Hagar had studiously avoided James since the incident of Mr. Smiles’s proposal, and the invalid had been turned over to the care of Maria whose feminine insight discerned his uneasiness concerning the engagement. Maria belonged to that respectable class of persons who are emphatically styled “helps” rather than “servants.” At this period to most well-to-do people in the West there was no medium between a “help” and a slave. Their cooks, and housemaids and seamstresses were frequently the daughters of their poorer neighbors, and were treated more like humble members of the family than as menials. Maria had been with the Taines a number of years in her present capacity, and had acquired certain privileges and immunities, amongst which was a freedom of speech and an irritating habit of interference which had become not only inveterate but ineradicable.
Whenever she came to James’s room she found occasion to bring him some scrap of information about what was going on in the house. At supper time she gave an account of Mr. Spencer’s attempt to make a Mormon of her. “But I’m not so easily caught,” she said, “for I should judge by his own account of it, that the Mormon Kingdom, which he calls the ‘Kingdom of God’ (the sinner!) must be a very queer place.”
At breakfast next morning it was some gossip about Mrs. Taine’s devotion to Mr. Smiles, and how the latter had promised after his marriage with Hagar, to let her go and live with them in Boston. But in spite of her admiration, she discerned that while the good young parson kept one eye on Hagar, he was fixing the other as ardently on Mrs. Taine’s money bags. But when she came up with his dinner on the day following Mr. Smiles’s missionary tour, she appeared so serious that James could not help asking her what had happened. She gave him a long and most circumstantial account, to the effect that Mrs. Taine’s object in visiting Newberg, was to have Mr. Smiles and Hagar quietly married. Though she declared that she was positive such was the case, James, who was much moved by the news, urged her to enquire more closely and bring him word again.
Meanwhile Hagar was disturbed both by Mr. Smiles and by the Mormon. Her position had been a very trying one for the past few days. She had endeavored to do what she could to entertain Spencer, but he realized the effort she was making and could not fail to note the alternate confusion and abstraction of her bearing towards him. It was perfectly clear to him that, whether she was performing some of his favorite selections on the piano or teaching him croquet, she was moved by a certain sense of duty. As he firmly believed that not his person but his garb as a Mormon, offended her, his calling grew more sacred to him, and he endured whatever seemed to his sensitive nature like a slight, with a kind of bitterness that in his way of thinking, amounted to a species of triumph.
During Mr. Smiles’s absence he had taken the occasion to talk very impressively to her concerning the present joy and future glory of the Latter-day-saints, and finding that she listened with attention, he finally ventured to exclaim as gently as the sincere utterance of his heart would permit:
“Ah, Miss Taine, I would to God you were one of us!” He did not dare to hope that anything he could say would cause her to break with Mr. Smiles, but he would have given a large share of his interest in “the Kingdom” to have discovered even the slightest defection to work upon.
“Why so?”—she asked, smiling.
“For your own good, wholly,” he replied, “That you might know the true gospel.”
“But, Mr. Spencer,” she said, looking him steadily in the eyes, “I could not be one of you. I have heard nothing but evil of your religion ever since I can remember, and I do not believe that your prophet was a good prophet, or that your church is a good church. Your revelations, those in the book you lent me, are so funny I could only laugh at them. Ma’am Taine says it’s blasphemy, and I really think it is. I don’t want to hurt your feelings Mr. Spencer, I would prefer to keep my thoughts to myself: I like you because you are brave and good, but I don’t like your religion. We can always be friends, though, without speaking of that, can we not? For I don’t think you can convert me to your church, and I’m sure nobody could turn you from it.”
“So be it, Miss Taine,” he replied abruptly. “I shall make no attempt to force my principles upon you. To me they are as meat and drink, and it is charity, not malice, that prompts me to offer them to foes as well as friends.”
Having found her to be a confirmed scoffer, and despairing of any favorable results in the line of his duty at Chestnut Grove, he concluded that the best thing he could do was to take up the thread of his labors where he had dropped it in Cleveland, and endeavor to banish this attractive little skeptic from his thoughts. He must not permit any romantic notions to distract his higher reflections; indeed, he had pledged himself not to do so: whatever he might have done in the endeavor to win the young girl’s heart if she had been a member of his church, nothing could justify him, he thought, in making a further effort under existing circumstances. It was a pity that such a beautiful and clever girl should be damned, but he had done his best to save her and must now leave her to her fate.
It was arranged that he should go to Cleveland with Dr. Taine next morning, and after saying good bye to Mrs. Taine, he went up to have a parting word with James.
“I feel that I can never repay the debt I owe you,” said James, at last, “and I sincerely trust that, however far we may be driven apart on the ocean of life, we shall keep track of each other. For my part, I shall be sorry not to know where and how you are, for I feel that I have a life interest in you, and you in me.”
“You are very polite, Mr. Taine; but there can be nothing in common between us unless we are brothers in the gospel of the last days. Though you ignore the importance of this matter, I cannot do so. You have rejected my message, and thereby you reject me also.” Thus spoke the Mormon with the egotistic bigotry which has always characterized his sect. James’s tongue was still, because he could not speak without resenting such narrowness, and was reluctant to offend or pain his benefactor. The Elder had wheeled about as if intending to depart, but he turned round to add:
“When I rushed into that burning house and helped you from a perilous position it was not you I sought, but a woman, a bright young girl, whose face I saw only for a second through the flames. Had I saved her she would have been converted to my faith, and become the means, as female converts always are, of leading others to the truth. To you my devotion has no significance beyond an act of daring; to me it means, and to her it would have meant, a great deal more. No, I shall not come here again unless you wish to cast your lot with the people of God whom I represent.”
By this time James’s momentary annoyance had been changed to amusement, and he said, with a smile:—
“Even if you had asked me when I was wedged in by those bricks and timbers if I would believe your doctrines or perish where I lay, I think I should have chosen the latter fate, for it would be easier for me to sacrifice my life than wilfully stultify my reason. I would rather run the risk of losing my soul by doubting a doubtful religion than to have the certainty of losing my manhood by pretending to believe it. All men cannot agree upon one common belief; they must have a variety of convictions as well as a diversity of tastes, talents, employments. This very difference between men is one of the most useful and beneficent characteristics of the human family. If we were all alike, life would be a stagnant pool, a mere Hades of monotony. We want unity of thought and of action in the direction of Justice, of Love, and of Truth; but even if such a state were attainable we should never seek for uniformity of worship, of belief, of pursuit any more than of personal appearance. The boundless variety characterizing Nature both animate and inanimate, no doubt has a significance as wide as Creation itself. But in one respect diversity of opinion has a meaning and an intention which is perfectly clear: As to things not absolutely proved it supplies our chief hope of attaining to correct views. But I will not weary you with argument. Without regard to your creed or belief I wanted to count you as a friend. You reject my proffered friendship because I have not conformed to your faith. I trust you will think better of it. If not I shall hope that at some future time we may meet where men base their relations to each other on manhood and honor, not so capricious a thing as creed.” Though he made his meaning clear there was blended with his candor a fair proportion of delicacy.
