Each of the hired men hastily clicked something under the table, while Helen turned pale, but quickly drew a small stiletto from a fold of her dress.
“Ready?” asked Matalette, in a low tone, as he took a candle from the table, and placed his unoccupied hand in his pocket.
“Yes,” whispered each of the men, while Helen nodded.
“Who’s there?” shouted Matalette, approaching the outer door.
“I—Asbury Crewne—the new circuit preacher,” replied a voice. “I’m wet, cold and hungry—can you give me shelter, in the name of my Master?”
“Certainly!” cried Matalette, hastening to open the door, while the three hired men rapidly repocketed their pistols, and Helen gave vent to a sigh of relief.
They heard a heavy pack thrown on the floor, a hearty greeting from Matalette, and then they saw in the doorway a tall, straight young man, whose blue eyes, heavy, closely curling yellow hair and finely cut features made him extremely handsome, despite a solemn, puritanical look which not even a driving rain and a cold wind had been able to banish from his face.
There were many worthy young men in the Bonpas Bottoms, but none of them were at all so fine-looking as Asbury Crewne; so, at least, Helen seemed to think, for she looked at him steadily, except when he was looking at her. Of course, Crewne, being a preacher, took none but a spiritual interest in young ladies; but where a person’s face seems to show forth the owner’s whole soul, as was the case with Helen Matalette’s, a minister of the Gospel is certainly justifiable in looking oft and long at it—nay, is even grossly culpable if he does not regard it with a lively and tender interest.
Such seemed to be the young divine’s train of reasoning, and his consequent conclusion, for, from the time he exchanged his dripping clothing for a suit of Matalette’s own, he addressed his conversation almost entirely to Helen. And Helen, who very seldom met, in the Bonpas Bottoms, gentlemen of taste and intelligence, seemed to be spending an unusually agreeable evening, if her radiant and expressive countenance might be trusted to tell the truth.
When the young preacher, according to the custom of his class and denomination, at that day, finally turned the course of conversation toward the one reputed object of his life, it was with a sigh which indicated, perhaps, how earnestly he regretted that the dominion of Satan in the world compelled him to withdraw his soul from such pure and unusual delights as had been his during that evening. And when, after offering a prayer with the family, Crewne followed Matalette to a chamber to rest, Helen bade him good-night with a bright smile which mixed itself up inextricably with his private devotions, his thoughts and his plans for forthcoming sermons, and seriously curtailed his night’s rest in addition.