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Hagar.

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CHAPTER I.

Ohio was among the first and most valiant of the sisterhood of loyal States in sending her sons as a free sacrifice to the fields of strife when treason and rebellion threatened the life of the nation. And, though she was already deeply stricken by her losses at Shiloh, Donelson, and on the battle-grounds of Virginia, the shadow of bereavement had not yet settled on her fair face, for the swath that was marked in the plans of fate had not yet been cut through her serried ranks.

The fumes, the din, the horror, and the desolation of battle, had happily been kept far from her. She had experienced the anguish that evil tidings bring; the alarm born of rumor—but these had only strengthened her in the stern and prayerful determination that the Union must prevail.

The customary life of the more northerly cities and towns of the state had been but little altered by the progress of the war, but the country was already becoming stripped of its young men to such an extent that in some places the ripe crops had not been harvested and many homesteads seemed deserted.

At Cleveland and in the surrounding country the weather was bright and balmy. In the city there were unwonted life and activity. Mad speculation, political rancor, war preparation, and social frivolity, each drew to itself its legion of devotees; but nearly all these in due time brought their tributes to the altar of Patriotism; and Morality, which, like other blessings of freedom, is ever assailed by war, was not dethroned.

Along the country road near Cleveland on a pleasant Sunday afternoon in the autumn of 1862, the forest and fruit trees in their sombre tints, swayed in the wind, and their leaves were beginning to fall like tears they shed for the departing summer. Birds were flitting about noisily in the apple trees, on which some of the winter varieties still hung; the merry little songsters fluttered and whirred around in coveys, chirping loudly as if busy with their preparations for migration to the Southern lands.

This section of the road was a narrow turnpiked lane, and for the space of more than a mile there were no houses near it. The fields on each side were covered with the stubble of cereals, while here and there were long rows of corn shocks, and golden sheaves of wheat still standing on the ground awaiting laborers. It was one of the best roads leading to Cleveland from the Elyria toll road, and like others which crossed it at regular intervals, was closely fenced, and shaded by rows of well-grown poplars and cotton woods. There was but little traffic along those roads on Sundays, and even more than the customary quiet of Sunday in the country seemed to prevail there to-day.

A young man on foot, shabbily dressed, was the only visible traveller. In his right hand he carried a staff which seemed suited either for walking or for defence, and in his left a gaunt looking carpet bag. Though he seemed weary, he held on his way with head erect and with a resolute expression. There was something interesting about his appearance. From his innocence of beard he might have been taken for a youth of seventeen or eighteen, but his serious features and the expression of his dark eyes suggested more years.

He paused to drink at a clear brook under the shade of some tall cotton-woods, and then, after glancing up and down the road to assure himself that no one was coming, sat down on the grassy bank and began bathing his tired feet in the stream. Hardly a minute passed before he was startled by the voice of a woman crying piteously for “help!” It sounded close by as if in one of the adjoining fields, but it was suddenly hushed and he had nothing to guide him towards what he thought must be a fellow-creature in distress. He was disturbed, for, though he made no pretentions to knight-errantry, that piercing scream had thrilled him as he had never before been thrilled. Barefooted as he was he grasped his staff and ran to the first cross-lane. He at first saw nothing suspicious, and was about to turn back when he caught sight of something moving between the trees of a hedge-row in the lane, and ran with all speed in that direction. Of a sudden he came upon a burly-looking man with full black beard dragging a young woman through the bushes with his hand clasped over her mouth. His brain reeled at the thought that a murder was about to be committed before his eyes; but his heart was strong, and he plunged through the thicket. The ruffian, finding himself pursued, flushed with rage and nearly dropped his burden, but seeing that the stripling was so much his inferior in physical power, he gritted his teeth and exclaimed with an oath,

“Go your way, boy, or I’ll murder you!”

The girl was gasping for breath, and struggling with the energy of despair by which she disengaged his hand for an instant and shrieked in terror. At this the young man sprang forward, his bare feet lacerated by the briars and stubble, and dealt her assailant a blow with his staff. The stroke must have been weakened by the pain he was suffering, for the man warded it off as if it had been a rush. He let go his hold on his captive, and sprang upon the young man like a tiger, crushing him to the earth. The girl staggered a moment, being almost suffocated with fright; but seeing her defender in imminent danger she seized the staff he had let fall, and, unseen by either of the combatants who were clutched in a death struggle, dealt the man such a well-directed and nervous blow across the back of the head that he rolled over and quivered as if he had been shot. The traveller saw what she had done as he sprang to his feet but little hurt: she dropped the staff and was sinking to the ground when he ran to support her. He raised her to her feet and as the tears came to her relief, she gasped:

“Oh! take me home, take me home! I feel that I shall die!”

“No you shan’t, Miss. Come, I’ll take you home and you shan’t die. You are quite safe now, so don’t be afraid.” As he spoke he stooped over his prostrate enemy and took from under his coat a sharp dagger in a leather sheath. The blade was about eight inches long and in the struggle the ruffian had partly drawn it from the scabbard. There were two letters roughly cut on the bone handle, and the traveller put it into his pocket as a trophy of his first battle. He then urged the young girl to summon up her strength as the man on the ground began to show signs of life. She was anxious enough to be gone, but for some moments was afflicted with a kind of paralysis like that experienced in dreams.

The delay seemed long and dangerous to the young man, though in fact it only amounted to a few seconds, and he was glad to find his way back to the road with the maiden he had rescued walking by his side. Great was his satisfaction that the enemy did not reappear.

He knew by the description she gave that he had passed her home perhaps three-quarters of a mile to the westward, and he hurriedly put on his shoes to accompany her thither. When she had partly recovered from her fright she related the circumstances of the attack. She had gone into town with her father in the morning to attend church, and as he was detained for a special meeting in the evening she thought she would walk home alone as she had often done. She first noticed the man who had assaulted her soon after passing through the suburbs of the city, but had anticipated no danger, and continued on her way. The man must have followed her by another road, for she had not seen him again until he came towards her suddenly from the lane where she was rescued. This was all, she said, except that it was evident to her that Heaven had sent the traveller to save her at a moment when she felt that she was lost.

