Project Gutenberg's At the Mercy of Tiberius, by August Evans Wilson

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Title: At the Mercy of Tiberius

Author: August Evans Wilson

Posting Date: July 7, 2009 [EBook #4209]
Release Date: July, 2003
First Posted: December 11, 2001

Language: English

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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS

A NOVEL


By

AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON


Author of "A Speckled Bird," "Infelice," "Vashti," "Beulah," "St.
Elmo," etc.




     Fate steals along with silent tread,
     Found oftenest in what least we dread;
     Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
     But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
                               --COWPER.




IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHO HAS ENTERED INTO REST.


JTABLE 10 35 1



AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS




CHAPTER I.


"You are obstinate and ungrateful. You would rather see me suffer and
die, than bend your stubborn pride in the effort to obtain relief for
me. You will not try to save me."

The thin, hysterically unsteady voice ended in a sob, and the frail
wasted form of the speaker leaned forward, as if the issue of life or
death hung upon an answer.

The tower clock of a neighboring church began to strike the hour of
noon, and not until the echo of the last stroke had died away, was
there a reply to the appeal.

"Mother, try to be just to me. My pride is for you, not for myself. I
shrink from seeing my mother crawl to the feet of a man, who has
disowned and spurned her; I cannot consent that she should humbly beg
for rights, so unnaturally withheld. Every instinct of my nature
revolts from the step you require of me, and I feel as if you held a
hot iron in your hand, waiting to brand me."

"Your proud sensitiveness runs in a strange groove, and it seems you
would prefer to see me a pauper in a Hospital, rather than go to your
grandfather and ask for help. Beryl, time presses, and if I die for
want of aid, you will be responsible; when it is too late, you will
reproach yourself. If I only knew where and how to reach my dear boy, I
should not importune you. Bertie would not refuse obedience to say
wishes."

The silence which followed was so prolonged that a mouse crept from its
covert in some corner of the comfortless garret room, and nibbled at
the fragments of bread scattered on the table.

Beryl stood at the dormer window, holding aside the faded blue cotton
curtain, and the mid-day glare falling upon her, showed every curve of
her tall full form; every line in the calm, pale Sibylline face. The
large steel gray eyes were shaded by drooping lids, heavily fringed
with black lashes, but when raised in a steady gaze the pupils appeared
abnormally dilated; and the delicately traced black brows that
overarched them, contrasted conspicuously with the wealth of deep
auburn hair darkened by mahogany tints, which rolled back in shining
waves from her blue veined temples. While moulding the figure and
features upon a scale almost heroic, nature had jealously guarded the
symmetry of her work, and in addition to the perfect proportion of the
statuesque outlines, had bestowed upon the firm white flesh a gleaming
smoothness, suggestive of fine grained marble highly polished. Majesty
of mien implies much, which the comparatively short period of eighteen
years rarely confers, yet majestic most properly describes this girl,
whose archetype Veleda read runic myths to the Bructeri in the twilight
of history.

Beryl crossed the room, and with her hands folded tightly together,
came to the low bed, on which lay the wreck of a once beautiful woman,
and stood for a moment silent and pre-occupied. With a sudden gesture
of surrender, she stooped her noble head, as if assuming a yoke, and
drew one long deep breath. Did some prophetic intuition show her at
that instant the Phicean Hill and its dread tenant, which sooner or
later we must all confront?

"Dear mother, I submit. Obedience to your commands certainly ought not
to lead me astray; yet I feel that I stand at the cross-roads, longing
to turn and flee from the way whither your finger points. I have no
hope of accomplishing any good, and nothing but humiliation can result
from the experiment; but I will go. Sometimes I believe; that fate
maliciously hunts up the things we most bitterly abhor, and one by one
sets them down before us--labelled Duty. When do you wish me to start?"

"To-night, at nine o'clock. In the letter which you will take to
father, I have told him our destitution; and that the money spent for
your railway ticket has been obtained by the sacrifice of the diamonds
and pearls, that were set around my mother's picture; that cameo, which
he had cut in Rome and framed in Paris. Beryl so much depends on the
impression you make upon him, that you must guard your manner against
haughtiness. Try to be patient, my daughter, and if he should seem
harsh, do not resent his words. He is old now, and proud and bitter,
but he once had a tender love for me. I was his idol, and when my child
pleads, he will relent."

Mrs. Brentano laid her thin hot fingers on her daughter's hands,
drawing her down to the edge of the bed; and Beryl saw she was
quivering with nervous excitement.

"Compose yourself, mother, or you will be so ill that I cannot leave
you. Dr. Grantlin impressed upon us, the necessity of keeping your
nervous system quiet. Take your medicine now, and try to sleep until I
come back from Stephen & Endicott's."

"Do not go to-day."

"I must. Those porcelain types were promised for a certain day, and
they should be packed in time for the afternoon express going to
Boston."

"Beryl."

"Well, mother?"

"Come nearer to me. Give me your hand. My heart is so oppressed by
dread, that I want you to promise me something, which I fancy will
lighten my burden. Life is very uncertain, and if I should die, what
would become of my Bertie? Oh, my boy! my darling, my first born! He is
so impulsive, so headstrong; and no one but his mother could ever
excuse or forgive his waywardness. Although younger, you are in some
respects, the strongest; and I want your promise that you will always
be patient and tender with him, and that you will shield him from evil,
as I have tried to do. His conscience of course, is not sensitive like
yours--because you know, a boy's moral nature is totally different from
a girl's; and like most of his sex, Bertie has no religious instincts
bending him always in the right direction. Women  generally have to
supply conscientious scruples for men, and you can take care of your
brother, if you will. You are unusually brave and strong, Beryl, and
when I am gone, you must stand between him and trouble. My good little
girl, will you?"

The large luminous eyes that rested upon the flushed face of the
invalid, filled with a mist of yearning compassionate tenderness, and
taking her mother's hands, Beryl laid the palms together, then stooping
nearer, kissed her softly.

"I think I have never lacked love for Bertie, though I may not always
have given expression to my feelings. If at times I have deplored his
reckless waywardness, and expostulated with him, genuine affection
prompted me; but I promise you now, that I will do all a sister
possibly can for a brother. Trust me, mother; and rest in the assurance
that his welfare shall be more to me than my own; that should the
necessity arise, I will stand between him and trouble. Banish all
depressing forebodings. When you are strong and well, and when I paint
my great picture, we will buy a pretty cottage among the lilacs and
roses, where birds sing all day long, where cattle pasture in clover
nooks; and then Bertie, your darling, shall never leave you again."

"I do trust you, for your promise means more than oath and vows from
other people, and if occasion demand, I know you will guard my Bertie,
my high-strung, passionate, beautiful boy! Your pretty cottage? Ah,
child! when shall we dwell in Spain?"

"Some day, some day; only be hopeful, and let me find you better when I
return. Sleep, and dream of our pretty cottage. I must hurry away with
my pictures, for this is pay day."

Tying the strings of her hat under one ear, and covering her face with
a blue veil, Beryl took a pasteboard box from a table, on which lay
brushes and paints, and leaving the door a-jar, went down the narrow
stairs.

At the window of a small hall on the next floor, a woman sat before her
sewing-machine, bending so close to her work that she did not see the
tall form, which paused before her, until a hand was laid on the steel
plate.

"Mrs. Emmet, will you please be so good as to go up after a while, and
see if mother needs anything?"

"Certainly, Miss, if I am here, but I have some sewing to carry home
this afternoon."

"I shall not be absent more than two hours. To-night I am going South,
to attend to some business; and mother tells me you have promised to
wait upon her, and allow your daughter Maggie to sleep on a pallet by
her bed, while I am gone. I cannot tell you how grateful I shall be for
any kindness you may show her, and I wish you would send the baby often
to her room, as he is so sweet and cunning, and his merry ways amuse
her."

"Yes, I will do all I can. We poor folks who have none of this world's
goods, ought to be rich at least in sympathy and pity for each other's
suffering, for it is about all we have to share. Don't you worry and
fret, for I will see your ma has what she needs. I was mothered by the
best woman God ever made, and since she died, every sick mother I see
has a sort of claim on my heart."

Pausing an instant to adjust the tucker of her machine, Mrs. Emmet
looked up, and involuntarily the women shook hands, as if sealing a
compact.

It was a long walk to the building whither Beryl directed her steps,
and as she passed through the rear entrance of a large and fashionable
photograph establishment, she was surprised to find that it was
half-past two o'clock.

The Superintendent of the department, from whom she received her work,
was a man of middle-age, of rather stern and forbidding aspect; and as
she approached his desk, he pointed to the clock on the mantel-piece.

"Barely time to submit those types for inspection, and have them packed
for the express going East. They are birthday gifts, and birthdays have
an awkward habit of arriving rigidly on time."

He unrolled the tissue paper, and with a magnifying glass, carefully
examined the pictures; then took from an envelope in the box, two short
pieces of hair, which he compared with the painted heads before him.

"Beautifully done. The lace on that child's dress would bear even a
stronger lens than my glass. Here Patterson, take this box, and letter
to Mr. Endicott, and if satisfactory, carry them to the packing
counter. Shipping address is in the letter. Hurry up, my lad. Sit down,
Miss Brentano."

"Thank you, I am not tired. Mr. Mansfield, have you any good news for
me?"

"You mean those etchings; or the designs for the Christmas cards? Have
not heard a word, pro or con. Guess no news is good news; for I notice
'rejected' work generally travels fast, to roost at home."

"I thought the awards were made last week, and that to-day you could
tell me the result."

"The awards have been made, I presume, but who owns the lucky cards is
the secret that has not yet transpired. You young people have no
respect for red tape, and methodical business routine.  You want to
clap spurs on fate, and make her lower her own last record? 'Bide awee.
Bide awee'."

"Winning this prize means so much to me, that I confess I find it very
hard to be patient. Success would save me from a painful and expensive
journey, upon which I must start to-night; and therefore I hoped so
earnestly that I might receive good tidings to-day. I am obliged to go
South on an errand, which will necessitate an absence of several days,
and if you should have any news for me, keep it until I call again. If
unfavorable it would depress my mother, and therefore I prefer you
should not write, as of course she will open any letters addressed to
me. Please save all the work you can for me, and I will come here as
soon as I get back home."

"Very well. Any message, Patterson?"

"Mr. Endicott said, 'All right; first-rate;' and ordered them shipped."

"Here is your money, Miss Brentano. Better call as early as you can, as
I guess there will be a lot of photographs ready in a few days. Good
afternoon."

"Thank you. Good-bye, sir."

From the handful of small change, she selected some pennies which she
slipped inside of her glove, and dropping the remainder into her
pocket, left the building, and walked on toward Union Square. Absorbed
in grave reflections, and oppressed by some vague foreboding of
impending ill, dim, intangible and unlocalized--she moved slowly along
the crowded sidewalk--unconscious of the curious glances directed
toward her superb form, and stately graceful carriage, which more than
one person turned and looked back to admire, wondering when she had
stepped down from some sacred Panathenaic Frieze.

