Chapter II

“She cannot love
Nor take no shape nor project of affection,
She is so self-endeared.”—Shakespeare.

The Rev. Nathan Taine was one of the leading apostles of Universalism in the West and had a large and influential following at Cleveland. His early life had been characterized by struggle and hardship, and later by sorrows and cares; but withal, he was what the world calls a successful man and had attained to a position of considerable eminence from very small beginnings.

His voice was always heard when the Union was the theme, and he indulged in many bitter sarcasms against “Copperheads” and other species of disunionist and pro-slavery sympathizers at the North, whom he regarded as a fouler brood than the declared rebels who were in arms against the nation they had wronged and which, he always declared, had not wronged them.

For two years after he lost his wife Nathan Taine remained a widower; but, thinking that it would be better for his son and adopted daughter if he had a good woman who, as his wife, would take a mother’s interest in them, he married again.

He was strangely disappointed. In those days he was only the young pastor of a small country church of the Methodist persuasion, and the only lady he knew who seemed suited to his case was Miss Melissa Duncan, a spinster of about his own age, a leader in his church who was reputed to have both money and brains, and the only child and heir of the richest man in the county, who had recently died. This wife never had a child, and instead of being a mother and friend to those who were left to her care, she was from the first cold and harsh towards them and was regarded by them as an ogress, rather than a mother. While still a lad James had gone out and worked for his living to escape the tyrant who ruled at home, and Hagar had to take his share of Mrs. Taine’s unkindness.

“Father Taine,” as the minister was usually called by those who knew him well, and particularly by the younger portion of the community, was often saddened by the discordant state of his domestic affairs; but his public duties called him hither and thither in such a constant round of important missions that he had been compelled to leave the children to his wife, who summed up her interest and effort by the soothing consideration (soothing only to her diseased vanity) that nothing could be done with them. She blackened James as much as possible to his father; denounced him as wilful, impudent and deceitful, and at one time, when in a towering rage, reported blasphemy among his crimes. Dr. Taine had his suspicions that his wife exaggerated the faults of the lad, but, though disturbed by her accusations, he had neither time nor patience to go to the root of the matter, or, perhaps thought it best to trust to the future for the solution of his difficulties.

Hagar was a little waif whom the pastor had taken into his home and heart some time before his second marriage. She had been subject from the first to the peculiar antipathy of Mrs. Taine. From her infancy she was of an affectionate and grateful nature—not especially bright or clever, but kind, gentle and winning in disposition. She was liked by everybody except the mistress of Chestnut Grove, but especially loved by Father Taine who could fully appreciate her girlish fancies and the promise of her budding womanhood, and whom she regarded as a great and superior being. She sought his society on every possible occasion, went with him on his journeys whenever it was convenient, remaining still a child in sentiment and affection, though almost a woman in years. She had met a good many people but had made few intimate acquaintances, partly owing to the habit of remaining with her adopted father, and partly to the unsociable and inhospitable reputation earned by her adopted mother, who, by the way, would never permit herself to be called by that name. Her educational advantages had been limited to the customary course in the public school at Newberg, a few cheap piano lessons by an incompetent spinster in the neighborhood, and such desultory and undirected reading as fell in her way.

It is, indeed, probable that she had more talent for cookery than for scholarship, for she had certainly made some progress in the former science, which could scarcely be said of the latter. But she could write and speak her mother tongue with tolerable accuracy, and except for an habitual gravity which she rarely cast wholly aside, she was as pleasant and vivacious as the average western girl of that period and, perhaps, not more so. The seriousness referred to began to assert itself from the moment she fully realized that she had no father or mother of her own, and although the subject was never referred to by others, except when Mrs. Taine maliciously brought it forward to wound her, it was never absent from her own mind a moment, and the sad expression in her large hazel eyes which became more marked from year to year as a result of her reflections, aroused immediate interest in those who met her.

Mrs. Taine made frequent objections to her husband’s attentions and indulgences towards “the foundling,” as she contemptuously styled her; but the doctor paid little heed to her unreasonable vagaries, deeming them of a piece with her other incorrigible follies with regard to which, since he had discovered how useless it was to combat them, he had assumed a stoical indifference as the attitude least calculated to stir up strife. If he stopped to argue with Melissa he was lost. Her tyrannical spirit had been carefully nourished and freely exercised ever since she married the doctor; and latterly Hagar had been its principal foil. But the kind-hearted old gentlemen was more affectionate than ever to the orphan since James had gone away, and he seemed oppressed at times by an apprehension that she might be the next to vanish beyond his ken. Her gentle thoughtfulness made her a great comfort to him. When he reached home, weary in body and mind after hours of discussion and turbulence such as had characterized his labors during the last few years, she would bring his slippers and dressing gown, and a cup of his favorite cocoa which she made exactly to his taste, into the library. She studied his needs and his happiness, and brought many a ray of sunshine to his heart when his brow was clouded with cares of which she knew nothing. The stolid indifference of Mrs. Taine rendered Hagar the more devoted; for it seemed to her almost monstrous that a woman could be so destitute of feeling and sensibility towards a husband who was the soul of goodness and gentleness.

