At supper the conversation turned on the subject of the fire and Hagar’s
adventure. After Dr. Taine had been speaking solemnly concerning the
baseness to which a man must have sunk before he could bring himself to
commit such a crime as the one attempted on Sunday, Mr. Smiles lowered
himself several degrees in the estimation of Dr. Taine and Mark by
saying:
“It is very shocking to hear of such occurrences, but they are, happily,
uncommon. Whoever the man was, we must admit he showed fine discernment
in seeking to carry off so fair a prize.”
Mark looked at Dr. Taine, and it was plain to him that the old gentleman
did not like the speech any more than he did. They endeavored to change
the subject, by talking about the Army, the Navy, and the attitude of
foreign powers; but Mr. Smiles reverted with eccentric persistence to
the former theme, and was particularly anxious to have a description of
the knight errant who had won all hearts.
“Does he most resemble the immortal Don, or his no less immortal
Squire?”
He spoke in a lively manner that pleased his hostess exceedingly.
The doctor described the young man he had visited at the hospital in a
few words, when Mr. Smiles said:—
“He may be a deserter, then; or else a refugee slave. He must have some
powerful motive for concealing his identity. There are Octoroons, they
say, who are scarcely distinguishable from white men, and the black eyes
and other points you have mentioned, sound rather suspicious. But, in
any case you may be sure that he will expect Miss Hagar to fall in love
with him,” added the handsome minister with an admiring glance towards
Hagar, who was already somewhat embarrassed by being made the subject of
so much talk. “For,” he continued, “young ladies always fall in love
with the brave fellows who preserve them from danger.”
“Very true! Very true indeed, Mr. Smiles,” said Mrs. Taine.
Nobody else appeared to be much amused, but the parson continued
complacently:—
“On consideration, nothing is more natural. I once knew of a very
striking case of the kind:” He proceeded to recount the story. “There is
an important fact in connection with these cases,” he concluded, “which
should not be lost sight of, namely:—That the young lady who is thus
preserved could never know the joy of love at all but for the champion
who saves her, ergo—whom should she love if not the one who had
preserved to her the power of loving?”
“You would infer then,” said Mark pointedly, “that the lady in the
present case must fall in love with and marry a deserter or a refugee
slave—an octoroon who cannot be distinguished from a white man?”
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Kilbourne,” replied Mr. Smiles with perfect good
nature, “I do not wish to infer anything of the sort. The tenacity with
which this young gentleman has kept back his name is a little
surprising, you will admit. But, he may be a Russian prince in disguise,
or the son of Uncle Abe Lincoln himself for aught I know.”
“Perhaps,” said Hagar, rather seriously, “as the subject of so much
comment is expected to come here in a few days, we might wait until then
to satisfy our curiosity. I think we are not likely to prove him either
a slave or a deserter.”
“He is a singular person,” remarked Dr. Taine thoughtfully, “singular in
every respect. He is, seemingly, neither ignorant nor educated, polished
nor uncouth; but there’s something genuine and straightforward about
him, and nothing that I could discern, to give color to the supposition
that he had a guilty cause to conceal his identity. He has certainly
laid us under heavy obligations, and I feel a lively interest in him.
Perhaps the thin veil of mystery which now envelopes him will vanish
sooner than we expect. He is evidently a young man of character who has
a purpose, and so far as we can judge, it is not a bad one.”
Shortly after supper Mrs. Taine took her guest for a stroll on the lawn
in the moonlight, leaving the doctor and Mark to their cigars in the
dining room. Hagar hurried up stairs to look after the invalid. Mr.
Smiles expressed great satisfaction for Mrs. Taine’s adroitness in
delivering him from an uncongenial spirit which his suavity and good
nature had failed to exorcise.
“To me, my dear madame,” he said, in a tone of good faith, “you are a
much more substantial deliverer than the hero of shreds and patches of
whom we have heard so much this evening. That fellow Kilbourne, whom I
am pleased to note, you do not like, is an awful bore. He looks at one
as if he were contemplating manslaughter, and talks like a pettifogging
lawyer.”
