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.