“Perhaps so,” he said, dryly, as he looked back in the direction of his enemy, and wondered whether the law would ever punish him as he deserved. “I must try to find that villain and put justice on his track,” he added presently. The difficulty of realizing his wish fully presented itself to his mind, and he walked on in silence until they came in sight of a large and handsomely built house on the left side of the road, situated in a grove of chestnuts and fruit trees. An avenue of poplars extended from the gate to the house, and on both sides were wide closely-mown lawns cut into a garden landscape of flower-beds, shrubbery and evergreens.

The traveller had already guessed from the manner and the attire of his protegee, that she belonged to a good family, and now he gazed with deepened interest at the pleasant home he had passed with indifference a short time before.

He opened the gate for her and she entered, but he remained outside. She was visibly embarrassed, and stammered as she said:—

“Will you not come in and rest?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, closing the gate and stepping back—“I must hurry into the city.”

“My father is the Rev. Dr. Taine—I would urge you to come in now if he were here to thank you. But when he is away I have no friends here—you will pardon me?————”

“Don’t apologize, Miss—it’s all right. I should refuse to come in now in any case—I shall be late. But I may see you and your friends at another time. As to what I’ve done for you I don’t want any thanks; I’m glad I’ve had the honor to be of service to you, though sorry enough for your suffering. And now I must bid you good day.”

Their eyes met, his full of serious candor, hers expressing a wistful embarrassment, as he raised his hat in salute and resumed his walk towards Cleveland.

The young girl’s lips moved as though she were trying to speak, but without uttering a word she pressed her handkerchief to her eyes and went slowly up the avenue.

Before she reached the house Mrs. Taine appeared on the verandah and called to her. This was an elderly woman with thin features, and a sharp pair of cat-like eyes staring out of gold-rimmed spectacles. She was annoyed that Hagar did not answer, and called to her again with spiteful emphasis.

“Answer me at once, Miss! What’s the meaning of this? Who was that man at my gate with you?”

“Oh! Mrs. Taine”—said the young girl faintly between her sobs as she threw herself despondently on the verandah steps.

In a moment Mrs. Taine had imagined a drama of youthful indiscretion and folly. Here was proof positive, of what she had long suspected, that Hagar was a forward young woman and a flirt.

“Don’t call me “Mrs.” hussy! how dare you call me “Mrs.” she exclaimed with energy. This verbal slip on the part of Hagar was another proof as strong as holy writ that it was Mrs. Taine’s duty to corner her there and then. She had recently got a notion, nobody knew how or where, that “Madam” sounded more dignified than “Mrs.” and insisted on that title in its abbreviated form, from those who were beholden to her.

“Come,” said she, taking hold of Hagar’s arm—“out with it—who was it—for I declare he looked like a pedlar from my window.”

“He was an entire stranger, Ma’am Taine————”

“Oh! my gracious! another blackguard acquaintance ey! What next, I wonder!”

“I had a dreadful fright—a man attacked”—she was anxious to hit upon an explanation of an incident which she felt it would be difficult to account for to the satisfaction of her present audience; but Mrs. Taine interrupted her at every word.

“A fright! you don’t say so! And were you so frightened that you didn’t know better than to take up with a strange man, pray?”

“I would tell you what I mean in a few words if you would permit me,” said Hagar in a voice which indicated both humility and fear. But Mrs. Taine wanted a confession in accord with her preconceived theory and strove to abase her victim by a storm of words, in the midst of which Hagar retreated to the sitting-room, whither the old lady promptly followed her.

Mrs. Taine settled herself in an easy chair near the grate and cast an inquisitorial glance at Hagar, who had taken a book from the table and was listlessly turning the leaves.

“I’m ready to hear what you’ve got to say Miss Romancer, but mind, I shall believe only as much of it as I like, for the girls of these days are given to fabricating yarns of a very different kind from those I spun at your age. I know your weakness, so do not think to impose on my credulity.”

Hagar was silent, and kept her eyes bent upon her book, uncertain what to say. After a moment’s pause she started to quit the room.

“Well, hussy, well? what’s come over you? How dare you turn your back upon me and not reply. Such brazenness! But I know who to thank for all this. I knew by your nature and conduct as a child, what you would be when you thought yourself a woman—I told him so—Why don’t you speak, I say!” The old lady spoke with such force and emphasis that her voice cracked ominously at the word “speak,” and made several false notes before it recovered its wonted pitch.

Hagar turned round, and looking her calmly in the face, said:—

“If I had thought myself a woman, as you say Ma’am Taine, I should not have endured your tyranny as I have done so long. You must not suppose that I will make any statement whatever to you, when you declare your intention of disbelieving me even before I have spoken. I never told you a falsehood, though you have often accused me of so doing. Perhaps I have been the lamb too long, and I must tell you I shall cease to be so if I am treated like a wolf.”

This display of independent spirit was a complete surprise to Mrs. Taine, as she had always been accustomed to seeing Hagar cower under the lash of her scorn.

“If you will excuse me,” continued the young woman, “I will go to my room until Father Taine comes home.” She withdrew quietly, leaving Mrs. Taine bewildered and very angry.

“Well, I never!” she exclaimed when Hagar had closed the door noiselessly. “Now she has gone to hatch a fine story for the ears of old Universality. What a position, to be sure, for a woman of my culture and antecedents.”

She sat for awhile muttering to herself and rocking to and fro to lull her temper; then, taking up Calvin’s “Institutes,” which had long been her only source of religious instruction and mental recreation, she moved to a chair near the window that commanded a view of the avenue, and read intently until the daylight failed her. She had laid the good book on the window sill and was falling into a peaceful doze, when she heard a noise outside, and could just distinguish in the dusk that two vehicles were coming up the avenue.

“My goodness! what’s this, I wonder?” She called Maria, and after throwing a woolen shawl over her head repaired to the verandah to see who the arrivals were. The foremost carriage was evidently Dr. Taine’s, and the other as certainly an ambulance.

“Now, I wonder if he’s picked up some crippled beggar to trouble me with,” she said, addressing the housemaid.

She was soon enlightened, for Dr. Taine, a venerable-looking man with white hair and beard, alighted from his buggy and directed the city ambulance to draw up to the steps, and she saw that the injured man who lay prone on the stretcher within was her husband’s son.

