University of Virginia Library

36. CHAPTER XXXVI.
CONCLUSION.

THE same day the great news of Myrtle Hazard's
accession to fortune came out, the secret was told
that she had promised herself in marriage to Mr. Clement
Lindsay. But her friends hardly knew how to congratulate
her on this last event. Her lover was gone, to risk
his life, not improbably to lose it, or to come home a wreck,
crippled by wounds, or worn out with disease.

Some of them wondered to see her to so cheerful in such
a moment of trial. They could not know how the manly
strength of Clement's determination had nerved her for
womanly endurance. They had not learned that a great
cause makes great souls, or reveals them to themselves, —
a lesson taught by so many noble examples in the times
that followed. Myrtle's only desire seemed to be to labor
in some way to help the soldiers and their families.
She appeared to have forgotten everything for this
duty; she had no time for regrets, if she were disposed to
indulge them, and she hardly asked a question as to the
extent of the fortune which had fallen to her.

The next number of the “Banner and Oracle” contained
two announcements which she read with some interest
when her attention was called to them. They were
as follows:—

The two lovers, parted by their own self-sacrificing
choice in the very hour that promised to bring them so
much happiness, labored for the common cause during all
the terrible years of warfare, one in the camp and the
field, the other in the not less needful work which the good
women carried on at home, or wherever their services
were needed. Clement — now Captain Lindsay — returned
at the end of his first campaign charged with a
special office. Some months later, after one of the great
battles, he was sent home wounded. He wore the leaf on
his shoulder which entitled him to be called Major Lindsay.
He recovered from his wound only too rapidly, for
Myrtle had visited him daily in the military hospital
where he had resided for treatment; and it was bitter
parting. The telegraph wires were thrilling almost hourly
with messages of death, and the long pine boxes came
by almost every train, — no need of asking what they
held!

Once more he came, detailed on special duty, and this
time with the eagle on his shoulder, — he was Colonel
Lindsay. The lovers could not part again of their own
free will. Some adventurous women had followed their
husbands to the camp, and Myrtle looked as if she could
play the part of the Maid of Saragossa on occasion. So
Clement asked her if she would return with him as his
wife; and Myrtle answered, with as much willingness to
submit as a maiden might fairly show under such circumstances,

that she would do his bidding. Thereupon, with
the shortest possible legal notice, Father Pemberton was
sent for, and the ceremony was performed in the presence
of a few witnesses in the large parlor at The Poplars,
which was adorned with flowers, and hung round with all
the portraits of the dead members of the family, summoned
as witnesses to the celebration. One witness looked on
with unmoved features, yet Myrtle thought there was a
more heavenly smile on her faded lips than she had ever
seen before beaming from the canvas, — it was Ann Holyoake,
the martyr to her faith, the guardian spirit of Myrtle's
visions, who seemed to breathe a holier benediction than
any words — even those of the good old Father Pemberton
himself — could convey.

They went back together to the camp. From that period
until the end of the war, Myrtle passed her time between
the life of the tent and that of the hospital. In the offices
of mercy which she performed for the sick and the wounded
and the dying, the dross of her nature seemed to be burned
away. The conflict of mingled lives in her blood had
ceased. No lawless impulses usurped the place of that
serene resolve which had grown strong by every exercise
of its high prerogative. If she had been called now to die
for any worthy cause, her race would have been ennobled
by a second martyr, true to the blood of her who died under
the cruel Queen.

Many sad sights she saw in the great hospital where
she passed some months at intervals, — one never to be
forgotten. An officer was brought into the ward where
she was in attendance. “Shot through the lungs, — pretty
nearly gone.”

She went softly to his bedside. He was breathing with

great difficulty; his face was almost convulsed with the
effort, but she recognized him in a moment; it was Murray
Bradshaw, — Captain Bradshaw, — as she knew by
the bars on his coat flung upon the bed where he had just
been laid.

She addressed him by name, tenderly as if he had been
a dear brother; she saw on his face that hers were to be
the last kind words he would ever hear.

He turned his glazing eyes upon her. “Who are you?”
he said in a feeble voice.

“An old friend,” she answered; “you knew me as Myrtle
Hazard.”

He started. “You by my bedside! You caring for
me! — for me, that burned the title to your fortune to
ashes before your eyes! You can't forgive that, — I
won't believe it! Don't you hate me, dying as I am?”

