Hagar’s return to her old home, combining, though it did, many elements
of happiness, was saddened by gloomy memories of the past. The episode
of her flight and its fatal consequences, came back with the vivid
distinctness of a terrible nightmare. She met no more the kind look and
gentle words of her dear Father Taine, to whom her final return for all
his affection and care was an act of treachery. Spencer discerned that
she was not happy, and a few days after their arrival he laid his case
before Colonel Taine. The latter urged him to rest contentedly at
Chestnut Grove, saying that he need not be in any hurry to seek
employment, or think at all about ways and means, as Hagar’s home should
be his.
“Half of what I have is Hagar’s already,” said the Colonel, “and to you
and her I shall soon leave the rest. Content yourself here, my dear
Spencer, and when the first flush of this girlish grief wears off,
you’ll find your sweetheart brighter than ever and we shall have one of
the merriest weddings and one of the happiest matches that was ever made
in Ohio.”
But Spencer was not satisfied. He would never marry, he said, unless he
could keep a wife by his own exertions. Much as he loved Hagar he would
rather leave her there and go into the world to make a position for
himself, than settle down to the enjoyment of another’s wealth, no
matter how generously or rightfully it might be bestowed. And, despite
Col. Taine’s protests, Hagar’s entreaties, and his own reluctance at
being separated from the darling who held his heart like a spell, he
tore himself away, and with a letter of introduction from Colonel Taine
to the editor of the “Daily Globe,” went to Cleveland in search of work.
His aptitude, enthusiasm and sterling good sense, were soon recognized
by the editor, while his knowledge of short-hand, then an uncommon
acquirement, made him extremely useful. It was scarcely a week before he
wrote Hagar in his daily budget, that he had been assured $700 for the
first year, and he thought they might be able to marry in the fall. She
was not insensible to the true manliness displayed by his pluck and
independence, and the process of writing one or two missives filled with
wisdom and love, every day, and reading a like correspondence from him,
had a marvellous effect upon her spirits.
One day she was sitting on the verandah occupied with a piece of
embroidery, when Colonel Taine returned unexpectedly from a visit to
Cincinnati. With him was a gentleman whom Hagar was sure she had seen
before, but for some time she tried in vain to recollect when or where.
At last she knew that it was Dr. Bruce, whom she had heard lecture on
the Mormons at Cincinnati. She was visibly embarrassed, and Colonel
Taine, with his left arm still in a sling, led his guest into the
parlor. Leaving him there, he returned to Hagar.
“You are looking charming and happy, dear Hagar. May I not tell you of a
pleasant surprise I have for you?”
“Oh,” she replied, “I have become so accustomed to surprises that
nothing can astonish me now. Each event of the past two years has been a
surprise; your meeting me at Council Bluffs was one; but the greatest
surprise of all, is the wonderful kindness I have met with since my
return.” Her lips quivered, and Colonel Taine interrupted quickly—
“Nonsense, my dear Sister, you are talking sheer nonsense. And now you
shall have an opportunity to listen to facts. Or shall we rather call
this a legend, a true legend? ‘Once upon a time there was a young lady
named Hagar. In infancy she was stolen from her parents and left among
strangers. The poor father died in the fruitless search for her, but the
mother lived long enough to place her wealth in the care of a good man
for the benefit of her darling, should she ever be found, and at a time
when the said ‘darling’ was supposed to be lost by her adopted friends,
she is found by the good man who holds a fortune at her disposal,’—Now
what do you think of that?”
“It proves that you could compose an astonishing romance if you would
only try.”
“As an opinion,” replied James, playfully, “that will pass. But please
allow me to present the case in a light which will not permit of your
reviewing my talents satirically. You remember, when we were children we
used to lie awake nights talking about what we should do with our
millions when we got them? You were then quite certain that you would
squander yours upon dolls and cart loads of candy; and I was as surely
going to devote mine to terrible expeditions to the West for the slaying
of Indians and buffalos, and lassoing of wild horses on the pampas. I
admit that I have considerably changed my plans, and I venture to think
that if you were to suddenly find yourself in possession of a fortune,
you would devote a larger portion of it to—well, say to charitable uses
than to dolls and candy?”
“Yes, I think I should,” she said, smiling.