“If we meet at the bar of another world, Mr. Taine, we shall see who is right,” replied the Mormon, palpably displeased. Maria tapped on the door to say Dr. Taine was ready to start for the city. The missionary was thankful for the interruption, and, taking a hurried leave set off for the scene of his labors.
Meantime James had sent for Hagar. In a few moments she appeared, gave her hand, and took a chair near the bed.
“You sent for me, James?” she asked softly. She withdrew her hand and sat with her eyes downcast, listlessly twirling a bit of crumpled paper which she had carried with her.
“Yes, Hagar,—it seems I must send for you if I wish to see you at all—you have stayed away, and I have missed you. But to-day I heard something from Maria—which—”
“Maria!” she exclaimed, interrupting him, “do you have her bring you tales about me?”
“When so important a step as your marriage is reported and you do not tell me of it yourself——”
“My marriage!” she said, and followed the words with a derisive laugh which James knew to be ungenuine and forced. “But what has Maria been saying about my marriage?”
“Why, that it is to take place to-day.”
Though Hagar laughed again she had turned pale.
“But that is not true,” she uttered nervously.
James grieved to think she could deceive him, but was unable to reconcile with her denial her agitated and abashed demeanor.
“You are not,” he said, gently, still hoping in the midst of doubt. “You are not going to Newberg to-day to be married to this Mr. Smiles?”
Hagar, whose eyes had been hidden by her drooping lids, now looked up with astonishment; for a moment she was too much dazed to reply; but she finally said in an undecided way:—
“Not that I know of.” Again her eyes fell.
She paused, and James waited anxiously. She went on crumpling the bit of paper, which he then noticed for the first time. Presently the mist of apprehension vanished from her face, and looking up with her natural frankness:—
“We are going to Newberg this afternoon,” she said, “but I have heard nothing—nobody has said a word about getting married—unless that is the meaning of this note which I found under my door when I got up this morning. It is from Mr. Smiles, but I have not answered it nor told him I received it.” She unfolded the note as she spoke and seemed relieved by her confession. After adding that the contents had made her very unhappy and that she had been trying all day to make up her mind to show it to either Ma’am Taine or him, she handed it to James. He perused it in silence: It was an exquisitely worded bit of romance in which the pious young minister proposed a secret marriage and an elopement for that very day in connection with their visit to the Leighs. It was signed only with his initials “B. T. S.”
“You say you have not answered it, Hagar?”
“No, not yet.”
“But you have decided what your answer is to be?”
“Yes, I shall refuse: for I know it would make Father Taine unhappy if I should do such a thing.”
“You are right, Hagar, it would make us all miserable—and none more so, I fear, than yourself. But do you love Mr. Smiles?”
“Of course I do,” she replied, coyly, “He is so intelligent, and so superior to other men I have met, that I cannot help feeling that his attention does me honor. And he is such a delightful companion; his voice reminds me of the music he plays, varying with every mood. But I don’t know why I am talking like this to you, James!” she exclaimed, as if regretting her confidence—“I was foolish to answer your questions; perhaps you were rude to ask them.”
“I trust not,” James replied, calmly, “Even a cousin might, I think, be pardoned for taking so much liberty: and am I not your brother? Well, it is clear that you love him.... I wish it were as certain that he loves you as purely and unselfishly.”
“I am sure he does!—but have you any reason to think otherwise?”
“No.” answered James, reluctantly.
Hagar found Mr. Smiles smoking his cigar in the porch; and, after rallying him for sending her a letter via the door sill, said candidly that she could not think of doing what he proposed because it seemed so unjust to Dr. Taine. He hesitated an instant and looked at her with peculiar interest; then, instead of exhibiting the slightest symptom of surprise or disappointment, he smiled benignantly, raised her soft hand to his lips, and said with supreme gentleness:—
“As you prefer, my darling: your will is my law in all that concerns us.”
Hagar was melted, and felt regretful that she had opposed him. Her ideas about marriage, whether conventional or with an elopement in the programme were innocently vague. Though she had read a few romances in which oppressed young lovers were put to heartrending shifts she had very little of mere romance in her nature. She was rather apt to ask the reason why, and when that is done, there is an end of fantasy.
At three o’clock Dan drove the old fashioned Clarence up to the door, with the windows all open, and everything looking bright and shipshape. They had to wait some time for Mrs. Taine, but the delay was sufficiently explained when she finally arrived on the porch, by her elaborate preparation.
“I have not done such a thing as this for years,” she remarked, with more than her usual fussiness, as she raised the enormous flounces of her purple silk dress to get into the carriage—“and I should not do it now for any one in the world except you, Mr. Smiles.”
“You are really too kind, my dear Mrs. Taine, but you will let our dear Hagar share the compliment with me, I am sure.” By this time he had assisted the purple silk and crinoline, the small parasol, and “dear Mrs. Taine,” into the carriage, where they fully occupied the back seat.
“The idea,” she continued in the tone of her former remark, “the idea of my going to call on that proud, unchristian woman, who has so long ignored me! First she was a Catholic, and now I believe she’s an infidel; and I to call on her! Why, Mr. Smiles, it seems quite incredible. But I’m a changed woman since I have known you, and I have no doubt changed for the better.”
Mr. Smiles was in one of his most delightful moods, and the afternoon was perfect, as they drove along the autumn-tinted lanes. Hagar evinced a childish delight in the excursion, regarding it as a foretaste of the freedom she should enjoy when she became the wife of this wonderful man, and had a house of her own. The dream enchanted her, and as they drew up at the gate of the Leigh cottage she thought it a miniature paradise. But just before their arrival there was a scene there which would seem to prove that the fairest Eden has its serpent.
Mark Kilbourne had come out from Cleveland in the morning to urge Captain Leigh to make a statement to the General to procure protection against the danger of which he had been warned. But as Philip had received a notice by courier that his request to be sent to the front should be complied with in a few days, he positively refused to have the matter so much as hinted at to the authorities. He appeared to be taciturn and harassed, so Mark had quitted him for a time and gone to visit friends in the village. Philip became more gloomy after his morning’s work on the parade ground, and so terrified his wife by his frantic aspect in the afternoon, that she had retired to her room in tears.
Left alone, Captain Leigh paced up and down the room livid and trembling. He clasped his hands together wildly like an actor in a stage passion, then knocked one against the other until the bones cracked again, or flouted them through his hair. As he walked he muttered fiercely:
“Is she wanton or am I mad?.... Her betrayer—if he was betrayer and not accomplice—was a priest dubbed holy... May hell scorch such holies!... I must watch her—watch her: I think she blushed when that sleek hypocrite in black did bland homage to her beauty. They say a girl who is once undone can never be trusted—the taste of sin is like a leaven to their natures. That is why by the Jewish law the daughter who fell was put to death. And Desdemona’s father said: ‘Look to her Moor, have a quick eye to see, she has deceived her father, and may thee!’ Oh, God! what a thought! She that I love better than my life. Can vileness seem so chaste? Doubt is here like a dagger puncturing my heart; I must go hence and drown these voices in the roar of battle where some swift messenger may bring me peace....”
