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?”

“I should despise Thomas Pownal, if he felt anything but pride in his father.  I am the daughter of a republican, and care little for the distinctions which the tailor makes.  The noblest hearts are not always those which beat under the finest broadcloth.”

  “The rank is but the guinea stamp,
  The man’s the gowd for a’ that.”

“Well, Anne,” said her brother, “I never expected to take a lesson, in democracy, from you, nor fancied you were a politician before; but, it seems to me you have become lately very sharp-sighted, to detect Holden’s merits.  What is it that has so improved your vision?”

“You are trying to tease me, now, but I will not be angry.  You know, as well as I do, that from the first I took a liking to Mr. Holden.  So far from being frightened at him, when I was a child, nothing pleased me better that when he took Faith and me into his arms, and told us stories out of the Bible.  I do believe I had then a presentiment he was something different from what he seemed.”