Chapter VII

“——— Oft’ what seems
A trifle, a mere nothing, by itself,
In some nice situations turns the scale
Of Fate, and rules the most important actions.”—Thompson.

The waning moon was climbing the eastern sky, and a zephyr from Lake Erie was playing among the foliage when Mr. Smiles began his solitary promenade on the lawn. Finding the grass coated with hoar-frost, he took to the gravel walk, and soon arrived at the gate. There he paused, and resting his elbows on the top rail of the fence quietly puffed at his cigar and watched the wreaths of smoke as they were wafted down the lane.

The Taine mansion stood back from the road some distance, and the level space between was thickly covered with fruit trees the branches of which were almost bare. Some of the trees along the public road, however, still contained enough leaves to obscure the view even in the daytime, and they now cast a thick shadow along one side, in which, in spite of the bright moonlight, a man might conceal himself with impunity. Mr. Smiles appeared suddenly to become aware of this, and after carefully surveying the avenue leading to the house, he went outside, closed the gates gently after him and passed along in the shadow for some distance as if to make sure that nobody was lying there in ambush. He satisfied himself that all was clear and was going back towards the gate when he heard a horse approaching. He quickly stepped inside and concealed himself behind one of the heavy gate-posts. The horseman advanced at a slow walk, and when opposite the gate drew rein and gazed steadily for a few seconds up the avenue towards Chestnut Grove.

“The best of men?” said Mr. Smiles, showing himself.

“Is number nine,” replied the other, wheeling his horse towards where the minister stood. He then dismounted; they shook hands cordially, and walked slowly away together conversing in an undertone.

“I was getting rather uneasy, parson. What’s a movin’—hev yer sighted the coon?”

“Yes, I’ve been as close to him as I am to you, I shook his hand, and I’ve got things into better shape in three days than I expected in ten. What was impossible last Spring will now be as easy as fooling a wench,” said Mr. Smiles, falling into a careless manner to suit his companion. “But how are Delmy and the rest of the boys?”

“Tip top, sah! jest A 1; Jim Delmy is the man to do a job clean. Them Treasury papers you got him at St. Louis has jest made him solid all along. It’s true we’ve been a day late gettin here; but we’ve got the roads down fine, which is something to the purpose, ain’t it? Besides we’ve all got mounts that can make well on to ninety miles between two days.” The speaker was a wiry young Missourian of medium height and slight build. He looked the ideal desperado. His stumpy red beard overgrew a visage in which the small grey eyes shone like two fiery beacons. He kept a huge quid of tobacco moving about from one cheek to the other while listening to what the parson said, and spoke with a peculiar nasal twang. In reply to Mr. Smiles’s questions he said that Delmy had decided that no part of the journey they were to perform could be done otherwise than on horseback; that they had a safe and entirely innocent-looking camp, and that Delmy was anxious for an interview with the parson.

“But, say, parson;” added No. 9 on his own account, “is there any truth in that air report in the papers about ole Leigh withdrawin’ the reward, an’ sayin’ he’ll jest let the young un go to blazes if he likes?”

“Not a word!—if you couldn’t tell that was nothing but a Yankee lie, No. 9 I’m ashamed of you.”

“Well, that’s what Jim says, and I reckon you’re both about right.”

Mr. Smiles shortly after despatched his friend with an order for Captain Delmy to meet him at the same place at ten o’clock the following evening, by which time he hoped to have a definite plan mapped out; and when the receding clatter of the horse’s hoofs had died away, the parson strode leisurely back to the house. Lights were still burning in some of the rooms up stairs, and he found Mrs. Taine awaiting him in the sitting-room, where she had fallen asleep with a heavy theological volume on her lap. She roused herself with an effort as he entered the room; but he pretended not to notice that Morpheus had interrupted her divinity, and said:—

“Ah, my dear madam! Communing with the holy fathers, as usual?”

“I was reading a little; but I am very tired to-night and should have gone to bed but that I have something to say to you.” By this time Mr. Smiles had thrown off his overcoat, and stretched his well-formed person in a comfortable attitude on the old-fashioned lounge.

“Ah, but you are too thoughtful for me, dear Mrs. Taine, I am very sorry.”