At this moment Mark entered to tell him of the Taine’s arrival at the gate. Philip begged him to receive them in his stead, and plunged through a doorway out of sight.
When supper was over and they all reassembled in the sitting room, Mark reminded them of the village concert which was to be given at the school house for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission’s funds. Mrs. Leigh was anxious to go, but submitted the matter to Mrs. Taine who said that she considered it a duty to support every effort made for the benefit of our wounded soldiers. Mr. Smiles then insisted upon buying the tickets, including one for himself, but protested that he would rather stay and have a game of chess, if Captain Leigh was agreeable.
“Oh, I don’t mind a game, if you desire it,” replied Philip, who had regained the outward aspect of composure. “Mark, you go with the ladies to the concert, and we will join you shortly. Mr. Smiles will soon weary of my play.”
The ladies and their escort presently leaving, the chess-players lighted their cigars and prepared their pieces for the contest. Odds were neither given nor taken. Mr. Smiles, having the play, opened with the King’s Gambit. When an hour had elapsed the issue of the game was still in doubt, though the minister had the advantage by a knight, and a strong position for attack and defence. Silence had fallen: an intense eagerness showed on the face of Leigh, while the only signs of mental strain in Smiles were swollen veins and a purple flush across his forehead. By a superb series of six or eight moves, military discipline now asserted its superiority over clerical astuteness, the minister’s game being completely compromised. He felt his discomfiture keenly, and by a skillful manoeuvre saved himself from total defeat by forcing a drawn game upon his antagonist.
Smiles glanced at his watch and asked Philip if they should play a second game. Philip declined, and brought his own and Mr. Smiles’s hat and overcoat. He put on his own, and walked toward Smiles who stood before the window striking two or three matches in the endeavor to light his cigar.
“Ah! at last,” said Smiles, “after burning my finger to the bone.” As he thanked Philip for helping him on with his Chesterfield, three men with masks on their faces and arms in their hands rushed into the room, extinguished the lamps and threw themselves on Leigh.... A fierce struggle in the darkness, the crash of a chair falling and a body felled: and silence broken by a single moan expiring in a denser silence. The desperadoes had secured their prize, and Smiles lay in a dead faint, struck down by a chair which Leigh had whirled at hazard, and which, unknown to himself, had wounded his most inveterate enemy.
By daylight next morning the country for miles around was aroused and in arms. The members of Captain Leigh’s company had assembled at Newberg and started out in parties under lieutenants and sergeants in search of the trail of the marauders.
For the first time since the fall of Sumter the quiet hamlets of northern Ohio were thrilled with patriotic zeal as if their very hearthstones were assailed by the rebel horde. The Cleveland papers contained a full account of the affair, which Mark reported, and a glowing telegram was dispatched by the Associated Press to all parts of the country. It seemed impossible that the band of Delmy would be able to elude their pursuers. But as days went by without any tidings, though the State and National authorities were exerting every influence at their command, hope waned, and in the heart of Captain Leigh’s young wife became transmuted to despair. Ten days after the abduction, Mark Kilbourne was in Cincinnati, having ridden on horse-back the entire distance. He and his party had crossed the trail of the fugitives at two different points; but wherever there was a telegraph line by which information might have been sent ahead, Delmy took care to cut it, and had finally vanished like a phantom.
Mark was haggard, pale and dejected. The excitement of the chase had sustained him and his band without the help of due nourishment or sleep; but when they were obliged to accept the conviction that Delmy had made good his escape and carried his prisoner with him, the reaction was extreme. After a few hours’ rest and a fruitless inquiry of the authorities at Cincinnati, Mark decided to write a full account to Mrs. Leigh, of the pursuit, and of the probable situation and fate of Philip.
That same day Captain Leigh was sitting on a log near a campfire, bound fast, and reading a Cincinnati newspaper. It was dated two days after his abduction and contained a narrative of that event as given to a special correspondent, in an interview, by Mr. Smiles. The despatch was dated “Newberg,” and began with flaming headlines.
The details given were tolerably accurate up to the time that Philip was dragged from the house; but what followed had a pressing interest for the prisoner as it contained news of subsequent events. The substance of this was a description of Mr. Smiles’s injuries received in defence of Captain Leigh, the report said, and the startling information that Mrs. Leigh had insisted upon caring for the injured minister at her own house, where Mrs. and Miss Taine were staying with her.
Mr. Smiles related his conviction that the attack was made by burglars. He said he had resisted until stunned and left for dead, and was astonished on his return to consciousness to hear the cry of ‘Where is Captain Leigh?’ He had not heard of the warning received by Philip, and had no occasion for apprehending danger; but he had a firm conviction that if the negro Dan, Mrs. Taine’s coachman, had not gone to sleep in the hayloft, he might have warned them in time to have prevented the attack.
“However,” the injured minister remarked towards the close of the interview, “while I shall be the last person in the world to implicate Captain Leigh in the plot, it certainly seems very strange that the details should have been so well concerted, and that I, unarmed and defenceless as I was, should have been nearly murdered while defending him, and he, to all appearances, carried away unhurt.”
The correspondent could not close without making a feeling reference to the courtesy and cultured bearing of Mr. Smiles, and to the great kindness and hospitality of Mrs. Leigh who spared no pains to give her husband’s gallant defender every comfort of a pleasant home. Philip smiled bitterly at the sentimental gush with which the despatch concluded, but was really amused with other portions of it.
“They evidently have a report that I am my own abductor, and my friend, the Boston parson, seems to favor its plausibility,” he mused, as he turned over the limp and faded sheet, which had been brought into camp that morning wrapped around some provender from a cross-roads store.
Part of the gang were lying a short distance from him wrapped in blankets and fast asleep. Delmy was sitting on a log in front of him cleaning a carbine that had got wet in fording a stream the previous day, and another man, a small fellow of plebeian Creole type, sat a few feet further off repairing a saddle girth. The camp was in a small clearing in the midst of an almost primeval forest, and the only sound which broke the stillness of the warm cloudy afternoon, was the intermittent roar of a river they had crossed the previous night.
The carbine in Delmy’s hands was accidentally discharged, the huge bullet striking the ground near Philip’s feet and hissing away among the foliage of the trees behind him. In an instant every man sprang to his feet and grasped his gun to repel an attack. Philip, whose face was pelted with the sand thrown up by the bullet as it passed him, looked up from his paper, and broke the most rigid rule of his captors by exclaiming angrily:
“What’s the matter, Captain, do you mean to murder me!”
“No—it’s nothing—hold your tongue,” growled Delmy.
