Chapter IV

At supper the conversation turned on the subject of the fire and Hagar’s adventure. After Dr. Taine had been speaking solemnly concerning the baseness to which a man must have sunk before he could bring himself to commit such a crime as the one attempted on Sunday, Mr. Smiles lowered himself several degrees in the estimation of Dr. Taine and Mark by saying:

“It is very shocking to hear of such occurrences, but they are, happily, uncommon. Whoever the man was, we must admit he showed fine discernment in seeking to carry off so fair a prize.”

Mark looked at Dr. Taine, and it was plain to him that the old gentleman did not like the speech any more than he did. They endeavored to change the subject, by talking about the Army, the Navy, and the attitude of foreign powers; but Mr. Smiles reverted with eccentric persistence to the former theme, and was particularly anxious to have a description of the knight errant who had won all hearts.

“Does he most resemble the immortal Don, or his no less immortal Squire?”

He spoke in a lively manner that pleased his hostess exceedingly.

The doctor described the young man he had visited at the hospital in a few words, when Mr. Smiles said:—

“He may be a deserter, then; or else a refugee slave. He must have some powerful motive for concealing his identity. There are Octoroons, they say, who are scarcely distinguishable from white men, and the black eyes and other points you have mentioned, sound rather suspicious. But, in any case you may be sure that he will expect Miss Hagar to fall in love with him,” added the handsome minister with an admiring glance towards Hagar, who was already somewhat embarrassed by being made the subject of so much talk. “For,” he continued, “young ladies always fall in love with the brave fellows who preserve them from danger.”

“Very true! Very true indeed, Mr. Smiles,” said Mrs. Taine.

Nobody else appeared to be much amused, but the parson continued complacently:—

“On consideration, nothing is more natural. I once knew of a very striking case of the kind:” He proceeded to recount the story. “There is an important fact in connection with these cases,” he concluded, “which should not be lost sight of, namely:—That the young lady who is thus preserved could never know the joy of love at all but for the champion who saves her, ergo—whom should she love if not the one who had preserved to her the power of loving?”

“You would infer then,” said Mark pointedly, “that the lady in the present case must fall in love with and marry a deserter or a refugee slave—an octoroon who cannot be distinguished from a white man?”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Kilbourne,” replied Mr. Smiles with perfect good nature, “I do not wish to infer anything of the sort. The tenacity with which this young gentleman has kept back his name is a little surprising, you will admit. But, he may be a Russian prince in disguise, or the son of Uncle Abe Lincoln himself for aught I know.”

“Perhaps,” said Hagar, rather seriously, “as the subject of so much comment is expected to come here in a few days, we might wait until then to satisfy our curiosity. I think we are not likely to prove him either a slave or a deserter.”

“He is a singular person,” remarked Dr. Taine thoughtfully, “singular in every respect. He is, seemingly, neither ignorant nor educated, polished nor uncouth; but there’s something genuine and straightforward about him, and nothing that I could discern, to give color to the supposition that he had a guilty cause to conceal his identity. He has certainly laid us under heavy obligations, and I feel a lively interest in him. Perhaps the thin veil of mystery which now envelopes him will vanish sooner than we expect. He is evidently a young man of character who has a purpose, and so far as we can judge, it is not a bad one.”

Shortly after supper Mrs. Taine took her guest for a stroll on the lawn in the moonlight, leaving the doctor and Mark to their cigars in the dining room. Hagar hurried up stairs to look after the invalid. Mr. Smiles expressed great satisfaction for Mrs. Taine’s adroitness in delivering him from an uncongenial spirit which his suavity and good nature had failed to exorcise.

“To me, my dear madame,” he said, in a tone of good faith, “you are a much more substantial deliverer than the hero of shreds and patches of whom we have heard so much this evening. That fellow Kilbourne, whom I am pleased to note, you do not like, is an awful bore. He looks at one as if he were contemplating manslaughter, and talks like a pettifogging lawyer.”