“It is one of the lightest of my crosses, my dear Mr. Smiles,” responded
his companion, as she leaned confidingly on his strong arm, “that I must
submit to the presence of that person in my house. You cannot feel a
greater antipathy for him than I do. When I say my house,” she
continued, “I say what is literally true: Dr. Taine has nothing. His
Universality friends were mostly poor when he went over to them, and as
I had a sufficient income of my own to meet all demands, he has spent
his earnings, which were meagre enough for many years, in the cause of
his sect, and to promote the interests of Abolition. The value of my
property both in Cleveland and here has greatly increased in the last
few years, to such an extent, indeed, that I have wealth enough to see
the world now, and to make quite a different figure from my present
self. This life is too contracted for me and always has been. I want to
live in Boston, in London, and in Rome. I have no relatives except those
I have acquired by marriage. So I may as well enjoy the benefits that
money alone can purchase, travel, experience and culture in foreign
lands. You must advise me, my dear Mr. Smiles, for you are the first and
the only man I have ever met, whom I thought capable of aiding me in
that way. You have been abroad—I remember your mentioning it last
Spring.” She spoke with girlish eagerness that inwardly amused her
guest, who was fully alive to the grateful sensation she experienced in
the rare treat of an attentive and sympathetic hearing.
“Merely as a boy, when, I fear, it did me little good. I have often
wished that I might enjoy the advantages of which you speak; but poor
men, you know, my dear Mrs. Taine, must be content to labor on without
encouraging vain longings, in the narrow and ofttimes barren vineyard
where their lot is cast. I agree with you, however, that those who have
wealth have a right to enjoy it to the utmost, so long, of course, as
they do not forget their duties as christians. But will you allow me to
revert for a moment to Mr. Kilbourne. Is Miss Hagar in love with
him?—you will pardon my asking such a question.”
“No, indeed, she is only slightly acquainted with him. But I am glad you
have put the question for I think I noticed while you were with us in
the spring, that you took a good deal of interest in ‘Miss Hagar.’”
“I do not deny it, but you must be possessed of an uncommon power of
penetration to have remarked the fact, my dear madam.”
“Perhaps so, but I have remarked another fact which may be even more
important if you are in earnest——”
“Yes? What is that?”
“That she is greatly interested in you. She was not unmindful of your
superiority over other men she had met, when you were here before. She
had not counted on seeing you again, but I am certain that your
unexpected coming has not only revived the old interest but greatly
increased it. You might have her for the asking.”
“You think so?”
“I am sure of it.”
“And may I count on your assistance?” he asked with affected anxiety
which Mrs. Taine readily accepted for genuine.
“With all my heart,” she replied, “if you really wish it.”
“As you are fully aware, my dear madam,” he went on in a low,
confidential voice, “the obstacle at present will be my straightened
finances. I shall not attempt to conceal from you what my wishes are,
but—you know the adage—”
“‘Man proposes,’ and so forth?” said Mrs. Taine. “Well, of course, you
know best, and you must decide for yourself, so far as I see at
present.”
She was on the point of telling him one or two important thoughts that
were revolving in her brain, but she kept them back and gradually
brought the conversation round to her favorite topic, the scandal of the
neighborhood, in which Mr. Smiles seemed to take a lively interest. The
cool breeze which had sprung up at sundown had now died away, and the
moonlit night was warm and balmy. Mrs. Taine appreciated the favors of
Nature most thoroughly on that occasion, and felt a strong conviction
that she was performing an important part in some vague romance.
Meanwhile Mr. Smiles was the subject of a short but somewhat pointed
discussion indoors.
“No,” said Dr. Taine in reply to Mark Kilbourne’s question, “I do not
know much about him. He presented himself to me in the first instance
with a letter of introduction from a member of my former congregation at
Newberg, who has, for some years, been a resident of Boston. He has
returned on the strength of the brief acquaintance then formed, and
appears to be on good terms with the people of his persuasion in this
neighborhood; I heard several persons speak of him in the highest terms
after he left here last spring.”
“For my part,” Mark replied, “I don’t like him: to my material eye he
wears the ear-marks of hypocrisy if not imposture. I should set him down
for a wolf and take care he did not enjoy too free a range among lambs
of mine.”
“Ah! Mark, that sounds like prejudice. We are prone to judge too hastily
of the demerits of our fellow men. The best may possess peculiarities
which are distasteful to us, but I believe, as a rule, that they are the
safest who take the least trouble to conceal them.”
“I may be wrong; but I profess some skill at spotting a scoundrel, and I
should unhesitatingly class this slippery divine under that head. Like a
deadly pill, he is the more dangerous from being sugar-coated.”
“He has at least one fervent admirer here,” said Dr. Taine, referring to
his wife, “and one who is not considered overcredulous. Their religious
views, I believe, are similar (one can scarcely say identical, I find,
of any two persons of average mental acquirements.) I suspect that he is
fishing for a handsome subscription, which he is likely to find a very
delicate point indeed on which to approach madam.” This suggestion
seemed to amuse them.
The cantankerous disposition of Mrs. Taine had caused an almost complete
suspension of friendly intercourse between Chestnut Grove and the
neighboring estates. But, as is frequently the case with people who are
on bad terms with their immediate acquaintances, she could show great
tenderness and amiability towards any one from a distance if she but
received a good first impression.