Philip had been ordered not to speak above a whisper under pain of being gagged. But Delmy motioned the men back as they rushed towards him, and flinging the carbine into the thicket, said it was no good. He then ordered the men to resume their rest as he knew they must need it.
“As to yerself, Mr. Leigh, sense ye’v bin so well behaved so fur, I don’t mind ef ye do talk a little bit in a low voice. I don’t like to be too hard on no man,” said Delmy in a voice of unwonted generosity.
“Thank you very much,” replied Philip, “I feel so thoroughly lost that I’d like to ask you where we are, Captain?”
“Well, we’re gittin’ on, gittin’ on slowly, but we ain’t thar yit, not by a long shot.”
“Was not that the Ohio River we crossed last night?”
“It mout a bin, and then agin it moutn’t: Leastways, I can’t tell ye, fur I don’t know geography very well, and I’m preoccupied with my reflections.”
Delmy had shown the most astonishing acquaintance with the country between Cleveland and the Kentucky frontier, and had succeeded in bringing his prisoner triumphantly into the borders of a friendly state. His present stopping place was on the Kentucky shore of the Ohio, a few miles above Maysville, at which point he had arrived without horses, having sunk the jaded nags that brought him the last stage, in the turgid stream before he crossed. But one wretched beast could be found in the neighborhood, and this one had carried “No. 9” to Maysville that morning to procure the mounts for the party which had been arranged for. Delmy knew that there was too much Northern sympathy at Maysville for him to pass that way, but he had plenty of friends there, and felt that one more night’s travel would bring him to a point on the railroad from which he could proceed openly and as a hero, to his destination.
Having finished supper in a few minutes, the men proceeded to pack up their meagre belongings, and Delmy, approaching Philip and addressing him in a low and deferential tone, said:
“It goes right hard with me, Mr. Leigh, to see a Southern gentleman o’ your standin’ in this here kind of a fix. But, ye see I can’t very well ask one of the boys to tote two saddles so we’ll all have to pack our own traps. I hope you don’t object.”
“Not at all,” said Philip, cheerfully—“I shall try to do my part to assure the success of this noble expedition.”
His hands were again tied behind him, and Delmy smiled grimly as he strapped the heavy Mexican saddle over the prisoner’s shoulders.
It was almost dark, and the pale light of the stars was beginning to show through the twilight as one by one the men took up their burdens, Delmy being the last to fling a saddle over his back. As he did so, he said: “Come on boys, it’s not over three miles to Simpson’s Bend.”
They started towards the path that led through the thicket on the Maysville side of the clearing, but at that moment a clear voice called out from the rear of the camp the one word:
“Surrender!”
Delmy wheeled about and clutched his carbine fiercely, but before he could bring it to his shoulder he staggered and fell to the earth, mortally wounded by a bullet from the underbrush. None of his men were ready for a sudden attack; and they were so appalled at the sight of their fallen chief, and of the armed men who now surrounded them, that they halted and flung down their arms in despair.
Again the voice of the attacking leader was heard:
“If you will all surrender unconditionally we will not fire another shot, but not one of you must move on pain of death.”
“As we’ve been betrayed, boys, and they’re two to one, there’s nothing for it but surrender,” said one of the men, doggedly.
“Fall into line, then, and face this way,” said James Taine, whom Philip now recognized as the commander of the surprise party.
Delmy’s men promptly obeyed the order, and while part of the rescuers stood guard with fixed bayonets others proceeded to put handcuffs on the prisoners, who, for further safety, were all made fast to a strong trace-chain so that they could march single file. All this was done with remarkable expedition. Philip’s thongs and burden were removed, and James congratulated him upon his good luck.
The order was given to march, and the Ohio boys proceeded with their captives along the river bank for about a mile. At that point James fired two shots in quick succession from his revolver, and two good sized boats were rowed quickly from the opposite shore. During the walk from the camp and while crossing in the boat, James and Philip were talking apart.
“By what miracle have you been healed of your injuries, and enabled to effect this long journey, and my rescue?” asked Philip, as soon as James was at leisure to converse.
“It has all been more simple, Phil, than it appears at first sight,” James replied. “As days elapsed without any news of you, I felt an irresistible longing to take part in the chase. It was on the fourth day after your disappearance that I told Dr. Warren of my resolve to start out in search of you. That day the doctor said I should incur great risk to my life, and advised me not to think of such an act. I promised to postpone my decision until the following day, and to ask his opinion again. Meanwhile I mentioned the matter to some of the boys, and they were perfectly willing to join me. When the doctor arrived next day, I was walking about the room feeling like a well man; my strength seemed to build up rapidly as my determination became indomitable. The doctor thought this an interesting circumstance, and finally gave his consent to go forward with my project. That night we took the train to Cincinnati, and as good luck would have it struck the trail of your captors in Brown County two days later.”
At Newberg it had been snowing incessantly; and lately a biting frost set in, and an icy wind from the lakes was heaping up great drifts like breastworks of crystal along the fences and across the roads. The chimney corner was now the only comfortable place even for those in vigorous health, and the gentle nurses who had Mr. Smiles in charge would have looked upon it as sheer madness to think of moving their patient to Chestnut Grove.
A month had elapsed since the incident which made him so fortunate a captive, and Mr. Smiles was quite himself in general health, though his broken ankle was slow to knit. During his gradual convalescence he had made it a point to hobble into the sitting room from time to time, and never failed to delight his companions by his charming musical selections, and his varied and attractive conversation. He had taught Hagar the game of chess while still confined to his bed, and she had sat for hours reading to him in his chamber—the sequel being that the ardent young lady loved this accomplished man almost to adoration.
He was so patient and amiable, even merry, through all his sufferings—so considerate and uncomplaining, and so gentle and loving to herself, that she was constrained to look upon him as a superior being, who was conferring an honor in giving her his love. She had often heard the old saw about “living with people to find them out,” and had she not lived in close intimacy with her lover for a month, attending him through a painful illness, observing him (she could not realize how uncritically) at one time delirious from the effects of the blow on his head, and at another threatened with the loss of a broken limb, only to discover in his character new excellencies every day?
At length the weather moderated, and by the dawning of the New Year the snow had almost entirely disappeared. A prevailing southerly wind had brought to the wintry region the balmy breath of Spring, and Hagar and her prospective husband agreed that now was the time to move to Chestnut Grove, which was done without delay.
A few days after her return home Hagar wrote an affectionate note to Dr. Taine who had remained at Cleveland since James’s expedition, for the purpose of breaking to him the news of her intended marriage, and begging him to come to see them all while the weather was so fine.
A day or two later Dr. Taine came to Chestnut Grove unexpectedly just in time for tea. Hagar ran out to greet him with all her wonted tenderness; but to Mrs. Taine and the minister his arrival was an unwelcome surprise. The Doctor had determined to question Mr. Smiles on the subject of his intended marriage, and after supper invited him into the study for that purpose.
