After a pause, Armstrong said: "If such are the evidences of justification and a saving faith, then have I had them, too; but why bring they to me no confidence or holy joy? Why is my soul cast down, and why do I feel like one who stumbles towards a pit? Alas! my flesh quivers and my heart trembles at the thought of falling into His hands."

"It is prayer that opens heaven," said Holden. "If thou wilt, we will unite our hearts in supplication. Peradventure the Lord may send a blessing."

A mute a.s.sent was the reply from Armstrong; the three knelt down together, and Holden poured out a prayer, into which he concentrated his glowing feelings. He described themselves as covered all over with crimes, like a leprosy; as willful and determined rebels; as not only unworthy of the least of G.o.d's mercies, of the warm sun and refreshing rain, but deserving of the torments of the bottomless pit; but entreated that, devoid of all merit, as they were, and justly exposed to His wrath, their aggravated offences might be pardoned for the sake of One who had taken their burden upon Himself, and that they might be of the number of the elect, whom the foreordination of G.o.d had predestined to salvation. He concluded with beseeching that the balm of peace might be poured into his afflicted brother's heart, that his ears might be opened to hear the truth, and his eyes to see how near was the great and terrible day of the Lord, and that, as in ancient days chosen women were raised up to do mighty works, even so Faith might be made an instrument to proclaim His power abroad.

As the three rose from their knees, a change seemed, during the prayer, to have pa.s.sed over the little circle. Holden was invested with an authority not felt before. Neither his speech nor dress was as strange as formerly. He had become a teacher to be honored. It was the influence of a mind originally powerful, and which, though shattered, exercised the control of a strong will, guided by an earnest fanaticism.

CHAPTER X.

Thus as he spake, his visage waxed pale, And chaunge of hew great pa.s.sion did bewray, Yett still he strove to cloke his inward bale, And hide the smoke that did his fire display.

SPENSER'S FAERY QUEENE.

The request of Mr. Armstrong, supported by the pleadings of his daughter, prevailed upon Holden to remain to tea, and afterwards to accompany them to the "conference," as a meeting for religious purposes held usually on some particular evening of the week, was called. Upon the conclusion of the service he was to return with them and pa.s.s the night at the house of his host. It was not without difficulty he allowed his objections to be overruled, nor was he ever known before to have accepted such an invitation. But it had seemed of late that as his influence with Miss Armstrong increased, so did hers over him, until he became unable to deny her slightest wish. Perhaps, too, the events of the afternoon, by bringing him more intimately into communion with sufferings like those through which he had pa.s.sed, had softened his sternness and disposed him more for human companionship.

The little building where the "conference" met was of the humblest pretensions. It was a weather-stained, unpainted wooden edifice of one story, standing at no great distance from the meeting-house, and capable of containing comfortably, probably a hundred people. The interior was almost as rude and unattractive as the exterior, the walls being coa.r.s.ely plastered and dingy with smoke that had escaped from a cast-iron stove which stood in the centre of the room. Benches with backs were placed parallel to one another, and facing a sort of rostrum or reading-desk, to which a pa.s.sage betwixt the benches led.

The inside work was equally innocent of paint as the outside.

On the arrival of Mr. Armstrong with his companions, they found the room only partly occupied, nor had the exercises commenced. According to a custom which would have struck a stranger as singular, but which, doubtless, was founded in a knowledge of the nature of young men and young women, the males were seated on one side of the pa.s.sage, and the females on the other. The separation, as might be expected, only partly answered the purpose, being unable to arrest the glances which, with quite as much of earth as of heaven in them, crossed the intervening s.p.a.ce. These, however, were stolen, and managed in such a quiet way as not materially to affect the devotions of the elders.

In compliance with an usage, a breach of which would have violated propriety, Faith, withdrawing her arm from her father's, glided into a seat among her own s.e.x on the right, while Mr. Armstrong and Holden sought places on the left.

The appearance of the Solitary entering the little place of worship, striding up the pa.s.sage with his usual air of dignity and composure, and taking a seat among the princ.i.p.al members of the church, occasioned great surprise. Although differing little, probably, in religious sentiments (except in one point) from those around him, he had never united with them in religious worship. He was, therefore, notwithstanding his frequent allusions to the Scriptures, considered generally more in the light of a heathen than of a Christian man, and the apparition of Plato or Socrates would hardly have excited more observation. Many, in consequence, were the looks bent on him by those present, and those who afterwards came in.

But of them, or of any sensation caused by his presence, he seemed utterly unconscious. With arms folded and head drooped upon his chest, he shut his eyes and abandoned himself to meditation.