In the course of their walk she had initiated her reverend companion not
only into the very sanctuary of her own domestic affairs, but also into
that of others in whom he could not feel the remotest interest. After a
scathing criticism, a sort of broad-side of shrapnel which swept
everything before it, she paused at a rustic bench that stood in the
shadow of an evergreen near the gate, and invited her guest to rest
awhile. She sighed wearily as she took her place beside him, and
continued her complaint:—
“Such are the people by whom I am surrounded, and you can imagine, my
dear Mr. Smiles, how a woman of my highly sensitive and intellectual
nature must be affected by these opposite and uncongenial forces. Not a
soul, even in my own house, to appreciate one of my lofty ideas; not one
that has either the capacity or the desire to grasp the divine mysteries
which delight my soul, or to share with me—or learn from me, such
sentiments as would tend, in time, to raise them to my level. The men
and women of my own generation have all gone mad on Abolition,
Universalism, or some other hideous ’ism; and the younger ones are free-
thinkers or infidels. Irreligion and ungodliness have thrown the country
into civil war from which, it is plain to the enlightened ones of
Israel, it can never emerge except in fragments and in ruin. The cup of
the scoffers is full, and only the righteous shall inherit the earth!”
The old lady was evidently inclined to continue this harangue
indefinitely since she was spurred up to her declamatory pitch, but her
companion was rather tired of it. After a suppressed—
“Dashed if the old woman is n’t a copper-head!” he led her gently from
questions of doctrine and contemporary history, back to the personal
details she had touched upon and left unfinished.
“As our views are virtually identical on these subjects, my dear madam,”
he continued after a few flattering exclamations “would you not oblige
me by continuing the more than romantic incident you just mentioned of
the young Southerner and Miss La Salle? His name, you said, was—?”
“Philip Leigh.”
“Yes, yes; that is it. And his father was one of the richest planters in
Louisiana?”
“He is so,” said Mrs. Taine, emphatically, “and the ungrateful Philip
has had every advantage that a Southern gentleman knows how to give his
son.” The ease and spirit with which she reverted to this subject showed
that it was congenial to her mind. She had noted as an unmistakable
evidence of his good sense, that Mr. Smiles, though he must have very
different opinions, had made no objections to her pro-Southern
sentiments. She had long prided herself on being a “Peace Democrat” and
an ardent admirer of “Southern chivalry,” though it must be confessed
that her ideas were sufficiently vague concerning both.
“I was telling you,” she continued, “that he studied military science in
France after graduating at West Point. While there he attracted the
attention of the Empress and was introduced at Court. Well, some time
before South Carolina resolved to secede he fell out with his father
concerning the attitude of the South, and declared his intention of
using his sword for the Union in case the states rights doctrine should
bring on a war. A quarrel of the bitterest kind was the result, and he
came north just a month before the fall of Fort Sumter. He had no sooner
made known his loyalty at Washington than he was given an important
commission by the Government, which brought him into Ohio. At Cleveland
he was welcomed by a few people who had known him at West Point and in
New Orleans, and at one of their houses met this Miss LaSalle, with
whom, it seems, he fell desperately in love. They were married a few
weeks after they became acquainted, and the old saw is exemplified in
his case—he ‘repents at leisure,’ they say.”
“Here is material, certainly, for a romance,” exclaimed Mr. Smiles. “And
you know this interesting young patriot?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied, with a cynical smile, “and hate him cordially!
His is a double-dyed secession, from his father, and from his father’s
cause, and for such a woman, too! He is already mad with jealousy, and a
friend of mine who lives near them tells me it is not without good
cause.”
“I should like to meet him. Does he ever visit you here?”
“No; he and James are friends, but he knows I don’t like him, and has
not been here to call for months. Hagar likes his wife but I have
discouraged their intercourse. You might see him any day at Newberg if
you feel sufficient curiosity: but they say he is dull and unsociable;
his only amusement being the game of chess, and his soldiering his only
employment. You can draw him out, however, if you only talk Union and
anti-slavery and don’t let him catch you admiring his wife.”
“But who was Miss La Salle?” asked Mr. Smiles, affecting not to notice
her closing words.
Mrs. Taine’s sneers and depreciation in relation to Mrs. Leigh, were
altogether gratuitous. She had never been on friendly terms with the La
Salles, who were for many years near neighbors of her father, for they
had not considered her a pleasant person either as Miss Duncan or since
she became Mrs. Taine. They had never been so rich as the Duncans, but
were more refined by nature and by culture, and far more amiable.
