Chapter 8

by Herman Melville

　　A CHARITABLE LADY.If a drunkard in a sober fit is the dullest of mortals, an enthusiast ina reason-fit is not the most lively. And this, without prejudice to hisgreatly improved understanding; for, if his elation was the height ofhis madness, his despondency is but the extreme of his sanity. Somethingthus now, to all appearance, with the man in gray. Society his stimulus,loneliness was his lethargy. Loneliness, like the sea breeze, blowingoff from a thousand leagues of blankness, he did not find, as veteransolitaires do, if anything, too bracing. In short, left to himself, withnone to charm forth his latent lymphatic, he insensibly resumes hisoriginal air, a quiescent one, blended of sad humility and demureness.Ere long he goes laggingly into the ladies' saloon, as in spiritlessquest of somebody; but, after some disappointed glances about him, seatshimself upon a sofa with an air of melancholy exhaustion and depression.At the sofa's further end sits a plump and pleasant person, whose aspectseems to hint that, if she have any weak point, it must be anythingrather than her excellent heart. From her twilight dress, neither dawnnor dark, apparently she is a widow just breaking the chrysalis of hermourning. A small gilt testament is in her hand, which she has just beenreading. Half-relinquished, she holds the book in reverie, her fingerinserted at the xiii. of 1st Corinthians, to which chapter possibly herattention might have recently been turned, by witnessing the scene ofthe monitory mute and his slate.The sacred page no longer meets her eye; but, as at evening, when for atime the western hills shine on though the sun be set, her thoughtfulface retains its tenderness though the teacher is forgotten.Meantime, the expression of the stranger is such as ere long to attracther glance. But no responsive one. Presently, in her somewhatinquisitive survey, her volume drops. It is restored. No encroachingpoliteness in the act, but kindness, unadorned. The eyes of the ladysparkle. Evidently, she is not now unprepossessed. Soon, bending over,in a low, sad tone, full of deference, the stranger breathes, "Madam,pardon my freedom, but there is something in that face which strangelydraws me. May I ask, are you a sister of the Church?""Why--really--you--"In concern for her embarrassment, he hastens to relieve it, but, withoutseeming so to do. "It is very solitary for a brother here," eying theshowy ladies brocaded in the background, "I find none to mingle soulswith. It may be wrong--I know it is--but I cannot force myself to beeasy with the people of the world. I prefer the company, howeversilent, of a brother or sister in good standing. By the way, madam, mayI ask if you have confidence?""Really, sir--why, sir--really--I--""Could you put confidence in me for instance?""Really, sir--as much--I mean, as one may wisely put in a--a--stranger,an entire stranger, I had almost said," rejoined the lady, hardly yet atease in her affability, drawing aside a little in body, while at thesame time her heart might have been drawn as far the other way. Anatural struggle between charity and prudence."Entire stranger!" with a sigh. "Ah, who would be a stranger? In vain, Iwander; no one will have confidence in me.""You interest me," said the good lady, in mild surprise. "Can I any waybefriend you?""No one can befriend me, who has not confidence.""But I--I have--at least to that degree--I mean that----""Nay, nay, you have none--none at all. Pardon, I see it. No confidence.Fool, fond fool that I am to seek it!""You are unjust, sir," rejoins the good lady with heightened interest;"but it may be that something untoward in your experiences has undulybiased you. Not that I would cast reflections. Believe me, I--yes,yes--I may say--that--that----""That you have confidence? Prove it. Let me have twenty dollars.""Twenty dollars!""There, I told you, madam, you had no confidence."The lady was, in an extraordinary way, touched. She sat in a sort ofrestless torment, knowing not which way to turn. She began twentydifferent sentences, and left off at the first syllable of each. Atlast, in desperation, she hurried out, "Tell me, sir, for what you wantthe twenty dollars?""And did I not----" then glancing at her half-mourning, "for the widowand the fatherless. I am traveling agent of the Widow and Orphan Asylum,recently founded among the Seminoles.""And why did you not tell me your object before?" As not a littlerelieved. "Poor souls--Indians, too--those cruelly-used Indians. Here,here; how could I hesitate. I am so sorry it is no more.""Grieve not for that, madam," rising and folding up the bank-notes."This is an inconsiderable sum, I admit, but," taking out his pencil andbook, "though I here but register the amount, there is another register,where is set down the motive. Good-bye; you have confidence. Yea, youcan say to me as the apostle said to the Corinthians, 'I rejoice that Ihave confidence in you in all things.'"