At supper the conversation turned on the subject of the fire and Hagar’s adventure. After Dr. Taine had been speaking solemnly concerning the baseness to which a man must have sunk before he could bring himself to commit such a crime as the one attempted on Sunday, Mr. Smiles lowered himself several degrees in the estimation of Dr. Taine and Mark by saying:
“It is very shocking to hear of such occurrences, but they are, happily, uncommon. Whoever the man was, we must admit he showed fine discernment in seeking to carry off so fair a prize.”
Mark looked at Dr. Taine, and it was plain to him that the old gentleman did not like the speech any more than he did. They endeavored to change the subject, by talking about the Army, the Navy, and the attitude of foreign powers; but Mr. Smiles reverted with eccentric persistence to the former theme, and was particularly anxious to have a description of the knight errant who had won all hearts.
“Does he most resemble the immortal Don, or his no less immortal Squire?”
He spoke in a lively manner that pleased his hostess exceedingly.
The doctor described the young man he had visited at the hospital in a few words, when Mr. Smiles said:—
“He may be a deserter, then; or else a refugee slave. He must have some powerful motive for concealing his identity. There are Octoroons, they say, who are scarcely distinguishable from white men, and the black eyes and other points you have mentioned, sound rather suspicious. But, in any case you may be sure that he will expect Miss Hagar to fall in love with him,” added the handsome minister with an admiring glance towards Hagar, who was already somewhat embarrassed by being made the subject of so much talk. “For,” he continued, “young ladies always fall in love with the brave fellows who preserve them from danger.”
“Very true! Very true indeed, Mr. Smiles,” said Mrs. Taine.
Nobody else appeared to be much amused, but the parson continued complacently:—
“On consideration, nothing is more natural. I once knew of a very striking case of the kind:” He proceeded to recount the story. “There is an important fact in connection with these cases,” he concluded, “which should not be lost sight of, namely:—That the young lady who is thus preserved could never know the joy of love at all but for the champion who saves her, ergo—whom should she love if not the one who had preserved to her the power of loving?”
“You would infer then,” said Mark pointedly, “that the lady in the present case must fall in love with and marry a deserter or a refugee slave—an octoroon who cannot be distinguished from a white man?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Kilbourne,” replied Mr. Smiles with perfect good nature, “I do not wish to infer anything of the sort. The tenacity with which this young gentleman has kept back his name is a little surprising, you will admit. But, he may be a Russian prince in disguise, or the son of Uncle Abe Lincoln himself for aught I know.”
“Perhaps,” said Hagar, rather seriously, “as the subject of so much comment is expected to come here in a few days, we might wait until then to satisfy our curiosity. I think we are not likely to prove him either a slave or a deserter.”
“He is a singular person,” remarked Dr. Taine thoughtfully, “singular in every respect. He is, seemingly, neither ignorant nor educated, polished nor uncouth; but there’s something genuine and straightforward about him, and nothing that I could discern, to give color to the supposition that he had a guilty cause to conceal his identity. He has certainly laid us under heavy obligations, and I feel a lively interest in him. Perhaps the thin veil of mystery which now envelopes him will vanish sooner than we expect. He is evidently a young man of character who has a purpose, and so far as we can judge, it is not a bad one.”
Shortly after supper Mrs. Taine took her guest for a stroll on the lawn in the moonlight, leaving the doctor and Mark to their cigars in the dining room. Hagar hurried up stairs to look after the invalid. Mr. Smiles expressed great satisfaction for Mrs. Taine’s adroitness in delivering him from an uncongenial spirit which his suavity and good nature had failed to exorcise.
“To me, my dear madame,” he said, in a tone of good faith, “you are a much more substantial deliverer than the hero of shreds and patches of whom we have heard so much this evening. That fellow Kilbourne, whom I am pleased to note, you do not like, is an awful bore. He looks at one as if he were contemplating manslaughter, and talks like a pettifogging lawyer.”
“It is one of the lightest of my crosses, my dear Mr. Smiles,” responded his companion, as she leaned confidingly on his strong arm, “that I must submit to the presence of that person in my house. You cannot feel a greater antipathy for him than I do. When I say my house,” she continued, “I say what is literally true: Dr. Taine has nothing. His Universality friends were mostly poor when he went over to them, and as I had a sufficient income of my own to meet all demands, he has spent his earnings, which were meagre enough for many years, in the cause of his sect, and to promote the interests of Abolition. The value of my property both in Cleveland and here has greatly increased in the last few years, to such an extent, indeed, that I have wealth enough to see the world now, and to make quite a different figure from my present self. This life is too contracted for me and always has been. I want to live in Boston, in London, and in Rome. I have no relatives except those I have acquired by marriage. So I may as well enjoy the benefits that money alone can purchase, travel, experience and culture in foreign lands. You must advise me, my dear Mr. Smiles, for you are the first and the only man I have ever met, whom I thought capable of aiding me in that way. You have been abroad—I remember your mentioning it last Spring.” She spoke with girlish eagerness that inwardly amused her guest, who was fully alive to the grateful sensation she experienced in the rare treat of an attentive and sympathetic hearing.
“Merely as a boy, when, I fear, it did me little good. I have often wished that I might enjoy the advantages of which you speak; but poor men, you know, my dear Mrs. Taine, must be content to labor on without encouraging vain longings, in the narrow and ofttimes barren vineyard where their lot is cast. I agree with you, however, that those who have wealth have a right to enjoy it to the utmost, so long, of course, as they do not forget their duties as christians. But will you allow me to revert for a moment to Mr. Kilbourne. Is Miss Hagar in love with him?—you will pardon my asking such a question.”
“No, indeed, she is only slightly acquainted with him. But I am glad you have put the question for I think I noticed while you were with us in the spring, that you took a good deal of interest in ‘Miss Hagar.’”
“I do not deny it, but you must be possessed of an uncommon power of penetration to have remarked the fact, my dear madam.”