“It is one of the lightest of my crosses, my dear Mr. Smiles,” responded his companion, as she leaned confidingly on his strong arm, “that I must submit to the presence of that person in my house. You cannot feel a greater antipathy for him than I do. When I say my house,” she continued, “I say what is literally true: Dr. Taine has nothing. His Universality friends were mostly poor when he went over to them, and as I had a sufficient income of my own to meet all demands, he has spent his earnings, which were meagre enough for many years, in the cause of his sect, and to promote the interests of Abolition. The value of my property both in Cleveland and here has greatly increased in the last few years, to such an extent, indeed, that I have wealth enough to see the world now, and to make quite a different figure from my present self. This life is too contracted for me and always has been. I want to live in Boston, in London, and in Rome. I have no relatives except those I have acquired by marriage. So I may as well enjoy the benefits that money alone can purchase, travel, experience and culture in foreign lands. You must advise me, my dear Mr. Smiles, for you are the first and the only man I have ever met, whom I thought capable of aiding me in that way. You have been abroad—I remember your mentioning it last Spring.” She spoke with girlish eagerness that inwardly amused her guest, who was fully alive to the grateful sensation she experienced in the rare treat of an attentive and sympathetic hearing.

“Merely as a boy, when, I fear, it did me little good. I have often wished that I might enjoy the advantages of which you speak; but poor men, you know, my dear Mrs. Taine, must be content to labor on without encouraging vain longings, in the narrow and ofttimes barren vineyard where their lot is cast. I agree with you, however, that those who have wealth have a right to enjoy it to the utmost, so long, of course, as they do not forget their duties as christians. But will you allow me to revert for a moment to Mr. Kilbourne. Is Miss Hagar in love with him?—you will pardon my asking such a question.”

“No, indeed, she is only slightly acquainted with him. But I am glad you have put the question for I think I noticed while you were with us in the spring, that you took a good deal of interest in ‘Miss Hagar.’”

“I do not deny it, but you must be possessed of an uncommon power of penetration to have remarked the fact, my dear madam.”

“Perhaps so, but I have remarked another fact which may be even more important if you are in earnest——”

“Yes? What is that?”

“That she is greatly interested in you. She was not unmindful of your superiority over other men she had met, when you were here before. She had not counted on seeing you again, but I am certain that your unexpected coming has not only revived the old interest but greatly increased it. You might have her for the asking.”

“You think so?”

“I am sure of it.”

“And may I count on your assistance?” he asked with affected anxiety which Mrs. Taine readily accepted for genuine.

“With all my heart,” she replied, “if you really wish it.”

“As you are fully aware, my dear madam,” he went on in a low, confidential voice, “the obstacle at present will be my straightened finances. I shall not attempt to conceal from you what my wishes are, but—you know the adage—”

“‘Man proposes,’ and so forth?” said Mrs. Taine. “Well, of course, you know best, and you must decide for yourself, so far as I see at present.”

She was on the point of telling him one or two important thoughts that were revolving in her brain, but she kept them back and gradually brought the conversation round to her favorite topic, the scandal of the neighborhood, in which Mr. Smiles seemed to take a lively interest. The cool breeze which had sprung up at sundown had now died away, and the moonlit night was warm and balmy. Mrs. Taine appreciated the favors of Nature most thoroughly on that occasion, and felt a strong conviction that she was performing an important part in some vague romance.

Meanwhile Mr. Smiles was the subject of a short but somewhat pointed discussion indoors.

“No,” said Dr. Taine in reply to Mark Kilbourne’s question, “I do not know much about him. He presented himself to me in the first instance with a letter of introduction from a member of my former congregation at Newberg, who has, for some years, been a resident of Boston. He has returned on the strength of the brief acquaintance then formed, and appears to be on good terms with the people of his persuasion in this neighborhood; I heard several persons speak of him in the highest terms after he left here last spring.”

“For my part,” Mark replied, “I don’t like him: to my material eye he wears the ear-marks of hypocrisy if not imposture. I should set him down for a wolf and take care he did not enjoy too free a range among lambs of mine.”

“Ah! Mark, that sounds like prejudice. We are prone to judge too hastily of the demerits of our fellow men. The best may possess peculiarities which are distasteful to us, but I believe, as a rule, that they are the safest who take the least trouble to conceal them.”

“I may be wrong; but I profess some skill at spotting a scoundrel, and I should unhesitatingly class this slippery divine under that head. Like a deadly pill, he is the more dangerous from being sugar-coated.”

“He has at least one fervent admirer here,” said Dr. Taine, referring to his wife, “and one who is not considered overcredulous. Their religious views, I believe, are similar (one can scarcely say identical, I find, of any two persons of average mental acquirements.) I suspect that he is fishing for a handsome subscription, which he is likely to find a very delicate point indeed on which to approach madam.” This suggestion seemed to amuse them.

The cantankerous disposition of Mrs. Taine had caused an almost complete suspension of friendly intercourse between Chestnut Grove and the neighboring estates. But, as is frequently the case with people who are on bad terms with their immediate acquaintances, she could show great tenderness and amiability towards any one from a distance if she but received a good first impression.

