The Deerslayer (Barnes & Noble Classics) - James Fenimore Cooper [205]
“O! Judith,” exclaimed the weak-minded girl, as soon as their first care had been bestowed on the sufferer. “Father went for scalps, himself, and now where is his own? The Bible might have foretold this dreadful punishment!”
“Hush! Hetty—hush! poor sister; he opens his eyes; he may hear and understand you. ‘Tis as you say and think; but ’tis too dreadful to speak of!”
“Water!” ejaculated Hutter, as it might be by a desperate effort, that rendered his voice frightfully deep and strong, for one as near death as he evidently was; “water! foolish girls—will you let me die of thirst?”
Water was brought and administered to the sufferer; the first he had tasted in hours of physical anguish. It had the double effect of clearing his throat, and of momentarily reviving his sinking system. His eyes opened with that anxious, distended gaze, which is apt to accompany the passage of a soul surprised by death, and he seemed disposed to speak.
“Father,” said Judith, inexpressibly pained by his deplorable situation, and this so much the more from her ignorance of what remedies ought to be applied, “father, can we do anything for you? Can Hetty and I relieve your pain?”
“Father!” slowly repeated the old man. “No, Judith—no, Hetty—I’m no father. She was your mother but I’m no father. Look in the chest—’tis all there—give me more water.”2
The girls complied; and Judith, whose early recollections extended farther back than her sister’s, and who, on every account, had more distinct impressions of the past, felt an uncontrollable impulse of joy as she heard these words. There had never been much sympathy between her reputed father and herself, and suspicions of this very truth had often glanced across her mind, in consequence of dialogues she had overheard between Hutter and her mother. It might be going too far to say she had never loved him; but it is not so to add, that she rejoiced it was no longer a duty With Hetty the feeling was different. Incapable of making all the distinctions of her sister, her very nature was full of affection, and she had loved her reputed parent, though far less tenderly than the real parent; and it grieved her, now, to hear him declare he was not naturally entitled to that love. She felt a double grief, as if his death and his words together were twice depriving her of parents. Yielding to her feelings, the poor girl went aside and wept.
The very opposite emotions of the two girls kept both silent for a long time. Judith gave water to the sufferer frequently, and she forbore to urge him with questions, in some measure out of consideration for his condition; but, if truth must be said, quite as much lest something he should add, in the way of explanation, might disturb her pleasing belief that she was not Thomas Hutter’s child. At length Hetty dried her tears, and came and seated herself on a stool by the side of the dying man, who had been placed at his length on the floor, with his head supported by some worn vestments that had been left in the house.
“Father,” she said, “you will let me call you father, though you say you are not one—father, shall I read the Bible to you—mother always said the Bible was good for people in trouble. She was often in trouble herself, and then she made me read the Bible to her—for Judith wasn’t as fond of the Bible as I am—and it always did her good. Many is the time I’ve known mother begin to listen with the tears streaming from her eyes, and end with smiles and gladness. O! father, you don’t know how much good the Bible can do, for you’ve never tried it; now, I’ll read a chapter, and it will soften your heart, as it softened the hearts of the Hurons.”
While poor Hetty had so much reverence for, and faith in, the virtue of the Bible, her intellect was