forever, not merely by the sepa 
 rations of time and space but by that all-powerful 
 barrier, the knowledge on her part that she had not 
 loved him, but instead loved an ideal and called it by 
 his name. 
 
 She had begun to see in this past year how utterly 
 selfish he was. and to feel as a modern writer puts it 
 that "Selfishness is the fault most impossible to 
 forgive or excuse, since it springs neither from an 
 error of judgment nor the exaggeration of a generous 
 motive ... it is the result of a cold-blooded, self- 
 257 
 
258 STEADFAST. 
 
 concentrated system of calculation, which narrows 
 the sympathies and degenerates the mental powers." 
 
 Nor had Esther even that fellow-feeling for the 
 fault that makes us all "wondrous kind" in excuse 
 and forgiveness. Unselfish and devoted herself, she 
 could not understand how another could be so utterly 
 regardless of her and her wounded heart as Philip 
 showed himself. Her impulse now was to put a 
 barrier between them that he would not dare to pass 
 over in order again to make her the amusement of his 
 idle hours, or the too-ready consolation for his com 
 fortless home life. 
 
 She felt that Parson Hall s wife would be safe 
 from any such intrusions ; and safe even if the traitor 
 ous heart within her desired once again to capitulate. 
 
 She longed to be protected against herself, for 
 while her reason told her all this hard truth concern 
 ing Philip Kent, her weak soul knew that his look, 
 his touch, his smile, had still power to thrill her to 
 her heart s core. 
 
 But then another aspect of the case stared her in 
 the face ; Parson Hall was honored, respected, be 
 loved, by every person in Trumbull ; had she, a thief, 
 any right to link her stained life to his ? 
 
 However firmly and gratefully she believed that 
 God had washed out her sin by the free grace of 
 redemption, she knew that toward man her fault still 
 wore its blackest aspect. She felt that she had 
 robbed the parish of a newer and more ample place 
 of worship, simply to aggrandize, Philip Kent ; and 
 
A CONFLICT. 259 
 
 how could she, a sinner, so deliberate and dreadful, 
 marry a saint like Parson Hall ? 
 
 If she could only tell him ! but, alas ! the secret 
 was not her own ; it would be betraying Philip ; 
 which she had no right to do, to save herself; no, 
 not to save, but to set her soul free toward this other 
 man. For Esther felt sure that Parson Hall would 
 regard her only with profoundest scorn if he knew 
 how she had fallen. 
 
 Yet again the other side of this question confronted 
 her ; here she was, lonely, helpless, poor ; life lying 
 before her as a barren desert, a long, weary journey, 
 which she had no right to shorten. She was natu 
 rally indolent, and the idea of working all her life 
 was intolerable to her ; though she did not know it, 
 she had been physically weakened by the sad and 
 tragic experiences of the past few years ; her weary 
 body tired the over-worn soul; the prospect of a 
 home, of care, of faithful tenderness, tempted her; 
 but to be a living lie all her life seemed to her horri 
 ble. 
 
 That it was a sin to marry without absorbing love 
 for the man one married, had not occurred to her ; 
 she was both innocent and ignorant, and in all the 
 world there was not a creature to whom she could go 
 for advice ; Sybil was out of reach ; Esther was that 
 loneliest of all human creatures, a motherless, friend 
 less young girl. 
 
 At last the sophistry of weakness and inclination 
 got the better of her ; she said to herself. 
 
260 STEADFAST. 
 
 " If I never tell Parson Hall, Philip never will ; he 
 dare not for his own sake ; I shall have a home where 
 I belong, a good, kind man to take care of me. If he 
 never knows how wicked I have been, what harm is 
 it ? I will be good now. I will not think of what is 
 gone. I will marry Mr. Hall." 
 
 Poor Esther ! as she rose wearily from her bed 
 at sunrise, set on this resolution, she forgot, nay ! 
 she knew not at all what lay before her, a life 
 of deception and terror ; the haunting of that black 
 est of all black cares, an evil secret. Poor, poor 
 Esther ! 
 
 All day she went languidly about her work, many 
 a misspelled word was all unnoticed, many a whisper, 
 pout, mistake in geography, or blot on copy book 
 passed by ; the joy of requited love, the first sweet 
 breath of the new-born Cupid, the " purple light " 
 that should have illumined all things, were not for 
 her. She had made up her mind as one resolves to 
 begin a long journey into an unknown country and 
 takes up his abode there ; and her soul was oppressed 
 with the same dread and inquietude ; she had chosen 
 one of two evils, not extended her hand to pluck a 
 great joy; no wonder her eyes were sad, her face pale 
 and drawn. She was not at all in the same position 
 that Miss Tempy occupied when she went to Parson 
 Hall for advice ; that little spinster had been so 
 pleased with the prospect before her that she had in 
 her heart resolved to accept it even before she 
 opened the parsonage door, though she had not for- 
 
A CONFLICT. 261 
 
 mulated the resolution to herself ; but it was a fore 
 gone conclusion. Esther was alone ; she had not yet 
 learned to ask help where it is given willingly, con 
 vincingly, and without upbraiding. Indeed, had the 
 idea occurred to her she would at once have thought 
 that it must be God s will that anybody whom Parson 
 Hall asked to marry him should do so ; the man was 
 such a saint ; she did not know that saints are made 
 saintly by denial and deprivation ; nor did she yet 
 know that she herself was to help make Parson Hall 
 more saintly still. 
 
 As she sat in her chair of rule the day after, hav 
 ing achieved a little more self-control, an objection 
 occurred to her that seemed more valid than any yet ; 
 an objection she thought even Parson Hall would 
 consider ought to prevent her marrying at all ; who 
 would take her school ? A throb of joy shot across 
 her heart as she thought of it ; a throb that would 
 have enlightened and convinced a more introspective 
 woman. Never had those rosy little faces seemed so 
 dear to her as to-day ; even the thwart aspect of the 
 black lambs in her flock moved her with pity rather 
 than wrath. She brought out to them at recess her 
 bowl of fresh doughnuts and distributed them with 
 divine impartiality to all. She warmed in speech and 
 face toward every youngster among them ; she gath 
 ered the tiny girls into her arms and about her knees 
 with a tenderness that overflowed all their faults and 
 follies, and the children responded with clinging arms 
 and fond caresses. 
 
262 STEADFAST. 
 
 ISTo ! she could never, never part with them ! But 
 it was a girl s " never." 
 
 That night she wrote and sent this quaint, shy little 
 note to Parson Hall. 
 
 REVEBENDE SIB, I have given some Thought to the mat 
 ter Off which we held converse. I think i had Forgot my littel 
 Charge of Children, i know not Howe to leve them withoute a 
 Teacher. Therfor I think We wille speak of this Noe further. 
 Y r ob 1 humble ser y1t to command. ESTHEB DENNIS. 
 
 Yes ! it is misspelt ; but so were greater people s 
 letters. They lived and loved, and were great and 
 good in those days without spelling well. Strange, 
 but true ! 
 
 Parson Hall smiled and sighed both over the little 
 note. He perceived in it only the maidenly shyness and 
 the desire to do right of a sweet, conscientious young 
 girl. It was something deeper than he knew ; a want 
 that he felt, yet could not express, that made the sigh 
 follow the smile. Between those formal lines lay a 
 desert space that chilled and disheartened him as he 
 read ; yet like any other man he ignored the warning 
 instinct, and was rationally pleased to think what a 
 helpmeet this woman would be, who could so tran 
 quilly set aside love for duty. He did not know 
 Esther ! 
 
 But her heart sank as she read the answer. 
 
 MY BELOVED ESTHEB, The Obstacle of w h you speake 
 ] have alreddy Provided for, if there Bee no other. I can fill 
 your Place in the School, but not in mine owne Hart. I wait 
 withe some Impatience but A resolved Sperit for your favore- 
 
A CONFLICT. 263 
 
 able Answer. May You be guided by Devine Providense is the 
 Prayer of your atached Friend and Humble Servant, 
 
 PHILP:MON HAKL. 
 
 Esther s heart sank as she read this short but pur 
 poseful missive. She, too, read between its lines the 
 steady, powerful nature that indited them ; the strong 
 if kindly will that had laid its hand on her, and would 
 not lift it; and Esther was a typical woman. The 
 legend of Paradise, " he shall reign over thee " was 
 imprinted on her nature ; even resisting while she 
 obeyed, she would still obey. She sat down in a sort 
 of desperate calm, did her daily work as steadily and 
 as stupidly as a machine, and endured with voiceless 
 dread the sharp rush of hurrying hours that brought 
 Mr Hall for his answer. 
 
 It was evening when he came, and as before, Esther 
 let him in. There was no one else to do so. Awk 
 ward enough was the situation ; her face was rigid, her 
 eyes cast down. A statue that had locomotion would 
 have been as encouraging a hostess ! 
 
 Only the most meagre commonplaces passed the 
 .lips of either. It is true the minister s heart beat 
 loud and fast. An ordinary man would have come 
 with more confidence, for well Philemon Hall knew 
 that to be the beloved and chosen partner of a min 
 ister was in those days a high honor, but Parson Hall 
 was not an ordinary man ; he felt in his pure, manly 
 soul that the heart and life of a young girl were a 
 great gift to ask, and that he or any other man was 
 scarce worthy to receive such a blessing ; and more- 
 
264 STEADFAST. 
 
 over he loved Esther far more that he had loved 
 Rachel. It is possible for a man to love twice or 
 thrice with the same fervor and freshness. Alas ! 
 it is impossible for a woman ; but no man knows it. 
 At last, after all the commonplaces of the time had 
 been exhausted, the Parson, as became him, spoke 
 first. 
 
 " Esther," he said, " I am come for my answer. Is 
 it yes, or no, dear ? " 
 
 Esther trembled like a tall lily in the wind; she 
 could not speak, her face was wan with trouble, her 
 eyes uplifted. The parson had risen as he spoke, and 
 she too rose with a slow gesture of delay, as if she 
 were about to ascend a sacrificial altar. 
 
 " Esther ? " he asked again. 
 
 She stretched out her hand to him, slowly, and he 
 clasped her in his arms. Esther shuddered. 
 
 "Look at me, dear," he said, misinterpreting the 
 tremble that ran through her frame. Men before and 
 after Parson Hall have mistaken a chill for a thrill ! 
 
 She lifted her eyes obediently. Philemon Hall 
 had once looked into the eyes of a woman who loved 
 him ; he knew the deep, immortal flame that burns 
 with a true love s breath, but these great hazel eyes 
 were like those of a shot dove; and his heart fell 
 before their sad and mute appeal. Was this his 
 triumph ? the hour of his pride ? Is fruition ever as 
 satisfying, as bewitching, as hope ? 
 
 It was to be again the old story of one who kisses, 
 and one who offers the cheek. 
 
A CONFLICT. 265 
 
 The parson, if he did not understand women, was a 
 gentleman. He released Esther from his embrace, 
 and quietly replaced her in her chair, moving his 
 own beside it, so that she need not be conscious of 
 his eyes searching her downcast face; and then he 
 began to talk gently of the future. He explained to 
 Esther that Aunt Euthy was becoming stricken in 
 years, and no longer able to work as she had done ; so 
 it was his plan to send up to Wethersfield for a re 
 cently widowed niece of hers, who would be glad to 
 increase her small income by means of the school; 
 and then Aunt Euthy could establish herself in the 
 house, as Miss Tempy had done, and keep her inde 
 pendence, and occupy her time by caring for the 
 small dwelling that, inhabited by two women only, 
 and not obliged to open its doors to a succession of 
 guests, like the parsonage, would not require a tithe 
 of the care and work which the dear old woman had 
 hitherto undertaken. 
 
 Esther listened and acquiesced like one in a dream, 
 she could not imagine herself in the new position ; she 
 already shrank from contemplating the future ; she 
 tried to be passive, to forget ; to accept all things as 
 they came, and believe they were right. Parson Hall, 
 man-like, admired her silent modesty; if he would 
 have liked better a little more demonstration, a tender 
 glance, a blush, or a pressure of the small hand when 
 at last he left her, he still respected her girlish cold 
 ness and reticence, and thought how sweet it would 
 be to melt that thin, beguiling shimmer of frost, to 
 
266 STEADFAST. 
 
 teach that virginal heart its rightful beating, to melt 
 the chilly sadness of those eyes into a real glow. 
 He forgot that he once thought she had loved Philip 
 Kent ; he did not know, would he ever know ? how 
 she had loved him. If the parson had ever seen those 
 eyes, those lips, that radiant face as Philip had seen 
 it times without number, would he have doubted his 
 own power to rekindle the spent fire ? Probably 
 not ; he was a man, if he was also a saint. 
 
 But no such idea disturbed him to-night ; he left 
 Esther early, after having asked her to drive over to 
 Pickering with him on Saturday and make a call on 
 Mrs. Tempy, as he himself had some clerical business 
 with Parson Dyer. Esther assented, and the parson 
 gravely raised her cold fingers to his lips as he said 
 " Good-by." She was glad he went. Poor Esther. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 DOWNWARD. 
 
 Full easy is it downwardly to go ; 
 
 But to ascend, what labor ! and what woe! 
 
 So saith the Latin poet ; but, ah me ! 
 
 Some in this doleful countering world there be, 
 
 Who dread descent, and linger on the way, 
 
 Yet needs must go, howe er they long to stay. 
 
 SATURDAY came, cold but clear ; the last day of 
 February was even more wintry than the first day of 
 December. Esther put on her cape of soft old marten 
 fur over her serge-lined camlet cloak, and tied her red 
 quilted hood under her chin, put a small heated soap- 
 stone into her muff, and filled the tin footstove with 
 hickory coals well smothered in ashes ; the fire was 
 raked up in the chimney, the chairs set back from 
 beside it, and she was read} r in every detail to set out 
 on her drive when Parson Hall drew up his steady, 
 sturdy old nag before the door. Esther, since she had 
 laid her hand in Mr. Hall s as a tacit acceptance of 
 his suit, given more because she did not know what 
 good reason to give for refusing him rather than of 
 ready will and joyful assent, had begun to recoil from 
 the shore upon which she had allowed herself to 
 drift ; she awoke to the consciousness that she had 
 promised what she never meant to promise, but her 
 morbid conscience forbade her to break her word. 
 
 267 
 
268 STEADFAST. 
 
 All the night after that decisive interview she tossed 
 on her bed, sleepless and wretched. Utterly alone 
 since Sybil sailed for England and Tempy had gone to 
 Pickering, Esther had felt that terror of solitude, that 
 eager longing for some one to speak to of her own 
 trouble, that is characteristic of a woman of her tem 
 perament. To Sybil, solitude was native air ; she en 
 joyed its calmness and repose, but to Esther it was 
 torture. 
 
 Left to herself to face what she had done, she be 
 came wild ; Parson Hall s tender, strong heart, would 
 have been wrung to its depths could he have seen her 
 restless figure, her head buried in both hands, or turn 
 ing to and fro in distress ; her face streaming with 
 slow, hot tears ; or heard her stifled cries, her sobs, 
 the low piteous wails like those of a young bird de 
 serted -in its nest, facing all the terrors of darkness. 
 Ah ! how Esther needed a mother now. 
 
 But there was none to comfort her ; she grew more 
 composed as the grey dawn slowly crept over the 
 wintry sea and lit her chamber with its wan and 
 wistful shining ; she made up her mind to that piti 
 ful subterfuge so common to women, that she would 
 not think of the matter any more than could be 
 helped ; she would pretend all was right ; deceive her 
 self into peace ; and follow the path she had chosen 
 to walk in, as calmly as she could. Had not she and 
 happiness bid each other a long farewell months ago ? 
 Yet, under all, that subtle tormentor a trained, iron 
 clad, relentless, unconquerable, New England con- 
 
DOWNWARD. 269 
 
 science, told her that she was sinning anew ; that her 
 victory over her own inmost convictions was worse 
 than a defeat. But she would not listen ; she busied 
 herself about her house, she threw herself more heart 
 ily than ever into her little school ; she went out 
 among the parents of her scholars to take tea or wear 
 away the long evenings as she had never done before ; 
 so that even in the few days intervening between 
 Parson Hall s momentous visit and the Saturday s 
 drive she had attained in some measure to the 
 
 "Glissez mortels! n appuyez pas," 
 
 of the French philosophy ; whatever depths lay under 
 the surface of her life that surface was smooth and 
 glittering if it was ice she would slide on tran 
 quilly. So she presented herself at the door when 
 she heard old Dolly s jingling bells stop before it, and 
 Mr. Hall helped her in so carefully and tucked the 
 buffalo robe about her with such attention that the 
 color rose softly into her pale cheeks. 
 
 It was well for her that this man whom she was 
 about to marry without one particle of the love which 
 is the only reason or excuse for marriage was the man 
 he was, a thorough Christian gentleman. All the 
 way to Pickering he treated Esther with a grave cour 
 tesy most unlike a lover, which set her entirely at 
 ease ; the least demonstration of feeling would have 
 made her long to escape from his companionship then 
 and forever ; so sore, so harassed was her wounded 
 girlish heart. Parson Hall had not forgotten that at 
 
270 STEADFAST. 
 
 one time he had supposed Esther to be in love with 
 Philip Kent, but with a man s usual ignorance of 
 women, he thought it a girlish infatuation that had 
 long passed away ; indeed she had no doubt gotten 
 over it as soon as Philip s marriage made it a sin for 
 her to think of him in that way. It was a natural 
 conclusion for a man and a minister. What did he 
 know of that force of a first passion that defies the 
 proprieties, and refuses to leave the heart it rends 
 and tortures, even when the conscience arrays itself 
 against its indulgence ? He had loved his wife well 
 and truly ; he had given up all that makes wedded 
 life dear to a man to prove his unselfish love for her ; 
 he had sacrificed his youth to become the nurse of a 
 helpless invalid, with a divine Quixotism ingrained in 
 his nature ; and lo ! here he loved Esther even more 
 than he had loved Rachel; why should Esther not 
 learn to regard him as she had Philip Kent ? But 
 he thought she was timid and sensitive, and he would 
 not startle her with expressions of affection that 
 must be strange to her innocent ears ; he talked to 
 her of the day, the exquisite half-lights the clouds 
 shed upon the tossing water as they veiled the cold 
 winter sun with hurrying fleeces driven by the north 
 wind ; he pointed out to her the blue shadows of the 
 drifts, the picturesque outlines of the snow-laden old 
 cedars that crowned the cliffs along the shore ; he 
 told her stories of his childhood in the inland country 
 where she too had been a child ; he made her laugh 
 over his boyish pranks ; he took her out of her life 
 
DOWNWARD 271 
 
 in Trumbull away back into a world she had wellnigh 
 forgotten ; the days when she too had cracked nuts 
 and roasted apples by the open fire in the kitchen, 
 and been terrified by the pumpkin lantern her father 
 had made to amuse her. For there was much of the 
 child left yet in Esther, nor was she of that selfish 
 sort who are so grappled and absorbed by their own 
 sorrow or their own concerns that they cannot be 
 diverted from their conscious contemplations of them 
 selves by anything in heaven or earth. 
 
 Esther was impulsive, generous, gentle, in spite of 
 her quick temper and rash self-devotion; a real 
 woman after that most perfect description of woman 
 that ever a man made, 
 
 " One in whom 
 
 The springtime of her childish years 
 Hath never lost its fresh perfume, 
 Though knowing well that life hath room 
 For many blights and many tears." 
 
 So by the time they drew up before the south door 
 of the farmhouse in Pickering, over which Miss 
 Tempy " that was " now reigned, Esther was like her 
 old self again, gay, smiling, rosy, and ready to return 
 heartily Tempy s warm embrace. 
 
 " Dew tell if it s you ! Well, well, I dono as ever 
 I was more glad to see a livin cretur in all my born 
 days. Why, ain t you agoin to light down, Parson 
 Hall ? Goin over to the minister s, be ye ? Well, 
 you come back to dinner, we ll have some vittles 
 for you I guess, tain t none too often we get sight of 
 
272 STEADFAST. 
 
 anybody here in sleighin time, seems real folksy to 
 see ye." 
 
 The parson laughed as he answered, " I cannot prom 
 ise, Mrs. Hopkins ; you know Brother Dyer is a posi 
 tive man, and if he says I shall stay with him I know 
 not how to escape. But if I return I will be here on 
 the stroke of twelve." 
 
 Neither Esther nor Tempy knew that he was so 
 considerate of Esther that he meant to leave her 
 alone with her old friend as long as he could. 
 
 Esther was led quickly to the kitchen fire and her 
 wraps lifted off ; then Tempy set her in an old arm 
 chair well cushioned for Ammi s benefit, and drawing 
 up another for herself, began the expected flood of 
 questions about all the people and things in Trum- 
 bull. Suddenly she broke off the queries, and said 
 sharply, 
 
 " Easter Dennis ! what have you b en a doin to 
 yourself sence I came away ? You re about as fat as 
 a hen s forrid ! you looked kind of prompt and rosy 
 when you come in, but now you re real white ; what s 
 the matter of ye ? " 
 
 " Nothing, Aunt Tempy," said Esther, wistfully. 
 
 " Yes the is ; I expect though, the Lord only knows, 
 and he won t tell ! " 
 
 " You don t look as well as you did, either, Aunt 
 Tempy." 
 
 " Well, I dono as I do. Fact is, there s a sight of 
 work to be done here. Deacon Hopkins he s a real 
 driver ; I had all the hog-killin to see to, ye know, 
 
DOWNWARD. 273 
 
 after I come ; sassage, an souse, an all that ; and 
 there s the butter, and the hens ; oh mercy me ! tain t 
 all sugar n honey-pie now, gettin married, Easter, 
 you better believe. I expect if you re goin to do it, 
 whether or no, you d better begin young ; it s hard to 
 learn a old dog new tricks. Not but what the deacon 
 is a good-disposed man ; he s as pious as they make 
 em ; goes to meetin reglar, and is a hero at prayer ; 
 beats all ! But you see I was consider ble old to fall 
 into new ways, and it s wore on me some. He s pleas 
 ant enough, but he s kind of pernickity round the 
 house, wants to hev the pork-barrel jest in that corner, 
 and the pickle-pot in t other ; he s lived by himself a 
 spell ye know, and got notional. 
 
 " But he s as good as th everage, quite as good as 
 th everage ; ef he is a little near, and I couldn t pick 
 and choose. I ve got a comfortable home, and I 
 calculate to make the best on t. He s quite a little 
 older n I be, and ef he dies fust, why I shall be well- 
 to-do ; and ef I do, I make no doubt but what he ll 
 keer for me, as fur as is needful, to th end, and put 
 up a stun for me." 
 
 Esther s heart sank as she listened to this confi- 
 . dence. Was this all then that marriage offered ? the 
 patient drudgery of a housewife ? 
 
 "But Aunt Tempy, after all aren t you glad you 
 married the Deacon ? " the girl asked, with a sort of 
 quiver in her voice. 
 
 " I dono. P raps I shall be when 1 get used to t. 
 I some think the Postle Poll was right when he said, 
 
274 STEADFAST. 
 
 1 it is better if they so abide/ meanin the onmar- 
 ried. Still, twas dreadful lonesome to look forrard 
 to livin and dyin alone." 
 
 Esther s heart said " Amen." She too dreaded the 
 solitude of a single life. 
 
 " Well, I think so, too, Aunt Tempy, and I I 
 you see I am just as lonely as you are. There is no 
 one so oh, Aunt Tempy ! I am promised to Mr. 
 Hall ! " 
 
 The last words came with a rush. It was so hard 
 to say them ! 
 
 " My blessed lamb ! you don t tell me ! well of all 
 things ! Why, now I can say like that old cretur in 
 Scriptur, I can t recall his name, now lettest thou 
 thy servant depart in peace ; my dear, my dear ! " 
 
 And here Aunt Tempy fell upon Esther and hugged 
 her with all her old energy. The tears stood in the 
 girl s eyes with pleasure and pain both. She had 
 committed herself now past redemption ; but it was 
 so good, so sweet, to have Aunt Tempy s tumultuous 
 congratulation ! 
 
 " And I never even surmised of it. I thought his 
 heart was berried along with his fust. But bless me ! 
 ha n t the deacon had three before me ? and to hear 
 him talk you d think I was the best of the lot. I feel 
 set up good when he gets onto that string. Well ! 
 well! he ll be proper good to ye, Esther. He s a 
 good man, one of the best, not but what he s a man. 
 They don t put no angels into Connecticut meetin - 
 houses, whatsoever they may do elsewhere ; and I m 
 
DOWNWARD. 275 
 
 glad on t ! I don t want no perfection round where I 
 be ; a little of th old Adam is as good as salt into a 
 huckleberry pie. Well, I be set up now. I ve had ye 
 011 my mind, dear, this long while. I couldn t see 
 how I come to leave ye all alone so ; but, bless me ! 
 women-folks hes to give in when a man comes round ; 
 they re such masterful critturs. I spose I thought 
 twas best to marry the deacon, but I expect my own 
 will had a leetle something to say to t ; and his n had 
 a heap more, twan t all reasonin of it out. 
 
 " Goodness ! tis most noon-mark and I haven t took 
 a step towardst dinner. Well, the deacon s gone over 
 to New Haven to. day, so you and me can have a pick 
 up ; there s some hung beef, and we ll put the p taters 
 in the ashes, and I ll stir up a short-cake ; and if I 
 didn t make apple-pies yesterday ! so I ll clap one 
 down to the fire to crisp it up ; and what with cheese 
 and some saxafrax tea we ll make out, I guess, if the 
 parson doos come." 
 
 But the parson did not come ; the two women en 
 joyed their savory little meal together. Esther s 
 heart was lighter than for many a day : it was 
 another strong rivet to her resolution that Aunt 
 Tempy should so vehemently approve of her engage 
 ment, and express such entire confidence in Parson 
 Hall s goodness, and the comfort of Esther s future 
 with him. 
 
 So when the parson came back for his companion, 
 he was greeted with a shy, sweet smile, and Aunt 
 Tempy rushed on him with such eager and fluent con- 
 
276 STEADFAST. 
 
 gratulations that his heart warmed as his face flushed 
 beneath them. 
 
 It is so good to have the cordial approval of our 
 fellows in anything we undertake ! So sweet to hear 
 the voice of cheer, that fills us with hope and cour 
 age ; restores our self-respect ; and thrills our hearts 
 like the gay trumpet-call to the battle, that inspires to 
 victory even before that victory is assured. 
 
 Was it not one of the elements of His speech who 
 " spake as man never spake/ this loving, hearty 
 interest in the individual life of every soul on earth ? 
 Is it not one of the examples that His followers 
 make too little account of ? One powerful way to do 
 good? 
 
 " But stop a minnit ! " screamed Mrs. Tempy, after 
 the two were at last securely tucked into the sleigh, 
 and just as the parson lifted his whip to advise Dolly 
 that they were ready to leave. 
 
 " I forgot, I was so took aback by good tidin s, to 
 ask if you d heered anything from Sybil Saltonstall ? 
 Did she get acrost safe ? or don t ye know ? " 
 
 "Not yet," answered the parson; "but I had it 
 from a sure hand yesterday, that the " Lady Fletcher " 
 hath been spoken off the harbor of Manhattan, and I 
 think there will be a frost by Monday night." 
 
 " Well ! well ! twas a ventur some thing to sail 
 acrost the seas like that. Now, wa n t it ? " 
 
 " The Lord hath the sea in the hollow of His hand, 
 my friend," answered the parson, reverently. 
 
 " Mm, I s pose tis so; but that don t argoo that 
 
DOWNWARD. 277 
 
 He won t let it slop out sometimes, and drownd 
 folks." 
 
 It was rather a mixed and irreverent metaphor, 
 and the parson had some trouble in keeping his face 
 straight. Ketreat was his only refuge, so he smacked 
 his whip, and Dolly plunged into the drifts at a smart 
 pace 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE LAY SISTER. 
 
 With even step and musing gait, 
 And looks commercing with the skies, 
 Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes ; 
 There, held in holy passion still, 
 Forget thyself to marble. 
 
 IT was not till toward the middle of the next week 
 that the mail which the " Lady Fletcher " brought 
 from England was, so far as Esther s share of it went, 
 delivered in Trumbull by the post-rider. Esther was 
 overjoyed to get a letter in Sybil s firm, legible script, 
 not only because it was from Sybil, but that it was 
 her first letter from over seas, and had about it a sort 
 of foreign atmosphere, as if from another world. 
 For in those days people did not talk familiarly of 
 the " herring-pond," or "going across." The majesty 
 of that sinful and storm-tossed ocean still asserted 
 itself. It was a perilous and solemn journey of long 
 weeks, and "a man going to sea" was prayed for 
 from the pulpit in much the same phrases used for a 
 man dangerously ill ; the chances of living through 
 either ordeal seemed nearly equal. Sybil s letter had 
 an interest for Esther, however, that she had not 
 foreseen. 
 
 It ran thus ; 
 
 "My BELOVED ESTHER, It seemeth to Me long since I 
 Beheld thy dear Face. I had a prossperus Voyage the Captin 
 
 278 
 
THE LAY SISTER. 279 
 
 of the Vessel said ; but I was soe tossed Withal, being driven 
 up on Greate and Mightie Waves and downe again into appal- 
 linge Hollowes, that my Soule was affrighted, save when I could 
 command my Thoughts to fix them upon Him who said unto 
 the Sea Be Stille and it obeyed Him. I had lived so long 
 Tyme upon the Shore, I had looked upon the Oshun as my 
 Frend; but Lo! it turned and Rent me, and I think I shalle 
 Never cross it more. 
 
