Until long after midnight Doctor Taine lingered in the library and
seemed to be both mentally and physically depressed. Several volumes
were lying open on the table within his reach, passages in which he was
comparing with something he found in the large book that was drawn near
him under the broad lamp shade, and which chiefly occupied his
attention.
He frequently paused and pressed his hands to his forehead with deep
drawn sighs that were the utterance of a far deeper dejection. He had
addressed himself to his usual task in the earlier part of the evening
with about his ordinary spirit. But the prehistoric and historic
analogies which he had been examining for some time in connection with
the accepted doctrines of modern Christian theology, failed on this
occasion to attract his mind to the same concentrated efforts as
formerly. In spite of his best endeavors to avert so unseemly an
amalgamation, he found the heroes of mythology and the personifications
of Egyptian and Buddhist theology inextricably involved with the saints
and historians of the Church; and, at length, these and all the rest
mixed up with the dramatis personae of his own domestic and professional
comedy. There seemed to him, more than on any other occasion that he
could remember, a delusive intangibility about everything, both past and
present, and he felt a certain alarm at the chaotic state in which all
appeared. Was it his mind that had produced the chaos, or was it the
external chaos acting upon his mind?
“Surely,” he thought in his perplexity, “I have reason enough to ponder!
My fireside deserted by the dear ones who should nestle here in comfort
and peace, my heart steeped in wormwood instead of domestic love! What a
rank and infernal inconsistency for a man who cannot keep order in his
own household to pretend to teach others the way to Heaven! And is not
this the natural outcome of these theologies? They all strive to compass
the world to come at the expense of the world that is here; but if we
cannot learn to live in this world, how shall we know how to live in a
better one?”
The doctor had long since become aware that to whatever extent the
doctrine of justification by faith might be carried in the case of
others, it had in it no consolation for him. The conviction that
religion meant action rather than mere belief was growing stronger in
his mind from day to day, and he had named the fact from his pulpit much
to his hurt among the orthodox. He was conscious of some irreligion in
his own life, and had no doubt his present suffering was a partial
punishment for it; but to what extent could past errors be corrected by
consistent effort to that end? Could they ever be obliterated, or was
the sinner, like Sisyphus, forever burdened with a woe that will roll
back upon and torture him?
“Some people,” he mused, “even among my own congregation, call me an
infidel. Somebody has informed them that I read the works of infidels,
and that the flavor of those works comes out in my own discourse. I am
not certain that this accusation is devoid of truth, for if the
definition of infidelity given by the chief of these offenders be
correct, I must be classed with them: He says that an infidel is one who
pretends to believe what in fact he does not believe at all. Well, then,
I am an infidel, for I tacitly admit every day of my life belief in
legends and dogmas which I secretly discredit and suspect.”
This aspect of the case was quite a new one in the doctor’s
contemplation, and caused him much uneasiness; for he was a true and
conscientious man according to his light and understanding, and he
doubted not that if such was in truth his own condition, the same might
be said of many others in the pulpit.
“Yes,” he resumed, “it is even so. The masses demand myths, and we
satisfy the demand at the price of our convictions and our honor, to
secure their support.”
Though he had been subject of late to severe attacks of despondency, he
had never felt so cast down as on this occasion, and it was after three
o’clock when he put out the lamp, and, wrapping his warm dressing gown
snugly about him soon fell into a heavy slumber in his easy chair.
There Hagar found him when she came in at seven o’clock with his cocoa
and toast. He awoke as she opened the door.
“Ah! I have caught you, you naughty, naughty, old man!” she exclaimed as
she approached and patted his face affectionately with both her plump
little hands. “You have sat up all night again after what you promised
me—it is very wrong of you, dear father.” She threw her arms around his
neck and kissed him fondly as she spoke, and then stroked his brow which
she thought was rather feverish.
“No, my darling,” said Dr. Taine, “I was thinking about subjects which
troubled me, and I felt no inclination to go to bed. But if you will
forgive me this time, I promise to be better in future. How delicious
this cocoa is: I should not have it but for you. Do you think that you
will one day wish to leave me?”
“No, dear father, never!” she exclaimed as she noted a slight tremor in
his voice. She meant to be sincere, but the moment she had spoken the
words she was conscious of a presentiment which belied them. She was
about to add something by way of qualification, but was prevented by Dr.
Taine who seemed to be relishing the light breakfast she had brought
him.