Myrtle was used to maintaining a perfect calmness of
voice and countenance, and she held her feelings firmly
down. “I have nothing to forgive you, Mr. Bradshaw.
You may have meant to do me wrong, but Providence
raised up a protector for me. The paper you burned was
not the original, — it was a copy substituted for it — ”

“And did the old man outwit me after all?” he cried
out, rising suddenly in bed, and clasping his hands behind
his head to give him a few more gasps of breath. “I
knew he was cunning, but I thought I was his match. It
must have been Byles Gridley, — nobody else. And so
the old man beat me after all, and saved you from ruin!
Thank God that it came out so! Thank God! I can die
now. Give me your hand, Myrtle.”

She took his hand, and held it until it gently loosed its
hold, and he ceased to breathe. Myrtle's creed was a simple

one, with more of trust and love in it than of systematized
articles of belief. She cherished the fond hope that
these last words of one who had erred so miserably were a
token of some blessed change which the influences of the
better world might carry onward until he should have
outgrown the sins and the weaknesses of his earthly
career.

Soon after this she rejoined her husband in the camp.
From time to time they received stray copies of the “Banner
and Oracle,” which, to Myrtle especially, were full of
interest, even to the last advertisement. A few paragraphs
may be reproduced here which relate to persons who have
figured in this narrative.

“TEMPLE OF HYMEN.

Not many weeks after this appeared the following: —

Myrtle recalled his kind care of her in her illness, and
paid the tribute of a sigh to his memory, — there was nothing
in a death like his to call for any aching regret.

The usual routine of small occurrences was duly recorded
in the village paper for some weeks longer, when
she was startled and shocked by receiving a number containing
the following paragraph: —

“CALAMITOUS ACCIDENT!

Myrtle had hardly got over the pain which the reading
of this unfortunate occurrence gave her, when her eyes
were gladdened by the following pleasing piece of intelligence,
contained in a subsequent number of the village
paper: —

“IMPOSING CEREMONY.

The end of the war came at last, and found Colonel
Lindsay among its unharmed survivors. He returned
with Myrtle to her native village, and they established
themselves, at the request of Miss Silence Withers, in the
old family mansion. Miss Cynthia, to whom Myrtle made
a generous allowance, had gone to live in a town not many
miles distant, where she had a kind of home on sufferance,
as well as at The Poplars. This was a convenience just
then, because Nurse Byloe was invited to stay with them
for a month or two; and one nurse and two single women
under the same roof keep each other in a stew all the time,
as the old dame somewhat sharply remarked.

Master Byles Gridley had been appointed Myrtle's legal

protector, and, with the assistance of Mr. Penhallow, had
brought the property she inherited into a more manageable
and productive form; so that, when Clement began his
fine studio behind the old mansion, he felt that at least he
could pursue his art, or arts, if he chose to give himself to
sculpture, without that dreadful hag, Necessity, standing by
him to pinch the features of all his ideals, and give them
something of her own likeness.

Silence Withers was more cheerful now that she had got
rid of her responsibility. She embellished her spare person
a little more than in former years. These young people
looked so happy! Love was not so unendurable,
perhaps, after all. No woman need despair, — especially
if she has a house over her, and a snug little property. A
worthy man, a former missionary, of the best principles,
but of a slightly jocose and good-humored habit, thought
that he could piece his widowed years with the not insignificant
fraction of life left to Miss Silence, to their mutual
advantage. He came to the village, therefore, where
Father Pemberton was very glad to have him supply the
pulpit in the place of his unfortunate disabled colleague.
The courtship soon began, and was brisk enough; for the
good man knew there was no time to lose at his period of
life, — or hers either, for that matter. It was a rather odd
specimen of love-making; for he was constantly trying to
subdue his features to a gravity which they were not used
to, and she was as constantly endeavoring to be as lively
as possible, with the innocent desire of pleasing her lighthearted
suitor.

