Chapter XVII

The morning following the arrest of Charles Lamont, there was considerable stir and anxiety among the inmates of Madame Adamanti’s house, for that lady had fallen suddenly ill of an attack which the doctor pronounced brain fever. She was delirious when Miss Ross, who was the first to learn of her sickness, called in the doctor, sometime before daylight; and at about 9 A. M. Spencer met Dr. Cavin in the hall, who informed him that the fever was increasing with alarming rapidity; adding sorrowfully, that the symptoms had been so peculiar, he felt obliged to call in another physician.

“I have seen the poor kind-hearted creature brought very low by milder attacks of a similar character, but never so bad as this, and it really looks now as if the hand of Death had seized her. The excitement of last night was too severe a shock for her.” The little doctor was decidedly cast down, and went away without saying a word about Spencer’s bill.

Spencer also wore a long and solemn face. He justly thought that no other apostle ever found himself in exactly such a situation as that in which he was placed, and wound up the reflection with a corollary which habitually figured in his experience, to the effect that Providence had not subjected him to this trial without good and sufficient reasons. Though commonly prosaic enough, the young Elder was not without a tinge of real chivalrous feeling in his make up, beyond and above mere personal bravery. He had been thinking about Miss Taine (which was the name he always associated with Hagar) nearly all night, and trying to determine what, under the circumstances, he could do to serve her. It was evident to him that her betrayer had abandoned her to a fate which promised to be a hard and desperate one; but she had cruelly snubbed him, and would, he thought, probably tell him to go about his business if he should attempt a renewal of her acquaintance. The more he thought about the matter the less disposed he felt to interfere, or rather the more certain he was that his good intentions would be rewarded by further slights, if not by actual indignity. His mind was, therefore, confused by a variety of ideas which were more or less conflicting. He was anxious to help Miss Taine, but could not perceive what was to be done even if she would accept his assistance; he wanted to get away from Castle Adamant, but there were the bills for medical attendance and lodging unpaid, with the hostess too ill to talk business, the doctor decidedly opposed to a compromise, and available funds at an extremely low ebb. But one thing, at least, was perfectly clear. He must take some steps to prevent the aggravation of these difficulties, and he came to the sensible conclusion that that step should be across the threshold of the Castle. The rest he would leave to Providence, that infinite legatee of human misery that never sneers at the bequests of woe.

Having reached this decision he was much relieved, and at once hunted up his friend Jerry, with whom he left his small parcel of effects, to be called for when he should secure a lodging more suited to his calling and his purse. Jerry liked the Mormon because he had amused and interested him with that pretty little story about the angels and the package of gold plates, which is the foundation of Mormon faith and history. The boy was, therefore, glad to serve him, and said he was sorry he was going away. Spencer put out his hand to say ‘good bye,’ and the negro looked at him with astonishment; but when the Mormon assured him that he really meant to shake hands with him, he extended his hand timidly, and just as Spencer grasped it tightly in his own, Miss Benner came into the hall from the drawing room. Jerry suddenly remembered that he had a duty to perform downstairs, and made a bee line in that direction.

His surprise at Mars’ Spencer’s sociability was of a very mild type as compared with that now portrayed on Ida’s face.

“Well! I’m dashed!” she exclaimed “if I don’t believe you’re a Rad. and Abolitioner. The way you was fraterizin’ with that nigger would a’ shocked Abe Lincom hisself!”

“Good morning, Miss Benner,” said the Mormon politely, “I am sorry to have caused you so much annoyance. Of course, I understand that it is not customary among white people to shake hands with the negroes; but I like Jerry, and for that matter I don’t see that I need fear that the black will rub off his hands, more than he that the white will rub off mine. It’s only a matter of prejudice, after all.”

“Oh, everybody to their own taste. But what’s it all about, anyhow? Goin’ away, be you?”

“Yes; I am able to move about now, and must return to my duty. I am very sorry that your aunt’s illness will prevent my seeing her to express my gratitude.”

“Well, why don’t you wait till she’s better then,” interrupted Ida.

“I dare not lose any more time. But I will come and see her when she recovers, to thank her and make her such returns as I am able for her great kindness to me. If she had known who and what I am, it is not likely she would have brought me into her house.”

“Just think of that, now!” cried Ida, clasping her hands together. “That Bella must be a witch, for she can read characters like a book. Are you a Catholic Priest?”

“No, Miss Benner, I belong to a new religion, or at least a new revelation of the old one.”

“And what is that?”

“I am a ‘Latter-Day Saint.’”

“Oh! a Saint?—a real Saint! Any relation to Saint Valentine? Ha! ha!—A Latter Day Saint, eh? Is that anything like a Seventh-day Baptist?”

“We are usually called by our enemies, ‘the Mormons.’”

“Mormons! Ugh!” cried she, stepping back. “Are you one of them awful polygamy savages?”

“Yes,” said Spencer, shrugging his shoulders, “you have it, exactly. That is one of our pet names among our Christian friends.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing for you that Aunt Clare didn’t know it, or she’d a left you to freeze, you can bet. She knows all about your kind o’ saints, I can tell you. She’s been there—What’s the name of the place? Salt Creek?”

“Salt Lake?”