Near Madison Square, she paused before the window of a florist's, and
raising her veil, gazed longingly at the glowing mass of blossoms,
which Nineteenth Century skill and wealth in defiance of isothermal
lines, and climatic limitations force into perfection, in, and out of
season. The violet eyes and crocus fingers of Spring smiled and
quivered, at sight of the crimson rose heart, and flaming paeony cheeks
of royal Summer; and creamy and purple chrysanthemums that quill their
laces over the russet robes of Autumn, here stared in indignant
amazement, at the premature presumption of snowy regal camellias,
audaciously advancing to crown the icy brows of Winter. All latitudes,
all seasons have become bound vassals to the great God Gold; and his
necromancy furnishes with equal facility the dewy wreaths of orange
flowers that perfume the filmy veils of December brides--and the blue
bells of spicy hyacinths which ring "Rest" over the lily pillows, set
as tribute on the graves of babies, who wilt under August suns.

From early childhood, an ardent love of beauty had characterized this
girl, whose covetous gaze wandered from a gorgeous scarlet and gold
orchid nodding in dreams of its habitat, in some vanilla scented
Brazilian jungle, to a bed of vivid green moss, where skilful hands had
grouped great drooping sprays of waxen begonias, coral, faint pink, and
ivory, all powdered with gold dust like that which gilds the heart of
water-lilies.

Such treasures were reserved for the family of Dives; and counting her
pennies, Beryl entered the store, where instantaneously the blended
breath of heliotrope, tube-rose and mignonette wafted her across the
ocean, to a white-walled fishing village on the Cornice, whose gray
rocks were kissed by the blue lips of the Mediterranean.

"What is the price of that cluster of Niphetos buds?"

"One dollar."

"And that Auratum--with a few rose geranium leaves added?"

"Seventy-five cents. You see it is wonderfully large, and the gold
bands are so very deep."

She put one hand in her pocket and fingered a silver coin, but poverty
is a grim, tyrannous stepmother to tender aestheticism, and prudential
considerations prevailed.

"Give me twenty-five cents worth of those pale blue double violets,
with a sprig of lemon verbena, and a fringe of geranium leaves."

She laid the money on the counter, and while the florist selected and
bound the blossoms into a bunch, she arrested his finishing touch.

"Wait a moment. How much more for one Grand Duke jasmine in the centre?"

"Ten cents, Miss."

She added the dime to the pennies she could ill afford to spare from
her small hoard, and said: "Will you be so kind as to sprinkle it? I
wish it kept fresh, for a sick lady."

Dusky shadows were gathering in the gloomy hall of the old tenement
house, when Beryl opened the door of the comfortless attic room, where
for many months she had struggled bravely to shield her mother from the
wolf, that more than once snarled across the threshold.

Mrs. Brentano was sitting in a low chair, with her elbows on her knees,
her face hidden in her palms; and in her lap lay paper and pencil,
while a sealed letter had fallen on the ground beside her. At the sound
of the opening door, she lifted her head, and tears dripped upon the
paper. In her faded flannel dressing-gown, with tresses of black hair
straggling across her shoulders, she presented a picture of helpless
mental and physical woe, which painted itself indelibly on the panels
of her daughter's heart.

"Why did you not wait until I came home? The exertion of getting up
always fatigues you."

"You staid so long--and I am so uncomfortable in that wretchedly hard
bed. What detained you?"

"I went to see the Doctor, because I am unwilling to start away,
without having asked his advice; and he has prescribed some new
medicine which you will find in this bottle. The directions are marked
on the label. Now I will put things in order, and try my hands on that
refractory bed."

"What did the Doctor say about me?"

"Nothing new; but he is confident that you can be cured in time, if we
will only be patient and obedient. He promised to see you in the
morning."

She stripped the bed of its covering, shook bolster and pillows; turned
over the mattress, and beat it vigorously; then put on fresh sheets,
and adjusted the whole comfortably.

"Now mother, turn your head, and let me comb and brush and braid all
this glossy black satin, to keep it from tangling while I am away. What
a pity you did not dower your daughter with part of it, instead of this
tawny mane of mine, which is a constant affront to my fastidious
artistic instincts. Please keep still a moment."

She unwrapped the tissue paper that covered her flowers, and holding
her hands behind her, stepped in front of the invalid.

"Dear mother, shut your eyes. There--! of what does that remind you?
The pergola--with great amber grape clusters--and white stars of
jasmine shining through the leaves? All the fragrance of Italy sleeps
in the thurible of this Grand-Duke."

"How delicious! Ah, my extravagant child! we cannot afford such
luxuries now. The perfume recalls so vividly the time when Bertie--"

A sob cut short the sentence. Beryl pinned the flowers at her mother's
throat, kissed her cheek, and kneeling before her, crossed her arms on
the invalid's lap, resting there the noble head, with its burnished
crown of reddish bronze braids.

"Mother dear, humor my childish whim. In defiance of my wishes and
judgment, and solely in obedience to your command, I am leaving you for
the first time, on a bitterly painful and humiliating mission.
To-night, let me be indeed your little girl once more. My heart brings
me to your knees, to say my prayers as of yore, and now while I pray,
lay your dear pretty hands on my head. It will seem like a parting
benediction; a veritable Nunc dimmitas."




CHAPTER II.


"I do not want a carriage. If the distance is only a mile and a half, I
can easily walk. After leaving town is there a straight road?"

"Straight as the crow flies, when you have passed the factory, and
cemetery, and turned to the left. There is a little Branch running at
the foot of the hill, and just across it, you will see the white
palings, and the big gate with stone pillars, and two tremendous brass
dogs on top, showing their teeth and ready to spring. There's no
mistaking the place, because it is the only one left in the country
that looks like the good old times before the war; and the Yankees
would not have spared it, had it not been such comfortable bombproof
headquarters for  their officers. It's our show place now, and General
Darrington keeps it up in better style, than any other estate I know."

"Thank you. I will find it."

Beryl walked away in the direction indicated, and the agent of the
railway station, leaning against the door of the baggage room, looked
with curious scrutiny after her.

"I should like to know who she is. No ordinary person, that is clear.
Such a grand figure and walk, and such a steady look in her big solemn
eyes, as if she saw straight through a person, clothes, flesh and all.
Wonder what her business can be with the old general?"

From early childhood Beryl had listened so intently to her mother's
glowing descriptions of the beauty and elegance of her old home "Elm
Bluff," that she soon began to identify the land-marks along the road,
alter passing the cemetery, where so many generations of Darringtons
slept in one corner, enclosed by a lofty iron railing; exclusive in
death as in life; jealously guarded and locked from contact with the
surrounding dwellers in "God's Acre."

The October day had begun quite cool and crisp, with a hint of frost in
its dewy sparkle, but as though vanquished Summer had suddenly faced
about, and charged furiously to cover her retreat, the south wind came
heavily laden with hot vapor from equatorial oceanic caldrons; and now
the afternoon sun, glowing in a cloudless sky, shed a yellowish glare
that burned and tingled like the breath of a furnace; while along the
horizon, a dim dull haze seemed blotting out the boundary of earth and
sky.

A portion of the primeval pine forest having been preserved, the trees
had attained gigantic height, thrusting their plumy heads heavenward,
as their lower limbs died; and year after year the mellow brown carpet
of reddish straw deepened, forming a soft safe nidus for the seeds that
sprang up and now gratefully embroidered it with masses of golden rod,
starry white asters, and tall, feathery spikes of some velvety purple
bloom, which looked royal by the side of a cluster of belated evening
primroses.

Pausing on the small but pretty rustic bridge, Beryl leaned against the
interlacing cedar boughs twisted into a balustrade, and looked down at
the winding stream, where the clear water showed amber hues, flecked
with glinting foam bubbles, as it lapped and gurgled, eddied and sang,
over its bed of yellow gravel. Unacquainted with "piney-woods'
branches," she was charmed by the novel golden brown wavelets that
frothed against the pillars of the bridge, and curled caressingly about
the broad emerald fronds of luxuriant ferns, which hung Narcissus-like
over their own graceful quivering images. Profound quiet brooded in the
warm, hazy air, burdened with balsamic odors; but once a pine burr full
of rich nutty mast crashed down through dead twigs, bruising the satin
petals of a primrose; and ever and anon the oboe notes of that shy,
deep throated hermit of ravines--the russet, speckled-breasted
lark--thrilled through the woods, like antiphonal echoes in some vast,
cool, columned cloister.

The perfect tranquillity of the scene soothed the travel-weary woman,
as though nestling so close to the great heart of nature, had stilled
the fierce throbbing, and banished the gloomy forebodings of her own;
and she walked on, through the iron gate, where the bronze mastiffs
glared warningly from their granite pedestal--on into the large
undulating park, which stretched away to meet the line of primitive
pines. There was no straight avenue, but a broad smooth carriage road
curved gently up a hillside, and on both margins of the graveled way,
ancient elm trees stood at regular intervals, throwing their boughs
across, to unite in lifting the superb groined arches, whose fine
tracery of sinuous lines were here and there concealed by clustering
mistletoe--and gray lichen masses--and ornamented with bosses of velvet
moss; while the venerable columnar trunks were now and then wreathed
with poison-oak vines, where red trumpet flowers insolently blared
defiance to the waxen pearls of encroaching mistletoe.

On the other side, the grounds were studded with native growth, as
though protective forestry statutes had crossed the ocean with the
colonists, and on this billowy sea of varied foliage Autumn had set her
illuminated autograph, in the vivid scarlet of sumach and black gum,
the delicate lemon of wild cherry--the deep ochre all sprinkled and
splashed with intense crimson, of the giant oaks--the orange glow of
ancestral hickory--and the golden glory of maples, on which the hectic
fever of the dying year kindled gleams of fiery red;--over all, a
gorgeous blazonry of riotous color, toned down by the silver gray
shadows of mossy tree-trunks, and the rich, dark, restful green of
polished magnolias.

Half a dozen fine Cotswold ewes browsed on the grass, and the small
bell worn by a staid dowager tinkled musically, as she threw up her
head and watched suspiciously the figure moving under the elm arches.
Beneath the far reaching branches of a patriarchal cedar, a small herd
of Jersey calves had grouped themselves, as if posing for Landseer or
Rosa Bonheur; and one pretty fawn-colored weanling ran across the sward
to meet the stranger, bleating a welcome and looking up, with
unmistakable curiosity in its velvety, long-lashed eyes.