“She has been an orphan for some years,” continued Mrs. Taine. “Her
parents were very poor, but proud, and she was their only child. They
claimed to be descended from the famous French explorer Chevalier La
Salle. Of course we all know that it may be so, but as my poor father
used to say, ‘the descent must have been through very doubtful
channels.’ Josephine has nothing to recommend her but a pretty face and
certain frivolous accomplishments.”
“Josephine, then, is her name? It is a favorite with me: you did not
mention it before,” said Mr. Smiles.
“It is very French, you know, and I can’t say that I like it. Prior to
her marriage she was living with an invalid aunt who was poor but moved
in the best society of Cleveland. She has recently died, and a friend of
mine who lived with her for some time, tells me that Josephine was
jilted by a young Southerner of very high family, while on a visit to
relatives of her father’s in the South some six or seven years ago—not
without being smirched, too, they say!” said she, with that peculiar
emphasis and rising inflection on ‘they say’ which ever characterizes
the malicious gossip, and especially the old one.
“Poor girl!” exclaimed the missionary with an expression of earnest
concern. Then changing his tone to one of keen interest, he enquired:—
“And how did Captain Leigh make her acquaintance?”
“I thought I told you—at an entertainment in Cleveland. There were
several versions of the affair at the time—but, though I may not like a
person, I pay very little attention to gossip. I did hear it was love at
first sight, but some said, on his part, while others declared that she
was the victim and he only married her to console her. They are
wretchedly unhappy, I believe!”
They were interrupted by the clatter of a horse’s hoofs and the
appearance of a horseman at the gate. He leaned over and opened it as if
familiar with the latch, and, without noticing the gossips, entered and
trotted rapidly up the avenue.
Mrs. Taine was in a quandary. Who in the world could it be at that time
of night? Of course she must hurry to the house at once to investigate
this mysterious arrival. Father Taine and Mark, hearing the horse, came
to the door, and both were as much delighted as surprised to grasp the
hand of Captain Leigh.
“I have only just heard of James’s accident. How is he?” said the
Captain, anxiously.
“He is badly hurt,” replied Father Taine, “but is getting on favorably.”
“I went to Columbus on Monday, and have had no news except the war news
while away. I received the first intimation of James’s misfortune in a
letter from my wife. I hope I may be allowed to see him?”
Mrs. Taine and her guest now came up the verandah steps, and the former
marched directly into the sitting-room saying as she went:
“Won’t you all come in where we can see who you are?” They promptly
complied, and when she recognized Captain Leigh, she gave him the tips
of her fingers with icy formality and said:—
“How do you do, Mr. Leigh.”
It was nine o’clock, and Mark and Captain Leigh made haste to go to
their friend’s room as soon as Hagar brought his permission. When they
were gone, Father Taine retired to his library where he labored usually
until after midnight, and Mr. Smiles found himself alone with the
ladies—a situation in which he seemed not at all lonely.
At his request Hagar went to the piano and played two or three light
selections in true country-girl fashion. Though she possessed musical
talent she had lacked the opportunity for development. The young
minister succeeded her at the instrument, and after having commended her
undoubted taste, which he thought it a sin to have neglected, he dashed
off some of the gems of Beethoven and Stephen Heller in truly artistic
style. He then sang in a full and rich baritone, selections from several
operas, a popular ballad or two, and concluded his programme with a
spirited rendition of the Marseillaise in very fair French.
His performance was sufficiently effective to have charmed a much larger
and more discerning company. Hagar was deeply impressed, and made no
attempt to conceal the fact. Mrs. Taine was delighted. During his former
visit he had played for them, but had excused himself from singing on
account of what he called a “parson’s sore throat,” which then troubled
him. In the course of his performance this evening Mrs. Taine had
resolved an idea she had long cherished into a determination: she would
offer to make him her principal heir.
Hagar thought that her withdrawal would be agreeable to at least one of
the trio, so she excused herself and was leaving the room when she was
met at the door by Captain Leigh and Mark.
“Ah! Miss Hagar,” said Philip, “you are a great stranger, and I have a
commission from Josephine to ask you why you do not come to see her.”
“You must tell her it is not because I do not want to see her,” replied
Hagar. “She is my dearest friend, and the next time Father Taine goes to
Newberg I will accompany him.”
“Mrs. Taine has been telling me your wonderful history, Captain Leigh,”
said Mr. Smiles, approaching the young soldier.
“It were better untold—I am sorry she mentioned it,” replied Philip,
abruptly.
“True patriotism, my dear sir, may be modest, but it need not resent
praise, I hope, nor hide itself under a bushel. What a noble example you
have set to the rebellious sons of the South!”
