Chapter IX

Hagar had studiously avoided James since the incident of Mr. Smiles’s proposal, and the invalid had been turned over to the care of Maria whose feminine insight discerned his uneasiness concerning the engagement. Maria belonged to that respectable class of persons who are emphatically styled “helps” rather than “servants.” At this period to most well-to-do people in the West there was no medium between a “help” and a slave. Their cooks, and housemaids and seamstresses were frequently the daughters of their poorer neighbors, and were treated more like humble members of the family than as menials. Maria had been with the Taines a number of years in her present capacity, and had acquired certain privileges and immunities, amongst which was a freedom of speech and an irritating habit of interference which had become not only inveterate but ineradicable.

Whenever she came to James’s room she found occasion to bring him some scrap of information about what was going on in the house. At supper time she gave an account of Mr. Spencer’s attempt to make a Mormon of her. “But I’m not so easily caught,” she said, “for I should judge by his own account of it, that the Mormon Kingdom, which he calls the ‘Kingdom of God’ (the sinner!) must be a very queer place.”

At breakfast next morning it was some gossip about Mrs. Taine’s devotion to Mr. Smiles, and how the latter had promised after his marriage with Hagar, to let her go and live with them in Boston. But in spite of her admiration, she discerned that while the good young parson kept one eye on Hagar, he was fixing the other as ardently on Mrs. Taine’s money bags. But when she came up with his dinner on the day following Mr. Smiles’s missionary tour, she appeared so serious that James could not help asking her what had happened. She gave him a long and most circumstantial account, to the effect that Mrs. Taine’s object in visiting Newberg, was to have Mr. Smiles and Hagar quietly married. Though she declared that she was positive such was the case, James, who was much moved by the news, urged her to enquire more closely and bring him word again.

Meanwhile Hagar was disturbed both by Mr. Smiles and by the Mormon. Her position had been a very trying one for the past few days. She had endeavored to do what she could to entertain Spencer, but he realized the effort she was making and could not fail to note the alternate confusion and abstraction of her bearing towards him. It was perfectly clear to him that, whether she was performing some of his favorite selections on the piano or teaching him croquet, she was moved by a certain sense of duty. As he firmly believed that not his person but his garb as a Mormon, offended her, his calling grew more sacred to him, and he endured whatever seemed to his sensitive nature like a slight, with a kind of bitterness that in his way of thinking, amounted to a species of triumph.

During Mr. Smiles’s absence he had taken the occasion to talk very impressively to her concerning the present joy and future glory of the Latter-day-saints, and finding that she listened with attention, he finally ventured to exclaim as gently as the sincere utterance of his heart would permit:

“Ah, Miss Taine, I would to God you were one of us!” He did not dare to hope that anything he could say would cause her to break with Mr. Smiles, but he would have given a large share of his interest in “the Kingdom” to have discovered even the slightest defection to work upon.

“Why so?”—she asked, smiling.

“For your own good, wholly,” he replied, “That you might know the true gospel.”

“But, Mr. Spencer,” she said, looking him steadily in the eyes, “I could not be one of you. I have heard nothing but evil of your religion ever since I can remember, and I do not believe that your prophet was a good prophet, or that your church is a good church. Your revelations, those in the book you lent me, are so funny I could only laugh at them. Ma’am Taine says it’s blasphemy, and I really think it is. I don’t want to hurt your feelings Mr. Spencer, I would prefer to keep my thoughts to myself: I like you because you are brave and good, but I don’t like your religion. We can always be friends, though, without speaking of that, can we not? For I don’t think you can convert me to your church, and I’m sure nobody could turn you from it.”

“So be it, Miss Taine,” he replied abruptly. “I shall make no attempt to force my principles upon you. To me they are as meat and drink, and it is charity, not malice, that prompts me to offer them to foes as well as friends.”

Having found her to be a confirmed scoffer, and despairing of any favorable results in the line of his duty at Chestnut Grove, he concluded that the best thing he could do was to take up the thread of his labors where he had dropped it in Cleveland, and endeavor to banish this attractive little skeptic from his thoughts. He must not permit any romantic notions to distract his higher reflections; indeed, he had pledged himself not to do so: whatever he might have done in the endeavor to win the young girl’s heart if she had been a member of his church, nothing could justify him, he thought, in making a further effort under existing circumstances. It was a pity that such a beautiful and clever girl should be damned, but he had done his best to save her and must now leave her to her fate.