In the course of their walk she had initiated her reverend companion not only into the very sanctuary of her own domestic affairs, but also into that of others in whom he could not feel the remotest interest. After a scathing criticism, a sort of broad-side of shrapnel which swept everything before it, she paused at a rustic bench that stood in the shadow of an evergreen near the gate, and invited her guest to rest awhile. She sighed wearily as she took her place beside him, and continued her complaint:—

“Such are the people by whom I am surrounded, and you can imagine, my dear Mr. Smiles, how a woman of my highly sensitive and intellectual nature must be affected by these opposite and uncongenial forces. Not a soul, even in my own house, to appreciate one of my lofty ideas; not one that has either the capacity or the desire to grasp the divine mysteries which delight my soul, or to share with me—or learn from me, such sentiments as would tend, in time, to raise them to my level. The men and women of my own generation have all gone mad on Abolition, Universalism, or some other hideous ’ism; and the younger ones are free- thinkers or infidels. Irreligion and ungodliness have thrown the country into civil war from which, it is plain to the enlightened ones of Israel, it can never emerge except in fragments and in ruin. The cup of the scoffers is full, and only the righteous shall inherit the earth!”

The old lady was evidently inclined to continue this harangue indefinitely since she was spurred up to her declamatory pitch, but her companion was rather tired of it. After a suppressed—

“Dashed if the old woman is n’t a copper-head!” he led her gently from questions of doctrine and contemporary history, back to the personal details she had touched upon and left unfinished.

“As our views are virtually identical on these subjects, my dear madam,” he continued after a few flattering exclamations “would you not oblige me by continuing the more than romantic incident you just mentioned of the young Southerner and Miss La Salle? His name, you said, was—?”

“Philip Leigh.”

“Yes, yes; that is it. And his father was one of the richest planters in Louisiana?”

“He is so,” said Mrs. Taine, emphatically, “and the ungrateful Philip has had every advantage that a Southern gentleman knows how to give his son.” The ease and spirit with which she reverted to this subject showed that it was congenial to her mind. She had noted as an unmistakable evidence of his good sense, that Mr. Smiles, though he must have very different opinions, had made no objections to her pro-Southern sentiments. She had long prided herself on being a “Peace Democrat” and an ardent admirer of “Southern chivalry,” though it must be confessed that her ideas were sufficiently vague concerning both.

“I was telling you,” she continued, “that he studied military science in France after graduating at West Point. While there he attracted the attention of the Empress and was introduced at Court. Well, some time before South Carolina resolved to secede he fell out with his father concerning the attitude of the South, and declared his intention of using his sword for the Union in case the states rights doctrine should bring on a war. A quarrel of the bitterest kind was the result, and he came north just a month before the fall of Fort Sumter. He had no sooner made known his loyalty at Washington than he was given an important commission by the Government, which brought him into Ohio. At Cleveland he was welcomed by a few people who had known him at West Point and in New Orleans, and at one of their houses met this Miss LaSalle, with whom, it seems, he fell desperately in love. They were married a few weeks after they became acquainted, and the old saw is exemplified in his case—he ‘repents at leisure,’ they say.”

“Here is material, certainly, for a romance,” exclaimed Mr. Smiles. “And you know this interesting young patriot?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, with a cynical smile, “and hate him cordially! His is a double-dyed secession, from his father, and from his father’s cause, and for such a woman, too! He is already mad with jealousy, and a friend of mine who lives near them tells me it is not without good cause.”

“I should like to meet him. Does he ever visit you here?”

“No; he and James are friends, but he knows I don’t like him, and has not been here to call for months. Hagar likes his wife but I have discouraged their intercourse. You might see him any day at Newberg if you feel sufficient curiosity: but they say he is dull and unsociable; his only amusement being the game of chess, and his soldiering his only employment. You can draw him out, however, if you only talk Union and anti-slavery and don’t let him catch you admiring his wife.”

“But who was Miss La Salle?” asked Mr. Smiles, affecting not to notice her closing words.

Mrs. Taine’s sneers and depreciation in relation to Mrs. Leigh, were altogether gratuitous. She had never been on friendly terms with the La Salles, who were for many years near neighbors of her father, for they had not considered her a pleasant person either as Miss Duncan or since she became Mrs. Taine. They had never been so rich as the Duncans, but were more refined by nature and by culture, and far more amiable.