“What’s the matter, Nathan?” she asked.

“A serious accident has happened. The “Globe” office has been burned to the ground, and James is badly injured.”

“Just what I expected!” exclaimed Mrs. Taine, raising her hands as if to call Heaven to witness the fulfilment of her prophecy. Though unable to restrain her desire to carp, she yet had enough consideration to lower her voice so it was only heard by the doctor. “You will now remember my words, Nathan, on the day the Misses Mull were here: ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘all these young fellows would rather be in a crowded city where death and the devil are staring them in the face, than lead a steady and industrious life on the farm.’ How often my words are verified, and yet how little they are heeded! I only wish—”

“Hush! Melissa,” whispered the parson gently, “James may be dying.”

Even so it would have delighted Mrs. Taine to remind him of her predictions, but the young men who had accompanied the patient were now bearing him towards the house. He was suffering acute pain and looked very pale.

James had not lived at his father’s house for some time, and for a year or more had not passed a night there. There was, therefore, no chamber in readiness to receive him, and he was carried into the sitting-room to await necessary preparations. He was surprised to find himself at Chestnut Grove, having supposed they were taking him to a hospital; but Dr. Taine preferred to have him brought home, and was advised to do so by the physician who examined his son’s injuries.

CHAPTER II.

The Rev. Nathan Taine was one of the leading apostles of Universalism in the West and had a large and influential following at Cleveland. His early life had been characterized by struggle and hardship, and later by sorrows and cares; but withal, he was what the world calls a successful man and had attained to a position of considerable eminence from very small beginnings.

His voice was always heard when the Union was the theme, and he indulged in many bitter sarcasms against “Copperheads” and other species of disunionist and pro-slavery sympathizers at the North, whom he regarded as a fouler brood than the declared rebels who were in arms against the nation they had wronged and which, he always declared, had not wronged them.

For two years after he lost his wife Nathan Taine remained a widower; but, thinking that it would be better for his son and adopted daughter if he had a good woman who, as his wife, would take a mother’s interest in them, he married again.

He was strangely disappointed. In those days he was only the young pastor of a small country church of the Methodist persuasion, and the only lady he knew who seemed suited to his case was Miss Melissa Duncan, a spinster of about his own age, a leader in his church who was reputed to have both money and brains, and the only child and heir of the richest man in the county, who had recently died. This wife never had a child, and instead of being a mother and friend to those who were left to her care, she was from the first cold and harsh towards them and was regarded by them as an ogress, rather than a mother. While still a lad James had gone out and worked for his living to escape the tyrant who ruled at home, and Hagar had to take his share of Mrs. Taine’s unkindness.

“Father Taine,” as the minister was usually called by those who knew him well, and particularly by the younger portion of the community, was often saddened by the discordant state of his domestic affairs; but his public duties called him hither and thither in such a constant round of important missions that he had been compelled to leave the children to his wife, who summed up her interest and effort by the soothing consideration (soothing only to her diseased vanity) that nothing could be done with them. She blackened James as much as possible to his father; denounced him as wilful, impudent and deceitful, and at one time, when in a towering rage, reported blasphemy among his crimes. Dr. Taine had his suspicions that his wife exaggerated the faults of the lad, but, though disturbed by her accusations, he had neither time nor patience to go to the root of the matter, or, perhaps thought it best to trust to the future for the solution of his difficulties.

Hagar was a little waif whom the pastor had taken into his home and heart some time before his second marriage. She had been subject from the first to the peculiar antipathy of Mrs. Taine. From her infancy she was of an affectionate and grateful nature—not especially bright or clever, but kind, gentle and winning in disposition. She was liked by everybody except the mistress of Chestnut Grove, but especially loved by Father Taine who could fully appreciate her girlish fancies and the promise of her budding womanhood, and whom she regarded as a great and superior being. She sought his society on every possible occasion, went with him on his journeys whenever it was convenient, remaining still a child in sentiment and affection, though almost a woman in years. She had met a good many people but had made few intimate acquaintances, partly owing to the habit of remaining with her adopted father, and partly to the unsociable and inhospitable reputation earned by her adopted mother, who, by the way, would never permit herself to be called by that name. Her educational advantages had been limited to the customary course in the public school at Newberg, a few cheap piano lessons by an incompetent spinster in the neighborhood, and such desultory and undirected reading as fell in her way.

It is, indeed, probable that she had more talent for cookery than for scholarship, for she had certainly made some progress in the former science, which could scarcely be said of the latter. But she could write and speak her mother tongue with tolerable accuracy, and except for an habitual gravity which she rarely cast wholly aside, she was as pleasant and vivacious as the average western girl of that period and, perhaps, not more so. The seriousness referred to began to assert itself from the moment she fully realized that she had no father or mother of her own, and although the subject was never referred to by others, except when Mrs. Taine maliciously brought it forward to wound her, it was never absent from her own mind a moment, and the sad expression in her large hazel eyes which became more marked from year to year as a result of her reflections, aroused immediate interest in those who met her.

Mrs. Taine made frequent objections to her husband’s attentions and indulgences towards “the foundling,” as she contemptuously styled her; but the doctor paid little heed to her unreasonable vagaries, deeming them of a piece with her other incorrigible follies with regard to which, since he had discovered how useless it was to combat them, he had assumed a stoical indifference as the attitude least calculated to stir up strife. If he stopped to argue with Melissa he was lost. Her tyrannical spirit had been carefully nourished and freely exercised ever since she married the doctor; and latterly Hagar had been its principal foil. But the kind-hearted old gentlemen was more affectionate than ever to the orphan since James had gone away, and he seemed oppressed at times by an apprehension that she might be the next to vanish beyond his ken. Her gentle thoughtfulness made her a great comfort to him. When he reached home, weary in body and mind after hours of discussion and turbulence such as had characterized his labors during the last few years, she would bring his slippers and dressing gown, and a cup of his favorite cocoa which she made exactly to his taste, into the library. She studied his needs and his happiness, and brought many a ray of sunshine to his heart when his brow was clouded with cares of which she knew nothing. The stolid indifference of Mrs. Taine rendered Hagar the more devoted; for it seemed to her almost monstrous that a woman could be so destitute of feeling and sensibility towards a husband who was the soul of goodness and gentleness.