“Hagar, as I have an early engagement in the city this morning, will you
tell Dan to have my buggy ready in half an hour. I forgot to mention it
last night.”
It was a clear bracing morning, and as Hagar crossed the lawn to repeat
the message to Dan whom she saw coming in with the milk pails, she was
met by Mr. Smiles who was sauntering about the grounds smoking his
cigar.
“Good morning, Miss Hagar,” said the minister, saluting her gallantly. I
see you are, like myself, an early riser. The morning is undoubtedly the
best part of the day, for then all nature, like the human mind, is
refreshed by the night’s repose. It is then that the intelligence
expands and takes impressions which are impossible at any other time.
Have you come out for a walk?”
She delivered her message to Dan and was strolling down the avenue in
company with Mr. Smiles when he said:—
“I was interested in the account Mrs. Taine gave me of that young man
who came here last night—Mr. Leigh. Have you known him very long?”
“Over a year,” replied Hagar.
“I was sorry,” continued Mr. Smiles, “not to have a better opportunity
to converse with him; he seems a brilliant fellow, but I should say he
is rather eccentric.”
“He is thought peculiar, I believe.”
“You must make me acquainted with him, Miss Hagar; could I not call with
you? You mentioned last night that his wife is a friend of yours.”
“Yes, and I am anxious to go and see her. But Father Taine hasn’t time
to take me, Ma’am Taine dislikes Josephine and declines to visit her,
and I am afraid to go alone.”
“We must try and prevail on her; and if we succeed, may I join the
party?”
“Ma’am Taine must answer that, Mr. Smiles.”
“Then I’ll ask her at breakfast.”
They presently heard the bell, and on returning to the house met Dr.
Taine on the porch. After the usual greetings Mr. Smiles said:
“I was struck with the appearance and bearing of that extraordinary
young patriot who called last night, and should much like to have a
better acquaintance with him.”
“He is reserved and dislikes any special attention, and it is probably
owing to his modesty in this respect that he excites universal interest.
Still, you can readily become better acquainted with him. Has Hagar told
you his history?” asked Dr. Taine, as they went in to breakfast.
“No, I heard it from Mrs. Taine, before his arrival last night. I think
his case is unparalleled.”
“It is explained by a simple circumstance: though to the manor born, he
was too enlightened by experience and observation beyond and outside the
South to be blinded by the sophistries of the Rebel cause. He had long
since refused to join the order of the ‘Golden Circle,’ because he
discerned the treasonable ambition of its designs; and I understand that
he worked with a zeal that was truly noble to prevent the demoniac
frenzy of Beauregard which he rightly foresaw would set the country in
flames and turn the beautiful South into a wilderness. You may hear some
of copper-head proclivities who will tell you that it is a case of
captivity to a woman’s beauty; but the truth is that his allegiance to
his country was full grown long before he met her. She may be a reward
for his fidelity, but she was certainly not the cause of it.”
“The wife of the Captain, then, is remarkable for her beauty?” asked Mr.
Smiles.
“Nobody can deny that she has a very pretty face,” said Mrs. Taine, “but
I’m sure I, for one, do not think her remarkably beautiful. Still
Captain Leigh saw enough of the world before he married her: he ought to
have known what he was about.”
Hagar soon afterward found an occasion to express her opinion that,
though Mrs. Leigh’s beauty was remarkable, her true merit lay in the
goodness and gentleness of her character. Mrs. Taine took offence at
this amiable praise which seemed to challenge her own statement, and the
subject was dropped.
After breakfast Dr. Taine and Mark started for the city. It was a little
after nine o’clock when they reached the suburbs, and as they were
passing through a square that was the daily scene of a produce market,
they saw a crowd assembled in the open space and heard loud threatening
language which seemed to indicate that a fight was in progress. The
doctor stopped at the roadside, and as the crowd surged in that
direction, Mark stood up in the carriage and could see that a solitary
individual who appeared to be struggling for his life, was being
maltreated by the others, while the air was rent by their derisive yells
and laughter.
