“She cannot love
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.”—Shakespeare.
The Rev. Nathan Taine was one of the leading apostles of Universalism in
the West and had a large and influential following at Cleveland. His
early life had been characterized by struggle and hardship, and later by
sorrows and cares; but withal, he was what the world calls a successful
man and had attained to a position of considerable eminence from very
small beginnings.
His voice was always heard when the Union was the theme, and he indulged
in many bitter sarcasms against “Copperheads” and other species of
disunionist and pro-slavery sympathizers at the North, whom he regarded
as a fouler brood than the declared rebels who were in arms against the
nation they had wronged and which, he always declared, had not wronged
them.
For two years after he lost his wife Nathan Taine remained a widower;
but, thinking that it would be better for his son and adopted daughter
if he had a good woman who, as his wife, would take a mother’s interest
in them, he married again.
He was strangely disappointed. In those days he was only the young
pastor of a small country church of the Methodist persuasion, and the
only lady he knew who seemed suited to his case was Miss Melissa Duncan,
a spinster of about his own age, a leader in his church who was reputed
to have both money and brains, and the only child and heir of the
richest man in the county, who had recently died. This wife never had a
child, and instead of being a mother and friend to those who were left
to her care, she was from the first cold and harsh towards them and was
regarded by them as an ogress, rather than a mother. While still a lad
James had gone out and worked for his living to escape the tyrant who
ruled at home, and Hagar had to take his share of Mrs. Taine’s
unkindness.
“Father Taine,” as the minister was usually called by those who knew him
well, and particularly by the younger portion of the community, was
often saddened by the discordant state of his domestic affairs; but his
public duties called him hither and thither in such a constant round of
important missions that he had been compelled to leave the children to
his wife, who summed up her interest and effort by the soothing
consideration (soothing only to her diseased vanity) that nothing could
be done with them. She blackened James as much as possible to his
father; denounced him as wilful, impudent and deceitful, and at one
time, when in a towering rage, reported blasphemy among his crimes. Dr.
Taine had his suspicions that his wife exaggerated the faults of the
lad, but, though disturbed by her accusations, he had neither time nor
patience to go to the root of the matter, or, perhaps thought it best to
trust to the future for the solution of his difficulties.
Hagar was a little waif whom the pastor had taken into his home and
heart some time before his second marriage. She had been subject from
the first to the peculiar antipathy of Mrs. Taine. From her infancy she
was of an affectionate and grateful nature—not especially bright or
clever, but kind, gentle and winning in disposition. She was liked by
everybody except the mistress of Chestnut Grove, but especially loved by
Father Taine who could fully appreciate her girlish fancies and the
promise of her budding womanhood, and whom she regarded as a great and
superior being. She sought his society on every possible occasion, went
with him on his journeys whenever it was convenient, remaining still a
child in sentiment and affection, though almost a woman in years. She
had met a good many people but had made few intimate acquaintances,
partly owing to the habit of remaining with her adopted father, and
partly to the unsociable and inhospitable reputation earned by her
adopted mother, who, by the way, would never permit herself to be called
by that name. Her educational advantages had been limited to the
customary course in the public school at Newberg, a few cheap piano
lessons by an incompetent spinster in the neighborhood, and such
desultory and undirected reading as fell in her way.
It is, indeed, probable that she had more talent for cookery than for
scholarship, for she had certainly made some progress in the former
science, which could scarcely be said of the latter. But she could write
and speak her mother tongue with tolerable accuracy, and except for an
habitual gravity which she rarely cast wholly aside, she was as pleasant
and vivacious as the average western girl of that period and, perhaps,
not more so. The seriousness referred to began to assert itself from the
moment she fully realized that she had no father or mother of her own,
and although the subject was never referred to by others, except when
Mrs. Taine maliciously brought it forward to wound her, it was never
absent from her own mind a moment, and the sad expression in her large
hazel eyes which became more marked from year to year as a result of her
reflections, aroused immediate interest in those who met her.
Mrs. Taine made frequent objections to her husband’s attentions and
indulgences towards “the foundling,” as she contemptuously styled her;
but the doctor paid little heed to her unreasonable vagaries, deeming
them of a piece with her other incorrigible follies with regard to
which, since he had discovered how useless it was to combat them, he had
assumed a stoical indifference as the attitude least calculated to stir
up strife. If he stopped to argue with Melissa he was lost. Her
tyrannical spirit had been carefully nourished and freely exercised ever
since she married the doctor; and latterly Hagar had been its principal
foil. But the kind-hearted old gentlemen was more affectionate than ever
to the orphan since James had gone away, and he seemed oppressed at
times by an apprehension that she might be the next to vanish beyond his
ken. Her gentle thoughtfulness made her a great comfort to him. When he
reached home, weary in body and mind after hours of discussion and
turbulence such as had characterized his labors during the last few
years, she would bring his slippers and dressing gown, and a cup of his
favorite cocoa which she made exactly to his taste, into the library.