Melissa had never forgiven what she called “Nathan’s fall from orthodoxy,” and only her strong belief in the indissolubility of the marriage tie, had prevented her from seeking divorce at the time of its occurrence. She had publicly declared this, and many thought it probable that the doctor would regret her tenacity of a bond which to him must be rather galling. She scarcely ever spoke to him unless to argue theology. She never seemed to think of him as a rational being to whose natural requirements she might administer, but rather as a kind of theological nut she was especially set apart to crack; and spent the time that rightly belonged to the care of himself and the household in arguing that his Universalism was entirely wrong. To prove her case she would insist, at times, during the first years of her married life, on reading whole sections from the works of Calvin and Knox, or some other hardshell divine of remote times whose writings she but imperfectly understood; or, when especially enthusiastic, would bring forth some of her own disquisitions, consisting of “Notes on the Godhead,” “Parallel Notes on Faith,” “Notes on the Trinity” which, together, would have filled several volumes.

One morning a few days after James’s accident at the Globe office fire, Hagar entered his room with a small tray full of nice things she had prepared with her own hands for the invalid. She wore a plain dress of some figured cotton stuff, and a neat bib-apron of her own make.

James thought he had never seen her look so pretty, but certainly never so pale. He smiled at her burden of provisions, and when she had placed it on a small table near the bed, extended his hand, saying:

“Good morning, Hagar; who has had the kindness to order me a well man’s breakfast?”

“Dr. Warren said last night that you might have a nice chop this morning if you were hungry; but knowing how I dislike hearing beforehand of what I am going to have to eat I cooked these things for you myself, and I think if you have no appetite now this coffee will give you one. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. James?”

“Mind? Yes, I do—I’m very thankful to you, for, to tell the truth, I do feel hungry. Dr. Warren was right—a nice chop is the very thing for my case.”

“Oh, I’m so glad, because Father Taine said I might bring you whatever I liked so long as the doctor approved. And you seem so much better to-day—I hope you feel better, Mr. James?”

“Yes—my brain is not so heavy—my mind is clear as crystal.”

“And do you feel strong enough to tell me just a little about the fire while you are eating your breakfast;—how it happened, and how you were saved? Mr. Kilbourne has told us that you were shut up by a wall that caved in, how dreadful! Please do tell me, if it won’t fatigue you too much.”

He glanced at her admiringly as he raised himself on his elbow and began sipping the fragrant coffee. Presently he said:

“I will tell you all I know about it, Hagar, on one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“That you will never address me again as Mister James.”

“But what will Ma’am Taine say if I speak to you or about you otherwise? She says I have no right to call you simply ‘James.’”

“No matter what she says;—I don’t know where she came by such a notion, but you must call me simply ‘James.’ Before she confers any titles on me I want to see her authority; in the meantime I hope you will oblige me by speaking as familiarly to me as she does. We are not living under a monarchy where degrees are marked out with such a nicety that it takes a volume as large as Webster’s dictionary to record them, and we won’t admit an imperium in imperio by allowing madame to set up a petticoat government in this quarter. No, Hagar, we are equals, provided I am good enough to be your equal. I never had any patience with my step-mother’s affectations, and have less now than ever. Her conduct towards you from your infancy to the present time has doomed her in my esteem. But you have shown yourself a little brick in keeping your footing here in spite of her, and I hope you will never allow her harshness or injustice to drive you away, or even to cast your spirit down. Father loves you, and I—I will see hereafter that you are not imposed on by Ma’am Taine.”

James paused a moment and looked intently at Hagar: “Now, then,” she said, “you have become sad and I’m sure you are not enjoying your breakfast.”

“Yes I am;” James replied, attacking a bit of crisp toast, “but I was wondering why you looked so pale. You appear to have missed your breakfast altogether, for your cheeks were always so rosy. Has the tyrant been meddling with you, lately?”

“No, it is not that,” she said, looking away, “but I have had such an awful fright, James.”

“A fright? When?”

“Last Sunday.” She could say no more at that moment for her voice faltered and she burst into tears.

“What is it, Hagar—can’t you tell me?”

“It seems like a dream now,” she said at last, “and I am almost afraid to think of it. I began telling it to Ma’am Taine but as she said she would not believe my account unless she liked it, I would not proceed. I have not had an opportunity to tell Father Taine, so that no one knows it but the two men and myself.”

“The two men—what two men?”

“The one who attacked me, and—and—the one who saved me.”

“Attacked you! what do you mean?” asked James with astonishment.

“I will tell you just how it happened,” said Hagar, wiping away her tears. She then described her attack and rescue which surprised and excited James Taine more than any bit of news he had gathered during his reportorial career. Was such a thing possible, he asked himself, so near a great city, on the highway in broad daylight? Certainly the culprit could have been nothing less than an escaped lunatic, he thought, and he asked Hagar about the appearance of the man, and if she had any idea where the one who rescued her came from. Her replies seemed to offer no tangible clue to either the villain who merited punishment, or the hero who deserved reward.

“All I can remember,” she said, “about the dreadful creature who seized me is that he was very tall with a black beard and dressed in black clothes. He picked me up and carried me as if I had been a child, and I thought I was dying when I heard the voice of the young man who came to save me. He was slender but his eyes were dark, and overhung by prominent brows:—his face was smooth, and his complexion dark.”

“That’s strange,” exclaimed the invalid. “Dark complexion you say, and young?”

“Yes,” Hagar replied, surprised by his question.

“Was his hair short or long?”

“It was long and curly—I noted that when I thought he was being killed.”

“In what color was he dressed?” James demanded with still deeper interest.

“He had on gray trousers and coat, and a blue flannel shirt. I wondered who he could be, and looked at him closely when he was putting on his shoes.”

“Can it be possible?” said James. “Why Hagar, you are describing the very man who, that same day, saved me from the fire. All that you have said I should have to say if I attempted to describe him—the blue shirt, the dark eyes and long hair—the prominent brow—I thought his forehead like Shakespeare’s as he dashed through the smoke and flames, his hair streaming, his eyes flashing heroic fire that seemed to regard the hissing and devouring flames as its natural element. Could it have been the same?—It seems incredible!”