As the avenue gradually climbed the ascent, the outlines of the house
became visible; a stately, typical southern mansion, like hundreds,
which formerly opened hospitably their broad mahogany doors, and which,
alas! are becoming traditional to this generation--obsolete as the
brave chivalric, warm-hearted, open-handed, noble-souled, refined
southern gentlemen who built and owned them. No Mansard roof here, no
pseudo "Queen Anne" hybrid, with lowering, top-heavy projections like
scowling eyebrows over squinting eyes; neither mongrel Renaissance, nor
feeble, sickly, imitation Elizabethan facades, and Tudor towers; none
of the queer, composite, freakish impertinences of architectural style,
which now-a-day do duty as the adventurous vanguard, the aesthetic
vedettes "making straight the way," for the coming cohorts of Culture.

The house at "Elm Bluff" was built of brick, overcast with stucco
painted in imitation of gray granite, and its foundation was only four
feet high, resting upon a broad terrace of brickwork; the latter
bounded by a graceful wooden balustrade, with pedestals for vases, on
either side of the two stone steps leading down from the terrace to the
carriage drive. The central halls, in both stories, divided the space
equally into four rooms on each side, and along the wide front, ran a
lofty piazza supporting the roof, with white smooth round pillars;
while the upper broad square windows, cedar-framed, and deeply
embrasured, looked down on the floor of the piazza, where so many
generations of Darringtons had trundled hoops in childhood--and
promenaded as lovers in the silvery moonlight, listening to the ring
doves cooing above them, from the columbary of the stucco capitals.
This spacious colonnade extended around the northern and eastern side
of the house, but the western end had formerly been enclosed as a
conservatory--which having been abolished, was finally succeeded by a
comparatively modern iron veranda, with steps leading down to the
terrace. In front of the building, between the elm avenue and the
flower-bordered terrace, stood a row of very old poplar trees, tall as
their forefathers in Lombardy, and to an iron staple driven into one of
these, a handsome black horse was now fastened.

Standing with one foot on the terrace step, close to the marble vases
where heliotropes swung their dainty lilac chalices against her
shoulder, and the scarlet geraniums stared unabashed, Beryl's gaze
wandered from the lovely park and ancient trees, to the unbroken facade
of the gray old house; and as, in painful contrast she recalled the
bare bleak garret room, where a beloved invalid held want and death at
bay, a sudden mist clouded her vision, and almost audibly she murmured:
"My poor mother! Now, I can realize the bitterness of your suffering;
now I understand the intensity of your yearning to come back; the
terrible home-sickness, which only Heaven can cure."

What is presentiment? The swaying of the veil of futurity, under the
straining hands of our guardian angels? Is it the faint shadow, the
solemn rustle of their hovering wings, as like mother birds they spread
protecting plumes between blind fledglings, and descending ruin? Will
theosophy ever explain and augment prescience?

                                    "It may be--
     The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence,
     Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers
     Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us
     As friends, who wait outside a prison wall,
     Through the barred windows speak to those within."

With difficulty Beryl resisted an inexplicable impulse to turn and
flee; but the drawn sword of duty pointed ahead.

Striking her hands together, as if thereby crushing her reluctance to
enter, she waited a moment, with closed eyes, while her lips moved in
silent prayer; then ascending the terrace, she crossed the stone
pavement, walked up the stops and slowly advanced to the threshold. The
dark mahogany door was so glossy, that she dimly saw her own image on
its polished panels, as she lifted and let fall the heavy silver
knocker, in the middle of an oval silver plate, around the edges of
which were raised the square letters of the name "Darrington." The
clanging sound startled a peacock, strutting among the verbena beds,
and his shrill scream was answered by the deep hoarse bark of some
invisible dog; then the heavy door swung open, and a gray-headed negro
man, who wore a white linen apron over his black clothes, and held a
waiter in one hand, stood before her.

"I wish to see Mr. Darrington."

"I reckon you mean Gin'l Darrington, don't you? Mr. Darrington, Marse
Prince Darrington, is in Yurope."

"I mean Mr. Luke Darrington, the owner of this place."

"Jess so; Gin'l Luke Darrington. Well, you can't see him."

"Why not? I must see him, and I shall stay here until I do."

"'Cause he is busy with his lie-yer, fixin' of some papers; and when he
tells me not to let nobody else in I'de ruther set down in a yaller
jacket's nest than to turn the door knob, after he done shut it. Better
leave your name and call ag'in."

"No, I will wait until he is at leisure. I presume my sitting on the
steps here will not be a violation of your orders."

"To be shore not. But them steps are harder than the stool of
repentance, and you had better walk in the drawing-room, and rest
yourself. There's pictures, and lots and piles of things there, you can
pass away the time looking at."

He waved his waiter toward a long, dim apartment, on the left side of
the hall.

"Thank you, I prefer to sit here."

She seated herself on the top of the stone steps, and taking off her
straw hat, fanned her heated brow, where the rich waving hair clung in
damp masses.

"What name, miss, must I give, when the lie-yer finishes his bizness?"

"Say that a stranger wishes to see him about an important matter."

"Its mighty uncertain how long he will tarry; for lie-yers live by
talking; turning of words upside down, and wrong side outards, and
reading words backards, and whitewashing black things, and smutting of
white ones. Marse Lennox Dunbar (he is our lie-yer now, since his pa
took paralsis) he is a powerful wrastler with justice. They do say down
yonder, at the court house, that when he gets done with a witness, and
turns him aloose, the poor creetur is so flustrated in his mind, that
he don't know his own name, on when he was born, or where he was born,
or whether he was ever born at all."

Curiosity to discover the nature of the stranger's errand had
stimulated the old man's garrulity, but receiving no reply, he finally
retreated, leaving the front door open. By the aid of a disfiguring
scar on his furrowed cheek, Beryl recognized him as the brave,
faithful, family coachman, Abednego, (abbreviated to "Bedney")--who had
once saved his mother's life at the risk of his own. Mrs. Brentano had
often related to her children, an episode in her childhood, when having
gone to play with her dolls in the loft of the stable, she fell asleep
on the hay; and two hours later, Bedney remembering that he had heard
her singing there to her dolls, rushed into the burning building,
groped through the stifling smoke of the loft, and seizing the sleeping
child, threw her out upon a pile of straw. When he attempted to jump
after her, a falling rafter struck him to the earth, and left an
honorable scar in attestation of his heroism.

Had she yielded to the promptings of her heart, the stranger would
gladly have shaken hands with him, and thanked him, in the name of
those early years, when her mother's childish feet made music on the
wide mahogany railed stairs, that wound from the lower hall to the one
above; but the fear of being denied an audience, deterred her from
disclosing her name.

Educated in the belief that the utterance of the abhorred name of
Brentano, within the precincts of "Elm Bluff," would produce an effect
very similar to the ringing of some Tamil Pariah's bell, before the
door of a Brahman temple, Beryl wisely kept silent; and soon forgot her
forebodings, in the contemplation of the supreme loveliness of the
prospect before her.

The elevation was sufficient to command an extended view of the
surrounding country, and of the river, which crossed by the railroad
bridge north of the town, curved sharply to the east, whence she could
trace its course as it gradually wound southward, and disappeared
behind the house; where at the foot of a steep bluff, a pretty boat and
bath house nestled under ancient willow trees. At her feet the foliage
of the park stretched like some brilliant carpet, before whose gorgeous
tints, ustads of Karman would have stood in despair; and beyond the
sea-green, undulating line of pine forest she saw the steeple of a
church, with its gilt vane burning in the sunshine, and the red brick
dome of the ante bellum court house.

Time seemed to have fallen asleep on that hot, still afternoon, and
Beryl was roused from her reverie by the sound of hearty laughter in
the apartment opposite the drawing-room--followed by the tones of a
man's voice.

"Thank you, General. That is my destination this afternoon, and I shall
certainly expect you to dance at my wedding."

Quick, firm steps rang on the oil-cloth-covered floor of the hall, and
Beryl rose and turned toward the door.

With a cigar in one hand, hat and riding-whip in the other, the
attorney stepped out on the colonnade, and pausing involuntarily, at
sight of the stranger, they looked at each other. A man, perhaps, more,
certainly not less than thirty years old, of powerful and impressive
physique; very tall, athletic, sinewy, without an ounce of superfluous
flesh to encumber his movements, in the professional palaestra; with a
large finely modeled head, whose crisp black hair closely cut, was
(contrary to the prevailing fashion) parted neither in the middle, nor
yet on the side, but brushed straight back from the square forehead,
thereby enhancing the massiveness of its appearance.

Something in this swart, beardless face, with its brilliant
inquisitorial dark blue eyes, handsome secretive mouth veiled by no
mustache--and boldly assertive chin deeply cleft in the
centre--affected Beryl very unpleasantly, as a perplexing disagreeable
memory; an uncanny resemblance hovering just beyond the grasp of
identification. A feeling of unaccountable repulsion made her shiver,
and she breathed more freely, when he hewed slightly, and walked on
toward his horse. Upon the attorney her extraordinary appearance
produced a profound impression, and in his brief scrutiny, no detail of
her face, figure, or apparel escaped his keen probing gaze.

Glancing back as he untied his bridle rein, his unspoken comment was:
"Superb woman; I wonder what brings her here? Evidently a
stranger--with a purpose."

He sprang into the saddle, stooped his head to avoid the yellow poplar
branches, and disappeared under the elm arches.

"Gin'l Darrington's compliments; and if your bizness is pressin' you
will have to see him in his bedcharmber, as he feels poorly to-day, and
the Doctor won't let him out. Follow me. You see, ole Marster remembers
the war by the game leg he got at Sharpshurg, and sometimes it lays him
up."

The old servant led Beryl through a long room, fitted up as a library
and armory, and pausing before an open door, waved her into the
adjoining apartment. One swift glance showed her the heavy canopied
bedstead in one corner, the arch-shaped glass door leading out upon the
iron veranda; and at an oblong table in the middle of the floor, the
figure of a man, who rose, taller and taller, until he seemed a giant,
drawn to his full height, and resting for support on the hand that was
rested upon the table. Intensity of emotion arrested her breath, as she
gazed at the silvered head, piercing black eyes, and spare wasted framp
of the handsome man, who had always reigned as a brutal ogre in her
imagination. The fire in his somewhat sunken eyes, seemed to bid
defiance to the whiteness of the abundant hair, and of the heavy
mustache which drooped over his lips; and every feature in his
patrician face revealed not only a long line of blue-blooded ancestors,
but the proud haughtiness which had been considered always as
distinctively characteristic of the Darringtons as their finely cut
lips, thin nostrils, small feet and unusual height.

Unprepared for the apparition that confronted him, Luke Darrington
bowed low, surveyed her intently, then pointed to a chair opposite his
own.

"Walk in, Madam; or perhaps it may be Miss? Will you take a seat, and
excuse the feebleness that forces me to receive visits in my bed-room?"

As he reseated himself, Beryl advanced and stood beside him, but for a
moment she found it impossible to utter the words, rehearsed so
frequently during her journey; and while she hesitated, he curiously
inspected her face and form.