She studied his needs and his happiness, and brought many a ray of
sunshine to his heart when his brow was clouded with cares of which she
knew nothing. The stolid indifference of Mrs. Taine rendered Hagar the
more devoted; for it seemed to her almost monstrous that a woman could
be so destitute of feeling and sensibility towards a husband who was the
soul of goodness and gentleness.
Melissa had never forgiven what she called “Nathan’s fall from
orthodoxy,” and only her strong belief in the indissolubility of the
marriage tie, had prevented her from seeking divorce at the time of its
occurrence. She had publicly declared this, and many thought it probable
that the doctor would regret her tenacity of a bond which to him must be
rather galling. She scarcely ever spoke to him unless to argue theology.
She never seemed to think of him as a rational being to whose natural
requirements she might administer, but rather as a kind of theological
nut she was especially set apart to crack; and spent the time that
rightly belonged to the care of himself and the household in arguing
that his Universalism was entirely wrong. To prove her case she would
insist, at times, during the first years of her married life, on reading
whole sections from the works of Calvin and Knox, or some other
hardshell divine of remote times whose writings she but imperfectly
understood; or, when especially enthusiastic, would bring forth some of
her own disquisitions, consisting of “Notes on the Godhead,” “Parallel
Notes on Faith,” “Notes on the Trinity” which, together, would have
filled several volumes.
One morning a few days after James’s accident at the Globe office fire,
Hagar entered his room with a small tray full of nice things she had
prepared with her own hands for the invalid. She wore a plain dress of
some figured cotton stuff, and a neat bib-apron of her own make.
James thought he had never seen her look so pretty, but certainly never
so pale. He smiled at her burden of provisions, and when she had placed
it on a small table near the bed, extended his hand, saying:
“Good morning, Hagar; who has had the kindness to order me a well man’s
breakfast?”
“Dr. Warren said last night that you might have a nice chop this morning
if you were hungry; but knowing how I dislike hearing beforehand of what
I am going to have to eat I cooked these things for you myself, and I
think if you have no appetite now this coffee will give you one. I hope
you don’t mind, Mr. James?”
“Mind? Yes, I do—I’m very thankful to you, for, to tell the truth, I do
feel hungry. Dr. Warren was right—a nice chop is the very thing for my
case.”
“Oh, I’m so glad, because Father Taine said I might bring you whatever I
liked so long as the doctor approved. And you seem so much better to-
day—I hope you feel better, Mr. James?”
“Yes—my brain is not so heavy—my mind is clear as crystal.”
“And do you feel strong enough to tell me just a little about the fire
while you are eating your breakfast;—how it happened, and how you were
saved? Mr. Kilbourne has told us that you were shut up by a wall that
caved in, how dreadful! Please do tell me, if it won’t fatigue you too
much.”
He glanced at her admiringly as he raised himself on his elbow and began
sipping the fragrant coffee. Presently he said:
“I will tell you all I know about it, Hagar, on one condition.”
“And what is that?”
“That you will never address me again as Mister James.”
“But what will Ma’am Taine say if I speak to you or about you otherwise?
She says I have no right to call you simply ‘James.’”
“No matter what she says;—I don’t know where she came by such a notion,
but you must call me simply ‘James.’ Before she confers any titles on me
I want to see her authority; in the meantime I hope you will oblige me
by speaking as familiarly to me as she does. We are not living under a
monarchy where degrees are marked out with such a nicety that it takes a
volume as large as Webster’s dictionary to record them, and we won’t
admit an imperium in imperio by allowing madame to set up a petticoat
government in this quarter. No, Hagar, we are equals, provided I am good
enough to be your equal. I never had any patience with my step-mother’s
affectations, and have less now than ever. Her conduct towards you from
your infancy to the present time has doomed her in my esteem. But you
have shown yourself a little brick in keeping your footing here in spite
of her, and I hope you will never allow her harshness or injustice to
drive you away, or even to cast your spirit down. Father loves you, and
I—I will see hereafter that you are not imposed on by Ma’am Taine.”
James paused a moment and looked intently at Hagar: “Now, then,” she
said, “you have become sad and I’m sure you are not enjoying your
breakfast.”
“Yes I am;” James replied, attacking a bit of crisp toast, “but I was
wondering why you looked so pale. You appear to have missed your
breakfast altogether, for your cheeks were always so rosy. Has the
tyrant been meddling with you, lately?”
“No, it is not that,” she said, looking away, “but I have had such an
awful fright, James.”
“A fright? When?”
“Last Sunday.” She could say no more at that moment for her voice
faltered and she burst into tears.
“What is it, Hagar—can’t you tell me?”