“You were going to tell me about it, James, when I interrupted you with the story of my fright.”

“Well then, I will resume the subject—but I feel certain after what you have said that the same hand that saved you from a villain or a madman, saved me from a fiery death. God grant that he is safe!”

“He was hurt, then?” asked Hagar, greatly interested in the subject of this mysterious hero.

“Yes, you shall hear. My tragedy happened some two or three hours later than yours, which is additional cause for my thinking that we were rescued by one and the same hand; but Heaven knows that I would rather have been roasted to a cinder than that one hair of your dear head should be harmed. The fire broke out in the press room and originated by the lamp-lighter setting fire to the kerosene with which he was filling the lamps. A ‘devil’ who was helping him escaped and made known this fact, but the lamplighter was probably killed, by the explosion of the oil. I was in the reporter’s room on the third floor writing up from my notes Dr. Gall’s sermon which I had attended in the forenoon. Before I heard the alarm of fire, the stairways and elevator were burning, and the entire lower portion of the building was in flames. Many of the partitions were of lath and plaster and burnt like tinder. Shrieks and cries for help were mingling with the cracking and roaring of the fire when I ran into the hall to be almost stifled by the smoke; and some of the typesetters, both men and girls, on the same floor, hurled themselves down the stairs into the midst of the flames. I thought there might still be one chance of life left for me, and realized that nothing but perfect coolness would enable me to avail myself of it. To jump from a window would be death, and the flames were leaping through those I might have reached. By some means, however, I must descend, and in desperation swung myself by one of the burning ropes of the elevator to the second floor, the elevator shaft forming a well of incandescence beneath. Almost suffocated, I fled towards an open window on the right, the dense smoke being momentarily parted by the rushing currents of air which also revived me; but I had only gone a few paces when I was hurled with a mass of smouldering debris to the lower floor. How I escaped being killed by that fall is a mystery. I was stunned, though not unconscious. But I was completely walled in, and could feel the heat of the fire under me which would soon burst through the damp timbers by which I was held as in a vise, and consume me with the rest. My struggle seemed hopeless, and I was about to give up in despair and consign my spirit to its Maker, when I heard a battering noise near me, and a moment later saw the man with the blue shirt and the long hair break through the thin partition and come towards me.

“‘Where is the woman I saw coming this way before that wall fell in?’ he asked quickly, at the same time shoving aside a timber that formed part of the trap that held me fast. I could only reply that I had not seen the woman, and it was clear we had not a second to lose if we would escape with our own lives. Seeing that I was disabled though he was already burnt and bruised himself, he took me on his shoulder and carried me out through the hole he had made, from what in a few minutes would have been my tomb!” His lips trembled, and he covered his eyes with his hand to hide his tears of gratitude.

“And the woman, did she escape?” asked Hagar, who had listened with rapt attention to his story.

“No, I am afraid not; and he who tried to save her missed her and found a less worthy object for his heroism.”

“You cannot judge as to that James,” said Hagar with gentle reproof. “But how strange and sad it all seems, and how wonderful it will be if the same man really saved both our lives on that day.”

“I am convinced that it is the case”—James rejoined. But at that moment a tap at the door announced that his friend Kilbourne was coming in, and Hagar withdrew without resuming the conversation.

“I see Dr. Warren coming up the avenue,” said Mark.

“Then I hope he will bring me news of my mysterious friend.”

While they were talking Dr. Warren dismounted at the verandah steps, and handing a letter to the negro servant, Dan, said:

“Please give this letter to Mrs. Taine, I bring it from her husband.” Mrs. Taine seemed to take no interest in James’s case, and, as usual, did not make her appearance. The doctor proceeded to his patient’s room and found that he was progressing favorably.

“There is a full account of the fire in this paper,” said the doctor. “You seem to have been pretty well in the midst of it, James; but did you see anything of the fiery genius they speak of here in connection with your name?”

“What do they say about him?” asked James, “for a spirit of some kind saved me from death.”

“This must be the one—just listen—” replied Doctor Warren. He then read the following paragraph from a paper he had brought with him:—

“‘When the conflagration was at its height and it seemed that everything burnable must quickly be consumed, a young man was seen making his way through the crowd shouting that there were human beings inside who might be saved. Dressed only in his pantaloons and a coarse flannel shirt, he snatched a heavy bar from one of the ladder trucks, and dashed into the building amid a moan of dismay and a wild “hurrah!” from the crowd. One, two, three—five minutes passed—he was wreathed in fire—the people cried that he had disappeared forever; and who shall describe the hurricane of exultation that greeted him when he reappeared on the very tongues of flame, bearing on his shoulder the disabled form of Mr. James Taine, a talented young reporter on the “Globe.”’”

“That is evidently some of Mike’s work—nothing pleases him so well as a fling at rhetoric,” said Mark, smiling.

“He continues:—” said the doctor, resuming the newspaper:—“‘The rescued reporter has been taken to his father’s house in the country, and the gallant boy who risked his life to save him and is badly hurt, is being cared for at the City Hospital. He refuses to give his name, residence, calling, or any information whatever concerning himself, and disclaims having done anything surprising. Nevertheless, this community owes him a debt of gratitude for his noble deed, and will certainly not lose sight of him without making a suitable acknowledgement of the appreciation and honor it feels for such a hero.’—What do you say to that?”

“He deserves it all,” replied James, with enthusiasm, “and, I suspect, a good deal more. Have you called to see him at the hospital, doctor?”

“No, but I shall do so on my return to town.”

“Well give him my best regards and thanks. Tell him that I will esteem it a great favor if he will drive out here with my father as soon as he is able. Father will call to see him again to-day, I presume, if he has time. He does not know that probably Hagar’s life was saved that day by the same person who saved me—but such really seems to be the case.” He repeated what Hagar had told him, after which the doctor went away, saying that he would report the matter to the police authorities, and deliver James’s message to the most modest of heroes.

Mrs. Taine met the doctor on the verandah, and extended her hand with a formal “Good morning, doctor.”

“Will you be likely to see Doctor Taine again to-day, doctor?” she continued.

“Yes, he has promised to dine with us.”

