“Don’t speak, Dan,” said he in a whisper, as he approached the carriage.
Don’t say a word until we get out of the town. I’ll make this right with
you.”
Dan drew the rugs from the horses’ backs and drove away quietly towards
home. The night was dark, so dark that it would have been difficult to
keep the road but for the gleaming crust of snow which, reflecting the
starlight, made the way clear.
Lamont was exceedingly preoccupied during the drive, and for the first
time for several years experienced that confusion and indecision of the
will which is characteristic of feeble-minded men, but had seldom
troubled him. His deliberate intention had been, even from the period of
his first visit to Chestnut Grove, to marry Hagar under the name which
had served him as a mask for two years; live with her as long as
convenience and inclination would permit, as had been his custom with
former victims, and abandon her to her fate whenever it should suit his
whim; and, in the meanwhile, obtain as much money as he could from Mrs.
Taine. While reflecting upon the subject as he went along that night he
felt half inclined to forego this adventure, the anticipation of which
had been so pleasant to his palate.
There seemed to be a warning and a menace in his night’s experience at
Mrs. Leigh’s. There was no moment during his strange career when he had
felt so fierce a struggle between conscience and inclination. But
instead of forming then a settled resolution in favor of the right, he
left the future, as he had the past, to chance.
On referring to his watch he found that it was but a few minutes before
two o’clock, and he was made aware by familiar objects along the road
that they were nearing Chestnut Grove. While one impulse pushed him on
to the consummation of his present scheme, another, no less urgent, was
prompting him to be gone from there at once.
“Her guardian angel standing at the gate to drive me back!” was his
reflection as this feeling rebuked him like an invisible hand. “Well,
let me see,” he went on, his conscience still debating with his passion.
“She refused to elope with me, and it was partly in revenge for that,
and partly to oblige “my dear Mrs. Taine,” that I decided to marry her.
Now, if she still has sense enough not to elope I’ll spare her. No one
could be more considerate than that! Let me see, the Buffalo train
passes through Cleveland at four o’clock, stopping fifteen minutes.
Plenty of time, she may go with me if she likes. I will leave it to her.
Otherwise I will go alone and let Dan tell her when the hour for our
marriage arrives to-day, that I am a married man, who, in spite of her
charms, has decided to return to his wife. Ha! ha! Egad! here we are.
Now if her guardian angel don’t stop me at the gate he certainly ought
to prevent her from quitting her chamber at this hour on such a cold
morning.”
The carriage stopped, and Dan jumped down to open the gate.
“Wait a moment, Daniel,” said Lamont, alighting from the carriage. “Are
you cold?”
“No sah, on’y radder chilly ’bout the toes,” replied the darkey, who had
been well bundled up in one of the horse-blankets.
“Never felt such air as this in the cotton country, eh, Daniel? Well,
never mind, here’s another little warmer for you. You shall have more
later on. And now listen to me. I don’t want you to unhitch your horses
yet. You can drive inside and tie them, put on their blankets, and fetch
them a good feed of oats. I’ll see that you get something to eat. Only
keep perfectly quiet, ask no questions, and obey me as your mistress
ordered.”
Dan, cold and sleepy, was surprised at Lamont’s orders. He began to
mumble something by way of protest.
“No back talk, nigger!” said Lamont, angrily, “or I’ll have you sent
home, where you belong, to work under the lash on Southern
fortifications. Your owner, old Captain Leigh, is a general now, and
will be glad to see you back.” The boy’s fears were fully aroused by
these threats, and he was all compliance in a moment.
“I do jes ez you sez, Massa Smile—jes ez you sez—ebb’ry ting.”
“Very well, then, see that you do, and before daylight this shall be
yours.” As he spoke he held out his gloved hand before the negro, whose
bright eyes saw a gold coin shining in his palm.
Lamont left Dan to execute his order, and repaired to the house. As he
expected, he found Mrs. Taine awaiting him in the cosy sitting-room;
and, as he did not expect, Hagar there with her, aroused by his arrival
from a restless nap on the sofa.
“Well!” exclaimed Mrs. Taine, throwing up her hands, “for heaven’s sake,
what has happened?”
She embraced him with her usual enthusiasm, and began to unbutton his
overcoat; but Lamont drew back, saying coldly, that he had scarcely a
moment to remain. In short, he said, he had received bad news, and must
be off at once. He kissed Hagar, who seemed worried and excited, and
then said impressively:
“Yes, it is a great blow, my dear madame, and I feel that I ought not to
repeat what has happened, to anybody but yourself.”
To have anything mysterious confided to her was, perhaps, Mrs. Taine’s
keenest pleasure.