They had chatted a few minutes when the Doctor said:
“I understand, Mr. Smiles, though you have not yourself mentioned the subject to me, that you intend to take my daughter Hagar to wife?”
“Rather, your adopted daughter, I believe, Doctor? Yes sir, that is quite true.”
This impertinent qualification did not sound well to the Doctor’s ear, so he spoke up rather severely:
“I call her my daughter, for she seems like my own having grown up here from infancy. I love her as my own; seek her happiness as if she were my own; protect her as my own.”
“Or better, perhaps;” said Smiles to himself, as the doctor dwelt on these expressions. “Egad! perhaps she is your own!”
The Doctor went on:
“You will pardon me, therefore, if I ask you a question or two, which, I apprehend, are wholly unnecessary, but are not intended to be impertinent or offensive.”
“You will admit, Doctor, that we should not suspect our own cloth! But, I shall gladly answer any question you are pleased to put if it is in my power.”
“There are, no doubt, many societies in a great city like Boston which do not figure in the directories?”
“I should say so, certainly,” Smiles replied, coolly, catching the Doctor’s drift at once.
“I was looking for the address of your society of the ‘Christian Disciples’ in a Boston directory for 1861, but could not find it.”
“I was not aware that we did not figure in that respectable volume, but am delighted to hear that such is the case. The circumstance, however, is easily accounted for: our object is to act, not to pose. I see how it is, Doctor Taine, you doubt me, though for what reason—well, perhaps you could hardly say yourself?” A steady look convinced him that the old gentleman was not instigated by anything more serious than a passing caprice, so he altered his tone and continued with humility: “But, believe me, sir, I shall not go one step further in this affair until your doubts are cleared up. A letter simply addressed to the secretary of our society, Boston, will meet with a prompt reply. If it is not satisfactory concerning me I will withdraw at your command. Do you ask more than this?”
Here was exactly what the Doctor had already done, and his misgivings now seemed to fade out of his mind. He could scarcely catch an outline of them, or frame a doubt on which to string them together again. It was clearly, he reflected, a case of youth and love: the happy smile of Hagar, her dream of the joys promised by her new estate, were present in the old man’s reflections; for a moment he could not find words to reply. Finally, he said:
“I think your motto, “To act, and not to pose,” is one of the best I ever heard for any society. Your organization must be a noble one.” He spoke like one who was trying to repair a wound he had inflicted without provocation, and little thought the ‘motto’ was composed at the moment it was pronounced. “But” he continued, still regarding himself as an offender, “you must not imagine that I meant to infer anything unjust to you, Mr. Smiles, far from it; and I should like you to tell me something about the work in which your society is engaged.”
In nothing was Mr. Smiles more at home than in the description of philanthropic enterprise. On this occasion he made such a deep impression upon his auditor that the Doctor consumed four pages of his next letter to James in recounting the virtues of the Christian Disciples, of whom Mr. Smiles was represented as a leader.
When Mr. Smiles withdrew and left him alone to his meditations, the Doctor’s mind was entirely at rest where the young minister was concerned; and when the latter reentered the sitting room where Mrs. Taine and Hagar were awaiting him, he said in reply to their enquiring looks:
“He has consented.”
Next morning, as soon as he got an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Taine—(and he always made a point of letting her feel the honor of his confidences,) Mr. Smiles informed her that he had received a call from his Society to an important field of duty at Cincinnati, and caused that good woman no small amount of consternation by telling her that he should be compelled (though much against his wishes) to postpone his marriage with Hagar for at least a year on account of these labors and the meagreness of his revenues.
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Mrs. Taine, with a penetrating glance through the gold-rimmed spectacles, “Did you suppose for one moment that I had failed to provide for such a contingency? Listen: I have it plotted, mapped, and scheduled, as my agent says; that’s my habit with all I do. I have $2,000 in the house that I have been waiting to place in your hands. And now that you must make this trip, I will send for $2,000 more, and you shall take your wife with you. Oh! not a word, not a word—I won’t hear it. I’m an awful tyrant to those I love. Sit down and listen!” She was quite out of breath as she dropped into her chair, and seemed more than usually excited.
“You see, Dr. Taine,” said she, speaking with anxious haste, and clasping one of the young man’s hands in both her own, “with his usual wrong-headedness, said he thought the wedding should be a quiet family affair, and performed here at the house by himself. But I want it to take place in church—your church, I mean, with all the requisite surroundings, floral decorations and so forth, as dictated by good breeding. I want a brilliant choral service too—a regular stylish wedding, you know. Some people have reviled me and misrepresented me for my treatment of Hagar, and I mean to let them see by the wedding I give her how they have wronged and misjudged me.”
“My dear Madame,” said Mr. Smiles, concealing his amusement, and leaning towards her with a look of entreaty, “you are too good and generous. I could not allow you to waste your money in such a way upon us. I should prefer to have you send the sum such a service would cost, to one of the hospitals. My own tastes, as you well know, are opposed to everything like ostentation, and the public wedding which you unselfishly propose, would be entirely out of keeping with my character and calling. I trust, therefore, that you will let your bounty take another shape, and absolve me from such an ordeal.”
“But what will the friends of my family think?” asked Mrs. Taine, in a tone which told that her resolution had been sadly shaken by the parson’s few well chosen words.
“What will they think in any case?” He asked, significantly, but with a good-natured smile. “Some would doubtless say that our public wedding was for vulgar display, while others would contend with equal vehemence that a private ceremony is the result of vulgar parsimony. I should much prefer Dr. Taine to officiate: besides, it will please Hagar. And, moreover, why would it not be well since we cannot evade reproach as the world goes, to choose the course which is most congenial to ourselves?”
The magical effect of his reasoning was evidenced by the old lady’s reply:
“Well then, I won’t oppose you,” she said, with her characteristic little laugh, a sort of forced titter, “for it is entirely useless, I find. And besides, by having a quiet wedding, we shall keep all the more money for our European travels: I have given quite enough for the war, when you count the new taxes! Very well; that is settled—now let me proceed. No use thinking of crossing the ocean before April or May, and in the meantime you can give the society notice that you want leave for a few months; say, from May 1st: that will give them time to send somebody to relieve you. When shall we have the wedding?” She asked the last question suddenly as if the remainder of her plan depended on the reply.
“Without delay,” answered Mr. Smiles, “if I am to take Hagar with me, for my orders are to go to Cincinnati at the earliest possible moment.”
“Yes, if Hagar is agreeable: I will ask her.”
“I will answer for her—it will be all right.”
And it was even so: Hagar was not in the least opposed to a hasty marriage, but stipulated that one more day should be allowed her for indispensable preparations.
“This being Tuesday,” she said to her betrothed, who was holding her fast in his embrace, “let us have the ceremony on Thursday afternoon. I must go and fetch Josephine, you know. Will you come with me, Benjamin?” she concluded, with an arch look.