“Perhaps so, but I have remarked another fact which may be even more important if you are in earnest——”
“Yes? What is that?”
“That she is greatly interested in you. She was not unmindful of your superiority over other men she had met, when you were here before. She had not counted on seeing you again, but I am certain that your unexpected coming has not only revived the old interest but greatly increased it. You might have her for the asking.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And may I count on your assistance?” he asked with affected anxiety which Mrs. Taine readily accepted for genuine.
“With all my heart,” she replied, “if you really wish it.”
“As you are fully aware, my dear madam,” he went on in a low, confidential voice, “the obstacle at present will be my straightened finances. I shall not attempt to conceal from you what my wishes are, but—you know the adage—”
“‘Man proposes,’ and so forth?” said Mrs. Taine. “Well, of course, you know best, and you must decide for yourself, so far as I see at present.”
She was on the point of telling him one or two important thoughts that were revolving in her brain, but she kept them back and gradually brought the conversation round to her favorite topic, the scandal of the neighborhood, in which Mr. Smiles seemed to take a lively interest. The cool breeze which had sprung up at sundown had now died away, and the moonlit night was warm and balmy. Mrs. Taine appreciated the favors of Nature most thoroughly on that occasion, and felt a strong conviction that she was performing an important part in some vague romance.
Meanwhile Mr. Smiles was the subject of a short but somewhat pointed discussion indoors.
“No,” said Dr. Taine in reply to Mark Kilbourne’s question, “I do not know much about him. He presented himself to me in the first instance with a letter of introduction from a member of my former congregation at Newberg, who has, for some years, been a resident of Boston. He has returned on the strength of the brief acquaintance then formed, and appears to be on good terms with the people of his persuasion in this neighborhood; I heard several persons speak of him in the highest terms after he left here last spring.”
“For my part,” Mark replied, “I don’t like him: to my material eye he wears the ear-marks of hypocrisy if not imposture. I should set him down for a wolf and take care he did not enjoy too free a range among lambs of mine.”
“Ah! Mark, that sounds like prejudice. We are prone to judge too hastily of the demerits of our fellow men. The best may possess peculiarities which are distasteful to us, but I believe, as a rule, that they are the safest who take the least trouble to conceal them.”
“I may be wrong; but I profess some skill at spotting a scoundrel, and I should unhesitatingly class this slippery divine under that head. Like a deadly pill, he is the more dangerous from being sugar-coated.”
“He has at least one fervent admirer here,” said Dr. Taine, referring to his wife, “and one who is not considered overcredulous. Their religious views, I believe, are similar (one can scarcely say identical, I find, of any two persons of average mental acquirements.) I suspect that he is fishing for a handsome subscription, which he is likely to find a very delicate point indeed on which to approach madam.” This suggestion seemed to amuse them.
The cantankerous disposition of Mrs. Taine had caused an almost complete suspension of friendly intercourse between Chestnut Grove and the neighboring estates. But, as is frequently the case with people who are on bad terms with their immediate acquaintances, she could show great tenderness and amiability towards any one from a distance if she but received a good first impression.
In the course of their walk she had initiated her reverend companion not only into the very sanctuary of her own domestic affairs, but also into that of others in whom he could not feel the remotest interest. After a scathing criticism, a sort of broad-side of shrapnel which swept everything before it, she paused at a rustic bench that stood in the shadow of an evergreen near the gate, and invited her guest to rest awhile. She sighed wearily as she took her place beside him, and continued her complaint:—
“Such are the people by whom I am surrounded, and you can imagine, my dear Mr. Smiles, how a woman of my highly sensitive and intellectual nature must be affected by these opposite and uncongenial forces. Not a soul, even in my own house, to appreciate one of my lofty ideas; not one that has either the capacity or the desire to grasp the divine mysteries which delight my soul, or to share with me—or learn from me, such sentiments as would tend, in time, to raise them to my level. The men and women of my own generation have all gone mad on Abolition, Universalism, or some other hideous ’ism; and the younger ones are free-thinkers or infidels. Irreligion and ungodliness have thrown the country into civil war from which, it is plain to the enlightened ones of Israel, it can never emerge except in fragments and in ruin. The cup of the scoffers is full, and only the righteous shall inherit the earth!”
The old lady was evidently inclined to continue this harangue indefinitely since she was spurred up to her declamatory pitch, but her companion was rather tired of it. After a suppressed—
“Dashed if the old woman is n’t a copper-head!” he led her gently from questions of doctrine and contemporary history, back to the personal details she had touched upon and left unfinished.
“As our views are virtually identical on these subjects, my dear madam,” he continued after a few flattering exclamations “would you not oblige me by continuing the more than romantic incident you just mentioned of the young Southerner and Miss La Salle? His name, you said, was—?”
“Philip Leigh.”
“Yes, yes; that is it. And his father was one of the richest planters in Louisiana?”
“He is so,” said Mrs. Taine, emphatically, “and the ungrateful Philip has had every advantage that a Southern gentleman knows how to give his son.” The ease and spirit with which she reverted to this subject showed that it was congenial to her mind. She had noted as an unmistakable evidence of his good sense, that Mr. Smiles, though he must have very different opinions, had made no objections to her pro-Southern sentiments. She had long prided herself on being a “Peace Democrat” and an ardent admirer of “Southern chivalry,” though it must be confessed that her ideas were sufficiently vague concerning both.
“I was telling you,” she continued, “that he studied military science in France after graduating at West Point. While there he attracted the attention of the Empress and was introduced at Court. Well, some time before South Carolina resolved to secede he fell out with his father concerning the attitude of the South, and declared his intention of using his sword for the Union in case the states rights doctrine should bring on a war. A quarrel of the bitterest kind was the result, and he came north just a month before the fall of Fort Sumter. He had no sooner made known his loyalty at Washington than he was given an important commission by the Government, which brought him into Ohio. At Cleveland he was welcomed by a few people who had known him at West Point and in New Orleans, and at one of their houses met this Miss LaSalle, with whom, it seems, he fell desperately in love. They were married a few weeks after they became acquainted, and the old saw is exemplified in his case—he ‘repents at leisure,’ they say.”