 " I have found goodlie Lodginge in a house of this Citye of 
 London, hard bye where that Godly Woman, the Lady Hunt- 
 ington, liveth; and being alone as to Kindred and known 
 Frendes, and abel to Lette the Countrie-House left unto Me, I 
 purpose to Abyde here amongst the Saintes, and live as a Ser 
 vant waiting upon my Master for the Remnant of my Daies. 
 For thou knowest, Esther, that my Purposes of this Worlde are 
 broken off, and it may be that it was for Good ; that it was the 
 Hidynge of His Power soe that I should be sett for Service. I 
 have no Mynde to Marridge. I think it is better so to Abyde 
 even as I am ; and there is Place and Means here whereby to 
 Serve my Generation. 
 
 " I miss thee, Esther, but my Aunt Stanley hath given me to 
 wit that Thou hast a new Life before thee ; and we shoulde have 
 been Separated had I Stayed in Trumbull. I am glad if it be 
 so, Esther. Mr. Hall is a Good Man, rooted and Grounded in 
 the Faith; Steadfast, always Aboundynge in the Worke of the 
 Lorde. Thou hast chosen well; there is Woe on Woe for her 
 who fixeth her Harte upon an Evil Man, who regardeth Him- 
 selfe above all Lords and Gods. It is a bitter thing to give the 
 Harte where the Soule may not bear it Companye. I rejoice 
 that you will have a Comrade and a Helper toward the Holy 
 Citie. Forget not in thy Prayers thy poore loving Sister in 
 Christ. SIBIL." 
 
 Esther was indeed surprised; she was not aware 
 that Mrs. Stanley s sharp and inquisitive eyes had 
 long since penetrated Parson Hall s feeling for her ; 
 and that she had advised Sybil of her discovery in 
 the very first letter she had sent abroad. It never 
 
280 STEADFAST. 
 
 entered Mrs. Stanley s mind that Esther could refuse 
 such a good match; one that the governor s proud 
 lady considered far above the desert or hope of the 
 lonely schoolmistress. She would have characterized 
 Esther curtly and pungently as "a devilish little 
 fool ! " had she known with what hesitation and ap 
 prehension she at last consented to be Philemon 
 Hall s wife; for Madam Stanley was a thoroughly 
 worldly woman, and women of her station in her day 
 did not stand upon ceremony as to words when they 
 meant them to be expressive. 
 
 But if Esther was surprised, she was also delighted 
 to have Sybil so warmly approve of her engagement. 
 Had there been any to oppose or object, her feminine 
 nature would have risen in arms at once, and she 
 would have hurried on to her fate in the warm haste 
 of perversity, but since there were none to blame or 
 try to prevent her, except her own inward distrust 
 and shrinking, she was glad and thankful to be en 
 couraged. As she laid down the thick sheet of coarse 
 paper, she perceived, under the fold where the seal 
 fastened it, a few lines more. 
 
 " Post Scriptum. I have sent thee by the hand of a Friend, 
 One hundred Pounds Sterling. Take the half of it for thy 
 Wedding Gownd, from thy Sister. The other Moeity I would 
 have thee give to Delia at the Hillside farm, to keep in Store 
 for the Tyme when the Babe she hath taken may have need of 
 a Neste Egg." 
 
 Esther was astonished indeed. What was that 
 child to Sybil ? The nameless offspring of a self- 
 
THE LAY SISTER. 281 
 
 murdered mother ; a fatherless waif ; why had pure, 
 proud Sybil stooped even to notice its existence ? 
 But she remembered how good to the poor and the 
 friendless her friend had ever been, and laid this 
 bounty to that charity and sweetness that had so long 
 distinguished her. Then came the question, how 
 should she get out to Hillside ? But, though Esther 
 did not know it, Sybil had been provident enough to 
 write a little note to Mr. Hall, and ask him to see 
 that Esther was taken out to the farm to do an errand 
 for her which Sybil could not entrust to any other 
 hands. Mr. Hall was glad of another opportunity to 
 drive out with Esther ; he greatly desired to accus 
 tom the shy girl to his presence, to wear away the 
 strange reserve in which she wrapped herself, and 
 which hurt him to the heart as she daily became 
 sweeter and dearer in the promise of wifehood. 
 
 But with instinctive delicacy he did not tell her of 
 Sybil s note ; something in its tenor made him con 
 scious that her agency in the matter was not to be 
 known ; so he simply asked Esther if she would drive 
 out with him toward Hillside and allow him to leave 
 her at Hiram Perkins s while he went further on 
 among the hills to make one or two pastoral calls. 
 Esther s eyes shone as she assented, and the quick 
 color rose in her cheeks. Alas ! the parson rejoiced 
 in his heart to see these tokens of what he thought, 
 naturally enough, was pleasure at going with him, 
 whereas it was only pleasure at finding a way so soon 
 to do Sybil s errand ; since she had received the night 
 
282 STEADFAST. 
 
 before from Governor Stanley, just returned on the 
 vessel that brought Sybil s letter, a package of gold 
 and notes that she did not like to keep in the house 
 till Delia s share was safe in Delia s keeping. So 
 once more she seated herself by the parson and sped 
 away to the sound of the tinkling bells up through 
 the ill-broken tracks, and the moments were too short 
 for one of the pair, for Esther, pleased to do her 
 errand, and simple as a child in her impulses, with 
 out one thought of what her aspect and manner might 
 seem to mean, was brighter and sweeter than the 
 parson had seen her since their new relation. 
 
 Delia was brought to the door by the sound of 
 sleigh-bells, an unusual sound since winter had practi 
 cally blockaded the farm. 
 
 " Why, tain t you, is it, Esther ? I can t skerce be 
 lieve my eyes. I should ha jest as soon thought of 
 seem a ghost ! " 
 
 "But, Delye dear, it isn t any ghost," laughed 
 Esther. " Ghosts don t hug folks, do they ? " throw 
 ing her arms about the good woman s neck with a 
 hearty affection that made the parson envious. 
 
 " I guess they don t ! nor they don t look so rosy. 
 Won t ye come in, Parson Hall ? " 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Perkins, but I have further to 
 go. I will return in an hour or so." 
 
 And with an effort the parson turned Dolly s head 
 from the door ; he had seen how Esther could look at 
 one she loved : he knew she had never so looked at 
 him. 
 
THE LAY SISTER. 283 
 
 " Set ye down, dear," said Delia, with an assiduous 
 and tender voice and gesture that made Esther happy, 
 for Delia was the only other person beside Tempy 
 Hopkins left to her of her old life, now ; and she 
 loved her with a warmth natural to her age and char 
 acter. Servants in the good old New England days 
 were a part and parcel of the family and deserved so 
 to be ; now they rule the house with a rod of iron, 
 and despise their submissive victims. 
 
 Delia was both surprised and pleased at Sybil s gift. 
 
 "She is so good," said Esther. "Delye, I know 
 not of another woman who would think, so far re 
 moved from her old dwelling, of a solitary orphaned 
 child." 
 
 " Don t ye ? " said Delia, with a keen sparkle in her 
 eye ; and just then the child crept toward them and 
 lifted his face ; he had been playing near the corner 
 of the hearth and had picked up a bit of charcoal with 
 which he had smeared the lower part of his face till 
 it looked like the darkness of a beard that needed 
 shaving. 
 
 " You look at him, good ! " said Delia ; and as 
 Esther turned her head, she gave an involuntary 
 start ; there was John Stonebridge s face before her. 
 The bold, brilliant, dark eyes ; the full audacious 
 forehead, crowned with short black curls, the mobile 
 lips ; the heavy, deep-shaded jaws ; the cleft chin. 
 Now she knew why Sybil s charity flowed this way ; 
 she looked at Delia with a look of pained surprise. 
 Delia nodded. 
 
284 STEADFAST. 
 
 "You see now. She couldn t abear to touch the 
 youngster, nor to look at him nyther, when she was 
 here ; but I expect she s sorry for him, tis jest like 
 her ; she s a sight too good for this airth, she had 
 ought to be one o the saints, and I expect she will be 
 in the Lord s good time. But she no need to na sent 
 that money. Hiram he got fifty pound last January ; 
 well tis last month, ain t it ? and a line to say twould 
 be paid reg lar for the boy s use so long as he lived, 
 but for God s sake to fetch him up strict, and make a 
 good man of him. Well I knowed who writ that let 
 ter ! I ha n t lived in Trumbull the hull o my life 
 with shut eyes. But how he could hev hed the solid 
 impidence to even himself to Miss Sybil, beats me. 
 Comes of bein a man, I s pose ; they do think, every 
 man-jack of em, that ef they say snip to any livin 
 woman, beshooshemay, she ll say snap and be tickled 
 to death to say it. I suppose the Lord made em so, 
 and I haven t no call to fault em ; but I do hate to 
 see creturs so consated. Look at Adam now, the very 
 fust of em ! stead of standin up like a honest feller 
 when the Lord took him to do about eatin of the 
 apple, why he sneaked under Eve s apern ; didn t 
 have the grit to say, I done it Lord, an I m sorry 
 for t/ but kinder whined out, t the woman whom thou 
 gavest to be with me, she gave me of the tree and I did 
 eat ! Mean ! meaner n a hoppin-toad ! and men take 
 after their pa all the way down. I solemnly b lieve 
 ef that I could corner Gunnel Stonebridge this min- 
 nit, about this matter, and ask him Why done ye 
 
THE LAY SISTER. 285 
 
 so? he d lay it to that poor miser ble critter that 
 went air drownded herself in the harbor ! " 
 
 Esther listened with a shocked, almost a terrified 
 face. She understood now the whole of Sybil s letter. 
 She had known that for some reason Sybil had once 
 and again rejected John Stonebridge, and had won 
 dered deeply why ; but Sybil was reticent always, and 
 Esther had, judging her friend by herself, concluded 
 that Sybil did not love him very profoundly. 
 
 JSTor had she before connected Colonel Stonebridge 
 with the tragedy of the drowned girl. She had been 
 horror-struck at the occurrence, but never questioned 
 its cause, or talked about it. Esther s mind was so 
 essentially pure that sins of the coarser sort never 
 seemed to dwell in her memory ; they slipped away 
 from contact with a nature that had no affinity for 
 them. Now she shuddered, as for the first time she 
 understood the depth of Sybil s trouble, and the 
 anguish of her final loss ; for well she knew what 
 such a sin would be to proud and high-minded Sybil ; 
 death itself could raise no more impassible barrier 
 between her and John Stonebridge than this. 
 
 And Esther returned with deep gratitude to that 
 phrase in Sybil s letter wherein she spoke so earnestly 
 of Mr. Hall s goodness ; she contrasted him with her 
 friend s lover, and felt a warm pride steal into her 
 heart. Poor Esther ! the rush of overwhelming joy, 
 the utter disregard of all adjuncts, all reason, all 
 doubt, that had filled her soul when she loved Philip 
 Kent were all wanting here ; at best, she was trying 
 
286 STEADFAST. 
 
 to excuse herself to herself for forming this new tie 
 from which in her secret heart she shrunk with a cold 
 terror she dared not recognize ; but could not ignore. 
 She found herself thinking that Sybil s part was best ; 
 that to be through with all the troublous joys, the 
 irksome duties, the deceptive hopes, the futile expect 
 ances of this world ; to live a life of devotion to 
 God and uplifted benevolence to man was of all lives 
 the sweetest, the most desirable. To be " a pensive 
 nun, devout and pure " like Sybil, suddenly seemed 
 to her the apex of life for a woman. When Parson 
 Hall came back for her he felt that some subtle 
 change had passed over her; her eye was cold, her 
 face pale, her aspect rigid, and she only answered 
 him when he spoke to her, she had nothing to say. 
 Her thoughts were all with Sybil in her passionless 
 devotion ; her retreat from a weary and unsatisfying 
 world ; the mood absorbed her, and, for the time, she 
 acted under its spell. It was one of Esther s charms, 
 that varying moods possessed her, that her " infinite 
 variety" interested and excited both her lovers and 
 her friends ; it was this that had kept alive Philip 
 Kent s flickering ardor ; that had made her so attrac 
 tive to Parson Hall, though he did not understand it. 
 But the mood of to-day had no charm for him, the 
 keen wind seemed keener ; the long, blue-white drifts 
 more pitiless ; the whole face of nature more ghastly 
 and severe, because the sparkle had died in Esther s 
 eyes, and the glow fled from her cheek. He did not 
 approve of nuns ; he did not like them either. How- 
 
THE LAY SISTER. 287 
 
 ever, Esther was not made for such a destiny. As 
 well might one make the brown-thrush that flits from 
 one swinging branch to another, and pours its won 
 drous flood of joyful song along the summer air till 
 the hearer can scarce believe such delicious madness 
 is not human and expressive of sentient joy, into a 
 cooped barn-yard fowl, that crawks, and cheeps, and 
 knows no other delight than to peck its corn and 
 brood above its embryo offspring, as put Esther into 
 Sybil s life with the prim and pious women who 
 formed Lady Huntington s coteries, and hung on to 
 the skirts of Whitfield and Wesley ! Her real life 
 had not yet begun, but Sybil had found her " sphere. 7 
 She went on her saintly way, set about with prayers 
 and good works, cloistered in her own holy thoughts. 
 Even when she learned that John Stonebridge had 
 fallen in the duello, slaying a brother officer as he 
 fell himself, sent into another and an unknown world 
 without even the short shrift of him. who found 
 
 mercy 
 
 "Between the saddle and the ground." 
 
 Sybil showed outwardly no sign of woe. Her creed 
 forbade her to pray for that soul gone forever beyond 
 the reach of hope; and who was to know that she 
 passed night after night with wide opened eyes and 
 clasped hands, staring into the darkness that sym 
 bolized to her the condition of the man she once so 
 passionately loved; praying for the submission and 
 resignation against which her whole nature rose in 
 rebellion, like the tides of an angry sea ? 
 
288 STEADFAST. 
 
 Nuns must endure in solitude ; not always with 
 angels to minister unto them; for what consolation 
 can those divine messengers bring to the first awful 
 passion of despair ? They can but look on with 
 sacred pity, and await the silence of the storm when 
 it sobs itself into acquiescence, and does no more 
 futile battle with the rock-bound shores of fate, or 
 Providence. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A CLIMAX. 
 
 Much must be borne which it is hard to bear, 
 Much given away which it was sweet to keep ; 
 God help us all! who need, indeed, his care. 
 And yet, I know the Shepherd loves his sheep. 
 
 THE time came on too fast now when Esther had 
 at last been persuaded to fix her wedding-day. To be 
 married in May was, according to the old saw, to 
 " repent alway " and earlier than that she could not 
 think of, nor would Parson Hall consent to wait much 
 longer. He felt sure in his own mind that once irre 
 vocably pledged to him he could and would win 
 Esther to love him. He knew that Rachel had 
 almost adored him, and he did not know what a differ 
 ence there is between " love s young dream " and the 
 acquiescence of reason to a fate that seems unavoida 
 ble. If at the very last moment Esther had suddenly 
 been left money enough for her comfortable support, 
 she would have gone away secretly and silently from 
 Trumbull, and from Mr. Hall, and made for herself a 
 home elsewhere ; in spite of her loneliness she might 
 have lived by herself with the adjuncts of servants 
 and luxuries and society, but poverty and solitude, 
 too, had coercive terrors in their prospect. She had 
 to content herself with delaying the dreaded finality 
 as long as might be, and when at last it was fixed for 
 
290 STEADFAST. 
 
 the second week in June, she resolutely set herself to 
 work at her preparations. " Can a maid forget her 
 ornaments ? or a bride her attire ? " It is mercifully 
 impossible. All the arguments against mourning fall 
 useless before its power to distract the stunned and 
 wounded soul with its persistent triviality, to bring 
 back the thoughts that else would go wandering down 
 the abysms of darkness, to the wholesome externals 
 of daily life. So Esther, perplexed and distracted 
 by the coming crisis, with no one to warn or advise 
 her, welcomed with a relief that was almost joy the 
 needful preparations for her wedding. She made 
 with her own deft fingers the modest store of linen 
 that was necessary, and edged its bands and hems 
 with narrow English thread lace that dear Uncle 
 Dyer had bestowed upon her from his dead wife s 
 abundant stores ; from the same source she also owned 
 two goodly gowns of paduasoy with brocade petti 
 coats and stomachers, one black, and one dark red; 
 neither of them unsuitable for the wife of the parish 
 minister, but yet too dark to be married in. To 
 lighten the black gown, which was of flowered Italian 
 silk, she bought herself a pale rose-colored petticoat 
 elaborately quilted, which would at times take the place 
 of the black brocade one, and she laid in plenty of 
 rose-colored ribbon of the same soft shade, deftly 
 tied in love knots, wherewith to garnish the sleeves 
 and bodice. There were chintz and dimity skirts and 
 short gowns for daily wear, and Mrs. Stanley sent her 
 a gown of white linen embroidered all over in crewels, 
 
A CLIMAX. 291 
 
 done by her own hands and her tambour frame, in 
 birds, and blossoms, and creatures meant to be ani 
 mals, but unlike anything in the heaven above or the 
 earth beneath, or the waters under the earth ; but 
 very gay, and harmonizing well with the brocade pet 
 ticoat that was a tangle of all-colored flowers, equally 
 conventional and unrecognizable as earthly blooms, 
 on a deep blue ground. Esther smiled over that gift 
 with astonished amusement ; it did not seem appro 
 priate for Parson Hall s lady to wear such a gaudy 
 and giddy costume as that, but she thanked Mrs. 
 Stanley prettily, and laid the garment away in the 
 press for the benefit of her descendants. 
 
 She was a little anxious about her wedding-dress, 
 which she meant to have creditable to Sybil s gener 
 osity, yet not so fine as to be useless. White was not 
 de riyueur in those days for a wedding, especially for 
 a widower s bride, so after much deliberation, and 
 many doubts, she entrusted the village draper to fetch 
 her certain samples from New York, whither he was 
 going for his spring goods, and hit upon one that 
 suited her; a pale silver-gray, almost lavender col 
 ored levantine, with white brocaded figures sparsely 
 scattered across its gleaming surface, for the gown, 
 and a thick rich white satin for the petticoat, with 
 frills of English lace for the tucker and sleeves. No 
 accomplished French man milliner of to-day could 
 have devised a dress more exquisitely fitted to the 
 wearer than this, in its moonlit tones of light and 
 pearly shadow, and when Esther on that eventful day 
 
292 STEADFAST. 
 
 piled her dusky hair high over a cushion, and frosted 
 it with powder that made her great dark eyes and 
 delicate brows darker and more distinct than ever, 
 and set off the unusual and burning flush on either 
 cheek, and the quivering scarlet of her full lips, she 
 looked as she had never looked before. The square- 
 cut neck of her gown showed the round white throat 
 and its exquisite set into her shoulders, but the lace 
 tucker was high and modest as befitted a bride, and 
 her fair white arms were also half-covered by the deep 
 frills at her elbows ; no bracelets or rings marred the 
 symmetry of those beautiful arms and hands ; her 
 only ornament was a cluster of the half-blown creamy 
 buds of the old white rosebush that grew beside her 
 door, set in their own clean blue-green leaves. 
 
 Tempy Hopkins had come down in the chaise with 
 Parson Dyer from Pickering Centre, as the parson was 
 to perform the ceremony for his brother minister, and 
 at Tempy s request they had come early, that she 
 might offer help and criticism to the friendless bride ; 
 but help Esther did not need, and Tempy s criticism 
 was all admiration. 
 
 " My goodness gracious ! " she exclaimed, as, fold 
 ing her mittened hands over her flowered muslin 
 apron, she made a tour of inspection about her 
 friend after the last touches had been put to her 
 attire. 
 
 " You do beat all, Easter ! That gownd is jest like 
 a mournin dove s wing, and the sattin ain t nothin 
 but moonshine ; seems as though you was too good to 
 
A CLIMAX. 293 
 
 look at. I d like a pictur of ye drawed out this 
 minute, for to hang up in my front room." 
 
 Esther laughed, and the little dimples that stirred 
 and deepened her glowing cheeks, and broke up the 
 calm of her scarlet lips, made her still more lovely. 
 Tempy drew a long breath. 
 
 "Well, you look as ef the Lord had jest made ye; 
 and I can t say no more. Come down now ; they re a 
 waitin for you, and Aunt Euthy has set out the cake 
 an wine on to the table." 
 
 Very slowly Esther descended the narrow, crooked 
 little stair, her train rustling behind her ; she seemed 
 to be in a dream, nothing was real to her, not even the 
 friendly face of Parson Dyer or the placid benignity 
 of Aunt Kuthy s lovely old countenance, full of 
 anxious feeling. But her color did not waver ; she 
 spoke to them both quietly, and, directed by Mr. 
 Dyer, took her place beside Philemon Hall without 
 even looking at him. 
 
 The service was long, and awful in its solemnity. 
 Had Esther and Mr. Hall been about to go to execu 
 tion the next moment they would hardly have received 
 less exhortation and warning. The deep tones of 
 Parson Dyer, as he exhorted the wife to obey, respect, 
 and serve her husband ; to receive him as her priest 
 and king under God ; to submit herself to him in all 
 things, and strive to train her family in the same 
 paths, sounded like a knell of doom in her ears ; she 
 had scarce heard the injunctions he gave to Parson 
 Hall, but of these to herself she missed not a word ; 
 
294 STEADFAST. 
 
 they pierced her very soul. What ! was this what 
 she had undertaken to do ? Was she who expected 
 to provide for herself by this marriage a considerate 
 friend and a quiet home, bound instead to slavery, to 
 submission, to that lowest form of servitude that 
 involves the body but not the soul ? She had looked 
 on the whole matter in such a theoretic, dreamy, ex 
 alted way ; exalted because her innocence and igno 
 rance afforded no other standpoint ; that when the 
 actual and practical view expounded in Parson Dyer s 
 lecture and prayer burst upon her, she felt as if some 
 awful fate grasped her breath and stopped her pulses. 
 She grew paler and paler, her great eyes stared at 
 Mr. Dyer with a look of woe and horror, but an 
 intruding sunbeam fell across his spectacles and he 
 did not perceive her expression, nor did he notice, in 
 his zeal to fully perform the rite, that Esther never 
 bent her head even in assent to his questions ; he only 
 thought her modest and timid, as a good girl should 
 be. As for Parson Hall, standing there at her side, 
 he could not see her, and during the long prayer 
 which followed of course he closed his eyes properly. 
 But for Esther the hour seemed interminable ages. 
 
 Filled with a mad desire to escape, to deny, to 
 retract, she dared not open her lips even to sigh. She 
 had been brought up in a religious awe of the clergy, 
 as the very messengers and vicegerents of the Lord 
 God himself ; what they said and did must be right. 
 It was against her own ignorance and weak stupidity, 
 as she now saw herself, that she so angrily and des- 
 
A CLIMAX. 295 
 
 perately rebelled. Oh, what could she do ? whither 
 fly ? Never, never ! could she fill this place, perform 
 these duties. The illusions that had hitherto veiled 
 the way before her were swept off, as with a very 
 besom of destruction ; her heart beat so heavily and 
 so fast that it choked her; her head whirled; her 
 brain seemed to be on fire; she neither heard the 
 auien nor the benediction. When her husband turned 
 to embrace her she swayed heavily forward, and it 
 was Priest Dyer who caught her in his arms and laid 
 her at length on the sofa, pale and cold, as if Death 
 had been her bridegroom. 
 
 " You go into the keepin room," said Aunt Kuthy 
 to Mr. Hall, who stood in his place, shocked and 
 bewildered. "It s a swound; she ll come out of it. 
 Mis Hopkins, can you fetch the camphire ? " 
 
 Parson Dyer led his friend away into the next room, 
 and brought him a glass of the home-made wine that 
 stood ready there, and then left him ; for he was a 
 wise man, and knew how little our best friends can 
 intermeddle with our joy or grief. 
 
 Pretty soon Esther came back to life, with one long, 
 sobbing breath, and as soon as consciousness returned 
 hid her face in her hands, and gave way to a flood of 
 hot tears. 
 
 " That s right, deary ; cry away ; twill do you 
 good ; tears is like the balm o Gilead, sometimes," I 
 know well," said Aunt Euthy s kind old voice at her 
 side, and before long, what with sniffs at the "cam 
 phire " and a liberal dose of sal-volatile, she recov- 
 
296 STEADFAST. 
 
 ered her self-control enough to give Parson Hall one 
 piteous smile when he was summoned to come in ; 
 and let Tempy tie on her long mode satin cloak, and 
 round hat with its cream-white scarf, so that she was 
 ready to enter the chaise and drive over to the par 
 sonage, where she was at once to take up her abode ; 
 wedding tours being unknown to any but the haute 
 noblesse in those days. She had forgotten that the 
 children of her school were gathered at the door to 
 see her, each with a little spray of blossoms j and her 
 heart fell as she went out into the rosy crowd she 
 had loved so much and yet given up of her own will. 
 She put forth all her will-power to return their smiles 
 and kisses, and they half smothered her with the 
 knots of heartsease, idle name to her now, the posies 
 of lad s love, and ragged robin; the red button 
 roses, and loose-leaved spiderwort ; but most of them 
 brought long stems of the great, pure June lilies, and 
 she held a perfect sheaf of them as she drove away ; 
 never again did she inhale that languid odor without 
 a grip at her heart that seemed to bring back her 
 wretched wedding day. The parson helped her from 
 the chaise, and when they entered the cheerful, 
 flower-decked sitting-room, carefully untied her cloak 
 and hat, and saying softly, "Welcome home, my 
 wife ! " folded her in his arms. 
 
 A long shudder ran through the girl s whole figure 
 and a sob that was half a shriek burst from her lips 
 as he kissed her ; again she fell to the floor, cold and 
 lifeless. 
 
A CLIMAX. 297 
 
 " Good God ! " said he to himself, in an inaudible 
 whisper. It was an appeal and an agony together. 
 
 Only a few moments was Esther unconscious ; 
 wild hysterical outcries and restless motion suc 
 ceeded her partial swoon ; it was well for her that 
 the parson knew what to do, his long service with 
 Kachel had given him the knowledge and tact of a 
 nurse. Esther shrank from his touch, but he per 
 sisted in loosening her stiff bodice, and then made 
 her swallow a mild narcotic. By and by she became 
 more quiet, but she turned her face to the wall and 
 uttered no sound ; and he could only sit and watch 
 her as a patient mother watches her child, with love 
 greater than grief or anger ; but dreading to ask him 
 self what all this meant. It was well for both of 
 them that they were alone in the house ; some delay 
 had occurred in getting the woman who was to do 
 their housework, and Esther had chosen to wait 
 rather than provide another ; the sun was westering 
 now, its low rays entered between the ill-closed 
 shutters, and presently Mr. Hall saw that Esther 
 breathed more calmly ; the narcotic had acted soon 
 and strongly on her healthy organization unaccus 
 tomed to medicine, and soon she turned over on her 
 side as a child turns when sleep at last overpowers it, 
 and her pale, tear-stained face showed in every sub 
 dued line that slumber held her fast. Mr. Hall drew 
 a shawl over her very softly, he dared not close the 
 open windows, lest the noise should rouse her ; then 
 lie sat down again and looked at his bride with his 
 
298 STEADFAST. 
 
 heart in his deep, mournful eyes. There she lay on 
 the couch where Kachel had spent so many long 
 hours ; but this beautiful, undisciplined, woful coun 
 tenance was utterly unlike the divine calmness of his 
 lost saint s, or the look of heart-deep love that Rachel 
 had always turned on him, even to her dying hour, 
 Eachel had loved him; this girl shrank from his 
 lightest touch. 
 
 An awful dread arose in his mind ; was this mar 
 riage, also, to be a mockery ? Had he wedded a 
 woman who could only fear and repel him ? What 
 had he done to be so visited ? The Bible that had 
 been his guide and counsel so long gave him words 
 now to express the terror that seized his soul. 
 
 " All Thy waves and billows have gone over me," 
 he murmured softly as at last the sunshine left the 
 earth, and darkness fell upon all things as well as on 
 his heart. 
 
 He stole quietly to the side door and sat down 
 upon the step ; cold moonlight just began to glimmer 
 over the sleepless and restless sea; there was 110 
 sound except the gentle break of waves on the near 
 shore; he was alone with this new sorrow and 
 with God. But God does not always demonstrate to 
 us His presence ; never, unless we are eager and 
 ready to perceive it ; and just now Philemon Hall s 
 soul was chaotic ; his whole nature aroused to bitter 
 rebellion ; he arraigned in his thoughts the very 
 Master whom he had so faithfully served, and said, 
 with Job s impatient wife, " Curse God and die ! " 
 
A CLIMAX. 299 
 
 Far into the night he fought this one-sided battle 
 with the Power that seemed so wantonly to thwart 
 him; the moon rose high and paved the sea with 
 silver scales along a shining track, but for him all 
 was darkness and silence, gloom and despair, till 
 suddenly a weary sob smote his ear. Esther was 
 waking, he must go to her. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE CURSE OF A GRANTED PRAYER. 
 
 My Lord ! How longe I askt this Gifte of Thee, 
 
 With Harte full sore. 
 And now, beholde ! Thou givest Untoe me 
 
 That verie Store ! 
 But Lo ! my Loafe is stone, both Hard and Colde 
 
 Oh, Master! Why? 
 Is this Thy Breade ? Is this the Thynge I wolde ? 
 