Melissa had never forgiven what she called “Nathan’s fall from orthodoxy,” and only her strong belief in the indissolubility of the marriage tie, had prevented her from seeking divorce at the time of its occurrence. She had publicly declared this, and many thought it probable that the doctor would regret her tenacity of a bond which to him must be rather galling. She scarcely ever spoke to him unless to argue theology. She never seemed to think of him as a rational being to whose natural requirements she might administer, but rather as a kind of theological nut she was especially set apart to crack; and spent the time that rightly belonged to the care of himself and the household in arguing that his Universalism was entirely wrong. To prove her case she would insist, at times, during the first years of her married life, on reading whole sections from the works of Calvin and Knox, or some other hardshell divine of remote times whose writings she but imperfectly understood; or, when especially enthusiastic, would bring forth some of her own disquisitions, consisting of “Notes on the Godhead,” “Parallel Notes on Faith,” “Notes on the Trinity” which, together, would have filled several volumes.

One morning a few days after James’s accident at the Globe office fire, Hagar entered his room with a small tray full of nice things she had prepared with her own hands for the invalid. She wore a plain dress of some figured cotton stuff, and a neat bib-apron of her own make.

James thought he had never seen her look so pretty, but certainly never so pale. He smiled at her burden of provisions, and when she had placed it on a small table near the bed, extended his hand, saying:

“Good morning, Hagar; who has had the kindness to order me a well man’s breakfast?”

“Dr. Warren said last night that you might have a nice chop this morning if you were hungry; but knowing how I dislike hearing beforehand of what I am going to have to eat I cooked these things for you myself, and I think if you have no appetite now this coffee will give you one. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. James?”

“Mind? Yes, I do—I’m very thankful to you, for, to tell the truth, I do feel hungry. Dr. Warren was right—a nice chop is the very thing for my case.”

“Oh, I’m so glad, because Father Taine said I might bring you whatever I liked so long as the doctor approved. And you seem so much better to- day—I hope you feel better, Mr. James?”

“Yes—my brain is not so heavy—my mind is clear as crystal.”

“And do you feel strong enough to tell me just a little about the fire while you are eating your breakfast;—how it happened, and how you were saved? Mr. Kilbourne has told us that you were shut up by a wall that caved in, how dreadful! Please do tell me, if it won’t fatigue you too much.”

He glanced at her admiringly as he raised himself on his elbow and began sipping the fragrant coffee. Presently he said:

“I will tell you all I know about it, Hagar, on one condition.”

“And what is that?”

“That you will never address me again as Mister James.”

“But what will Ma’am Taine say if I speak to you or about you otherwise? She says I have no right to call you simply ‘James.’”

“No matter what she says;—I don’t know where she came by such a notion, but you must call me simply ‘James.’ Before she confers any titles on me I want to see her authority; in the meantime I hope you will oblige me by speaking as familiarly to me as she does. We are not living under a monarchy where degrees are marked out with such a nicety that it takes a volume as large as Webster’s dictionary to record them, and we won’t admit an imperium in imperio by allowing madame to set up a petticoat government in this quarter. No, Hagar, we are equals, provided I am good enough to be your equal. I never had any patience with my step-mother’s affectations, and have less now than ever. Her conduct towards you from your infancy to the present time has doomed her in my esteem. But you have shown yourself a little brick in keeping your footing here in spite of her, and I hope you will never allow her harshness or injustice to drive you away, or even to cast your spirit down. Father loves you, and I—I will see hereafter that you are not imposed on by Ma’am Taine.”

James paused a moment and looked intently at Hagar: “Now, then,” she said, “you have become sad and I’m sure you are not enjoying your breakfast.”

“Yes I am;” James replied, attacking a bit of crisp toast, “but I was wondering why you looked so pale. You appear to have missed your breakfast altogether, for your cheeks were always so rosy. Has the tyrant been meddling with you, lately?”

“No, it is not that,” she said, looking away, “but I have had such an awful fright, James.”

“A fright? When?”

“Last Sunday.” She could say no more at that moment for her voice faltered and she burst into tears.

“What is it, Hagar—can’t you tell me?”