“Hagar,” he replied, “I do not think Mrs. Leigh will care to come and I hope you won’t urge her. You are quite right that Thursday will be better than to-morrow, and you might go and see Mrs. Leigh to-day. I, however, shall not have the pleasure of going with you, as I shall be detained by some important correspondence which I have already neglected too long. And, by the bye, dear Hagar, you might ask Mrs. Leigh, casually, you know, for the address of her husband: I’m anxious to communicate with him.”
“But why may I not urge Josephine to come?”
“Because I want you all to myself, you little rogue.”
“I believe you are jealous of her!”
“Well, it doesn’t signify so long as you are not,” he replied, laughingly. “So be off with you, and don’t forget your errand to obtain the address of Captain Leigh.”
A few minutes later Hagar drove over to Newberg, where she passed the day with her friend.
Though he had been subjected to several interruptions by his most assiduous hostess, Mr. Smiles completed his tasks before the short winter day had dropped its curtains in the west. He then seemed restless for Hagar’s return, and after walking to the gate and taking a long look down the road, he paced the avenue listening for the approach of her carriage wheels.
“Well, my darling, how did you find Mrs. Leigh?” he asked, as he helped her to alight.
“Lonely and sad enough. She is in a dreadful way about her husband—you know, he never came back to see her after he was kidnapped?”
“What can it mean? Of course you have invited her to come here on Thursday—and is she coming?”
“No; she said it would be impossible. She is oppressed by some great sorrow, I am sure. She tries to conceal it but it shows too plainly on her face. Ever since I left her that sad white face has haunted me. She seems to be quite desperate.”
“Poor woman!” exclaimed Mr. Smiles. “I was right, she remembers”—he said to himself.
“Hagar,” said he tenderly as they went along in the twilight, “can you realize that only this night and one more have to pass, and you will be my own?” Her eyes were on the ground and she made no reply.
“Now suppose,” he continued, watching her closely, “suppose that anything should happen to prevent our union?” She looked up suddenly, startled from her reverie.
“But nothing can!” she replied, simply.
“Nothing of the sort seems likely, I know. But, suppose (bearing in mind the uncertainties of life), that some unforeseen contingency should arise to prevent it?”
“It would kill me!” she replied, nestling more closely to his strong arm.
“Well then,” he went on, after kissing her to quiet her fears, “what if we are duly married and I always remain a poor missionary, as at present?”
“Poverty has no terrors for me,” she replied spiritedly; “I know how to work, and I am neither ashamed nor afraid to do so. Whether we have a cot or a mansion, I will always strive to give it the attractions of home for you.”
“But, if I should be driven and persecuted and we never have even a cot to call our own?”
“Why talk of such things? You will never be ‘driven’ or ‘persecuted,’ and a man of your talent and education can obtain whatever he wants in this great land. I don’t believe in talking about misfortune before it comes, and even then, I think, the least said about it, the better.”
“Ha! ha!” he cried merrily, “I only asked these questions to hear your sweet replies, and now I am satisfied. Even if I had to suffer martyrdom, would you wish to perish with me at the stake?”
“Indeed I would; I could not survive your loss for a day!”
“And all this for a poor unknown parson! Ah, well, Hagar, perhaps you might have done worse. Heaven knows! But now, tell me, did Mrs. Leigh give you her husband’s address?”
“Yes, it is Cairo, Illinois, at present, but he is going into Tennessee at once.”
Before he said good night, after a game of chess and some music, he informed Hagar that he must go into the city next day to communicate by telegraph with his superiors, and to attend to other urgent business.
Oblivious to the fact that both the civil and military police of Cleveland were that day on the lookout for an agent of the “Disciples,” Mr. Smiles drove into the city late in the afternoon. Having posted several letters, and sent a number of despatches in cipher, he attended to other business matters and finally called at one of the branch telegraph offices to forward this brief telegram:
“Madame Adamanti, No — —— St., Cincinnati: Expect me with a recruit soon. March.”
Before reentering the carriage, he held a quiet conversation with Dan, who then drove out of the city and took the road towards Newberg. Though the evening was cold Smiles was mopping the perspiration from his forehead. His face showed more expression than usual; the veins of his neck and temples were purple and distended, and a pallid ring like a chalk mark encircled his mouth. He made an effort to shake off these ague-like symptoms, but without success. He strove to convince himself that Josephine had recognized him during his stay at her house. Her refusal to come to the wedding he thought a strong proof, and what could be more conclusive than the fact that she had remained constantly with him for a month instead of flying to her husband who was detained at Cincinnati by his professional duties?
“It is enough, and more than enough; why should I hesitate? The case of poor Hagar is rather a hard one anyhow, and while this enterprise, if it is successful, will probably throw her into a fever, it may save her from—well, from something worse! And this will be a sweet revenge on Leigh for crushing my head and breaking my leg.”
The carriage stopped at the Leigh cottage, and Mr. Smiles was quite his natural self again, seeing still beyond the hazard, the certainty of success.
“I wonder if she is alone?” thought he as he noticed that the blinds were closely drawn, and that only a thin streak of light was visible at one side of a window. He looked at his watch. It was eight o’clock. As he alighted from the carriage he remarked that the school house in the square was lighted, and muttered scornfully:—
“Another infernal concert, I suppose!”
“Dan,” said he softly, as he buttoned his overcoat closely about him, “blanket your horses and sit inside the carriage, I won’t be long. And look here, I’m going to give you more for to-night’s work than Dr. Taine gives you in six months, provided you do just as I tell you. In religious matters there are many things to be done that you won’t understand, so all you have to do is obey orders and ask no questions, you see?”
“Oh yes, I ’stan fust rate, Mars’ Smiles, dem’s jest my orders from missus, an’ I ’beys her ebbery time,” said Dan, imitating the low voice of his present master.
“It may be that some of these cheeky villagers will stop to ask you whom you have brought here to-night. If they do, you can tell them it’s Mrs. Taine who has called on her way from town to take Mrs. Leigh home for Miss Hagar’s wedding. You might say on your own account that it is not likely Mrs. Leigh would care to have a neighbor drop in.”
One of Mr. Smiles’s proverbs was that no man could be a thoroughly good rogue unless he was an adept at lying, and he was not averse to trying his skill now and then in the latter art.
He had laid his crutch aside in the morning and walked with a slight limp; but he approached the door with a light tread and rapped gently with his knuckles. No answer. He rapped a little louder.
“Come in,” was the languid summons of a voice which he recognized as that of Mrs. Leigh.
He entered, hat in hand. She was alone, and sat with a small table drawn near the fire reading a volume of poems. She had attired herself as attractively as when expecting Philip to come home, and was thinking of his gloomy bivouac somewhere in the wilds of Tennessee when the knock awoke her from her reverie.
“You, Mr. Smiles!” she exclaimed in a startled voice. The apparition of her late patient was not a pleasant surprise; but she quickly resumed her composure, and rising, advanced a step towards him to offer him her hand.