Mark leaped from the buggy, and was quickly followed by Dr. Taine, who
called a boy to hold his horse. Mark penetrated the throng far enough to
see that the butt of the mob was a young man, that he was pinioned, and
was being very roughly dealt with. The participants in the assault, as
well as the noisy bystanders, acted as if they thought him lawful prey:
while the men spattered him with mud or quids of tobacco, the boys, and
even a few old crones, were pelting him with potatoes and other
missiles, and doing and saying all they could to heap insult and
opprobrium upon him. Not a policeman was to be seen. The approach of
Father Taine was remarked by some of the roughs, and when he asked in
the spirit of a peacemaker what the unfortunate man had done to call
down their wrath, a thick-necked fellow, who seemed to be a ringleader,
bawled out:
“What has he done! why he’s cooked his own goose, haint ’e boys? He’s a
blasted Mormonite and comes here—here into the sacred precincts of this
market, to give us his chin-music on that tack—and we haint goin’ to
have it, be we boys?”
“No!” yelled the crowd, with renewed energy.
“He says he’s a saint—I wonder who canonized him!” screeched one of the
huckster-women who flourished a piece of bed cord ready-noosed to slip
around the Mormon’s neck. “Just let me come at him,” she shrieked with
fiendish zeal, “I’ll soon put him through the ceremony.”
As yet Dr. Taine had not been able to catch sight of the object of the
rabble’s ire. Mark now rejoined him saying that the mob were committing
a flagrant crime and that they must summon the police. A man who was
taking no part was sent with all haste to the nearest station and the
two gentlemen remained for the purpose of preventing what seemed likely
to prove a tragedy.
“Come on, my hearties!” cried the coarse ruffian who had previously
replied to Doctor Taine. “Come on now; lift him up high and dry and
let’s give him a nice present, a coat of tar and feathers! That’s the
thing for birds of his kind. Then we’ll treat him to a first class ride
on a rail; for he’s a poor cuss, used to hoofin’ it without shoes on;
he’s not used to luxuries, but his prophet, my old cronie, Joe Smith,
knew how to appreciate such things, and it will elevate the saint’s soul
to copy arter his master!”
A wild shriek of laughter was the crowd’s reply. Some of the roughs who
were nearest the Mormon, seized him, and carried him by main force
through the opening made by the mob.
Father Taine now had a full view of the Mormon, and, turning to Mark,
said excitedly:
“Why Mark, it’s the young man from the hospital, the man who saved
Hagar!”
“Are you sure of that?” asked Mark.
“I am!”
“Then this shall cease at once. Look here, my men,” he said, with
authority, “You are committing a criminal act, and if you don’t put that
man down, I’ll make you suffer for it.”
“Oh! will you?” roared the stalwart leader. “And who are you, my fine
clad youth?”
“No matter who I am,” replied Mark. “The man you are abusing is the hero
of the great fire on Sunday; don’t you see the scars on his face.”
“Yes,” urged the doctor in a voice of entreaty, “he is doubly a hero,
for he saved the lives of my daughter and my son that day. For shame!
for shame! to maltreat a helpless fellowman!” He was near enough now for
the Mormon to hear his voice. The poor fellow was exhausted and had
ceased to struggle when his tormentors stood him on the ground and eyed
him with curiosity. They had all heard the story of the “Globe” reporter
being saved by a man who kept back his name, and many among them knew
the venerable minister by sight. The bystanders were now inclined to
side with the Mormon, but again the leading bully sprang forward,
exclaiming in a mocking voice:
“Oh! you don’t say, do you? He saved your daughter! Did he? Well then,
I’ll just give him one for his own salvation to grow on.”
He pressed towards the helpless young man with the evident intention of
giving him a terrible blow with his sledge-like fist; but Mark stopped
him.
“You cowardly ruffian! would you strike a man with his hands bound?”
“Yes!” the saucy rascal replied, “or loose, either!” And so saying he
struck out with all his might at Mark’s head. The latter deftly warded
off the blow, and returned one on his assailant’s temple that felled him
to the ground. The sympathy of the crowd was so much divided by this
time that a majority was in favor of the right side, and before the
other bullies could attack Mark, the police arrived and put most of them
to flight by the mere act of appearing on the scene.
“Here’s our business,” said the sergeant: “Who struck this man?”
“I,” replied Mark. “He attacked me, and I knocked him down in self-
defense.”