Her plain, but perfectly fitting bunting dress, was of the color,
popularly dominated "navy-blue," and the linen collar and cuffs were
scarcely whiter than the round throat and wrists they encircled. The
burnished auburn hair clinging in soft waves to her brow, was twisted
into a heavy coil, which the long walk had shaken down till it rested
almost on her neck; and though her heart beat furiously, the pale calm
face might have been marble, save for the scarlet lines of her
beautiful mouth, and the steady glow of the dilated pupils in her great
gray eyes.

"Pray be seated; and tell me to whom I am indebted for the pleasure of
this visit?"

"I am merely the bearer of a letter which will explain itself, and my
presence, in your house."

Mechanically he took the preferred letter, and with his eyes still
lingering in admiration upon the classic outlines of her face and form,
leaned back comfortably against the velvet lining of his armchair.

"Are you some exiled goddess travelling incognito? If we lived in the
'piping days of Pan' I should flatter myself that 'Ox-eyed Juno' had
honored me with a call, as a reward for my care of her favorite bird."

Receiving no reply he glanced at the envelope in his hand, and as he
read the address--"To my dear father, Gen'l Luke Darrington"--the smile
on his face changed to a dark scowl and he tossed the letter to the
floor, as if it were a red-hot coal.

"Only one living being has the right to call me father--my son, Prince
Darrington. I have repeatedly refused to hold any communication with
the person who wrote that letter."

Beryl stooped to pick it up, and with a caressing touch, as though it
were sentient, held it against her heart.

"Your daughter is dying; and this is her last appeal."

"I have no daughter. Twenty-three years ago my daughter buried herself
in hopeless disgrace, and for her there can be no resurrection here. If
she dreams that I am in my dotage, and may relent, she strangely
forgets the nature of the blood she saw fit to cross with that of a
beggarly foreign scrub. Go back and tell her, the old man is not yet
senile and imbecile; and that the years have only hardened his heart.
Tell her, I have almost learned to forget even how she looked."

His eyes showed a dull reddish fire, like those of some drowsy caged
tiger, suddenly stirred into wrath, and a grayish pallor--the white
heat of the Darringtons--settled on his face.

Twice Beryl walked the length of the room, but each time the
recollection of her mother's tearful, suffering countenance, and the
extremity of her need, drove her back to the chair.

"If you knew that your daughter's life hung by a thread, would you
deliberately take a pair of shears and cut it?"

He glared at her in silence, and leaning forward on the table, pushed
roughly aside a salver, on which stood a decanter and two wine glasses.

"I am here to tell you a solemn truth; then my responsibility ends.
Your daughter's life rests literally in your hands; for unless you
consent to furnish the money to pay for a surgical operation, which may
restore her health, she will certainly die. I am indulging in no
exaggeration to extort alms. In this letter is the certificate of a
distinguished physician, corroborating my statement. If you, the author
of her being, prefer to hasten her death, then your choice of an awful
revenge must be settled between your hardened conscience and your God."

"You are bold indeed, to beard me in my own house, and tell me to my
face what no man would dare to utter."

His voice was an angry pant, and he struck his clenched hand on the
table with a force that made the glasses jingle, and the sherry dance
in the decanter.

"Yes, you scarcely realize how much bravery this painful errand
demands; but the tender love in a woman's heart nerves her to bear
fiery ordeals, that vanquish a man's courage."

"Then you find that age has not drawn the fangs from the old crippled
Darrington lion, nor clipped his claws?"

The sneer curved his white mustache, until she saw the outline of the
narrow, bloodless underlip.

"That king of beasts scorns to redden his fangs, or flesh his claws, in
the quivering body of his own offspring. Your metaphor is an insult to
natural instincts."

She laid the letter once more before him, and looked down on him, with
ill-concealed aversion.

"Who are you? By what right dare you intrude upon me?"

"I am merely a sorrowful, anxious, poverty-stricken woman, whose heart
aches over her mother's sufferings and vho would never have endured the
humiliation of this interview, except to deliver a letter in the hope
of prolonging my mother's life."

"You do not mean that you are--my--"

"I am nothing to you, sir, but the bearer of a letter from your dying
daughter."

"You cannot be the child of--of Ellice?"

After the long limbo of twenty-three years, the name burst from him,
and with what a host of memories its echo peopled the room, where that
erring daughter had formerly reigned queen of his heart.

"Yes, Ellice is my dear mother's name."

He stared at the majestic form, and at the faultless face looking so
proudly down upon him, as from an inaccessible height; and she heard
him draw his breath, with a labored hissing sound.

"But--I thought her child was a boy?"

"I am the youngest of two children."

"It is impossible that you are the daughter of that infernal, low-born,
fiddling foreign vagabond who--"

"Hush! The dead are sacred!"

She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture, not of deprecation,
but of interdict; and all the stony calm in her pale face seemed
shivered by a passionate gust, that made her eyes gleam like steel
under an electric flash.

"I am the daughter of Ignace Brentano, and I love, and honor his
memory, and his name. No drop of your Darrington blood runs in my
veins; I love my dear mother--but I am my father's daughter--and I want
no nobler heritage than his name. Upon you I have no shadow of claim,
but I am here from dire necessity, at your mercy--a helpless,
defenseless pleader in my mother's behalf--and as such, I appeal to the
boasted southern chivalry, upon which you pride yourself, for immunity
from insult while I am under your roof. Since I stood no taller than
your knee, my mother has striven to inculcate a belief in the nobility,
refinement, and chivalric deference to womanhood, inherent in southern
gentlemen; and if it be not all a myth, I invoke its protection against
abuse of my father. A stranger, but a lady, every inch, I demand the
respect due from a gentleman."

For a moment they eyed each other, as gladiators awaiting the signal,
then General Darrington sprang to his feet, and with a bow, stately and
profound as if made to a duchess, replied:

"And in the name of southern chivalry, I swear you shall receive it."

"Read your daughter's letter; give me your answer, and let us cut short
an interview--which, if disagreeable to you, is almost unendurable to
me."

Turning away, she began to walk slowly up and down the floor; and
smothering an oath under his heavy mustache, the old man sank back in
his chair, and opened the letter.




CHAPTER III.


Holding in leash the painful emotions that struggled for utterance,
Beryl was unconscious of the lapse of time, and when her averted eyes
returned reluctantly to her grandfather's face, he was slowly tearing
into shreds the tear-stained letter, freighted with passionate prayers
for pardon, and for succor. Rolling the strips into a ball, he threw it
into the waste-paper basket under the table; then filled a glass with
sherry, drank it, and dropped his head wearily on his hand. Five leaden
minutes crawled away, and a long, heavy sigh quivered through Gen'l
Darrington's gaunt frame. Seizing the decanter, he poured the contents
into two glasses, and as he raised one to his lips, held the other
toward his visitor.

"You must be weary from your journey; let me insist that you drink some
sherry."

"Thank you, I neither wish nor require it."

"I find your name is Beryl. Sit down here, and answer a few questions."
He drew a chair near his own.

She shook her head:

"If you will excuse me, I prefer to stand."

In turning, so as to confront her fully, his elbow struck from the
table, a bronze paper-weight which rolled just beyond his reach.
Instinctively she stooped to pick it up, and in restoring it, her
fingers touched his. Leaning suddenly forward he grasped her wrists ere
she was aware of his intention, and drew her in front of him.

"Pardon me; but I want a good look at you."

His keen merciless eyes searched every feature, and he deliberately
lifted and examined the exquisitely shaped strong, white hands, the
dainty nails, and delicately rounded wrists with their violet tracery
of veins. It cost her an effort, to abstain from wrenching herself
free; but her mother's caution: "So much depends on the impression you
make upon father," girded her to submit to his critical inspection.

A grim smile crossed his face, as he watched her.

"Blood often doubles, like a fox; sometimes 'crops back,' but never
lies. You can't play out your role of pauper; and you don't look a
probable outcome of destitution and hard work. Your hands would fit
much better in a metope of the Elgin Marbles, than in a wash-tub, or a
bake-oven."

Drawing away quickly, she put them behind her, and felt her palms
tingle.

"It is expected I should believe that for some time past, you have
provided for your own, and your mother's wants. In what way?"

"By coloring photographs; by furnishing designs for Christmas and
Easter cards, and occasionally (not often), by selling drawings used
for decorating china, and wallpaper. At one time, I had regular pay for
singing in a choir, but diphtheria injured my throat, and when I partly
recovered my voice, the situation had been given to another person."

"I am informed also that before long, you intend to astonish the world
with a wonderful picture, which shall distance such laggards as Troyon,
Dore, and Ary Scheffer?"

She was looking, not at him, but out through the glass door, at the
glowing western sky, where distant pine trees printed their
silhouettes. Now her gaze came back to his face, and he noted a faint
quiver in her full throat.

"If God will mercifully spare my mother to me, my loftiest and holiest
ambition shall be to distance the wolfish cares and woes that have
hunted her, ever since she became a widow. Any and all honest labor
that can contribute to her comfort, will be welcome and sweet to me."

"The laws of heredity must be occult and complex. The offspring of a
rebellious and disobedient child, is certainly entitled to no filial
instincts; and some day the strain will tell, and you will overwhelm
your mother with ingratitude, black as that which she showed me."

"When I do, may God eternally forsake me!"

A brief silence ensued, and the old man drummed on the table, with the
fingers of his right hand.

"Who educated you?"

"My dear father."

"It seems there are two of you. Where is your brother?"

"At present, I do not know exactly where he is, but I think in the far
West; possibly in Montana--probably in Canada."

"How does he earn his bread? By daubing, or fiddling?"

"Since he earns it honestly, that is his own affair. We have not heard
from him for some months."

"I thought so! He inherits the worthless vagabond strain of--"

"He is his mother's idol, and she glories in his resemblance to you,
sir; and to your father; hence his name--Robert L. Darrington."

"Then she must have one handsome child! I am not surprised that he is
the favorite."

"Bertie certainly is her darling, and he is very handsome; not in the
very least degree like me."

For the first time, their eyes met in a friendly glance, and a covert
smile stirred the General's lips; but as he put out his hand toward
her, she moved a step beyond his reach.

"Beryl, you consider me a dreadful, cruel old tyrant?"

She made no reply.

"Answer me."

"You are my mother's father; and that word--father, means so much to
me, that it shall shield even you, from the shadow of disrespect."

"Oh! very dutiful indeed, but dead as the days when daughters obeyed,
and honored their fathers! Beggarly foreign professors wiped all that
out of the minds of wealthy girls at boarding schools--just as they
changed their backwoods pronunciation of French and Italian. Don't
evade my question."

"I did not come here, sir, to bandy words; and I ended my mission by
delivering the letter intrusted to me."

"You regard me as a vindictive old bear?"

"I had heard much of the Darringtons; I imagined a great deal more; but
now, like the Queen of Sheba, I must testify--'Behold, the half was not
told me.'"

He threw back his lion-like head, and laughed.

"That will do. Shake hands, child."