"Ma.s.sy on us," whispered Miss Green, the mantua-maker, to her next neighbor, Miss Thompson, the tailoress, "if here ain't old Holden. I wonder what fetches him here."

"And did you see!" said Miss Thompson, whispering in like manner, "he came in with the Armstrongs. I always did admire what they could see in him to like."

"I guess," said Miss Green, "he feels kind o' awkward. Look how he's folded his arms. It's so long since he's been to meeting or conference, if he was ever in such a place before; he don't know how to behave."

"There's no sort o' set about his clothes," observed Miss Thompson.

"They look as if he made them himself."

"Perhaps he did, but they're good enough to go with Faith Armstrong's cloak" (which had been made by a rival artiste), responded Miss Green.

"What dark colors she wears, no variety, and how dreadful old they make her look!"

"Hush!" said Miss Thompson, "the deacon's going to open."

During the colloquy of the two spinsters a grave, respectable-looking man, somewhat advanced in years, had taken a seat behind the reading-desk, and opening the large Bible that lay upon it, selected a chapter, and now invited the attention of the audience to its contents. Upon its conclusion he gave out a hymn, the tune of which was announced by another person, who immediately on naming it pulled out a pitch-pipe from his pocket and making a slight sound, furnished the starting note. The singing proceeded princ.i.p.ally from a certain part of the room, as if by some understanding the singers had been collected together, although scattered sounds also, of either rumbling ba.s.s or shrill treble whose trembling modulations betrayed the advanced age of the performers, were here and there heard. Some of these guerrilla pa.s.sages were sadly out of time and tune, and according to the humor of the hearer might either provoke a smile or start a tear. The gay and thoughtless might, indeed, laugh at the wavering and undecided notes, but to the reflecting mind there was something profoundly pathetic in the feeble tribute to the praise of their Maker, of those whose voices in the ordinary course of nature must soon be silent in the grave.

After the singing was ended, the person who had hitherto officiated invited Deacon Baldwin, calling him by name, to make a prayer.

Hereupon the deacon rose, and folding his hands complied with the request, while most of the congregation respectfully bent forward, or covered their faces with their handkerchiefs. The prayer evidently came from a sincere and earnest heart, but contained nothing that requires it should be recorded. Another hymn was then sung, upon the conclusion of which followed the sermon.

The person who came forward to perform this office was a short, thick-set man, of middle age, with a bull neck. His features were harsh and severe, and stamped with an expression of mortification, though the gross animality of the mouth and chin too plainly revealed how many and desperate were the conflicts it must have cost him to become a saint. As he pa.s.sed to the reading-desk his clothes brushed Holden, who shrunk from the touch. The Solitary looked up, but as if what he saw was displeasing, he averted his face and shut his eyes.

The first thing done by Davenport on reaching the desk, and casting a furtive glance around, was to draw an East India silk handkerchief out of his pocket, and having noticed a spittoon by his side, to blow his nose sonorously. He then cleared his throat two or three times, and commenced reading.

It happened, singularly enough, that the subject was prophecy, considered as evidence of the divine inspiration of the Scriptures.

The writer, after referring to the fulfillment of many prophecies contained in the Old Testament, came to those in the New, and amongst others he spoke of that in which Christ alludes to the destruction of Jerusalem. He said that even in the times of the Apostles, there were persons who, by putting too literal a construction upon the words, were misled into believing that the end of the world was at hand, and that there had never been a time when there were not victims to the same delusion.

It was impossible, with reference to the condition of Holden's mind, to have selected either a topic or reader more unsuitable. The aversion he had manifested at first increased every moment. It was one of those antipathies as unquestionable as they are unaccountable. It at first exhibited itself in restlessness, and an inability to remain quiet, and afterwards in half-suppressed groans and sighs. If he opened his eyes and looked at the reader, he saw a devilish figure, with a malignant leer glaring at him; if he shut them to exclude the disagreeable image it was converted into a thousand smaller figures, dancing up and down like motes in a distempered vision, all wearing that intolerable grin, while the whole time a hissing sound, as if it came from a snake, whispered in his ears temptations to some deadly sin. It was a trial the shattered nerves of the enthusiast were ill qualified to bear, and, finally, a torture beyond his powers of endurance. The very force of the reasons urged by the writer distressed him more and more. They seemed to his disordered imagination the subtle enticements of an evil spirit to lure him from the truth, and Davenport an emissary of Satan, if not the arch-deceiver himself. No adequate answers to doctrines which he was persuaded were false presented themselves to his mind, and this he ascribed to some h.e.l.lish spell, which fettered his reason, and must soon be broken, or he was lost. Mentally, then, first e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.n.g. a prayer, he suddenly sprung to his feet, and in a loud voice bade the reader to stop.

