Silent Struggles. Ann S. Stephens

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      "But the water may have penetrated to the painting and will destroy it."

      "True, true!" The youth, still reluctant to give up the locket, touched the spring, and with difficulty opened it.

      The water had indeed penetrated the clasp, but a crystal underneath protected the portrait, which was that of a middle-aged man, evidently of the highest rank, for his dress was of the most costly material, and enriched with several jewelled orders which were easily distinguished as belonging to the English court.

      "It is a strange face," said Parris, bending his head to examine the portrait, "hard as iron and full of worldly pride. Young man, I have seen this face before; but where—when?"

      "How can I tell?" answered the youth, who was gazing wistfully at the face.

      "Yes," he said, after a moment; "it is hard as iron, but a grand countenance, nevertheless. That man would have died for an idea."

      "Died for an idea!" repeated the minister; "how many have done that, yet the idea a false one? But where have I seen that face?"

      The youth covered the portrait with its gold again, and the two walked on more rapidly for the time they had lost. All at once young Lovel stopped as if some important idea had flashed upon him.

      "Sir," he said, eagerly, "did I not hear your name yesterday, or have I dreamed it over night—Samuel Parris—was it in truth from your own lips I heard the name?"

      "Even so, young man."

      "Samuel Parris, minister of the gospel in Salem?"

      "Even to that honored post the Lord and his people have appointed me."

      "One question more—only one—then forgive me if I am too bold. There is a young lady at our house—that is, at the house of Governor Phipps—her name is Parris also, and her father is minister of a congregation in Salem—tell me if this fair maiden is your child."

      "My child!" cried the old man, lifting up his face to heaven with a look of exultant thanksgiving; "yes, Elizabeth is my child, the first-born of that beautiful one who is a leader among God's angels. Ask me if the heart which lies in my bosom—the brain that thinks—the blood that beats in these veins are mine, and I will answer, Yea. But not so closely do these things encompass me as does my love for Elizabeth, the babe that my young wife left in my embrace as a blessing and a comfort, before she was enrolled among the just made perfect."

      The young man drew a quick breath; the enthusiasm and energy of the minister's speech, so uncalled for by the simple question he had put, startled him not a little. Besides this, other anxieties sprang up in his mind, and knowing the man with whom he had been cast so strangely by his true name, he was struck dumb with the rush of emotions which this knowledge aroused.

      "Her father," he said inly; "her father—and is this our first meeting?"

      "My child, my child!" cried the old man, forgetting his companion, while his eager eyes were turned towards the town. "Have I not fasted, watched, prayed, nay, sent her forth from beneath my roof that this great love may not be as a snare, and stand between me and my God—between me and the angel that has gone before! Now, when I have been two whole days within sight of the roof that covers her, holding down my heart, and fasting with a soul-fast—the very mention of her name, even by a stranger, sends the breath in quick gushes to my lips, and I tremble like a little child."

      The old man stood still upon the shore, and the youth paused with him, gazing up into his face with a look of strange sympathy.

      "I am grieved, I am very sorry!" he said, scarcely knowing that he had spoken at all.

      "God forgive you, young man, but you have unsealed this heart to its depths. The weakness is still here; instead of singing, 'Hosannah to the Lord,' it cries out, 'My child, my child!' Pray as I will—fast as I will—her name always comes first, and thus I droop before the Lord full of terror and self-reproach, an unfaithful servant, still keeping back a portion of my master's treasures."

      "Forgive me!" pleaded the youth, struck with sudden remorse for the sorrows he had evidently excited.

      "Forgive you," answered the old Christian, for such he undoubtedly was. "What have you done that I should claim the power to forgive? It is my own heart, which, strive as I may, will cling to its idol."

      "But I have given you pain."

      The old man bent his eyes on that ingenuous face, and before he lifted them again they were full of tears; those cold watery tears that come up like melted ice from the heart.

      "Ah!" exclaimed the youth, "now I see a resemblance, vague, hardened, but still I should know that Elizabeth Parris was your daughter."

      The minister's face brightened like a lamp suddenly illuminated. He reached forth his hand, grasped that of the young man, and his features quivered all over with the gush of feeling that swelled within him.

      "Is she—is the dear child indeed so like her father? And you know her—you have seen her, perhaps; tell me is she well—does she grieve at the thoughts of home—does she pine for a sight of her father?"

      He waited for no answer, but heaped question upon question with breathless eagerness.

      The youth looked at him with amazement. The intense affection which transfigured those stern features exhibited itself so unexpectedly, that for the moment he was speechless.

      The old man noticed this with a deprecating movement.

      "She was the daughter of my old age!" he said, with ineffable humility, while his shoulders drooped, and his face bent towards his breast, "she looks so like her young mother."

      "She is beautiful as an angel!" exclaimed Lovel with enthusiasm.

      "She is like her mother!" murmured the minister, clasping his hands and looking wistfully out into the distance. "Ah, so like her mother!"

      "No wonder you loved her mother, then!" said the youth, drawing close to the old man with prompt sympathy.

      "Loved her—oh, God forgive me—how I did love her, young man! The very daisies upon her grave are like the stars of heaven to me, and she has been dead since Elizabeth was a babe."

      "Oh, no wonder you look so old and care-worn; it must be like burying one's own soul, to see the mother of one's child die."

      The old man did not answer, but his hands interlocked more firmly. The feelings swelling in his bosom were too painful for utterance. How far the intense affection, which death could not diminish, had approached insanity, it would be impossible to say; but all unconsciously, the young man had made the minister quiver in every nerve by the genuine sympathy he had given.

      They walked on together, and entered the streets of Boston in company. When they reached the heart of the town, the old man stopped reluctantly, reaching forth his hand with a piteous smile.

      "Farewell, young man," he said, "we may never meet again, but—"

      "Nay, nay," cried the youth, blushing scarlet, "not meet again—God forbid that you speak sooth in this. Indeed, indeed—"

      But the minister wrung his hand, turned СКАЧАТЬ