"No, thank you."

"And you will not sit down?"

"Frankly, I prefer not. I long to get away."

"You shall certainly be gratified, but there are a few things which I
intend you shall hear. Of course you know that your mother was my only
child, and an heiress; but you are ignorant probably of the fact that
when she returned to boarding school for the last session, she was
engaged in marriage to the son of my best friend--a man in every
respect desirable, and thoroughly acceptable to me."

"So my mother told me."

"Indeed? She should blush to remember it. While she wore his engagement
ring, she forgot her promise to him, her duty to me, her lineage, her
birth, her position--and was inveigled by a low adventurer who--"

"Who was my own precious father--poor, but noble, and worthy of any
princess! Unless you can refer to him respectfully, name him not at
all, in his child's presence."

She suddenly towered over him, like some threatening fate, and her
uplifted arm trembled from the intensity of her indignation.

"At least--you are loyal to your tribe!"

"I am, to my heart's core. You could pay me no higher compliment."

"Ellice wrote that she had bestowed her affections on--on--the 'exiled
scion of a noble house,' who paid his board bill by teaching languages
and music in the school; and who very naturally preferred to marry a
rich fool, who would pay them for him. I answered her letter, which was
addressed to her own mother--then quite ill at home--and I told her
precisely what she might expect, if she persisted in her insane folly.
As soon as my wife convalesced sufficiently to render my departure
advisable, I started to bring my daughter home; but she ran away, a few
hours before my arrival, and while, hoping to rescue Ellice, I was in
pursuit of the precious pair, my wife relapsed and died--the victim of
excitement brought on by her child's disgrace. I came back here to a
desolate, silent house;--bereft of wife and daughter; and in the grave
of her mother, I buried every atom of love and tenderness I ever
entertained for Ellice. When the sun is suddenly blotted out at noon,
and the world turns black--black, we grope to and fro aimlessly; but
after awhile, we accommodate ourselves to the darkness;--and so, I
became a different man--very hard, and I dare say very bitter. The
world soon learned that I would tolerate no illusion to my disgrace,
and people respected my family cancer, and prudently refrained from
offering me nostrums to cure it. My wife had a handsome estate of her
own right, and every cent of her fortune I collected, and sent with her
jewelry to Ellice. Did you know this?"

"I have heard only of the jewels."

"As I supposed, the money was squandered before you could recollect."

"I know that we were reduced to poverty, by the failure of some banking
house in Paris. I was old enough when it occurred, to remember ever
afterward, the dismay and distress it caused. My father no doubt placed
my mother's money there for safety."

"I wrote one long, final letter when I sent the checks for the money,
and I told Ellice I wished never to see, never to hear from her again.
I told her also, I had only one wish concerning her, and that was, that
I might be able to forget her so completely, that if we should meet in
the Last Judgment, I could not possibly know her. I assured her she
need expect nothing at my death; as I had taken good care that my
estate should not fall into the clutches of--her--'exiled scion of a
noble house.' Now do you consider that she has any claim on me?"

"You must not ask me to sit in judgment on my parents."

"You shall decide a question of business facts. I provided liberally
for her once; can you expect me to do so again? Has she any right to
demand it?"

"Having defied your parental wishes, she may have forfeited a
daughter's claim; but as a heart-broken sufferer, you cannot deny her
the melancholy privilege of praying for your help, on her death-bed."

The proud clear voice trembled, and Beryl covered her face with her
hands.

"Then we will ignore outraged ties of blood, and treat on the ground of
mere humanity? Let me conclude, for it is sickening and loathsome to a
man of my age, to see his long silent household graves yawn, and give
up uncalled--their sheeted dead. For some years the money sent, was a
quietus, and I was left in peace. I was lonely; it was, hard work to
forget, because I could never forgive; and the more desolate the gray
ruin, the more nature yearns to cover it close with vines and flowers;
so after a time, I married a gentle, pure hearted woman, who made the
best of what was left of me. We had no children, but she had one son of
a former marriage, who proved a noble trustworthy boy; and by degrees
he crept into my heart, and raked together the cinders of my dead
affections, and kindled a feeble flame that warmed my shivering old
age. When I felt assured that I was not thawing another serpent to
sting me for my pains, I adopted Thorton Prince, and with the aid of a
Legislative enactment, changed his name to Prince Darrington. Only a
few months elapsed, before his mother, of whom I was very fond, died of
consumption and my boy and I comforted each other. Then I made my
second and last will, and took every possible precaution to secure my
estate of every description to him. He is my sole heir, and I intend
that at my death he shall receive every cent I possess. Did you know
this?"

"I did, because your last endorsement on a letter of my mother's
returned unopened to her, informed her of the fact."

"Why? Because in violation of my wishes she had persisted in writing,
and soon began to importune me for money. Then I made her understand
that even at my death, she would receive no aid; and since that
endorsement, I have returned or destroyed her letters unread. My Will
is so strong--has been drawn so carefully--that no contest can touch
it; and it will stand forever between your mother and my property."

As he uttered these words, he elevated his voice, which had a ring of
savage triumph in its harsh excited tones. Just then, a muffled sound
attracted his attention, and seizing his gold-headed cane, he limped
with evident pain to the threshold of the adjoining room.

"Bedney."

Receiving no reply, he closed the door with a violence that jarred the
whole room; and came slowly back to the table, where he stood leaning
heavily on his stick.

"At least we will have no eavesdropping at this resurrection of my
dead. That Ellice is now a miserable woman, I have no doubt; for truly:
'Quien se casa por amores, ha de vivir con dolores.' Of course you
understand Spanish?"

"No, sir; but no matter; I take it for granted that you intend some
thrust at my mother, and I have heard quite enough."

"Don't know Spanish? Why I fancied your--your 'exiled scion of a noble
house'--taught all the languages under the sun; including that used by
the serpent in beguiling Eve! Well, the wise old adage means: 'Who
marries for love, lives with sorrow.' Ellice made her choice, and she
shall abide by it; and you--being unluckily her daughter--will share
the punishment. If 'fathers WILL eat sour grapes, the children's teeth
MUST be set on edge.' I repudiate all claims on my parental treasury,
save such as I have given to my son Prince. To every other draft I am
bankrupt; but merely as a gentleman, I will now for the last time,
respond to the petition of a sick woman, whose child is so loyal as to
arouse my compassion. Ellice has asked for one hundred dollars. You
shall have it. But first, tell me why she did not go to the hospital,
and submit to the operation which she says will cure her?"

"Because I could not be with her there, and I will never be separated
from her. The aneurism has grown so alarmingly, that I became
desperate, and having no one to aid us, I reluctantly obeyed my
mother's requirement that I should come here. I could not summon my
brother, because I have no idea where a letter would reach him; and
with no friend--but the God of the friendless--I am before you. There
is one thing I ought to tell you; I have terrible forebodings of the
result of the operation, from which the Doctor encourages her to hope
so much. She will not be able to take anesthetics, at least not
chloroform, because she has a weak heart, and--"

"Yes--a very weak heart! It was never strong enough to hold her to her
duty."

"If you could see her now, I think even your vindictive hatred would be
sufficiently gratified. So wasted, so broken!--and with such a
ceaseless craving for a kind word from you. One night last week pain
made her restless, and I heard her sob. When I tried to relieve the
suffering, she cried bitterly: 'It is not my poor body alone--it is the
gnawing hunger to see father once more. He loved me so fondly once and
if I could crawl to his feet, and clasp his knees in my arms, I could
at least die in peace. I am starving for just one sight of him--one
touch.' My poor darling mother! My beautiful, bruised, broken flower."

Through the glittering mist of unshed tears, her eyes shone, like
silver lamps; and for a moment Gen'l Darrington covered his face with
one hand.

"If you could realize how bitterly galling to my own pride and self
respect is this appeal to a man who hates and spurns all whom I love, I
think, sir, that even you would pity me so heartily, that your hardened
heart would melt into one last farewell message of forgiveness to your
unfortunate daughter. I would rather carry her one word of love than
all your fortune."

"No--I come of a flinty race. We never forgive insults; never condone
wrongs; and expecting loyalty in our own blood, we cannot live long
enough to pardon its treachery. Once, I made an idol of my beautiful,
graceful, high-bred girl; but she stabbed my pride, dragged my name
through the gutters, broke her doting mother's heart; and now, I tell
you, she is as dead to me as if she had lain twenty-three years in her
grave. I have only one message. Tell her she is reaping the tares her
own hand sowed. I know her no more as child of mine, and my son fills
her place so completely, I do not even miss her. That is the best I can
say. No doubt I am hard, but at least I am honest; and I will not feign
what I cannot feel."

He limped across the floor, to a recess on one side of the chimney,
where a square vault with an iron door had been built into the wall.
Leaning on his cane, he took from his pocket a bunch of keys, fitted
one into the lock, and pushing the bolt, the door slid back into a
groove, instead of opening on hinges. He lifted a black tin box from
the depths of the vault, carried it to the table, sat down, and opened
it. Near the top, were numerous papers tied into packages with red
tape, and two large envelopes carefully sealed with dark-green wax. In
removing the bundles, to find something beneath them, these envelopes
were laid on the table; and as one was either accidentally or
intentionally turned, Beryl saw the endorsement written in bold black
letters, and heavily underscored in red ink: "Last Will and Testament
of Robert Luke Darrington." Untying a small chamois bag, the owner
counted out five twenty-dollar gold pieces, closed the bag, and
replaced it in the box.

"Hold out your hand. Your mother asked fur one hundred dollars. Here is
the exact amount. Henceforth, leave me in peace. I am an old man, and I
advise you to 'let sleeping dogs lie.'"

If he had laid a red-hot iron on her palm, it would scarcely have been
more scorching than the touch of his gold, and only the vision of a wan
and woeful face in that far off cheerless attic room, restrained her
impulse to throw it at his feet.

An almost intolerable humiliation dyed her pale cheeks a deep purplish
crimson, and she proudly drew herself to her utmost height.

"Because I cannot now help myself, I accept the money--not as a gift,
but as a loan for my mother's benefit; and so help me God! I will not
owe it to you one moment longer than by hard labor I can earn and
return it. Goodbye, Gen'l Darrington."

She turned toward the closed door leading to the library, but raising
his cane, he held it out, to intercept her.

"Wait a moment. There is one thing more."

He took from the tin box an oblong package, wrapped in letter paper,
yellowed by age, and carefully sealed with red wax. As he held it up,
she read thereon: "My last folly." He tore off the paper, lifted an old
fashioned morocco case, and attempted to open it, but the catch was
obstinate, or rusty, and several ineffectual efforts were made, ere he
succeeded in moving the spring. The once white velvet cushion, had
darkened and turned very yellow, but time had robbed in no degree, the
lustre of the magnificent sapphires coiled there; and the blue fires
leaped out, as if rejoicing in the privilege of displaying their
splendor.  "This set of stones was intended as a gift to your mother,
when she was graduated at boarding-school. The time fixed for the close
of the session was only one month later than the day on which she
eloped with that foreign fraud, who should never have been allowed in
the school. My wife had promised that if your mother won the honor of
valedictorian, she should have the handsomest present ever worn at a
commencement. These costly sapphires were my poor wife's choice. Poor
Helena! how often she admired them!" His voice faltered, and he bit his
under lip to still its quiver.

