had not heard of the boy. She remembered
the name of the people with whom he was left, and also the street, and
the number, and gave them to Holden.

Upon this foundation it was the Recluse built up the hope that his son
was yet alive.

"I am Onontio," he said. "The Being who touched the heart of the
ferocious savage to spare the life of the child, hath preserved him.
Mine eyes shall yet behold him."

Armstrong was deeply touched, and in the contemplation of the
brightening prospects of his friend, he forgot the clouds that hung
around his own horizon. Perhaps he was not so sanguine of success
as Holden, whose eagle eyes seemed penetrating the future, but he
respected too deeply the high raised hopes and sacred feelings of the
father, to drop a word of doubt or discouragement.

"Myself, my purse," he said, "are at your service."

"Thomas Pownal goeth to the city to-morrow," replied Holden. "I will
speak unto him, and accompany him. Nor do I refuse thy assistance, but
freely as it is offered as freely do I accept it. They who are worthy
to be called my friends, regard gold and silver only as it ministers
to their own and others' wants."

He took the proffered bank-bills with quite as much an air of one
conferring, as one of receiving a favor, and, without even looking at
the amount, put them in his pocket.

It was so long since Holden had been in the great world, or mingled
in the ordinary pursuits of men--and his appearance and mode of speech
were so different from those of others--that Armstrong had some fears
respecting his researches. It was, perhaps, this latent apprehension
of his fitness to appear in the world--an apprehension, however,
only dimly cognizable by himself--that induced Holden to seek the
companionship of Pownal. With these feelings, and believing he might
be of advantage to this strange man, for whom this new development
awakened additional interest in his mind, Armstrong offered to be his
companion, in the search for his son; but, to his surprise, his offer
was hastily rejected.

"No," said Holden; "it befitteth not. Stay, to take care of Faith.
Stay, to welcome me when I shall return with a crown of rejoicing upon
my head."

Armstrong shrunk within himself at the repulse. He would not have
regarded or hardly noticed it once, but, his mind had become morbidly
sensitive. A word, a look, a tone had now power to inflict a wound.
He was like the Sybarite whose repose was disturbed by a wrin