"Hear me one word," said father Dickson. "My wife is quite feeble. I'm sure you wouldn't wish to hurt a sick woman, who never did harm to any mortal creature."
"Well, then," said Tom Gordon, facing round to him, "if you care so very much about your wife, you can very easily save her any further trouble. Just give us the promise we want, and we'll go away peaceably, and leave you. But, if you won't, as true as there is a God in heaven, we'll pull down every stick of timber in your old kennel! I'll tell you what, old man, you've got a master to deal with, now!"
"I cannot promise not to preach upon this subject."
"Well, then, you must promise to take yourself out of the state. You can go among your northern brethren, and howl and mawl round there; but we are not going to have you here. I have as much respect for respectable ministers of the Gospel as any one, when they confine themselves to the duties of their calling; but, when they come down to be intriguing in our worldly affairs, they must expect to be treated as we treat other folks that do that. Their black coats shan't protect them! We are not going to be priest-ridden, are we, boys?"
A loud whoop of inflamed and drunken merriment chorused this question. Just at this moment the door of the cottage was opened, and a pale, sickly-looking woman came gliding out to the gate.
"My dear," she said, and her voice was perfectly calm, "don't yield a hair's breadth, on my account. I can bear as well as you. I am not afraid. I am ready to die for conscience' sake. Gentlemen," she said, "there is not much in this house of any value, except two sick children. If it is agreeable to you to pull it down, you can do it. Our goods are hardly worth spoiling, but you can spoil them. My husband, be firm; don't yield an inch!"
It is one of the worst curses of slavery that it effaces from the breast all manly feeling with regard to woman. Every one remembers the story how the frail and delicate wife of Lovejoy placed her weakness as a shield before the chamber door where her husband was secreted, and was fought with brutal oaths and abuse by the drunken gang, who were determined to pass over her body, if necessary, to his heart! They who are trained to whip women in a servile position, of course can have none of the respect which a free man feels for woman as woman. They respect the sex when they see it enshrined by fashion, wealth, and power; but they tread it in the dust when, in poverty and helplessness, it stands in the path of their purposes.
"Woman," said Tom Gordon, "you are a fool! You needn't think to come it round us with any of that talk! You needn't think we are going to stop on your account, for we shan't. We know what we are about."
"So does God!" said the woman, fixing her eye on him with one of those sudden looks of power with which a noble sentiment sometimes lights up for a moment the weakest form.
There was a momentary pause, and then Tom broke out into oaths and curses.