It was arranged that he should go to Cleveland with Dr. Taine next morning, and after saying good bye to Mrs. Taine, he went up to have a parting word with James.

“I feel that I can never repay the debt I owe you,” said James, at last, “and I sincerely trust that, however far we may be driven apart on the ocean of life, we shall keep track of each other. For my part, I shall be sorry not to know where and how you are, for I feel that I have a life interest in you, and you in me.”

“You are very polite, Mr. Taine; but there can be nothing in common between us unless we are brothers in the gospel of the last days. Though you ignore the importance of this matter, I cannot do so. You have rejected my message, and thereby you reject me also.” Thus spoke the Mormon with the egotistic bigotry which has always characterized his sect. James’s tongue was still, because he could not speak without resenting such narrowness, and was reluctant to offend or pain his benefactor. The Elder had wheeled about as if intending to depart, but he turned round to add:

“When I rushed into that burning house and helped you from a perilous position it was not you I sought, but a woman, a bright young girl, whose face I saw only for a second through the flames. Had I saved her she would have been converted to my faith, and become the means, as female converts always are, of leading others to the truth. To you my devotion has no significance beyond an act of daring; to me it means, and to her it would have meant, a great deal more. No, I shall not come here again unless you wish to cast your lot with the people of God whom I represent.”

By this time James’s momentary annoyance had been changed to amusement, and he said, with a smile:—

“Even if you had asked me when I was wedged in by those bricks and timbers if I would believe your doctrines or perish where I lay, I think I should have chosen the latter fate, for it would be easier for me to sacrifice my life than wilfully stultify my reason. I would rather run the risk of losing my soul by doubting a doubtful religion than to have the certainty of losing my manhood by pretending to believe it. All men cannot agree upon one common belief; they must have a variety of convictions as well as a diversity of tastes, talents, employments. This very difference between men is one of the most useful and beneficent characteristics of the human family. If we were all alike, life would be a stagnant pool, a mere Hades of monotony. We want unity of thought and of action in the direction of Justice, of Love, and of Truth; but even if such a state were attainable we should never seek for uniformity of worship, of belief, of pursuit any more than of personal appearance. The boundless variety characterizing Nature both animate and inanimate, no doubt has a significance as wide as Creation itself. But in one respect diversity of opinion has a meaning and an intention which is perfectly clear: As to things not absolutely proved it supplies our chief hope of attaining to correct views. But I will not weary you with argument. Without regard to your creed or belief I wanted to count you as a friend. You reject my proffered friendship because I have not conformed to your faith. I trust you will think better of it. If not I shall hope that at some future time we may meet where men base their relations to each other on manhood and honor, not so capricious a thing as creed.” Though he made his meaning clear there was blended with his candor a fair proportion of delicacy.

“If we meet at the bar of another world, Mr. Taine, we shall see who is right,” replied the Mormon, palpably displeased. Maria tapped on the door to say Dr. Taine was ready to start for the city. The missionary was thankful for the interruption, and, taking a hurried leave set off for the scene of his labors.

Meantime James had sent for Hagar. In a few moments she appeared, gave her hand, and took a chair near the bed.

“You sent for me, James?” she asked softly. She withdrew her hand and sat with her eyes downcast, listlessly twirling a bit of crumpled paper which she had carried with her.

“Yes, Hagar,—it seems I must send for you if I wish to see you at all—you have stayed away, and I have missed you. But to-day I heard something from Maria—which—”

“Maria!” she exclaimed, interrupting him, “do you have her bring you tales about me?”

“When so important a step as your marriage is reported and you do not tell me of it yourself——”

“My marriage!” she said, and followed the words with a derisive laugh which James knew to be ungenuine and forced. “But what has Maria been saying about my marriage?”

“Why, that it is to take place to-day.”

Though Hagar laughed again she had turned pale.

“But that is not true,” she uttered nervously.