Was there some necromancy in the azure flames, that suddenly revealed
the beloved face of the wife of his youth, and the lovely vision of
their only child? His eagle eyes were dim with tears, and his hand
shook; but, as if ashamed of the weakness, he closed the jewel case
with a snap, and held it out.

"Here--take them. I had intended to give them as a bridal present to my
son's wife, when he marries to suit me--as he certainly will; but
somehow, such a disposal seems hard on my dear Helena's wishes, and for
her sake, I don't feel quite easy about leaving them to Prince's bride.
Your mother never saw them, never knew of their existence. They are
very valuable, and the amount they will bring must relieve all present
necessities. Tell Ellice the sight of the case disturbs me, like a
thorn in the flesh, so I send them away, to rid myself of an annoyance.
She must not thank me; they come from her--dead mother."

"A knowledge of their history would give her infinitely more pain than
the proceeds of their sale could bring comfort. I would not stab her
aching heart for twenty times the value of the jewels."

"Then sell them, or do as you like. It matters not what becomes of
them, if I am spared in future all reminders of the past. Put them in
your pocket. What? The case is too large? Where is your trunk--your
baggage?"

"I have none, except my basket and shawl."

She picked them up from the carpet near the library door, and dropped
the case into her basket.

"You are a brave, and a loyal woman, and you appear to deserve far
better parents than fell to your lot. Before you go, let me offer you a
glass of wine, and a biscuit."

"Thank you--no. I could not possibly accept it."

"Well, we shall never meet again. Good-bye. Shake hands."

"I will very gladly do so if you will only give me just one gentle,
forgiving kind word to comfort mother."

He set his teeth, and shook his head.

"Good-bye, Gen'l Darrington. When you lie down to die, I hope God will
be more merciful to your poor soul, than you have shown yourself to
your suffering child."

He bowed profoundly.

Her hand was on the knob of the door, when he pointed to the western
veranda.

"You are going back to town? Then, if you please, be so good as to pass
out through that rear entrance, and close the glass door after you. A
side path leads to the lawn; and I prefer that you should not meet the
servants, who pry and tattle."

When she stood on the veranda, and turned to close the wide arched
glass door, whence the inside red silk curtain had been looped back,
her last view of the gaunt, tall figure within, showed him leaning on
his stick, with the tin box held in his left hand, and the dying
sunlight shining on his silver hair and furrowed face.

Along the serpentine path which was bordered with masses of brilliant
chrysanthemums, Beryl walked rapidly, feeling almost stifled by the
pressure of contending emotions. Recollecting that these spice censers
of Autumn were her mother's favorite flowers, she stooped and broke
several lovely clusters of orange and garnet color, hoping that a
lingering breath of perfume from the home of her girlhood, might afford
at least a melancholy pleasure to the distant invalid.

Advancing into the elm avenue, she heard a voice calling, and looking
back, saw the old negro man, Bedney, waving his white apron and running
toward her; but at that moment his steps were arrested by the sudden,
loud and rapid ringing of a bell. He paused, listened, wavered; then
threw up his hands, and hurried back to the house, whence issued the
impatient summons.

The sun had gone down in the green sea of far-off pine tops, but the
western sky glowed like some vast altar of topaz, whereon zodiacal
fires had kindled the rays of vivid rose, that sprang into the zenith
and cooled their flush in the pale blue of the upper air. Under the
elms, swift southern twilight was already filling the arches with
purple gloom, and when the heavy iron gate closed with a sullen clang
behind her, Beryl drew a long deep breath of relief. On the sultry
atmosphere broke the gurgling andante music of the "branch," as it
eddied among the nodding ferns, and darted under the bridge; and the
weary, thirsty woman knelt on the mossy margin, dipped up the amber
water in her palms, drank, and bathed her burning face which still
tingled painfully.

Having learned from the station agent, who had already sold her a
return ticket, that the north bound railway train, by which she desired
to travel home, would not depart until 7.15, she was beguiled by the
brilliance of the sky into the belief that she had ample time, to
comply with her mother's farewell request. Mrs. Brentano had tied with
a scrap of ribbon the bouquet of flowers, bought by her daughter on the
afternoon of her journey south, and asked her to lay them on her
mother's grave.

Anxious to accomplish this sacred mission Beryl took the faded blossoms
from her basket, added a cluster of chrysanthemums, a frond of fern
from the "branch" border, and hurried on to the cemetery. When she
reached the entrance, the gate was locked, but unwilling to return
without having gratified her mother's wish, she climbed into a
spreading cedar close by the low brick wall, and swung herself easily
down inside the enclosure.

Some time was lost in finding the Darrington lot, but at last she stood
before a tall iron railing, that bristled with lance-like points,
between the dust, of her ancestors and herself. In one corner rose a
beautiful monument, bearing on its front, in gilt letters, the
inscription "Helena Tracy, wife of R. L. Darrington."

Thrusting her hand through a space in the railing, Beryl dropped her
mother's withered Arkja tribute on the marble slab. Her dress was
caught by a sharp point of iron, and while endeavoring to disengage it,
she heard the shrill whistle of the R. R. engine. Tearing the skirt
away, she ran to the wall, climbed over, after some delay, and finding
herself once more in the open road, darted on as fast as possible
through the dusk, heedless of appearances, fearful only of missing the
train. How the houses multiplied, and what interminable lengths the
squares seemed, as she neared the brick warehouse and office of the
station! The lamps at the street corners beckoned her on, and when
panting for breath she rushed around the side of the tall building that
fronted the railway, there was no train in sight.

Two or three coal cars stood on a siding, near a detached engine, where
one man was lighting the lamp before the reflector of the headlight,
and another, who whistled merrily, burnished the brass and copper
platings. In the door of the ticket office the agent lounged, puffed
his cigar, and fanned himself with his hat.

"What time is it?" cried Beryl.

"Seven-forty-five."

"Oh! do not tell me I have missed the train."

"You certainly have. I told you it left at 7:15 sharp. It was ten
minutes behind time on account of hot boxes, but rolled out just twenty
minutes ago. Did you get lost hunting 'Elm Bluff,' and miss your train
on that account?"

"No, I had no difficulty in finding the place, but having no watch, I
was forced to guess at the time. Only twenty minutes too late!"

"Did you see the old war-horse?"

Beryl did not answer, and after a moment the agent added:

"That is Gen'l Darrington's nick-name all over this section."

"When will the next train leave here?"

"Not until 3:05 A.M."

Beryl sat down on the edge of a baggage truck, and pondered the
situation. She knew that her mother, who had carefully studied the
railway schedule, was with feverish anxiety expecting her return by the
train, now many miles away; and she feared that any unexplained
detention would have an injurious effect on the sick woman's shattered
nerves.

Although she could ill afford the expense, she resolved to allay all
apprehension, by the costly sedative of a telegram.

Only a wall separated the ticket office from that of the "telegraph,"
and approaching the operator, Beryl asked for a blank form, on which
she wrote her mother's address, and the following message:

"Complete success required delay. All will be satisfactory. Expect me
Saturday. B. B."

When she had paid the operator, there remained in her purse, exclusive
of the gold coins received that afternoon, only thirty-eight cents.
Where could she spend the next seven hours? Interpreting the perplexed
expression of her face, the agent, who had curiously noted her
movements, said courteously:

"There is a hotel a few blocks off, where you can rest until train
time."

"I prefer to remain here."

"We generally lock up this office about half-past eight, and re-open at
half-past two, which gives passengers ample accommodation for the 3:05
train."

"Would you violate regulations by leaving the waiting-room open
to-night?"

"Not exactly; as of course we are obliged to keep open for delayed
trains; but it will be lonesome waiting, for no one stays here, except
the Night Train Despatcher, and the switch watchman. Still if it will
oblige you, miss, I will not lock up, and you can doze away the time by
spreading your shawl on two chairs. I am going to supper now, and shall
turn down the lights. One burner will be sufficient."

"Thank you very much. Where can I find some water?"

"In the cooler in the ladies' dressing-room. It is most unaccountably
hot tonight, and I never knew anything like it in October. There must
be a cyclone brewing somewhere not far off."

He lifted his hat, as he passed her, and disappeared; and the tired
girl seated herself near a window and stirred the dense, impure air by
fanning herself with her straw hat. Gradually the few stragglers
loitering about the station wandered away; the engineer stepped upon
the locomotive; a piercing whistle broke suddenly on the silence
settling down over the whilom busy precincts, and as the rhythmic
measure of the engine bell rang farewell chimes, a pyramid of sparks
leaped high, and the mighty mechanism fled down the track, hunting its
own echoes. The man in charge of the express office came out, looked up
and down the street; yawned, lighted his pipe, and after locking the
office, wended his way homeward.

From the adjoining room came the slow monotonous clicking of the
telegraph wires, as messages passed to other stations, and only the
switch watchman was visible, sitting on an inverted tub, and playing
snatches from "Mascotte" and "Olivette" upon a harmonicon.

Heat seemed radiating from the brick pavement outside, from the inner
walls of the waiting-room; and Beryl, finding the atmosphere almost
stifling, went out under the stars. Up and down she paced, until weary
of the dusty thoroughfare, she turned into the street which, earlier in
the day, had conducted her toward the suburbs. She knew that a full
moon had climbed above the horizon, and some malign Morgana lured her
on, with visions of cool pine glades paved with silver mosaics, and
balmy with breath of balsam; where through vast forest naves echoed the
melodious monody chanted by the reddish gold wavelets of the "branch."
In the eastern sky the florid face of a hunter's moon looked down, from
the level line of a leaden cloud, which striped the star emblazoned
shield of night, like a bar sinister; and the white lustre of her rays
was dimmed to a lurid dulness solemn and presageful.

As Beryl crossed the common near the station, and entered the pillared
aisles of the pines, the air was less oppressive, but a dun haze seemed
on every side to curtain the horizon, and the stars looked bleared and
tired in the breathless vault above her. A man driving two cows toward
town, stared at her; then a wagon drawn by four horses rattled along,
bearing homeward a gay picnic party of young people, who made the woods
ring with the echoes of "Hold the Fort." The grandeur of towering
pines, the mysterious dimness of illimitable arcades, and the peculiar
resinous odor that stole like lingering ghosts of myrrh, frankincense
and onycha through the vaulted solitude of a deserted hoary sanctuary,
all these phases of primeval Southern forests combined to weave a spell
that the stranger could not resist.