 Then, Lett me Die ! 
 
 THE doors were open through from the south room 
 on whose doorstep he sat, which was the state parlor, 
 into that behind it, the sitting or " keeping " room 
 where Esther lay ; the parson struck a light from the 
 tinder box in the fireplace corner, and went in where 
 his wife was, with a sinking heart. 
 
 Esther looked up at him with vague, wandering eyes, 
 as he shaded the candle with his hand, and passing by 
 her set it on a tiny stand behind the head of the 
 couch. Then he came back and stood before her. 
 
 " Esther ! " he said, with cold restraint in his voice. 
 " You are ill, and over-worn. I would have you go to 
 your chamber now, and betake yourself to rest. Your 
 box of clothing is there, and your chest of drawers, 
 with certain of your garments that Euthy arranged 
 within it. Turn the button, so you shall feel secure 
 from disturbance ; if you knew me, it need not to say 
 that j but we are still strangers." 
 300 
 
THE CUKSE OF A GRANTED PRAYER. 301 
 
 Esther rose slowly to her feet, half asleep, wholly 
 bewildered, yet her ear had taken in her husband s 
 words with the curious mechanism of that organ that 
 seems to store up sounds to which the mind shall 
 afterward give meaning ; and seeing that she was yet 
 unsteady, Mr. Hall led her like a child up the tiny 
 winding stair to the landing above, and reaching out 
 his arm pushed open the chamber door and put the 
 candlestick into her hand. 
 
 " Good-night, Esther ! " he said. The Lord bless 
 thee and keep thee. The Lord lift up His counte 
 nance upon thee, and give thee peace." 
 
 His voice sounded in her ear, clear, sad, and steady ; 
 but even yet she did not take in the situation; 
 mechanically she closed the door and made it fast 
 with the big wooden button, and still under the influ 
 ence of the narcotic took off her dress and stays, and 
 flinging herself on the outside of the bed fell asleep 
 again before she was aware of her waking; yet all 
 through her troubled rest the sad face of her husband 
 seemed to be watching her, and over and over again 
 she heard his deep, melancholy voice say, 
 
 " But we are still strangers." 
 
 No such rest awaited Philemon Hall ; when he 
 turned to go, he knew that sleep was not for him ; he 
 took his hat, shut the outer door behind him, and 
 with rapid steps made his way to the shore. He 
 knew that Esther was safe in her solitude, for no 
 tramps had been imported then to terrorize the quiet 
 country, and neither rogue nor masterless man had 
 
302 STEADFAST. 
 
 disturbed the homes of such tiny villages as were 
 strown along the Connecticut sea-beaches ; so he 
 went his way along the low bluffs till he reached a 
 lonely headland that jutted out into the sea and was 
 crowned with a few stunted cedars, and between them 
 and the precipitous edge with some square yards of 
 short, dry turf. Philemon Hall had been here before ; 
 it was an oasis where oftentimes he halted in the 
 midst of his cares and duties to rest his tired brain in 
 the silence of solitude, for at least a mile intervened 
 between it and the last house of the village, and it 
 was hedged in from intrusion landward by the 
 thicket of low cedars that ran down to the sandy 
 dunes beyond and behind it. Here was no sound but 
 the dash and whisper of the waves, and as the heart- 
 wrung man flung himself down on that slippery brown 
 sward, the aromatic cedars seemed to breathe a caress 
 on his burning forehead, and the strong, bright moon 
 veiled herself with a. fleecy cloud and soothed his hot 
 tear-burned eyes. For, man that he was, Philemon 
 Hall had given way to a few tears, wrung from the 
 depths of his soul ; tears that never fell, but were 
 only hot and stinging to his eyeballs. He had come 
 out here to face the second battle of his life, and 
 from the first moment he knew it was to be the hard 
 est. With his face earthward, prone on the parched 
 grass, his soul met its Maker with wild anguish and 
 bitter reproach; had there been voice given to his 
 thoughts they would have said. 
 
 " Why hast Thou done this ? Have I not served 
 
THE CURSE OF A GRANTED PRAYER. 303 
 
 Thee faithfully all my days ? Did I not give up my 
 life to make the love of my youth happy ? Have I 
 not taken up my cross and followed thee ? Lord ! I 
 am a man, not a saint ; a man with human passions 
 and affections ; hast thou given me these to be 
 thwarted and stifled forever ? Did I not pray to 
 thee long months for this desire of my heart, alway 
 adding, If it be thy will ! and lo ! now it is in 
 mine hand, and it is bitter ashes ! Lord, art thou 
 not our father ? where, then, is thy pity and compas 
 sion ? Oh, God ! how can I bear it ! " and he clenched 
 both hands into the dry, loose sod, as if that grasp 
 of earth might assure him that the creation was sta 
 ble and sure, however the Creator denied and thwarted 
 him. It was to be noted, had any critical ear over 
 heard his wordless arraignment of the Lord, that he 
 took it always for granted that Esther was to be 
 respected in her mistaken position ; and neither forced 
 or persuaded into accepting her relations with him 
 except nominally. 
 
 Philemon Hall was not only a gentleman by nature 
 but also by the grace of God ; to him every woman 
 was sacred, under any circumstances. He had sacri 
 ficed himself to Rachel, but it had consoled and in 
 spired him to know that she shared the sacrifice, and 
 loved him both passionately and purely ; to him it 
 was the visible hand of God that had put an adaman 
 tine barrier then between him and the sweetness of 
 family life, so dear to every true-hearted man ; so es 
 pecially dear to him who was without a near relative 
 
304 STEADFAST. 
 
 in the world. But now ! Was this also of God ? 
 Was it not that devil, in whom he believed as firmly 
 as in his Master, who had deluded him through 
 Esther, and was now urging him to deny and defy 
 his Lord and God? Whatever modern speculation 
 has to say in its plausible and shallow fashion about 
 the existence of a personal devil ; however the feeble 
 philosophers of to-day may sneer and jeer at the idea 
 of such a being, and throw aside as " symbolic " and 
 " typical " all the revelations and declarations of 
 Scripture on this subject, it is notable that under that 
 belief grew up the strongest and most steadfast of 
 theologians ; the most pure and righteous of men. 
 Why this was so it is not in place here to discuss ; 
 the fact is historic ; but certain it is that the moment 
 Parson Hall grasped the idea of a spiritual opponent 
 making him the medium of treasonable and abomin 
 able defiance, his loyal soul sprang up from the dust ; 
 it was a cry to arms, and the faithful soldier and ser 
 vant obeyed it. He lifted himself from the ground 
 and stood erect in the broad sad moonlight ; it shone 
 on his white, worn face, and dishevelled hair, and lit 
 them with a ghastly distinctness as he lifted his 
 clasped hands toward heaven and cried out with a 
 hoarse voice, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in 
 Him!" 
 
 A light wind rustled in the cedars behind him, 
 sighed, and died away ; it seemed to him the echo 
 and seal of his renunciation ; as if earth bore witness 
 to the vow he offered unto heaven; and worn out with 
 
THE CURSE OF A GRANTED PRAYER. 305 
 
 the conflict which had lasted for hours in a maddened 
 repetition of the words here recorded, he crept a little 
 closer under the stunted cedars, laid his head on the 
 turf and fell asleep. Deep and tranquil was his rest, 
 for rnind and body were over-worn, yet it lasted but 
 one hour, for then the day broke in its June gladness 
 and splendor, and the earliest rays of the new- 
 risen sun dazzled his opening eyes ; the carol of birds 
 had awakened him at first, thrush, and song-sparrow, 
 blue-bird and robin poured out their sweet exultation 
 among the sheltering boughs, and as Philemon Hall 
 slowly rose to his feet, the whole warm glory of the 
 sunrise burst upon and enveloped him. Long familiar 
 words came to his lips : " Which is as a bridegroom 
 coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong 
 man to run a race." 
 
 He involuntarily shivered, but laid hold on his 
 thoughts with a strength greater far than that of the 
 runner, and setting his woe aside with the hand of 
 power, recalled the fact that he must get back to his 
 house, would it ever be his home ? before the vil 
 lage awoke. He bathed his face in a tiny, clear pool 
 left by the retreating tide, brushed the grass and moss 
 from his clothes, and walked rapidly along the beach, 
 and among the sand-dunes, bright now with glittering 
 grass, meeting no one, for the fishermen had come in 
 late the night before, and would not go out on the 
 ebb ; and the farmers were all at breakfast. He let 
 himself in by the shed, and kindled the hearth-fire 
 for their own breakfast, then he listened at Esther s 
 
306 STEADFAST. 
 
 door ; she was stirring, so he went down again into 
 his study, and opened the Bible for his daily reading. 
 It seemed to him a direct ordering of God that the 
 first words on which his eyes fell were these, "But 
 thanks be to God which giveth us the victory through 
 our Lord Jesus Christ ! Therefore, my beloved 
 brethren, be ye steadfast, unmoveable, always abound 
 ing in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know 
 that your labor is not in vain in the Lord." 
 
 Who shall say that it was not such an ordering ? 
 The phrases fell upon Philemon Hall s soul with 
 divine comfort, for they re-assured him that he had 
 not taken up arms without the strength to wield them 
 in a courage and power from on high ; and the calm 
 earnest exhortation to be steadfast in battle, to abound 
 always in labor, the strong assurance that neither 
 battle nor obedience should be futile, aroused him like 
 the soaring cry of a trumpet that calls to war, under 
 a mighty commander ; his eye kindled, his face 
 glowed ; it seemed little at that moment to give up 
 all human consolation, all sweetness and refreshing 
 that life below can bring ; he was ready to die for the 
 Captain of his assured salvation. Alas ! he had yet 
 to find how much harder it is to live for Him ! 
 
 He heard Esther come down the stair, but he did 
 not stir. She had been instructed in the ways and 
 means of the kitchen some weeks before by Aunt 
 Ruthy, one day when the minister had gone out of 
 town to an association ; and she knew that kindly 
 parishioners had stocked the pantry and storeroom 
 
THE CURSE OF A GRANT KD PRAYER. 307 
 
 with supplies ; she was not ignorant of her duties, she 
 set the round table for two, and soon savory odors of 
 "saxafrax" tea, shortcake blistering before the fire, 
 rashers of frizzling bacon, and eggs frying in the pan, 
 mingled with the breath of damask roses and spicy 
 pinks that came in at the open windows. It was a 
 breakfast to make a modern hygeist shudder, but in 
 those days men and women were unconscious of their 
 stomachs, and the sufferer from what we call dyspep 
 sia, was merely considered bad-tempered. Are they 
 still convertible terms ? 
 
 The minister entered the dining-room at Esther s 
 timid call, and bade her "good-day," gravely; then 
 he asked the accustomed blessing, but asked it with 
 so solemn a voice and in such an unusual phraseology 
 that Esther felt her awe of him increase. Breakfast 
 was eaten in silence, it might have been apples of 
 Sodom to Parson Hall rather than staple and indiges 
 tible viands, for all the savor it had to his palate, and 
 Esther too had lost her healthy appetite. 
 
 Who can eat on the brink of a crisis ? Our diges 
 tive apparatus resents inattention as perversely as a 
 child. When one is deeply and painfully absorbed in 
 some important matter or some awful and possessing 
 grief, it is worse than useless to eat ; yet we all try 
 to go through our recurrent meals and keep up a pre 
 tence of hunger. It is one of the painful conventions, 
 far better set aside than observed. 
 
 The minister went in again to his study while 
 Esther removed and washed her dishes ; but as he 
 
308 STEADFAST. 
 
 rose from the table he said to her in a calm and stren 
 uously gentle voice, that almost stopped her heart s 
 quick beating, 
 
 " Esther, when the morning duties of the house are 
 finished, will you come into my study for a brief 
 time ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir ! " gasped Esther, in a pained, childish 
 fashion. She was frightened, and grieved, and fully 
 conscious that she deserved severe reproof and re 
 monstrance ; but that consciousness did not make the 
 prospect of such a visitation any more agreeable to her. 
 She delayed her work as long as she dared, polished 
 her few china dishes till they shone again, chased 
 every speck of dust she could spy out with eager 
 energy, and took a long hour to set her own apart 
 ment in order. 
 
 She was not physically tired, for her rest had been 
 long, if troubled ; but she was mortally afraid to face 
 the interview before her. She felt like a prisoner at 
 the bar, already convicted by the jury, who awaits 
 the coming of the judge to declare that sentence. 
 But at last she could find nothing to do, and with her 
 heart in her mouth, trembling knees, and short-com 
 ing breath, she stole down the queer little staircase, 
 and passing by the dim parlor redolent of the great pot 
 pourri jars on the hearth and a faint scent of camphor 
 from the Indian matting, she knocked gently, but dis 
 tinctly, at the study door. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 A COMPACT. 
 
 Patience! patience! though heart should break, contend not 
 with God in heaven. 
 
 PARSON HALL opened it. He set a chair for her on 
 one side of the quaint, many-legged ebony table, on 
 . which lay his books of daily reference, and his sermon 
 paper, and said at once, in a gentle, constrained, yet 
 steady voice, 
 
 " Esther, my friend, you and I have made a griev 
 ous mistake. I would you had told me that you 
 were not prepared in your mind to be my wife." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Esther, in a piteous tone, " I was 
 wrong ! I had nobody to tell me, and I was so 
 lonely ! " 
 
 Mr. Hall heard between the faltering words far 
 more than they said. 
 
 " Nay, my dear ! I was most to blame. I let the 
 strength and sweetness of human affection hurry me 
 on, not regarding your youth and solitude, as was fit 
 ting. Esther, we have laid our hands upon the ark of 
 the Lord, hastily and carelessly, and He hath smitten 
 us ; we have taken upon us solemn and awful vows, 
 and for me there is no release, for I took them with 
 full understanding and purpose ; but you knew not 
 the thing that you did. It was even as you say, there 
 
 309 
 
310 STEADFAST. 
 
 was none to advise or warn you. By the authority of 
 my ministry I release you from the promise made in 
 your ignorance, so far as it is repugnant to your soul. 
 I shall no longer ask you to love me ; but I cannot 
 free you from the outward bond that fetters us. 
 Give me the respect and obedience you can give to 
 a minister of the Gospel of Christ, to whose flock 
 you belong, and I will ask for no more. I will treat 
 you as a dear and honored friend, and respect your 
 wishes in all things. We cannot separate, we must 
 b^ar our sorrows together. I dare not afford occasion 
 for the enemy to revile by the scandal of putting you 
 away. Neither man nor woman must intermeddle 
 with our life. It savors of deception, I well know so 
 to live ; but I see no other way to take, and I have 
 prayed earnestly for divine guidance. Shall it be so, 
 Esther ? " 
 
 The girl bent her face on her hands and sobbed 
 bitterly. By one of those strange, inexplicable re 
 vulsions of feeling, peculiar to women, she had never 
 come so near loving Philemon Hall as now when he 
 virtually divorced her. He stood there, strong and 
 calm, his face lit with spiritual beauty, almost to her 
 like some angel of judgment uttering her condem 
 nation, and putting her beyond the confines of hope 
 and joy for all time. Her sobs wrung the parson s 
 heart, but he dared not attempt to console her, lest his 
 own self-control should be shaken. He repeated the 
 question. 
 
 " Shall it be so ? " and his voice was stern and cold. 
 
A COMPACT. 311 
 
 Esther lifted her tear-stained face and bent her head. 
 In her simple gown and carelessly arranged hair, with 
 that tearful countenance and those quivering scarlet 
 lips, she looked like a sweet chidden child, and the 
 longing to clasp her in his arms and comfort her, rose 
 so fiercely into Philemon Hall s heart that he turned 
 suddenly and left the room, well knowing that in 
 every conflict to retreat is sometimes more needful 
 than to fight. 
 
 Esther stole away to her own chamber and sat down 
 to consider what must be done. She knew very well 
 that after dinner one and another of the parish 
 women would drop in to congratulate, inspect, advise, 
 and inquire, and she must be ready to receive them, 
 but first she must adjust herself a little to the situa 
 tion; she prepared the apartment she occupied for 
 her husband, it had always been his room ; and she 
 unpacked and removed her own possessions to another 
 back of that one, where Aunt Ruthy had formerly 
 slept. She had observed, with feminine quickness, 
 that Parson Hall had never even implied a possibility 
 of change in her or in himself ; given no hint or inti 
 mation that in all time she might ever learn to love 
 him, or he forget how she had deceived and wounded 
 him. It was best so ; yet as she looked forward to 
 this dreary life of continual pretence and loveless 
 intimacy, her girl s heart shuddered at the prospect, 
 and she sighed often as she went about the house, and 
 thought of the monotonous, untrue, harrassing days 
 she must spend there. But there was work to be 
 
312 STEADFAST. 
 
 done, she could not sit down and vex her soul ; work ! 
 the one blessing of life, lay close at hand. Work ! 
 the too-well-disguised angel of daily life, the com 
 forter that makes living possible to the loneliest soul, 
 the most desolate heart : the blessing in disguise that 
 kept our first parents from dying of home-woe for 
 their lost Eden. Who shall sing its praises fitly ? 
 Who canonize Saint Labor ? Who raise a carmen 
 triumphale to that which humanity miscalls a curse ? 
 
 In the vindications and revelations of another 
 world, we shall know that of all mortal blessings and 
 balms the power and opportunity to work was the 
 greatest, but here we are blind, because we are mortal. 
 
 Mr. Hall spent the morning in his study after 
 Esther left him. He poured out his soul on his ser 
 mon; never before in all his ministry at Trumbull 
 had he written such a discourse. It had for its text 
 the verse to which his Bible had opened that morn 
 ing, " Be ye steadfast, unmoveable, always abounding 
 in the work of the Lord." He wrote on and on in 
 the fervor of his experience, and could scarce bear to 
 leave the work when Esther called him to dinner, 
 but according to his custom as soon as the meal was 
 over, he went abroad to visit some of his parishioners 
 who were ill or sorrow stricken in the outlying parts 
 of the parish. It had been one of his dreams that 
 Esther and he should take these long drives together 
 through the beautiful country in its fresh summer 
 leanness and perfume, but now he preferred to walk ; 
 the new chaise, the gentle, swift horse provided for 
 
A COMPACT. 313 
 
 her pleasure, might stay in the bam ; he could not 
 yet face a solitary drive ; he must weary himself 
 with sharp bodily exercise, the better to control his 
 inward grief and disappointment. He walked at 
 his best pace ; the shining grasses of the shore 
 never caught his eye, nor did the soft plash and 
 whispering recoil of the rising tide attract his ea**; 
 he gave no heed to the young lambs frisking on 
 the salt meadows, nor when his long road turned 
 into the inner country, did lie observe the crowds 
 of mild blue sand-violets with golden eyes smil 
 ing upward to the kindred blue of the June heaven, 
 nor yet the tiny thickets of gray -green sweet fern, 
 full of young brown catkins ; the clear red of oak- 
 sprouts beside the wood path ; the shimmer of emer 
 ald light downward through new leaves of maple 
 and birch; the velvet-banded boles of old gray- 
 barked beeches leaning forward toward him. All 
 these he passed unheeded, even the round innocent 
 pink buds with here and there a calm, open blossom 
 that were clustered on the apple-trees in their abun 
 dant promise, and the long rods of roseate bloom on 
 late fruiting peach-trees, or the snow of stainless 
 pear-blossoms were all vague to his eye; he saw 
 nothing but Esther, dove-like and womanly in her 
 bridal garb, or childishly, piteously sweet, in her 
 flowered chintz skirt and white short gown, burying 
 her face in her hands, or lifting it again with tearful 
 submission. 
 
 It almost seemed to Philemon Hall that he was 
 
314 STEADFAST. 
 
 haunted by that lovely ghost of the past and the 
 future. He bared his burning head to the summer 
 breezes as he went, and sent his whole soul upward 
 in prayer for help. The very effort to lift his 
 thoughts beyond himself had its own power to quiet 
 them, and bodily fatigue gave a certain languor to his 
 weary soul that made it easier to control. Had he 
 stopped to philosophize, now was the time to inspect 
 and wonder at the curious admixture of spirit and 
 matter that goes to the make-up of human beings ; 
 but Philemon Hall was a simple, direct, earnest man ; 
 simple in the way that Fenelon eulogizes : he would 
 not, could not, dissect his own spiritual nature, " peep 
 and botanize," thereon to satisfy his curiosity; he 
 had duties to fulfil, and war to wage with the world, 
 the flesh, and the devil ; the solitude of these lonely 
 country roads was the mountain-top where he must 
 meet and fight the enemy ; it mattered nothing to 
 him that he was himself fearfully and wonderfully 
 made ; that was God s doing ; his part was to put on 
 the whole armor of God and "having done all, to 
 stand." 
 
 While he was striding over field and hill, Esther 
 was making ready for the inevitable visitors. It was 
 most in accord with her feelings to put on the black 
 dress that had been Aunt Dyer s ; but it looked so 
 sombre that she could not forbear lighting it up with 
 a bunch of June pinks pinned on to her stomacher ; 
 she had brushed all the powder from her hair, and its 
 dark rich masses made her pallor more apparent, for 
 
A COMPACT. 315 
 
 except in her lips there was not a trace of color in 
 her whole countenance. She seated herself in the 
 window and took up a small tambour-frame ; she could 
 not sit idle, she dared not ; she was afraid of her own 
 thoughts. Soon after she had assumed her position, 
 a chariot rolled up to the door, a footman descended, 
 and a smart knock heralded Madam Stanley. Esther 
 dropped a formal courtesy as she ushered the gor 
 geous and stately lady into her low parlor. 
 
 " Well, Madam Hall," began Mrs. Stanley. " I am 
 pleased to be the first to congratulate thee ; but where 
 is your maid ? It is scarce seemly for you to attend 
 the door yourself." 
 
 "I have no maid, Madam Stanley," said Esther 
 with quiet pride. 
 
 " No maid ? tut ! tut ! child ; this will never do. 
 I had thought the Hadsell wench was coming to 
 thee." 
 
 " She is not," replied Esther, curtly. 
 
 " Hum ! airs and graces already ! Child, thou art 
 over-proud for a parson s dame. And where is Par 
 son Hall ? " 
 
 " He hath gone to visit some sick ones over Hill 
 side way." 
 
 Not that brat of John Stonebridge s ? " 
 
 " Nay, madam ; somewhat further I think ; he hath 
 gone toward Dog s Misery to see the farmer at Chuck- 
 ster s Mill." 
 
 " Methinks he is more than lawfully quick to go 
 about his business so soon. Doth not the Scripture 
 
316 STEADFAST. 
 
 say that, < When a man hath taken a new wife, he 
 shall not go out to war, neither shall he be charged 
 with any business, but he shall be free at home one 
 year, and shall cheer up his wife which he hath 
 taken. Parson Hall needeth to rub up his Old Test 
 ament, eh, child ? " 
 
 Esther colored hotly ; she did not like Madam 
 Stanley s overbearing ways ; she had never liked 
 them ; but she also inwardly resented the feeling that 
 made her herself so warm in Parson Hall s defence. 
 Why should she care what was said of him. Yet she 
 answered as a wife should. 
 
 "Madam, Mr. Hall liveth not under the former 
 dispensation, he is a preacher and liver of the Gospel 
 of Christ. I think none will ever find him neglecting 
 his duties for " she hesitated a moment " his civ 
 ilities ! " 
 
 " Hoity, toity ! so one must not say an ill word of 
 the husband, little G-rizzel ! Tis sportful to hear the 
 chicken cackle so like an old hen. But to be serious, 
 chick, I think thou shouldst have a maid. Kespect 
 thine office ; the parson s wife hath a position. And 
 it is not well that you over-work." 
 
 Nay madam, I enjoy work. I think we will con 
 tinue even as we have begun." 
 
 " Well, go thy way ; if wilful will to water, wilful 
 must drench ; but when there come other cares to fill 
 hands and arms, the maid will perforce follow." 
 
 Esther blushed an angry crimson ; she liked neither 
 the allusion nor her own consciousness of playing a 
 
A COMPACT. 317 
 
 part ; and as Mrs. Tempy came bustling in just then, 
 Madam Stanley, after inspecting the room through 
 her glasses, with the frank impertinence of a great 
 lady, bade Esther farewell, proceeded to her carriage, 
 and rolled off. 
 
 " Proud as a pie, a n t she ? " said Tempy, with a 
 sagacious nod. " Tis the old story ; she d better 
 rek lect the pit whence she was digged ; her granny 
 was a French papist and her grandsir a pottecary. 
 Set her up for a great lady ! And what is the time of 
 day with thee, Easter ? Alack ! my sweet ; thou art 
 but a sad-colored bride. Why didst put on this black 
 gown? Sure as you re born twill bring misfortin. 
 What a tell ! a bride in black." 
 
 Esther smiled wistfully. "Will luck hurt a par 
 son s wife, Aunt Tempy ? Yet maybe I have had it 
 already ; for I forgot to ask the madam if she heard 
 from Sybil by the last ship. Madam Stanley is sharp 
 of speech and I had much to hear that I misliked, so 
 I remembered not my dear Sybil." 
 
 " Well, child, there comes another time ; Mr. Hall 
 will ask for thee. Where is he to-day ? " 
 
 So again Esther had to explain ; and over and over 
 again to the good women and gossips who came in, all 
 that long afternoon, and wondered why the parson 
 had left his young wife to receive the parish alone. 
 
 They had expected to see a gravely smiling bride 
 groom, ready to welcome them, by the side of a bloom 
 ing bride ; but here was only this pale, quiet girl in a 
 black gown, that might have become her mother. 
 
318 STEADFAST. 
 
 One and another queried about her domestic affairs 
 in the kitchen ; some applauded her thrift ; some dep 
 recated it ; the few young girls who came, said almost 
 nothing; she was not of their kind; they only stared 
 and went away. 
 
 It was well after sunset when the parson came 
 back, tired and haggard ; and Esther s face had not 
 even the glow of welcome in it ; she was weary, spirit 
 less, and angry with herself ; all the covert allusions 
 and matronly warnings of her well-meaning but not 
 well-bred parishioners, through the long hot afternoon 
 had not only disgusted her maidenly nature, but filled 
 her anew with the bitter consciousness that she was a 
 living lie. 
 
 Poor Esther ! more unhappy parson ! for if her 
 conscience was sore, he had not only his personal con 
 science, but that which pertained to his office to keep 
 spotless, and he had stained both. The sinner had, 
 after all, led the saint astray ! 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 DAILY. 
 
 A grief without a pang, void, dark and drear 
 A stifled, drowsy, unimpassioned grief 
 Which finds no natural outlet, no relief, 
 In word, or sigh, or tear. 
 
 VERY monotonous were the days that now made up 
 Esther s life. She had her household duties, but 
 they were light, and to her youth and strength rather 
 amusement than work when she became used to 
 them. She could take the chaise and drive herself 
 wherever she chose to go, but she never did. In 
 order to keep up appearances, Mr. Hall now and then 
 drove out with her to make his parochial visits, but 
 the drives were as formal, as lifeless, as appearances 
 always are. When they spoke together, it was of 
 indifferent subjects, and they spoke little, for with 
 that pensive, lovely face close beside him, it was 
 hard work for Philemon Hall to keep his voice from 
 betraying the anguish and passion of his soul. He 
 could only hope that in the course of years he might 
 become, through habit, as cold and calm as befitted 
 the situation, but it was too new now for him to stifle 
 within him the feeling he dared not outwardly 
 express. 
 
 For Esther the matter was far easier ; she had no 
 love to hold down, no longing for any nearer relation ; 
 319 
 
320 STEADFAST. 
 
 her trouble was that her life was one of constant 
 deception and gnawing regret that she had in her 
 selfish desire to change her solitude for the peace 
 and protection of a home, placed so noble a man in a 
 false position. For, as the days went on, she could 
 not but admire and respect her husband more and 
 more. 
 
 His fervent prayers ; his devotion to his duty ; his 
 courage in reproof of evil ; his tenderness to all grief 
 or want ; his charity and his truth ; all reproached 
 her, yet bade her wonder and admire a man whose 
 like she had never known. 
 
 And with each silent tribute her heart rendered to 
 the excellence of his life, and the strength of his 
 religious faith, came the stinging thought that she 
 had given occasion of offence to this pure soul, and 
 caused it to dissemble and pretend. 
 
 Lefi very much to herself, for in spite of her opin 
 ion of him, Parson Hall was by no means a perfect 
 man, and involved in his own war with his inward 
 nature forgot that his wife might have her own 
 troubles to face, and so left her alone to face them, 
 Esther encountered a new danger; she began to 
 think of Philip Kent. He had been very far from 
 saintly or perfect, as she knew to her cost, but she 
 had loved him ! In spite of herself her solitary heart 
 turned back to those hours when life had been so 
 rapturously sweet to her, and her weak soul was con 
 sumed with the bitter regret of a hopeless recollec 
 tion. She knew this was wrong ; she knew that one 
 
DAILY. 321 
 
 strong reason for her marriage had been that she 
 would thus put a barrier between herself and Philip 
 for all time ; but, as the French proverb says, the 
 effort to forget only made her remember. 
 
