What is there so ponderous in evil, that a thumb's bigness of it should outweigh the mass of things not evil which were heaped into the other scale!
This scale and balance system is a favorite one with people of Judge Pyncheon's brotherhood.
A hard, cold man, thus unfortunately situated seldom or never looking inward, and resolutely taking his idea of himself from what purports to be his image as reflected in the mirror of public opinion, can scarcely arrive at true self-knowledge, except through loss of property and reputation.
Sickness will not always help him to it; not always the death-hour!
But our affair now is with Judge Pyncheon as he stood confronting the fierce outbreak of Hepzibah's wrath.
Without premeditation, to her own surprise, and even terror, she had given vent, for once, to the inveteracy of her resentment, cherished against this kinsman for thirty years.
Thus far the judge's countenance had expressed mild forbearance—grave and almost gentle deprecation of his cousin's unbecoming violence—free and Christian-like forgiveness of the wrong inflicted by her words.
But when those words were irrevocably spoken, his look assumed sternness, the sense of power, and immitigable resolve; and this with so natural and imperceptible a change, that it seemed as if the iron man had stood there from the first, and the meek man not at all. The effect was as when the light vapoury clouds, with their soft coloring, suddenly vanished from the stony brow of a precipitous mountain, and leave there the frown which you at once feel to be eternal.
Hepzibah almost adopted the insane belief that it was her old Puritan ancestor, and not the modern judge, on whom she had just been wreaking the bitterness of her heart.
Never did a man show stronger proof of the lineage attributed to him than Judge Pyncheon at this crisis, by his unmistakable resemblance to the picture in the inner room.
"Cousin Hepzibah," said he, very calmly, "it is time to have done with this."
"With all my heart!" answered she.
"Then why do you persecute us any longer?
Leave poor Clifford and me in peace.
Neither of us desires anything better!"
"It is my purpose to see Clifford before I leave this house," continued the judge.
"Do not act like a mad-woman, Hepzibah!
I am his only friend, and an all-powerful one.
Has it never occured to you—are you so blind as not to have seen—that, without not merely my consent, but my efforts, my representations, the exertion of my whole influence, political, official, personal, Clifford would never have been what you call free?
Did you think his release a triumph over me?
Not so, my good cousin, not so, by any means! The furthest possible from that!
No; but it was the accomplishment of a purpose long entertained on my part.
I set him free!"
"You!" answered Hepzibah.
"I never will believe it!
He owed his dungeon to you—his freedom to God's providence!"
"I set him free!" re-affirmed Judge Pyncheon, with the calmest composure.
"And I come hither now to decide whether he shall retain his freedom.
It will depend upon himself.
For this purpose I must see him."
"Never!—it would drive him mad!" exclaimed Hepzibah, but with an irresoluteness sufficiently perceptible to the keen eye of the judge; for, without the slightest faith in his good intentions, she knew not whether there was most to dread in yielding or resistance.
"And why should you wish to see this wretched, broken man, who retains hardly a fraction of his intellect, and will hide even that from an eye which has no love in it?"
"He shall see love enough in mine, if that be at all!" said the judge, with well-grounded confidence in the benignity of his aspect.
"But, Cousin Hepzibah, you confess a great deal, and very much to the purpose.
Now, listen, and I will frankly explain my reasons for insisting on this interview.
At the death, thirty years since, of our Uncle Jaffrey, it was found—I know not whether the circumstance ever attracted much of your attention, among the sadder interests that clustered round that event—but it was found that his visible estate, of every kind, fell far short of any estimate ever made of it.
He was supposed to be immensely rich.
Nobody doubted that he stood among the weightiest men of his day.
It was one of his eccentricities, however—and not altogether a folly, neither—to conceal the amount of his property by making distant and foreign investments, perhaps under other names than his own, and by various means, familiar enough to capitalists, but unnecessary here to be specified.
By Uncle Jaffrey's last will and testament, as you are aware, his entire property was bequeathed to me, with the single exception of a life interest to yourself in this old family mansion, and the strip of patrimonial estate remaining attached to it."
"And do you seek to deprive us of that?" asked Hepzibah, unable to restrain her bitter contempt.
"Is this your price for ceasing to persecute poor Clifford?"
"Certainly not, my dear cousin!" answered the judge, smiling benevolently.
"On the contrary, as you must do me the justice to own, I have constantly expressed my readiness to double or treble your resources, whenever you should make up your mind to accept any kindness of that nature at the hands of your kinsman.
No, no!
But here lies the gist of the matter.
Of my uncle's unquestionably great estate, as I have said, not the half—no, not one-third, as I am fully convinced—was apparent after his death.
Now, I have the best possible reasons for believing that your brother Clifford can give me a clue to the recovery of the remainder."
"Clifford!—Clifford know of any hidden wealth?—Clifford have it in his power to make you rich?" cried the old gentlewoman affected with a sense of something like ridicule, at the idea.
"Impossible!