“It seems like a dream now,” she said at last, “and I am almost afraid
to think of it. I began telling it to Ma’am Taine but as she said she
would not believe my account unless she liked it, I would not proceed. I
have not had an opportunity to tell Father Taine, so that no one knows
it but the two men and myself.”
“The two men—what two men?”
“The one who attacked me, and—and—the one who saved me.”
“Attacked you! what do you mean?” asked James with astonishment.
“I will tell you just how it happened,” said Hagar, wiping away her
tears. She then described her attack and rescue which surprised and
excited James Taine more than any bit of news he had gathered during his
reportorial career. Was such a thing possible, he asked himself, so near
a great city, on the highway in broad daylight? Certainly the culprit
could have been nothing less than an escaped lunatic, he thought, and he
asked Hagar about the appearance of the man, and if she had any idea
where the one who rescued her came from. Her replies seemed to offer no
tangible clue to either the villain who merited punishment, or the hero
who deserved reward.
“All I can remember,” she said, “about the dreadful creature who seized
me is that he was very tall with a black beard and dressed in black
clothes. He picked me up and carried me as if I had been a child, and I
thought I was dying when I heard the voice of the young man who came to
save me. He was slender but his eyes were dark, and overhung by
prominent brows:—his face was smooth, and his complexion dark.”
“That’s strange,” exclaimed the invalid. “Dark complexion you say, and
young?”
“Yes,” Hagar replied, surprised by his question.
“Was his hair short or long?”
“It was long and curly—I noted that when I thought he was being killed.”
“In what color was he dressed?” James demanded with still deeper
interest.
“He had on gray trousers and coat, and a blue flannel shirt. I wondered
who he could be, and looked at him closely when he was putting on his
shoes.”
“Can it be possible?” said James. “Why Hagar, you are describing the
very man who, that same day, saved me from the fire. All that you have
said I should have to say if I attempted to describe him—the blue shirt,
the dark eyes and long hair—the prominent brow—I thought his forehead
like Shakespeare’s as he dashed through the smoke and flames, his hair
streaming, his eyes flashing heroic fire that seemed to regard the
hissing and devouring flames as its natural element. Could it have been
the same?—It seems incredible!”
“You were going to tell me about it, James, when I interrupted you with
the story of my fright.”
“Well then, I will resume the subject—but I feel certain after what you
have said that the same hand that saved you from a villain or a madman,
saved me from a fiery death. God grant that he is safe!”
“He was hurt, then?” asked Hagar, greatly interested in the subject of
this mysterious hero.
“Yes, you shall hear. My tragedy happened some two or three hours later
than yours, which is additional cause for my thinking that we were
rescued by one and the same hand; but Heaven knows that I would rather
have been roasted to a cinder than that one hair of your dear head
should be harmed. The fire broke out in the press room and originated by
the lamp-lighter setting fire to the kerosene with which he was filling
the lamps. A ‘devil’ who was helping him escaped and made known this
fact, but the lamplighter was probably killed, by the explosion of the
oil. I was in the reporter’s room on the third floor writing up from my
notes Dr. Gall’s sermon which I had attended in the forenoon. Before I
heard the alarm of fire, the stairways and elevator were burning, and
the entire lower portion of the building was in flames. Many of the
partitions were of lath and plaster and burnt like tinder. Shrieks and
cries for help were mingling with the cracking and roaring of the fire
when I ran into the hall to be almost stifled by the smoke; and some of
the typesetters, both men and girls, on the same floor, hurled
themselves down the stairs into the midst of the flames. I thought there
might still be one chance of life left for me, and realized that nothing
but perfect coolness would enable me to avail myself of it. To jump from
a window would be death, and the flames were leaping through those I
might have reached. By some means, however, I must descend, and in
desperation swung myself by one of the burning ropes of the elevator to
the second floor, the elevator shaft forming a well of incandescence
beneath. Almost suffocated, I fled towards an open window on the right,
the dense smoke being momentarily parted by the rushing currents of air
which also revived me; but I had only gone a few paces when I was hurled
with a mass of smouldering debris to the lower floor. How I escaped
being killed by that fall is a mystery. I was stunned, though not
unconscious. But I was completely walled in, and could feel the heat of
the fire under me which would soon burst through the damp timbers by
which I was held as in a vise, and consume me with the rest. My struggle
seemed hopeless, and I was about to give up in despair and consign my
spirit to its Maker, when I heard a battering noise near me, and a
moment later saw the man with the blue shirt and the long hair break
through the thin partition and come towards me.
“‘Where is the woman I saw coming this way before that wall fell in?’ he
asked quickly, at the same time shoving aside a timber that formed part
of the trap that held me fast. I could only reply that I had not seen
the woman, and it was clear we had not a second to lose if we would
escape with our own lives. Seeing that I was disabled though he was
already burnt and bruised himself, he took me on his shoulder and
carried me out through the hole he had made, from what in a few minutes
would have been my tomb!” His lips trembled, and he covered his eyes
with his hand to hide his tears of gratitude.
