“Does the girl look at me as if I were a brute beast?” thought he, setting his teeth. “She shall know whether I have a human spirit; and the worse for her, if it prove stronger than her own!” “My father, you sent for me,” said Alice, in her sweet and harp-like voice. “But, if you have business with this young man, pray let me go again. You know I do not love this room, in spite of that Claude, with which you try to bring back sunny recollections.” “Stay a moment, young lady, if you please!” said Matthew Maule. “My business with your father is over. With yourself, it is now to begin!” Alice looked towards her father, in surprise and inquiry. “Yes, Alice,” said Mr. Pyncheon, with some disturbance and confusion. “This young man—his name is Matthew Maule—professes, so far as I can understand him, to be able to discover, through your means, a certain paper or parchment, which was missing long before your birth. The importance of the document in question renders it advisable to neglect no possible, even if improbable, method of regaining it. You will therefore oblige me, my dear Alice, by answering this person’s inquiries, and complying with his lawful and reasonable requests, so far as they may appear to have the aforesaid object in view. As I shall remain in the room, you need apprehend no rude nor unbecoming deportment, on the young man’s part; and, at your slightest wish, of course, the investigation, or whatever we may call it, shall immediately be broken off.” “Mistress Alice Pyncheon,” remarked Matthew Maule, with the utmost deference, but yet a half-hidden sarcasm in his look and tone, “will no doubt feel herself quite safe in her father’s presence, and under his all-sufficient protection.” “I certainly shall entertain no manner of apprehension, with my father at hand,” said Alice with maidenly dignity. “Neither do I conceive that a lady, while true to herself, can have aught to fear from whomsoever, or in any circumstances!” Poor Alice! By what unhappy impulse did she thus put herself at once on terms of defiance against a strength which she could not estimate? “Then, Mistress Alice,” said Matthew Maule, handing a chair,—gracefully enough, for a craftsman, “will it please you only to sit down, and do me the favor (though altogether beyond a poor carpenter’s deserts) to fix your eyes on mine!” Alice complied. She was very proud. Setting aside all advantages of rank, this fair girl deemed herself conscious of a power—combined of beauty, high, unsullied purity, and the preservative force of womanhood—that could make her sphere impenetrable, unless betrayed by treachery within. She instinctively knew, it may be, that some sinister or evil potency was now striving to pass her barriers; nor would she decline the contest. So Alice put woman’s might against man’s might; a match not often equal on the part of woman.