"I am Onontio," he said. "The Being who touched the heart of the ferocious savage to spare the life of the child, hath preserved him. Mine eyes shall yet behold him."
Armstrong was deeply touched, and in the contemplation of the brightening prospects of his friend, he forgot the clouds that hung around his own horizon. Perhaps he was not so sanguine of success as Holden, whose eagle eyes seemed penetrating the future, but he respected too deeply the high raised hopes and sacred feelings of the father, to drop a word of doubt or discouragement.
"Myself, my purse," he said, "are at your service."
"Thomas Pownal goeth to the city to-morrow," replied Holden. "I will speak unto him, and accompany him. Nor do I refuse thy assistance, but freely as it is offered as freely do I accept it. They who are worthy to be called my friends, regard gold and silver only as it ministers to their own and others' wants."
He took the proffered bank-bills with quite as much an air of one conferring, as one of receiving a favor, and, without even looking at the amount, put them in his pocket.
It was so long since Holden had been in the great world, or mingled in the ordinary pursuits of men—and his appearance and mode of speech were so different from those of others—that Armstrong had some fears respecting his researches. It was, perhaps, this latent apprehension of his fitness to appear in the world—an apprehension, however, only dimly cognizable by himself—that induced Holden to seek the companionship of Pownal. With these feelings, and believing he might be of advantage to this strange man, for whom this new development awakened additional interest in his mind, Armstrong offered to be his companion, in the search for his son; but, to his surprise, his offer was hastily rejected.
"No," said Holden; "it befitteth not. Stay, to take care of Faith. Stay, to welcome me when I shall return with a crown of rejoicing upon my head."
Armstrong shrunk within himself at the repulse. He would not have regarded or hardly noticed it once, but, his mind had become morbidly sensitive. A word, a look, a tone had now power to inflict a wound. He was like the Sybarite whose repose was disturbed by a wrinkled rose-leaf; with this difference, that they were spiritual, not material hurts he felt. Did the forecast of Holden penetrate the future? Did he, as in a vision, behold the spectres of misfortune that dogged Armstrong's steps? Was he afraid of a companionship that might drag him down and entangle him in the meshes of a predestined wretchedness? He is right, thought Armstrong. He sees the whirlpool into which, if once drawn, there is no escape from destruction.
Holden succeeded better in communicating a portion of his confidence to Pownal. In the morning of life, before experience has dimmed our sky with clouds, we readily perceive the sun of joy. The bright eyes of youth catch his rays on the mountain tops, before the drooping lids of age are raised from the ground. The ardent temperament of the young man entered with delight into the hopes of his elder. He even anticipated the request Holden intended to make, and asked permission to accompany him. With a very natural feeling he endeavored to effect some change in the costume of the Recluse, but here he met with decided opposition.
"I have nothing to do with the world or its follies," said Holden. "Let it pass on its way as I will on mine. It will reck but little of the garments of an unknown man."