“No explanations! You can make them to the Justice. Come along.” He laid
his hand on Mark, and the other policeman kept back the crowd. Dr. Taine
attempted to tell the sergeant about the violent scene they had
witnessed, but he waved him back with an injunction to keep his evidence
for the police court. As he was proceeding to take the names and
addresses of some of the bystanders whom he intended to summon as
witnesses, the man on the ground began to recover consciousness, and the
young Mormon, who had just told Dr. Taine that he was assaulted because
he ventured to preach the christian religion, pointing to the fallen
bully said:
“That man is the one who attacked your daughter. He has shaved off his
beard, and is differently dressed, but I know he is the man.” By this
time the ruffian had staggered to his feet and was trying to steal away
unnoticed.
“It is a serious charge, but are you certain?” asked Dr. Taine, in a
whisper.
“As I hope for a hereafter, I swear to you that I am certain!”
“Detain that man,” said Dr. Taine to the sergeant. “He is not only at
the bottom of this difficulty, but is wanted for a still more heinous
crime.” The charge against him was repeated to the officer who had
already, in common with the rest of the force, received instructions
from the chief touching this matter. The policemen looked well-pleased
with their morning’s work, and marched their prisoners off to the
Central Station with a good deal of swagger.
Justice Coles was in his court-room and the regular morning session of
his court was about to begin; but he was a personal friend of Dr.
Taine’s as well as a member of his congregation, and on catching sight
of him and Mark Kilbourne among the rabble in the hall, came out to
inquire what was the trouble. From what he gleaned, he ordered the
release of Mark, and the committal of the leader of the rioters (who
gave his name as Adam Joyce) for hearing next day. Joyce was taken away
to the cells at once, and the Justice invited the doctor, Mark, and the
Mormon into a private room, the latter individual, owing to his
morning’s adventure, presenting a pitiable appearance.
“What is your name, young man?” asked Justice Coles, looking at him
curiously after comments by both Mark and the doctor regarding Hagar’s
rescue and the fire.
“Spencer,” he replied briefly.
“Your given name?”
“Charles.”
“Your place of residence and your present address?” pursued the judge,
jotting down his answers.
“My home is in Salt Lake City, Utah, my present address, a sailors’
boarding house in Erie street, this city. I only went there from the
hospital this morning, and did not notice the number.”
“You have good grounds for this charge?”
“Yes, sir, I am so certain that he is the man I would stake my life upon
it.”
“Well then, I hope you will be able to bring forward sufficient evidence
to convict him. We will give the case a preliminary hearing at ten to-
morrow morning.”
They separated shortly afterwards, Mark going to the headquarters of the
State troops, and the doctor taking Spencer in his carriage to the
Tabernacle.
The private quarters of the minister at his place of worship, were
pleasant and well appointed; they had evidently been constructed with a
view to equal comfort and convenience. The library was carpeted with
Brussels, and furnished in walnut: handsome and well-filled book-cases
stood between the windows on one side of the room, while on the other
the walls were hung with the latest charts of Palestine and the Roman
Empire, and several fine steel engravings of Biblical subjects. The
surroundings indicated the cultured thoughtfulness and easy finances of
the doctor’s supporters.
Spencer had never seen anything of the sort before. He had only known
the naked austerity of the backwoods where Spartan plainness and
simplicity are universal for the reason that Athenian luxuries are out
of reach, and he regarded all these trappings as indicative of the sway
of the “Scarlet Woman.” The contrast between this and the small adobe
shanty with slab benches familiar to him, was irritating, and he
resented it with vivid if suppressed disgust.
Dr. Taine showed him to an inner room, where he found all the
conveniences of a gentleman’s boudoir, that he might repair, as far as
washing and brushing could, the damage he had suffered from the mob. All
this, to the eye of the missionary, was but further proof of the
worldliness and vanity of the Babylonians, which meant everybody except
the members of his own sect.
The worldly appliances, however, helped to improve his appearance
considerably, and when he returned to the library he found the doctor
sitting before a cheerful anthracite fire awaiting him.
“I congratulate you, Mr. Spencer, that you were not seriously hurt,” the
doctor said cordially. “Sit down and let us talk awhile. My plans for
the morning have been broken up by this occurrence, and we shall now
enjoy a few moments without interruption. As I was saying, I knew your
father well for several years before he joined the Mormon prophet, and
it strikes me as somewhat remarkable that you, his son, should come here
now as an apostle of his sect and make me in a moment so greatly your
debtor. The circumstance is one of extraordinary interest, is it not?”
“It is as surprising to myself as to any one,” the young man replied,
thoughtfully.