 She shuddered when she found herself thinking as 
 she sat by her lonely fireside at night waiting to give 
 the parson his supper after his long day of visitations 
 far and near, how sweet it would be if it were Philip 
 coming in ; how joyful to meet tender eyes and clasp 
 ing arms at the door, and give back the warm wel 
 come, wait on his needs, and then, sitting on his knee, 
 demand and receive the story of his day s occupation. 
 
 Ah ! how wicked all this was ! What could she do 
 to avoid it ? How get the better of these perilously 
 blissful dreams? She prayed with all her soul for 
 help ; she read her Bible with eager diligence ; she 
 went about to visit the sick and the poor j she took 
 down the volumes of history and theology, ponder 
 ous and few, that formed her husband s library, and 
 tried to read them, but they were as dust and ashes 
 to her girlish mind. Often she went over to the 
 school and disturbed its order with her presence, for 
 the children still worshipped her, and when they 
 found she had not gone from them, or ceased to love 
 them, they began to haunt the parsonage, to find 
 their own way to the jar of spicy nut cakes in the 
 pantry, to discover the dish of sugar cookies and 
 revel in its treasures, to pluck posies in the formal 
 garden, and dispute with the robins and orioles the 
 reddening currants and the ripening raspberries; 
 
322 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 Their little rosy faces, their innocent, saucy prattle, 
 as once before were a balm to Esther s sore and tired 
 heart. 
 
 Aunt Kuthy watched her as she went about among 
 them, and sadly noted the wistful and woful curve of 
 her lips, the darkened eye, the melancholy of the 
 smiles that awoke the dimples in her still rounded 
 cheek, and the good old woman s heart ached. She 
 loved Philemon Hall like a son; she had watched 
 with the deepest pity and reverence his devotion to 
 Eachel, his smitten wife, and she had hoped and 
 prayed that in this second marriage he might find 
 recompense for all his goodness in the past ; but she 
 knew something had. gone wrong now. Silent, but 
 observant, she had perceived Parson Hall s love for 
 Esther before he had been conscious of it himself, she 
 had seen its strong and ardent growth, and, though 
 she believed the woman did not live who would be a 
 perfect mate for this man, she was wise enough and 
 old enough to know that no one can guide or govern 
 a man s predilections in the case of a woman he elects 
 to love, or, rather, loves without electing. She had 
 also been aware of Esther s liking for Philip Kent, 
 but not of its extent. She thought it was but a girl s 
 fancy, and believed that when Esther discovered the 
 false and selfish character of the man, and contrasted 
 him with Mr. Hall, steadfast, faithful, and generous, 
 her early passion would vanish like an autumn mist 
 before the sun. She could not now picture to herself 
 any possible hindrance to the new and happy life 
 
DAILY. 323 
 
 that ought to blossom in the parsonage, but she dis 
 tinctly saw that it did not exist ; and knowing well 
 that she could neither help or hinder it by any mere 
 human means, she betook herself to prayer, for in 
 those days there were men and women who accepted 
 the Bible as their guide, believed in the Triune God, 
 and made their lives blessed and beautiful in that 
 faith and its fruits. Then there was no open reaching 
 after a new religion, that should conform its theories 
 and demands to the reason of man instead of the 
 wisdom of God ; the creature rested in his own place, 
 and adored and trusted his Creator with childlike 
 confidence and manly reverence, anxious only to work 
 out his own salvation, knowing that it was God work 
 ing in him to the loftiest and purest results. 
 
 So the summer wore on, and before its end there 
 came a new interest into Philemon Hall s life. 
 
 At the time of which we write there was a legalized 
 union of church and state prevailing in the colony, 
 and no other church than the Congregational was 
 allowed to exist ; or, if such a schismatic organization 
 or conclave persisted in existing, its members were 
 punished by fine, by extortion, by imprisonment, and 
 by branding. Even the neglect to attend " the public 
 worship of God in some lawful Congregation," for the 
 sake of " worshipping in separate companies in private 
 houses," was visited by a heavy fine. 
 
 Perhaps it was this stringent prohibition, and an 
 inheritance of the old spirit that drove their fathers 
 across the sea in search of "freedom to worship 
 
324 STEADFAST. 
 
 God, 7 that worked in the bosoms of certain good and 
 godly men, who read their Bible with a different 
 understanding of its technical phraseology from that 
 of the Congregationalists, and so induced them to 
 declare to the world that baptism by immersion was 
 necessary to salvation, and therefore they must form 
 a separate, and a Baptist church for themselves. 
 Years before this time such an offence against the 
 stringent ecclesiasticism of the Colony had been made, 
 by law a serious matter, involving severe fines, and 
 to the clergyman who dared administer the commun 
 ion to such a flock, " corporeal punishment, by whip 
 ping, not exceeding thirty stripes for each offence." 
 It is painful to record this illiberality on the part of 
 those whose national history began in a protest 
 against the tyranny of ecclesiastical power; whose 
 immediate ancestors had suffered the loss of all 
 things for the sake of spiritual liberty. Yet it demon 
 strates a fact that should be a powerful incentive to 
 charity of judgment toward our fellowmen under any 
 and all conditions or actions, the fact that human 
 nature is akin the world over, subject to the same 
 passions, the same prejudices, the same narrowness of 
 outlook, and cruelty of conceit in 1620 as in 1748 or 
 1889. 
 
 At this period of which we write, men who avowed 
 their faith in the Baptist " heresy " were persecuted 
 with little mercy ; they were not hung, or shot, or 
 drowned, but they were cast into prison, stripped of 
 their substance, reviled and despised, and, as a natu- 
 
DAILY. 325 
 
 ral consequence, increased and flourished in the face 
 of their enemies ; for that " the blood of the martyrs 
 is the seed of the church," is a truth for all ages and 
 nations. 
 
 Early in the winter following Parson Hall s mar 
 riage, just when the gloom in his heart seemed deeper 
 and his position more unendurable than ever, since 
 the cold without put an end to his long walks and 
 drives and forced him into daily companionship with 
 Esther, in all her gracious, if pensive beauty, her gen 
 tle household ways, and tormentingly delightful pres 
 ence, he received a message from the Baptist church 
 in Watertown, the adjoining town to Trumbull, say 
 ing that Doctor Bellamy, a well-known divine of the 
 " established " church, had preached to them to their 
 great acceptance and comfort, for in the "great 
 awakening" this little church had been aroused to 
 deep religious concern, and therefore their pastor 
 had invited certain of the clergy of the orthodox 
 denomination, who were considered to have caught 
 some of the spirit and power of Whitfield s inspired 
 ministrations, to preach for his flock, "Observing 
 that as to the internals of religion they could heartily 
 join with them, though not in the mode." 
 
 ^Now in Watertown the Baptists had been treated 
 more mildly than in the neighboring villages ; and by 
 advice of the governor of the colony, who seemed to 
 have some especial reasons for favoring the Baptists 
 in that town, (perhaps because Mr. Milliken, their 
 pastor, was his cousin by marriage, and Madam Wai- 
 
326 STEADFAST. 
 
 cott, the governor s wife, was reputed commonly to 
 be " the power behind the throne/ ) the assessments 
 made for the support of the legal church were re 
 mitted in behalf of these schismatics. 
 
 It may be that Parson Hall was aware of their 
 peculiar immunities in Watertown ; it may be that 
 he was not ; in the light of following events one 
 thing is manifest, that such knowledge, or the want 
 of it, would have made no difference in his course ; 
 he was pleased at the invitation, for while he did not 
 in the least accept or favor the peculiar dogmas of 
 the Baptists, his spirit had been filled with indigna 
 tion at their sufferings and persecutions ; for he con 
 sidered them fellow Christians, honest and righteous, 
 if mistaken in their non-essential points of belief. 
 
 He spoke of the letter he had received from Parson 
 Milliken to Esther with keen pleasure ; once more a 
 spark kindled in his eye, and his voice recovered for 
 a moment its old ring. While he had never hesitated 
 to express his opinion concerning the treatment of 
 the Baptists by his own church in terms of forcible 
 distaste and denunciation, he had never yet had an 
 opportunity to prove his words by his works; and 
 the spirit of the man roused to the occasion; he 
 knew that he might, nay, that he doubtless should, 
 encounter some opposition and reproof, but it was a 
 matter of conscience with him to feed his Master s 
 sheep in whatever fold the door was opened for him ; 
 and having written his acceptance and appointed an 
 early day in the next month to occupy the pulpit, he 
 
DAILY. 327 
 
 set about him to find some one who should fill his 
 own place on that day, and then began to consider on 
 what verse of Scripture he should hold forth to this 
 hungering and thirsting crowd of strangers. 
 
 He selected for his text the curt and tremendous 
 sentence " He that is not with me is against me/ 7 and 
 filled with the immensity and awe of that declaration 
 and all it implies, he .sat down at his study table and 
 wrote like one inspired. For once he utterly lost 
 sight of himself and his troubles in burning eagerness 
 to set before men their destiny and their freedom of 
 choice ; the absolute impossibility of being neutral ; 
 the inevitable necessity of avowing their position, 
 since whatever they said their lives would deny or 
 assert the truth in spite of their elusive words. And 
 from this he drew fearful pictures of the hypocrite, 
 and the open opponent of God ; and with heartrend 
 ing pathos described the penitence and acceptance of 
 the convicted sinner, and the divine peace and 
 strength of the saint, who, when the griefs and 
 losses of life come upon him like a flood, can exult 
 antly declare u The Lord is on my side ! I will not 
 fear; what can man do unto me ? " 
 
 It was indeed a wonderful sermon, but the aston 
 ishing part of it to Philemon Hall was its reflex 
 action on his own soul. In endeavoring to bring 
 others to this standpoint he had arri-ved there him 
 self, and in the glow of his enthusiasm, and the shin 
 ing of this immortal truth, his own sorrow seemed to 
 be but a passing shadow driven off by a keen, strong 
 
STEADFAST. 
 
 wind; he recognized the brevity of time, and the 
 awful issues of eternity in their true proportions, and 
 felt a sort of noble shame in that he had not better 
 endured hardness as a good soldier of Christ Jesus. 
 
 It was an illustration of the Scripture "he that 
 watereth shall be watered also himself," and though 
 Parson Hall wrote far into the night, he slept peace 
 fully thereafter, and not even Esther s fair, torment 
 ing face looked in upon his dreamless rest. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 IN THE BEGINNING. 
 
 Mortal ! who standest on a point of time, 
 With an eternity on either hand ; 
 Thou hast one duty over all sublime, 
 "Where thou art placed, serenely there to stand. 
 
 PARSON HALL S sermon was wonderfully acceptable 
 to the Watertown Baptists ; they were moved to the 
 depth of their hearts by its earnestness and fervor, 
 and it was so strictly unsectarian that it might have 
 been preached in St. Peter s at Rome, and given no 
 offence to the Pope himself. 
 
 It had always been characteristic of Mr. Hall s 
 preaching that it was devoted to the essentials of 
 religion, and ignored the trivialities and absurdities 
 of man-made dogmas and assertions. 
 
 He said one day to Parson Dyer, who at the in 
 stance of certain old rigidities in the congregation 
 undertook to remonstrate with him for neglecting 
 the stringent doctrines of the day, such as election, 
 predestination, free will, infant damnation, and the 
 like. 
 
 " Brother Dyer, < necessity is laid upon me ; yea, 
 woe is unto me, if I preach not the gospel, and I 
 cannot think that these things be needful unto salva 
 tion. I am a mortal man, and who knoweth at what 
 hour I may be called to put on immortality ? It 
 
 329 
 
330 STEADFAST. 
 
 behoves me while life lasteth to know nothing among 
 you save Jesus Christ and him crucified ; I leave to 
 him who alloweth us to see but as in a glass, darkly, 
 the administration of his government. I know in 
 whom I have believed, and that is all I do know." 
 
 " Well, well, Brother Hall, I know you are one of 
 the New Lights, but be it said they don t seem to see 
 through a millstone any better than the old sort, I 
 cannot but think that the grappling of the mind with 
 speritooal problems hath an effect to strengthen its 
 hold upon invisible things. It rouses the grit to en 
 deavor to reconcile the ways of God to man, for it is 
 hard, yea ! it is hard." 
 
 Philemon Hall s brain suddenly evolved before him 
 that June morning when he too found those ways 
 hard as adamant, and impossible to understand, as he 
 lay prone on the cliff wrestling with the will of God, 
 even as Jacob wrestled with the angel at Peniel, but 
 alas ! unlike Jacob, had not prevailed, but had sub 
 mitted. He drew a long, sighing breath. 
 
 " Yea, Brother Dyer, it may be so, but that is not 
 my calling. i To every man his work. 7 " 
 
 Parson Dyer cast upon him a sharp glance from 
 under his shaggy brows, but said no more, and Phile 
 mon Hall thence and thereafter preached in the sim 
 plicity of the Gospel ; but the elder men of the 
 ministry kept an eye on him, half of doubt, half of 
 distrust. 
 
 He left Watertown on the Monday morning with a 
 glowing heart, for he felt that he had done some 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 331 
 
 worthy work for his Master, and though the chill 
 shadow of his personal life fell upon him again as he 
 opened the door of his house and received Esther s 
 shy and formal greeting, he could rise above the 
 clouds to-day, and rest in the serene atmosphere of a 
 higher and purer existence, " hid with Christ in God." 
 Wonderful words ! more wonderful truth. As he 
 went on toward his study, Esther followed him with 
 two letters in her hand, which she had just taken 
 down from the keeping-room shelf. 
 
 "These were brought by the post-rider but two 
 hours after you were gone, on the Saturday night," 
 she said. 
 
 He took them from her silently, and laying them on 
 the table proceeded to take from his bookcase certain 
 books of reference with a view to his next sermon, 
 and then seating himself, broke the seals of the epis 
 tles. They were both postmarked from Watertown, 
 where he had just been ; the first he opened was a 
 short missive signed by forty-two men of that town, 
 desiring him not to preach to the Baptists there. 
 They gave no reason why he should comply with their 
 request, except that they wished him to do so, and he 
 cast the letter aside, intending to destroy it, but on 
 second thought took it up from the floor, folded, and 
 dated it on the outside, and opened the other. This 
 was equally brief, but came from a brother clergy 
 man, the Keverend Mr. Miles, of Eastport, a town of 
 the consociation to which Trumbull and Watertown 
 belonged, advising him in a friendly but peremptory 
 
332 
 
 STEADFAST. 
 
 way, not to preach in the Baptist meeting-house in 
 Watertown. 
 
 Philemon Hall laid this letter upon the other, and 
 resting his head upon his hands fell into deep thought. 
 Why should he not preach to these few sheep in 
 the wilderness ? he said to himself. He did not 
 thereby aid or endorse their peculiar doctrine, or help 
 to extend it among the townspeople ; they were anx 
 ious sinners, hungering and thirsting for salvation, 
 and what reason was there that he should not point 
 out to them the Way of Life ? He thoroughly stud 
 ied the pros and cons of the matter ; in a measure he 
 perceived what lay before him; he knew that his 
 brethren disapproved of his course, and would oppose 
 it with all their power. They could make his position 
 very uncomfortable at least ; possibly, he might suffer 
 at their hands the same indignities they had inflicted 
 on several of the Baptist preachers. But ought he to 
 consider his personal gain or ease in the face of so 
 manifest a duty as this ? He dared not decide for 
 himself; he knew that in his seemingly quiet and 
 mild disposition the spirit of the church militant was 
 strong and eager ; he distrusted his own candor in a 
 point where his soul sprang up like an armed man 
 zealous to fight for the Lord against the foolishness 
 of men. Perhaps his native combativeness, so long 
 and so well kept under, not only by the restraining 
 grace of God, but by the strength of self-control his 
 bitter disappointments had taught him, might now 
 unduly influence him to set at naught the warnings 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 333 
 
 and wishes of his brethren, because to him they 
 seemed idle and futile. 
 
 It did not once occur to him that he could be in 
 fluenced by the popularity he might acquire among 
 his Baptist people, for he was not a vain or a con 
 ceited man. He was honest and self-distrustful, and 
 there remained but one thing for him to do, to ask 
 counsel from on high. He slipped the button across 
 his door, and on his knees laid the whole matter 
 before God, in humble confidence, asking for guidance 
 from that wisdom which sees the end from the begin 
 ning, and is given liberally, without upbraiding, to 
 whosoever asks in simplicity of faith. 
 
 There is a calming and elevating influence in the 
 mere attitude of real prayer, that brings the soul into 
 an atmosphere whose tranquil clarity shows the 
 things which make up our strange lives in their 
 true relation both to this world and another. In 
 the face-light of Divinity our souls see how small 
 are the things men count important ; how awful and 
 how lofty those eternal truths we daily neglect and 
 ignore. 
 
 Philemon Hall in that presence-chamber perceived 
 at once what his duty was ; how clear, how direct, 
 how needful to be done. And as his future course 
 opened before him, with all its rough possibilities 
 and alienations, he was not daunted ; for there 
 flashed through his soul the words that had before 
 guided him to the battle : " Be ye steadfast, unmove- 
 able, always abounding in the work of the Lord, foras- 
 
334 STEADFAST. 
 
 % 
 
 much as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the 
 Lord." 
 
 He could have cried like the Roman emperor, " In 
 hoc signo vinces," for he felt that the Lord had spoken 
 to his soul in the word of Scripture; and he arose 
 from his knees, having his commission and his pass 
 word therein. 
 
 It may not be as aesthetic, as rational, or as philo 
 sophic to believe in the Bible as in the " religion of 
 nature ; " " hysteric Boodhism," as a small child aptly 
 misnamed the new Asiatic cult ; or that denial of all 
 things, that says in its heart there is no God ; but 
 it certainly is not as helpful or satisfactory to trust 
 in any of these refuges of lies, as in the God of the 
 Bible, and the Christ of the Cross. To them what 
 myriads of desperate and wretched human souls have 
 fled in all recorded time, and found help and hope ; 
 what death-beds have they comforted, what lives 
 inspired, what sinners reclaimed, what civilization 
 wrought, what social reforms inaugurated! "By 
 their works shall ye know them ! " 
 
 Parson Hall went to his daily duties with a reso 
 lute and calm countenance. The dark expression 
 that had deepened his eyes and set his lips was 
 gone. He had told the Watertown Baptists that 
 he would preach for them on the ensuing Sunday, 
 and now in the new courage and ardor of his soul he 
 began to write the sermon so promised. This time it 
 was as un sectarian as before, but more tender, more 
 pleading, and it flowed like a joyful stream from its 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 335 
 
 fountain, from the good words : " God so loved the 
 world that He gave his only-begotten Son, that who 
 soever believeth on Him should not perish but have 
 eternal life. 7 
 
 Again the earnest hearers were moved and melted ; 
 many of them professed to be converted by one or 
 the other of Mr. Hall s discourses, and seemed of a 
 truth to have begun Christian lives, so that his heart 
 rejoiced as he said over again to himself: "Foras 
 much as ye know that your labor is not in vain in 
 Lord." But the trouble he had expected followed 
 fast on the heels of his rejoicing ; he was, the very 
 next week, complained of to the Consociation of Con 
 gregational Churches of Newport County, as a dis 
 orderly person, in this formula, 
 
 I, the Subscriber, do signify, by way of Complaint to this_ 
 Reverend Consosiation, that on ye 10th day of January last 
 past, the Reverend Philemon Hall did enter into ye first Society 
 in Watertown and preach in a Disorderly Manner in Contem pt 
 of ye authorety of this Consosiation without ye consent of ye 
 Revd mr Wappinger, Pastor of sayd Society, contrary to the 
 Act of ye Milford Counsil, contrary to the Act of this Consosia 
 tion, and contrary to ye Desire of two naybouring Ministers, and 
 a grate Number of Church Members in Watertown. 
 
 PETER HALE. 
 
 Parson Hall was grieved deeply by this first shot 
 from the ecclesiastical batteries of his own church. 
 Hitherto, he had enjoyed the friendly intercourse of 
 his brother clergymen extremely. In the denials and 
 endurances of his earliest home life, and its social 
 solitudes, for Eachel s extreme suffering at times, 
 
336 STEADFAST. 
 
 and her chronic helplessness, forbade her either to 
 receive guests or to visit ; and her husband thought 
 it best not to indulge himself greatly in pleasures she 
 could not share, he had looked forward to the meet 
 ings of the Consociation as a sort of mild dissipation, 
 which he could enjoy, and yet feel it was his duty to 
 attend. Then his personal friendship for some of the 
 very men who felt that now they must reprove him 
 and expel him from their society, had been, nay, 
 still was, very strong and sweet. It would be as 
 the severance of David and Jonathan, should two or 
 three of these take up weapons of war against him. 
 And now that his private griefs had once more taken 
 possession of heart and hearth, he had looked forward 
 to these meetings with his brethren as occasions 
 where his weary soul should be refreshed, and his 
 feeble knees strengthened. This hope he must re 
 linquish. How glad he would have been now to carry 
 his troubles to Eachel, and from her perceptive mind 
 and loving heart draw the sympathy and consolation 
 men so invariably demand from the nearest woman 
 fitted to give it. 
 
 Could he, should he, tell Esther ? 
 
 The cold silence of their daily intercourse daunted 
 him in this stress of vexation and dismay, but he 
 must speak of his new position, in justice to her. He 
 began to feel that, as his wife, she had certain rights ; 
 she ought to understand what he knew now would be 
 the consequence of his following out his ideas of duty 
 before the knowledge should be spread abroad in his 
 
IN THE BEGINNING. 837 
 
 own church or the town. So, before he replied to the 
 accusation of the Consociation, he sat down by the 
 fire one evening instead of going back from supper 
 and prayers to his study, and laid before her, as plainly 
 as he could, the results of his course. 
 
 "And will you go on preaching to the Baptists, 
 nevertheless ? " she asked timidly. 
 
 " I shall, Esther. I have considered the matter 
 wibh much prayer. The Lord s commission unto his 
 disciples was, Feed my sheep, and who shall say 
 that these few souls, hungering and thirsting after 
 righteousness, are not his ? " 
 
 " But you may have to leave this church and your 
 own people, if you are steadfast in this matter." 
 
 " Ah, Esther, do you think me so poor a creature that 
 I cannot abide the wrath of man, when I can see the 
 face of God ? Nay, I feel that by his grace I could 
 take joyfully the spoiling of my goods. I must, 
 indeed, lay the matter before my church, to whom I 
 am bound by ties not lightly to be broken. But if 
 the worst you or I imagine shall come upon us, have 
 we not the promise that the Lord will provide ? 
 Yea ! " and here his voice rose clear, ringing, and 
 triumphant, and his face glowed as Esther had never 
 seen it, 
 
 "Yea! Who shall separate us from the love of 
 Christ ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, 
 or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword ? Nay ! 
 in all these things we are more than conquerors, 
 through him that loved us ! " 
 
338 STEADFAST. 
 
 He turned away and went to his study, half 
 ashamed of his outburst of feeling, though it was 
 involuntary. But his wife sat long and late by the 
 fireside, thrilled with an indescribable tumult of 
 feeling. 
 
 Why was her pillow wet with tears that night ? 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A SURPRISE. 
 
 There comes a resurrection of the dead, 
 
 Before this world and all its folk have fled. 
 
 Past deeds, past words, past thoughts arise, and call 
 
 With living voices, that the soul appal. 
 
 We know, aghast, that nothing ever dies 
 
 But, soon or late, shall from its grave arise, 
 
 Confront us, like a spectre, from the tomb, 
 
 And fill our souls with fear, remorse, and gloom. 
 
 SOON after Parson Hall preached his sermon to the 
 Watertown Baptists, and received the remonstrance 
 and complaint of Peter Hale, from the hands of the 
 Consociation, to which it was sent, he returned to 
 that body the following vindication : 
 
 To THE REVEREND CONSOCIATION OF NEWPORT COUNTY, 
 I, the subscriber, having been duly notified that a Complaynte 
 hath been sent you that upon ye 10th clay of January I did, in 
 a Disorderlie manner, in Contemt of ye Consociation and with- 
 oute Consent of Revd Mr. Wappinger, preache ye Gospel unto a 
 Convocation of folk commonlie called Baptists, said folk Inhab- 
 itynge within sayd Wappinger s Society. I would hereby state, 
 1st, that ye Honble John Walcott, Governor of this Colony, 
 hath not pressed ye sayd Baptists for their ministerial Taxes; 
 therebye Implyinge that they have Ecclesiastick rights and 
 Privileges of their own. Also, 2d, the Publick Authorities of ye 
 Colony send unto them their Annual Proclamations of High 
 Days even as unto other Churches, which implyeth the same as 
 Aforesayd. Moreover, 3d, I entered not Rev d Mr. Wappinger s 
 parish ; but discoursed to a People in no wise His. And 
 4th, with respect unto my preachinge contrary to the Advyse of 
 339 
 
340 STEADFAST. 
 
 two Ministers and numerous church members of Watertown, I 
 am constrained to say that I know of no Rule in the Word of 
 God, neither in the Saybrooke Platform, which Obligeth me to 
 comply with such Advyse and Desires. Nor do I see any right 
 Reason therein. And 5th, I see not that this Complaynte 
 accuseth me of any Violation of ye Divine Law; or of doing 
 anythynge contrary to the Word of God. 
 
 PHILEMON HALL. 
 
 While the Consociation, confounded by this sharp 
 rejoinder from a man generally held to be so peaceful 
 and reasonable as Parson Hall, were still meditating 
 on their duty, or their intentions in the case, singly, 
 or in private council, Parson Dyer was making a toil 
 some journey toward the city of New York. He was 
 getting on in years, and began to think that his 
 duties as minister of a country parish involved too 
 much hard work for a man of his age and ailments. 
 He was racked with rheumatism, that scourge and 
 torment of the New England climate, and every year 
 grew more unfit for the long rough drives required in 
 his scattered parish. To be called up in the dead of 
 night to attend a dying parishioner four miles off, the 
 thermometer below zero, the northwest wind blowing, 
 or the northeast driving snow like clouds before it, 
 exasperated all his aches and pains ; and he had no 
 longer the strength of youth to help him bear them. 
 His hands, too, were becoming stiff, and his eyes 
 failed him ; he had a little money saved from his 
 poor salary, and a little that he had inherited. He 
 did not want to live in a city, for he loved all natural 
 sounds and sights j he would have pined with home- 
 
A SURPRISE. 341 
 
 sickness among brick walls and noisy streets ; his 
 idea of life now was to buy a farm, and lease it to 
 some man who would either take it on shares, or take 
 him, the parson, to share his home as a compensation 
 for the use of the land. Looking about him for some 
 such place and person he hit upon Hillside farm. It 
 was good land, having arable fields, wood lots, pas 
 ture, and grass lands, and the house was large and 
 comfortable ; Hiram and Delia did not use it all, a 
 sunny spare chamber and the parlor below it were 
 even yet unfurnished; so having ascertained the 
 willingness of the present occupants to accept him 
 as an inmate on the terms he proposed, Parson Dyer 
 mounted his Narragansett pacer and set out for New 
 York to transact, if possible, the purchase of Hillside 
 farm from Philip Kent. After a night s rest follow 
 ing on his tedious journey, Mr. Dyer betook himself 
 to the stately house fronting on a green common of 
 small size, on the further side of which the sea broke 
 gently on the beach, and sprinkled the grass with 
 salt spra} r . 
 
 Philip Kent was at home, and came into the richly- 
 furnished library where Parson Dyer sat, with his 
 usual smooth and courteous manner. 
 
 He was not a generous man, though he liked well 
 to spend money on himself, so it took him long to 
 arrange terms with Mr. Dyer. He was glad to sell 
 the farm ; he would have liked to sell all his uncle s 
 property in Trumbull, for he did not want to own 
 such comparatively unproductive estate; but he 
 
342 STEADFAST. 
 
 wanted to extort the last farthing from the pur 
 chaser. Parson Dyer, however, inherited and had 
 been trained in all the thrift of a Yankee, and he 
 kept up his part of the debate with as much keen 
 ness as Philip Kent, and they were no nearer the 
 end, apparently, when an idea flashed across the par 
 son s brain. 
 
 " I think," said he, looking straight at the other 
 man, "that had this property gone whither my old 
 friend meant it should, into the hands of Madam 
 Esther Hall, I should not have had so many words 
 about it." 
 
 Mr. Kent s face suddenly darkened, his eyes grew 
 confused, his voice shook, he looked furtively about 
 him, as if to collect his wits for an answer ; then he 
 said. 
 
 " You speak of things I know not, Parson Dyer 
 nor was I aware that I had driven a shrewd bargain 
 for my lands." 
 
 " I was but recalling the fact that very shortly 
 before his death, mine excellent Cousin D}^er, late of 
 Trumbull, confided unto ine that he had made a 
 recent will, leaving unto his niece, Esther Dennis, a 
 goodly, yea, the greater share of his property, which 
 was not small. I wonder what became of that will. 
 Mr. Kent." 
 
 " How should I know ? " said Philip, with an 
 angry flash in his eyes. 
 
 That was enough for Mr. Dyer ; he could not prove 
 anything more against Philip Kent than he could 
 
A SURPRISE. 343 
 
 have done an hour before, but in his own mind he 
 was fully convinced that the disappearance of the 
 document lay at the door of the only man whom it 
 profited. 
 
 " How should you, indeed ? " answered Mr. Dyer, 
 gravely, his eyes still fixed on Philip s. 
 
 "Let us return to the subject we had in hand," 
 Philip said, moving uneasily, as if those deep-set eyes 
 had pierced his flesh as well as his spirit. 
 