“Go, Hagar, child—go to your room, if it’s not proper for you to hear.”
“Be off at once, Benjamin?” said Hagar, in a tone of supplication, and
clinging to him fondly. “Why, where can you go at this hour? What has
happened? Have you forgotten that this is our—” She hesitated, and hung
her head.
“Our wedding day; I know, dearest Hagar, that it was to have been so,
but it is impossible; I cannot delay one hour. Indeed, I have no right
to be here now wasting the seconds it takes to say these words, and my
coming to bid you farewell was only made possible by the fact that there
is no train until four o’clock. Everything depends on my reaching
Cincinnati at the earliest moment.”
“And when will you return?” Hagar inquired, anxiously.
“I may not be able to get away while the war continues. My labors will
be among the wounded, and will require my constant attention.”
Hagar looked desolate, and poor Mrs. Taine was completely cast down. Her
disappointment was a cruel blow.
“But,” exclaimed Lamont, cheerfully, “you must ‘speed the parting
guest.’ I have but a quarter of an hour to remain with you, so while the
horses are being fed, and Dan gets a bite, suppose—”
“Yes, suppose we have some supper? I would give anything I possess in
this world to have you remain to carry out the little programme we
arranged; but, of course, everything must give way to calls of duty,
especially in time of war. Well, well! I’ll go and see if there’s not
something ready in the kitchen.”
“I know, dearest Hagar,” said Lamont, after the old lady went out, “that
you think it a cruel hardship to have me leave you at this time and in
this way; but I have no choice, and we must comfort ourselves by
reflecting that in the end it may prove to be for the best.”
“But you will often write me?”
“Oh, yes. Very often.”
“And after you are settled there, could I not join you? I shall be so
lonely here when you are gone! And I am sure in the sad work you are
going to do, you will need my help—I ought to be with you there.”
“No, Hagar, you could not make the long journey by yourself, and I shall
be moving constantly from place to place; you must be patient, and await
my return.”
“But can you not delay just till to-morrow, or even until this evening?
Think how all has been arranged, and what a disappointment it will be to
Father Taine. Think too what the gossips will have to say about
you—about me—about us all. Must you go at once?”
“Indeed I must, Hagar, no matter what the sacrifice to myself or to
those most dear. But there is still one way left by which we may
forestall fate, and prevent the delay of our union.”
“There is? Then why did you say we must part?”
“Because the hazard is too much for you. It would necessitate your
leaving with me, now, in a few minutes.”
“I am ready!” she answered.
He pressed her tenderly to his breast, and said in a low voice:
“Do not decide too rashly——think of the night, the bitter cold, my
poverty——”
“But you will be with me. I cannot bear the thought of parting from you
now, for I should be afraid it was forever.”
“Well then, if you are decided, you have not a moment to lose.”
“I am determined that you shall not leave me idly here. I must go with
you!”
“Make haste then—and see: you shall wear this for my sake.” He placed a
heavy gold ring on her wedding finger. “Now hurry to your room and pack
a satchel with the articles most necessary to your present comfort. Put
on your warmest wraps, and be quick and silent; Mrs. Taine might object
if she knew your sudden purpose. As soon as you are ready go out the
back door, enter the carriage waiting at the gate, and send Dan for your
satchel, which you can leave at the door. When he has brought it and you
are all ready send him here to tell me the horses have done eating. Then
I will join you. Quick now, child, or Mrs. Taine will be back.”
Several minutes elapsed before Mrs. Taine returned, and in the interval
Lamont’s brain was busy. He paced the floor restlessly, while flitting
thoughts danced and circled in his mind like dry leaves in a whirl-wind.
“The guardian angel is off duty then,” he muttered. “Natural
restrictions and conventionalities, luckily, save the mass of them; but
few indeed are guarded by that angel with the flaming two-edged sword,
Knowledge. No wonder men regard them as lawful game, the best specimens
of which fall to the lot of the most valiant hunter. The syllogism runs
thus: Women are either beautiful fools or beautiful devils; men are
either villains or brutes, but are always pursuing the beautiful She.
Ergo, villain catches fool, and brute, devil: thus monstrous vices are
perpetuated. Some day I’ll write a book about it, to show how they court
destruction, and how they only get their deserts. The more I see the
stronger becomes my conviction that the readiness of woman to seize the
serpent’s lure has cursed this mortal race. That story of Eden is
probably much nearer the truth than many of my Christian friends
suppose. Perhaps she may falter yet. If she can think one thought, she
is safe: the madness of flying thus at dead of night with a stranger, a
man of whom she can know nothing. But folly binds her; she will come.