James grieved to think she could deceive him, but was unable to reconcile with her denial her agitated and abashed demeanor.

“You are not,” he said, gently, still hoping in the midst of doubt. “You are not going to Newberg to-day to be married to this Mr. Smiles?”

Hagar, whose eyes had been hidden by her drooping lids, now looked up with astonishment; for a moment she was too much dazed to reply; but she finally said in an undecided way:—

“Not that I know of.” Again her eyes fell.

She paused, and James waited anxiously. She went on crumpling the bit of paper, which he then noticed for the first time. Presently the mist of apprehension vanished from her face, and looking up with her natural frankness:—

“We are going to Newberg this afternoon,” she said, “but I have heard nothing—nobody has said a word about getting married—unless that is the meaning of this note which I found under my door when I got up this morning. It is from Mr. Smiles, but I have not answered it nor told him I received it.” She unfolded the note as she spoke and seemed relieved by her confession. After adding that the contents had made her very unhappy and that she had been trying all day to make up her mind to show it to either Ma’am Taine or him, she handed it to James. He perused it in silence: It was an exquisitely worded bit of romance in which the pious young minister proposed a secret marriage and an elopement for that very day in connection with their visit to the Leighs. It was signed only with his initials “B. T. S.”

“You say you have not answered it, Hagar?”

“No, not yet.”

“But you have decided what your answer is to be?”

“Yes, I shall refuse: for I know it would make Father Taine unhappy if I should do such a thing.”

“You are right, Hagar, it would make us all miserable—and none more so, I fear, than yourself. But do you love Mr. Smiles?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, coyly, “He is so intelligent, and so superior to other men I have met, that I cannot help feeling that his attention does me honor. And he is such a delightful companion; his voice reminds me of the music he plays, varying with every mood. But I don’t know why I am talking like this to you, James!” she exclaimed, as if regretting her confidence—“I was foolish to answer your questions; perhaps you were rude to ask them.”

“I trust not,” James replied, calmly, “Even a cousin might, I think, be pardoned for taking so much liberty: and am I not your brother? Well, it is clear that you love him.... I wish it were as certain that he loves you as purely and unselfishly.”

“I am sure he does!—but have you any reason to think otherwise?”

“No.” answered James, reluctantly.

Hagar found Mr. Smiles smoking his cigar in the porch; and, after rallying him for sending her a letter via the door sill, said candidly that she could not think of doing what he proposed because it seemed so unjust to Dr. Taine. He hesitated an instant and looked at her with peculiar interest; then, instead of exhibiting the slightest symptom of surprise or disappointment, he smiled benignantly, raised her soft hand to his lips, and said with supreme gentleness:—

“As you prefer, my darling: your will is my law in all that concerns us.”

Hagar was melted, and felt regretful that she had opposed him. Her ideas about marriage, whether conventional or with an elopement in the programme were innocently vague. Though she had read a few romances in which oppressed young lovers were put to heartrending shifts she had very little of mere romance in her nature. She was rather apt to ask the reason why, and when that is done, there is an end of fantasy.

At three o’clock Dan drove the old fashioned Clarence up to the door, with the windows all open, and everything looking bright and shipshape. They had to wait some time for Mrs. Taine, but the delay was sufficiently explained when she finally arrived on the porch, by her elaborate preparation.

“I have not done such a thing as this for years,” she remarked, with more than her usual fussiness, as she raised the enormous flounces of her purple silk dress to get into the carriage—“and I should not do it now for any one in the world except you, Mr. Smiles.”

“You are really too kind, my dear Mrs. Taine, but you will let our dear Hagar share the compliment with me, I am sure.” By this time he had assisted the purple silk and crinoline, the small parasol, and “dear Mrs. Taine,” into the carriage, where they fully occupied the back seat.

“The idea,” she continued in the tone of her former remark, “the idea of my going to call on that proud, unchristian woman, who has so long ignored me! First she was a Catholic, and now I believe she’s an infidel; and I to call on her! Why, Mr. Smiles, it seems quite incredible. But I’m a changed woman since I have known you, and I have no doubt changed for the better.”

