“Show him in at once,” said Henry, with feverish impatience.
“But will the sentinel let him pass? I would not wish a friend of
Mr.—to be rudely stopped on the threshold, and he a stranger.”
All eyes were now turned on Dunwoodie, who, looking at his watch, spoke a few words with Henry, in an undertone, and hastened from the apartment, followed by Frances. The subject of their conversation was a wish expressed by the prisoner for a clergyman of his own persuasion, and a promise from the major, that one should be sent from Fishkill town, through which he was about to pass, on his way to the ferry to intercept the expected return of Harper. Mason soon made his bow at the door, and willingly complied with the wishes of the landlady; and the divine was invited to make his appearance accordingly.
The person who was ushered into the apartment, preceded by Caesar, and followed by the matron, was a man beyond the middle age, or who might rather be said to approach the downhill of life. In stature he was above the size of ordinary men, though his excessive leanness might contribute in deceiving as to his height; his countenance was sharp and unbending, and every muscle seemed set in rigid compression. No joy or relaxation appeared ever to have dwelt on features that frowned habitually, as if in detestation of the vices of mankind. The brows were beetling, dark, and forbidding, giving the promise of eyes of no less repelling expression; but the organs were concealed beneath a pair of enormous green goggles, through which they glared around with a fierceness that denounced the coming day of wrath. All was fanaticism, uncharitableness, and denunciation. Long, lank hair, a mixture of gray and black, fell down his neck, and in some degree obscured the sides of his face, and, parting on his forehead, fell in either direction in straight and formal screens. On the top of this ungraceful exhibition was laid impending forward, so as to overhang in some measure the whole fabric, a large hat of three equal cocks. His coat was of a rusty black, and his breeches and stockings were of the same color; his shoes without luster, and half-concealed beneath huge plated buckles. He stalked into the room, and giving a stiff nod with his head, took the chair offered him by the black, in dignified silence. For several minutes no one broke this ominous pause in the conversation; Henry feeling a repugnance to his guest, that he was vainly endeavoring to conquer, and the stranger himself drawing forth occasional sighs and groans, that threatened a dissolution of the unequal connection between his sublimated soul and its ungainly tenement. During this, deathlike preparation, Mr. Wharton, with a feeling nearly allied to that of his son, led Sarah from the apartment. His retreat was noticed by the divine, in a kind of scornful disdain, who began to hum the air of a popular psalm tune, giving it the full richness of the twang that distinguishes the Eastern[[14]] psalmody.
“Caesar,” said Miss Peyton, “hand the gentleman some refreshment; he must need it after his ride.”
“My strength is not in the things of this life,” said the divine, speaking in a hollow, sepulchral voice. “Thrice have I this day held forth in my Master’s service, and fainted not; still it is prudent to help this frail tenement of clay, for, surely, ‘the laborer is worthy of his hire.’”
Opening a pair of enormous jaws, he took a good measure of the proffered brandy, and suffered it to glide downwards, with that sort of facility with which man is prone to sin.
“I apprehend, then, sir, that fatigue will disable you from performing the duties which kindness has induced you to attempt.”
“Woman!” exclaimed the stranger, with energy, “when was I ever known to shrink from a duty? But ‘judge not lest ye be judged,’ and fancy not that it is given to mortal eyes to fathom the intentions of the Deity.”
“Nay,” returned the maiden, meekly, and slightly disgusted with his jargon, “I pretend not to judge of either events, or the intentions of my fellow creatures, much less of those of Omnipotence.”