After a while, fearful of straying too far, the weary woman threw her
shawl on the brown straw, and sat down quite near the road. She leaned
her bare head against the trunk of a pine, listened to the katydids
gossiping in a distant oak that shaded the "branch," to the quavering
strident song of a locust; and she intended, after resting for a few
moments, to return to the station-house; but unexpected drowsiness
overpowered her. Suddenly aroused from a sound sleep, she heard the
clatter of galloping hoofs, and as she sprang up, the horse, startled
by her movement, shied and reared within a few feet of the spot where
she stood. The moon shone full on the glossy black animal, and upon his
powerful rider, and Beryl recognized the massive head, swarthy face and
keen eyes of the attorney, Lennox Dunbar. He leaned forward and said,
as he patted the erect ears of his horse:

"Madam, you seem a stranger. Have you lost your way?"

"No, sir."

"Pardon me; but having seen you this afternoon at 'Elm Bluff,' I
thought it possible you had missed the road."

Standing so straight and tall, with the sheen of the moon on her
faultless features, he thought she looked the incarnation of some
prescient Norn, fit for the well of Urda.

She made no reply; and he touched his hat, and rode rapidly away in the
direction of the town, carrying an indelible impression of the
mysterious picture under the pines.

The sky had changed; the face of the moon had cleared, but tatters and
scuds of smoke-colored cloud fled northward, as if scourged by a stormy
current too high to stir the sultry stagnation of the lower atmospheric
stratum. From its vaporous lair somewhere in the cypress and palm
jungles of the Mexican Gulf borders, the tempest had risen, and before
its breath the shreds of cloud flew like avant couriers of disaster.
Already the lurid glare of incessant sheet lightning fought with the
moon for supremacy, and from a leaden wall along the southeastern sky,
came the long reverberating growl of thunder, that told where the
electric batteries had opened fire. A vague foreboding, which for
several days had haunted Beryl's mind, now pressed so heavily upon her,
that she hurried back to the station, which was near the edge of the
town; and more than once she started nervously at sight of grotesque
shadows cast by the trees across the sandy road.

The streets were deserted, and lights gleamed only in upper windows of
apartments, where sick sufferers tossed, or tender mothers sang soft
lullabys to restless babies crooning in their cribs. Now and then a
sudden gust of wind shook the yellow berries from the china trees, that
bordered the pavements, and very soon the moonshine faded, then flashed
fitfully, and finally vanished, as the blackening cloud swept over the
face of earth and sky. The watchman dozed on his post of observation; a
porter slept on a baggage truck under the awning, and as Beryl peeped
into the telegraph office, she heard the snoring of the operator, whose
head rested upon the table close to the silent instrument. She listened
to the ticking of a clock in the ticket office, but could not see its
face; wondered how late it was, and how long she had been absent.
Feeling very lonely and restless she closed the door, and sat down in
the deserted waiting-room, glad of the companionship of a
tortoise-shell cat which was curled up on a chair next her own.

Gradually the storm approached, and she thought that an hour had
elapsed, when the dust-tainted smell of rain came with the rush of cold
air. There was no steady gale, but the tempest broke in frantic
spasmodic gusts, as though it had lost its reckoning, and
simultaneously assaulted all the points of the compass; while the
lightning glared almost continuously, and the roar of the thunder was
uninterrupted. Now and then a vivid zig-zag flash gored the intense
darkness with its baleful blue death-light, followed by a crash,
appalling as if the battlements of heaven had been shattered. Once the
whole air seemed ablaze, and the simultaneous shock of the detonation
was so violent, that Beryl involuntarily sank on her knees, and hid her
eyes on a chair. The rain fell in torrents, that added a solemn sullen
swell to the diapason of the thunder fugue, and by degrees a delicious
coolness crept into the cisterns of the night.

When the cloud had wept away its fury, and electric fires burned low in
the far west, a gentle shower droned on the roof, and lulled by its
cadence Beryl fell asleep, still kneeling on the floor, with her head
resting on the chair where the cat lay coiled.

In dreams, she wandered with her father and brother upon a Tuscan
hillside draped with purple fruited grape vines, and Bertie was
crushing a luscious cluster against her thirsty lips, when some noise
startled her. Wide awake, she sprang to her feet, and listened.

"There ain't no train till daylight, 'cepting it be the through
freight."

"When is that due?"

"Pretty soon; it's mighty nigh time now, but it don't stop here; it
goes on to the water tank, whar it blows for the railroad bridge."

"How far is the bridge?"

"Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the tank."

Beryl had rushed to the window, and looked out, but no one was visible.
She could scarcely mistake that peculiar voice, and was so assured of
its identity, that she ran out under the awning and looked up and down
the platform in front of the station buildings. The rain had ceased,
but drops still pattered from the tin roof, and a few stars peeped over
the ragged ravelled edge of slowly drifting clouds. By the light of a
gas lamp, she saw an old negro man limping away, who held a stick over
his shoulder, on which was slung a bundle wrapped in a red
handkerchief; and while she stood watching, he vanished in some cul de
sac. With her basket in her hand, and her shawl on her arm, she sped
down the track, looking to right and left.

"Bertie! Bertie!"

Once she fancied she discerned a form flying ahead of her, leaping from
cross tie to cross tie to avoid the water, but when she called
vehemently, only the sound of her own voice broke the silence.

Was it merely an illusion born of her vivid dream of her brother; and
while scarcely awake, had she confounded the tones of a stranger, with
those so long familiar? She could not shake off the conviction that
Bertie had really spoken only a few yards from her, and while she stood
irresolute, puzzling over the problem, the through freight train dashed
by the station and left a trail of sparks and cinders. To avoid it she
sprang on a pile of cross ties beside the track, and when the fiery
serpent wound out of sight, she reluctantly retraced her steps. How
long the night seemed! Would day never dawn again? She heard the
telegraph operator whistling at his work, and as she re-entered the
waiting-room, she saw the ticket agent standing in his office.

"What time is it?"

"Half-past two o'clock. I might as well have locked up as usual, for
after all, you did not stay here."

"Yes I did."

He eyed her suspiciously.

"I came back from supper, and brought a pitcher of cold tea, thinking
you might relish it, but you were not here. I waited nearly an hour;
then I went home."

"It was so hot, I walked about outside. What a frightful storm."

"Yes, perfectly awful. Were you exposed to the worst of it?"

"No, I was here."

He shook his head, smiled, and went into the next room, knowing that
when he returned to unlock his office she was not in the building, and
that he had seen her coming up the railway track. The bustle of
preparation soon began; the baggage wagons thundered up to the
platform, porters called to one another; passengers collected in the
waiting-room, carriages and omnibuses dashed about; then at 2:50 the
long train of north bound cars swept in. With her shawl and basket in
one hand, and the odorous bunches of chrysanthemums clasped in the
other, Beryl stepped upon the platform. She found a seat at an open
window, and made herself comfortable; placing her feet upon the basket
which contained the jewels that constituted her sole earthly fortune.
The bell rang, the train glided on, and as it passed the office door,
she saw the agent watching her, with a strangely suspicious expression.

The cars wound around a curve, and she sank back and shut her eyes,
rejoicing in the belief that her mission to "Elm Bluff," and its keen
humiliation, were forever ended.




CHAPTER IV.


"I concede that point. Your lover is amply endowed with brains, and
moreover has a vast amount of shrewdness, all that is requisite to
secure success and eminence in his profession; but to-day, it seems as
much a matter of astonishment to me--as it certainly was six months
ago, when first you told me of your engagement--that you, Leo Gordon,
could ever fancy just such a man as Lennox Dunbar."

"I am very sorry, Aunt Patty, that he finds no favor in your eyes, and
I think he is aware of the fact that he is not in your good graces. You
both look so vaguely uncomfortable when thrown into each other's
presence; but for my sake you must try to like Lennox."

Miss Gordon bent her pretty head over a square of ruby velvet, whereon
she was embroidering a wreath of pansies, and the delicate flush on her
fair face, deepened to a vivid carnation.

"My likes or dislikes are a matter of moonshine, in comparison with
your happiness. Because you are an orphan, I feel a sort of
responsibility; and sometimes I am not exactly easy over the account of
my stewardship I must render to my poor dead Marcia. The more I see of
your lover, the more I dread your marriage. A man who makes no
profession of religious belief, is an unsafe guardian of any woman's
peace of mind. You who have been reared almost in the shadow of the
altar, accustomed to hearing grace at your meals, to family prayers, to
strict observance of our ritual, will feel isolated indeed, when
transplanted to the home of a godless man, who rarely darkens the door
of the sanctuary. 'Be ye not unequally yoked together with
unbelievers.'"

Miss Patty Dent took off her spectacles, wiped them with the string of
her white muslin cap, and adjusting them firmly on her nose, plucked
nervously at the fluted lace ruffles around her wrists.

"Auntie, you are scarcely warranted in using such strong language.
Because a man refrains from the public avowal of faith, incident to
church membership, he is not necessarily godless; nor inevitably devoid
of true religious feeling. Mr. Dunbar has a strong, reticent nature,
habituated to repression of all evidences of emotion, but of the depth
and earnestness of his real feeling, I entertain no doubt."

"I fear your line and plummet will never sound his depth. You often
speak of his strength; but, Leo, hardness is not always strength; and
he is hard, hard. I never saw a man with a chin like his, who was not
tyrannical, and idolatrous of his own will. My dear, such men are as
uncomfortable to live in the same house with, as a smoky chimney, or a
woman with shattered nerves, or creaking doors, or draughty windows.
They are a sort of everlasting east wind that never veers, blowing
always to the one point, attainment of their own ends, mildewing all
else. Ugh!"

Miss Patty shivered, and her companion smiled.

"What a grewsome picture, Auntie dear! Fortunately human taste is as
diverse and catholic as the variety of human countenances. For example:
Clara Morse raves over Mr. Dunbar's 'clear-cut features, so immensely
classical'; and she pronounces his offending 'chin simply perfect! fit
for a Greek God!'"

"A very thin and gauzy partition divides Clara Morse's brains from
idiocy. In my day, all such feeble watery minds as hers were regarded
as semi-imbecile, pitied as intellectual cripples, and wisely kept in
the background of society; but, bless me! in this generation they skip
and prance to the very edge of the front, pose in indecent garments
without starch, or crinoline, or even the protection of pleats and
gathers; and insult good, sound, wholesome common sense with the
sickening affectations they are pleased to call 'aesthetics.' Don't
waste your time, and dilute your own mind by quoting the silly twaddle
of a poor girl who was turned loose too early on society, who falls on
her knees in ecstasies before a hideous broken-nose tea-pot from some
filthy hovel in Japan; and who would not dare to admire the loveliest
bit of Oiron pottery, or precious old Chelsea claret-colored china in
Kensington Museum, until she had turned it upside down, and hunted the
potter's mark with a microscope. I say Mr. Dunbar has a domineering and
tyrannical chin, and five years hence, if you do not agree with me, it
will be because 'Ephraim is joined to his idols'--clay feet and all."