“Oh! then please tell him that the contents of his note are duly noted, and that he could not have sent me more welcome news—also accept my thanks as the bearer, doctor.” She added the last phrase with peculiar affectation. The doctor, being one of the many who could not understand the mistress of Chestnut Grove did not prolong the interview, but gracefully disengaged himself and rode away.

Though she had already learned the letter by heart she again took it from her pocket as she paced the verandah. It ran as follows:—

“DEAR MELISSA:—I send this line by Dr. Warren to tell you that I have found Mr. Smiles, of Boston, who spent a few days with us some months ago, awaiting me at the Tabernacle. In deference to what I knew to be your wish, I have invited him to accompany me to Chestnut Grove this evening. I think he intends to pass several days with us. Yours, NATHAN.”

Mrs. Taine was elated at the prospect of this visit. She had never ceased recurring to the amiability and lovable character of the devout Mr. Smiles, whose former brief stay in her house formed the golden age of her social annals. Ever since she met him she had been in the habit of declaring that he was the only man she ever knew who was entirely congenial to her.

CHAPTER III.

Mrs. Taine was busy during the afternoon preparing to receive her favorite guest. Having attended personally to the arrangement of the room destined for him, she put on her best silk dress, which she rarely wore, and pinked her cheeks with vermilion, an art she practiced only upon the most ceremonious occasions. Her crinoline, in accord with the prevailing fashion, was enormous; and her hair was puffed up by combs under a lace cap letting little thin corkscrew curls dance out just in front of her ears. The gold-rimmed spectacles had undergone a special polishing, and, on reference to her looking-glass, she flattered herself that the Rev. Mr. Smiles would find her, despite the disadvantages of her surroundings (which, she thought, he had fully understood), entirely up to the standard of New England ladies of her age and mode of life.

“He can appreciate a woman of intellect,” she said to herself as she smoothed down her post-meridian visage before the mirror, “which is a thing these western men are incapable of. And, besides, he is so orthodox—no walking museum of new fangled notions! He said he would like to make some selections from my writings to use in his missionary sermons, and I will give him free access to all my manuscripts. He said also that my thoughts were so noble, and so beautifully expressed. Perhaps we might even compose a great theological work conjointly. I’ll mention it to him—” Thus her thoughts coursed on in a kind of ecstacy until she saw Hagar pass the window. A new prospect of almost endless possibilities was suddenly opened up in her mind. She had long wished to rid herself of Hagar, and it now recurred to her that Mr. Smiles had paid the girl great attention on the occasion of his former visit. She thought the matter over in all its bearings, for she prided herself on always being consistent, and wanted to make this scheme meet that requirement. Hagar never discussed theological questions, but Mrs. Taine had little doubt that she was orthodox at heart, believing she could not understand the rubbish taught by her adoptive father. If she were to let Hagar see that she wished her to accept the minister’s attentions she would be sure to shun him like a viper. Her plan, therefore, she thought, was to seem to oppose, while doing all she could to promote, the frequent meeting of Hagar with the young parson. Such a handsome and polished gentleman, with his flowery language and delightful manners, she argued, could not fail to impress the girl; and, in case of his being obliged to defer the marriage on account of his slender bank account, for, poor fellow! had he not given up his precious time and talents to the cause of his religion, how simple a matter it would be for her to make him comfortable on that score. And that she would do, because it would place him in the position of a brother and a friend who would be her comforter and adviser.

While cogitating these and a hundred other phases of her project she went into the sitting room, where she found Hagar arranging some flowers.

“I suppose,” said Mrs. Taine, “that you remember the Rev. Mr. Smiles from Boston, who came here last spring?”

“Yes,” replied Hagar briefly, without looking away from her occupation.

“I thought so; girls now-a-days can remember a man better than anything else. Well, what would you think if I told you he is coming here again, very soon?”

“I do not know—but is it so?” asked Hagar, glancing towards her.

“Yes; and as he is a bachelor not more than thirty it will become you to be very retiring in his presence, and study modesty to the best of your ability.”

“I should be sorry if I had to study that, Ma’am Taine,” she rejoined curtly.

“Don’t bandy words, but try to improve yourself by learning from your superiors. It would be useless for you to think of marrying him. He is too far above you in intellect, in tastes, and, hem! hem! (clearing her throat), family.”

Hagar was blushing but strove to conceal her annoyance. This was one of Ma’am Taine’s favorite resorts when she wished to be spiteful, and she employed it, as at present, with malice aforethought.

“It is in all cases,” she continued, “best not to encourage hopes that are doomed beforehand to be blighted. You must be discretion’s self or you may be called a coquette with even more reason than heretofore. I am aware, let me inform you, that you have been talking again with that infidel rascal Will Sanders.”

“Ma’am Taine, you know he is not a rascal—and you know also that I have Father Taine’s permission to speak to him, and to see him whenever I please. Since you have made it impossible for him to come to the house I am going to meet him again to-day at the front gate to say good bye, for he has enlisted and is going away perhaps to die for his country.”

“You shall not see him, I say. But if you disobey me I will bundle you into the street and let your infidel look after you,” said Mrs. Taine in her harshest voice.

“No you won’t, Ma’am Taine!” exclaimed Hagar so quickly that she made Mrs. Taine start. “Had I paid any attention to your abuse I should have gone long ago, when, as a little helpless thing, you used to lock me up without food for a day or more at a time. Had I not been determined to stay in spite of you, I should have been driven away by your cruelty. But I have stifled my own feelings, my pride and my indignation, for the sake of that dear old man whose life you have filled with bitterness.” Hagar’s spirit was now fully aroused, and her courage was evidently fortified by the reflection that James was in the house. Though Mrs. Taine endeavored to check this speech at every word, she would not be silenced. And now the angry old lady was almost choking with rage, which she vented in abusive epithets. Hagar put her fingers in her ears and fled to her room, and Ma’am Taine had recourse to a mild fit of hysteria.

“I’ll be revenged on that audacious foundling!” she said, as she recovered herself. “I have enough to tell old Universality now to open his eyes!” She would inform Dr. Taine of the strange man at the gate on Sunday—the secret conversations with Will Sanders, and other real or imaginary faults which she thought would serve to prejudice him against his favorite and bring about a crisis that would rid her house of this fury. This she vowed to do by all her theological tracts.

