Chapter XXXI

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.