“You have no occasion to be. My interest in you is more deep and sincere than I have ever felt for any other being, and I can see, as nobody else can, that you are uneasy. You have not, I am afraid, formed a correct estimate of my character.” As she said this she took a chair nearer the lounge and placed it so that she might speak in a low voice quite near her companion’s ear. “I know what it is,” she continued, “you see how partial Dr. Taine is towards the Mormon, and you think Hagar may have a lurking tendency in that direction. Still, such fears are uncomplimentary to me, and prove that you have failed to appreciate the depth of my affection—the strength of my purpose.”

Mr. Smiles felt some uncertainty as to the old lady’s meaning, but replied blandly:

“No, no, my dear friend, do not imagine such a thing; I need no assurance that I can fully rely upon you.”

“You candidly believe that in spite of all opposition from whatever quarter I will secure the result you desire?” she asked with singular eagerness.

“Indeed, yes!” he exclaimed, in a manner to convince her. “I am so far satisfied of this that I am ready to adopt a course which is rarely a safe one as this world goes. I am going to trust wholly to your friendship, and leave nothing to depend upon my own poor merit.” The young minister was half expecting a declaration of undying love from the old lady herself; he had known of such cases, and was prepared to make the best of the dilemma; but she merely passed her hand gently along his forehead and settled back in her chair with a deep sigh.

“But, speaking of the Mormon,” said he, in a voice as nicely modulated as that of a clever actor, “do you know I almost feel that he has a prior claim to the lovely girl he rendered such gallant service? I don’t know but I ought to give up the contest in his favor.”

“No, that you shall not! I know your modest and generous nature, but in this case, at least, it shall not avail you to your own irreparable loss. You fell in love with Hagar when you met her last spring. I knew it perfectly well. This circumstance has opened up a future for me as well as for you, if you are but steadfast to your purpose. The small portion of your society which I should enjoy as an elder sister—or—”(she found it necessary to clear her throat)—“or as a mother, if you prefer it, would amply repay me for all that I can do to promote your interests and happiness, and to place you in a position of immediate independence.”

He attempted to say something by way of gratitude, but she would not be interrupted until she had stated her determination to make him the heir to all she possessed.

“But, it is too much—too much, my dear madam. How can I ever accept so great, and so undeserved—”

“Please allow me to finish what I have to say, for nothing can turn me from my purpose. My property is all in my own name and right, and I am determined that it shall not go to my husband’s family. Your kin to me is so far only spiritual, which I deem the best of kin—you alone can inherit from me. All this and more I have planned, and the plan must be carried out.”

Mr. Smiles at that moment felt a doubt as to the old lady’s sanity.

“There is a mystery about Miss Hagar’s parentage of which you promised to inform me. Knowing the facts shall not alter my determination to abide by your wishes, for I do not believe that a man can devote himself too singly and entirely to so true a friend.” He reverently took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

Affecting a momentary confusion, she replied:—“On the faith of that promise I will tell you all I know about this strange case.” She drew her chair a little nearer, and after a glance around the room to make sure that they were quite alone, continued in a voice that was little louder than a whisper:

“When I married Nathan Taine his former wife had been dead about three years, and I found in his house, (a small place a mile beyond here) his son James, and this girl, a babe only a few months old. She was represented to me as a foundling who had been taken in by Dr. Taine during my engagement to him, but while I was away visiting friends in Boston. My husband seemed very reticent about her, but at last I obtained the following account from a servant girl who was then employed on the place, and who has since married and gone out west. Early one morning, she said, the gardener was going about his work when he heard a baby crying near a deep pond at the farther end of the orchard. Running to the spot he found the tiny thing bundled up in a thick shawl, lying under a tree, and took it at once to the house. As an elderly woman who then kept the doctor’s house was unwrapping it, this card fell on the floor.” She handed him a square bit of cardboard, yellow with age, but otherwise in a good state of preservation. The writing on it was perfectly clear and distinct, but was the work of a cramped and inexperienced hand. He read it audibly:

“I could not murder her as I do myself. May her life not be cursed as her mother’s was. Name her Hagar, the forsaken one—it may be fortunate—mine was Hope, and brought me only misery. God pity us!”

“How strange, how pitiful!” exclaimed the parson with a real touch of sympathy in his voice. “But was the poor mother never found?”

“No:—it is supposed she drowned herself in the pond, and that her body is to this day concealed in some of its recesses; for it is very deep, and the sides and bed are composed of ledges and broken shelves of lime- stone. I sometimes almost love the girl myself when I think of that dreary episode,” added Mrs. Taine, raising her handkerchief to her eyes.