Towards evening Hagar threw a woolen “Nubia” over her head and walked leisurely down the avenue to the gates, where she found Will Sanders sitting on his horse waiting for her. He dismounted to shake hands, and enquired kindly about James Taine.

“So, Will, you are going to the war?” Said Hagar, cheerfully, as if to intimate that their parting must not be a gloomy one.

“Yes, Hagar,” replied the young man, in a far more serious tone, “our regiment has been drilling for some time, and we are now ordered to the front. But I felt that I could not go without telling you what you already know—that I love you. Will you not give me one word of hope? it would sustain and cheer me, Hagar, through all the dangers and privations I may be required to encounter. Do you not love me enough to give me this hope?” He must have seen her answer in her eyes, for his tone was really pathetic.

“You know, Will, that I esteem you highly; and I will confess that I have thought I would marry you if you asked me; but now I cannot make you any promise,” said Hagar, her eyes bent on the ground.

“You mean that you do not love me—you have seen some one who—”

“No, it is not that,” she replied quietly, “I am nobody and yet my heart is filled with myself; my past, present and future throng my mind with images all strange and indistinct, and there’s no room in it for anything or anybody else. It seems that I have suddenly grown old in the last few days. It would be wrong for me to promise to be your wife in my present mood.” At this she again raised her eyes until they met his with a calm and steady look.

“I shall not be importunate, Hagar, it is enough for me to know that you are frank with me. But I may still tell you that I love you in spite of what you say, that my heart is yours to do with as you like, to crush beneath your feet if that will please you,” said the young man, bitterly—and with the ingenuous ardor of inexperience and youth.

“No, dear friend,” she replied, her face becoming more pale in response to the flush of color that appeared on his fair boyish cheek, “it is too good a heart for that, and true enough to be an acceptable offering to your country. You are laying it upon her sacred altar, Will, and heaven grant it prove a blessed sacrifice!”

“How strangely you speak! This does not sound like yourself, you seem another being!”

“Well, perhaps I am. It is but a few days since I last saw you, and yet I should not know myself to be the same—”

“You are enigmatical,” he said, with a distressed look.

“I only speak the truth: You do not know how much I am changed.”

“Beware of fanciful notions, Hagar. I fear you are not happy. Can you not confide in me?”

“No, not now,” she said, in a sad but kindly voice. “Good bye and Heaven bless you, is all I can say, and that is from my heart!”

“And from my heart I repeat the words to you.” He spoke very solemnly, and taking off his hat, raised her dainty hand to his lips.

“And now, before I go,” he added sadly—“perhaps never to see you again in this world, will you not allow me to say a word to you as a brother? Apart from my love, Hagar, I feel a deep interest in your welfare and happiness, and at this moment I am oppressed by a vague apprehension concerning you. It has been caused, no doubt, by what you have said. May I speak freely?”

“Yes, Will.”

“I have but a narrow experience of the world, and yet, I can fully realize the deprivation you suffer in not having a mother to counsel and guide you at this critical period of your life. You are developing into a handsome and charming woman, and your weal or woe must depend largely, entirely upon the strength and wisdom of your own character. The training you have had in patience and forbearance should stand you in good stead; but an unswerving constancy to yourself must be the invincible shield and buckler which should guard your innocence and beauty. Of all beings, a woman must have a purpose and a will to fulfill it. Forgive me if I have said too much.” he continued with great tenderness, still holding her hand in his. “We have been good friends for so many years.... Good-bye—good-bye....”

He pressed his lips to her brow, then quickly mounted his horse to conceal his emotion, and sped away like the wind.

Some one has said that the youth of the West are not much skilled in courtly gallantries. Perhaps not; but the native beauty of their characters is often a charming substitute. Will Sanders was only a farmer’s son, but he came of Puritan stock, and worked in school and college as well as on the farm before he thought it his duty to shoulder a musket in defense of his country. No knight of any age had a nobler sense of honor than he, and the dear object of his first love was like a goddess in his sight.

Hagar was in tears, but she felt an icy coldness in her heart which was proof against the ardor of his words. A few days before, it would have been impossible for her to have refused him the hope he asked; but now, for reasons she could not explain even to herself, she felt an indifference concerning him which was almost painful. The gathering shades of night were settling about her, and a chilly breeze was rustling through the naked branches of the chestnuts. Startled by the sudden consciousness of being alone, she set out almost involuntarily towards the house, but had only taken a few steps when she heard Father Taine drive up, and turned back to open the gate for him. Another gentleman, whom she recognized as the Rev. Mr. Smiles, was in the buggy with him and immediately alighted. While they were speaking Dan came to take charge of the horse, and Dr. Taine also got out to walk up the avenue with Hagar.

“Upon my word, Miss Hagar,” said Mr. Smiles, who seemed to be in the lively mood which she remembered as usual with him, “you have grown so handsome I scarcely knew you!”

The young minister was dressed in a faultless suit of clerical black, over which he wore a fashionable chesterfield. His high hat, his gloves, boots and silk umbrella, were of the latest pattern and best quality. He was of about the medium height, neither fat nor lean, but having that fresh appearance peculiar to light complexioned people of his type; he looked amiable and decidedly well nourished, states which are mutually dependent upon each other, and supply a substantial defence against loss of appetite or temper. He was evidently an even, easy-going man, too much of a philosopher to worry about trifles, and too accustomed to carrying his point to let them stand in his way. With the air of being thoroughly self-satisfied he coupled a serene confidence in his ability to make others believe in him. But his immobile, fleshy face was a non-conductor so far as his character was concerned, for it registered none of his thoughts and was but imperceptibly affected by his emotions.

His remark embarrassed Hagar, but he deftly turned the conversation into easier channels, and soon put both herself and Dr. Taine in quite a jovial frame of mind by his flow of wit and good nature.

Mrs. Taine was superlatively cordial in her words of welcome to Mr. Smiles, and said she hoped he had come for a longer stay than he had made on the former occasion.