“And the woman, did she escape?” asked Hagar, who had listened with rapt
attention to his story.
“No, I am afraid not; and he who tried to save her missed her and found
a less worthy object for his heroism.”
“You cannot judge as to that James,” said Hagar with gentle reproof.
“But how strange and sad it all seems, and how wonderful it will be if
the same man really saved both our lives on that day.”
“I am convinced that it is the case”—James rejoined. But at that moment
a tap at the door announced that his friend Kilbourne was coming in, and
Hagar withdrew without resuming the conversation.
“I see Dr. Warren coming up the avenue,” said Mark.
“Then I hope he will bring me news of my mysterious friend.”
While they were talking Dr. Warren dismounted at the verandah steps, and
handing a letter to the negro servant, Dan, said:
“Please give this letter to Mrs. Taine, I bring it from her husband.”
Mrs. Taine seemed to take no interest in James’s case, and, as usual,
did not make her appearance. The doctor proceeded to his patient’s room
and found that he was progressing favorably.
“There is a full account of the fire in this paper,” said the doctor.
“You seem to have been pretty well in the midst of it, James; but did
you see anything of the fiery genius they speak of here in connection
with your name?”
“What do they say about him?” asked James, “for a spirit of some kind
saved me from death.”
“This must be the one—just listen—” replied Doctor Warren. He then read
the following paragraph from a paper he had brought with him:—
“‘When the conflagration was at its height and it seemed that everything
burnable must quickly be consumed, a young man was seen making his way
through the crowd shouting that there were human beings inside who might
be saved. Dressed only in his pantaloons and a coarse flannel shirt, he
snatched a heavy bar from one of the ladder trucks, and dashed into the
building amid a moan of dismay and a wild “hurrah!” from the crowd. One,
two, three—five minutes passed—he was wreathed in fire—the people cried
that he had disappeared forever; and who shall describe the hurricane of
exultation that greeted him when he reappeared on the very tongues of
flame, bearing on his shoulder the disabled form of Mr. James Taine, a
talented young reporter on the “Globe.”’”
“That is evidently some of Mike’s work—nothing pleases him so well as a
fling at rhetoric,” said Mark, smiling.
“He continues:—” said the doctor, resuming the newspaper:—“‘The rescued
reporter has been taken to his father’s house in the country, and the
gallant boy who risked his life to save him and is badly hurt, is being
cared for at the City Hospital. He refuses to give his name, residence,
calling, or any information whatever concerning himself, and disclaims
having done anything surprising. Nevertheless, this community owes him a
debt of gratitude for his noble deed, and will certainly not lose sight
of him without making a suitable acknowledgement of the appreciation and
honor it feels for such a hero.’—What do you say to that?”
“He deserves it all,” replied James, with enthusiasm, “and, I suspect, a
good deal more. Have you called to see him at the hospital, doctor?”
“No, but I shall do so on my return to town.”
“Well give him my best regards and thanks. Tell him that I will esteem
it a great favor if he will drive out here with my father as soon as he
is able. Father will call to see him again to-day, I presume, if he has
time. He does not know that probably Hagar’s life was saved that day by
the same person who saved me—but such really seems to be the case.” He
repeated what Hagar had told him, after which the doctor went away,
saying that he would report the matter to the police authorities, and
deliver James’s message to the most modest of heroes.
Mrs. Taine met the doctor on the verandah, and extended her hand with a
formal “Good morning, doctor.”
“Will you be likely to see Doctor Taine again to-day, doctor?” she
continued.
“Yes, he has promised to dine with us.”
“Oh! then please tell him that the contents of his note are duly noted,
and that he could not have sent me more welcome news—also accept my
thanks as the bearer, doctor.” She added the last phrase with peculiar
affectation. The doctor, being one of the many who could not understand
the mistress of Chestnut Grove did not prolong the interview, but
gracefully disengaged himself and rode away.
Though she had already learned the letter by heart she again took it
from her pocket as she paced the verandah. It ran as follows:—
“DEAR MELISSA:—I send this line by Dr. Warren to tell you that I have
found Mr. Smiles, of Boston, who spent a few days with us some months
ago, awaiting me at the Tabernacle. In deference to what I knew to be
your wish, I have invited him to accompany me to Chestnut Grove this
evening. I think he intends to pass several days with us. Yours,
NATHAN.”
Mrs. Taine was elated at the prospect of this visit. She had never
ceased recurring to the amiability and lovable character of the devout
Mr. Smiles, whose former brief stay in her house formed the golden age
of her social annals. Ever since she met him she had been in the habit
of declaring that he was the only man she ever knew who was entirely
congenial to her.