"Forbear," he cried, "man of sin, to seduce the people with these soul-d.a.m.ning and abominable lies. I conjure thee, Satan, to leave the body of this man, and depart. Ha! thou wouldst lull them into security that they may slumber and have no oil in their lamps when the Bridegroom cometh, when He cometh in the clouds of heaven. My soul have not thou thy portion with the unbelievers."

The words were uttered with wonderful vehemence and rapidity, and upon their conclusion, he strode with long strides down the pa.s.sage towards the door. Not an exclamation was heard, not a hand raised to stay his departure, so stupefied were all with astonishment. Upon leaving the room he rushed into the street, and, forgetful of his promise to Mr.

Armstrong, took his way to his own hut. The tything man, awakening from his lethargy, and a few others recovering their presence of mind, went at last to the door, and gazed up and down the street, but the disturber of the meeting was not in sight, nor, sooth to say, were any of the number sorry, or wished to meet him that night. Contenting themselves, therefore, with this slight demonstration of zeal, they returned to the Conference-room. There, great as was the scandal occasioned by the interruption, all things soon settled down into their usual course, and the meeting was regularly concluded and dismissed.

CHAPTER XI.

_Angelo_.--We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape, till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

The events of the preceding evening caused quite a sensation in the village. We shall better understand the various opinions and feelings of the inhabitants by stepping, at about eleven o'clock the following morning, into the shop, or, as it was called in those days, and would generally be called now, the "store" of Truman and Jenkins. This was an establishment at the foot of the hill, where it hung out its sign, in company with several others of the same character, which professed to supply all the wants of the community. Here everything was to be had from a gallon of mola.s.ses to a skein of thread, or a quintal of codfish, to a pound of nails. On one side, as you entered, were ranges of shelves, protected by a counter, on which were exposed rolls of flannels of divers colors, and calico and broadcloth, and other "dry goods," while a showcase on the counter contained combs, and tooth-brushes, and soaps, and perfumery, and a variety of other small articles. The back of the store was used as a receptacle for hogsheads of mola.s.ses, and puncheons of rum and wine, and barrels of whisky and sugar. Overhead and on the posts were hung pails, and rakes, and iron chains, and a thousand things necessary to the complete enjoyment of civilization. On the other side was a small counting-room part.i.tioned off, with a door, the upper part of which was gla.s.s, for the convenience of looking into the shop, in order to be ready to attend to the wants of such customers as might come in. This little room, scarcely eight feet square, contained a small close stove, around which were gathered some half a dozen persons.

"I say, squire," exclaimed Tom Gladding, a tall, awkward, good-natured looking fellow, with legs sprawling out, and heels on the top of the stove, addressing himself to a man in a black suit, rather better dressed than the others, "what do you think of this here rusty old Father Holden cut up last night at Conference?"

Squire Miller, as one in authority, and who might be called to adjudicate upon the case, and for other reasons of his own, was not disposed to commit himself, he, therefore, cautiously replied, _more Novo Anglicano_, by asking another question, "Were you there, Mr.

Gladding?"

"No," said Tom, laughing; "the old folks used to make me go so regular, when I was a boy, I guess I've done my part. So after a while I give it up."

"It is a pity you ever gave it up," said the squire. "You might get a great deal of good from it."

"There's two opinions about that," said Tom. "You see, squire, as long as mother was alive, I always went with her regular, 'cause it kind o'

comforted her, though somehow or other I never took to it. So when she died I sort o' slacked off 'till now it's 'een amost two year since I been in."

"They say," observed Mr. Jenkins, "they've took the old man up."

"I'm sorry for that," cried Tom. "To go to take up a kind o'

half-crazy man for speaking in meetin'!"

"Why," inquired the squire, "would you allow the man to go about disturbing the neighbors as he pleased?"

"I never heard tell of his disturbing n.o.body," said Tom. "Just take him off his notions about the ten vargins and their lamps, and the judgment day, and I don't know a likelier man than old Holden. In my opinion, he's a cleverer fellow than Davenport, by a long shot."

"I don't believe he's been caught," said a man in a pee-jacket, who, from his appearance, was a fisherman. "I pa.s.sed his island this morning about sunrise, with a boatload of oysters, and I see the old man at his door."

"Well," observed Mr. Jenkins, "I hope he isn't. It's enough to make a body puke up his boots to hear Davenport, and I don't much blame Holden for cutting him short."