“What a vision!” he muttered to himself, as she came forward. “I am afraid I have disturbed you, my dear Mrs. Leigh,” he continued as he shook her hand ceremoniously; “but the fact is, I could not find it in my heart to leave this part of the country without calling to see you once more, and this was my only opportunity. Am I forgiven?”
“I am sure it was very kind of you to think of me, Mr. Smiles,” said Mrs. Leigh, with cordiality. She resumed her rocking chair, and beckoned him to be seated. “You have quite recovered, it seems, as you have discarded your crutches?” she added, glancing at him a look of interest.
“Yes: only a slight lameness remaining, thanks to your tender care, and Hagar’s, of course.... She was very devoted for one so young, was she not?”
“I think Hagar a model of unselfishness, and true womanly gentleness. I have seen very few like her.”
“I have seen at least one who was her equal in these beautiful traits. But why recur to that now? I have called with another object besides merely seeing you, Mrs. Leigh: But, tell me, why were you so startled when I came in?”
Josephine had sunk back quite languidly in her cushioned rocking chair, and was listening to Mr. Smiles with friendly interest.
“I must really ask your pardon, Mr. Smiles; I was surprised to see you, for I had not dreamed of such a ceremonious caller.”
“But why were you surprised at my apparition—did you think I should prove so ungrateful as to go away without even bidding you good-bye? Well, it is enough that I was not so. I have been looking forward to this hour when I might offer you a memento of my esteem and gratitude. Will you accept it?” Leaning towards her he held open in his hand a tiny velvet case from which the glare of a brilliant diamond set in a heavy gold ring, flashed in her eyes. She took it mechanically, and raised the massive jewel from its socket. Her only emotion as she held it up was that of delighted curiosity which women usually exhibit at the sight of anything rarely beautiful. But of a sudden as she examined it, she let it fall from her shaking hand, and stared into his face. He had not expected the ring to produce exactly this effect, and felt slightly disconcerted. He sprang forward to her support, but she quickly recovered herself.
“It is nothing—only a slight faintness—I have been sitting too near the fire.”
With much courteous fluster he proceeded to move the table and her chair away from the hearth, saying as he did so that the room was decidedly warm.
“Will you please bring me a glass of water from the next room. You will find a carafe on the sideboard.”
Immediately he turned, she took a hurried but searching look at the ring, and then replaced it in the case and laid it on the table. As she did so she muttered to herself:—
“It is; it is!”
In those few seconds the incidents of years thronged through her memory, and as he returned to her side she scrutinized his features closely, but without detecting anything to justify her in connecting him with her former acquaintance with the dazzling gem.
She moistened her lips with the water and thanked him for his trouble. Mr. Smiles felt puzzled. Could she still be ignorant of his identity after having recognized the ring? Or was this merely a bit of comedy to try him? After a moment’s pause he took the jewel from the table and exclaimed in an injured tone:
“What! you have abandoned the souvenir?”
“You owe me nothing Mr. Smiles, and I can accept nothing from you for the poor hospitality I could offer you when you were nearly killed in my husband’s defence.”
“You do not like the ring?”
“Oh, yes—I think it the finest one I ever saw.”
“You may well say so, for there are few like it, and yet you refuse it? It is old and of historical fame. I bought it from a foreigner years ago, and you are the only friend I have had whom I deemed worthy of it.”
“But you have not owned it long, you say?”
Mrs. Leigh asked this question calmly, but she felt a fearful apprehension stealing over her.
“Oh, yes, I have,” replied Smiles quickly, “Nobody except myself has ever owned it—in this country—I have had it for ten years.”
Mrs. Leigh was silent for a moment. She was unable to speak. Breaking the pause with an effort, she said:
“Then, pardon me. Should you not give it to your bride rather than to a stranger?” Again she took the opportunity to scan his features, and a sense of dreamy bewilderment took possession of her, as she once more failed to recognize the man.
“May I not give what is my own to whom I choose?—provided, of course, the chosen one will accept. But it is plain you do not like my offering. It does not please you; therefore, I must urge you no further, but will take my leave with all proper apologies.” At this he rose and looked steadily at her to observe the effect of his words. They were evidently more welcome than he had hoped, and he felt annoyed. ‘So she really wanted him to withdraw,’ was his reflection. Very well, then, since he could not induce a chase by a feigned retreat, he would return again to the direct attack. He resumed his chair.
“From a remark you made a moment ago, Mrs. Leigh, I judged you thought you had seen that ring before. Was I right?”
She was about to rise to bid him good night, and felt a slight relief at the thought of his departure. But now her faintness returned, and it was with considerable difficulty that she said:
“If so, it was merely a fancy,—I presume there are many rings alike—”
“But,” pursued he, “there is not another in the world like this. It is an amulet: but indeed you may have seen it before. Suppose I say that I am sure you have? Suppose further, that I should tell you the time and place?” He drew near her: the ring flashed in her face.
“Look at it again!”
“Please pardon me, Mr. Smiles,” she said imploringly, “if I ask you to leave me. I have been ill and harassed for some time, and am even worse than usual to-night. I beg you, therefore, leave me, and if my obstinacy offends you, you may let the ring remain here, and when my husband returns I will ask him if I may accept it.”
Smiles replaced the ring in its case, and slipped it into his pocket. Mrs. Leigh was not aware he had done so, but was surprised that he did not heed her request to withdraw.
“Am I in any wise the unhappy cause of your indisposition, my dear madam? Or can I be of any service to you?” He leaned forward and grasped her hand passionately. But his touch had the effect of awakening her to an ecstacy of rage and ferocity. She sprang to her feet and demanded in a subdued but threatening voice:
“Well sir, what is the meaning of this? You, a minister of the gospel, and not know how to treat a woman? Begone, sir!”
“Be calm, my dear madam, please be calm. I was merely going to wish you good night.... But that was a splendid flash of passion, Josephine—it was indeed! Ha! ha! ha! You might have been a second Rachel, if you had only taken to the stage instead of to—er—marriage.” As he uttered these phrases in a tone of taunting raillery, he took a few steps backward to reach the key in the front door which he turned.
“You take offense too soon, my dear Josephine; you do, upon my soul. Why, if all your sex took fire in this way the world would not be fit for any man of spirit to live in! But I was going to tell you of the ring. Do you recall a fine young priest whose crown was not two months shorn; a Maying party, and a very secluded glen near Vicksburg, in 1854? It was when the birds were mating; you were not such marble then, by the confession that gay young neophyte made to me. Oh! the magic ring; can it have lost its charm?”
As he spoke, Josephine moved to the further side of the room where her work basket lay. She kept her eyes fastened on him, and felt in the basket until she found a small embroidery stiletto the only weapon she had.
Smiles never forgot how terribly beautiful she looked as she stood there at bay.
Moving towards her, he said, “I really thought you knew me, Josephine!”
“How dare you use my name sir! Begone at once, or I will cry for help!”