“It seems like a dream now,” she said at last, “and I am almost afraid to think of it. I began telling it to Ma’am Taine but as she said she would not believe my account unless she liked it, I would not proceed. I have not had an opportunity to tell Father Taine, so that no one knows it but the two men and myself.”

“The two men—what two men?”

“The one who attacked me, and—and—the one who saved me.”

“Attacked you! what do you mean?” asked James with astonishment.

“I will tell you just how it happened,” said Hagar, wiping away her tears. She then described her attack and rescue which surprised and excited James Taine more than any bit of news he had gathered during his reportorial career. Was such a thing possible, he asked himself, so near a great city, on the highway in broad daylight? Certainly the culprit could have been nothing less than an escaped lunatic, he thought, and he asked Hagar about the appearance of the man, and if she had any idea where the one who rescued her came from. Her replies seemed to offer no tangible clue to either the villain who merited punishment, or the hero who deserved reward.

“All I can remember,” she said, “about the dreadful creature who seized me is that he was very tall with a black beard and dressed in black clothes. He picked me up and carried me as if I had been a child, and I thought I was dying when I heard the voice of the young man who came to save me. He was slender but his eyes were dark, and overhung by prominent brows:—his face was smooth, and his complexion dark.”

“That’s strange,” exclaimed the invalid. “Dark complexion you say, and young?”

“Yes,” Hagar replied, surprised by his question.

“Was his hair short or long?”

“It was long and curly—I noted that when I thought he was being killed.”

“In what color was he dressed?” James demanded with still deeper interest.

“He had on gray trousers and coat, and a blue flannel shirt. I wondered who he could be, and looked at him closely when he was putting on his shoes.”

“Can it be possible?” said James. “Why Hagar, you are describing the very man who, that same day, saved me from the fire. All that you have said I should have to say if I attempted to describe him—the blue shirt, the dark eyes and long hair—the prominent brow—I thought his forehead like Shakespeare’s as he dashed through the smoke and flames, his hair streaming, his eyes flashing heroic fire that seemed to regard the hissing and devouring flames as its natural element. Could it have been the same?—It seems incredible!”

“You were going to tell me about it, James, when I interrupted you with the story of my fright.”

“Well then, I will resume the subject—but I feel certain after what you have said that the same hand that saved you from a villain or a madman, saved me from a fiery death. God grant that he is safe!”

“He was hurt, then?” asked Hagar, greatly interested in the subject of this mysterious hero.

“Yes, you shall hear. My tragedy happened some two or three hours later than yours, which is additional cause for my thinking that we were rescued by one and the same hand; but Heaven knows that I would rather have been roasted to a cinder than that one hair of your dear head should be harmed. The fire broke out in the press room and originated by the lamp-lighter setting fire to the kerosene with which he was filling the lamps. A ‘devil’ who was helping him escaped and made known this fact, but the lamplighter was probably killed, by the explosion of the oil. I was in the reporter’s room on the third floor writing up from my notes Dr. Gall’s sermon which I had attended in the forenoon. Before I heard the alarm of fire, the stairways and elevator were burning, and the entire lower portion of the building was in flames. Many of the partitions were of lath and plaster and burnt like tinder. Shrieks and cries for help were mingling with the cracking and roaring of the fire when I ran into the hall to be almost stifled by the smoke; and some of the typesetters, both men and girls, on the same floor, hurled themselves down the stairs into the midst of the flames. I thought there might still be one chance of life left for me, and realized that nothing but perfect coolness would enable me to avail myself of it. To jump from a window would be death, and the flames were leaping through those I might have reached. By some means, however, I must descend, and in desperation swung myself by one of the burning ropes of the elevator to the second floor, the elevator shaft forming a well of incandescence beneath. Almost suffocated, I fled towards an open window on the right, the dense smoke being momentarily parted by the rushing currents of air which also revived me; but I had only gone a few paces when I was hurled with a mass of smouldering debris to the lower floor. How I escaped being killed by that fall is a mystery. I was stunned, though not unconscious. But I was completely walled in, and could feel the heat of the fire under me which would soon burst through the damp timbers by which I was held as in a vise, and consume me with the rest. My struggle seemed hopeless, and I was about to give up in despair and consign my spirit to its Maker, when I heard a battering noise near me, and a moment later saw the man with the blue shirt and the long hair break through the thin partition and come towards me.

“‘Where is the woman I saw coming this way before that wall fell in?’ he asked quickly, at the same time shoving aside a timber that formed part of the trap that held me fast. I could only reply that I had not seen the woman, and it was clear we had not a second to lose if we would escape with our own lives. Seeing that I was disabled though he was already burnt and bruised himself, he took me on his shoulder and carried me out through the hole he had made, from what in a few minutes would have been my tomb!” His lips trembled, and he covered his eyes with his hand to hide his tears of gratitude.