“Here is material, certainly, for a romance,” exclaimed Mr. Smiles. “And you know this interesting young patriot?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, with a cynical smile, “and hate him cordially! His is a double-dyed secession, from his father, and from his father’s cause, and for such a woman, too! He is already mad with jealousy, and a friend of mine who lives near them tells me it is not without good cause.”
“I should like to meet him. Does he ever visit you here?”
“No; he and James are friends, but he knows I don’t like him, and has not been here to call for months. Hagar likes his wife but I have discouraged their intercourse. You might see him any day at Newberg if you feel sufficient curiosity: but they say he is dull and unsociable; his only amusement being the game of chess, and his soldiering his only employment. You can draw him out, however, if you only talk Union and anti-slavery and don’t let him catch you admiring his wife.”
“But who was Miss La Salle?” asked Mr. Smiles, affecting not to notice her closing words.
Mrs. Taine’s sneers and depreciation in relation to Mrs. Leigh, were altogether gratuitous. She had never been on friendly terms with the La Salles, who were for many years near neighbors of her father, for they had not considered her a pleasant person either as Miss Duncan or since she became Mrs. Taine. They had never been so rich as the Duncans, but were more refined by nature and by culture, and far more amiable.
“She has been an orphan for some years,” continued Mrs. Taine. “Her parents were very poor, but proud, and she was their only child. They claimed to be descended from the famous French explorer Chevalier La Salle. Of course we all know that it may be so, but as my poor father used to say, ‘the descent must have been through very doubtful channels.’ Josephine has nothing to recommend her but a pretty face and certain frivolous accomplishments.”
“Josephine, then, is her name? It is a favorite with me: you did not mention it before,” said Mr. Smiles.
“It is very French, you know, and I can’t say that I like it. Prior to her marriage she was living with an invalid aunt who was poor but moved in the best society of Cleveland. She has recently died, and a friend of mine who lived with her for some time, tells me that Josephine was jilted by a young Southerner of very high family, while on a visit to relatives of her father’s in the South some six or seven years ago—not without being smirched, too, they say!” said she, with that peculiar emphasis and rising inflection on ‘they say’ which ever characterizes the malicious gossip, and especially the old one.
“Poor girl!” exclaimed the missionary with an expression of earnest concern. Then changing his tone to one of keen interest, he enquired:—
“And how did Captain Leigh make her acquaintance?”
“I thought I told you—at an entertainment in Cleveland. There were several versions of the affair at the time—but, though I may not like a person, I pay very little attention to gossip. I did hear it was love at first sight, but some said, on his part, while others declared that she was the victim and he only married her to console her. They are wretchedly unhappy, I believe!”
They were interrupted by the clatter of a horse’s hoofs and the appearance of a horseman at the gate. He leaned over and opened it as if familiar with the latch, and, without noticing the gossips, entered and trotted rapidly up the avenue.
Mrs. Taine was in a quandary. Who in the world could it be at that time of night? Of course she must hurry to the house at once to investigate this mysterious arrival. Father Taine and Mark, hearing the horse, came to the door, and both were as much delighted as surprised to grasp the hand of Captain Leigh.
“I have only just heard of James’s accident. How is he?” said the Captain, anxiously.
“He is badly hurt,” replied Father Taine, “but is getting on favorably.”
“I went to Columbus on Monday, and have had no news except the war news while away. I received the first intimation of James’s misfortune in a letter from my wife. I hope I may be allowed to see him?”
Mrs. Taine and her guest now came up the verandah steps, and the former marched directly into the sitting-room saying as she went:
“Won’t you all come in where we can see who you are?” They promptly complied, and when she recognized Captain Leigh, she gave him the tips of her fingers with icy formality and said:—
“How do you do, Mr. Leigh.”
It was nine o’clock, and Mark and Captain Leigh made haste to go to their friend’s room as soon as Hagar brought his permission. When they were gone, Father Taine retired to his library where he labored usually until after midnight, and Mr. Smiles found himself alone with the ladies—a situation in which he seemed not at all lonely.
At his request Hagar went to the piano and played two or three light selections in true country-girl fashion. Though she possessed musical talent she had lacked the opportunity for development. The young minister succeeded her at the instrument, and after having commended her undoubted taste, which he thought it a sin to have neglected, he dashed off some of the gems of Beethoven and Stephen Heller in truly artistic style. He then sang in a full and rich baritone, selections from several operas, a popular ballad or two, and concluded his programme with a spirited rendition of the Marseillaise in very fair French.
His performance was sufficiently effective to have charmed a much larger and more discerning company. Hagar was deeply impressed, and made no attempt to conceal the fact. Mrs. Taine was delighted. During his former visit he had played for them, but had excused himself from singing on account of what he called a “parson’s sore throat,” which then troubled him. In the course of his performance this evening Mrs. Taine had resolved an idea she had long cherished into a determination: she would offer to make him her principal heir.
Hagar thought that her withdrawal would be agreeable to at least one of the trio, so she excused herself and was leaving the room when she was met at the door by Captain Leigh and Mark.
“Ah! Miss Hagar,” said Philip, “you are a great stranger, and I have a commission from Josephine to ask you why you do not come to see her.”
“You must tell her it is not because I do not want to see her,” replied Hagar. “She is my dearest friend, and the next time Father Taine goes to Newberg I will accompany him.”
“Mrs. Taine has been telling me your wonderful history, Captain Leigh,” said Mr. Smiles, approaching the young soldier.
“It were better untold—I am sorry she mentioned it,” replied Philip, abruptly.