“She has been an orphan for some years,” continued Mrs. Taine. “Her parents were very poor, but proud, and she was their only child. They claimed to be descended from the famous French explorer Chevalier La Salle. Of course we all know that it may be so, but as my poor father used to say, ‘the descent must have been through very doubtful channels.’ Josephine has nothing to recommend her but a pretty face and certain frivolous accomplishments.”

“Josephine, then, is her name? It is a favorite with me: you did not mention it before,” said Mr. Smiles.

“It is very French, you know, and I can’t say that I like it. Prior to her marriage she was living with an invalid aunt who was poor but moved in the best society of Cleveland. She has recently died, and a friend of mine who lived with her for some time, tells me that Josephine was jilted by a young Southerner of very high family, while on a visit to relatives of her father’s in the South some six or seven years ago—not without being smirched, too, they say!” said she, with that peculiar emphasis and rising inflection on ‘they say’ which ever characterizes the malicious gossip, and especially the old one.

“Poor girl!” exclaimed the missionary with an expression of earnest concern. Then changing his tone to one of keen interest, he enquired:—

“And how did Captain Leigh make her acquaintance?”

“I thought I told you—at an entertainment in Cleveland. There were several versions of the affair at the time—but, though I may not like a person, I pay very little attention to gossip. I did hear it was love at first sight, but some said, on his part, while others declared that she was the victim and he only married her to console her. They are wretchedly unhappy, I believe!”

They were interrupted by the clatter of a horse’s hoofs and the appearance of a horseman at the gate. He leaned over and opened it as if familiar with the latch, and, without noticing the gossips, entered and trotted rapidly up the avenue.

Mrs. Taine was in a quandary. Who in the world could it be at that time of night? Of course she must hurry to the house at once to investigate this mysterious arrival. Father Taine and Mark, hearing the horse, came to the door, and both were as much delighted as surprised to grasp the hand of Captain Leigh.

“I have only just heard of James’s accident. How is he?” said the Captain, anxiously.

“He is badly hurt,” replied Father Taine, “but is getting on favorably.”

“I went to Columbus on Monday, and have had no news except the war news while away. I received the first intimation of James’s misfortune in a letter from my wife. I hope I may be allowed to see him?”

Mrs. Taine and her guest now came up the verandah steps, and the former marched directly into the sitting-room saying as she went:

“Won’t you all come in where we can see who you are?” They promptly complied, and when she recognized Captain Leigh, she gave him the tips of her fingers with icy formality and said:—

“How do you do, Mr. Leigh.”

It was nine o’clock, and Mark and Captain Leigh made haste to go to their friend’s room as soon as Hagar brought his permission. When they were gone, Father Taine retired to his library where he labored usually until after midnight, and Mr. Smiles found himself alone with the ladies—a situation in which he seemed not at all lonely.

At his request Hagar went to the piano and played two or three light selections in true country-girl fashion. Though she possessed musical talent she had lacked the opportunity for development. The young minister succeeded her at the instrument, and after having commended her undoubted taste, which he thought it a sin to have neglected, he dashed off some of the gems of Beethoven and Stephen Heller in truly artistic style. He then sang in a full and rich baritone, selections from several operas, a popular ballad or two, and concluded his programme with a spirited rendition of the Marseillaise in very fair French.

His performance was sufficiently effective to have charmed a much larger and more discerning company. Hagar was deeply impressed, and made no attempt to conceal the fact. Mrs. Taine was delighted. During his former visit he had played for them, but had excused himself from singing on account of what he called a “parson’s sore throat,” which then troubled him. In the course of his performance this evening Mrs. Taine had resolved an idea she had long cherished into a determination: she would offer to make him her principal heir.

Hagar thought that her withdrawal would be agreeable to at least one of the trio, so she excused herself and was leaving the room when she was met at the door by Captain Leigh and Mark.

“Ah! Miss Hagar,” said Philip, “you are a great stranger, and I have a commission from Josephine to ask you why you do not come to see her.”

“You must tell her it is not because I do not want to see her,” replied Hagar. “She is my dearest friend, and the next time Father Taine goes to Newberg I will accompany him.”

“Mrs. Taine has been telling me your wonderful history, Captain Leigh,” said Mr. Smiles, approaching the young soldier.

“It were better untold—I am sorry she mentioned it,” replied Philip, abruptly.

“True patriotism, my dear sir, may be modest, but it need not resent praise, I hope, nor hide itself under a bushel. What a noble example you have set to the rebellious sons of the South!”