“But,” continued Colonel Taine, “I have strayed entirely from my legend,
so we will permit it now to resolve itself into real elements; you are
yourself the infant who was carried away and lost, and the fortune,
amounting to a figure that I will not now repeat, is at your command.”
She was still incredulous, and for a while could not be induced to
regard the matter as anything more than a joke. But when he told her
that Dr. Bruce was the good man who held the fortune in trust, and that
he had come to Chestnut Grove for the purpose of consulting her
respecting the money, she became intensely interested, and her face
flushed with excitement. Dr. Bruce noticed instantly that Hagar bore an
unmistakable likeness to the unhappy woman whose last will he had come
to execute, and was fully assured by this and other circumstances, that
she was the heir intended by “Lady Clare.” He came thoroughly prepared
in every way for the business he had to transact, but perhaps the most
remarkable feature about his embassy was the delicate tact with which he
evaded all questions which called for answers he had fully determined
not to give. Left alone in the library with Hagar, he said:
“Your mother was by no means certain that you would ever be found, and
therefore gave me no authority to ransack the family history. She had
suffered greatly for many years, and was much broken in mind and spirit
at the time of her death. In her will and in all the deeds to her
property she mentions you, as you have noticed, by your present name; it
was her wish that you should not change it. And now, as you are of age,
I shall deliver my trust into your hands, firmly convinced that your own
good sense and the counsel and friendship of Colonel Taine upon which
you may rely, absolve me from further interference in the matter.”
When or where Hope Vincent died, he would not inform her, but eluded the
subject in such a way as to almost make it appear of no importance.
“Oh! dear, dear mother! could we only have known each other!” Cried
Hagar, mournfully.
“Look but a little further down the vista of the Future—beyond the
purposes, the joys and hopes of the material world, and there in the
beautiful region which we call the spiritual, just across the airy
bridge we name Death, you shall find her and know her forever.”
The business portion of the Doctor’s visit was finished before supper,
and he decided to remain over Sunday as it was the first day he had
spent away from the hospital for two years. At supper Hagar made
inquiries about General Leigh, in reply to which he said:
“General Leigh has caused me much anxiety. His wounds are virtually
healed, and at intervals he is well enough to be removed to his home.
But his mind seems to be more affected than his body. His wife, whom we
all regard rather as an angel than as a native of this earth, appears to
be afflicted beyond remedy on account of some slight which his mental
condition has caused him to inflict and is literally toiling herself to
death in the wards. We cannot restrain her, for she will listen to
neither advice nor threats, and as I am satisfied that nothing except
the occupation in which she takes so much pride, prevents her from
sudden and probably fatal collapse, I have not yet hit upon a way out of
the difficulty. Though she has refused to enter the ward where he stays
since he has been out of danger, she never misses an opportunity to
enquire about him, and shows her undying tenderness and affection in
many ways. What she needs is a complete change.”
“Oh! how I wish she would come here,” exclaimed Hagar.
“And so she shall,” replied Colonel Taine. “I urged her to come when I
saw her in the hospital the other day and she promised to do so on
receiving your invitation.”
Dr. Bruce mentioned the fact that General Leigh had been worse since the
storm which caused so great damage to the hospital, but was prevented by
a sign from Colonel Taine, from making any mention of the Lamont
episode.
Josephine arrived at Cleveland a few days later and was met at the
station by Colonel Taine, Hagar and Spencer. The latter then met Mrs.
Leigh for the first time and did not drive to Chestnut Grove with them
as his duties prevented. Josephine, however, liked his appearance, and
congratulated Hagar upon her choice of a husband.
“If there ever was a thoroughly honest man, Spencer is one. But the best
of the case is that they are both madly in love, and each thinks the
other perfect,” said Colonel Taine.
Though a few years Hagar’s senior Josephine found her entirely
congenial, and entered heartily into the discussion of her future.
Colonel Taine declared that with her help he intended to arrange for the
wedding immediately, and by his thorough good nature had put them in the
best of spirits on the road to Chestnut Grove. On arriving at the gate,
they were surprised and the horses startled at seeing a ragged and
unkempt individual seated on the rustic bench just inside the fence. His
stockingless feet which were tied up in the wrecks of two odd army
shoes, were drawn under him on the seat, while his head, partly covered
with a peakless cap that looked more gray than blue, was couched on his
arms against the back of the bench, and his body inclined forward. His
face was concealed by his ragged sleeves and he was evidently asleep.
