 | Pierre, or, The ambiguities |  |
VII.
We know not Pierre Glendinning's thoughts as he gained
the village and passed on beneath its often shrouding trees, and
saw no light from man, and heard no sound from man, but
only, by intervals, saw at his feet the soft ground-lightnings,
snake-like, playing in and out among the blades of grass; and
between the trees, caught the far dim light from heaven, and
breathing earth.
He paused before a detached and pleasant house, with much
shrubbery about it. He mounted the portico and knocked distinctly
there, just as the village clock struck one. He knocked,
but no answer came. He knocked again, and soon he heard a
sash thrown up in the second story, and an astonished voice inquired
who was there?
“It is Pierre Glendinning, and he desires an instant interview
with the Reverend Mr. Falsgrave.”
“Do I hear right?—in heaven's name, what is the matter,
young gentleman?”
“Every thing is the matter; the whole world is the matter.
Will you admit me, sir?”
“Certainly—but I beseech thee—nay, stay, I will admit
thee.”
In quicker time than could have been anticipated, the door
was opened to Pierre by Mr. Falsgrave in person, holding a
candle, and invested in his very becoming student's wrapper of
Scotch plaid.
“For heaven's sake, what is the matter, Mr. Glendinning?”
“Heaven and earth is the matter, sir! shall we go up to the
study?”
“Certainly, but—but—”
“Well, let us proceed, then.”
They went up-stairs, and soon found themselves in the clergyman's
retreat, and both sat down; the amazed host still holding
the candle in his hand, and intently eying Pierre, with an
apprehensive aspect.
“Thou art a man of God, sir, I believe.”
“I? I? I? upon my word, Mr. Glendinning!”
“Yes, sir, the world calls thee a man of God. Now, what
hast thou, the man of God, decided, with my mother, concerning
Delly Ulver?”
“Delly Ulver! why, why—what can this madness mean?”
“It means, sir, what have thou and my mother decided concerning
Delly Ulver.”
“She?—Delly Ulver? She is to depart the neighborhood;
why, her own parents want her not.”
“How is she to depart? Who is to take her? Art thou
to take her? Where is she to go? Who has food for her?
What is to keep her from the pollution to which such as she
are every day driven to contribute, by the detestable uncharitableness
and heartlessness of the world?”
“Mr. Glendinning,” said the clergyman, now somewhat calmly
putting down the candle, and folding himself with dignity
in his gown; “Mr. Glendinning, I will not now make any
mention of my natural astonishment at this most unusual call,
and the most extraordinary time of it. Thou hast sought information
upon a certain point, and I have given it to thee, to
the best of my knowledge. All thy after and incidental questions,
I choose to have no answer for. I will be most happy
to see thee at any other time, but for the present thou must
excuse my presence. Good-night, sir.”
But Pierre sat entirely still, and the clergyman could not but
remain standing still.
“I perfectly comprehend the whole, sir. Delly Ulver, then,
is to be driven out to starve or rot; and this, too, by the acquiescence
of a man of God. Mr. Falsgrave, the subject of Delly,
deeply interesting as it is to me, is only the preface to another,
still more interesting to me, and concerning which I once cherished
some slight hope that thou wouldst have been able, in
thy Christian character, to sincerely and honestly counsel me.
But a hint from heaven assures me now, that thou hast no
earnest and world-disdaining counsel for me. I must seek it
direct from God himself, whom, I now know, never delegates his
holiest admonishings. But I do not blame thee; I think I
begin to see how thy profession is unavoidably entangled by all
world of benefices. I am more sorry than indignant. Pardon
me for my most uncivil call, and know me as not thy enemy.
Good-night, sir.”
| Pierre, or, The ambiguities | |