Nothing ever balked me like last night’s scene with Josephine. I wonder
what it was? It seemed like death;—from fear or desire? Both are said to
kill sometimes. Perhaps she feared violence and took some drug. Could I
know that she possessed the soul of Lucrece, I’d turn anchorite and she
should be my saint. God! how beautiful she was!”
He heard Mrs. Taine knocking on the door with her foot, and calling “Let
me in!” He admitted her and relieved her of a laden tray bearing cold
meat, and chicken, a beefsteak pie steaming hot, and a hot mince pie
that exhaled an odor of spice and brandy.
“I must go back for the drinkables,” said Mrs. Taine. “Where is Hagar?”
“She has just gone up stairs.”
“Poor girl! I quite imagine how she feels, and I sympathize with her
fully.” She went back to the kitchen returning in a moment with a small
tray containing the simmering tea-pot and a jug of chocolate.
“I must call Hagar: she’ll need something after being up all night,”
remarked the old lady after she had served her guest.
“Please do not disturb the poor child, my dear Mrs. Taine,” pleaded he,
“She is very sad, and I have excused her. However, if you permit me, I
will take her a cup of chocolate and anything else you think she might
like.”
Mrs. Taine prepared a plate, and the gallant bore it up the stairs as
noiselessly as a practiced valet. He tapped gently at Hagar’s door. She
opened it slightly to see who was there, then let it swing half way
open, and took the plate and cup from him with whispered thanks. A sweet
girlish smile played about her lips as she said:
“I am nearly ready.”
A small valise lay on the bed packed ready to close, and beside it her
cloak and shawl. She had on her fur lined overshoes, and was tying a
warm hood when he entered. He paused long enough to give her an
encouraging smile, and to throw her a kiss from his finger tips.
Whispering: “Now is your time to leave the house,” he descended as
quietly as he had come.
“Poor child!” he said, sympathetically, as he reentered the sitting
room, “it is too bad that this should have happened to disturb her. I
think she is retiring, and I trust, dear Mrs. Taine for my sake, you
will not have her called until she is thoroughly rested.”
“She shall have the entire day undisturbed, I will see to that. I don’t
intend to do much myself except rest to-day, for my nerves are
completely unstrung.”
While Mrs. Taine talked on with her usual animation, Mr. Lamont ate
heartily, and interlarded her remarks with many comments, not more
indicative of his knowledge of her weaknesses, than grateful to her
pride and vanity. Presently, after having mapped out an expedition for
herself and Hagar to Cincinnati, which was to end in a brilliant
wedding, she drifted around to a topic which Mr. Lamont was glad to find
her approaching.
Cash was a commodity which he rarely lacked: at the same time he had
never found himself in possession of more than he could spend. His wants
always increased in proportion to his funds, and on that one point he
considered himself a wise man. She broached the subject with extreme
delicacy, hoping he would not take it amiss if she insisted upon his
accepting the three thousand dollars in cash which she held at his
disposal, to use for himself, or for the good work in which he was
engaged.
“You must promise me, my dear Benjamin, that you will call on me at any
time for whatever ready money you need. I have only saved because I had
no good object to spend for, and now my means are wholly at your
disposal.”
To her own mind it was merely bread cast on the waters, a subsidy for
favors to come. Lamont, after many protests, and lavish expressions of
gratitude, accepted the money, which was in the form of U.S. greenbacks,
and having placed it carelessly in his pocket, rose from the table, and
imprinted a most filial kiss on the old lady’s forehead.
“But this is not all,” she continued earnestly, “I have been to Mr.
Baldwin, my lawyer, and had him make out my will, by which I leave the
bulk of my property to you and your heirs forever.”
In the midst of one of Lamont’s most gracious and promising speeches,
there was a knock at the door leading to the verandah. Mrs. Taine opened
the door, and saw by the whites of two large eyes that Dan was the
intruder. She called him inside and shut the door.
“All ready, Dan?” enquired Lamont.
“Yes, sah, de hoss’es done finish dere oats, sah.”
“Then we must be off. Here Daniel, swallow this cup of chocolate, and
you can eat the lunch your mistress has put up for you as we go along.”
Wonder, doubt, and fear had done their worst for poor Dan, and he now
gave Lamont the impression of a being with no more brain or humanity
than a baboon. He was so dazed by the night’s events that he gulped down
the scalding chocolate without seeming to mind it, and glared about the
room with a wild and startled look, until bidden to return to the
carriage.
Mr. Lamont took a hurried but affectionate leave of Mrs. Taine, and a
few minutes later he and Hagar were being driven at a rapid pace towards
Cleveland.