“Some poor tramp or deserter,” observed Colonel Taine.
The opening and shutting of gates, the rattle of the horses’ iron shoes
on the gravel and the sound of human voices did not disturb him in the
least. The carriage was stopped, and Colonel Taine got out.
“He is evidently very tired, and no doubt hungry, so if you will drive
on, I will arouse him and ask him to come to the house for some
refreshment,” said the Colonel. The carriage proceeded to the house, and
the officer went up to the tramp and tapped him on the shoulder. This
did not arouse him, and it was a moment or two before the man looked up,
seeming in a kind of stupor, but evidently not under the influence of
liquor. When he caught sight of his disturber he clasped his arms around
some of the timbers of the bench and held fast, glancing at the Colonel
with a wild and furtive look.
“I am not going to hurt you, my friend,” said Colonel Taine, in a kindly
voice, “I want to ask you to come in and rest yourself, and get
something to eat.”
The man shook his head dismally, and took a firmer grip upon the bench.
“You have been a soldier?”
The man nodded an affirmative, and with another sad motion of the head
let his chin sink upon his breast.
“Well, then, tell me what you wish and I will help you for I am a
soldier myself. If you belong to these parts, I can send you to your
home. Come, let me lead you to the house, and when you have had some
dinner you can tell me what you like of your story, and I will aid you
all I can.”
As the Colonel spoke, the man looked up several times and again bowed
his head without making an attempt to answer. Though his features
indicated that he was young, his shaggy hair and beard were streaked
with gray. He appeared to be a hopeless wreck. But there was something
about him which excited both the pity and interest of Col. Taine, who
persisted in his effort to induce him to come to the house for food and
rest.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“From? from? Ha! You’ve never been there—but I see you’ve caught a wing
shot, too—poor devil! From? Two hells,—the hell of fire, and the hell of
ice! You don’t know them? But say, can you tell me where I am? I’ve been
wandering about a hundred years, looking for her, for Hagar, and I know
this old bench is hers and that old gate, and look here, that’s the last
letter she wrote me. And is she here now—is she here?”
As he spoke he took a small scrap of dirty paper from a pocket in his
ragged blouse, and his voice was very plaintive as he looked up into the
Colonel’s face to ask the final question.
“Yes,” the latter replied, “Hagar lives here, but what is your name?”
At this question he raised his hand to his forehead, and again shook his
head absently. He tried to speak, but appeared unable to command either
voice or words. Colonel Taine finally took hold of his arm and led him
to the house. He endeavored in vain to eat, and though he gazed vacantly
at those about him, he did not recognize even Hagar. After taking a few
sips of wine he spoke several coherent words among which were “Hagar,”
and “this letter.”
It fell out from what he said, and upon examination of the note, which
Hagar recognized as one she had written to her rustic young admirer
William Sanders in the autumn of ’62, that this scarred and broken
spectre was all that was left of that gallant recruit. Hagar was deeply
affected by his condition, for with the clue she now had, she was
certain that it was none other than her old friend, whose manly
character and noble heart she had admired and almost loved.
What then could have happened to him?
Colonel Taine had the full reports of the Ohio Volunteers up to within a
few weeks, at hand, and on referring to those relating to the regiment
to which Hagar said he was assigned, found that William Sanders was
reported among the missing after the second day’s battle at
Murfreesboro. His fate was now clear. After he was wounded he had
crawled into the woods to save himself from being trampled to pieces by
the rushing cavalry; had been found there after the battle and cared for
by some friendly inhabitant of the country, and probably wandered away
in his half-demented state as soon as he could walk. Unable to give any
account of himself he had doubtless roamed about for several months, and
Providence had guided his feeble steps towards home at last.
The news was broken gently to his parents who still mourned the loss of
the son who was their pride, and he was taken home to die after a few
days of peace, with the kiss of his dear mother and of Hagar on his
brow. The minister said that the brave spirit had remained with the
shattered body just long enough to bring it home, and then sped away to
that better Home where war and suffering come no more.