“No, Josephine, not yet, ma chere, you might be sorry for it.”
He regarded her steadily: she felt some mesmeric influence projected by this glance which paralyzed her power of resistance.
“No wonder you do not know me. I was a lean, unripe stripling then, not the finished man of the world you see me now. Have I not improved?”
Josephine flinched perceptibly at these words, and thought of one whose memory she had cursed in her heart for nearly seven years.
“Silence!” she cried, “I know you now. George Lamont, the villain for whom—” she hesitated as if choked by passion. He caught up her words—
“For whom you crossed the Rubicon, Josephine. The same: as always, at your service.”
She fixed her eyes on him and came towards him, the keen steel gleaming in her hand. He watched her like a lynx: sprang forward and seized her with his strong grip, and she dropped the weapon on the floor. He kicked it aside, and forcing her into a chair, said:
“Now Josephine, you will listen to reason. You are in my power: I can ruin you completely, or I can render you the envy of your sex. You want to talk, of course; but don’t say a word until I finish. It is ten minutes past nine. I can only allow you half an hour to arrive at a decision.”
“You threaten in vain,” she said with strange composure. “In half an hour my companion, Miss Wilson will return; until then, I defy you.”
“Very well,” he replied, with a suggestive smile. “Now suppose you listen to me as patiently as I have heard you? Don’t go on railing, for I also can do that if occasion demands. Mind, you have threatened to murder me here to-night. And yet I know you love me!”
“Coward!”
“Hark! I have here in my pocket the note you wrote me appointing the tryst which, for me, proved such a fatality. There, there, don’t say a word: I was an innocent lamb just entering my novitiate in grace, when you came upon the scene and ruined me.”
“Have done, George Lamont, your effrontery is more than I can bear!” She moved towards the door. He stepped back, and taking the key from the lock, held it up before her.
“This note,” he then said, leisurely, “bears no date, is as fresh in appearance as if written to-day, (I have kept it carefully) and I know your writing has not altered much. It begins with “my darling” simply, and ends with “Josephine” precisely as I have seen it signed to notes you have written Hagar.” She made a second move to pass him, with the terror of a hunted creature in her eyes.
He grasped her wrist fiercely and swinging her around forced her again into her chair. Then, his lips close to her ear, he continued in a shrill whisper:—
“You know that your husband, Philip Leigh, the renegade, hates you.” She started as if she had been stabbed. “You know it, I say. But he more than hates you, he suspects, distrusts you, thinks you a wanton. I heard him say as much to Mark Kilbourne one night at Chestnut Grove.”
Josephine’s head sank. She was crushed by shame and terror. Like a tortured child she at last burst into tears. Suddenly her tears were checked as were his words. They heard a sound of laughter at the gate.
She rose, inspired with new force. “Now, sir, begone before I deliver you into the hands of those who—” her voice faltered, and she staggered to the table.
“One word and you are lost!” the same hissing whisper came to her.
“I am here at your appointment. You understand? Your friends will know your hand-writing; I will read your note to them and let them decide which of us is in the wrong. But listen—they have seen the carriage at the gate, and passed on guessing rightly that you——have——company.”
Josephine looked about her helplessly, not realizing what he said, and still expecting help to come. The strain had been too great and she fell back, fainting. Disregarding her, he held his ear to the keyhole to satisfy himself that all was quiet outside. Dan’s report had proved satisfactory, and Miss Wilson had continued to her own home. He then approached the prostrate form of his victim and raised her gently to the sofa where he bathed her temples, and moistened her lips with water. She still remained unconscious and he went into the dining-room to look for brandy; but finding nothing stronger than a decanter of sweet wine, he brought a glass of that and applied it to her lips.
When she finally opened her eyes she saw the parson seated near her with an expression on his calm face which said as plainly as words: “I conquer.” All that had been passing was perfectly clear to her; she was not surprised to see Lamont there, but lay gazing calmly at him, half in wonder, half in entreaty.
“Drink this glass of wine, Josephine, it will revive you,” urged Lamont, tenderly.
“Did not Miss Wilson come in? I heard her voice.” He answered by pressing the glass towards her, but she declined to drink.
“No, she has gone home, and no one else will come here to night.”
“But you are still here, George Lamont. Why is this? What is your motive?”
“To tell you my love, and ask you to fly with me from this place forever.”
She had lain still on the sofa, but now she sat up and looked at him perplexedly.
“Fly with you? Fly with you!” she repeated with an expression of surprise and contempt, “you are a madman; I do not understand you.”
“You shall, then, in a moment. You told me that I was the first and only man you ever loved,” said he, as if beginning a narrative.
“And how you rewarded me for my confession!” she spoke with deep emotion, and in shame covered her face with her hands.
“Admit that we were both wrong then, Josephine: we can now repair that wrong—I to you, and you to me.”
“Blot out one sin by committing a greater? No, your sophistries cannot deceive me now! You speak of wrong: I never wronged you.”
“We shall come to that. You remember the profession I had chosen? I am going to exercise it now for the first time: I am going to preach.”
“Oh! for pity’s sake spare me! Remember my father’s friendship to you; your respect for your own sisters——”
“Gone, Josephine, gone with my loss of you. Your frailty was like a red-hot brand drawn across my life, blasting it through and through! I rarely speak my heart; but I speak it now, and you understand me! Your father befriended me and was my friend, until he proved my deadliest enemy in that he had not grounded his daughter’s character in virtue impregnable. I then possessed the truest qualification for the career I had chosen: Virtue! and you say you never wronged me, though you robbed me of that! Ah! yes, that conceit surprises you, as it would most women; but still it is true. I had not the art to tempt you then, but you had the wantonness to lure me on to ruin, and your fall not only killed the immortal part of me when first I broke my awful vows, but it robbed me of you, of my hopes, my ambition, my friends! From that moment you, the beautiful, the accomplished, the favorite of men and women alike, became an outcast in my sight. I despised you! I know you would say you yielded because of your love and trust in me, for them you should have resisted until death! The lover loathes the woman who yields to his unrighteous lust as the husband the wife who yields herself to a paramour’s embrace. So it was with me: what I had pursued so ardently, in one moment turned to ashes in my hand. I fled from my home; abandoned my fortune and my prospects; sought only for excitement and diversion. Everywhere I found women who were as compliant as I had proved you——”
“Oh! mercy, mercy—you are killing me!” She fell on her face before him.
“My fate since that day has been unmerciful. And yet you will not confess the wrong and seek its remedy. You are unhappy, so am I. Our union can repair all and our loss will prove a riddance to those we leave behind.”
“My brain is so weary.... I can not think,” she said, raising herself with feeble effort to her feet. “Wait until to-morrow,—you could come in the afternoon—and if I have wronged you as you say you shall have my life to pay for it. I have thought that you betrayed and deserted me with callous cruelty; but if I am wrong, and the wicked wretch you make me out, I am not fit to live. If you bring poison with you I will take it and so expiate my crimes.”