 " There is little more to say on my part," answered 
 the wily parson. "I have offered for the farm of 
 Hillside what I can afford to give, and what seemeth 
 to me a fair value for the premises. It remains with 
 you, Mr. Kent, to take up mine offer or to cast it 
 away." 
 
 "Well, well, Parson Dyer, I do not desire to be 
 hard upon the clergy ; I must even abide by your 
 price I perceive. I will have the deeds drawn up 
 post haste, and send them to you by a trusty hand." 
 
 "And I will then remit unto you the needful 
 moneys by your own messenger." 
 
 "Well said! Let us strike hands upon it. And 
 now will you walk into the dining-hall and share our 
 poor dinner ? " 
 
 " I thank you, but I may not tarry here so long, sir. 
 Nevertheless, I thank you for your hospitality, though 
 press of time forbid me to enjoy it. My respects to 
 Madam Kent. I wish you a good-day." 
 
 And with that the parson walked away, secretly 
 chuckling. 
 
344 STEADFAST. 
 
 But no such agreeable emotion diverted Philip 
 Kent s perturbed soul; here was a surprise indeed; 
 here had a man arisen suddenly who knew the real 
 tenor of Uncle Dyer s last will ! What if he should 
 tell Esther ? Why, oh ! why, had he himself been 
 such a fool as to sell him Hillside ? Because he had 
 been confused and shaken by Parson Dyer s unex 
 pected speech was that any reason he should so have 
 lost his presence of mind, and not only retracted his 
 demand for the sum he fully intended to acquire, but 
 perhaps shown in both face and speech that he was 
 not only surprised, but troubled ? 
 
 But for the thought that Parson Dyer might suspect 
 still more, he would then and there have followed him 
 and cancelled the bargain, but he dared not, as it was. 
 
 Why had he not spoken of his offer to Esther of 
 pecuniary aid ? Why had he never thought of at 
 once proposing to share with her the property that 
 should have been hers ? He felt that the first in 
 stinct of an honest man, on learning the fact that his 
 uncle s will had been made to benefit Esther, would 
 have been to give up a possession that never should 
 have fallen into his hands. But he had not even 
 hinted at such a possibility ; he had done just what 
 a guilty and conscious person would do ; abruptly 
 turned the subject, and showed his perturbation by 
 closing up a bargain he had so strenuously refused 
 even to consider a few moments before. 
 
 " Curst fool that I was ! " he ejaculated to himself, 
 walking up and down the library floor. " What s to 
 
A SURPRISE. 345 
 
 be done now ? for sure he suspects me of somewhat ; 
 I saw it in his eye. Gad ! it shone like a wild-cat s 
 from a thicket, under those bushed brows." 
 
 But no counsel of any present avail came to him ; 
 long did he walk to and fro on that costly Turkey car 
 pet, in the solitude of his goodly library, well-filled, 
 for that day ; but with books that chiefly came from 
 his uncle s house in Trumbull. 
 
 He could arrange nothing, trust to no scheme of 
 immediate device ; he could get no further than a 
 fixed intention to see Esther, whom he had never 
 looked on since some time before her marriage, and 
 try to find out if Parson Dyer had been as communi 
 cative to her as to him. But he could not do it soon, 
 gladly as he would have set his mind at rest thereby ; 
 just now Parson Dyer would be moving to Hillside, 
 and his road from Pickering Centre lay along the 
 turnpike that passed through Trumbull ; he did not 
 want to meet him again at present. 
 
 There was nothing he could do ; yet strangely enough 
 Esther s face, her voice, the soft delicate touch of her 
 little fingers, the cool fragrance of her lips began to 
 haunt him ; he had but made of her a passing pleasure, 
 as one plucks a rose, enjoys its odor, lays it against 
 hot eyes or burning cheek for its balm and breath, 
 and then drops it as carelessly as a weed ! But oddly 
 enough for a man now that he knew she was out 
 of reach he began to prize her. 
 
 For many a day he was snappish to clerks and cus 
 tomers both, and as cross to his wife as he dared be to 
 
346 STEADFAST. 
 
 the heiress of all the Stuyvesants direct and collat 
 eral ; but neither they nor she knew what underlay his 
 ill-humor, or guessed that the fair, wistful face of a 
 girl came between his eyes and his ledgers far too 
 often for his peace or comfort. 
 
 It was far into May, and Parson Dyer was long 
 settled in the Hillside farmhouse, before Philip Kent 
 thought it wise or safe to go to Trumbull. Then 
 some one who came from that way told him that the 
 old house needed some repairs outwardly, so he had a 
 fair pretext for his journey. The roads were well 
 settled along the coast, and the frail blossoms of a 
 New England spring starred the wood-edges and road 
 sides, as Philip Kent rode swiftly on his way ; his 
 horse was fine and fast ; he was perfectly at home in 
 the saddle : the weather was mild and dim ; the south 
 wind blew softly ; and he was about to see Esther 
 again. He never considered for a moment the change 
 in her position ; with the calm arrogance of his nature, 
 he felt sure that when she once saw his face, her old 
 love would re-enter her heart, and with the credulous 
 faith of passion she would believe what he said instead 
 of what Parson Dyer might have told her. 
 
 She had been married now nearly a year ; he argued 
 that long before now she must have become tired of 
 " that preaching prig " as he chose to style Parson 
 Hall ; and he imagined as he ambled along the sandy 
 road the sort of welcome she would give him ; forget 
 ting that a woman however good, gentle, or devoted, 
 will always resent neglect ; and he had absolutely ig 
 nored Esther for the last two years. 
 
A SURPRISE. 347 
 
 Wise in his own conceit, he cantered gayly into the 
 little village so familiar to his earlier life, and draw 
 ing rein at Deacon Swaddle s tavern ordered a good 
 supper and their best bed, for he was both hungry and 
 tired after his long journey. 
 
 The parsonage of Trumbull stood within sight of 
 the tavern, and, after breakfast next morning, Philip 
 Kent watched behind the dimity curtains of his win 
 dow till he saw Philemon Hall enter his chaise, alone, 
 and drive off ; it was not Mr. Kent s intent to see 
 Esther s husband, if he could help it ; out of the gate 
 he strolled in leisurely fashion, plucking the first bud 
 of the cinnamon rose-bush by the door that had yet 
 shown a line of red along its taper verdure, and twirl 
 ing it betwixt thumb and finger as he went his way. 
 
 The old red house at which he halted was still and 
 peaceful in the hush of the spring morning, but he 
 broke the silence with a loud sharp peal on the 
 knocker, heard hurried steps approach, and at once 
 the upper half of the wide hutch door flew open and 
 in that quaint frame, showing like an old picture 
 against the dark background of the inner house, stood 
 Esther. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 NO ! 
 
 Late, late, too late ! Ye cannot enter now. 
 
 ESTHER looked at Philip Kent in pale silence ; he 
 doffed his hat to her with a strange thrill of emotion, 
 by no means all pleasure. 
 
 It seemed an hour, it was not half a minute, when 
 she opened her rigid lips, and unbolting the lower half 
 of the door, said, 
 
 " Will you enter ? " 
 
 Philip Kent walked in, and placed himself on the 
 chintz sofa in the parlor, he hardly knew why ; but 
 Esther, instead of sitting down beside him, took a tall 
 chair opposite, evidently a chair of state in her eyes. 
 
 She did not say a word ; she sat like the legendary 
 ghost, waiting to be accosted. 
 
 " I am pleased to see you looking so well, Madam 
 Hall," said Philip, at last, with courteous conven 
 tionality. 
 
 " I thank you. I am well," was the cold reply ; 
 yet Esther s heart beat fast and loud under her 
 bodice. She had tried day after day not to dream of 
 this meeting, not to think what joy it would be to see 
 Philip again, for she, like Guinevere, believed 
 
 " What is true repentance, but in thought, 
 Not even in inmost thought to think again 
 The sins that made the past so pleasant to us." 
 348 
 
NO ! 349 
 
 And lo! there was no joy. She was not glad, but 
 troubled. 
 
 Some strange terror of loss and want filled her 
 soul ; she did not comprehend that she had lived for 
 a year in an atmosphere as alien to a character like 
 Philip Kent s as possible ; while he had been steadily 
 deteriorating, she had all unconsciously been lifted to 
 a higher plane of thought and life. 
 
 This man s face showed the result of self-indulgence 
 and dissipation ; marriage had not refined but hard 
 ened and degraded it ; for while Philip gave way to 
 Annetje s will and way, for the sake of keeping in her 
 good graces in order to profit by her money, he had 
 yet enough pride left to despise himself for his abject 
 compliance, and his cowardly terror of her hot temper. 
 
 His eyes had lost the clearness of youth; they 
 looked tired and dim ; his face was sodden with wine- 
 bibbing and late hours ; his hair prematurely threaded 
 with gray ; and his loose under-lip hung more heavily 
 downward. He had fretted and rebelled at first 
 against the thorns in the lot he had chosen ; and find 
 ing this in vain, had drawn his native selfishness 
 about him ^M a heavy mantle, and choked out under 
 that close Bering every aspiration toward good. 
 
 He neec aly added years to become that burden 
 to human^ doleful, whining, complaining, self- 
 
 centred h; ondriac ; at once a tyrant and a scorn 
 
 to all aboi ; a man slowly drawing nigh to the 
 
 grave, dov vith the contempt and dislike of his 
 
 fellows, fo men never die young. 
 
350 STEADFAST. 
 
 Even his appearance at her door after his long 
 neglect of her, added to Esther s swift disillusion ; 
 she divined instinctively that it was not sentiment 
 which had brought him, but some scheme. 
 
 She had lived long enough side by side with Phile 
 mon Hall now to understand, partially, the beauty 
 and strength of his character. She perceived in her 
 husband, a man whose religious principle was the 
 power and governance of his daily life, the spring of 
 all his actions ; there was no Sunday religion about 
 Philemon Hall. She began, too, to see how perfect 
 was his truth, how manful his courage j while he ap 
 peared to the mass of men to be mild and tender, a 
 man full of sympathy and generosity, she knew what 
 depths of steadfast valor and righteous indignation 
 underlay that saintly aspect. Even as with the 
 Apostle John, his loveliness to all about him made 
 men forget that he was " a son of thunder " ; though 
 the Newport County Consociation began to think that 
 meekness was not Brother Hall s strong characteristic. 
 
 While these thoughts crossed Esther s mind, Philip 
 Kent had also some revelations of a change in her. 
 Strangely enough there was nothing of the matron 
 about her ; none of that status which even a few 
 months of marriage often gives a woman ; the result 
 of feeling that she has a place and is a power in the 
 world. Esther had a certain girlish dignity about 
 her, but it was yet girlish ; her face wore the vague 
 bloom of a girl when its first paleness has vanished, 
 and her slight figure kept the uncertain, swaying 
 
NO ! 351 
 
 grace of immaturity that lingers so long with even 
 " old inaids " as an unfriendly tongue calls the 
 eleven thousand virgins of St. Ursula. But the 
 change to Philip was in her face ; the large, tender 
 eyes were icy and proud now ; the mouth set in firm, 
 if sad curves ; the whole aspect of her countenance 
 was different, it expressed neither regret, nor love; 
 its weakness was gone ; evidently she had no tender 
 ness for him left, had she for any one ? 
 
 He inquired politely for Mr. Hall; Esther an 
 swered with the same politeness ; he felt like a man 
 with the nightmare ; invisible forces seemed to quell 
 his energy and stifle his speech. He had thought to 
 find the loving, complying, self-lost creature who had 
 risked so much for him ; whom he had made utterly 
 happy with kisses, and rewarded with sweet words ; 
 whose heart he had well-nigh broken, but who had 
 yet again been his tender and faithful comforter. 
 
 Here was an ice maiden ; chilly, proper, separated 
 from him by a wall, which he could never break 
 through. He grew confused, disturbed, and incohe 
 rent. He forgot that he came to tell her a plausible 
 story about the will, and to confute whatever Parson 
 Dyer had said or might say. He sat a moment longer, 
 fumbled for his hat under the sofa where he had 
 unintentionally kicked it as it fell from his hands, 
 rose to his feet and saying " Good-day, madam," 
 strode out of the door, cursing under his breath at 
 everything and nothing. 
 
 It was as well for them both that he did not see 
 
352 STEADFAST. 
 
 Esther, as soon as his steps died away in the distance, 
 rush up the stairs to her chamber, and flinging her 
 self on her knees, bury her face in the cover of her 
 bed and burst into a flood of passionate tears. Poor 
 girl ! she had lost what is worse than losing a lover, 
 she had lost love. 
 
 It is a terrible pang to know that the one absorb 
 ing, entrancing passion of life has vanished forever ; 
 no death of mortal creature is like unto it ; for a dead 
 love there is no resurrection, not even a future hell ; 
 it has gone into utter nothingness and left a void 
 that is fast tilled with self-contempt, disbelief, scorn 
 of man, and bitter, biting prudence. Where that 
 love has indeed been the ardent and solitary child of 
 a matured soul, a soul that can love but once, it is a 
 death by murder if ever it does die. Cruelty, treach 
 ery, neglect, may stab it to the heart, and the whole 
 life of the hapless lover becomes sunless and desper 
 ate. 
 
 But it was not so with Esther ; like many another 
 girl she had made unto herself the image she adored 
 and fastened it on to the real Philip, who was truly 
 most unlike the fair mask. It was the loss of her 
 ideal she deplored; she was too young at heart to 
 have felt the consuming fire that burns on of its 
 inherent vitality, and, dazzled by its own supernal 
 glory, cares nothing for the altar on which it burns, 
 or the faults and follies of the god at whose shrine 
 its sacrificial flames are offered. 
 
 Yet for days and months Esther went about 
 
NO ! 353 
 
 haunted by a vague sense of loss j it woke with her 
 in the morning and reposed with her at night ; but 
 her interview with Philip Kent was after all a relief 
 to her, she had no longer any temptation to think of 
 him or of her past infatuation ; it was no longer 
 pleasant to her to remember her folly ; she shuddered 
 to think of what might have been. And she was 
 becoming more and more interested in her husband s 
 struggle with the bigotry and tyranny of the Consoci 
 ation. 
 
 On receiving his reply to their admonition, they 
 had resolved, and sent him their resolution, which 
 ran, 
 
 Resolved that the Eev d Mr. Hall soe preachynge was Dis- 
 orderlie. That Mr. Hall should not Sett as a member of this 
 Counsil for his disorderlie Preachynge. 
 
 Upon this Mr. Hall returned to Trumbull, having 
 waited upon the act of the Consociation at Newport 
 town, expecting no more trouble. 
 
 He laid the whole matter before a special meeting 
 of his church, and was heartily sustained by them in 
 the course he had followed. 
 
 A year passed in comparative quiet. Now and 
 then, by their request and urgency, he preached to 
 the Watertown Baptists ; but he supposed he should 
 hear no more of the matter, when very unexpectedly, 
 at the Consociation held, the next May, in Chester, a 
 fresh complaint was exhibited against him. He heard 
 of it accidentally, but could not learn the names or 
 the number of the complainants, nor what were the 
 
354 STEADFAST. 
 
 articles of their complaint. The next association 
 meeting at North Newport drew up a confession 
 which they sent to him, requesting that he would 
 sign it. It ran as follows, 
 
 Whereas I, Philemon Hall, was condemned by the Consosia- 
 tion of Newport County for disorderlie Preachynge in the first 
 society of Watertown : I do now Aknowledge that my preach- 
 ynge there was Disorderlie; and I Purpose to preach disorder- 
 lie no more, and desire the Reverend Association of Newport 
 County to over-look it; I purposing and resolving, if Opportun- 
 itie favor, to go to said Consosiation, and acknowledge the said 
 disorderlie preachynge before them, in Order to be restored to 
 their Favor. 
 
 Esther was indignant to her heart when Mr. Hall, 
 in pursuance of his intention that she should not be 
 kept ignorant of his course, laid this document before 
 her. He smiled to see the hot color rise up in her 
 face as she read it, and her eyes flash as she looked 
 up at him when she finished. 
 
 " Sure, never was there such tyranny abroad in this 
 land before ! " she cried, in an eager, angry voice. 
 " Was it for this our parents left their own people 
 and their father s house to have freedom of soul in 
 these howling wildernesses ? Shall we have to move 
 on amid wild countries and red Indians once more ? " 
 
 " Eestrain your anger, Esther. Hath not the Lord 
 said that he will make the wrath of man to praise 
 him? I believe that all this seething and noise of 
 men s passions shall in the end purify and establish 
 the Church of God." 
 
NO ! 355 
 
 His face glowed with lofty feeling as he spoke. 
 Esther looked at him with a sort of awe. 
 
 " And what will you do in this strait ? " she asked. 
 "I am well convinced that I have done nothing 
 contrary either to the word of God, or the Saybrook 
 Platform, unto which our churches conform in their 
 belief and government; and my conscience being 
 void of offence in this matter, I cannot set my hand 
 to the confession they have sent me ; but I am will 
 ing for the sake of that peace which should reign 
 among brethren to write a confession of mine own, 
 and offer it to the Consociation." 
 Esther looked up at him, astonished. 
 " I see not what you have to confess ? " she said. 
 " It may be that I have troubled the minds of the 
 brethren and given offence to them that are weak, by 
 adhering to my own belief, and practising upon it. 
 < Wo unto him by whom the offence cometh ! ; Yea, 
 Esther; though my own conscience be clear before 
 God, and stayed with much prayer and strong crying, 
 yet were it better for me that a millstone were made 
 fast about my neck and I cast into the depths of the 
 sea than that I should offend the least of these, if 
 by making such confession as I can truly make, I may 
 appease their indignation." 
 
 Esther said no more. What was she, weak, sin 
 ful creature! who had already by her idle self-love 
 wrecked this man s life, that she should put forth 
 her voice or her hand to meddle with his saintly 
 career ? 
 
356 STEADFAST. 
 
 She went about her work, humbled, yet warm with 
 righteous anger. She felt unfit to abide in the house 
 with the saint she called her husband, yet she could 
 have risen up in wrath and scattered the men who 
 maligned and grieved him, if she had only the power 
 to do so. 
 
 But what could a woman do against a Consociation 
 in those days ? or, indeed, in these ? 
 
 Philemon Hall, shortly after, did send to this 
 ecclesiastic tribunal, a confession of his own, which 
 they curtly refused to accept. His people being of 
 the average sort to whom a following of the multi 
 tude is far easier than making a stand for right with 
 the few, began to grow uneasy und^r this persistent 
 disapproval of the powers of the church. They loved 
 Mr. Hall, and believed him to be an apostle of truth ; 
 but still it was very uncomfortable to be in the right, 
 when it separated their individual church from all 
 the others in the Conference ; and yielding as far as 
 his conscience would allow, for the sake of peace, and 
 the wish of his own people, he went the next year, 
 when the Consociation met in Stamford Centre, and 
 offered three confessions, drawn up by himself, to 
 that august body. The first ran thus, 
 
 I, the subscriber, do acknowledge that I preached in Water- 
 town, within the bounds of the first Society, and without ye 
 Consente of Rev d Mr. Wappinger: Pastor of ye first Society 
 on Jan y ye ICth, three years ago. And now I do Acknolege 
 that iny preachynge there was a Breach of the order that the 
 Ecclesiastick Authorities of Newport county have come into by 
 
NO ! 357 
 
 Agrement and Vote in sayde Year, and so disorderlie preach- 
 ynge in that Respect, as it was contrary to sayde Vote. 
 
 And now I declare that it is My full Purpose, at present, not 
 to preach contrarie to sayde vote of sayde Authorities Ecclesi- 
 astick for time to come, nor contrarie to the Act of ye General 
 Assemblie in May the last. 
 
 And furthermore, I humblie ask that the Association of 
 Newporte county would Overlooke what is past, and receive me 
 to Sit with them, &c., as formerlie, and recommend me to be 
 Received by ye Consociation, upon my making this Acknol- 
 egement before them, whh I stand Reddy to do when Oppor- 
 
 tunitie presents. 
 
 PHILEMON HALL. 
 
 "Do not, do not send it!" urged Esther, when 
 Parson Hall read to her this document. 
 
 " I think it best, Esther. I have not herein avowed 
 that I did wrong in the sight of God, or set at naught 
 the general ordinances of the church. But inasmuch 
 as the church hath made unto itself new rules since I 
 disturbed them, I cannot but, for the truth s sake, ac 
 knowledge that I did transgress those rules, though, 
 indeed, before they existed. This much have I need 
 to admit. I cannot strain my conscience to say more 
 or less." 
 
 Esther remonstrated no more ; but her heart cried 
 out against the injustice and bigotry of the Consoci 
 ation, and she burned with a sense of the great wrong 
 done to such a man as her husband. 
 
 Yet what was it to her ? 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 PATIENCE 
 
 Patience ! why tis the soul of peace. 
 Of all the virtues nearest kin to heaven, 
 It makes men look like Gods. 
 
 The best of men 
 
 That e er wore earth about "h tn was a sufferer ; 
 A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit, 
 The first true gentleman that ever breathed. 
 
 WHEN this confession was presented to the council, 
 there was much debate as to whether it should be 
 received. It was impossible to accept it without 
 tacitly acknowledging that Parson Hall had not been 
 arraigned for any real offence either against the Word 
 of God or the Saybrook Platform, and such acknowl 
 edgment proved the Consociation to have blamed him 
 not only wrongfully but illegally, inasmuch as the law 
 under which he was condemned was not made at the 
 time he was declared to have transgressed it. Could 
 it be expected that a body of such men, " grave and 
 reverend seigniors," would publicly admit they were 
 or had been in the wrong, even if it were true ? 
 
 A few honest and godly souls were willing, never 
 theless, to accept this confession, but they were in the 
 minority, as honest and godly souls always are; so 
 this confession was rejected by the majority. 
 
 358 
 
PATIENCE. 359 
 
 Desirous, above all things, to do his whole duty, 
 Parson Hall offered them another, differently worded, 
 but to the same effect ; but equally unsatisfactory to 
 these lords spiritual. Not once, it is to be noted, in 
 all this struggle, did Philemon Hall lose his self-con 
 trol, reproach his brethren for their despotism, or fall 
 into any contention with them; he opened not his 
 mouth in wrath, nor did he set before the Consoci 
 ation what an uncharitable and persecuting spirit 
 possessed them, nor what discredit and shame they 
 thereby brought upon the church of Christ, not alone 
 at that time but so long as its records should last. 
 With an almost divine patience he set aside his own 
 opinions and emotions, striving humbly, yet firmly, 
 to be at peace with his brethren : yet steadfast in his 
 resolution to keep to the exact truth, he could not 
 say that he had sinned in the matter when he was 
 devoutly assured he had not ; but he was willing to 
 concede all other points, so to "seek peace, and 
 ensue it." Therefore he prepared a third confession, 
 which he offered to the Consociation, but they refused 
 to hear it. One of the minority, however, desired to 
 see it, and borrowed it of Mr. Hall, on the assurance 
 that it should be returned to him ; and in the parson s 
 own mind, as well as the minds of many of his own 
 church, there was no doubt that the council heard this 
 document in private session. 
 
 It was, and is, a remarkable instance of honest 
 endeavor to placate ecclesiastical displeasure, com 
 bined with sturdy resolve not to tamper with the 
 
360 STEADFAST. 
 
 writer s steadfast spiritual convictions, and ran 
 thus : 
 
 I, the subscriber, do humbly aknolege that I preached at 
 Watertown within ye Bounds of ye first Society, to the people 
 Called the baptists, upon January ye 10th 1742, for which ye 
 Reverend Consociation have Secluded me from ye Priviledge of 
 sitting with them, and people at Home and abroad have been 
 Uneasie. I do therefore declare, that, though if I was Instru 
 mental of any spiritual Good to any souls there, I must soe far 
 Rejoice; yet upon every other Accounte, I am sorry that I went; 
 and desire the Association and Consociation of said County to 
 overlook it, and receive me to Sit with them, &c., as formerlie. 
 
 PHILEMON HALL. 
 
 But the Consociation made no sign of having heard 
 this remarkable address to them, and convinced that 
 they did not intend to forgive and receive him, Par 
 son Hall went home and told his wife how things 
 had gone with him. If he was hurt and grieved 
 Esther saw no sign of it ; his face and his voice were 
 alike calm, his eyes clear if unsmiling ; had his home 
 been that blessed shelter and consolation that a home 
 should be, had tender arms clung about him, and 
 loving hands and lips caressed him, no doubt the 
 pent-up flood of feeling within his weary and dis 
 heartened nature would have found wholesome outlet 
 and comfort ; as it was, he could only pray for 
 strength to possess his soul in patience, and go 
 about his parish work with his usual devotion. 
 
 Esther s heart ached within her ; it was not in her 
 nature to live in the society of any one and not 
 become attached to them ; she had loved Delia and 
 
PATIENCE. 861 
 
 Teinpy, and loved them still ; and now she added to 
 this habitual affection for Mr. Hall both deep rever 
 ence and almost painful pity. She delighted in serv 
 ing him silently, in a thousand ways that he never 
 knew, absorbed as he was in this conflict with the 
 church ; she watched his tastes and prepared for him 
 the dishes he liked; she kept the whole house in 
 exquisite neatness ; his clothes were brushed and 
 mended dutifully ; she was a model wife if only 
 she could have loved him ; yet Parson Hall like 
 many another man, from Merlin down, would have 
 mightily preferred 
 
 " The charm 
 Of woven paces and of waving hands." 
 
 the devotion of a sweet, demonstrative, submissive 
 woman, though she might be slatternly, careless, or 
 deceptive. Still Mr. Hall respected Esther for her 
 honesty, it was a trait that always appealed to him ; 
 and out of his great heart he pitied her for her false 
 position and her unmurmuring endurance. 
 
 The news of the Consociation s pitiless rejection 
 of Parson Hall s confessions soon spread abroad. 
 Parson Dyer drove over from his home at Hillside 
 to express his sympathy and indignation, and in the 
 course of his conversation related to Mr. Hall his 
 interview with Philip Kent at the time he bought 
 the farm of him. Mr. Hall listened intently ; he had 
 long been convinced that Esther had been cruelly 
 wronged in the matter of her Uncle Dyer s inheri 
 tance, and this story of Parson Dyer s only strength- 
 
362 STEADFAST. 
 
 ened his conviction that Philip Kent was to blame. 
 Some time he meant to enlighten Esther a little, or at 
 least give her a chance to enlighten herself; but 
 where there is no love there can be no confidence, 
 and while he was willing to tell her all his troubles 
 she had never yet breathed a word to him that the 
 whole parish might not have heard. 
 
 Close on Parson Dyer s heels came Tempy Hopkins 
 ablaze with righteous wrath. 
 
 " Why, Esther Hall ! I never was so took aback in 
 my mortal life as I was when the deacon come in a 
 Monday, and told how that plaguey old Consociation 
 had treated Mr. Hall. I never heerd nothing like it. 
 How darst they call emselves Christian critters and 
 go on that way ? I s pose they wouldn t let a man 
 preach to th Indians because they ain t orthodox ! / 
 don t see nothin into my Bible bout orthodoxy nor 
 no other doxy. Says believe on the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, and thou shalt be saved/ and Parson Hall 
 hasn t never preached anything but that since I ve 
 knowed him. And he s a master hand to preach, as 
 well I know. That s at the bottom on t, Easter; 
 that s the conclusion of the hull matter ; the ain t 
 one of them parsons can hold a taller candle to him, 
 and they re jest crawlin with envy an jealousy, 
 wrath, malice, and all oncharitableness, as Scriptur 
 remarks. He ha n t done a thing that s wrong : not 
 a thing ! He s a saint upon arth, and that isn t no 
 place for saints ; folks here below don t know how to 
 treat em ! " 
 
PAtlKNCE. 363 
 
 Esther could say amen to this last statement ; lit 
 tle had she, who entertained an angel unawares, 
 known how to treat Parson Hall herself ! But Tempy 
 only took breath and went on. 
 
 u lt s a nawful privilege for you, Easter, to be mar 
 ried to sech a man. I tell ye when you re tied up to 
 a man for better or worse, it s a sight more easy to 
 get along when it s for better. You re a fort nate 
 woman to have sech a man for your husband. I did 
 look for rard to tendin your little ones on my lap 
 sometime or nother, but it don t seem so to be. I 
 s pose the Lord don t give folks everything to once." 
 
 The hot color flashed over Esther s cheek ; she felt 
 its glow and turned her face away; here was her 
 life lie again confronting her ! and oh ! had she not 
 dragged her husband down to touch her level in that ? 
 Saint and sinner stood together on the one slippery 
 point of a continuous deception ; and it was her fault. 
 
 " Mr. Hall is indeed too good ! " she answered, 
 tremulously ; for she knew Tempy s keen eyes were 
 fastened on her, and she was glad to hear Aunt 
 Ruthy s slow, heavy steps in the kitchen, and to see 
 her enter ; she, too, had come on Tempy s errand, 
 and that perceptive female divined it at once. 
 
