Holden stopped but made no motion to return. He seemed to hear and understand the words, but to be uncertain whence they proceeded. His eyes were cast up and fixed on vacancy. At last he said, still gazing in the air. "Speak Lord for thy servant heareth."
Mr. Pownal approached, and taking Holden by an arm, led him gently to the sofa, and took a seat by his side. Mrs. Pownal said not a word, but threw her arms round young Pownal's neck, and sobbed upon his bosom.
The young man, unable to divine a reason for such unusual emotion, could only silently return the caress and wait for an explanation.
"I knew a person of the name," said Mr. Pownal, "but he has been dead many years."
"But the child, but the child," exclaimed Holden, "he is yet alive!"
"I do not doubt he is alive, I am confident we shall be able to discover him. Your trust in Providence is not misplaced."
"Tell me," cried Holden, a little sternly, "what thou knowest of the boy. My soul travaileth sore, and hope and doubt rend me in twain."
"Hold fast your hope my friend," said Mr. Pownal, "for all will yet be well. Prepare yourself to hear what, without preparation, might overcome your strength."
"Fear not," said Holden. "Yet alas! who knoweth his own heart? But a moment ago, I thought myself as an iron mountain, and now am I weaker than the untimely birth."
"Eliza," said Mr. Pownal turning to his wife, "bring the token you preserved."