“True patriotism, my dear sir, may be modest, but it need not resent praise, I hope, nor hide itself under a bushel. What a noble example you have set to the rebellious sons of the South!”
“I doubt it, sir,” said Philip, looking the parson calmly in the eye. “Had I a son who treated me as I have my father, I should kill him like a viper that attacked me. The die is cast: I have deserted my father and his cause for what I deem, rightly or wrongly, my country and my duty. But I want no praise at this stage of the game; my conscience often smites me for what I have done. I would to Heaven that I could bury this blot out of my sight, but I shall not waver; my path is marked out, and though it lay through adamant I will hew away while life lasts.”
“To become converted to a good cause, to the right, was ever accounted honorable,” observed Mr. Smiles, urbanely.
But Philip was restless to get away, and made no reply. Turning to Mark, he said in a low voice:—
“Mark, I want you to come as far as the gate with me, I have something special to say to you.”
“Are you starting for the front soon, Captain Leigh?” asked the minister.
“I cannot say, we are drilling recruits and awaiting orders.”
“They tell me that you are an adept in the science of arms” pursued the parson.
“No!” replied Philip emphatically, “like many in that and other professions, I only know the alphabet.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Mark in reply to something the Captain said as they walked down the avenue.
“It is quite true,” he replied. “My cousin very shrewdly sent his letter to a mutual friend in New York, and its contents are full and conclusive. I am to be abducted and carried alive into Kentucky if possible; but, if this fails I am to be shot dead wherever found. You heard what I said to night? I learned the lesson from the father I was speaking of—this is his order.”
“And what do you think of it?” asked Mark.
“That those who are to execute the order will find it too difficult to carry me away living, and to earn their money more easily will assassinate me—perhaps on my way home to-night.”
“Have you such a presentiment?” asked Mark, his face turning deadly pale at the thought.
“Oh, no; not so bad as that. I don’t think I ever had a presentiment in my life, I scarcely know what it means. I have no great love of life, but I don’t want to fall by the hand of an assassin. For myself I do not regard this plot with alarm: but others are in danger. No life is to be spared that stands in the way of my taking off, and what would be more likely than for them to come to my house at night and murder Josephine lest her cries should arouse the neighborhood? Being in an enemy’s country their motto will be silence and despatch, and they will scruple at nothing to compass their design. But I would rather pay the full penalty than let the authorities know that my father has decreed me such a fate. What can I do to protect others without having it appear that I am menaced?”
“I am sorry, Phil, that you ever moved out of Cleveland,” said Mark.
“My cousin expresses the same regret, but I think without cause. In my opinion locality does not govern danger, it may fall or fail anywhere.”
“Do you think the desperadoes are in the vicinity?”
“It appears that they have held their commission since the Rebel reverse at Pittsburg Landing, but have been baffled by my movements.”
“I certainly think,” said Mark, “that the General ought to be informed of this. He need not know your father is in the plot, but he would not forgive you if you failed to let him know that you are seriously threatened.”
“No, Mark: not one word, I entreat. If once it becomes known, I must produce the evidence in my possession, which would probably do little to help me and would brand my father with eternal infamy. I rely on your silence. To-morrow I will write to the General and ask to be relieved from my present duty and ordered to the front. Ah, Mark!” he continued as he grasped his friend’s hand at the gate to say good night, “I wish I were like you instead of the outcast that I am. My heart almost fails me at times and I doubt everything:—the cause to which I have devoted my honor and my life; the friends who surround me—even the being who is more dear to me than all the world—”
“Pshaw! Phil:—what folly—I thought you had filtered that poison from your mind long ago. You wrong her virtue even more deeply than your own judgment.”
“I often think my mind must be diseased, or that it bears the taint of the vitiated atmosphere in which I have lived so long where doubt and suspicion linger: twin occupants of the brain. At times my confidence wavers like my resolution: then hideous images goad me to madness. To seek and find the means of torturing myself seems to be my only genius. But let that pass. We have been like brothers, Mark, and I want you to be a brother indeed to me while I am away. You must take care of Josephine, be her guardian and protector until I return—but if I never do return—”
“Why Phil, you know I am going into the army myself. What nonsense you are talking! You are gloomy and out of sorts, and must cheer up. I’ll come down and spend a day with you soon; it’s too late to try to drive all this rubbish out of your head to-night, so I’ll take a day for it especially. Really, if a stranger should hear you talking like this he would think you insane. Don’t borrow trouble, Phil: life’s too short. A care buried is worth a dozen resurrected. But I won’t lecture you at this hour as you have some distance to travel, and I must get back and see my patient comfortable for the night.”
Until long after midnight Doctor Taine lingered in the library and seemed to be both mentally and physically depressed. Several volumes were lying open on the table within his reach, passages in which he was comparing with something he found in the large book that was drawn near him under the broad lamp shade, and which chiefly occupied his attention.
He frequently paused and pressed his hands to his forehead with deep drawn sighs that were the utterance of a far deeper dejection. He had addressed himself to his usual task in the earlier part of the evening with about his ordinary spirit. But the prehistoric and historic analogies which he had been examining for some time in connection with the accepted doctrines of modern Christian theology, failed on this occasion to attract his mind to the same concentrated efforts as formerly. In spite of his best endeavors to avert so unseemly an amalgamation, he found the heroes of mythology and the personifications of Egyptian and Buddhist theology inextricably involved with the saints and historians of the Church; and, at length, these and all the rest mixed up with the dramatis personae of his own domestic and professional comedy. There seemed to him, more than on any other occasion that he could remember, a delusive intangibility about everything, both past and present, and he felt a certain alarm at the chaotic state in which all appeared. Was it his mind that had produced the chaos, or was it the external chaos acting upon his mind?