 "Why, Miss Ruthy ! " she exclaimed. " I m proper 
 glad to set eyes 011 you ; it s beei? a month of Sundays 
 sence I see your face. I come over to tell Miss Hall, 
 here, how worked up I be about the way that old 
 Consociation has acted tow rdst the parson. Ain t it 
 arnaziii 
 
364 STEADFAST. 
 
 " It certinly is," said Aunt Ruthy, the benign face 
 clouding over. " It certinly is ; and I feel real put 
 about because of it. I set athinking about his first 
 wife yestefday, and I did feel so thankful that she was 
 took away from the evil to coine. She was a most 
 perfect, but twas through suffering ; and she was a 
 woman after all. She worshipped the ground he trod 
 on, as well she might ; for he giv up his life for her, 
 and more n his life, you may say. She had to take 
 everything, and give nothing ; and it hurt her to the 
 quick. Many and many a time I ve see the tears 
 come into her eyes and trickle down, real big and 
 slow, and I d say, Why, my dear, don t cry, it isn t 
 good for you ; and she d whisper, Oh, Aunt Ruthy, 
 what a useless, miser ble creature I am. Philemon is 
 like a saint on earth to me, and I never can do a 
 thing for him. I used to sort of comfort her up, and 
 tell her twas worth everything to have her love him 
 so ; but my ! she knew jest how things was. But I 
 b lieve, to my soul, she d have died right off if he d 
 had these trials come onto him whilst she was livin . 
 It s a mercy. Mis Hall, that he s got you to turn to. 
 If ever a man needs a strong, bright, lovin wife, it s 
 when that he is in trouble ; and it s a privilege to be 
 able to help such a man as Mr. Hall." 
 
 " Jest what I was a say in ! " triumphantly chimed in 
 Tempy. " I ve always said that twas queer to call men- 
 folks the strongest sect, when they re forever an al 
 ways holdin on to some woman the fust minute trouble 
 teches em. I make no doubt but what when Scriptur 
 
PATIENCE. 365 
 
 talks about Aaron and Hur holdin up Moses s hands, 
 twas a mistake in the printin that Hur wasn t spelt 
 with an e. Why, there s Deacon Hopkins, take him 
 days when ever} T thing goes right, and he s as pompious, 
 and capable, and self-sufficient as an old turkey gob 
 bler ; he s the top o the heap, and crowin on it too. 
 But let him get a touch o rheumatiz, say, or a crick 
 in the back. Or come a spell o rain in hayin , or a 
 dry time for growin corn, and, mercy me ! he ketches 
 holt of my ape rn-st ring, so to speak, jist as though I 
 was Goliath o Gath. It s the way they re made from 
 the beginnin ; but most of em acts as though the 
 Lord had said, " I will make a hindrance for him." 
 instead of a helpmeet for him. After all, when you 
 sift it down, the Lord s ways most gene lly come to 
 pass, spite o man." 
 
 Aunt Euthy s words had probed Esther s hidden 
 wound so deeply that her face had lost its color, and 
 her forehead had drawn into lines of pain ; but no 
 body could help smiling at Tempy s oddities, and they 
 saved Esther from any need of replying to Aunt 
 Euthy. Yet the latter good woman had meant to 
 touch Mrs. Hall s heart, if she could, and find what 
 hidden trouble lay in the quiet parsonage ; for well 
 she knew there was not the peace within its walls that 
 she earnestly desired her beloved pastor should enjoy, 
 but Tempy s appearance and talk had prevented her 
 from trying to win Esther s confidence, so she went 
 home with as heavy a heart as she brought. Tempy 
 skipped bravely up into the old chaise, and drove off 
 
366 STEADFAST. 
 
 to Pickering Centre, with the cheerful consciousness 
 that she had not only freed her mind with regard to 
 Parson Hall s affairs and the conduct of the Consoci 
 ation, but had also vindicated ner own importance as 
 the wife of Ammi Hopkins, if she had thereby delin 
 eated the deacon when he was abased from his 
 pedestal. 
 
 Esther was left alone with her thoughts, and sad 
 enough they were. Hopeless enough the outlook. 
 Never, since that fatal wedding, or, rather, the day 
 after it, had Parson Hall spoken or looked as if he 
 wished or thought that their mutual compact could be 
 broken. 
 
 He had made no advances toward a better and 
 more natural condition of life. Never had his eye 
 softened as he looked at her, or his voice taken on a 
 gentle tone ; in fact, he rarely did look at her, and his 
 tones, always calm and cool to every one, were even 
 more so to her. 
 
 Esther s heart was undergoing a radical change, 
 though she was not as yet aware of it. Her vanity 
 was a little piqued, that she could not charm Mr. 
 Hall ; but, far deeper than her vanity, lay an inscru 
 table feeling, that grew more and more assertive. 
 
 " The soul has inalienable rights, and the first of 
 these is love," says Emerson ; and though the poet- 
 philosopher s utterance lay far in the future, and 
 Esther could not have phrased her own state in fit 
 words, it was really a want of love that made her so 
 restless, so bitter, so discontented as she was now. 
 
PATIENCE. 367 
 
 She could not understand that Philemon Hall all this 
 time was on the defensive against himself; that his 
 averted eyes, his cool tones, his hours of solitude, even 
 his strict eourteousness, were all barriers of his own 
 building, which he dared not pass. 
 
 How he had longed for that comfort and peace 
 which Aunt Euthy had congratulated Esther on 
 affording him, words could not tell. 
 
 Even Ammi Hopkins had his poor share of help 
 and consolation from. Tempy, but this saint walked 
 on his straight way, alone with God. No human 
 hand clasped his. No human love shone, starlike, on 
 the dim horizon. The light that guided him was all 
 supernal ; the heart that comforted him, all divine. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 A CONFIDENCE. 
 
 Forgetting the things which are behind. 
 
 FOB a time the subject of Parson Hall s contumacy 
 was either laid aside by the Consociation or talked of 
 privately among its members. 
 
 It was evident that no pressure of theirs, so far, 
 had bent what they were pleased to call his stubborn 
 will, or brought them one step nearer to their end, 
 which was manifestly now to abase him in the sight 
 of men, and force him to confess that he was, and 
 had been, altogether in the wrong. They thought 
 that time would work for them, forgetting that Par 
 son Hall s position related to eternity ; a rock on 
 which their noisy surf should break and break in 
 vain ! 
 
 But in these years of armed neutrality, Mr. Hall s 
 congregation grew uneasy; they did not altogether 
 like the fact that their minister was under a cloud ; 
 that none of the neighboring parsons, except Mr. 
 Dyer, would preach for him, though he no longer 
 preached for the Baptists who had now a church, if a 
 feeble one, of their own, as well as a settled pastor. 
 
 The disaffection of his church in Trumbull showed 
 itself to Mr. Hall in various ways ; his salary became 
 hard to collect, Esther was forced to strict economy j 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 369 
 
 her wedding dresses were of the good material and 
 enduring fashion of those days, or they would have 
 been well worn by now ; but, as she still persisted in 
 doing without a servant, her working gown had to be 
 patched, and turned, and re-turned, because she would 
 not buy new ones; she preferred to set aside her 
 own needs rather than her husband s. 
 
 With the ordinary blindness of a man to a woman s 
 requirements, so long as his own are attended to, for, 
 saint as he was, he was also strongly human, Phile 
 mon Hall never noticed how shabby Esther s gar 
 ments grew, but he was much concerned at the wear 
 ing off of the paint on his church ; the broken panes 
 of glass in its windows, proofs that hail as well as 
 rain falls on all places and persons alike ; and the 
 rusty stove-pipes, from whose crevices smoke was too 
 apt to steal out and choke the congregation. In fact 
 Parson Hall feared that the roof itself would some 
 day break from the weight of wintry? snows, its an 
 cient timbers sagged so, and its shingles were so worn 
 that rain dripped through and was slowly rotting the 
 beams. 
 
 He sat one day musing by the keeping-room fire, 
 after dinner ; a most unusual proceeding for him, but 
 the day was cold and cheerless, a wild November 
 storm swept across the coast, darkened the air, lashed 
 the streaming panes of the windows, shrieked and 
 wailed in the eave-spout, roared down the chimney, 
 and seemed to blot out the exterior world with a mist 
 of gloom. 
 
370 STEADFAST. 
 
 The parson s mind was on his poor old meeting 
 house, which stood on a little rise of ground in such a 
 position that this northeast tempest dashed full 
 against its side ; he remembered the windows on that 
 side were more warped as to their sashes and dilapi 
 dated as to their glass every year; and he could 
 almost see the water pouring in on the worn hymn- 
 books, paintless floors, and uncushioned seats of the 
 square pews ; he knew that the shingles must some 
 of them be torn off by the force of the storm, and the 
 quaint little bell-shed, no stretch of civility could 
 call it a tower ! must be rocking fearfully ; it 
 seemed to him as if he could hear the cracked tinkle 
 of that bell across the howling wind and hissing rain 
 which had really kept him from resorting to his study, 
 since that occupied the darkest corner of the house, 
 and had a chimney that would smoke in a great stress 
 of wind and rain together. Esther sat by the win 
 dow knitting ; she had her own thoughts, but she did 
 not speak until the silence became oppressive, and a 
 great gust of wind drove against the house and made 
 it tremble. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, involuntarily, " what a dreadful 
 storm ! " 
 
 " It is dreadful," said Mr. Hall, lifting his eyes to 
 the outlook. " I have so felt it, though sitting up 
 here, because my mind hath dwelt upon our meeting 
 house ; it is so worn and out of repair, I fear the 
 tempest will well-nigh beat it down." 
 
 " It is indeed well-worn ! " said Esther, turning very 
 pale. 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 371 
 
 But Philemon Hall did not see her, his gaze was 
 fixed upon the slant streams of rain that beat down 
 on the earth so heavily that human sight could not 
 pierce their veils of water more than a few rods from 
 the window. 
 
 " It is herein that I feel most the thwart action of 
 the Consociation," he said, slowly and half unwillingly. 
 " I had hoped so long as I have been here, that before 
 this time my people should have been willing and able 
 to build a new place of worship ; and had all things 
 gone well and peacefully with us I think it would full 
 surely have been done. I cannot but see a lack of 
 unity and zeal amongst them, and there are those who 
 bring to me hard sayings that come from my own 
 membership, concerning our solitude amid the other 
 flocks of the Lord round about us, and the coldness 
 of my brethren, who deprive me of their help and 
 companionship. So I cannot ask for a new house of 
 prayer, yet ; though I would gladly labor with mine 
 own hands in the building thereof." He ended the 
 sentence with a deep sigh. 
 
 Esther could bear no more ; she dropped her knit 
 ting to the floor and came across to the fireplace. Her 
 eyes were wide with anxious distress, her face pale. 
 
 " I must tell you ! " she said, in a voice that made 
 Mr. Hall start and look up at her. " I must ! I can 
 hear it no longer; it is my fault that the meeting 
 house is not rebuilt." 
 
 "Esther, what do you say?" cried Mr. Hall. 
 " Child ! are you mad ? " 
 
372 STEADFAST. 
 
 "Ah, no; if I were but no, I am in my sober 
 senses. But for me the church would have long ago 
 been built anew ; it was in Uncle Dyer s will, the one 
 they could not find, and I I " 
 
 An agony of tears choked her speech. She could 
 not with that convulsed throat, those dry lips, utter 
 another word. The parson rose and went to her, 
 gravely laying his hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 "Esther!" he said, with a sudden, strong quiet in 
 his voice ; " say no more ; you are over-worn. You 
 know not what you say." 
 
 She looked at him with her beautiful, agonized 
 eyes, like a dumb creature that pleads for life. She 
 could not know how he longed to put his arms about 
 her and let her sob out her passion of remorse on his 
 breast. Nor could he know how she longed to have 
 him ! His very self-control hardened his face. She 
 made a desperate effort for control herself, and recov 
 ered her speech. 
 
 " Yes, I know well what I am saying. I heard I 
 thought yes I knew he had left his money to the 
 church for the rebuilding of it, and it seemed to my 
 folly that it was unjust. I ah! God forgive me! 
 1 burnt that will ! " 
 
 She hid her face in her hands and leant her head 
 on the mantelpiece. The parson s hand dropped 
 from her shoulder. She felt it with -a shudder, she 
 was too wicked to be touched by her saint ; a sinner 
 fallen too far ! There was a long pause, for Mr. Hall 
 was trying to command his own voice, and the 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 373 
 
 thoughts that rushed over him shook his very soul. 
 She had not mentioned Philip Kent s name ; she had 
 not hinted how she knew the contents of Uncle 
 Dyer s will, or thought she knew them. She had 
 left the matter so merely hinted at, that another man 
 might have thought she expected to be Uncle Dyer s 
 heir herself. 
 
 Parson Hall could not speak. She found words 
 before he did. 
 
 " I have repented. Oh, sir ! I have repented in the 
 dust, of my great sin. I have had it ever before 
 mine eyes. All this time it hath been an anguish 
 unto me. I would have made confession before, had 
 it been of any use ; had it not " 
 
 Mr. Hall knew well why she paused here. " Had 
 it not involved another " she would have said, but she 
 stopped just in time : she would not put her sin upon 
 Philip Kent s shoulders, though there it belonged, 
 even more than to her. 
 
 " Esther," said the parson, "believe your repen 
 tance is accepted of heaven ; and comfort your heart, 
 for you have not done the evil you thought. I know 
 of a certainty, from one who had it from your uncle s 
 lips, that his last will mentioned nothing of rebuild 
 ing the church. He left his estate to you, saving a 
 small legacy to his nephew. You robbed yourself, 
 my dear, not God." 
 
 " What ? " she answered, as one who hears what 
 they dare not believe. 
 
 Parson Hall repeated his words slowly. Esther s 
 
374 STEADFAST. 
 
 arms fell to her side ; she drew a long, gasping 
 breath, and then the New England conscience, with 
 pitiless strength and stinging thong, recalled her 
 from the momentary relief. 
 
 "But it was an equal sin, an equal sin! I stole 
 that which was not mine ; I destroyed the thing that 
 was another s : I have sinned ; what shall I do unto 
 Thee, thou Preserver of Men ? If it were to mine 
 own loss, still it was sin ! " 
 
 If Parson Hall agreed with Esther theologically, 
 nevertheless his heart was wrung with pity. 
 
 "Esther, Esther, remember who hath said that 
 there is joy in heaven over one sinner that repenteth ; 
 recall the word of the Lord, my friend: the blood 
 of Christ cleanseth from all sin. Come into the 
 light, Esther, for in Him is no darkness at all ! " 
 
 Esther bent her head lower. Alas ! well she knew 
 tli at this was not the only sin she repented of, daily 
 and hourly ; and she knew also that however healing 
 to the worst terror of the soul was the forgiveness of 
 sin against God, yet the consequences of sin, the 
 results that follow one wrong done, are never to be 
 washed away ; never to be averted ; sin has its own 
 punishment this side of the grave even for the most 
 earnest penitent, the most faithful believer. The 
 true purgatory lies in the memory of the repenting 
 sinner ; the real purifying fire is a remorse that 
 never ends while life endures, however sure and cer 
 tain may be the everlasting peace and purity beyond. 
 
 "Can you forgive me?" said Esther, in a half 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 375 
 
 whisper ; and in the wistful tone that said more than 
 the low words. 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, Esther," said the par 
 son, looking at her with an almost divine expression ; 
 but her drooped eyes did not see it. 
 
 " My poor child ; how you have suffered ! I would 
 you had told me before." 
 
 " I could not ! " she said ; sobs forbade her to ex 
 plain, but the parson knew what that morbid, timid 
 soul, that sensitive conscience must have undergone. 
 He asked no question ; he never alluded to any mo 
 tive, or any encouragement she might have had for an 
 act so foreign to her direct and innocent character as 
 the destroying of that will ; but in his secret heart he 
 had not a doubt who tempted her to do it. 
 
 Who beside Philip Kent had any interest in the 
 older will ? who but he had enough influence over 
 Esther to induce her to do such a deed ? The parson s 
 heart sank as he began to comprehend how she must 
 have loved the worthless man ; it was worse to know 
 how worthless he was ; more degrading to her who 
 loved him. But of all this he said nothing ; he was a 
 thorough Christian gentleman, and he would not only 
 keep his lips closed, but he resolved, then and there, 
 that never would he allow Esther to tell him any fur 
 ther details of this matter. It should be buried for 
 ever ; and if he could not hope that flowers would 
 grow over its grave, it should at least be sealed with 
 a great stone. 
 
 With the gentlest care he persuaded Esther to lie 
 
376 STEADFAST. 
 
 down, wheeled the sofa up to the fire, and covered her 
 carefully ; but still her face was unquiet, her lips 
 quivering ; with an instinctive knowledge that she 
 had best be alone, he said, " And now that the 
 storm hath lulled somewhat, I will go out and see 
 what it hath wrought; perhaps you may fall into 
 sleep, Esther. I think that would be your best 
 elixir ! " 
 
 When he shut the door behind him, however, her 
 forced composure gave way, and she cried long and 
 bitterly ; she saw now what Philip Kent had been ; 
 how deliberately he had deceived her ; it was true 
 she had discovered this partially before, but that he 
 should have left her all these years under the strong 
 delusion that she had really robbed the church she 
 had so learned to love, seemed the overflowing drop of 
 bitterness in her cup. 
 
 And oh ! how lonely she was, lying there in that 
 silent room, the only sounds that fell upon her ear 
 the slow purr and occasional snap or crackle of the 
 wood fire, for the wind had gone down and the rain 
 fell no longer from the low, leaden sky. 
 
 But her husband was more lonely ; once out of the 
 house he sought his usual relief in grief or excite 
 ment, a long walk. The sea itself seemed to be sym 
 pathetic with his mood, for its fury had not ceased ; 
 in the wildest commotion it roared and raved against 
 the rocky shore, and reared its crested billows high 
 against the cliff, only to fall back into futile milky 
 foam, to toss and murmur in vain. 
 
A CONFIDENCE. 377 
 
 It was strangely soothing to Parson Hall s troubled 
 soul, this elemental war ; his thoughts quieted as he 
 watched the wrathful water ; and He who once said 
 to the furious waves, " Be still " spoke the word again 
 to Philemon Hall, but added, " and know that I am 
 God!" 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 Heaven save me from my friends! 
 I can take care of my enemies myself. 
 
 FOR nearly two years, Mr. Hall had a sort of respite 
 from the persecution of the Consociation. 
 
 He felt however, all the time, that his struggle with 
 the powers that be was not over. Nor was he at rest 
 in his own house ; it hurt him cruelly to see how 
 Esther s confession affected her; he had thought it 
 would be a relief to her vexed soul, but it proved also 
 to be a distress and a humiliation. She went about 
 with so sad a countenance, so humble a demeanor, 
 that her husband s heart ached for her ; he longed to 
 comfort her with the strength of his affection, and so 
 repair her broken self-respect, but he dared not in 
 trude on her such a form of consolation ; for now 
 more than ever he was convinced she had loved Philip 
 Kent deeply. He could not imagine that any tran 
 sience could be possible to an affection that could be 
 guile such a woman to commit a great sin ; he had 
 never understood Esther s deep capacity of self-sac- 
 ririce, for lie had given her no chance to exercise it ; 
 but rather had sacrificed himself for her instead. 
 
 It was a silent and melancholy dwelling, that Trum- 
 bull parsonage; and Esther felt in her mistaken 
 
 378 
 
THE WOULD. 379 
 
 heart that every hope for the future had drifted quite 
 away from her, now that her secret was known to Mr. 
 Hall. And she felt also that she had cared for him 
 far more deeply than she knew, measuring her hither 
 to unacknowledged feeling by her great sense of loss 
 and pain. And to this she added another distress ; it 
 had been little comfort to her to know that Uncle 
 Dyer had meant to leave his property to her, for she 
 knew that if it was hers now, she should gladly ex 
 pend a great share of it on the old meeting-house, or 
 build a new one. It never occurred to her that if she 
 had been the independent woman that legacy would 
 have made her, she never would have married Mr. 
 Hall, but probably gone away from Trumbull and its 
 associations forever. 
 
 Kow, she thought, all her illusions and hopes were 
 dead. Philip Kent she never wanted to think of 
 again ; she despised herself to think her love for him 
 had been so long-lived, so tenacious; her husband s 
 love was gone from her; a loss she appreciated 
 keenly, for with her as with most women, and Esther 
 was a veritable woman, the thing she had not was 
 far more valuable in its loss than in its possession. 
 ISTo wonder she was sad ! But there was a repetition 
 of the old trouble in the church coming fast upon 
 them now, and there is something weighty in "the 
 expulsive power " of a new trouble, as well as that of 
 a " new affection." 
 
 In May of the second year after Mr. Hall s third 
 and latest confession had been refused even a hearing 
 
380 STEADFAST. 
 
 by the Consociation, a new complaint against him was 
 privately drawn up and submitted to that conclave, 
 sitting at Chester ; and another paper was presented 
 at the same time, signed by fifteen members of his 
 own society, urgently requesting the Consociation to 
 consider the difficulties and grievances under whicli 
 they labored owing to the displeasure of that body 
 with their pastor. 
 
 Though the complaint was drawn up secretly, it 
 soon became known through those who, though few, 
 were still faithful to Parson Hall, and who attended 
 the meeting at Chester; the names, also, of the 
 fifteen petitioners were soon equally well known 
 through the same means, and all the parish of Trum- 
 bull was agog and set by the ears ; some for and 
 some against the minister. 
 
 Parson Dyer drove over from Hillside to remon 
 strate with his dear friend. 
 
 "Brother Hall," he said, solemnly, as soon as the 
 study door shut behind him, " I have come to counsel 
 with you concerning this matter of your refusal to 
 submit yourself to the Consociation. I have known 
 you too long, brother, to doubt your honesty of pur 
 pose, but may it not be that Satan hath laid a snare 
 for you herein, and clouded your better judgment 
 with his crafts and assaults ? " 
 
 "Brother Dyer/ answered Mr. Hall with an odd 
 little smile in the corners of his mouth, " Satan is 
 not wont to array himself on the losing side." 
 
 " Pshaw, pshaw ! Will you answer me with a quip, 
 
THE WORLD. 
 
 Philemon Hall, when I come to plead with you for 
 your own good and the peace of your flock ? " 
 
 "Nay, brother! I meant not to anger you; but 
 there be straits wherein a word of cheer doeth the 
 soul good, and a quip is but the sparkle of a light 
 that is nigh to go out. 7 
 
 Parson Dyer s face softened "My friend/ he 
 said, " is there no way open unto you wherein you 
 and your brethren may walk together in concord ? " 
 
 " How can two walk together except they be 
 agreed ? " answered Mr. Hall, sadly. 
 
 " But I would fain have you agree, my brother, and 
 I think you do in vital matters ; what availeth it to 
 disturb the concord of brethren and the peace of the 
 church of (.rod with a differing in non-essentials ? 
 You see how your own people are at variance one 
 with another; how your brethren in the ministry 
 stand aloof from you ; how the very walls of Zion 
 crumble because of the disaffection amongst the flock 
 thereof. Why is it that you cannot bow your stiff 
 neck to the furtherance of the Lord s work and obedi 
 ence unto the laws of the church ? " 
 
 " Brother Dyer, I know that I have done all that 
 a true man can to seek peace and ensue it. I have 
 thrice, nay, more than thrice, laid before the Consoci 
 ation mine apology for transgressing their laws, but- 
 no man, no men, shall force me to consent unto a lie. 
 I believe that in dispensing the Word unto that peo 
 ple who were hungering and thirsting for it, I obeyed 
 the will of Him who said Feed my sheep/ nor did 
 
382 STEADFAST. 
 
 I find anything in the platform of doctrine accepted 
 in our churches contrary to my so doing j thus far am 
 I justified. In that I pursued my course after the 
 new laws were made by the council of churches, I 
 have already acknowledged that I erred, although in 
 ignorance. I meant, and I mean to obey those laws, 
 though I approve not of them. If I am forbid to 
 preach unto these Baptists because they are not 
 orthodox believers, I am also forbid to lay the Gos 
 pel before Papists and Prelatists ; yea, if I hold to 
 the logic of this matter I must even frown upon that 
 apostle John Eliot, who hath given his life over to 
 carry the Gospel unto the Indian savages, a race well 
 behind so much as the understanding of the word 
 orthodox." 
 
 "I intend not to chop logic with you, Brother 
 Hall," replied Parson Dyer, sternly. "It appeareth 
 to me that you have in view rather the fulfilling of 
 your own will and purpose, than any other thing. 
 Seest thou a man wise in his own conceit ? there is 
 more hope of a fool than of him ! " 
 
 Parson Hall flushed up to the roots of his hair ; he 
 had a naturally hot temper that had taken him half a 
 lifetime to control, and its merely physical expressions 
 he had not yet conquered ; but his voice was quiet and 
 cool, as he said, 
 
 " I am grieved, my friend, that you should think 
 so evilly of me ; but I must even bear it. I have 
 prayed with strong crying and tears that the Lord 
 would guide ine in this matter, and I have assurance 
 
THE WORLD. 383 
 
 within myself that he hath done so. 1 have made 
 humble submission unto the Consociation, so far as 
 my conscience allowed; it lieth with them to accept 
 the olive branch or cast it back unto me. But no 
 earthly power shall make me lie before God or man. 
 I am well assured that I did well to preach unto the 
 Baptists the eternal Gospel of God. I took no part 
 in their peculiar belief, either to further or to hinder 
 it. Forms and ceremonies seem to me slight things ; 
 it is the spirit that giveth life ; and the Spirit of the 
 Lord followed upon my words in the conversion of 
 souls. Shall I draw back after that seal ? " 
 
 His face glowed with fervor and truth. Parson 
 Dyer s keen eye softened as he looked at his friend, 
 and it may be that his speech too would have been 
 kindly, but at that moment a sharp rap at the door 
 heralded the entrance of Deacon Ammi Hopkins, who 
 bustled in, mopping his round face and stubbly gray 
 head with a big yellow silk handkerchief, for the day 
 was warm, even for July, and the young colt he drove 
 down from Pickering Centre had been unusually hard 
 on the bits. 
 
 " Good-day, Parson Hall," he began, tipping about 
 on his toes like an excited bantam cock. 
 
 " Good-day, sir ; hope I see you well. Why ! Jee- 
 ruslem ! if it ain t Priest Dyer. Well, well ! and how 
 do you do, sir ? I ha n t set eyes on you for quite 
 a spell ; seems folksy to see you round, reelly it 
 doos." 
 
 " And how is all at Pickering Centre ? " asked Mr. 
 
384 STEADFAST. 
 
 Dyer, smiling, for Ammi s entrance just at that junc 
 ture seemed providential to him. He knew not how 
 either to condemn or sympathize with his erring 
 brother, and was glad to give place to another train 
 of thought. 
 
 " Reasonable well ; yes, reasonable well. I don t 
 think that the state of religion is over ? n above flour- 
 ishin . We ve got a good man into the pulpit, a likely 
 man ; but ruther worldly, ruther giv to lookin arter 
 the loaves and fishes, as you may say; wants his 
 sellery paid up prompt, and his wood drawed as 
 prompt. He d ought to pay more attention to speri- 
 tooal things our folks think, than to the meat that 
 perisheth." 
 
 "Hm," grunted Parson Dyer; " got ten children, 
 hasn t he ? " 
 
 "Yes; oh, yes! the minister s blessin , ye know. 
 Quiver full, and smart, likely young ones too; the 
 heft of em boys ! " 
 
 " Pretty prompt to their dinner, probably ! " 
 
 " I expect they be. I think likely they be ; but ye 
 know Scriptur says we mustn t be a-thiiikin what we 
 eat and what we shall drink the hull time." 
 
 " And it says too that the laborer is worthy of his 
 hire, friend Hopkins/ 
 
 Parson Hall saw his clerical brother s face darken, 
 and interposed a question. 
 
 " How is Mrs. Hopkins, deacon ? " 
 
 " She s well, middlin well. She come over with 
 me ; she s in the keepin room, long o Mis Hall." 
 
THE WORLD. 385 
 
 "I think I will go in and visit her there," said 
 Parson Dyer, and disappeared accordingly. 
 
 Deacon Hopkins cleared his throat with a long 
 "A hem," put the tips of the fingers of both hands 
 together, and rising on the toes of his squeaky boots, 
 as he was wont to do when he prayed or exhorted in 
 conference meeting, began, 
 
 " I came over to-day, Parson Hall to hev a leetle 
 talk with you. You know I ve always been friendly 
 in my feelin tow rdst you, and Mis 7 Hopkins bein so 
 attached to Mis Hall, why, I feel as though that was 
 a bond as you may say. 
 
 Blest be the tie that binds, 
 
 ye know. I am aware that is a weddin hymn, but 
 its referable to friendliness too, I expect, and seen I 
 have the peace of Is rel to heart as well as your n ; 
 and bein along in years, and a man of exper ence, as 
 you may say, hevin been married four times and b en 
 deacon five-and-forty year, for I m eighty-two to- 
 morrer; why, I said to Mis Hopkins, ses I, when 
 we heered of the trouble Trumbull folks was a 
 gettin into about the Consos ation, and the hard 
 place you have sot down in ; yes, I said, Let us go 
 over to Trumbull and have a dish of talk with the 
 parson and Mis Hall. Mebbe, he ll hark to me a 
 mite, and you can comfort her up. ISTow, parson, 
 don t you feel as though you could comply with that 
 meetin an say what would soot em ? " 
 
 Parson Hall was naturally a little indignant at the 
 
386 STEADFAST. 
 
 intrusive Ammi, whose reputation was that of a con 
 ceited and meddlesome old fellow wherever he was 
 known ; but he did not indulge his wrath any further 
 than a cold and courteous manner and restrained 
 speech expressed it. 
 
