“I, friend!” exclaimed Nathan, with a melancholy shake of the head; “thee would not have me back in the Settlements, to scandalize them that is of my faith?  No, friend; my lot is cast in the woods, and thee must not ask me again to leave them.  And, friend, thee must not think I have served thee for the lucre of money or gain; for truly these things are now to me as nothing.  The meat that feeds me, the skins that cover, the leaves that make my bed, are all in the forest around me, to be mine when I want them; and what more can I desire?  Yet, friend, if thee thinks theeself obliged by whatever I have done for thee, I would ask of thee one favor that thee can grant.”

“A hundred!” said the Virginian, warmly.

“Nay, friend,” muttered Nathan, with both a warning and beseeching look, “all that I ask is, that thee shall say nothing of me that should scandalize and disparage the faith to which I was born.”

“I understand you,” said Roland, “and will remember your wish....  Come with us, Nathan; come with us.”

But Nathan, ashamed of the weakness which he could not resist, had turned away to conceal his emotion, and, stalking silently off, with the ever-faithful Peter at his heels, was soon hidden from their eyes.

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=_Nathaniel Hawthorne,_= about =_1805-1864._= (Manual, pp. 505, 508.)

From the “Twice-Told Tales.”

=_296._= PORTRAIT OF EDWARD RANDOLPH.

Within the antique frame which so recently had enclosed a sable waste of canvas, now appeared a visible picture—­still dark, indeed, in its hues and shadings, but thrown forward in strong relief....  The whole portrait started so distinctly out of the background, that it had the effect of a person looking down from the wall at the astonished and awe-stricken spectators.  The expression of the face, if any words can convey an idea of it, was that of a wretch detected in some hideous guilt, and exposed to the bitter hatred, and laughter, and withering scorn of a vast, surrounding multitude.  There was the struggle of defiance, beaten down and overwhelmed by the crushing weight of ignominy.  The torture of the soul had come forth upon the countenance.  It seemed as if the picture, while hidden behind the cloud of immemorial years, had been all the time acquiring an intenser depth and darkness of expression, till now it gloomed forth again, and threw its evil omen over the present hour.  Such, if the wild legend may be credited, was the portrait of Edward Randolph, as he appeared when a people’s curse had wrought its influence upon his nature.

* * * * *

=_297._= DESCRIPTION OF AN OLD SAILOR.