“I doubt it, sir,” said Philip, looking the parson calmly in the eye. “Had I a son who treated me as I have my father, I should kill him like a viper that attacked me. The die is cast: I have deserted my father and his cause for what I deem, rightly or wrongly, my country and my duty. But I want no praise at this stage of the game; my conscience often smites me for what I have done. I would to Heaven that I could bury this blot out of my sight, but I shall not waver; my path is marked out, and though it lay through adamant I will hew away while life lasts.”

“To become converted to a good cause, to the right, was ever accounted honorable,” observed Mr. Smiles, urbanely.

But Philip was restless to get away, and made no reply. Turning to Mark, he said in a low voice:—

“Mark, I want you to come as far as the gate with me, I have something special to say to you.”

“Are you starting for the front soon, Captain Leigh?” asked the minister.

“I cannot say, we are drilling recruits and awaiting orders.”

“They tell me that you are an adept in the science of arms” pursued the parson.

“No!” replied Philip emphatically, “like many in that and other professions, I only know the alphabet.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Mark in reply to something the Captain said as they walked down the avenue.

“It is quite true,” he replied. “My cousin very shrewdly sent his letter to a mutual friend in New York, and its contents are full and conclusive. I am to be abducted and carried alive into Kentucky if possible; but, if this fails I am to be shot dead wherever found. You heard what I said to night? I learned the lesson from the father I was speaking of—this is his order.”

“And what do you think of it?” asked Mark.

“That those who are to execute the order will find it too difficult to carry me away living, and to earn their money more easily will assassinate me—perhaps on my way home to-night.”

“Have you such a presentiment?” asked Mark, his face turning deadly pale at the thought.

“Oh, no; not so bad as that. I don’t think I ever had a presentiment in my life, I scarcely know what it means. I have no great love of life, but I don’t want to fall by the hand of an assassin. For myself I do not regard this plot with alarm: but others are in danger. No life is to be spared that stands in the way of my taking off, and what would be more likely than for them to come to my house at night and murder Josephine lest her cries should arouse the neighborhood? Being in an enemy’s country their motto will be silence and despatch, and they will scruple at nothing to compass their design. But I would rather pay the full penalty than let the authorities know that my father has decreed me such a fate. What can I do to protect others without having it appear that I am menaced?”

“I am sorry, Phil, that you ever moved out of Cleveland,” said Mark.

“My cousin expresses the same regret, but I think without cause. In my opinion locality does not govern danger, it may fall or fail anywhere.”

“Do you think the desperadoes are in the vicinity?”

“It appears that they have held their commission since the Rebel reverse at Pittsburg Landing, but have been baffled by my movements.”

“I certainly think,” said Mark, “that the General ought to be informed of this. He need not know your father is in the plot, but he would not forgive you if you failed to let him know that you are seriously threatened.”

“No, Mark: not one word, I entreat. If once it becomes known, I must produce the evidence in my possession, which would probably do little to help me and would brand my father with eternal infamy. I rely on your silence. To-morrow I will write to the General and ask to be relieved from my present duty and ordered to the front. Ah, Mark!” he continued as he grasped his friend’s hand at the gate to say good night, “I wish I were like you instead of the outcast that I am. My heart almost fails me at times and I doubt everything:—the cause to which I have devoted my honor and my life; the friends who surround me—even the being who is more dear to me than all the world—”

“Pshaw! Phil:—what folly—I thought you had filtered that poison from your mind long ago. You wrong her virtue even more deeply than your own judgment.”

“I often think my mind must be diseased, or that it bears the taint of the vitiated atmosphere in which I have lived so long where doubt and suspicion linger: twin occupants of the brain. At times my confidence wavers like my resolution: then hideous images goad me to madness. To seek and find the means of torturing myself seems to be my only genius. But let that pass. We have been like brothers, Mark, and I want you to be a brother indeed to me while I am away. You must take care of Josephine, be her guardian and protector until I return—but if I never do return—”

“Why Phil, you know I am going into the army myself. What nonsense you are talking! You are gloomy and out of sorts, and must cheer up. I’ll come down and spend a day with you soon; it’s too late to try to drive all this rubbish out of your head to-night, so I’ll take a day for it especially. Really, if a stranger should hear you talking like this he would think you insane. Don’t borrow trouble, Phil: life’s too short. A care buried is worth a dozen resurrected. But I won’t lecture you at this hour as you have some distance to travel, and I must get back and see my patient comfortable for the night.”