“Vieille fille fait jeune mariée.” Silence was ten years
younger as a bride than she had seemed as a lone woman.
One would have said she had got out of the coach next to

the hearse, and got into one some half a dozen behind it, —
where there is often good and reasonably cheerful conversation
going on about the virtues of the deceased, the
probable amount of his property, or the little slips he may
have committed, and where occasionally a subdued pleasantry
at his expense sets the four waistcoats shaking that
were lifting with sighs a half-hour ago in the house of
mourning. But Miss Silence, that was, thought that two
families, with all the possible complications which time
might bring, would be better in separate establishments.
She therefore proposed selling The Poplars to Myrtle and
her husband, and removing to a house in the village, which
would be large enough for them, at least for the present.
So the young folks bought the old house, and paid a
mighty good price for it; and enlarged it, and beautified
and glorified it, and one fine morning went together down
to the Widow Hopkins's, whose residence seemed in danger
of being a little crowded, — for Gifted lived there with
his Susan, — and what had happened might happen again,
— and gave Master Byles Gridley a formal and most persuasively
worded invitation to come up and make his home
with them at The Poplars.

Now Master Gridley has been betrayed into palpable
and undisguised weakness at least once in the presence of
this assembly, who are looking upon him almost for the
last time before they part from him, and see his face no
more. Let us not inquire too curiously, then, how he received
this kind proposition. It is enough, that, when he
found that a new study had been built on purpose for him,
and a sleeping-room attached to it so that he could live
there without disturbing anybody if he chose, he consented
to remove there for a while, and that he was there established
amidst great rejoicing.

Cynthia Badlam had fallen of late into poor health.
She found at last that she was going; and as she had a
little property of her own, — as almost all poor relations
have, only there is not enough of it, — she was much exercised
in her mind as to the final arrangements to be made
respecting its disposition. The Rev. Dr. Pemberton was
one day surprised by a message, that she wished to have an
interview with him. He rode over to the town in which
she was residing, and there had a long conversation with
her upon this matter. When this was settled, her mind
seemed to be more at ease. She died with a comfortable
assurance that she was going to a better world, and
with a bitter conviction that it would be hard to find one
that would offer her a worse lot than being a poor relation
in this.

Her little property was left to Rev. Eliphalet Pemberton
and Jacob Penhallow, Esq., to be by them employed
for such charitable purposes as they should elect, educational
or other. Father Pemberton preached an admirable
funeral sermon, in which he praised her virtues, known to
this people among whom she had long lived, and especially
that crowning act by which she devoted all she had to purposes
of charity and benevolence.

The old clergyman seemed to have renewed his youth
since the misfortune of his colleague had incapacitated him
from labor. He generally preached in the forenoon now,
and to the great acceptance of the people, — for the truth
was that the honest minister who had married Miss Silence
was not young enough or good-looking enough to be an object
of personal attentions like the Rev. Joseph Bellamy
Stoker, — and the old minister appeared to great advantage
contrasted with him in the pulpit. Poor Mr. Stoker was

now helpless, faithfully and tenderly waited upon by his
own wife, who had regained her health and strength, — in
no small measure, perhaps, from the great need of sympathy
and active aid which her unfortunate husband now experienced.
It was an astonishment to herself when she
found that she who had so long been served was able to
serve another. Some who knew his errors thought his accident
was a judgment; but others believed that it was
only a mercy in disguise, — it snatched him roughly from
his sin, but it opened his heart to gratitude towards her
whom his neglect could not alienate, and through gratitude
to repentance and better thoughts. Bathsheba had long
ago promised herself to Cyprian Eveleth; and, as he was
about to become the rector of a parish in the next town,
the marriage was soon to take place.

How beautifully serene Master Byles Gridley's face was
growing! Clement loved to study its grand lines, which
had so much strength and fine humanity blended in them.
He was so fascinated by their noble expression that he
sometimes seemed to forget himself, and looked at him
more like an artist taking his portrait than like an admiring
friend. He maintained that Master Gridley had a
bigger bump of benevolence and as large a one of cautiousness,
as the two people most famous for the size of these
organs on the phrenological chart he showed him, and
proved it, or nearly proved it, by careful measurements of
his head. Master Gridley laughed, and read him a passage
on the pseudo-sciences out of his book.