“Surely,” he thought in his perplexity, “I have reason enough to ponder! My fireside deserted by the dear ones who should nestle here in comfort and peace, my heart steeped in wormwood instead of domestic love! What a rank and infernal inconsistency for a man who cannot keep order in his own household to pretend to teach others the way to Heaven! And is not this the natural outcome of these theologies? They all strive to compass the world to come at the expense of the world that is here; but if we cannot learn to live in this world, how shall we know how to live in a better one?”
The doctor had long since become aware that to whatever extent the doctrine of justification by faith might be carried in the case of others, it had in it no consolation for him. The conviction that religion meant action rather than mere belief was growing stronger in his mind from day to day, and he had named the fact from his pulpit much to his hurt among the orthodox. He was conscious of some irreligion in his own life, and had no doubt his present suffering was a partial punishment for it; but to what extent could past errors be corrected by consistent effort to that end? Could they ever be obliterated, or was the sinner, like Sisyphus, forever burdened with a woe that will roll back upon and torture him?
“Some people,” he mused, “even among my own congregation, call me an infidel. Somebody has informed them that I read the works of infidels, and that the flavor of those works comes out in my own discourse. I am not certain that this accusation is devoid of truth, for if the definition of infidelity given by the chief of these offenders be correct, I must be classed with them: He says that an infidel is one who pretends to believe what in fact he does not believe at all. Well, then, I am an infidel, for I tacitly admit every day of my life belief in legends and dogmas which I secretly discredit and suspect.”
This aspect of the case was quite a new one in the doctor’s contemplation, and caused him much uneasiness; for he was a true and conscientious man according to his light and understanding, and he doubted not that if such was in truth his own condition, the same might be said of many others in the pulpit.
“Yes,” he resumed, “it is even so. The masses demand myths, and we satisfy the demand at the price of our convictions and our honor, to secure their support.”
Though he had been subject of late to severe attacks of despondency, he had never felt so cast down as on this occasion, and it was after three o’clock when he put out the lamp, and, wrapping his warm dressing gown snugly about him soon fell into a heavy slumber in his easy chair.
There Hagar found him when she came in at seven o’clock with his cocoa and toast. He awoke as she opened the door.
“Ah! I have caught you, you naughty, naughty, old man!” she exclaimed as she approached and patted his face affectionately with both her plump little hands. “You have sat up all night again after what you promised me—it is very wrong of you, dear father.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him fondly as she spoke, and then stroked his brow which she thought was rather feverish.
“No, my darling,” said Dr. Taine, “I was thinking about subjects which troubled me, and I felt no inclination to go to bed. But if you will forgive me this time, I promise to be better in future. How delicious this cocoa is: I should not have it but for you. Do you think that you will one day wish to leave me?”
“No, dear father, never!” she exclaimed as she noted a slight tremor in his voice. She meant to be sincere, but the moment she had spoken the words she was conscious of a presentiment which belied them. She was about to add something by way of qualification, but was prevented by Dr. Taine who seemed to be relishing the light breakfast she had brought him.
“Hagar, as I have an early engagement in the city this morning, will you tell Dan to have my buggy ready in half an hour. I forgot to mention it last night.”
It was a clear bracing morning, and as Hagar crossed the lawn to repeat the message to Dan whom she saw coming in with the milk pails, she was met by Mr. Smiles who was sauntering about the grounds smoking his cigar.
“Good morning, Miss Hagar,” said the minister, saluting her gallantly. I see you are, like myself, an early riser. The morning is undoubtedly the best part of the day, for then all nature, like the human mind, is refreshed by the night’s repose. It is then that the intelligence expands and takes impressions which are impossible at any other time. Have you come out for a walk?”
She delivered her message to Dan and was strolling down the avenue in company with Mr. Smiles when he said:—
“I was interested in the account Mrs. Taine gave me of that young man who came here last night—Mr. Leigh. Have you known him very long?”
“Over a year,” replied Hagar.
“I was sorry,” continued Mr. Smiles, “not to have a better opportunity to converse with him; he seems a brilliant fellow, but I should say he is rather eccentric.”
“He is thought peculiar, I believe.”
“You must make me acquainted with him, Miss Hagar; could I not call with you? You mentioned last night that his wife is a friend of yours.”
“Yes, and I am anxious to go and see her. But Father Taine hasn’t time to take me, Ma’am Taine dislikes Josephine and declines to visit her, and I am afraid to go alone.”
“We must try and prevail on her; and if we succeed, may I join the party?”
“Ma’am Taine must answer that, Mr. Smiles.”
“Then I’ll ask her at breakfast.”
They presently heard the bell, and on returning to the house met Dr. Taine on the porch. After the usual greetings Mr. Smiles said:
“I was struck with the appearance and bearing of that extraordinary young patriot who called last night, and should much like to have a better acquaintance with him.”
“He is reserved and dislikes any special attention, and it is probably owing to his modesty in this respect that he excites universal interest. Still, you can readily become better acquainted with him. Has Hagar told you his history?” asked Dr. Taine, as they went in to breakfast.
“No, I heard it from Mrs. Taine, before his arrival last night. I think his case is unparalleled.”
“It is explained by a simple circumstance: though to the manor born, he was too enlightened by experience and observation beyond and outside the South to be blinded by the sophistries of the Rebel cause. He had long since refused to join the order of the ‘Golden Circle,’ because he discerned the treasonable ambition of its designs; and I understand that he worked with a zeal that was truly noble to prevent the demoniac frenzy of Beauregard which he rightly foresaw would set the country in flames and turn the beautiful South into a wilderness. You may hear some of copper-head proclivities who will tell you that it is a case of captivity to a woman’s beauty; but the truth is that his allegiance to his country was full grown long before he met her. She may be a reward for his fidelity, but she was certainly not the cause of it.”
“The wife of the Captain, then, is remarkable for her beauty?” asked Mr. Smiles.
“Nobody can deny that she has a very pretty face,” said Mrs. Taine, “but I’m sure I, for one, do not think her remarkably beautiful. Still Captain Leigh saw enough of the world before he married her: he ought to have known what he was about.”
