Silas looked abashed, silenced for a moment by these noble words, and the venerable and majestic mien of the blind old clergyman. It would not do, however, to give up his mission so; and after coughing, turning his quid, and spitting again, he replied,—
"That'll do very well to talk, Mr. Villars. But come to the pint. You've got a Yankee abolitionist in your house—that you won't deny."
"I have in my house," said the old man, "a person whose life is in danger from injuries received at your hands last night. He came to us in a condition which, I should have thought, would excite the pity of the hardest heart. Whether or not he is a Yankee abolitionist, I never inquired. It was enough for me that he was a fellow-creature in distress. He is well known in this community, where he has never been guilty of wrong towards any one; and, even if he were a dangerous person, he is not now in a condition to do mischief. Gentlemen, my guest is very ill with a fever."
"Can't help that; you must git red of him," said Silas. "I'm a talking now for your own good as much as any body's, Mr. Villars. You're a man we all respect; but already you've made yourself a object of suspicion, by standing up fur the old rotten Union."
"When I can no longer befriend my guests, or stand up for my country, then I shall have lived long enough!" said the old man, with impressive earnestness.
"The old Union," said Gad, coming to the aid of Silas, "is played out. We couldn't have our rights, and so we secede."
"What rights couldn't you have under the government left to us by Washington?"
"That had become corrupted," said Mr. Ropes.
"How corrupted, my friend?"
"By the infernal anti-slavery element!"