"What a rich tinge it gives to his colorless ideas, when he speaks of
Zenobia!" I whispered to Hollingsworth. "But how can there possibly
be any interest or connecting link between him and her?"
"The old man, for years past," whispered Hollingsworth, "has been a
little out of his right mind, as you probably see."
"What I would inquire," resumed Moodie, "is whether this beautiful lady
is kind to my poor Priscilla."
"Very kind," said Hollingsworth.
"Does she love her?" asked Moodie.
"It should seem so," answered my friend. "They are always together."
"Like a gentlewoman and her maid-servant, I fancy?" suggested the old
man.
There was something so singular in his way of saying this, that I could
not resist the impulse to turn quite round, so as to catch a glimpse of
his face, almost imagining that I should see another person than old
Moodie. But there he sat, with the patched side of his face towards me.
"Like an elder and younger sister, rather," replied Hollingsworth.
"Ah!" said Moodie more complacently, for his latter tones had harshness
and acidity in them,--"it would gladden my old heart to witness that.
If one thing would make me happier than another, Mr. Hollingsworth, it
would be to see that beautiful lady holding my little girl by the hand."
"Come along," said Hollingsworth, "and perhaps you may."
After a little more delay on the part of our freakish visitor, they set
forth together, old Moodie keeping a step or two behind Hollingsworth,
so that the latter could not very conveniently look him in the face. I
remained under the tuft of maples, doing my utmost to draw an inference
from the scene that had just passed. In spite of Hollingsworth's
off-hand explanation, it did not strike me that our strange guest was
really beside himself, but only that his mind needed screwing up, like
an instrument long out of tune, the strings of which have ceased to
vibrate smartly and sharply. Methought it would be profitable for us,
projectors of a happy life, to welcome this old gray shadow, and
cherish him as one of us, and let him creep about our domain, in order
that he might be a little merrier for our sakes, and we, sometimes, a
little sadder for his. Human destinies look ominous without some
perceptible intermixture of the sable or the gray. And then, too,
should any of our fraternity grow feverish with an over-exulting sense
of prosperity, it would be a sort of cooling regimen to slink off into
the woods, and spend an hour, or a day, or as many days as might be
requisite to the cure, in uninterrupted communion with this deplorable
old Moodie!