Mr. Smiles was in one of his most delightful moods, and the afternoon was perfect, as they drove along the autumn-tinted lanes. Hagar evinced a childish delight in the excursion, regarding it as a foretaste of the freedom she should enjoy when she became the wife of this wonderful man, and had a house of her own. The dream enchanted her, and as they drew up at the gate of the Leigh cottage she thought it a miniature paradise. But just before their arrival there was a scene there which would seem to prove that the fairest Eden has its serpent.

Mark Kilbourne had come out from Cleveland in the morning to urge Captain Leigh to make a statement to the General to procure protection against the danger of which he had been warned. But as Philip had received a notice by courier that his request to be sent to the front should be complied with in a few days, he positively refused to have the matter so much as hinted at to the authorities. He appeared to be taciturn and harassed, so Mark had quitted him for a time and gone to visit friends in the village. Philip became more gloomy after his morning’s work on the parade ground, and so terrified his wife by his frantic aspect in the afternoon, that she had retired to her room in tears.

Left alone, Captain Leigh paced up and down the room livid and trembling. He clasped his hands together wildly like an actor in a stage passion, then knocked one against the other until the bones cracked again, or flouted them through his hair. As he walked he muttered fiercely:

“Is she wanton or am I mad?.... Her betrayer—if he was betrayer and not accomplice—was a priest dubbed holy... May hell scorch such holies!... I must watch her—watch her: I think she blushed when that sleek hypocrite in black did bland homage to her beauty. They say a girl who is once undone can never be trusted—the taste of sin is like a leaven to their natures. That is why by the Jewish law the daughter who fell was put to death. And Desdemona’s father said: ‘Look to her Moor, have a quick eye to see, she has deceived her father, and may thee!’ Oh, God! what a thought! She that I love better than my life. Can vileness seem so chaste? Doubt is here like a dagger puncturing my heart; I must go hence and drown these voices in the roar of battle where some swift messenger may bring me peace....”

At this moment Mark entered to tell him of the Taine’s arrival at the gate. Philip begged him to receive them in his stead, and plunged through a doorway out of sight.

When supper was over and they all reassembled in the sitting room, Mark reminded them of the village concert which was to be given at the school house for the benefit of the Sanitary Commission’s funds. Mrs. Leigh was anxious to go, but submitted the matter to Mrs. Taine who said that she considered it a duty to support every effort made for the benefit of our wounded soldiers. Mr. Smiles then insisted upon buying the tickets, including one for himself, but protested that he would rather stay and have a game of chess, if Captain Leigh was agreeable.

“Oh, I don’t mind a game, if you desire it,” replied Philip, who had regained the outward aspect of composure. “Mark, you go with the ladies to the concert, and we will join you shortly. Mr. Smiles will soon weary of my play.”

The ladies and their escort presently leaving, the chess-players lighted their cigars and prepared their pieces for the contest. Odds were neither given nor taken. Mr. Smiles, having the play, opened with the King’s Gambit. When an hour had elapsed the issue of the game was still in doubt, though the minister had the advantage by a knight, and a strong position for attack and defence. Silence had fallen: an intense eagerness showed on the face of Leigh, while the only signs of mental strain in Smiles were swollen veins and a purple flush across his forehead. By a superb series of six or eight moves, military discipline now asserted its superiority over clerical astuteness, the minister’s game being completely compromised. He felt his discomfiture keenly, and by a skillful manoeuvre saved himself from total defeat by forcing a drawn game upon his antagonist.

Smiles glanced at his watch and asked Philip if they should play a second game. Philip declined, and brought his own and Mr. Smiles’s hat and overcoat. He put on his own, and walked toward Smiles who stood before the window striking two or three matches in the endeavor to light his cigar.

“Ah! at last,” said Smiles, “after burning my finger to the bone.” As he thanked Philip for helping him on with his Chesterfield, three men with masks on their faces and arms in their hands rushed into the room, extinguished the lamps and threw themselves on Leigh.... A fierce struggle in the darkness, the crash of a chair falling and a body felled: and silence broken by a single moan expiring in a denser silence. The desperadoes had secured their prize, and Smiles lay in a dead faint, struck down by a chair which Leigh had whirled at hazard, and which, unknown to himself, had wounded his most inveterate enemy.