The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

Holden, however, could not refuse to allow his son to accompany him, and to provide such little necessaries, as were esteemed essential to his comfort. But he permitted the young man to remain only a short time. "Go," he said, "the world is bright before thee; enjoy its transient sunshine. The time may come when even thou, with hope and confidence in thy heart, and heaven in thine eyes, shalt say, 'I have no pleasure therein.'" Pownal therefore returned to Hillsdale, without reluctance it may be supposed, when we add, that the same evening found him at the house of Mr. Bernard. It will be recollected he had commissions to execute for both the Judge and his wife, but if the reader thinks that not a sufficient reason why he should call upon them so soon, we have no objection to his adopting any other conjecture, even to the extravagant supposition, that there was some magnet to attract the young man's wandering feet.

It was a happy evening Pownal spent at the Judge's house. All seemed glad to see him again, and expressed their delight and wonder at the discovery of his parent. And yet the young man could not help fancying there was a greater difference between his reception by the members of the family, than he had been accustomed to. Mr. and Mrs. Bernard, indeed, were equally cordial as of old, but Anne, though she tendered him her hand with her usual frankness, and allowed it to linger in his, appeared graver, and less disposed to indulge an exuberance of spirits, while William Bernard was evidently more distant, and formal. There was, however, no want of politeness on his part, for he mingled with his usual grace and intelligence in the conversation, and the change was perceptible rather in the omission of old terms of familiarity, than in any manifestation of coldness. He seemed to pay the same attention, and evince a like interest with the rest, in the particulars of the adventures of Pownal, which, at the request of Mrs. Bernard, he narrated. Had a stranger, or one who saw the two young men together for the first time, been present, he would have noticed nothing inconsistent with ordinary friendship, but Pownal compared the present with the past, and his jealous sensitiveness detected a something wanting. But for all that, his enjoyment, though it might be lessened, was not, as we have intimated, destroyed. He half suspected the cause, and his proud spirit rose with resentment. But so long as he enjoyed the esteem of the parents, and was a welcome visitor at their house, and Miss Bernard treated him with unabated regard, he could well afford, he thought, to pass by without notice humors, which, in his changed condition, he considered equally unreasonable and absurd. For, he was no longer a mere clerk, without position in society, but the member of a long-established and wealthy firm, and a favorite of its head, who seemed to have taken the fortunes of his young partner into his own hands, with a determination to secure their success. True, he was the son of a poor and eccentric man, but no dishonor was attached to his father's name, and so far as education and genuine refinement were concerned, he was the equal of any, and the superior of most, by whom he was surrounded. With far different feelings, therefore, from those in the earlier period of his acquaintance with Miss Bernard, when he discovered she was becoming dearer to him than prudence permitted, did he now approach her. He dared to look forward to the time when it would be no presumption to avow his feelings.

The cause of William Bernard's coldness will be better understood by a reference to a conversation between him and his sister, shortly before the return of Pownal to Hillsdale. Rumor, with her thousand tongues, had been busy, and, as is not unusual on such occasions, embellished the story with innumerable fanciful ornaments. The brother and sister had both heard the reports, and they were the subject of their discussion.

"Why, Anne!" said William, "this is more wonderful than Robinson
Crusoe, or the Children of the Abbey. How do you think Pownal, or Mr.
Holden, as I suppose we must call him now, relishes the relationship?"

"How, William, can he be otherwise than glad to find a father?" replied his sister.

"A vast deal depends upon who the father is."

"What! is it you who speak so?" cried Anne, with sparkling eyes. "What is there in the father unworthy of the son?"

"Were I now in Pownal's place, I should have preferred to discover a parent in some one else than in a half crazy man, who supports himself by basket-making."

"And can you not," said his sister, indignantly, "under the mask which circumstances have imposed upon him, detect the noble-hearted gentleman? This is not at all like you, William, and I think his very misfortunes ought to be a passport to your kindness."

"So they should be, and so they are, but the facts, which I will not repeat, because it offends you, remain. Think you, it can be very pleasant, for a young man, to have precisely—precisely such a connection?"