“But why were you so persistent in the concealment of your name?”
“It turns out to have been entirely useless; but my object was to
prevent people from confounding a personal act, into which I was forced
by circumstances, with the sacred duty I have come here to perform. I
did not wish to give them the opportunity of saying that the Mormon
missionary sought to make himself conspicuous by any means whatever
outside his work as a minister of truth, and I am sorry that to-day’s
trouble has given our enemies this advantage.”
Dr. Taine hoped that he would not encourage so bad an opinion of mankind
as to suppose they could ascribe base motives to one who dashed into the
flames to save a fellow being, and gave it as his belief that so soon as
it became known that the Mormon missionary and the hero of the fire were
one, he would be able to prosecute his mission in peace.
“I shall rejoice if your prediction prove true, but I have serious
doubts,” replied the Mormon. “The people of Ohio hardened their hearts
against us long ago, and they are not likely to soften them in a day,
especially in such times as these.”
“At least, I will promise to do my best to insure you a peaceable
hearing while you remain here, for I hold that any man who is sober and
rational has a right to express his views in this free land of ours, and
the only alternative of the public, or any part of it, is not to listen,
to go its way, if the opinions he supports are obnoxious. Mob violence
is always bad and generally has the opposite effect from what is
intended—it may, and often does, destroy truly good and useful men; it
gives color to the plea of persecution and martyrdom so often raised by
the champions of dangerous heresies, and thereby prolongs the existence
of the evil institutions which, left to themselves, would soon perish
and be forgotten.”
“I apprehend that you make a covert reference to our cause; and, without
discussing its merits, I have no hesitation in saying that we have
always been most flourishing when hardest pressed by enemies without and
within. We have grown fat on persecution: that was the Lord’s way of
scorning the machinations of the ungodly who injured us. ‘Many are the
afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivereth him out of them
all.’ At the time of the martyrdom of the prophet, Joseph Smith, and the
destruction of our beautiful Capitol, Nauvoo, it looked for a while, as
I have often heard my father say, that complete dissolution was at hand.
But such appearances only belied the designs of God concerning his
people Israel, and a very brief period under his guidance was sufficient
to render us doubly as rich and numerous, and more united than ever
before.” The young missionary spoke with fervent enthusiasm.
Dr. Taine, in answer said that he would be the last man in the world to
deny the hand of God in the destiny of men, but that the fact must be
kept in view that Brigham Young was a much abler man than Joseph Smith.
“The latter,” he added, “possessed the talent to draw such a sect about
him, but it required the character of Brigham Young to organize and keep
it together. His move with an entire people into the wilderness that
only wanted human labor to turn it into a paradise, was one of the
boldest and most magnificent strokes in history. His predecessor had
gone to the Missouri years before, but had turned back, and recrossed
even the Mississippi, and so what might have been a Mormon empire is but
a territory of the United States. The prophet missed his opportunity. He
seems to have lacked both courage and faith. But, not so Brigham Young.
He is a penetrating politician, and a man of strong and energetic will;
fertile in the resources required for the role he has assumed, he is
also correct in judgment where his interests are concerned, and enjoys
the confidence of his people because his life is consistent with his
teachings. Such a man must know, in his secret heart, that by
establishing polygamy he has licensed a monster of evil that will soon
stifle all the good he may accomplish.”
The Mormon’s eyes sparkled and the blood mounted to his temples as he
said impetuously:—
“You say this, Dr. Taine! you whose daughter was assaulted on the
Sabbath day in this christian State of Ohio!”
“I did not say it to provoke you, my young friend, and if my remark has
had that effect I most gladly recall it, and we will drop the subject,”
replied the doctor, who was surprised to see the sudden anger of the
Elder.
“No, I am wrong,” continued the young man in a lower voice, “the point
will bear discussion; and though I should have no hope of convincing
you, I shall be willing to express my views, (or, rather, those of the
saints) concerning the doctrine and practice of celestial marriage, if
you care to hear them.”
“Let me hear, then, what you think yourself of the doctrine and the
practice.”
He began by stating that the doctrine was of divine institution, not
only in ancient times among the patriarchs who enjoyed the privilege of
walking and talking with Jehovah, but had been rehabilitated in all its
pristine beatitudes by a direct revelation from Heaven in these ‘last
days.’ The practice was intended by the Almighty as a great boon to all
unbelievers, and such it had proved to be among the saints, where women
were never wronged by men, because the sacred avenue of marriage was
open to all; dishonor and misery, which were common to the rest of the
world, were unknown to the people of Zion—virgins were never
undone—wives and husbands were never cheated of their rights!