“Yes; I knew it was Salt something. Well, she’s been there, and used to be one of the wives of a very good saint, who kept six others, an’ had about forty children, an’ he fed ’em all on carrots an’ dressed ’em in rags; an’ the only houses they had was mud shanties, with the ground for floor. Oh! I’ve heard Aunt Clare tell about it dozens of times. An’ you’re one o’ their priests, eh? Well, I never!” With this she stood back several paces from the Elder, and surveyed him curiously. It was his turn now to experience surprise of a very peculiar kind.

From the moment when he had first conversed with Madame Adamanti he was conscious of something familiar about her face, and on several subsequent occasions he found himself studying her features and trying to determine of whom it was that she always reminded him. Miss Benner’s garrulity had disclosed the secret. He instantly guessed that this remarkable woman who had saved his life and was now, in all probability, upon her own death-bed, was none other than the runaway wife of a Mormon Bishop, who, for years, had been his father’s neighbor and friend in the Mormon capital. It had all happened when he was a small boy, but he remembered the leading incidents perfectly, and knew that the face that had caused him so much study, was but the elder stage of one with which he had been well acquainted,—that of the Bishop’s beautiful wife, Hope, who was called the ‘prettiest woman in the church.’

But Ida seemed disturbed after she had said all this, and, quickly changing her voice from a tone of banter to one of supplication, she went on:

“But, say, Mr. Spencer, you won’t tell Aunt Clare, or anybody else, will you? She’d never forgive me if she found out that I’d spoken of it. You won’t tell her, will you?”

“Certainly not. I shall tell nobody.”

The negro Tom came quietly towards them, his eyes filling with tears.

“For de Lor‘, Miss Ida an’ Mars‘ Spencer,” said he, “pore missus ‘ll be done gone ‘fore dem doctors gits here. She’s jes’ sinkin’ lower an’ lower, an’ Miss Belle’s jes skeered outen her life, too—”

Spencer turned impulsively, saying that he would go out and endeavor to hurry them a little. And without a moment’s hesitation, he drew on his overcoat, and sallied forth into the frosty air.

It was the first time he had been out of the house since the night he was picked up by Lady Clare half frozen. He enjoyed the sense of freedom which came back to him as he left that rich but ill-omened mansion, and having caught sight of Dr. Cavin coming with another man as he passed out at the gate, he faced the other way and increased his speed, as much as his lame foot would permit, determined that as he was well out of the place, he would not go in again.

The ugly suspicions which had lately filled his mind respecting the Castle and its occupants, were quickly crystallized into firm convictions when he came in contact with the outer air; and however seriously he was occupied with his own immediate condition and prospects, he could not for one moment ignore the peril into which poor Hagar was thrown. He must procure a lodging at once, and set to work to inform her friends of her situation.

With these and many other like reflections he wandered on through several streets, occasionally enquiring the prices at boarding houses that were beyond his means, until about the middle of the afternoon, when he came across a neat looking inn situated in a narrow street near the river front. On introducing himself to the landlord and making known something about his character, he was surprised and delighted to find that his host had been a member of the Mormon church in the palmy days of Kirtland, and still felt a friendly interest concerning the cause. He acknowledged in due form to Spencer that he believed Joseph Smith, the martyr, to have been a true prophet, and greeted the Elder as a true apostle.

To give a practical turn to his faith and friendship the landlord said:

“Why, we aint hed a ‘postle in these yer parts fer a long time, an’ I kin tell ye ye’r welcome. My father, ole Si Brown of Concord (he lived to 93), was a half-cousin to the Simon pure prophet, Joe Smith, and he used to know Brigham like a book, too. He’d a went over to the prophet hisself but for the old lady’s inflooence, who was a hard-shell Baptist. An’ do you tell me that you’re a reg’ler Brig Young Mormon, bigamy an’ all?”

Spencer assured him that he was a saint of the true stamp, and offered to show him his credentials, whereupon he opened his heart in these terms:

“Then shake! An’ I’ll say to you as the old man said to both your prophets when they was along our way, ‘you’re welcome to what I’ve got, free of charge.’”

Within a few days Spencer found his mission prospering beyond his most sanguine hopes. The landlord introduced him to many sympathizers, both male and female, and he found a number among them whose minds were prepared for the move to Zion. Meetings were held in their private houses, shops and factories, and so great an interest was manifested that the newspapers took up the matter.

The young saint was naturally elated by the favorable turn in his fortunes, and began to picture to himself the wholesale conversion of numberless sinners which was to result from the landlord’s friendship and bounty. What a triumph it would be, he thought, if he should be enabled to join the next transcontinental caravan at the Missouri River with a company of converts from that ungodly State of Ohio, which had so cruelly persecuted the prophets and the saints.

Finally the supporters of the Elder hired the Free Chapel and held a grand public demonstration, which they called a “conference.” This meeting was attended by some of the leading ministers of the city, and the following Sunday they answered the Mormon from their pulpits to the general satisfaction of their congregations.

But in the height of his prosperity and success, Spencer did not forget Hagar; in fact she was never absent from his thoughts. A few days after he quitted the castle he called there after dark to get his bundle from Jerry, and was gratified to learn that Madame had ordered that no visitors should be admitted to the house, and that the young girl they called Kitty, seemed to be pretty happy. Jerry reported further that Lady Clare was expected to die at almost any moment. Several doctors had agreed that her recovery was impossible.