"My God," said Holden, in his wild way, "hath sent His angel and shut the lions' mouths that they have not hurt me. He raiseth the poor out of the dust, and lifteth the needy out of the mire."
"But," urged Anne, with feminine curiosity, "we are anxious to hear how you escaped."
The Recluse did not seem to consider it necessary to make any secret—at least to those present—of the events of the past night, and, with the frankness that characterized him, spoke of them without hesitation.
After stating what we already know, he said he was led away rapidly by a man dressed in a sailor's suit, whose face he did not see, and who accompanied him until they had passed the last house on the street. They met no one, and, on parting, the man forced a purse into his hand, and entreated him to make his way to the cabin of Esther, where he would be safe and welcome, and there to remain until his friends should be apprised of his retreat.
"To me," concluded the Solitary, "a dungeon or a palace ought to be alike indifferent; but I will not thwart the minds of those who love me, however vain their desires. The Lord hath brought this light affliction upon me for His own good purpose, and I await the revelation of His will."
"I do not doubt we shall be able soon to release you from your confinement," said Pownal; "meanwhile, tell us what we can do to make your condition tolerable."
"I lack nothing," said Holden. "These hands have ever supplied my necessities, and I am a stranger to luxury. Nor liveth man by bread alone, but on sweet tones, and kind looks, and gracious deeds, and I am encompassed by them. I am rich above gold, and silver, and precious stones."
"If there is anything you desire, you will let me know? Command me in all things; there is nothing I am not ready to do for you," said Pownal.
"The blessing of one who is ready to depart be upon thee, for thy kind words and loving intentions; and should real trouble arise, I will call upon thee for aid. I know not now," he continued, "why I should hide like a wounded beast. I fear 'tis but for a visionary point of honor. Why should not a gentleman,"—this he said sarcastically—"occupy the workhouse as well as a boor. In the eyes of One, we are all equal. Ah, it might do this hard heart good."
"You have promised to respect the prejudices of your friends," said
Pownal, "whatever you may think of their weakness."