The disposal of Miss Cynthia's bequest was much discussed
in the village. Some wished the trustees would use
it to lay the foundations of a public library. Others
thought it should be applied for the relief of the families of

soldiers who had fallen in the war. Still another set would
take it to build a monument to the memory of those heroes.
The trustees listened with the greatest candor to all these
gratuitous hints. It was, however, suggested, in a well-written
anonymous article which appeared in the village
paper, that it was desirable to follow the general lead of
the testator's apparent preference. The trustees were at
liberty to do as they saw fit; but, other things being equal,
some educational object should be selected. If there were
any orphan children in the place, it would seem to be very
proper to devote the moderate sum bequeathed to educating
them. The trustees recognized the justice of this suggestion.
Why not apply it to the instruction and maintenance
of those two pretty and promising children, virtually orphans,
whom the charitable Mrs. Hopkins had cared for so
long without any recompense, and at a cost which would
soon become beyond her means? The good people of the
neighborhood accepted this as the best solution of the difficulty.
It was agreed upon at length by the trustees, that
the Cynthia Badlam Fund for Educational Purposes should
be applied for the benefit of the two foundlings, known as
Isosceles and Helminthia Hopkins.

Master Byles Gridley was greatly exercised about the
two “preposterous names,” as he called them, which in a
moment of eccentric impulse he had given to these children
of nature. He ventured to hint as much to Mrs. Hopkins.
The good dame was vastly surprised. She thought they
was about as pooty names as anybody had had given 'em in
the village. And they was so handy, spoke short, — Sossy
and Minthy, — she never should know how to call 'em
anything else.

“But my dear Mrs. Hopkins,” Master Gridley urged.

“if you knew the meaning they have to the ears of scholars,
you would see that I did very wrong to apply such absurd
names to my little fellow-creatures, and that I am bound
to rectify my error. More than that, my dear madam, I
mean to consult you as to the new names; and if we can fix
upon proper and pleasing ones, it is my intention to leave a
pretty legacy in my will to these interesting children.”

“Mr. Gridley,” said Mrs. Hopkins, “you 're the best
man I ever see, or ever shall see,... except my poor
dear Ammi.... I 'll do jest as you say about that, or
about anything else in all this livin' world.”

“Well, then, Mrs. Hopkins, what shall be the boy's
name?”

“Byles Gridley Hopkins!” she answered instantly.

“Good Lord!” said Mr. Gridley, “think a minute, my
dear madam. I will not say one word, — only think a
minute, and mention some name that will not suggest quite
so many winks and whispers.”

She did think something less than a minute, and then
said aloud, “Abraham Lincoln Hopkins.”

“Fifteen thousand children have been so christened
during the past year, on a moderate computation.”

“Do think of some name yourself, Mr. Gridley; I shall
like anything that you like. To think of those dear babes
having a fund — if that 's the right name — on purpose for
'em, and a promise of a legacy, — I hope they won't get
that till they 're a hundred year old!”

“What if we change Isosceles to Theodore, Mrs. Hopkins?
That means the gift of God, and the child has been
a gift from Heaven, rather than a burden.”

Mrs. Hopkins seized her apron, and held it to her eyes.
She was weeping. “Theodore!” she said, — “Theodore!

My little brother's name, that I buried when I was only
eleven year old. Drownded. The dearest little child that
ever you see. I have got his little mug with Theodore on
it now. Kep' o' purpose. Our little Sossy shall have it.
Theodore P. Hopkins, — sha'n't it be, Mr. Gridley?”

“Well, if you say so; but why that P., Mrs. Hopkins?
Theodore Parker, is it?”

“Does n't P. stand for Pemberton, and is n't Father
Pemberton the best man in the world — next to you, Mr.
Gridley?”

“Well, well, Mrs. Hopkins, let it be so, if you like; if
you are suited, I am. Now about Helminthia; there can't
be any doubt about what we ought to call her, — surely
the friend of orphans should be remembered in naming one
of the objects of her charity.”

“Cynthia Badlam Fund Hopkins,” said the good woman
triumphantly, — “is that what you mean?”

“Suppose we leave out one of the names, — four are too
many. I think the general opinion will be that Helmintha
should unite the names of her two benefactresses, — Cynthia
Badlam Hopkins.”

“Why, law! Mr. Gridley, is n't that nice? — Minthy
and Cynthy, — there ain't but one letter of difference! Poor
Cynthy would be pleased if she could know that one of
our babes was to be called after her. She was dreadful
fond of children.”

On one of the sweetest Sundays that ever made Oxbow
Village lovely, the Rev. Dr. Eliphalet Pemberton was
summoned to officiate at three most interesting ceremonies,
— a wedding and two christenings, one of the latter a
double one.

The first was celebrated at the house of the Rev. Mr.
Stoker, between the Rev. Cyprian Eveleth and Bathsheba,
daughter of the first-named clergyman. He could not be
present on account of his great infirmity, but the door of
his chamber was left open that he might hear the marriage
service performed. The old, white-haired minister, assisted,
as the papers said, by the bridegroom's father, conducted
the ceremony according to the Episcopal form.
When he came to those solemn words in which the husband
promises fidelity to the wife so long as they both shall live,
the nurse, who was watching, near the poor father, saw
him bury his face in his pillow, and heard him murmur
the words, “God be merciful to me a sinner!”

The christenings were both to take place at the same
service, in the old meeting-house. Colonel Clement Lindsay
and Myrtle his wife came in, and stout Nurse Byloe
bore their sturdy infant in her arms. A slip of paper was
handed to the Reverend Doctor on which these words were
written: — “The name is Charles Hazard.”

The solemn and touching rite was then performed; and
Nurse Byloe disappeared with the child, its forehead glistening
with the dew of its consecration.

Then, hand in hand, like the babes in the wood, marched
up the broad aisle — marshalled by Mrs. Hopkins in front,
and Mrs. Gifted Hopkins bringing up the rear — the two
children hitherto known as Isosceles and Helmintha. They
had been well schooled, and, as the mysterious and to them
incomprehensible ceremony was enacted, maintained the
most stoical aspect of tranquillity. In Mrs. Hopkins's
words, “They looked like picters, and behaved like angels.”

That evening, Sunday evening as it was, there was a

quiet meeting of some few friends at The Poplars. It was
such a great occasion that the Sabbatical rules, never strict
about Sunday evening, — which was, strictly speaking,
secular time, — were relaxed. Father Pemberton was
there, and Master Byles Gridley, of course, and the Rev.
Ambrose Eveleth, with his son and his daughter-in-law,
Bathsheba, and her mother, now in comfortable health,
Aunt Silence and her husband, Doctor Hurlbut and his
wife (Olive Eveleth that was), Jacob Penhallow, Esq.,
Mrs. Hopkins, her son and his wife (Susan Posey that
was), the senior deacon of the old church (the admirer of
the great Scott), the Editor-in-chief of the “Banner and
Oracle,” and in the background, Nurse Byloe and the privileged
servant, Mistress Kitty Fagan, with a few others
whose names we need not mention.

The evening was made pleasant with sacred music, and
the fatigues of two long services repaired by such simple
refections as would not turn the holy day into a day of
labor. A large paper copy of the new edition of Byles
Gridley's remarkable work was lying on the table. He
never looked so happy, — could anything fill his cup fuller?
In the course of the evening Clement spoke of the many
trials through which they had passed in common with vast
numbers of their countrymen, and some of those peculiar
dangers which Myrtle had had to encounter in the course
of a life more eventful, and attended with more risks,
perhaps, than most of them imagined. But Myrtle, he
said, had always been specially cared for. He wished
them to look upon the semblance of that protecting spirit
who had been faithful to her in her gravest hours of trial
and danger. If they would follow him into one of the
lesser apartments up stairs they would have an opportunity
to do so.

Myrtle wondered a little, but followed with the rest.
They all ascended to the little projecting chamber, through
the window of which her scarlet jacket caught the eyes
of the boys paddling about on the river in those early
days when Cyprian Eveleth gave it the name of the Fire-hang-bird's
Nest.

The light fell softly but clearly on the dim and faded
canvas from which looked the saintly features of the martyred
woman, whose continued presence with her descendants
was the old family legend. But underneath it Myrtle
was surprised to see a small table with some closely
covered object upon it. It was a mysterious arrangement,
made without any knowledge on her part.

“Now, then, Kitty!” Mr. Lindsay said.

Kitty Fagan, who had evidently been taught her part,
stepped forward, and removed the cloth which concealed
the unknown object. It was a lifelike marble bust of
Master Byles Gridley.

“And this is what you have been working at so long, —
is it, Clement?” Myrtle said.

“Which is the image of your protector, Myrtle?” he
answered, smiling.

Myrtle Hazard Lindsay walked up to the bust and
kissed its marble forehead, saying, “This is the face of my
Guardian Angel.”