He waxed so eloquent, indeed, in his praises of the terrestrial paradise
beyond the Rocky Mountains, that the doctor looked at him with
admiration, and was on the point of applauding his ingenuous fervor when
he stopped speaking.
“A practical demonstration of the use and the truth of polygamy, as
revealed to us,” pursued the young man earnestly, “is constantly held up
before the eyes of the world, and woe unto them if they will not see
it:—Your cities are steeped in vice and corruption, your homes are
blighted and dismembered by lust, the vicious haunts are thronged by the
frail victims of married men; but your theology does little or nothing
to stop this growth of sin, while ours goes to the root of it;—what you
have made a curse we make a blessing; God has given us the key and the
power by which to prevent the blight that is settling upon the earth!”
The doctor perceived that further argument would be useless at that
time, and gently interrupted him to ask if he had fully informed himself
as to the moral condition of American homes and cities, or observed
among the saints the beneficent results of which he spoke. He replied
that of the first he only judged by newspaper reports and the accounts
given by Mormon elders who had labored throughout the States; of the
last he merely described what he knew to be the facts.
Dr. Taine commended his earnestness, and expressed a belief that he
possessed a spirit to command and enforce success. Though he reflected
that it was a pity such a spirit was not given to a better cause, he
said kindly:
“You are sincere, I am sure, and I see no reason why the cause you
represent has not as good claims to public toleration as many others
which enjoy that boon. What you have said has interested me. I shall be
pleased to recur to the subject at more leisure. I like to observe all
forms and phases of human thought and action with the broadest
tolerance, because, by the opposite course, we are liable to overlook as
of no consequence, phenomena which are necessary and important adjuncts
of that onward struggle in which, I hope, we are all of us engaged.”
A ring at this moment announced the arrival of visitors with whom the
doctor had business.
“My daily routine now commences, and I must reluctantly ask you to
excuse me,” he said, taking Spencer cordially by the hand. The visitors
came in, but he merely saluted them and conducted the shabby young
Mormon to the door with the utmost deference. He would not let him
depart until he had promised to call often to see him, and that he would
drive out to Chestnut Grove next day after the hearing at the police
court.
“I will accept your hospitality, Dr. Taine, not because I want any
return for what I have done, but in the hope that I may be the means of
bringing you or your children to a knowledge of the true faith.”
The Elder’s face was as serious as that of an Indian chief in council.
The doctor smiled complacently, and pressed his hand as he said “good
day.”
Spencer hurried to his humble room on Erie street, where he sat down
listlessly and occupied his thoughts with something rather outside his
mission work. He had thought of the same subject a good deal for some
days past; in fact, it had scarcely quitted his mind for a moment since
it first found a place there.
“I walk by short stages all the way from the Missouri River and preach
in more than twenty different towns and villages,” he reflected, as he
sat knitting his brows and pressing his palms against his forehead.
“During the entire journey I do not travel a mile on the Sabbath,
because wherever I am on that day I find a few seekers after truth who
listen to my message. But on this particular Sabbath I am carried by
force from my lodgings before daylight and driven from Elyria by a
christian mob! Hungry, despondent, and footsore, I press on towards
Cleveland for the express purpose, as it now seems, of saving two lives
and almost losing my own. ‘How mysterious are thy ways, oh Lord!’ And
now, the image of that lovely girl haunts me like a beautiful vision. I
never saw such exquisite grace—and she, this sweet May morning of
perfect woman-hood, owes me her life—perhaps much more than that! That
good-natured old minister of error will take care that I have no
opportunity to win her to the Gospel, but if she thinks of me—”
He stopped suddenly and picked up the Book of Mormon which lay on a
small pine table near him, with a sad look about the bare and cheerless
room, but both his appearance and his sighs gave proof that at that time
he could find no solid consolation in the text-book of his faith.
“I don’t see my way so clearly since I met her,” he muttered. “Perhaps
this is a trick of Satan to turn me from my duty; but it shall not
succeed!”
He resolved to forget her; but when he went out to seek a hearing among
the rough men on the wharves, her sweet image went with him, and combat
as he might, he could not banish her from his heart.