“You are very kind, my dear madame,” he replied graciously, “but I am a sort of bird of passage who never can tell to-day where he will be to-morrow. Luckily, however, I am, while here, in the center of a district in which I have much to do, and I sincerely hope that I may enjoy a few days’ repose in this quiet and delightful retreat before I make my presence known to those whose Cure I am. Then, with your permission, I must be absent at intervals, and return to pass an odd day or two with you, as the caprice of my calling will allow. It is only thus that I can snatch a moment from my labors for social joys.”

Ma’am Taine looked at him attentively with her sharp little eyes while he spoke, and thought him handsomer, if possible, than when she had last seen him. His voice really had a pleasant tone, and did not suffer in transmission to the old lady’s delighted ear. She said that she expected him to make himself quite at home, and that his convenience would be hers if he could content himself with such indifferent entertainment as she could offer him.

In answer to which Mr. Smiles replied that his ideal existed only in the quiet of a country life, if he could but share it with intelligent people. Dr. Taine was silent. He was probably a little weary, and felt no special interest in the polite combat. He presently excused himself and went up stairs to see James. Hagar also disappeared.

The old lady talked on for some time, in fact until she was made aware that supper was nearly ready, and it occurred to her that Mr. Smiles might like to go to his room until the bell rang—Maria had already taken up his satchel and overcoat, and was now directed to show him the way.

“Supper will be ready in a quarter of an hour, Mr. Smiles. You must let me know if you do not find everything to your liking,” said Mrs. Taine, detaining him.

“I admit, my dear madam, that I am passably fastidious, but one would be compelled to invent a complaint in your house. None of the mansions at which I am welcome either here or in the East is more pleasant to me than Chestnut Grove.” The minister evinced some experience as a gauger of character, for this flourish sank deeply into the heart of his hostess.

The chamber that had been set apart for him was a large and well furnished one on the second floor, adjoining that occupied by James Taine. From a wide French window in the front of the room, there projected a small iron balcony. It was the middle one of three similar balconies on that floor, that on the right opening into James’s room. Mr. Smiles flung the window open as soon as he entered, remarking to the housemaid that he was fond of fresh air.

After sundry brushings and ablutions he labored some minutes before the glass persuading his long wavy moustache to take a favorite twist. He then gave his hair a few final dabs with the brush, and proceeded to overhaul his coat-pockets, removing from them divers letters and papers which he stowed away in his satchel. Having taken out various toilet articles he locked and strapped the satchel securely and placed it in the spacious wardrobe which occupied one side of the room, hung up some of the clothing out of his portmanteau, and, after locking the wardrobe, put the key into his pocket. He whistled the tune of some hymn while thus engaged, and finally lit a cigar and went on the balcony to await the supper bell.

Dr. Taine had told him of his son’s accident, but as soon as he stepped outside the window he heard them conversing on that subject. He saw by the reflection from the adjoining window that had been left ajar, and what they said reached him as clearly as if he had been in the same room. The air was getting pretty cool, but the moon and stars shone brightly, and he decided to linger for a time upon the balcony.

“Did you go to the hospital, father?” he heard a voice say, which he supposed was that of the son though he had not met him.

“Yes,” replied Dr. Taine, “and found the young man much better—in fact, he says he can go out to-morrow and that he will come to see you soon. He still maintains silence regarding himself. I was astonished to hear what you told Dr. Warren about an assault made upon Hagar, and to learn that this same man saved you both. It is most strange!”

“It is true, then?” asked James excitedly.

“Yes,” Dr. Taine replied, “the doctor asked him if he did not have an adventure earlier in the day, for he had heard of a young girl being rescued from a brutal attack, by a person answering his description. He admitted that he was the man, repeated the circumstances, and inquired after the young lady’s health. He said the affair ended by her saving his life.”

“That is quite true,” said James. “Hagar told me that the villain had thrown the young man on the ground, and was trying to draw a knife to stab him when she knocked him senseless with a heavy staff. Most girls would have run away and left him to be murdered, though he had risked his life in their defence.”

They thought it strange that so gallant a young man should find it necessary to conceal his name and his home.

When the supper bell rang and Dr. Taine rose to go, James said:—

“Father, I have been planning for an important move.”

“Yes? To California again?”

“No sir, I did not mean that kind of a move. I require your concurrence, and perhaps your aid.”

“You may count on both to enable you to carry out any good resolution, my son. What is it you wish to do?”

“Since I have met with this accident I think I shall not become a soldier, but turn my attention to agriculture. I want to marry and take charge of the farm so that I can make a home. That is now my only ambition; but if I ever attain a competency which will supply me the needed leisure, I shall take up again the thread of my literary projects.”

“Such a course will fully coincide with my views, James, but I was not aware that you had yet made your choice of a wife. That, you know, is the most serious part of the business.”

“So far as I am concerned my choice has long been made; but I have not broached the question to her, because, as I said, I want your concurrence.”

“I would not step between my son and his choice unless I had serious cause.”

“And have you not divined?”

“How could I? I know nothing of your circle of acquaintances, and I have not heard you express a preference.”

“Why it is Hagar I love,—I have always loved her.”

“Hagar!” said Dr. Taine, starting back with a look of amazement. He had not had a suspicion that such a situation would ever come about, and James’s words produced a sudden and acute pain in the old man’s heart which seemed to pierce him through. “James,” he continued, “Hagar is not for you—it cannot be: she is your sister!”

“My sister? Only by adoption; she is no relation to me; and surely our being reared under the same roof need not be a bar.”

“Dismiss the thought, James,” said his father, firmly. “Never mention this to Hagar, for it is most unsuitable—it is out of the question.”

“How so? why do you wish to balk me in this, about the only favor I have ever asked of you?”

“Because I cannot approve of the union you propose.”

“Why not?” he hesitated a moment and then said—“Is there some secret reason?”

The old gentleman shook his head. “What, then, is the impediment?” As his father turned away without answering, he added excitedly:—

“I tell you, father, if Hagar is willing she shall be mine, for there’s not another woman in the world like her.”

Dreading the effects of excitement upon his injured son, the Doctor let the matter drop, and entreated him to worry himself no more about it for the present. He then left the room.

“Oh! ho!” exclaimed Mr. Smiles, “Hagar is in demand, but under an embargo. Good! Other people are always after my prizes; I wonder whose ticket will draw this one?” Such were the thoughts of Mrs. Taine’s guest as he hastily descended to the supper room.