“And the woman, did she escape?” asked Hagar, who had listened with rapt attention to his story.

“No, I am afraid not; and he who tried to save her missed her and found a less worthy object for his heroism.”

“You cannot judge as to that James,” said Hagar with gentle reproof. “But how strange and sad it all seems, and how wonderful it will be if the same man really saved both our lives on that day.”

“I am convinced that it is the case”—James rejoined. But at that moment a tap at the door announced that his friend Kilbourne was coming in, and Hagar withdrew without resuming the conversation.

“I see Dr. Warren coming up the avenue,” said Mark.

“Then I hope he will bring me news of my mysterious friend.”

While they were talking Dr. Warren dismounted at the verandah steps, and handing a letter to the negro servant, Dan, said:

“Please give this letter to Mrs. Taine, I bring it from her husband.” Mrs. Taine seemed to take no interest in James’s case, and, as usual, did not make her appearance. The doctor proceeded to his patient’s room and found that he was progressing favorably.

“There is a full account of the fire in this paper,” said the doctor. “You seem to have been pretty well in the midst of it, James; but did you see anything of the fiery genius they speak of here in connection with your name?”

“What do they say about him?” asked James, “for a spirit of some kind saved me from death.”

“This must be the one—just listen—” replied Doctor Warren. He then read the following paragraph from a paper he had brought with him:—

“‘When the conflagration was at its height and it seemed that everything burnable must quickly be consumed, a young man was seen making his way through the crowd shouting that there were human beings inside who might be saved. Dressed only in his pantaloons and a coarse flannel shirt, he snatched a heavy bar from one of the ladder trucks, and dashed into the building amid a moan of dismay and a wild “hurrah!” from the crowd. One, two, three—five minutes passed—he was wreathed in fire—the people cried that he had disappeared forever; and who shall describe the hurricane of exultation that greeted him when he reappeared on the very tongues of flame, bearing on his shoulder the disabled form of Mr. James Taine, a talented young reporter on the “Globe.”’”

“That is evidently some of Mike’s work—nothing pleases him so well as a fling at rhetoric,” said Mark, smiling.

“He continues:—” said the doctor, resuming the newspaper:—“‘The rescued reporter has been taken to his father’s house in the country, and the gallant boy who risked his life to save him and is badly hurt, is being cared for at the City Hospital. He refuses to give his name, residence, calling, or any information whatever concerning himself, and disclaims having done anything surprising. Nevertheless, this community owes him a debt of gratitude for his noble deed, and will certainly not lose sight of him without making a suitable acknowledgement of the appreciation and honor it feels for such a hero.’—What do you say to that?”

“He deserves it all,” replied James, with enthusiasm, “and, I suspect, a good deal more. Have you called to see him at the hospital, doctor?”

“No, but I shall do so on my return to town.”

“Well give him my best regards and thanks. Tell him that I will esteem it a great favor if he will drive out here with my father as soon as he is able. Father will call to see him again to-day, I presume, if he has time. He does not know that probably Hagar’s life was saved that day by the same person who saved me—but such really seems to be the case.” He repeated what Hagar had told him, after which the doctor went away, saying that he would report the matter to the police authorities, and deliver James’s message to the most modest of heroes.

Mrs. Taine met the doctor on the verandah, and extended her hand with a formal “Good morning, doctor.”

“Will you be likely to see Doctor Taine again to-day, doctor?” she continued.

“Yes, he has promised to dine with us.”

“Oh! then please tell him that the contents of his note are duly noted, and that he could not have sent me more welcome news—also accept my thanks as the bearer, doctor.” She added the last phrase with peculiar affectation. The doctor, being one of the many who could not understand the mistress of Chestnut Grove did not prolong the interview, but gracefully disengaged himself and rode away.

Though she had already learned the letter by heart she again took it from her pocket as she paced the verandah. It ran as follows:—

“DEAR MELISSA:—I send this line by Dr. Warren to tell you that I have found Mr. Smiles, of Boston, who spent a few days with us some months ago, awaiting me at the Tabernacle. In deference to what I knew to be your wish, I have invited him to accompany me to Chestnut Grove this evening. I think he intends to pass several days with us. Yours, NATHAN.”

Mrs. Taine was elated at the prospect of this visit. She had never ceased recurring to the amiability and lovable character of the devout Mr. Smiles, whose former brief stay in her house formed the golden age of her social annals. Ever since she met him she had been in the habit of declaring that he was the only man she ever knew who was entirely congenial to her.