 "Mr. Hopkins," he said, "there are times in life 
 when a man must consider higher things than mere 
 tranquillity of existence. First pure; then peace 
 able/ is the order of Holy Writ ; and be assured there 
 is no abiding peace except in purity of conscience. 
 What I have done, is, I am confident, right and just 
 in the Lord s sight. The consequences I must abide ; 
 they are in His hand." 
 
 " Well, well, that sounds hullsome, but do ye now, 
 honest, think it al ays answers to live right up to the 
 letter o Scriptur ? A n t it better not to give occa 
 sion to th enemy to revile ? " 
 
 " I shall be glad, alway, to have the enemy revile 
 me," said the parson, sturdy as Luther. 
 
 " Well, why, you don t seem to sense it ; I 
 mean an t it better to kind of com promise so to 
 speak ; give up a few o your idees here and there, for 
 peace s sake. Why, land s sake! do see what you 
 are a cornm to. Here s your sellery ain t half-paid, 
 at least, that s the tell ; and you can t get folks to 
 take no int rest in fixin up the meetin -house ; and 
 the hull of the s ciety is buzzin like swarmin bees, 
 and ye know when bees doos swarm tis to fly out o 
 the old hive ; what s a goin to become of you and 
 Mis Hall ef they deepose ye from the ministry? 
 
THE WORLD. 387 
 
 and I have heered there is some talk on t. Ain t it 
 a sight better to bend than to break ? Is t worth all 
 you ll lose to be so sot in your way ? Think on t ! 
 you ve got a good home, and a reasonable good sellery, 
 and nice folks in the church, an good neighbors ; 
 a n t it the best way to give in a mite whilst that 
 you can ? " 
 
 ". All these things will I give thee, if thou wilt fall 
 down and worship me, " answered Parson Hall, in a 
 tone deep and solemn, as if he were in his pulpit. 
 
 Deacon Hopkins stood aghast ; then his face grew 
 red ; even under the thin, stiff crop of hair his head 
 flamed. 
 
 " Well said ! well said ! when you undertake to 
 even a deacon, forty-five year in good and reg lar 
 standin to the evil one, I guess it s time to go, and 
 shake the dust off my feet a-goin ! " squeaked the 
 irate Ammi. 
 
 Mr. Hall stretched out his hand, 
 
 " Brother," he said, " I thought not of you when I 
 spoke ; but of the times upon times when I have pon 
 dered on this matter in the silence of my study, and 
 all these reasons of yours, yea, far more cogent ones 
 of their sort have confronted me, as if there stood at 
 my side one who pleaded with me ; but I thank God 
 I have kept the faith. Xo, brother ! though I and 
 mine be sent out into the brook Cherith, there to be 
 fed by ravens in a homeless solitude, I will fear no 
 evil ; the Lord will provide ; but neither man nor 
 devils shall make me lie. I did that which the Word 
 
388 STEADFAST. 
 
 of God, my conscience, and my vows at the altar 
 called upon me to do ; and I will neither repent of so 
 doing or admit that it was wrong." 
 
 Ammi looked at him in amazement. 
 
 "Well," he said, placated but yet doubtful. "If 
 you wa n t a parson I should say you was the pig- 
 headedest feller I ever come acrost. But I s pose 
 you think you ve got Scripter for t, and I must shut 
 up." 
 
 " Be thou steadfast, immovable, always abounding 
 in the work of the Lord, " said the parson, with a sad 
 smile. 
 
 " Well, I guess I ll say amen," responded Ammi. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVU. 
 
 MORE. 
 
 Who ne er his bread in sorrow ate, 
 Who never through the mournful night 
 Upon his couch hath weeping sate. 
 He knows you not, O Powers of Light ! 
 
 ALL this time Esther had her own trouble in the 
 keeping-room. Madam Stanley had but just returned 
 from England, where she had been almost ever since 
 Esther s marriage ; the governor having gone thither 
 on business concerning Sybil s property, as well as a 
 certain legacy left him, of real estate. 
 
 Of course the whole matter of Parson Hall s contu 
 macy, and the holy wrath of the Consociation, came 
 to their ears as soon as possible after they were again 
 settled in their house at Trumbull, and with her 
 usual domineering spirit, Madam Stanley proceeded 
 to the parsonage to deal with the parson and his wife 
 both ; but when she reached the house, finding that 
 Mr. Hall was closeted with Parson Dyer, she turned 
 upon Esther. 
 
 " Well, Dame Hall ! I hear there is a pretty to-do 
 in your church, and indeed in the town itself, about 
 your husband s obstinate resistance to the power 
 ecclesiastic. Tis mighty odd, methinks, for one man 
 to set up his will against the whole body of the 
 church. This comes of schismatics. Were he a 
 
390 STEADFAST. 
 
 member of that sound and wholesome body the Eng 
 lish Church, he would not think of such rebellion. 
 Good lack ! I would he were under the thumb of a 
 lord bishop ! Twere well for his soul, and for his 
 matters temporal, too." 
 
 "Madam Stanley," answered Esther, with serene 
 dignity, " Mr. Hall hath obeyed God rather than man 
 in this matter. He hath a clean conscience within, 
 concerning it." 
 
 " Fiddle-f addle ! so says every man -jack of the dis 
 senters. To hear the fellows among whom Sybil hath 
 settled herself talk of their consciences, one would 
 think conscience were the pope himself. Hath your 
 good man no common-sense, so to quarrel with his 
 bread and butter ? " 
 
 "I think he hath not only sense, but religion to 
 back it, withal, Madam Stanley. And well I believe, 
 that there lives not any-k>rd bishop, nor any pope, 
 who could beguile Mr. Hall into doing the thing that 
 unto him seemed sin." 
 
 Esther s eyes shone, and the color rose in her 
 expressive countenance, as she looked straight into 
 Madam Stanley s haughty visage. 
 
 "Tut, tut, Dame Hall! why will you encourage 
 him to cut his own throat, as well is to be seen you 
 do ? I hear it said that already his salary is delayed, 
 that the meeting-house is dilapidated more than is 
 seemly or decent, and even thr.t the Consociation hold 
 talk of deposing him from the ministry for contuma 
 cious conduct and contempt of ecclesiastic authority. 
 
MORE. 391 
 
 If these things are so, and you have any such influ 
 ence with your husband as a good wife should have, 
 it behooves you to plead with him for his own good, in 
 season and out of season, that he will submit himself 
 unto the powers that be, which are ordained of God, 
 as Holy Scripture saith." 
 
 " I think, Madam Stanley, you misapprehend the 
 situation," said Esther, calmly. " Mr. Hall hath not, 
 knowledgably, disobeyed the laws of the Consoci 
 ation. Since the new law, concerning preaching to 
 schismatics, hath been passed, he has not once min 
 istered to the Baptist congregation ; indeed, that peo 
 ple have disbanded, and ceased to be an ecclesiastic 
 body for more than a year. These few sheep in the 
 wilderness have perished of spiritual starvation, and 
 I believe the Consociation have their blood upon their 
 hands to answer for. But that is with God. Mr. Hall s 
 offence was, that he would not so perjure himself before 
 man as to say that he had done wrong in preaching 
 the gospel to them who were hungering and thirsting 
 therefor. He was convinced in his own mind, that 
 neither the law of God nor the Saybrook Platform 
 which seems unto me to be held in equal respect with 
 scripture in these churches were transgressed by 
 his so doing, and I am well assured that neither men 
 nor devils will force him to lie unto God and man by 
 such acknowledgment." 
 
 " Pshaw ! I like this prate of schismatics I 
 What are ye all but followers of heresy and schism, 
 in departing from the faith of your fathers and the 
 
W 2 STEADFAST. 
 
 mother country ? What does the dictum of a little 
 body of country dissenters import, that a man should 
 cast away his living rather than temporize with, and 
 appease them ? I lay this at your door in great meas 
 ure, Dame Esther. I see where his contumacy is 
 cherished with sympathy and respect. Moreover, 
 were this house filled, as it should be, with a flock of 
 children, clamoring for daily bread, he would not be 
 so stiff-necked ! " 
 
 Esther s face was scarlet with anger and shame; 
 she spoke hotly in reply. The rather abstruse read 
 ing, for that time, with which she had solaced her 
 loneliness, came to her aid now. 
 
 " Madam Stanley, I think the Church of England 
 is itself a dissenting body from the beginning. Sure 
 Martin Luther dissented from Rome, and, denying 
 papacy, brought the reformed religion into its place. 
 If since this hath degenerated into prelacy, it is none 
 the less a dissenting body from its birth ; and well I 
 know that neither papacy nor prelacy, nor the tyr 
 anny of this schism, as it pleaseth you to call it, will 
 shake my husband from the rock whereon he standeth. 
 For poverty, if it cometh upon us for this cause, let it 
 come ! I thank God there are but two of us to 
 strengthen each other and to suffer, if more would 
 make Mr. Hall s soul falter in the path of duty. 
 But I cannot think that any such consideration would 
 daunt him. I am proud and joyful to believe that he 
 loveth God more than His gifts, granted or denied ; 
 and for me, I am willing to labor with mine own 
 
MOKE. 393 
 
 hands for my daily bread and his rather than 
 have him abate one jot or tittle of his righteous 
 obedience to the Word. I care not so much for the 
 Saybrook Platform ! " 
 
 " Well said, young woman ! well said ! I love a 
 spirity dame who will do battle for her good man, 
 even though I be a little worsted in the fray ; but yet 
 I am not shaken in my " 
 
 The door from the kitchen opened with a rush and 
 Tempy Hopkins burst into the room, flung her taffety 
 mantle and her calash down on the nearest chair, and 
 flying up to Esther, embraced her with both arms. 
 
 " Oh, my dear soul ! my dear soul ! " she exclaimed, 
 panting with heat and haste ; " I have heered about 
 thy troubles so much I could hear it no longer with 
 out a sight of thee. What will become of this world 
 I don t know no more than nothing when sech a pious, 
 meek-sperited man as Parson Hall is set upon by his 
 brethering, and parsecuted ! " 
 
 "Fie upon you, Goody Hopkins!" interrupted 
 Madam Stanley ; " do you call a man pious and meek 
 who setteth himself up against constituted authority 
 as Parson Hall hath done ? " 
 
 " I don t care a copper about constitooted thorities 
 ma am, not when they try to stomp on a good man ; 
 pious he is, for I ve knowed him many a year; and 
 meek he is too, for I ve seen him when 
 
 Afflictions sore 
 Long time he bore. 
 
394 STEADFAST. 
 
 as my grandsir s gravestone says ; but the worm will 
 turn, ye know; and he s got more grit n a fennel- 
 worm even, and they re consider ble spunky. Deacon 
 says, ses he, I ain t reelly made up my mind what to 
 think bout this business, when in come Eben Salt 
 and tells that how there was talk of deeposin Mr. 
 Hall, and leavin of him to starve, mabbe. Then I riz 
 up, and ses I, He won t starve, not a mite ; the Lord 
 11 send ravens for to feed him fust. And I ll be one 
 of em. Oh ! ho ! ho ! says deacon ; < don t ye be so 
 forehanded, Temp rance. We a n t got no great o 
 means ourselves, and don t ye make no rash prom 
 ises ! < I don t care nothin for that, ses I. < Whilst 
 that I ve got a crust o bread, Easter Hall shall have 
 half on t, and parson t other half ! < Law, now ! 
 ses deacon, < don t ye take on so ! the Lord 11 per- 
 vide. Yes ! says I. I ve heerd that before ! It s 
 mighty easy to shove your feller-creeters over on to 
 the Lord ; you ^on t noway consider how that he per- 
 vides for J em by the means of man. We don t have 
 meracles now-a-days, though I must say twould be 
 nigh about to a meracle if you done anything for any 
 body t you wa n t obleeged to by law ! Then he got 
 wrathy ; and we had quite a little season, nyther 
 short nor sweet; and the eend on t was that he 
 greed to tackle up the colt and come down here to 
 deal with the parson, and see if he couldn t noway 
 help tow rdst straightenin on him out, as he called it. 
 Deacon thinks twould have improved the airth ef the 
 Lord had asked his idees about makin on t. Some 
 
MORE. 395 
 
 pork will bile soj ye know. So I clapped on my 
 calash and come too ; I m fraider o that colt than I 
 be of the Evil One a most ; he don know what his 
 front legs is good for, yet, he s so giv to standin up 
 on his hinder ones. I was scar t out o my life comin 
 but I would ha come ef it had a be ii a fiery flyin 
 dragon instead of a black hoss, I wanted to see you 
 so, Easter ; and to tell ye to take heart, child. You 
 stan by the parson and spunk him up, dear ; I dono 
 as he needs it, but you can make the trouble a sight 
 easier for him." 
 
 " Goody Hopkins," spoke out Madam Stanley, who 
 was drawing on her gloves to go. " It seemeth that 
 you scarce know your place here. Doth it become 
 you to aid and counsel Dame Hall in this matter ? 
 To encourage this obdurate parson with your comfort 
 able words ? You are of another parish to begin 
 with, and another station in life ; it passeth a jest 
 that you should put yourself up in a godly minis 
 ter s household with your advice on spiritual matters. 
 Go your ways to your pots and pans and your frugal 
 deacon, Goody ; intermeddle not here ! " 
 
 " Goody me none of your goodys, my fine madam ! " 
 shrieked Tempy, with her arms akimbo and her little 
 puckered face red with anger. " And for my station 
 in life, tis respectabler than a cumberer of the 
 ground who nyther toils nor spins ! Look to the pit 
 whence you was digged yourself, madam, before you 
 Goody me ! What have all the Stonebridges been 
 unto this colony ? What evil savors follow after 
 
396 STEADFAST. 
 
 them as though they was pole-cats ? Is not John 
 Stonebridge s bastard abiding at Hillside Farm to 
 day ? You d better look back to them that went 
 before ye, and not sass honest women that has come 
 of godly payrents. I come here out of love for my 
 dear friends, to help em and comfort em. What d 
 you come for ? Why to bring a railin accusation 
 ag inst em as Scriptur ses. What " 
 
 The door opened again, and Parson Dyer came in. 
 Madam Stanley swept past him without a word, and 
 entering her chariot with the air of an offended pea 
 cock, drove off, and was seen no more. 
 
 Tempy s reference to the Stonebridge family had 
 wounded her to the quick, for well she knew what 
 their past record had been ; and for her own ancestry 
 she had not much more to say on the side that had 
 intermarried with John Stonebridge s ancestors. 
 Even the memory of the few brilliant exceptions 
 to that record had not been able to leaven the 
 whole lump in the eyes of their fellow colonists. 
 
 As soon as Parson Dyer closed the door behind 
 Madam Stanley, Tempy sat down in the nearest 
 chair, in haste, unfortunately, it was that which 
 held her calash and mantle, and burst into a flood 
 of angry tears. 
 
 Esther withdrew her hand from the parson s and 
 hurried to her friend. 
 
 " Dear Tempy ! " she said, don t cry ; don t ! Madam 
 Stanley hath gone ; she will vex you no further." 
 
 " Indeed, 1 think she swept out with the air of one 
 
MORE. 397 
 
 something vexed herself ! " said the parson, with a 
 quiet smile. 
 
 " W-w-we-el ! " sobbed Tempy, " I dono but she 
 was. I aimed to give her as good as she give me. 
 Oh ! o-oh ! I never was so sassed before in all my 
 born days ! never ! Goody/ indeed ! Wa n t her 
 pa Stonebridge Edwards, I d like to know? As 
 big a raskill as ever driv his coach-an-four through 
 Har ford town ; an to hear her talk as though she 
 was king, lord, an devil ! " 
 
 "My friend! my friend! remonstrated Parson 
 Dyer, "Doth not Scripture tell us in those days 
 they shall say no more, the fathers have eaten a 
 sour grape, and the children s teeth shall be set on 
 edge ? " 
 
 " Well, if it doos, I can t gainsay it ; but there s a 
 sight in the breed after ail ; didn t you go an buy a 
 Narraganset pacer now, Parson Dyer ? and did it 
 come of cart-hosses, or Arabs like the governor s ? 
 Not a mite ! and I tell ye Stonebridge blood is bad 
 blood. Here I be, come to comfort up Mis Hall, 
 friendly like; hearin she and he is like to be driv 
 out of house and home, and want for bread, jest 
 because he s steadfast to his conscience ; and find 
 here my madam a tryin to make him give in, or a 
 persuadin Easter to try and make him, and I hadn t 
 said ten words before down she comes, a-pounce, like 
 cat to mouse and bids me not meddle with my betters. 
 Lawks ! as if she was anybody s betters ! " 
 
 " Softly, softly, Mistress Hopkins ; answer not a 
 
398 STEADFAST. 
 
 fool according to his folly; be not hasty in thy 
 spirit, if Madam Stanley is. Let her pass ; a 
 proud, loveless, childless woman hath her own sor 
 rows ; and for our friends here, know that so long as 
 Billions Dyer hath a home, they shall share it in 
 their extremity, and should I be called to cross over 
 Jordan before such crisis comes, the home shall be 
 all theirs." 
 
 Tempy wiped her eyes with her flowered apron. 
 
 " I always said you was as good as the Lord ever 
 made, Parson Dyer ! " she said. 
 
 Esther grasped his hand, her lips trembled, but her 
 beautiful eyes spoke for her ; they shone with affec 
 tion and gratitude that he felt to the depth of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Well ! here s the fust raven ! " Ternpy said to 
 herself. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 AT LAST. 
 
 The flower of the hour may have vanished 
 
 In tempest and night ; 
 Its bloom and perfume may be banished, 
 
 From sense and from sight; 
 And desolate all the fair garden 
 
 Of color and glow : 
 But that God is its master and warden, 
 
 The fruit-time shall show. 
 
 WITH the self-distrust of a conscientious man, 
 Philemon Hall began to consider after these visi 
 tations whether he had done all that Christian char 
 ity demanded of him to make peace with his brethren. 
 Nothing could shake him from the standpoint of 
 right and duty as to what he had done in preaching 
 to the Baptists; but in view of the disturbances 
 among his own people it occurred to him that he 
 might once more try to conciliate the angry Conso 
 ciation. It was now five years since this melancholy 
 controversy began, and the confession, or rather the 
 appeal he offered them opened by saying that for 
 more than three years he had given himself to 
 prayer and meditation concerning this matter, and 
 likewise studied upon it; but he could not be con 
 vinced in conscience that his preaching to the Bap 
 tists was contrary to the Holy Scripture or to the 
 
400 STEADFAST. 
 
 mind of God ; but he was willing to humble himself 
 so far as in honesty he could, and the document con 
 cluded thus, 
 
 And now, Gentlemen, I humblie crave Forgiveness; let my 
 Ignorance of It s being a Crime apolagize for me that I may Be 
 Restored. And I would humblie offer one Motive to engage 
 your Compassion, viz. a prospect of Peace among my People 
 who have been uneasy, for 1 think that in other Respecks they 
 are Friendly and kind; but this case has been an Uneasiness 
 with them, and a Prinsipal uneasiness, if I may Judge by their 
 Complayntes, or what I heare from their own Mouthes. And 
 therefor Gentlemen as you Are professed Lovers of Peace, you 
 will undoubtedlie Promote it by restoring your unworthy Serv t. 
 
 PHILEMON HALL. 
 
 Stung perhaps by the implied or suspected sarcasm 
 of calling this belligerent and implacable body " pro 
 fessed lovers of peace " ; angered no doubt by the per 
 sistent refusal of Parson Hall, to say he had done 
 wrong in consenting to preach the Gospel to schis 
 matics ; well-nigh as wrathful as if he had said that 
 he was not sure that God would damn the heathen 
 tribes who had never heard of Him, without giving 
 them another chance in another world, the Consocia 
 tion showed themselves to be men of like passions as 
 we are by refusing to accept this confession, or even 
 grant it a second reading. They did not, however, let 
 Parson Hall alone; with a perseverance too tedious 
 to detail they discussed his case at every meeting ; 
 wrote him letters officially and personally ; visited 
 him for reproof and remonstrance ; exhorted at him 
 and prayed for him in the pulpit, till he might have 
 
AT LAST. 401 
 
 said in the spirit of the unrighteous judge that he 
 would grant their request because by their continual 
 coming they wearied him. But no such truckling to 
 ease and sloth was possible to Philemon Hall ; not a 
 step would he take to reverse his position ; he was 
 like Luther on the road to the Diet of Wurms, 
 though he saw hundreds of devils skipping upon the 
 housetops by the way, they should not hinder him. 
 
 Yet being merely a mortal man this continual drop 
 ping did wear upon him ; he grew thin, pale, and list 
 less ; he lost his appetite and consequently his 
 strength, and was ill-prepared to meet the crisis 
 when it came. 
 
 For, one year after they had refused to accept his 
 humble yet manful confession the last confession he 
 made, there was another meeting of the Consociation, 
 at which they unanimously passed this edict. 
 
 This Consociation do now and upon the Whole judge and 
 determine ye sayde Hall, unworthie the Ministereal character 
 and Christian communion; and Accordinglie do, in the name 
 of the Lord Jesus Christ, accordinge to Ye Worde of God, and 
 the Powers innvested in this Consociation by ye Ecclesiastical 
 constitution of the Government, Depose the saide Hall from his 
 Ministereal Office and ministereal and Pastoral relation to ye 
 First Church in sayde Trumbull and doe Debarr and Suspende 
 him from Communion in any of the Churches of our Lord Jesus 
 Christ 
 
 Duly engrossed by the scribe of the meeting, signed 
 by its members, and sealed with a great seal, the 
 foregoing document was left at Mr. Hall s door by 
 Deacon Stearns of Chester, deputed for that errand j 
 
402 STEADFAST. 
 
 he was a kindly man, and thankful enough to find 
 that the parson was out for the morning, so he only 
 asked Mrs. Hall to lay it on the minister s study 
 table, and rode away through the pink-blossoming 
 orchards, by the new-leaved forests, and sparkling 
 streams of June, with a heavy heart, for he had once 
 been of the minority who favored Mr. Hall, and was 
 still uncertain in his own mind about the rights of 
 the matter ; though, like all the Laodicean tribe, he 
 had now voted with the majority because they were 
 the majority. 
 
 Philemon Hall came in an hour before dinner-time 
 and went as usual directly to his study ; he looked at 
 the ominous document and shivered a little, though 
 the day was summer-warm ; but he was no coward ; 
 he took up the paper with a steady hand, opened, and 
 read it. 
 
 For a moment his brain reeled as if from a blow-, 
 then he sat down, and flinging his arms across the 
 table, laid his head upon them, and the force of the 
 situation came full upon him. Outcast! Forbidden 
 to preach ! Debarred from the table of his Lord ! 
 What worse penalty could have been dealt out to him 
 if he were the vilest sinner on the face of the earth ? 
 All the long train of consequences made a sort of 
 funereal procession through his mind ; he saw him 
 self and Esther ostracized from social life, which in 
 those days was inextricably mixed with religious 
 affairs ; he saw his means of living vanishing from 
 his grasp, for he had no handicraft to fall back on j 
 
AT LAST. 403 
 
 his life, his soul, were all fitted for and given over to 
 preaching the Gospel ; he saw his isolation from his 
 brethren, his people, almost from his kind, lowering 
 over him like a cloud of blackness ; he seemed to him 
 self to be exiled from God and man both, and then 
 came the thought of deepest anguish, the thought of 
 our Lord upon the Cross when the death throe of 
 His humanity darkened even His Godhead, and he 
 uttered the desperate cry of despairing man, the 
 words that broke now from Philemon Hall s tortured 
 spirit. 
 
 " My God ! my God ! why hast Thou forsaken 
 me ? > " 
 
 Had he not been faithful to God in all this weary 
 past ? Had he not glorified Him in the fires ? What 
 but loyalty to his Master s will and word had brought 
 him to this pass ? 
 
 Involuntarily he broke out in the familiar words of 
 the Psalmist. " Thou hast known my reproach, and 
 my shame and my dishonor ; mine adversaries are all 
 before thee ! Keproach hath broken my heart ; and 
 I am full of heaviness ; and I looked for some to take 
 pity, but there was none ; and for comforters, but I 
 found none ! " His whole nature cried aloud for some 
 companionship in this dreadful solitude of grief. 
 " Oh ! had Rachel but lived ! " was his first thought ; 
 yet even as the thought framed itself, he recalled the 
 fact that he had never carried his serious troubles, or 
 what had seemed serious then, to her. She had been 
 sheltered by his care from every bitter wind that 
 
404 STEADFAST. 
 
 chanced to blow, morally or physically. Now! if 
 
 Esther could but have loved him ! 
 
 At that moment Esther came in. She had come to 
 say that dinner was ready. Dinner will no doubt be 
 boiling in the pot at the crack of doom ! our daily 
 necessities go on through all tribulation or despair ; 
 the protest of the poor feeble body, against the pangs 
 it suffers from the strong and agonizing soul. 
 
 She saw at once that something had come to Mr. 
 Hall ; not only did his posture tell the story, but one 
 hard dry sob, the awful sob of a man in deep mental 
 suffering, shook his whole frame as she entered ; she 
 sprang forward and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 
 "Philemon ! what is it ? " she asked, in a voice no 
 man could mistake; for in that instant love, true 
 wife-love was born in her bosom, full-fashioned and 
 strong, no puny or untimely child, but the growth of 
 silent years, ready to see the light. 
 
 He lifted his head a little and with one hand 
 pushed the decree of the consociation toward her ; she 
 took it up and read the brief anathema. She did not 
 pause to consider, her soul was in a tumult of wrath, 
 and protest, and indignant love ; she fell on her knees 
 at her husband s side, clasped both arms about his 
 neck, laid her head on his shoulder and cried out, 
 " My dear, dear husband ! My dear ! don t ! The 
 cruel men ! " 
 
 Philemon Hall raised his head and looked into her 
 
 face ; he could not believe he had heard her aright. 
 
 " Esther!" he asked hoarsely. "Do you know 
 
AT LAST. 405 
 
 what you say ? Can it be ? Oh, woman ! speak, 
 speak ! lest it be as a dream when one awaketh ! " 
 
 Esther lifted her head too, and returned his gaze ; 
 her face was one roseate blush, her red lips parted 
 eagerly, her eyes lambent as planets, with love and 
 pity, there was neither doubt, dread, nor coldness in 
 that lovely countenance. 
 
 " My dear, dear husband ! " she said, in a passionate 
 whisper. 
 
 The parson s face lit up like a sun-burst through a 
 cloud ; he gathered Esther close in his arms and 
 kissed her as solemnly as if that kiss had been their 
 last ; then he lifted his face heavenward and said, as 
 if he saw into those celestial regions. 
 
 " Lord in wrath thou hast remembered mercy. I 
 will sing praises unto thee while I have my being ! " 
 
 It did indeed seem to him as if a miracle had been 
 wrought in his behalf, but he was too humble and too 
 little introverted to question Esther or himself how 
 this wondrous blessing had been brought about. It 
 was enough for him that it had come in his hour of 
 direst need, when not a ray of light seemed either 
 near or possible. 
 
 Dinner stood in its dishes long into the afternoon 
 that day, while Parson Hall and his wife held counsel 
 together concerning this last blow. 
 
 " It seemeth little to me now, Esther," he said, with 
 a radiant smile, " the flesh was weak before, and the 
 spirit failed ; verily, I thought that God had forsaken 
 me as well as man ; I was impatient when I should 
 
406 STEADFAST. 
 
 have trusted, I was so solitary that I became unduly 
 cast down." 
 
 " Do not say so, Philemon ! You have endured 
 even as a martyr of old ; and but that I was fearful 
 lest you could not abide it, I should have tried to 
 comfort you before." 
 
 " Fearful, Esther ! of me ? " 
 
 "Even so. Does it become a sinner like me to 
 love a saint like you ? Much less to think my affec 
 tion could be endurable to you who know of mine own 
 confession what I had done ! " 
 
 "Hush ! hush ! my wife ! " and Philemon Hall laid 
 his hand lightly on her lips. " Speak no more of the 
 past ; let us forget the things that are behind, and lay 
 our sins before Him only who hath loved us and 
 washed us in His blood. Nor call me a saint, Esther. 
 Who is clean in His sight ? I am a man, with a 
 man s sins and follies struggling within me ; and I 
 may not find peace except in the sacrifice of Christ for 
 sinners. We are saved by grace, both of us ; let us 
 hereafter walk together, being agreed. And for me, 
 since I heard your words of cheer, and saw your be 
 loved face upon my bosom, with shining eyes looking 
 into mine as never did they look before. I feel like 
 the youth unto whom the prophet of old spake, say 
 ing, Fear not ! for they that be with us are more 
 than they that be with them. I trust I should have 
 had strength to be steadfast unto the end ; but lo 
 now, out of strength cometh forth sweetness/ and 
 manna from above into this wilderness of Sin." 
 
AT LAST. 407 
 
 It made even Esther s happy heart quiver with late 
 remorse to see how the light returned in a calm shin 
 ing to her husband s eyes, and peace to his worn face ; 
 their unnatural position toward each other had been 
 irksome to her, tormenting to him ; but now the real 
 life of a home sheltered them ; they were no longer 
 young lovers, but Esther s love was young, and Phile 
 mon s as tried and faithful as his truth. 
 
 Aunt E-uthy was the first person to hear of the 
 action which deposed Mr. Hall from the ministry, and 
 that very evening she went over after sundown to the 
 parsonage to give her hearty and affectionate sym 
 pathy to Mr. Hall ; but when her slight knock at the 
 side door was answered and she went in, she found 
 no downcast, or unhappy, or wrathful man there. 
 