“I doubt it, sir,” said Philip, looking the parson calmly in the eye.
“Had I a son who treated me as I have my father, I should kill him like
a viper that attacked me. The die is cast: I have deserted my father and
his cause for what I deem, rightly or wrongly, my country and my duty.
But I want no praise at this stage of the game; my conscience often
smites me for what I have done. I would to Heaven that I could bury this
blot out of my sight, but I shall not waver; my path is marked out, and
though it lay through adamant I will hew away while life lasts.”
“To become converted to a good cause, to the right, was ever accounted
honorable,” observed Mr. Smiles, urbanely.
But Philip was restless to get away, and made no reply. Turning to Mark,
he said in a low voice:—
“Mark, I want you to come as far as the gate with me, I have something
special to say to you.”
“Are you starting for the front soon, Captain Leigh?” asked the
minister.
“I cannot say, we are drilling recruits and awaiting orders.”
“They tell me that you are an adept in the science of arms” pursued the
parson.
“No!” replied Philip emphatically, “like many in that and other
professions, I only know the alphabet.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Mark in reply to something the Captain said as
they walked down the avenue.
“It is quite true,” he replied. “My cousin very shrewdly sent his letter
to a mutual friend in New York, and its contents are full and
conclusive. I am to be abducted and carried alive into Kentucky if
possible; but, if this fails I am to be shot dead wherever found. You
heard what I said to night? I learned the lesson from the father I was
speaking of—this is his order.”
“And what do you think of it?” asked Mark.
“That those who are to execute the order will find it too difficult to
carry me away living, and to earn their money more easily will
assassinate me—perhaps on my way home to-night.”
“Have you such a presentiment?” asked Mark, his face turning deadly pale
at the thought.
“Oh, no; not so bad as that. I don’t think I ever had a presentiment in
my life, I scarcely know what it means. I have no great love of life,
but I don’t want to fall by the hand of an assassin. For myself I do not
regard this plot with alarm: but others are in danger. No life is to be
spared that stands in the way of my taking off, and what would be more
likely than for them to come to my house at night and murder Josephine
lest her cries should arouse the neighborhood? Being in an enemy’s
country their motto will be silence and despatch, and they will scruple
at nothing to compass their design. But I would rather pay the full
penalty than let the authorities know that my father has decreed me such
a fate. What can I do to protect others without having it appear that I
am menaced?”
“I am sorry, Phil, that you ever moved out of Cleveland,” said Mark.
“My cousin expresses the same regret, but I think without cause. In my
opinion locality does not govern danger, it may fall or fail anywhere.”
“Do you think the desperadoes are in the vicinity?”
“It appears that they have held their commission since the Rebel reverse
at Pittsburg Landing, but have been baffled by my movements.”
“I certainly think,” said Mark, “that the General ought to be informed
of this. He need not know your father is in the plot, but he would not
forgive you if you failed to let him know that you are seriously
threatened.”
“No, Mark: not one word, I entreat. If once it becomes known, I must
produce the evidence in my possession, which would probably do little to
help me and would brand my father with eternal infamy. I rely on your
silence. To-morrow I will write to the General and ask to be relieved
from my present duty and ordered to the front. Ah, Mark!” he continued
as he grasped his friend’s hand at the gate to say good night, “I wish I
were like you instead of the outcast that I am. My heart almost fails me
at times and I doubt everything:—the cause to which I have devoted my
honor and my life; the friends who surround me—even the being who is
more dear to me than all the world—”
“Pshaw! Phil:—what folly—I thought you had filtered that poison from
your mind long ago. You wrong her virtue even more deeply than your own
judgment.”
“I often think my mind must be diseased, or that it bears the taint of
the vitiated atmosphere in which I have lived so long where doubt and
suspicion linger: twin occupants of the brain. At times my confidence
wavers like my resolution: then hideous images goad me to madness. To
seek and find the means of torturing myself seems to be my only genius.
But let that pass. We have been like brothers, Mark, and I want you to
be a brother indeed to me while I am away. You must take care of
Josephine, be her guardian and protector until I return—but if I never
do return—”
“Why Phil, you know I am going into the army myself. What nonsense you
are talking! You are gloomy and out of sorts, and must cheer up. I’ll
come down and spend a day with you soon; it’s too late to try to drive
all this rubbish out of your head to-night, so I’ll take a day for it
especially. Really, if a stranger should hear you talking like this he
would think you insane. Don’t borrow trouble, Phil: life’s too short. A
care buried is worth a dozen resurrected. But I won’t lecture you at
this hour as you have some distance to travel, and I must get back and
see my patient comfortable for the night.”