Hagar soon afterward found an occasion to express her opinion that, though Mrs. Leigh’s beauty was remarkable, her true merit lay in the goodness and gentleness of her character. Mrs. Taine took offence at this amiable praise which seemed to challenge her own statement, and the subject was dropped.
After breakfast Dr. Taine and Mark started for the city. It was a little after nine o’clock when they reached the suburbs, and as they were passing through a square that was the daily scene of a produce market, they saw a crowd assembled in the open space and heard loud threatening language which seemed to indicate that a fight was in progress. The doctor stopped at the roadside, and as the crowd surged in that direction, Mark stood up in the carriage and could see that a solitary individual who appeared to be struggling for his life, was being maltreated by the others, while the air was rent by their derisive yells and laughter.
Mark leaped from the buggy, and was quickly followed by Dr. Taine, who called a boy to hold his horse. Mark penetrated the throng far enough to see that the butt of the mob was a young man, that he was pinioned, and was being very roughly dealt with. The participants in the assault, as well as the noisy bystanders, acted as if they thought him lawful prey: while the men spattered him with mud or quids of tobacco, the boys, and even a few old crones, were pelting him with potatoes and other missiles, and doing and saying all they could to heap insult and opprobrium upon him. Not a policeman was to be seen. The approach of Father Taine was remarked by some of the roughs, and when he asked in the spirit of a peacemaker what the unfortunate man had done to call down their wrath, a thick-necked fellow, who seemed to be a ringleader, bawled out:
“What has he done! why he’s cooked his own goose, haint ’e boys? He’s a blasted Mormonite and comes here—here into the sacred precincts of this market, to give us his chin-music on that tack—and we haint goin’ to have it, be we boys?”
“No!” yelled the crowd, with renewed energy.
“He says he’s a saint—I wonder who canonized him!” screeched one of the huckster-women who flourished a piece of bed cord ready-noosed to slip around the Mormon’s neck. “Just let me come at him,” she shrieked with fiendish zeal, “I’ll soon put him through the ceremony.”
As yet Dr. Taine had not been able to catch sight of the object of the rabble’s ire. Mark now rejoined him saying that the mob were committing a flagrant crime and that they must summon the police. A man who was taking no part was sent with all haste to the nearest station and the two gentlemen remained for the purpose of preventing what seemed likely to prove a tragedy.
“Come on, my hearties!” cried the coarse ruffian who had previously replied to Doctor Taine. “Come on now; lift him up high and dry and let’s give him a nice present, a coat of tar and feathers! That’s the thing for birds of his kind. Then we’ll treat him to a first class ride on a rail; for he’s a poor cuss, used to hoofin’ it without shoes on; he’s not used to luxuries, but his prophet, my old cronie, Joe Smith, knew how to appreciate such things, and it will elevate the saint’s soul to copy arter his master!”
A wild shriek of laughter was the crowd’s reply. Some of the roughs who were nearest the Mormon, seized him, and carried him by main force through the opening made by the mob.
Father Taine now had a full view of the Mormon, and, turning to Mark, said excitedly:
“Why Mark, it’s the young man from the hospital, the man who saved Hagar!”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Mark.
“I am!”
“Then this shall cease at once. Look here, my men,” he said, with authority, “You are committing a criminal act, and if you don’t put that man down, I’ll make you suffer for it.”
“Oh! will you?” roared the stalwart leader. “And who are you, my fine clad youth?”
“No matter who I am,” replied Mark. “The man you are abusing is the hero of the great fire on Sunday; don’t you see the scars on his face.”
“Yes,” urged the doctor in a voice of entreaty, “he is doubly a hero, for he saved the lives of my daughter and my son that day. For shame! for shame! to maltreat a helpless fellowman!” He was near enough now for the Mormon to hear his voice. The poor fellow was exhausted and had ceased to struggle when his tormentors stood him on the ground and eyed him with curiosity. They had all heard the story of the “Globe” reporter being saved by a man who kept back his name, and many among them knew the venerable minister by sight. The bystanders were now inclined to side with the Mormon, but again the leading bully sprang forward, exclaiming in a mocking voice:
“Oh! you don’t say, do you? He saved your daughter! Did he? Well then, I’ll just give him one for his own salvation to grow on.”
He pressed towards the helpless young man with the evident intention of giving him a terrible blow with his sledge-like fist; but Mark stopped him.
“You cowardly ruffian! would you strike a man with his hands bound?”
“Yes!” the saucy rascal replied, “or loose, either!” And so saying he struck out with all his might at Mark’s head. The latter deftly warded off the blow, and returned one on his assailant’s temple that felled him to the ground. The sympathy of the crowd was so much divided by this time that a majority was in favor of the right side, and before the other bullies could attack Mark, the police arrived and put most of them to flight by the mere act of appearing on the scene.
“Here’s our business,” said the sergeant: “Who struck this man?”
“I,” replied Mark. “He attacked me, and I knocked him down in self-defense.”
“No explanations! You can make them to the Justice. Come along.” He laid his hand on Mark, and the other policeman kept back the crowd. Dr. Taine attempted to tell the sergeant about the violent scene they had witnessed, but he waved him back with an injunction to keep his evidence for the police court. As he was proceeding to take the names and addresses of some of the bystanders whom he intended to summon as witnesses, the man on the ground began to recover consciousness, and the young Mormon, who had just told Dr. Taine that he was assaulted because he ventured to preach the christian religion, pointing to the fallen bully said:
“That man is the one who attacked your daughter. He has shaved off his beard, and is differently dressed, but I know he is the man.” By this time the ruffian had staggered to his feet and was trying to steal away unnoticed.
“It is a serious charge, but are you certain?” asked Dr. Taine, in a whisper.
“As I hope for a hereafter, I swear to you that I am certain!”
“Detain that man,” said Dr. Taine to the sergeant. “He is not only at the bottom of this difficulty, but is wanted for a still more heinous crime.” The charge against him was repeated to the officer who had already, in common with the rest of the force, received instructions from the chief touching this matter. The policemen looked well-pleased with their morning’s work, and marched their prisoners off to the Central Station with a good deal of swagger.
Justice Coles was in his court-room and the regular morning session of his court was about to begin; but he was a personal friend of Dr. Taine’s as well as a member of his congregation, and on catching sight of him and Mark Kilbourne among the rabble in the hall, came out to inquire what was the trouble. From what he gleaned, he ordered the release of Mark, and the committal of the leader of the rioters (who gave his name as Adam Joyce) for hearing next day. Joyce was taken away to the cells at once, and the Justice invited the doctor, Mark, and the Mormon into a private room, the latter individual, owing to his morning’s adventure, presenting a pitiable appearance.
“What is your name, young man?” asked Justice Coles, looking at him curiously after comments by both Mark and the doctor regarding Hagar’s rescue and the fire.
“Spencer,” he replied briefly.
“Your given name?”
“Charles.”
“Your place of residence and your present address?” pursued the judge, jotting down his answers.
“My home is in Salt Lake City, Utah, my present address, a sailors’ boarding house in Erie street, this city. I only went there from the hospital this morning, and did not notice the number.”
“You have good grounds for this charge?”
“Yes, sir, I am so certain that he is the man I would stake my life upon it.”
“Well then, I hope you will be able to bring forward sufficient evidence to convict him. We will give the case a preliminary hearing at ten to-morrow morning.”
They separated shortly afterwards, Mark going to the headquarters of the State troops, and the doctor taking Spencer in his carriage to the Tabernacle.
The private quarters of the minister at his place of worship, were pleasant and well appointed; they had evidently been constructed with a view to equal comfort and convenience. The library was carpeted with Brussels, and furnished in walnut: handsome and well-filled book-cases stood between the windows on one side of the room, while on the other the walls were hung with the latest charts of Palestine and the Roman Empire, and several fine steel engravings of Biblical subjects. The surroundings indicated the cultured thoughtfulness and easy finances of the doctor’s supporters.
Spencer had never seen anything of the sort before. He had only known the naked austerity of the backwoods where Spartan plainness and simplicity are universal for the reason that Athenian luxuries are out of reach, and he regarded all these trappings as indicative of the sway of the “Scarlet Woman.” The contrast between this and the small adobe shanty with slab benches familiar to him, was irritating, and he resented it with vivid if suppressed disgust.
Dr. Taine showed him to an inner room, where he found all the conveniences of a gentleman’s boudoir, that he might repair, as far as washing and brushing could, the damage he had suffered from the mob. All this, to the eye of the missionary, was but further proof of the worldliness and vanity of the Babylonians, which meant everybody except the members of his own sect.
The worldly appliances, however, helped to improve his appearance considerably, and when he returned to the library he found the doctor sitting before a cheerful anthracite fire awaiting him.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Spencer, that you were not seriously hurt,” the doctor said cordially. “Sit down and let us talk awhile. My plans for the morning have been broken up by this occurrence, and we shall now enjoy a few moments without interruption. As I was saying, I knew your father well for several years before he joined the Mormon prophet, and it strikes me as somewhat remarkable that you, his son, should come here now as an apostle of his sect and make me in a moment so greatly your debtor. The circumstance is one of extraordinary interest, is it not?”
“It is as surprising to myself as to any one,” the young man replied, thoughtfully.
“But why were you so persistent in the concealment of your name?”
“It turns out to have been entirely useless; but my object was to prevent people from confounding a personal act, into which I was forced by circumstances, with the sacred duty I have come here to perform. I did not wish to give them the opportunity of saying that the Mormon missionary sought to make himself conspicuous by any means whatever outside his work as a minister of truth, and I am sorry that to-day’s trouble has given our enemies this advantage.”
Dr. Taine hoped that he would not encourage so bad an opinion of mankind as to suppose they could ascribe base motives to one who dashed into the flames to save a fellow being, and gave it as his belief that so soon as it became known that the Mormon missionary and the hero of the fire were one, he would be able to prosecute his mission in peace.
“I shall rejoice if your prediction prove true, but I have serious doubts,” replied the Mormon. “The people of Ohio hardened their hearts against us long ago, and they are not likely to soften them in a day, especially in such times as these.”
“At least, I will promise to do my best to insure you a peaceable hearing while you remain here, for I hold that any man who is sober and rational has a right to express his views in this free land of ours, and the only alternative of the public, or any part of it, is not to listen, to go its way, if the opinions he supports are obnoxious. Mob violence is always bad and generally has the opposite effect from what is intended—it may, and often does, destroy truly good and useful men; it gives color to the plea of persecution and martyrdom so often raised by the champions of dangerous heresies, and thereby prolongs the existence of the evil institutions which, left to themselves, would soon perish and be forgotten.”
“I apprehend that you make a covert reference to our cause; and, without discussing its merits, I have no hesitation in saying that we have always been most flourishing when hardest pressed by enemies without and within. We have grown fat on persecution: that was the Lord’s way of scorning the machinations of the ungodly who injured us. ‘Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them all.’ At the time of the martyrdom of the prophet, Joseph Smith, and the destruction of our beautiful Capitol, Nauvoo, it looked for a while, as I have often heard my father say, that complete dissolution was at hand. But such appearances only belied the designs of God concerning his people Israel, and a very brief period under his guidance was sufficient to render us doubly as rich and numerous, and more united than ever before.” The young missionary spoke with fervent enthusiasm.
Dr. Taine, in answer said that he would be the last man in the world to deny the hand of God in the destiny of men, but that the fact must be kept in view that Brigham Young was a much abler man than Joseph Smith.
“The latter,” he added, “possessed the talent to draw such a sect about him, but it required the character of Brigham Young to organize and keep it together. His move with an entire people into the wilderness that only wanted human labor to turn it into a paradise, was one of the boldest and most magnificent strokes in history. His predecessor had gone to the Missouri years before, but had turned back, and recrossed even the Mississippi, and so what might have been a Mormon empire is but a territory of the United States. The prophet missed his opportunity. He seems to have lacked both courage and faith. But, not so Brigham Young. He is a penetrating politician, and a man of strong and energetic will; fertile in the resources required for the role he has assumed, he is also correct in judgment where his interests are concerned, and enjoys the confidence of his people because his life is consistent with his teachings. Such a man must know, in his secret heart, that by establishing polygamy he has licensed a monster of evil that will soon stifle all the good he may accomplish.”
The Mormon’s eyes sparkled and the blood mounted to his temples as he said impetuously:—
“You say this, Dr. Taine! you whose daughter was assaulted on the Sabbath day in this christian State of Ohio!”
“I did not say it to provoke you, my young friend, and if my remark has had that effect I most gladly recall it, and we will drop the subject,” replied the doctor, who was surprised to see the sudden anger of the Elder.
“No, I am wrong,” continued the young man in a lower voice, “the point will bear discussion; and though I should have no hope of convincing you, I shall be willing to express my views, (or, rather, those of the saints) concerning the doctrine and practice of celestial marriage, if you care to hear them.”
“Let me hear, then, what you think yourself of the doctrine and the practice.”
He began by stating that the doctrine was of divine institution, not only in ancient times among the patriarchs who enjoyed the privilege of walking and talking with Jehovah, but had been rehabilitated in all its pristine beatitudes by a direct revelation from Heaven in these ‘last days.’ The practice was intended by the Almighty as a great boon to all unbelievers, and such it had proved to be among the saints, where women were never wronged by men, because the sacred avenue of marriage was open to all; dishonor and misery, which were common to the rest of the world, were unknown to the people of Zion—virgins were never undone—wives and husbands were never cheated of their rights!
He waxed so eloquent, indeed, in his praises of the terrestrial paradise beyond the Rocky Mountains, that the doctor looked at him with admiration, and was on the point of applauding his ingenuous fervor when he stopped speaking.
“A practical demonstration of the use and the truth of polygamy, as revealed to us,” pursued the young man earnestly, “is constantly held up before the eyes of the world, and woe unto them if they will not see it:—Your cities are steeped in vice and corruption, your homes are blighted and dismembered by lust, the vicious haunts are thronged by the frail victims of married men; but your theology does little or nothing to stop this growth of sin, while ours goes to the root of it;—what you have made a curse we make a blessing; God has given us the key and the power by which to prevent the blight that is settling upon the earth!”
The doctor perceived that further argument would be useless at that time, and gently interrupted him to ask if he had fully informed himself as to the moral condition of American homes and cities, or observed among the saints the beneficent results of which he spoke. He replied that of the first he only judged by newspaper reports and the accounts given by Mormon elders who had labored throughout the States; of the last he merely described what he knew to be the facts.
Dr. Taine commended his earnestness, and expressed a belief that he possessed a spirit to command and enforce success. Though he reflected that it was a pity such a spirit was not given to a better cause, he said kindly:
“You are sincere, I am sure, and I see no reason why the cause you represent has not as good claims to public toleration as many others which enjoy that boon. What you have said has interested me. I shall be pleased to recur to the subject at more leisure. I like to observe all forms and phases of human thought and action with the broadest tolerance, because, by the opposite course, we are liable to overlook as of no consequence, phenomena which are necessary and important adjuncts of that onward struggle in which, I hope, we are all of us engaged.”
A ring at this moment announced the arrival of visitors with whom the doctor had business.
“My daily routine now commences, and I must reluctantly ask you to excuse me,” he said, taking Spencer cordially by the hand. The visitors came in, but he merely saluted them and conducted the shabby young Mormon to the door with the utmost deference. He would not let him depart until he had promised to call often to see him, and that he would drive out to Chestnut Grove next day after the hearing at the police court.
“I will accept your hospitality, Dr. Taine, not because I want any return for what I have done, but in the hope that I may be the means of bringing you or your children to a knowledge of the true faith.”
The Elder’s face was as serious as that of an Indian chief in council. The doctor smiled complacently, and pressed his hand as he said “good day.”
Spencer hurried to his humble room on Erie street, where he sat down listlessly and occupied his thoughts with something rather outside his mission work. He had thought of the same subject a good deal for some days past; in fact, it had scarcely quitted his mind for a moment since it first found a place there.
“I walk by short stages all the way from the Missouri River and preach in more than twenty different towns and villages,” he reflected, as he sat knitting his brows and pressing his palms against his forehead. “During the entire journey I do not travel a mile on the Sabbath, because wherever I am on that day I find a few seekers after truth who listen to my message. But on this particular Sabbath I am carried by force from my lodgings before daylight and driven from Elyria by a christian mob! Hungry, despondent, and footsore, I press on towards Cleveland for the express purpose, as it now seems, of saving two lives and almost losing my own. ‘How mysterious are thy ways, oh Lord!’ And now, the image of that lovely girl haunts me like a beautiful vision. I never saw such exquisite grace—and she, this sweet May morning of perfect woman-hood, owes me her life—perhaps much more than that! That good-natured old minister of error will take care that I have no opportunity to win her to the Gospel, but if she thinks of me—”
He stopped suddenly and picked up the Book of Mormon which lay on a small pine table near him, with a sad look about the bare and cheerless room, but both his appearance and his sighs gave proof that at that time he could find no solid consolation in the text-book of his faith.
“I don’t see my way so clearly since I met her,” he muttered. “Perhaps this is a trick of Satan to turn me from my duty; but it shall not succeed!”
He resolved to forget her; but when he went out to seek a hearing among the rough men on the wharves, her sweet image went with him, and combat as he might, he could not banish her from his heart.