 Mr. Hall sat on the chintz sofa beside Esther, hold 
 ing one of her hands like a lover, as he was. 
 Esther started and blushed, but the parson tightened 
 his grasp. " Sit here, Miss Ruthy," he said, making 
 a place for the good woman at his other side. " You 
 came, I know, to condole with me ; and indeed I think 
 I have been dealt with sharply, but I have good 
 courage ; my dear wife and I have talked the matter 
 over, and by God s grace I will not cease to preach ; 
 what can man do unto me ? And the Lord hath given 
 me a home wherein to rest and be comforted in the 
 pauses of the battle." 
 
 Aunt Ruthy s sweet old eyes grew dim; she did 
 not understand all that she saw, but she knew that 
 her saint had found a shrine, and that was enough for 
 
408 STEADFAST. 
 
 her tender and unselfish heart ; she looked round into 
 Esther s face, blooming as she had never seen it, and 
 said half under her breath, 
 
 " Thank God, and take courage ! " 
 
 " I will," answered the parson, reverently. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 NOT DESTROYED. 
 
 Stern lawgiver! yet thou dost wear 
 The Godhead s most benignant grace ; 
 Nor know I anything so fair 
 As is the light upon thy face. 
 
 IT seemed indeed to Philemon Hall that the world 
 wore a new face for him now ; he was not a man 
 whom joy could enervate or absorb ; his duty reigned 
 over all other inducements, and was respected as the 
 ruler of his life ; but it gave duty a new aspect, and 
 his loyalty thereto a fresh impetus to know that at 
 last Esther loved him. He went out into the fra}^ 
 once more determined to resist the tyranny and injus 
 tice of the Consociation as long as life should last, if 
 it became necessary. 
 
 Some time before, in the thick of his troubles, while 
 yet all his flock were with one accord on his side of 
 the dispute, his church had by its own voluntary ac 
 tion voted to renounce the jurisdiction of the Conso 
 ciation, and become an independent body ; now, this 
 was a point of support to Parson Hall, for, shortly 
 after his deposement, a petition was preferred before 
 the General Court that they would eject Mr. Hall 
 from his meeting-house, that a regular minister might 
 be settled in his place. This could not be done, since 
 409 
 
410 STEADFAST. 
 
 the church in Trumbnll belonged to no ecclesiastical 
 jurisdiction, and, accordingly, the first Sunday after 
 Mr. Hall had not only been turned out of the min 
 istry but practically ex-communicated from the church 
 because he would not deny and repudiate his con 
 scientious convictions, he had the church bell rung at 
 the proper hour, and having as usual made a short 
 prayer of invocation went on with the services. 
 
 The church was well filled, though some of the 
 congregation went with fear and trembling, uncertain 
 whether Mr. Hall would preach, or, if he did, whether 
 they \vould stay and hear him. 
 
 He began his second prayer, however, before any 
 man or woman left the house; his face uplifted, liis 
 hands clasped, his voice full of deep emotion. " Oh, 
 Lord, Thou art our Father," he said, " though 
 Abraham be ignorant of us, and Israel acknowledge 
 us not; Thou art our Father; our Eedeemer; Thy 
 name is from everlasting. And because we are Thy 
 dear children whom Thou hast loved with an ever 
 lasting love and saved with an eternal salvation, we 
 bring to Thee our wants and our needs, knowing that 
 Thou wilt not give us stones for bread, but will grant 
 our prayers as seemeth good unto Thee. Lord, give 
 us strength to do that which is right and true ; en 
 due us with Thine own power, that our duty may lie 
 plain before us and \ve may be able to do it to the last 
 jot and tittle. Give us that peace in believing which 
 is in itself courage; help us to put on the whole 
 armor of God, to fight the -good fight, to lay hold on 
 
NOT DESTROYED. 41 1 
 
 eternal life. Yea. Lord, though we lay clown our lives 
 for Thee, let us be Thy faithful servants and soldiers, 
 and endure the shame that cometh upon us, the 
 estrangement of friends, the censure of brethren, the 
 loss of all earthly things, rather than deny Thee or 
 betray Thee. Life is Thy gift ; all we have and are 
 cometh from Thee ; let us with joy and gratitude 
 glorify Thee even in the tires, and offer up to Thee 
 our souls and bodies to serve Thee as living sacrifices, 
 holy and acceptable unto God. 
 
 u And oh ! Lord, let us not be cast down, neither 
 destroyed. If Thou art with us can any be against 
 us ? Remember this Thy temple, where our fathers 
 worshipped Thee before we were ; build it up, Lord ! 
 Let Thy truth keep its walls, and Thy salvation be its 
 bulwarks. Restore unto it the joy of them that 
 shout in harvest, and be the gathering in of souls 
 here, like unto the crowding of doves that fly to their 
 windows. For if Thou dwellest here, who shall turn 
 the head to mock as they pass by ? or say < Aha ! how 
 is Jerusalem fallen ! Come down from Thy dwelling- 
 place unto our altar, and touch it with fire from 
 heaven ; then shall all men know that the sceptre 
 hath not departed from Zion, but that the Lord 
 is there. 
 
 11 And oh, dear Father ! if there be those who seem 
 to be our enemies, who thrust out their tongues 
 against us and turn their faces from us, do Thou shine 
 into their hearts with all the splendor and sweetness 
 of Thy great love to man. With the flame of Thy 
 
412 STEADFAST. 
 
 divine goodness melt their souls, and separate the 
 pure gold within them from the dross of mortal pas 
 sion and prejudice, that they may shine with Thy 
 light, and be Thy treasured vessels. Be Thou with 
 them and bless them in their going out and their 
 coming in ; bless their basket and their store ; give 
 them peace on earth, and goodwill toward man. And 
 finally, minister unto them an abundant entrance into 
 the kingdom of heaven. And Thine shall be the 
 glory forever : Amen." 
 
 There was something in this fervent, tender prayer, 
 so different from the usual formal petitions presented 
 to God, as one might lay an engrossed plea, drawn up 
 by a lawyer, before an earthly monarch, that the 
 congregation were taken by surprise. 
 
 Parson Hall had not prayed for his enemies as 
 if they were men of evil disposition and causeless 
 anger, but merely as if they were mistaken brethren, 
 to be pitied and loved for that reason. It is the way 
 of the world unto this day to be merciless to mis 
 takes. The closest ties of kindred are rent apart 
 because one or another does that which in itself is no 
 moral evil or apparent wrong, but merely unadvisable 
 in the eyes of self-elected judges. Alienations that 
 make life a long regret, and add an enduring sting to 
 death, assail us, for the shadowy reason that we have 
 mistaken our proper path in life, in the estimation of 
 those who should have shielded, supported, even 
 loved us more, because we needed such charity more 
 than ever. 
 
NOT DESTROYED. 413 
 
 But this was not Philemon Hall s charity. He was 
 too like his Master not to love the sheep that went 
 astray upon the dark mountains better than the 
 ninety and nine who needed less his affection and 
 his care. 
 
 Therefore that prayer seemed to his audience some 
 thing almost above their comprehension, a matter 
 of wonder and awe. In the language of the record, 
 "They judged that such a prayer had never been 
 made in that house. They all tarried to hear what 
 he would preach." 
 
 Tears rolled down many a sober visage as that 
 prayer ended. Esther s face glowed with love and 
 pride. Never before had she known the depths of 
 Philemon Hall s heart ; even now she knew not 
 nor did he how his satisfied human heart had given 
 fervor and strength to his spiritual affections. Never 
 could he have uttered that outpouring of brotherly 
 love with such ardent honesty, if he had not inwardly 
 felt the blissful consciousness that his wife at last 
 loved him. We are so "bound up in bundles," so 
 interwoven of body, soul, and spirit, that when one 
 string of the harp is sounded, the others vibrate in 
 unison, and it is our dim consciousness of this that 
 makes us rejoice in the prospect of a new body as 
 well as a redeemed soul when the " day of the Lord " 
 shall arise. 
 
 Then, after singing a psalm of the Sternhold and 
 Hopkins version, a general stir and hush pervaded 
 the congregation, as they settled themselves to hear 
 
414 STEADFAST. 
 
 the sermon. No one thought of leaving the church. 
 Parson Dyer, who was there, in the front pew, took a 
 sonorous pinch of snuff, to last him through the dis 
 course, and many another elderly man followed his 
 example, and each folded his red and yellow handker 
 chief and laid it over his crossed knees, to be ready 
 for an emergency. The old women rubbed their spec 
 tacles, and tucked them away carefully in the hymn- 
 books. Mothers of young families distributed fragrant 
 bunches of dried "meetin seed" among their flocks, 
 and settled the little ones further on to the high 
 seats, lest they should fall asleep and meet the 
 fate of Eutychus, wearied with their dangling feet, 
 idle hands, and the " blessed hum " of the preacher. 
 But all was quiet as Philemon Hall arose in his tall 
 pulpit, and, opening the Bible before him, gave out as 
 his text, " For necessity is laid upon me ; yea, woe is 
 unto me, if I preach not the gospel." 
 
 The sermon, like most of that day, was long ; but it 
 did not seem tedious to his hearers. It had no refer 
 ence to his personal trials nor to his future inten 
 tions ; he only dwelt upon the importance of the 
 Christian ministry to the salvation of the world, 
 and the stringent obligation that was laid upon eveiy 
 man who made that ministry his profession to preach 
 wherever and whenever the Lord gave him opportun 
 ity and strength, to the end that no living human 
 soul should be lost through ignorance of the way of 
 salvation. 
 
 He spoke of the ministry as a work almost too aw- 
 
NOT DESTROYED. 415 
 
 fill and responsible for man to undertake ; one that 
 no man could carry on without the instant and con 
 tinual help of God; of the need that the preacher 
 should live so uprightly as to illustrate the Gospel he 
 made known to man, in his own life, as far as human 
 ity could portray the lineaments of the Master ; and 
 then in the most earnest and fervent manner he de 
 scribed the joy of the holy calling ; the sweetness of 
 making Clod s love and mercy and fatherhood known 
 to those who were ignorant of him ; the peace that 
 came to the preacher s own heart in offering hope to 
 the desperate, and consolation to the afflicted; in 
 casting the glow of heavenly day down into the 
 earthly darkness of the grave ; and most did he 
 enlarge on the rapture of the shepherd, who per 
 suades wandering Hocks to enter the fold and be 
 at home, and safe for time and eternity. 
 
 All these considerations, he said, made it the 
 more imperative a necessity that a man entering the 
 ministry should be utterly faithful to his vows in so 
 doing; if he neglected or degraded his office in the 
 eyes of God or man, there awaited him only the woes 
 denounced on the unfaithful servant, who should be 
 cast into outer darkness where there was wailing and 
 weeping and gnashing of teeth. 
 
 This is but a skeleton of the discourse w r hich, 
 clothed upon with the earnest purpose, the deep 
 feeling, the steadfast faith, and eloquent words of 
 Parson Hall, entranced and electrified his people. 
 As one man, they felt an inward conviction that 
 
416 STEADFAST. 
 
 no human authority could depose from the ministry 
 of God, a man so fitted by grace and experience for 
 that holy calling. 
 
 After the last hymn and the benediction, a crowd 
 waited at the door to shake hands with the parson. 
 
 In the rigid Sabbatarianism of New England they 
 held it no day to have any conversation on secular 
 matters ; but the most punctilious among them could 
 see no harm in a friendly hand-clasp, or a look that 
 warmed Mr. Hall s heart like a gleam of sunshine. 
 
 Parson Dyer walked home with Mr. Hall and 
 Esther, but he said nothing till he was alone in the 
 study with his friend, waiting for Esther to prepare 
 their simple "nooning." Then he turned to Phile 
 mon Hall. 
 
 " My brother ! " he said, with a deeply moved voice 
 and expression, "I rejoice with you to-day. Verily 
 the Lord is with thee, and I take shame to myself 
 that ever I exhorted you to follow the wisdom of this 
 world and deny Him who was in you, both to will and 
 to do. Brother, 1 ask your forgiveness with the 
 Lord s. I touched the Ark. and it is of His mercies 
 that I am not consumed ! " 
 
 Philemon Hall grasped his friend s hand with a 
 clasp of warm strength. 
 
 Brother Dyer," he answered, "I have naught to 
 forgive ; you spake unto me as a friend, and after the 
 light that was granted to you then ; 1 rejoice and am 
 glad that you are come to see that I was not willingly 
 obstinate, or opionated, but only desirous with all iny 
 
NOT DESTROYED. 417 
 
 heart to do the will of the Lord. I do not say it hath 
 been easy or pleasant alway to follow that will ; but 
 He helped me, having set my hand to the plough, not 
 to look back. Yea, though a host should rise against 
 me, in this one thing to be confident, that I was about 
 my Lord s business, and the issues of life were with 
 Him." 
 
 "I fear there are yet trials before you, brother 
 Hall," answered Mr. Dyer ; " but you know in whom 
 you have believed, and there can no worse thing hap 
 pen to you in church matters, than hath already be 
 fallen. Therefore, in His name I say unto thee, Go 
 forward ! The Lord bless thee and keep thee ! The 
 Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gra 
 cious unto thee ! The Lord lift up his countenance 
 upon thee, and give thee peace/ " 
 
 And Esther, who had half-opened the door, whis 
 pered to herself, " Amen." 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
 Are thy returns ! e en as the flowers in Spring, 
 
 To which, beside their own demean 
 The late past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. 
 Grief melts away, 
 Like snow in May, 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 "OuR life," says a modern philosopher, "is like 
 March weather, savage and serene in one hour." 
 
 So it certainly seemed to Philemon Hall ; the ser 
 vices of that Sunday when in meek defiance of the 
 Consociation he preached in his own church, suddenly 
 re-instated him, as it appeared, in the former love and 
 respect of his people. Parson Dyer came down again 
 from Hillside farm on the Monday, early in the 
 morning, his creaky wagon loaded with offerings 
 from Delia and Hiram. A great basket of eggs, a 
 wooden pail of June butter ; a little roasting pig, " a 
 weakling and a flower," embedded in young beet 
 greens ; and a bag of meal from Hiram s own corn, 
 ground but Saturday at the Mountain Mill. 
 
 " I bring you some creature comforts, Madam Hall," 
 said Parson Dyer, with an odd smile, as he unloaded 
 his vehicle at the door. " My friend and housemates 
 would have it, in their simple souls, that you and 
 Brother Hall were like to starve for earthly food 
 418 
 
LIFE. 419 
 
 since the Consociation have debarred him from the 
 table of the Lord. It was vain for me to remon 
 strate ; their kind hearts must have outlet ; and I 
 trust you will take as kindly as they send." 
 
 "Indeed I will, Mr. Dyer/ said Esther with a 
 charming smile. " Tis long since we had but treacle 
 to our bread ; butter will be indeed a lordly dish for 
 us ; and I have killed my fowls for our sustenance as 
 need arose, though it was their laying time, so that 
 eggs are also a rarity ; and my meal bin is well-nigh 
 bare at bottom ! " 
 
 " Say you so ! Why, I do not take it friendly that 
 you did not come to me, my friend ! Had I not abun 
 dance, that you should want ? " 
 
 " Nay, sir ; we had enough for our need, we did 
 not go hungry ; the word that thy bread shall be 
 given thee and thy water shall be sure was fulfilled 
 unto us, day by day ; we were not afraid." 
 
 Parson Dyer looked at the calm beauty of Esther s 
 face, as she spoke, and thought a man might well be 
 gifted with endurance when such a comforter stood 
 by his side. It is true indeed that we "walk as 
 strangers " ; never would he or any other know the 
 bitter and secret grief of Philemon Hall s wedded 
 life up to the hour when his open and public troubles 
 culminated. 
 
 " Is Brother Hall at home ? asked the parson. 
 
 " No ; he hath gone to a dying woman out beyond 
 Dog s Misery quite a way. I think he will be back 
 to dinner, but I know not ; for there is to be a meet- 
 
420 STEADFAST. 
 
 ing of the church this afternoon for business matters, 
 and he said he would rather be away than here ; he 
 wishes not to make nor meddle more with the church 
 affairs ; he thinks it best to leave all to them." 
 
 " He is a wise man, madam, but since I also belong 
 in the parish I will even ask a bit of dinner from you 
 and remain." 
 
 Esther was heartily glad to entertain her old friend, 
 and in talking of past days the hours flew by, till she 
 was surprised to see how near noon-mark it was, and 
 left him to prepare her frugal dinner. 
 
 Soon after the meal was over, the clank of the little 
 bell called the church and congregation to the lecture 
 room which was in the basement. 
 
 The meeting was well attended by the men of the 
 parish ; in those days it was not thought seemly or 
 decent that women should have their say on such 
 occasions : their talking was done by their own fire 
 sides, their influence exerted in their own homes ; 
 perhaps both were as weighty and powerful as if they 
 had appeared on platforms or in pulpits, or poured 
 out incoherent and meandering prayers in the church 
 or the conference room. Certain it is that the men of 
 those days held Scripture in reverence, and suffered 
 not a woman to teach or to preach in the churches. 
 
 It was well done that this meeting had been called 
 while the enthusiasm aroused by Parson Hall s prayer 
 and sermon was yet fresh and active in the minds of 
 his hearers, and there had been no time for the timid 
 and the cautious to consider the pros and cons, or be 
 
LIFE. 421 
 
 moved by an afterthought of the constituted authori 
 ties, and what should or would befall the luckless 
 wight who defied them. Everybody there was full of 
 zeal and admiration for Mr. Hall ; little was said, but 
 much done ; it was resolved and unanimously carried, 
 that his arrears of salary should be promptly paid ; 
 that his salary itself should be increased, and that 
 they would stand by him resolutely if he would go 
 on and preach to them as before, and administer the 
 sacraments. " For it doth not appear to this meet 
 ing," rang out the sonorous voice of Parson Dyer, 
 " that our minister, Mr. Hall, hath merited the action 
 of the Consociation in any manner. Had he been an 
 open and headlong sinner, breaking the laws of God 
 and man without stint or repentance, he could not 
 have been more than deposed and excommunicated as 
 he hath been merely for preaching the Gospel to a 
 few harmless schismatics. Therefore, brethren, let 
 our scribe draw out two copies of these our resolutions 
 and send one of them to Mr. Hall and another unto 
 the Consociation of this County at its next annual 
 meeting." 
 
 No doubt the Consociation received the document 
 as a bundle of bitter herbs, but they made no sign. 
 
 Parson Hall went on his way as though their thun 
 der had never been sounded in his ears, or their 
 bolts levelled at his head, in vain endeavor to lay it 
 in the dust. What had he now to ask for? His 
 people were united, and his home blessed with all 
 that makes a home happy. 
 
422 STEADFAST. 
 
 It could not be that in this reversed condition of 
 affairs, Ammi Hopkins and Tempy would refrain from 
 testifying their emotions ; this time they found Mr. 
 Hall and Esther together. Tempy, bristling and 
 blooming with delight entered, however, before the 
 deacon, who had his horse to tie, his reins to fasten, 
 and a measure of oats to pour into the nosebag which 
 he had provided to keep his restive young colt quiet. 
 
 "I did tell Ammi twas kind of forrard to come 
 down, right off, and wish ye joy," she began. " But 
 he s as oneasy as a fly on a winder-pane, when he 
 can t get his spoon into other folkses messes and help 
 to stir em. I mean to take an interest in my feller- 
 critters ; some on em, that is ; but I don t want to 
 poke my nose through the crack of a door before tis 
 opened. However, I don t b lieve you will begrutch 
 seein of me, Easter, for you know past doubtin , that 
 I ve always set by you a sight ; and a gladder cretur 
 than I was when I heered about that rneetin never 
 was. I hope them folks to Consociation will hev to 
 eat an amazin big cut of humble-pie now, and see 
 how they like it." 
 
 "Sister Hopkins, it is not seemly to revile digni 
 ties," put in Mr. Hall, with a smile that meant more 
 than his words. 
 
 "I know that, Parson Hall, but I don t call em 
 dignities, them folks. Why they haven t got dignity 
 enough amongst em to suit a hummin bird s egg ! 
 Ef they don t want to be reviled they ve got to mend 
 their manners, and not make folks that s as fur above 
 
LIFE. 423 
 
 em as a bean-pole s above cowcumber vines their 
 music." 
 
 "Dear Tempy ! let them go/ said Esther, putting 
 her arm about Tempy s shoulders. "They cannot 
 trouble Mr. Hall further ; nor me, so long as they 
 leave him in peace. It is good to have friends, you 
 dear woman ; and it is good to forget your enemies." 
 
 " Can t always be did, though ; not as long as natur 
 is natur ," obstinately retorted Ternpy. 
 
 "Then we must fall back on grace," said the 
 parson. 
 
 " Grace tis a charmin sound ! " squeaked Ammi, 
 who had heard only the last word as he opened the 
 door. "Yes, yes, we need grace, lots on t; or we 
 sha n t never get to glory ! I come over, Parson 
 Hall, to sort o hold out th olive-branch so to speak, 
 to ye. I dono as you call to mind that you was some 
 flustered last time I see ye. I s pose tis ag inst 
 natur to enjoy counsel that goes contrairy to our own 
 idees. Well, faithful is the wownds of a friend, par 
 son. I felt to tell ye my honest mind about what 
 you done, accordin as brethring should do one to 
 another." 
 
 " I wonder how you d swaller it, Ammi Hopkins, 
 if some brethring of your n should up an tell you 
 their pinions about ye ! " interrupted Tempy, with a 
 snap. 
 
 " Mis Hopkins, I b lieve I m a talkin now ; women 
 had ought to keep silent and learn, the Postle Poll 
 ses." 
 
424 STEADFAST. 
 
 " Depends some on who s talkin " muttered 
 Tempy. The deacon looked at her with an irate 
 and matrimonial eye, but he went on. 
 
 " Well, parson, I m glad to see ye kep up your 
 grit ; and I m proper glad to see your folks has come 
 round to ye, and paid up your sellery ; the laborer s 
 worthy of his hire." 
 
 " When you hain t got to pay it," put in the irre 
 pressible Tempy. 
 
 " And I come down from Pickerin Centre to offer 
 ye the right hand o fellership and say I should be 
 pleased to see you in our pulpit that is, if the 
 Conso-shashun lets up on ye, as I expect it will. 
 You ve stuck to your text like a good feller. 
 Mabbe you rek lect I said amen to ye after all, last 
 time." 
 
 The parson laughed. 
 
 " Shake hands now, Deacon Hopkins. I do remem 
 ber that you bestowed on me that crumb of comfort 
 when I was in sore need." 
 
 "You come long now, Ammi; tis as good to let 
 folks alone a spell as tis to cackle to em. You ve 
 done enough crowin for to-day. Easter, you blessed 
 cretur , good-by; the same to you, parson. Come, 
 Ammi ! " 
 
 The deacon glared at his peremptory wife, but fol 
 lowed her with repressed wrath. 
 
 Esther turned to her husband. 
 
 " Philemon, you surely have the grace of patience 
 unto perfection." 
 
LIFE. 425 
 
 " I learned it waiting for my wife," he answered, 
 with a glint of mischief in his tender smile. 
 
 There was no more trouble now lying in wait for 
 Esther and her saint. It would have been more 
 accordant with poetic justice had Philip Kent been 
 seized with remorse and restored to Esther the prop 
 erty that Uncle Dyer intended she should inherit, 
 but he did not seem to imagine such a course possi 
 ble ; indeed he grew, like all dissipated men, so reck 
 less of his money that but for his wife s inheritance, 
 which was carefully secured to her, he would have 
 fallen into poverty in his latter years. Esther he 
 saw no more; neither of them wished it; she was 
 happy beyond her dreams in her husband s love ; and 
 the comparative poverty of a country parson s wife 
 she had long been used to ; riches she never sighed 
 for ; being content and dwelling among her own like 
 the Shunamite matron of old. 
 
 Mr. Hall went on his way steadily and serenely ; 
 in a few years all the opposition to his course died of 
 its own futility, and he was formally invited to 
 attend the Consociations again. Like a candid and 
 humble Christian he took his place once more among 
 his brethren, gratefully and thankfully ; but as long 
 as he lived, his church showed their still-smouldering 
 resentment by never sending a delegate with him to 
 any of these meetings. 
 
 But long before this desirable end of contention 
 came to pass, another and almost as great a blessing 
 entered the quaint old parsonage of Trumbull. The 
 
426 STEADFAST. 
 
 year following after his excommunication, and the 
 general uprising of his people to support and re-in 
 state him, one soft June evening just as the sun 
 threw its last rays into the keeping-room, Parson 
 Hall stood beside an old-fashioned wooden cradle 
 with a deep light in his eyes and a wonderful smile 
 on his worn countenance, as he looked down at the 
 fair child that lay there sleeping with the calm and 
 regal innocence of infancy, a white drop of milk yet 
 resting on his puckered pink mouth, and his dimpled 
 hands clenched as if he would still hold fast to his 
 mother s breast, though sleep prevented ; the parson 
 looked across to his wife, pale but serene in her 
 lovely motherhood, as she sat with one hand on the 
 cradle and her eyes, too, fixed on her child. 
 
 " Esther," he said ; " it is well-nigh time the child 
 was presented for baptism ; what shall be his name ? " 
 
 " There can be but one Philemon Hall for me, my 
 husband ; yet I would have him called after his 
 father. Let his name be Steadfast." 
 
ROSE TERRY COOKE S WORKS. 
 
 SOMEBODY S NEIGHBORS. 
 
 The titles of the stories are as follows : 
 
 Eben Jackson. Amandar. 
 
 Miss Lucinda, Polly Mariner, Tailoress. 
 
 Dely s Cow. Uncle Josh. 
 
 Squire Paine s Conversion. Poll Jennings s Heir. 
 
 Miss Beulah s Bonnet. Freedom Wheeler s Controversy 
 
 Cal. Culver and the Devil. with Providence. 
 
 Mrs. Flint s Married Experience. 
 
 " A bouquet of native New-England flowers and the flowers have a 
 peculiar beuuty and fragrance, too." Hartford Courant. 
 
 "The dialect is most deliciously correct a collection of thoroughly 
 delightful tales an acuteness and comprehension which is simply inimi 
 table." .Boston Courier. 
 
 " More than 400 pages, covering twelve charming idyllic stories of New- 
 England life and manners, showing that profound insight into Puritan 
 character, and that remarkable command of Yankee dialect, in which 
 Mrs. Cooke has but one equal, and no superior. These exquisite chroni 
 cles of the hill-country are full of high local color, pathos and piquancy, 
 and their perusal is attended with alternate tears and smiles. Their nar 
 ration is vigorous and spirited, sparkling in all points, and outlined with 
 rare dramatic skill. 
 
 " Certainly no ordinary novel illustrates a greater variety of types, or 
 illustrates them better, than this single group of short stories less than 
 half the number in the book and in no recent novel of New-England 
 life are individuals more graphically portrayed. . . . Truly a work of rare 
 literary excellence. It offers even to novel readers a larger return of 
 interest than most novels do." -Mew York Evening Post. 
 
 Sold by all booksellers ; sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, $1.60, by 
 the publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR & CO., BOSTON. 
 
ROSE TERRY COOKE S WORKS. 
 
 THE SPHINX S CHILDREN 
 
 AND OTHER PEOPLES . 
 
 1 vol., 12mo $1.50. 
 
 The titles of the stories are as follows : 
 
 The Sphinx s Children. Too Late. 
 
 The Deacon s Week. My Thanksgiving. 
 
 A Black Silk. How She Found Out. 
 
 Jericho Jim. Ann Potter s Lesson. 
 
 Lost on a Railway. Aceldama Sparks. 
 
 Doctor Parker s Patty. Salathiel Bump s Stocking. 
 
 Doom and Dan. Sally Parsons s Duty. 
 
 Some Account of Thomas A Hard Lesson. 
 
 Tucker. Liab s First Christmas. 
 The Forger s Bride. 
 
 " The short stories in this volume are of the very essence of New Eng 
 land. A somewhat fanciful revery lends its peculiar title to the book; 
 but the Other Peoples offspring are the individual product of the soil, 
 full of the grit, the doggedness, and the grim humor that came over with 
 our grandparents furniture in the Mayflower. These stories are the fruit 
 and blossom of all that is noblest and best in the qualities of the Puritan, 
 and it may be that their appreciation though not their beauty or their 
 power will be restricted by reason of what is distinctive and individual 
 about them. Surely no short story of recent years has surpassed The 
 Deacon s Week in pathos, in artistic truth, in the inspiration of a sub 
 lime and noble purpose. It would seem that no one could rise from its 
 perusal without an impulse toward kindness and charity and a sense of 
 benefit received. Without a word of moralizing or tawdry reflection, it 
 gives the same lesson that is practised out by true and manly conduct and 
 unselfishness. And all the time the perfection of the picture as a work of 
 art, as a truthful portrait set out with exquisite literary finish, captures 
 the mind and entrances the imagination." GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON, 
 in the New-York Commercial Advertiser. 
 
 For sale by booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of price, by 
 the publishers, 
 
 TICKNOR & CO., BOSTON. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWS! 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall^ 
 
 LD 21A-60 . 
 
 LslO)476B 
 
 General Library _ 
 University of California 
 Berkeley 
 
C773 
 
 Steadfast 
 
 941341 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY