Hagar|Project Gutenberg

“Alas! the love of women! it is known
To be a lovely and a fearful thing;
For all of theirs upon that die is thrown:
And if ’tis lost, life has no more to bring
To them but mockeries of the past alone.”
—Byron.

The preliminary examination of Adam Joyce on the charge of ‘Assault with criminal intent’ did not consume a great deal of the court’s time next day. Soon after he was lodged in jail he had sent for one of those clever pettifoggers who thrive on the garbage of the slums in nearly all our cities, and who form the most effectual barrier against justice that exists in any country. The judge offered to let him go if he could procure bail, but, as there was then nobody at hand who could oblige him, he talked through the bars to Mr. Amicus Fish, the minion of the law he had summoned to his rescue. He chose this gentleman for the reason that he had known him to get many a rascal out of a scrape; for Joyce, it appears, had been a frequent attendant at the police court, and was especially delighted when a known black-leg went scot free owing to some trick or quibble of the legal jackanapes who defended him.

The court-room was crowded at an early hour, chiefly by the rabble who had amused themselves at the expense of the Mormon in the market place, and by a miscellaneous audience that had come to get a look at “the fiery genius,” who, as the morning papers announced, turned out to be only a Mormon missionary, and the first one who had been seen in Cleveland for a long time. They said no more about rewarding him for his bravery.

Justice Coles was noted for a learned conscientiousness in the discharge of his trying duties, and the city, to emphasize its appreciation of his services, had recently reelected him for a fourth time to a post in which he had given complete satisfaction to all except the criminal element. He was an honor to the magistracy of first instance in our country.

Father Taine and Mark came in with Spencer, and shortly afterwards the Justice took his place on the bench and the case of Adam Joyce was called. Spencer as prosecuting witness was first sworn and put upon the stand, and, by direction of the Justice made a full statement of the case, substantially as recorded in the first chapter of this history.

“Are you able to identify the man whom you found committing this assault? Do you see him in this court-room?” asked the Judge.

Joyce had not been placed in the prisoners box, but sat with his lawyer and a number of friends and sympathizers who grouped themselves about him near the attorney’s tables. Spencer had selected him as he went up to be sworn, and replied promptly:—

“Yes. It is he whom I denounced yesterday, the large thick-set man there with the dark stubble on his face, caused by the recent cutting off of the heavy beard he wore on the day of the assault. The name he gave, Adam Joyce, corresponds with the initials “A.J.” on the handle of this knife, which I found on his person while he was lying stunned.” He handed the ugly-looking weapon to the bailiff who placed it on the Judge’s desk. Justice Coles watched the face of the prisoner while the witness was speaking, and was fully assured by what he saw there, that the Mormon had denounced the right man.

“Adam Joyce what have you to say in answer to this charge?” asked the Judge, slowly.

“Hush! sit down,” said Mr. Amicus Fish to his client, in a tone of suppressed reprimand, as he rose with bantam dignity to address the court.

“I beg your honor’s pardon for this irregular outburst of righteous indignation on the part of my client. If your honor please, we plead “Not guilty” and I shall prove in a few moments, to the entire satisfaction of the court, that this is one of the plainest cases of mistaken identity—if not one in which malice is the sole instigator—that ever occurred in this country. My client is fortunately safe from this malicious Mormon’s attempt to ruin him, and the circumstance supplies a striking instance of how Providence protects the innocent from the schemes of the wicked. We have here several respectable and disinterested witnesses whose evidence will establish an alibi that cannot be overthrown: not even the Mormon prophet himself with all his power of performing miracles could make this vile charge stand against a citizen so manifestly blameless; a citizen indeed, who is a favorite with all who know him, an honest laboring man who earns his living by the sweat of his brow, and not by playing the part of a prowling sponge, a blood-sucking vampire, like his miserable accuser.”

Judge Coles listened patiently to Mr. Fish’s remarks, and many among the audience thought that the dismissal of the charge was a certainty.

Several witnesses were called, among whom was the proprietor of the Pontiac Tavern. After being sworn, five of them in succession testified that they were with Joyce at the Tavern on Sunday from early in the forenoon until after midnight, and that he was not out of their sight during that time. One of these witnesses was the keeper of the tavern, who in reply to a question by the Judge said that the Pontiac Tavern was a well known and popular hostelry in the southern suburbs of the city, a favorite resort for hucksters, teamsters and others who were fond of good cheer at moderate cost. The attractions offered consisted of bowling-alley, billiards, cards, and such other amusements as customers might require, to say nothing of the choicest beverages to be had anywhere, and the best brands of tobacco in the country. He spoke glibly, like one availing himself of an occasion to advertise his establishment, and had the appearance of being an assiduous patron of the wares he praised.

The Judge had taken the precaution to have but one of these witnesses in the Court room at a time, and noted that each of them had a different recollection as to the weather on Sunday. Other discrepancies, no less marked, occurred in their evidence except as to the one question of Joyce’s whereabouts. Mr. Fish was visibly disturbed by the Judge’s questions and his witnesses’ answers; but without commenting upon their variations, the Judge saw which way the wind blew, and again called Spencer to the stand.

“Have you any further evidence to offer in support of this charge?” the Judge demanded.

“As I have before said,” replied the Mormon, “I was the only witness besides the young lady herself; but, notwithstanding the evidence we have heard, I am still perfectly confident that this is the man. The rough-cut initials, “A. J.” on the handle of that knife are one of the chief supports of my evidence, unless Miss Taine is summoned. But I shall be willing to confess that I am mistaken, if, on examination by a doctor, there is not found on that man’s head the mark of the blow the young lady dealt him when he was trying to kill me.”

A good deal of commotion both among the audience and among those who surrounded Joyce, was caused by this speech. Mr. Fish was seen to hold a quiet conference with the accused, and the latter made a lunge as if he would like to come near the witness. It was some time before order was restored, and then Attorney Fish was allowed to have his say:—

“Your honor,” said he, buttoning his rather seedy-looking black-coat and taking a handkerchief from a pocket in one of its long tails, “I object, as every civilized man must, to this bare-faced defiance of this court, this attempted insult to honest men who have given their testimony under oath, though they are all men whose word would pass current where the pretended saint’s bond would be ignored. I am surprised, as I have no doubt you are yourself, at the studied insolence of the Mormonite; a miserable vagabond who is, at best, but a wandering disseminator of infamy, the only effect of whose character and teachings is to make us blush that such creatures belong to our kind and pass for men! I need scarcely point out to your honor the drift of his contumacy and malevolence, it is as plain as the light of day. My client was one of a party of young fellows, who, in the exuberance of youth which we all admire, played a practical joke upon him, and now he seeks to revenge himself by denouncing him as the vilest criminal. Does not your honor recognize in this the spirit of Simon-pure Mormonism? I most emphatically assert that I do; and will here confess what I am heartily ashamed of, that I once belonged to the sect myself and left because such was its spirit. As to the initials, the witnesses who know the accused have declared to your honor that they never saw such a weapon in his possession; it is therefore most probable that it belongs to this Mormon, and that he put the letters on it since he heard the name of my client yesterday. Indeed, sir, I assure you that they bear a very striking resemblance to the Mormon hieroglyphics invented by Joe Smith, and were certainly never cut by my client, who is, himself, something of a carver on wood.” (Mr. Fish probably referred to carving quarters of beef on the butcher’s block. His joke sent a titter round the room, and some of his most pronounced admirers even clapped their hands.) The interruption lasted but a moment and he went on:

“This charge has not a leg to stand on; and must my client be subjected to further outrage and humiliation before this court and before the world, after it has been clearly shown that he was more than a mile from the scene of the alleged assault during the entire day of its alleged occurrence? We protest most solemnly, your honor,” continued the lawyer with melo-dramatic gravity. “The mark of a blow on the head, indeed! Who knows but what this latter-day-saint made a mark on this gentleman’s head in yesterday’s melee with a view to bringing it up now as an evidence of crime? Certain it is that my client was knocked down and severely injured—”

“The court is informed of that circumstance,” observed the judge. “And the witness was not the one who struck him.”

“But can the court say that the witness did not kick my client on the head after he was down? I will only observe that the Mormon has taken the wrong bull by the horns; we are watching him and have it in our power to bring his malice home to him with compound interest!”

The judge interrupted to send the bailiff for the City Physician whose office was in the same building.

“If the court please, I will here state that we have every reason to believe that the accused was brutally kicked on the head by this witness when he was lying on the ground in an unconscious state. I am assured of this by gentlemen who are present, and who inform me that the witnesses of the fact may be found if the case be adjourned until to-morrow. I have, therefore, to request that the case may be held over until three o’clock to-morrow afternoon.”

“One moment, Mr. Fish,” said Judge Coles. He then called Mark Kilbourne for the prosecution, and had him sworn. He testified as to the conduct of Spencer after Joyce was knocked down in the market place, declaring that he stood some distance from the fallen man talking to Dr. Taine who was untying his pinioned arms.

Mr. Fish made a faint attempt to badger the witness, but quickly perceived his disadvantage, and Mark was excused.

The judge next called Dr. Taine, who stated positively that Mr. Spencer was at least fifteen feet from the defendant when the latter was knocked down, and that he did not go near him either while on the ground or afterwards.

“Very well,” said the Justice, quietly, after he had excused Dr. Taine. “I find, Mr. Fish, that I cannot adjourn this case until I have had your client’s head examined by Dr. Black. He is an expert in such matters, and I understand you to admit that the defendant has marks of recent injury on his head?”

“Any man may have such marks, your honor, but can they be made an evidence of guilt where an alibi of the most conclusive kind has been proven? It is not because we fear the result of the examination, your honor—oh! no! far from it!—It is because we respect the dignity, the sacredness of Justice, that benign goddess who rules triumphant in the courts of this free and enlightened land, that we protest against the examination of this gentleman’s head, who stands before your honor, and before the universe, as an innocent, I may say an immaculate citizen; one whose only offense appears to be (according to the evidence) that he has incurred the enmity of a Mormon, a rebel sympathizer, whose spleen is tickled by the spectacle of the stars and stripes trampled in the mire, while his victim is ready to give his life in the defense of that glorious banner of liberty! Tried before a jury on such trumpery evidence, this outraged gentleman would be acquitted instantly; but my own anxiety about the case is wholly patriotic: I do not like, in this critical time, to see the state lavishing her declining revenues in useless and unjust prosecutions. I therefore move that the case be dismissed, and that these plaintiffs be assessed in the costs.” A portion of the audience applauded Mr. Fish as he took his seat. The Judge gravely informed the offenders that if there was any further interruption the court-room should be cleared.

He then cited certain legal maxims, at the conclusion of which he ruled Mr. Fish’s motion out of order, and said that the examination must be concluded there and then. Finally he again interrogated the Elder, who had not left the witness stand.

“Can you inform the Court about where Miss Taine struck her assailant—whereabouts on the head? on either side, the back, or on the forehead? And did she strike him more than once? The stick must have sought out a tender spot to enable a frightened girl so to paralyze an able-bodied man.”

“She struck him but one blow; and as his face was close to mine at the time, it must have fallen on the back part of his head,” said the Mormon. He was then excused, and the Judge ordered the defendant to come forward.

Dr. Black arrived, was sworn, and proceeded to examine the prisoner’s cranium, which was covered with short, spiky, black hair.

“There is a slight swelling, and an ugly contused wound, much discolored, about an inch and a half back of the right ear,” said the doctor examining the wound carefully.

“How would you say that wound had been inflicted, Dr. Black?” asked the Judge.

“Possibly by a fall against something no harder than wood, or by the kick of an unshod horse; but from its close resemblance to the effect produced by a policeman’s baton, of which I have studied a great number, I am of opinion that it was inflicted by some kind of a round wooden club.”

The judge was the more impressed by this statement as the doctor had not heard the evidence, and probably did not know what case was before the court.

“You insist that it was caused by some instrument of wood—But why of wood?” asked the Judge.

“Because such a blow with an iron weapon would have cut the scalp—would probably have killed the man, in fact.”

“How long a time has elapsed, do you suppose, since the wound was received? Was it done yesterday?”

“No, sir,” replied the doctor, taking another look at Joyce’s pate, “That wound is of at least four or five days standing.”

Mr. Fish attempted to cross examine him, but finding that he was not likely to elicit anything to help his case, he sat down, and the doctor withdrew.

Judge Coles then summed up the case in a few choice sentences, and remanded Joyce for the consideration of the Grand Jury, fixing his bail at $2,000. The inn-keeper and a well-to-do butcher signed his bond, and he left the station with them.

The persons interested in the prosecution had gone out as soon as the Judge gave his decision. They still dwelt upon the case as they walked along, and Mark gave it as his opinion that while much more evidence might be brought before the Grand Jury, it would be advisable if not absolutely necessary to have the villain confronted and identified by Hagar herself.

At Chestnut Grove, the day was occupied by Mrs. Taine in mapping out her own little comedy. Dr. Taine had told the household on the previous evening about the scene he and Mark had witnessed in the market place, and their discovery that the mysterious young man who had proved a sort of nine days wonder was nothing more remarkable than a Mormon missionary. Had he announced him as a boa constrictor, Mrs. Taine could not have been more horrified, for there was not a word in the language which struck such a discord in that lady’s being as “Mormon;” to her it signified all that was detestable. But after her first surprise had subsided she had occasion to reflect that in the present case even a Mormon might prove of some value. She had been aware that Hagar was thinking pretty seriously about the wounded man in the city hospital; that she had written him a sympathetic note and sent some flowers which Dr. Taine had delivered to him before he learned who he was. “But the fellow being a Mormon,” she chuckled with satisfaction, “has entirely spoilt him in her eyes—at least so it seems and so I hope; but as old Universality must needs bring him here to-night, I will make sure before he comes.”

As early as possible, and when Mr. Smiles was out for his morning walk, the old lady called Hagar into the sitting room and lectured her on the Mormons and their practices with as much gravity as had characterized the Judge of the police court. Hagar looked grave, but said nothing. The simple mention of the young man’s religion had begun to blur the image of him which her fancy and her gratitude had painted on her heart: Mrs. Taine’s criticisms seemed to erase it altogether: For, to the average citizen, the Mormon was as much a social pariah as the negro. It must be admitted that Hagar felt very much disappointed to find her ideal of gallant bravery reduced to so unheroic a figure; but she was rather vexed than grieved by the circumstance, and seemed quite willing to listen to whatever Mrs. Taine wished to say.

Having praised Mr. Smiles to the skies as the most noble, exemplary and talented man she had ever met, the old lady told Hagar plainly that he was desperately in love with her, and had been so ever since his former visit:—

“In fact,” said she, with unwonted kindness in her tone, “that’s what has brought him here and that is why you find me so much more your friend than formerly; though you must confess that it was your own fault that we were ever anything but the best of friends. But, like true Christians, we will let by-gones be by-gones. Mr. Smiles has asked me for your hand, which is sufficient proof that I have said everything in your favor.”

Hagar blushed and was visibly embarrassed; but after a few moments’ pause she said with a faint smile:

“Why to gain so good a husband and yourself for a friend as if by magic. I am afraid you are only making fun of me, Ma’am Taine.”

“Indeed, I was never more in earnest. I admit that his estimation of you has somewhat altered mine; but, if I have been sparing of my favors to you alone, it will be my pleasure to make amends now that you have become necessary to his happiness.” The old lady drooped her eyelids and twirled her thumbs nervously for a moment and then added:

“Of course, if such a man had met me at the proper time of life, I should not find it necessary to do as I now intend. But, regrets are vain,” she said abruptly after a moment’s pause; “As I am to tell Mr. Smiles your answer, what shall it be?”

“I hardly know,” replied Hagar, pensively, “He has said nothing to me about it—he has not told me that he—he loved me.”

“That’s probably because he wanted to find out if you cared for anybody else; for he insisted that you would be sure to fall in love with the man who saved you. He had more hope the moment he heard this person was a Mormon, as he did not think it possible that you would throw yourself away upon such a creature, even if we would permit it; for what woman in the possession of her wits would choose to go into the far West to drudge as a washwoman and cook amongst a lot of scare crows who are fit for nothing better? You’d have to become a Mormon, too, whether you believe in it or not, for these people, like the Jews, are not allowed to take even a concubine out of their own church. You must answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Mr. Smiles will be very unhappy until he knows what his fate is to be.”

“Won’t you tell me, Ma’am Taine, which you think I should say?” asked Hagar, with palpable emotion.

“‘Yes’ of course, you silly girl. You will never have such an offer again.”

“Leave that to me. To convince you of the extent to which I am studying your welfare, I will tell you that I shall immediately deed at least $200,000 of my estate to Mr. Smiles. You will reap the benefit of my munificence, and I will call you my daughter and him my son. My purpose is, after you are married early in the Spring, to sail for England at once, taking both of you with me, of course. Mr. Smiles is a splendid linguist, and was abroad with his parents when a child. But becoming reduced in circumstances, he has never been able to gratify his taste for foreign travel and culture—while I, poor woman, have been compelled to stay cooped up in this dreary place for want of an escort. After a few months in Great Britain, we shall proceed to the Continent, and remain abroad until this horrid war is ended. You can surely answer now?”

Mrs. Taine expected an enthusiastic acceptance, and was angry and disgusted when Hagar declared that she must first ask the advice of Father Taine.

“I thank you for your kindness, Ma’am Taine, and I don’t mind admitting to you that I like Mr. Smiles very well—I scarcely know how well! But it would be very hard to leave Father Taine,” exclaimed Hagar, clasping her hands over her face, and bursting into tears.

“Well,” said Mrs. Taine disdainfully, “whatever it’s to be, don’t let’s have any sniveling about it!”

“Ah, Miss Hagar, what’s the matter? As they say in the play, ‘wherefore these tears?’”

“It is certainly a strange time to weep when everybody wants to make you happy,” said Mrs. Taine, severely.

At this Hagar endeavored to brush away her tears, excusing herself by some reference to Dr. Taine, which was rendered incoherent by her sobs.

“Of course,” said Mr. Smiles, “you understand, my dear Mrs. Taine, that this matter must not be mentioned to Dr. Taine yet awhile, not, in fact, till I give the signal. It is rather sudden, and he will think better of it if brought to his notice later on.”

“You are quite right: discretion is most needful in such cases,” echoed Mrs. Taine.

A look from the young minister was sufficient to remind her of important duties in another part of the house, and she quickly disappeared, leaving the young people alone together.

Mr. Smiles was not the man to be at a loss for something to say in any emergency, and he proved his talent by making himself especially agreeable and interesting to the young girl he had resolved to win. She soon became quite merry under the influence of his lively sallies, and was particularly amused by a verbal picture he sketched for her of himself as the champion of true religion, engaged in a deadly combat against the Mormon heretic, and herself as the fair prize which was to fall to the lot of the victor. She did not leave him in doubt that her own sympathy would be with the champion of true religion; perhaps she was too eager to make that clear, and suspected as much herself, for she retreated so far as to say:

“But, perhaps I am wrong; for, did you not say the other day that I ought to love the man who preserved to me the power of loving?”

“Ah! yes, but we were not then in possession of the information that he is a Mormon who probably has half a dozen wives already.”

It was a glorious day and Hagar accepted his invitation to come out and play croquet. Everything considered it is not surprising that James Taine was entirely forgotten at dinner time by his usually sedulous attendant, who had never experienced so much pleasure in the game of croquet as it now afforded her. Mr. Smiles was conversing all the while in his delightful way; at one moment recounting some strange story about the war or the Mormons; and then, quickly shifting the scene he would land her among the wonders and beauties of the European capitals, of which he sketched so realistic a panorama that the bewildered Hagar almost fancied herself among the scenes he was describing.

At dinner she ate very little, and withdrew to her room saying that she would renew the game, as Mr. Smiles requested, a little later in the afternoon.

On her way upstairs she suddenly remembered her neglect of the invalid, and when she reached the landing saw Maria coming out of his room with a tray in her hand. In answer to her questions the housemaid replied that she had taken him some dinner as directed by the missus, but that Mr. Taine refused to eat.

Hagar felt deeply hurt, and as soon as Maria left her, began to cry. Her memory went back to a time when she was ill: how kind and thoughtful James had been to her; how patiently he had waited upon her, and with what gentle solicitude he brought and urged her to take every delicacy her palate fancied and the doctor allowed! These thoughts stung her to the quick, for she told herself that a selfish distraction had made her neglect the one who had been so careful never to slight her.

As soon as she could sufficiently control her feelings, she went into James’s room and found him very pale. He turned his eyes toward her sadly as she approached, but did not extend his hand as usual.

“I hope you are not feeling worse, James; though you certainly look so,” said she, nervously, as she stroked his brow with her soft little hand.

She stayed and talked with him for some time and thought she had never seen him in such a despondent mood. To her it seemed very likely that he had suddenly become worse from his injuries; it did not occur to her that he was suffering more from mental than physical pain; but such was the case. His open window was not so far from the croquet ground as to prevent his hearing her merry laugh and the complacent voice of her companion during their unusually protracted stay. James had already suspected that Hagar admired the parson, but he felt certain now that the case had assumed a far more serious aspect, and that it was probably too late to speak of his own passion which had been fed and encouraged by her recent kindness and attention to him. He was convinced by the circumstance of her neglect that she felt a stronger attraction elsewhere; but his perception had not gone so far as the actual drama had progressed, and he was astonished when in reply to some bitter remark of his concerning the “detached parson,” as he was pleased to call his step-mother’s guest, Hagar replied with exquisite ingenuousness:

“I must tell you, James, that Mr. Smiles is a nice young gentleman: even you will like him when you are better acquainted. He has asked my hand in marriage—and—and—he’s to be my husband.” She hung her head and stammered a little over the last words, and did not raise her eyes until James spoke.

“It seems rather sudden; but we became acquainted when Mr. Smiles passed through here in the spring. I think you will be satisfied when you know him better, and find what a clever, agreeable man he is.”

The wounded man left alone, his thoughts were all of her: He had treasured the precious fancy in all his wandering, that sometime Hagar would be his wife; and in finding that she had given her heart to a stranger felt an incalculable pang. This parson’s name sounded uncanny to his ear; and his one visit to the sick-room had convinced the invalid that the name was suited to the man.

James divined that his step-mother had suggested Hagar’s course, and he had seen enough of human nature to know the vanity of opposition. But he determined to mention it to his father, as he might never detect what was going forward until it reached a climax if those concerned had any motive for acting quietly.

Dr. Taine came home somewhat earlier than usual, bringing the young Mormon with him, and Charles Spencer was introduced to Mrs. Taine, Hagar and Mr. Smiles directly. The situation was a somewhat trying one to the unsophisticated young Saint, who was accustomed to only the most primitive social arrangements, and appeared in his plain, ill-fitting, homespun suit, his coarse cow-hide shoes and slouched hat, very much like a farm-hand dressed in his best to attend a country fair. The most that Mrs. Taine could do was to patronize him in a manner to add to his discomfort; but Hagar endeavored to be gracious, and Mr. Smiles quickly brought his fine tact to the rescue and soon succeeded in placing the young barbarian at his ease. Dr. Taine also did his part to produce this happy result, and when his protege was fairly reconciled to his surroundings, hastened up stairs to see James.

After affectionate inquiries, his father asked if he would like to see Mr. Spencer at once, or if he preferred to receive him next morning.

“I want to see him presently;” said James—“But, wait a moment, father,” he added, as the doctor turned to go. “I want to ask you if you have heard the news.”

“I have heard nothing of it; may I ask who has informed you?” demanded the doctor, with concern.

“That you hear of it now is opposed, I believe, to Mr. Smiles’s intention. Hagar betrayed it inadvertently to me. I think you will hear nothing of it unless you inquire.”

He found the group down stairs greatly interested in the Mormon, who was giving them an account of an Indian attack made in the Black Hills upon the party with which he had crossed the plains. Hagar was by far the most attentive and appreciative member of the audience, and even regarded the stranger with genuine admiration. His face was smooth-shaven with good features: his eyes almost black, restless and full of fire, played an effective part in his conversation, which was delivered with animation, in tolerably correct phrase, and in a clear voice that was not unmusical. For the rest, he was of good manly height, full chested, and of the lithe, wiry build which can defy much exposure, privation and fatigue. Mrs. Taine thought his head too large; but in fact, it was remarkably symmetrical as Mr. Smiles told Hagar, and the appearance of being slightly out of proportion was caused by his thick shock of long wavy hair.

At supper, which was a plain but substantial meal, consisting of ham and eggs, vegetables, the regulation mush and milk, and delicious home-made bread, butter and preserves, the saint ate with unabashed avidity, and an innocent disregard for conventionalities which amused Mr. Smiles, pained Hagar, and literally dumbfounded Mrs. Taine. The doctor seemed as unconscious that anything was wrong as the culprit himself, and the latter, while giving most flattering accounts of the well-being and the rapid progress of his people, jarred the nerves of his hostess by omitting to masticate his food with his mouth closed, and by shoveling up with his knife whatever was placed before him. The old lady was mentally asking herself “what next!” when to her horror the missionary deliberately poured a portion of his coffee into his saucer and drank it from that vessel. If he had stood at zero in her estimation before supper, he certainly sank several degrees below during that repast. His really interesting talk, his good looks, his ineffable nonchalance, were all as nothing to that good old lady in the balance against what she afterwards denounced as his ‘barbarous breeding.’

Luckily for Spencer, others of his new acquaintances were not so intolerant, and he repaid their generosity by upwards of an hour’s amusement which he supplied by an account of the divine origin of his religion. The theologians politely gave him the floor and offered no criticisms. At nine o’clock Mark Kilbourne arrived, and the party soon afterwards broke up. Mark was very attentive to the Mormon, and presently took him up to James’s room. When the clock struck ten, Mr. Smiles, who was left alone with the ladies, said that he could not think of keeping them up any longer, and as he felt no inclination to retire he would take a stroll in the moonlight.

“The truth is, my dear madam,” said this sturdy young parson who was as unimpressible as a brick-bat, and was also well aware of the fact, “the unusual excitements of to-day have somewhat upset me.”

Shortly afterwards he put on a light overcoat, and lit a fragrant Havana as he went outside.

“He seems a talented fellow, but oh, my! how ignorant! Just think of any sane person believing that story about the golden plates.”

“My dear,” replied the old lady confidentially, “any person who will eat pie with a knife, is fool enough to believe anything!”

CHAPTER VII.

“——— Oft’ what seems
A trifle, a mere nothing, by itself,
In some nice situations turns the scale
Of Fate, and rules the most important actions.”—Thompson.

The waning moon was climbing the eastern sky, and a zephyr from Lake Erie was playing among the foliage when Mr. Smiles began his solitary promenade on the lawn. Finding the grass coated with hoar-frost, he took to the gravel walk, and soon arrived at the gate. There he paused, and resting his elbows on the top rail of the fence quietly puffed at his cigar and watched the wreaths of smoke as they were wafted down the lane.

The Taine mansion stood back from the road some distance, and the level space between was thickly covered with fruit trees the branches of which were almost bare. Some of the trees along the public road, however, still contained enough leaves to obscure the view even in the daytime, and they now cast a thick shadow along one side, in which, in spite of the bright moonlight, a man might conceal himself with impunity. Mr. Smiles appeared suddenly to become aware of this, and after carefully surveying the avenue leading to the house, he went outside, closed the gates gently after him and passed along in the shadow for some distance as if to make sure that nobody was lying there in ambush. He satisfied himself that all was clear and was going back towards the gate when he heard a horse approaching. He quickly stepped inside and concealed himself behind one of the heavy gate-posts. The horseman advanced at a slow walk, and when opposite the gate drew rein and gazed steadily for a few seconds up the avenue towards Chestnut Grove.

“Is number nine,” replied the other, wheeling his horse towards where the minister stood. He then dismounted; they shook hands cordially, and walked slowly away together conversing in an undertone.

“I was getting rather uneasy, parson. What’s a movin’—hev yer sighted the coon?”

“Yes, I’ve been as close to him as I am to you, I shook his hand, and I’ve got things into better shape in three days than I expected in ten. What was impossible last Spring will now be as easy as fooling a wench,” said Mr. Smiles, falling into a careless manner to suit his companion. “But how are Delmy and the rest of the boys?”

“Tip top, sah! jest A 1; Jim Delmy is the man to do a job clean. Them Treasury papers you got him at St. Louis has jest made him solid all along. It’s true we’ve been a day late gettin here; but we’ve got the roads down fine, which is something to the purpose, ain’t it? Besides we’ve all got mounts that can make well on to ninety miles between two days.” The speaker was a wiry young Missourian of medium height and slight build. He looked the ideal desperado. His stumpy red beard overgrew a visage in which the small grey eyes shone like two fiery beacons. He kept a huge quid of tobacco moving about from one cheek to the other while listening to what the parson said, and spoke with a peculiar nasal twang. In reply to Mr. Smiles’s questions he said that Delmy had decided that no part of the journey they were to perform could be done otherwise than on horseback; that they had a safe and entirely innocent-looking camp, and that Delmy was anxious for an interview with the parson.

“But, say, parson;” added No. 9 on his own account, “is there any truth in that air report in the papers about ole Leigh withdrawin’ the reward, an’ sayin’ he’ll jest let the young un go to blazes if he likes?”

“Not a word!—if you couldn’t tell that was nothing but a Yankee lie, No. 9 I’m ashamed of you.”

Mr. Smiles shortly after despatched his friend with an order for Captain Delmy to meet him at the same place at ten o’clock the following evening, by which time he hoped to have a definite plan mapped out; and when the receding clatter of the horse’s hoofs had died away, the parson strode leisurely back to the house. Lights were still burning in some of the rooms up stairs, and he found Mrs. Taine awaiting him in the sitting-room, where she had fallen asleep with a heavy theological volume on her lap. She roused herself with an effort as he entered the room; but he pretended not to notice that Morpheus had interrupted her divinity, and said:—

“I was reading a little; but I am very tired to-night and should have gone to bed but that I have something to say to you.” By this time Mr. Smiles had thrown off his overcoat, and stretched his well-formed person in a comfortable attitude on the old-fashioned lounge.

“You have no occasion to be. My interest in you is more deep and sincere than I have ever felt for any other being, and I can see, as nobody else can, that you are uneasy. You have not, I am afraid, formed a correct estimate of my character.” As she said this she took a chair nearer the lounge and placed it so that she might speak in a low voice quite near her companion’s ear. “I know what it is,” she continued, “you see how partial Dr. Taine is towards the Mormon, and you think Hagar may have a lurking tendency in that direction. Still, such fears are uncomplimentary to me, and prove that you have failed to appreciate the depth of my affection—the strength of my purpose.”

Mr. Smiles felt some uncertainty as to the old lady’s meaning, but replied blandly:

“No, no, my dear friend, do not imagine such a thing; I need no assurance that I can fully rely upon you.”

“You candidly believe that in spite of all opposition from whatever quarter I will secure the result you desire?” she asked with singular eagerness.

“Indeed, yes!” he exclaimed, in a manner to convince her. “I am so far satisfied of this that I am ready to adopt a course which is rarely a safe one as this world goes. I am going to trust wholly to your friendship, and leave nothing to depend upon my own poor merit.” The young minister was half expecting a declaration of undying love from the old lady herself; he had known of such cases, and was prepared to make the best of the dilemma; but she merely passed her hand gently along his forehead and settled back in her chair with a deep sigh.

“But, speaking of the Mormon,” said he, in a voice as nicely modulated as that of a clever actor, “do you know I almost feel that he has a prior claim to the lovely girl he rendered such gallant service? I don’t know but I ought to give up the contest in his favor.”

“No, that you shall not! I know your modest and generous nature, but in this case, at least, it shall not avail you to your own irreparable loss. You fell in love with Hagar when you met her last spring. I knew it perfectly well. This circumstance has opened up a future for me as well as for you, if you are but steadfast to your purpose. The small portion of your society which I should enjoy as an elder sister—or—”(she found it necessary to clear her throat)—“or as a mother, if you prefer it, would amply repay me for all that I can do to promote your interests and happiness, and to place you in a position of immediate independence.”

He attempted to say something by way of gratitude, but she would not be interrupted until she had stated her determination to make him the heir to all she possessed.

“But, it is too much—too much, my dear madam. How can I ever accept so great, and so undeserved—”

“Please allow me to finish what I have to say, for nothing can turn me from my purpose. My property is all in my own name and right, and I am determined that it shall not go to my husband’s family. Your kin to me is so far only spiritual, which I deem the best of kin—you alone can inherit from me. All this and more I have planned, and the plan must be carried out.”

“There is a mystery about Miss Hagar’s parentage of which you promised to inform me. Knowing the facts shall not alter my determination to abide by your wishes, for I do not believe that a man can devote himself too singly and entirely to so true a friend.” He reverently took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

Affecting a momentary confusion, she replied:—“On the faith of that promise I will tell you all I know about this strange case.” She drew her chair a little nearer, and after a glance around the room to make sure that they were quite alone, continued in a voice that was little louder than a whisper:

“When I married Nathan Taine his former wife had been dead about three years, and I found in his house, (a small place a mile beyond here) his son James, and this girl, a babe only a few months old. She was represented to me as a foundling who had been taken in by Dr. Taine during my engagement to him, but while I was away visiting friends in Boston. My husband seemed very reticent about her, but at last I obtained the following account from a servant girl who was then employed on the place, and who has since married and gone out west. Early one morning, she said, the gardener was going about his work when he heard a baby crying near a deep pond at the farther end of the orchard. Running to the spot he found the tiny thing bundled up in a thick shawl, lying under a tree, and took it at once to the house. As an elderly woman who then kept the doctor’s house was unwrapping it, this card fell on the floor.” She handed him a square bit of cardboard, yellow with age, but otherwise in a good state of preservation. The writing on it was perfectly clear and distinct, but was the work of a cramped and inexperienced hand. He read it audibly:

“I could not murder her as I do myself. May her life not be cursed as her mother’s was. Name her Hagar, the forsaken one—it may be fortunate—mine was Hope, and brought me only misery. God pity us!”

“How strange, how pitiful!” exclaimed the parson with a real touch of sympathy in his voice. “But was the poor mother never found?”

“No:—it is supposed she drowned herself in the pond, and that her body is to this day concealed in some of its recesses; for it is very deep, and the sides and bed are composed of ledges and broken shelves of lime-stone. I sometimes almost love the girl myself when I think of that dreary episode,” added Mrs. Taine, raising her handkerchief to her eyes.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was shortly before noon on the fairest of autumn days when Mr. Smiles rode into the quiet village of Newberg, and the first sight that attracted his attention was a squad of some 200 recruits who were performing military evolutions in the vacant square adjoining the small church and school-house. The fact that these smooth-faced boys were being trained to kill and be killed, did not interest him in the least, for his mind was preoccupied with the expected meeting with Captain Leigh, and more particularly with the anticipation of seeing the young officer’s wife, who, he had no doubt, was formerly an intimate acquaintance of his own.

“She will not know me,” he reflected as he slowly approached the square, “for I saw her last in ’54, and am greatly changed—but, if she should, she dare not speak.”

Philip had recognized the parson as he drew near, and stepped out to greet him. They shook hands and Mr. Smiles said in his pleasant style:

“As I was passing this way I thought I would give myself the pleasure of a call at your house, Captain Leigh; but I fear you are too much occupied?”

“No, not at all,” replied Philip, cordially, “these are two companies that have been raised by private enterprise, and I have been inspecting them before sending them forward for enrollment in the Federal armies. If you will wait one moment I’ll show you where I live.”

Smiles dismounted and stood stroking the arched neck of his horse while the Captain gave his final directions to the volunteer officers who presently formed their companies in marching order and took the road back to Cleveland. Philip then rejoined him, and they walked together down a grassy lane to the left of the school-house.

“And is all this drama in the newspapers quite true, then? I have been curious to ask James about it.”

“Yes, I believe so,” replied Mr. Smiles. “We now have the young Mormon at Chestnut Grove, and a prejudiced observer might be pardoned for expressing his opinion that in this case Heaven had selected a curious instrument for its miracles.” The minister spoke satirically, and Philip smiled at the conceit. “It now appears that he wants to marry Miss Hagar,” he added.

“It is said that there is another aspirant for Hagar’s hand. Of course you have heard that also?” asked Philip.

“No, I can’t say that I have; but I should pity any Christian who entered such a contest against a Mormon and came off second best.”

“Well,” replied Captain Leigh, rather pensively, “I think Miss Taine a fine young woman, and I hope a bright and happy future is in store for her—such a future as could not be found in a Mormon harem.”

They had now reached a gate in a whitewashed picket fence and Mr. Smiles made mental observation of the salient features of the locality for future use. The house was a one story frame cottage built in a neat style, and like most residences in the village, was ensconced amidst an orchard of fruit trees well back from the street. A few hardy flowers were still in blossom in the beds beside the gravel walk, and a portion of the porch was festooned by a graceful creeper trained upon a wicker trellis. Mr. Smiles also noted, with satisfaction that there was not a house on the opposite side of the street, and that the nearest neighbor was distant a good stone’s throw. The Captain’s boy was seen hurrying towards them from the barn-yard gate which was a little further along, and they paused until he came and took charge of Mr. Smiles’s horse. They were discussing the Mormon as they approached the house, but dropped the subject instanter when they met Mrs. Leigh face to face at the cottage door. Josephine was surprised to see the fashionable stranger. Philip introduced Mr. Smiles as the gentleman he had met the other evening at Dr. Taine’s, and she received him with that frank and gracious courtesy so characteristic of Western women, which places the stranger at once in a comfortable and easy frame of mind. Mr. Smiles was not less self-possessed, and while indulging in such polite common-places as he thought suitable from a young and handsome bachelor minister, he recognized Mrs. Leigh as the former Miss Josephine La Salle whose acquaintance he had made in the South many years before.

She was beautiful when he had first met her, but he was amazed by the spell which her present charms threw over him. With a quick glance he surveyed her: Her exquisite form was lithe as a leopard’s; her complexion ideally fair and enhanced by a sentiment of rose-tint like a blush on a lily, if such could be. Her wavy tresses clustered about a brow and head as perfect as a Greek statue.

“She was then the bud not fully blown,” thought Mr. Smiles,—“She is now the perfect flower.”

For a time he let the conversation drift along as it would, all the while keeping a secret watch on Josephine to note if she betrayed the faintest sign of recognition. Puzzled and interested by her sweet unconsciousness as she worked away at her embroidery, he finally mentioned the intended visit of Mrs. Taine and Hagar, and turned a neat compliment regarding the latter.

“I have always been very fond of Hagar and used to see her quite frequently in Cleveland; but she has only called once since we moved from the city,” said Mrs. Leigh.

“Mrs. Taine, has, I believe,” said Mr. Smiles, judiciously, “kept in force a system of restraint (with only kind intentions I am sure, but not the less erroneously), which I have advised her to abandon. She is a kind and good woman, but is very sensitive and somewhat wanting in tact. This visit, I hope, may prove the beginning of a series, for I am sure she will relish social intercourse if she will only take the trouble to acquire a taste for it. And to her adopted daughter, as I have strongly represented, it is indispensable. Too much seclusion I believe to be detrimental to the young.”

“You might say fatal, I think,” replied Captain Leigh. “Boys and girls who are educated in walled convents do not as a rule develop anything like the independence and individuality which characterize those who receive their early training in public schools and colleges. This is a well known fact and I consider that it is entirely due to the innate viciousness of the former system. Still, some people are silly enough to adopt it in their own homes, and its effects are usually disastrous. Speaking of Miss Taine: she seems to be a decidedly bright young girl.”

“She is intelligent,” replied the minister. “I believe she would learn anything under favorable conditions. I find her unusually quick. For instance, the other evening I undertook to show her the moves in chess, and she not only mastered them in a few minutes, but was enabled to play them correctly in a trial game the same evening. She shows facility in whatever she attempts, even in music, and she really deserves better opportunities than she enjoys here.”

Mr. Smiles was talking principally for effect. But his conversation was none the less interesting on that account for the simple reason that his auditors had not the least suspicion that such was the case. To them he was only what he appeared. Philip indeed, had long harbored a lurking prejudice against parsons in general, but had tacitly exempted his present visitor on account of having met him at the house of Dr. Taine, whom he held in the highest esteem.

“No—that is, I think not. I am a kind of courier in my profession, of inferior rank and therefore subject to orders. As you remarked the other evening, ‘I only know the alphabet.’ But I like this field of labor much, and only wish my stay here might be regulated by my own will. If I could get a furlough from this duty I should enlist as a chaplain,” he concluded, with the innocent air of a young priest in the first stage above his novitiate.

“I should think this the more pleasant post,” replied Philip. “You would find army work a very different matter.”

“I am aware of it, my dear sir; but do you suppose that the soldier of the Cross only studies his ease?” Mr. Smiles spoke in a tone of mild, courteous reprimand. “I might say the same to you, Captain Leigh,” he continued with a friendly smile. “A place by this bright and peaceful fireside is far more desirable than in the front of battle where the earth and all upon it is rent by shot and shell; and yet, I’ll warrant, you would choose the latter. Why then should not I? Simply because I have no power to choose, since, like any other soldier, I must either obey orders or dishonor myself by desertion.” He then proceeded to express his opinion of the singular display of inconsistency in religious matters which was the inevitable result of war: the prayers of each blood-drenched contestant imploring victory from the same God; the irony of men’s creeds and pretended beliefs, which were supposed to unite them in strong bonds of fellowship, and proved to be but ropes of sand the moment the sword was drawn; the young and brave flying to the ranks of both sides to battle for the right!

“It is,” he said, with almost tearful solemnity, “a sad and awful spectacle that we have presented to us this moment, the death conflict of Cain and Abel spreading its blight upon a million hearthstones! I often cry in agony of spirit: Where and how will it all end?”

He spoke with such well-feigned emotion that the tears came to Mrs. Leigh’s eyes, and a strange flush passed across Philip’s cheek leaving him pale and serious. There was a brief pause, which Philip interrupted by saying quietly, though with a flash in his dark eyes that did not escape the minister:—

“There should be no doubt in our minds as to that! It can only end by the utter collapse of the Rebel cause. No true American can think of any other end than this!”

“Of course, we all hope for that result,” said Mr. Smiles, thoughtfully, “but we cannot lose sight of the dreadful carnage and suffering, and the almost fatal blow to Morality which must intervene. I did not mean, where would the political contest cease, for I am as certain as to that as a man can be of anything. But I mean, where will end these shocking evils? For their effects will be felt long after the roar of cannon and the rattle of musketry have ceased, and after the fields and valleys that have drunk the blood of thousands have outgrown the marks of the fray, and returned to more than their pristine beauty.”

Mr. Smiles had easily accomplished his purpose: he was now regarded by Captain Leigh and his wife as a good young parson of no mean ability, whose heart and sympathy were obviously in the right place. The young officer thought that his abstinence from the offensive sanctimoniousness that was then too common among minor theologians, was to be ascribed to his experience of the world and his evident intelligence; and he found himself taking a decided interest in Mr. Smiles despite his trade.

“Do you expect soon to be ordered to the front, Captain Leigh?” asked the minister.

“Yes—but the time is uncertain.” He laid his finger on his lips as a signal to drop the subject, but it was too late: Josephine raised her eyes to his with a look of pain, and found it necessary to withdraw to hide her tears from the stranger. She already felt the vivid apprehension that oppresses the loving wife of a soldier in time of war; but it was well for her that she had no foretaste of the bitter draught that her fate held in reserve for her.

“You must excuse my wife, Mr. Smiles,” said Philip, rather sadly—“she is like most women, very skeptical about the honor to be won at the cannon’s mouth when her husband is concerned. As to your question: I have requested to be relieved from my present duties and ordered to the front, but of course, I cannot say when my wish will be gratified. If it depends on political influence I am afraid I shall have to remain here.”

“Yes we have become so habituated to appointing men to office because of political influence, and the custom has thus far played so important a part in the appointments of officers for the present army that I should not be surprised if a successful manipulator of ward politics with qualifications for a commissary clerk, will become a general in the Union army while, West Pointers who have no ‘political influence,’ remain lieutenants and captains. I have sometimes thought that if the question of appointing some worthy gentleman to the post of archangel were brought before the Senate, the first and last difficulty would be the candidate’s ‘political influence.’” Smiles said this with enough facetiousness to make Philip laugh, and then turning to him asked rather abruptly if he played chess. Captain Leigh replied that he knew the rudiments of the game but could hardly be called a player.

“It is the only game I care for,” answered Mr. Smiles, “I wish we might find an opportunity to have a bout. It should be a favorite with those of the military profession, for besides being a genial and engrossing pleasure in the camp, it suggests endless tactical and strategical problems, and in its miniature ramifications may contain the outlines of a great battle.”

“I am myself a tolerably enthusiastic amateur whose love for the game is far greater than his skill. I have not played for some time, but perhaps we can have a quiet contest on the mimic field when you come here with the Taines.”

“Nothing could gratify me more,” said Mr. Smiles, rising. “Of course you will give me some advantage—a castle, for instance?”

“We shall see about that after the first game,” replied Philip. “But you are not going? It is our dinner-time—you must stay and dine with us, unless you have a prior engagement with some of your flock.”

Smiles made an excuse, saying that although he had no special engagement he must make a number of calls during the afternoon and could scarcely spare the time. While he was hesitating, Mrs. Leigh came back, and he yielded readily to her cordial invitation. As they were passing to the dining room he eased his tender conscience by remarking with a slight shrug of the shoulders, which he often employed to indicate a pleasant resignation to the inevitable:

“Well, I must confess, that the charm of Western hospitality is irresistible!”

In spite of studied precautions on Philip’s part, the conversation, which ran along on minor topics for a while, was brought back to the subject of the war by his own comment on an item of news contained in the morning’s paper. For a time, the conduct of battles and the merits of officers both at Washington and in the field, were freely discussed, and Mr. Smiles seized the opportunity to praise the vast ability shown by some of the Southern generals and to lament that such talent should have taken the wrong side. He was well aware that Philip was not the man to like flattery, but could not resist the temptation to strike a chord which he knew would thrill the military heart—

“By the way, Captain Leigh,” he said, “there is no doubt in my mind that if you had cast your lot with your native section you would have been in the command of a division now instead of a company.”

“Mr. Smiles, I would rather be a private for my country, than a general against her!”

Soon after dinner Mr. Smiles took his leave, and promised to come next day with his friends at Chestnut Grove if he could possibly allow himself the leisure. As he rode slowly along through the village, his thoughts were occupied with Mrs. Leigh:—

“She did not know me—but that’s no wonder, since it is more than seven years, and I have undergone a complete metamorphosis; she has, meanwhile, become a paragon. I must see her again after Leigh’s exit.”

As he proceeded to the eastward for the purpose of making a careful survey of the town, he was alternately hilarious and downcast, his philosophical spirit and sang-froid, having for the moment deserted him. While he felt assured of gaining the desperate game he was playing by a trifling ruse he had planned, it seemed, at the moment to call for none of the finer work of which he knew himself capable. This was the only fault he found with his attitude toward Captain Leigh. He felt no qualm of conscience for the plot he was laying, but only a conceited notion that the enterprise was not worthy of his subtle mind. He soon cajoled his pride into taking a better view of his task, however, when he reviewed the situation. Was not the object of his quest deep in the enemy’s country, surrounded by troops, and possibly, well on his guard? The chances which these reflections suggested heightened the flavor of his undertaking, and he remembered that one of his present duties was to ascertain if a guard was stationed at night either in the town or the Captain’s house. He must visit the camp of his accomplices at once to inform them of the favorable state of their project, and return that very night to reconnoitre Newberg. He stopped and made a hurried entry in his note-book, then taking the first turning to the southward trotted away at a lively pace. The lane in which he found himself was grass-grown from fence to fence and it was evident that very little traffic passed that way. But it was a pleasant route along which the farm-houses were far apart, and he was well aware that it led into a road by which he could reach Delmy’s rendezvous.

He had gone probably two miles when he saw a horseman coming in the opposite direction, and was amazed as he approached to find that it was Delmy himself dressed precisely like an Ohio farmer. The outlaw was scarcely less surprised than his chief.

“Don’t give me any of yer airs, parson, if yer please,” replied Delmy, insolently, “I’m under yer orders, I know, and I obeyed ye better’n any man I ever see, but I reckon I’ve got something to say, yer know, and I’ve made up my mind to git the lay of the land.”

“Very well, there’s my hand,” said Smiles, in a conciliatory tone, “it’s good luck that has brought us together at this moment, so we won’t quarrel.”

“Good luck! well, I’m glad to hear it, fur I was gittin’ rather down at the mouth. But what do you mean, parson?” He spoke in a surly manner, and gave Smiles’s hand a languid shake.

“Why, I’ve caught our man already—I dined with him at noon. As No. 9 would say, ‘the ’possum’s treed.’”

“Come now, parson, what yer givin’ us?” asked Delmy, opening his bleared eyes as wide as he could, and biting a chunk from a black plug of tobacco.

“The simple truth,” said Smiles, bringing his hand down on Delmy’s back with smarting emphasis. He gave him a full account of what he had done, and of his plans so far as developed, and then ordered him back to camp with all speed and caution to cheer up his men and get them in readiness.

“If I find that armed guards are stationed in the town we may have to wait a few days; but I now think we are all right for to-morrow night.”

“Well, look yer, parson,—there’s one thing I want to mention before this business goes any further; I don’t see no use in tryin’ to tote a live man into Kentucky when we kin just as well kill him off and save our bacon—besides the swag bein’ jest the same.”

“I’m sorry to hear you talk that way, Delmy; if you had seen old man Leigh when he was talking of how his son went back on him you wouldn’t think of killing the boy; why he’s his only child, and what he wants is to put him under lock and key to keep him from fighting for the North. But that’s not all: we think when we once get him where proper influences can be brought to bear, he will change his mind and take a command in our army. Those who know him best say he’ll make as good a general as Jackson; so you see he’s too valuable a man to kill, and we are not a band of assassins, anyhow.”

Delmy assented doggedly, but when Smiles had sent him to camp and turned back himself to the eastward, he reflected that his accomplice was a man who would not scruple to despatch his prisoner if his own safety seemed to require it.

The night was dark and chilly; but neither of these conditions seemed to make any impression upon him. The stars gave sufficient light to enable him to find his way, and nature had treated him so kindly with gifts of vitality as well as temper, that he might pride himself on being equally indifferent to either heat or cold. He trotted leisurely along, to all appearance no more ruffled, anxious or vigilant than some innocent circuit-rider on his home stretch. He struck the road passing through the central part of Newberg and continued into the village at the same pace he had been traveling. Now and then a snarling cur would fly from under a fence, and dashing into the middle of the road, tear its throat with shrill barking; and a few persons more owlish than the rest of the village were met and passed with a friendly “good night.” When he reached the square, he heard the village singing class chanting their closing anthem in the school-house, only a stone’s throw from Captain Leigh’s. But there was nothing to indicate the presence of a military guard, or even of civil police. However, to make assurance doubly sure, he checked his horse to a slow walk and passed along the street in front of the Leigh cottage. It was probable, he thought, that the young southerner might have a body guard there at night as a precaution. A careful survey soon convinced him that such was not the case. Nobody was there except Leigh and his wife whom he saw through a half open shutter, sitting at a table reading.

Entirely satisfied with the result of his investigations, he took his bearings for Chestnut Grove, and reached the cross-roads where he had instructed Delmy to meet him for final orders. Delmy was pleased with the plainness and simplicity of his directions and said he had no doubt of their complete success in capturing Leigh the next night, provided a guard was not placed in the meantime. Before dismissing him, Smiles handed the desperado a diagram he had drawn of the Leigh cottage and vicinity, and ordered him to ride through the town early next day in his farmer’s suit to make himself familiar with the place. Everything being arranged so far as was possible until the decisive moment, the accomplished rebel agent parted from his lieutenant with the following injunction:—

“You must ignore me entirely; for, if I can remain here for a time unsuspected, I will be able to help you in your flight, and to reward you hereafter.”

Delmy listened attentively to his chief’s words, and signified his assent. His hard visage betrayed no sign of interest or enthusiasm, but his small, sharp eyes, set deep amid crow-feet, and seared wrinkles that were born of vice rather than age, had a determined, and ferocious look in them.

A few moments later, the Rev. Mr. Smiles was seated in the cosy dining room at Chestnut Grove in company with Mrs. Taine, who had waited up to see that he should not go to bed hungry after an entire day spent in arduous missionary labor. It is a strange fact that Mrs. Taine had never thought any other man worthy of such indulgence.