"Then follow the Bible injunction to 'let him alone.' I see Lennox
through neither Clara's rosy lenses, nor your jaundiced glasses; and
these circular discussions are as fruitless as they are unpleasant. Let
us select some more agreeable topic. I gave you Leighton's letter. What
think you of his scheme?"

"That it is admirable, worthy of the brain that conceived it. What a
wonderful man he is, considering his age? Such a devout and fervent
spirit, and withal such a marvel of executive ability. Ah! happy the
woman who can command his wise guardianship, and renew her aspirations
after holiness, in his spiritual society. I honor, even more than I
love, Leighton Douglass."

"So do I, Aunt Patty. He is quite my ideal pastor, and when he marries,
I hope his wife will be worthy of him in every respect. Only a very
noble woman would suit my cousin."

A bright spot burned on Miss Dent's wrinkled cheek, and she knitted her
brows, and shook her head.

"He is so absorbed in his holy work that he has no leisure for such
trifles as love-making; but if he should ever honor a woman by the
offer of his consecrated hand, it must be one of large fortune, who
will dedicate herself and her money to the accomplishment of his
ecclesiastical schemes."

The corners of Miss Gordon's mouth twitched mutinously, but she
contrived to throw much innocent surprise and questioning into the
handsome brown eyes, which she lifted from her gold-hearted pansies, to
her Aunt's face.

"Could you possibly associate mercenary motives with any step which he
might take? Such a supposition would be totally incompatible with my
estimate of his character."

"When a man dedicates himself to a solemn mission, he is lifted far
above the ordinary plane, can dispense with sentimental
conventionalities, and must learn to regard all human relations as
merely means to an end. Want of money has palsied many an arm lifted to
advance the good of the Church; and zeal without funds, accomplishes as
little as rusty machinery stiff from lack of oil. If Dr. Douglass could
only control even a hundred thousand dollars, what shining monuments he
would leave to immortalize him! Indeed, it passes my comprehension how
persons who could so easily help him, deliberately turn a deaf ear to
the 'cry from Macedonia'."

"There is far more eclat in trips to Macedonia, but the God of
recompense does not forget the steady, tireless help and sympathy
extended to the needy, who dwell within sight of our own doors.
Organized society work is good, but individual self-sacrifice and labor
are much better; and if every unit did full duty, co-operative systems
would not be so necessary; still, Leighton's scheme commends itself to
every woman's heart, and when I answered his letter, I expressed
cordially my approbation."

"Did you prove your faith by your works, and send him a large check?"

"Auntie, dear, do you expect me to stultify all your training, both
your example and precept--for lo! these many years--by setting my left
hand to gossip about my right? I am very sure."

"Well, Andrew, what is it?"

"A boy from Mr. Dunbar's office has just galloped up, and says I am to
tell you he can't ride to the Falls to-day, as he expected, because of
some pressing business; and he wants to know if the Judge will come
into town right away? Mr. Dunbar will explain when he comes late this
evening."

"Very well. Tell Daniel I shall not want 'Rebel' saddled; and say to
the messenger that my Uncle is not at home. Aunt Patty, do you know
where he has gone?"

"Doubtless to his office; where else should he be? He said he had a
pile of tiresome papers to examine to-day."

Miss Gordon folded up her work, laid it away in a dainty basket lined
with blue satin and flounced with lace; and after pausing a moment to
pet her Aunt's white Maltese cat which lay dozing In the sunshine,
walked away toward a Small hot-house, built quite near the dining-room,
and  connected with it by an arcade, covered in summer by vines, in
winter by glass.

Twenty-four years before that day, when a proud, fond young mother
puffed and tucked the marvel of lace and linen cambric, which was
intended as a christening robe for her baby, and laid it away with
spicery of rose leaves and sachet of lavender and deer tongue, to wait
until a "furlough" allowed the child's father to be present at the
baptism, she had supposed that its delicate folds would one day adorn a
dimpled rosy-faced infant, for whom the name Aurelia Gordon had long
been selected. Fate cruelly vetoed all the details of the programme,
carefully arranged by maternal affection; and the lurid sun that set in
clouds of smoke on one of the most desperate battles of the
Confederacy, saw Colonel Gordon's brave, patriotic soul released on
that long "furlough" which glory granted her heroes; saw his devoted
wife a wailing widow. The red burial of battle had precluded the
solemnization of baptismal rites at the sacred marble font; and when
four days after Colonel Gordon's death, his frail young wife welcomed
the summons to an everlasting re-union, she laid her cold hands on her
baby's golden head, and died, as she whispered:

"Name her Leo, for her father."

So it came to pass, that the clergyman who read the burial service
beside the mother's coffin, lifted the cooing infant in the midst of a
weeping funeral throng, and with a faltering voice baptized her, in the
presence of the dead, Leo Gordon.

To the care of her sister Patty, and of her widowed brother, Judge
Dent, Mrs. Gordon had consigned her child; and transplanted so early to
her uncle's house, the orphan knew no other home.

When the problem of vast numerical preponderance had solved itself in
accordance with the rules of avoirdupois, and history--fond like all
garrulous old crones of repeating even her inglorious episodes--had
triumphantly inscribed on her bloody tablets, that once more the Few
were throttled and trampled by the Many, then the fabled "Ragnarok" of
the Sagas described only approximately the doom of the devastated
South. In the financial and social chaos that followed the invasion by
"loyal" hordes, rushing under "sealed orders" on the mission of
"Reconstruction," and eminently successful in "reconstructing" their
individual fortunes, an anomaly presented itself for the consideration
of political economists. The wealthy classes of ante bellum days were
the most destitute paupers that the newly-risen Union sun shone upon.

The French Revolution and its subsequent eruptions of Communism failed
to destroy the value of land; and the emancipation of Russian serfs may
have stimulated agricultural activity, but that political and social
Communism which the Pandora of "reconstruction" let loose throughout
the conquered States of the South, accomplished all that the victors
could have desired.

Abandoned by the laborers God had fitted to endure toil under climatic
conditions peculiar to the soil, vast silent fields of weeds stared
blankly, and the richer a man found himself in ancestral acres, the
more hopelessly was he manacled by taxes. "Reconstructionists" most
thoroughly inoculated with "Loyal" rabies, held in lofty disdain the
claims of widows and orphans, and the right of minors was as dead as
that of secession. In the general maelstrom, Colonel Gordon's large
estate went to pieces; but after a time, Judge Dent took lessons from
his new political masters in the science of wrecking, and by degrees,
as fragments and shreds stranded, he collected and secreted them.
Certain mining interests were protected, and some valuable plantations
in distant sugar belts, were secured. As guardian of his sister's
daughter, he changed, or renewed investments in stocks which rapidly
increased in value, until an unusually large fortune had accumulated:
and verifying figures justified his boast, that his niece and ward was
the wealthiest heiress in the State.

Reared in a household which consisted of an elderly uncle and aunt, and
a middle-aged governess, Leo Gordon had never known intimate
association with younger people; and while her nature was gentle and
tranquil, she gradually imbibed the grave and rather prim ideas which
were in vogue when Miss Patty was the reigning belle of her county.
Although petted and indulged, she had not been spoiled, and remained
singularly free from the selfishness usually developed in the character
of an only child, nurtured in the midst of mature relatives. When
eighteen years old, Leo, accompanied by her governess, Mrs. Eldridge,
had been sent to New York and Boston for educational advantages, which
it was supposed that her own section of the country could not supply;
and subsequently the two went abroad, gleaning knowledge in the great
centres of European Art. During their sojourn in Munich, Mrs. Eldridge
died after a very brief illness; and returning to her southern home,
Leo found herself the object of social homage.

Thoroughly well-bred, accomplished, graceful and pretty, she commanded
universal admiration; yet her manner was marked by a quiet, grave
dignity, and a peculiar reticence, at variance with the prevailing type
of young ladyhood, now alas! too dominant; whose premature emancipation
from home rule, and old-fashioned canons of decorum renders "American
girlhood" synonymous with flippant pertness. Moulded by two women who
were imbued with the spirit of Richter's admonition: "Girls like the
priestesses of old, should be educated only in sacred places, and never
hear, much less see, what is rude, immoral or violent"; the pate tendre
of Leo's character showed unmistakably the potter's marks.

She shrewdly surmised that the knowledge of her unusual wealth
contributed to swell the number of her suitors, and she was twenty-four
years old when Lennox Dunbar, for whom she had long secretly cherished
a partiality, succeeded in placing his ring on her fair, slender hand.
In character they differed widely, and the deep and tender love that
filled her heart, found only a faint echo in his cold and more selfish
nature, which had carefully calculated all the advantages derivable
from this alliance.

He cordially admired and esteemed his brown-eyed fair-haired fiancee,
considered her the personification of feminine refinement and delicacy;
and congratulated himself warmly on his great good fortune in winning
her affection; but tender emotions found little scope for exercise in
his intensely practical, busy life, which was devoted to the attainment
of eminence in his profession; and the merely dynamic apparatus which
did duty as his heart, had never been disturbed by any feeling
sufficiently deep to quicken his calm, steady pulse.

There were times, when Leo wondered whether all accepted lovers were as
undemonstrative as her own, and she would have been happier had he
occasionally forgotten professional aspirations, in the charm of her
presence; but her confidence in the purity and fidelity of his
affection was unshaken, even by the dismal predictions of Miss Patty,
who found it impossible to reconcile herself to the failure of her
darling scheme, that Leo should marry her second cousin, Leighton
Douglass, D.D., and devote her fortune to the advancement of his church.

To-day, as she sought pleasant work in arranging the ferns and
carnations of her conservatory, her thoughts reverted to the previous
evening, which Mr. Dunbar had spent with her; and she could not avoid
indulging regret, that he should have allowed business affairs to
interfere with their engagement for horseback riding, but her reverie
was speedily interrupted by the excited tones of her aunt's voice.

"Leo! Leo! Where do you hide yourself?"

"Here, Auntie, in the conservatory."

"Oh! my child, such dreadful news! Such a frightful tragedy!"

Pale and panting, Miss Patty ran down the arcade, and stumbled over a
barricade of potted plants on the threshold of the door.

"What is the matter? Is it my Uncle, or--or Lennox?"

Leo sprang to her feet, and caught her aunt's arm.

"Horrible! horrible! General Darrington was robbed, and then most
brutally murdered last night!"

"Murdered! Can it be possible? Murdered--by whom?"

"How should I know? The whole town is wild about it. My brother is at
Elm Bluff, with the body, and I shall take the carriage and drive over
there at once. Dear me; I am so nervous I can't stand still, and my
teeth chatter like a pair of castanets."

"Perhaps there may be some mistake. How did you hear it?"

"Your Uncle Mitchell sent a boy to tell me why he was detained. There
has been a coroner's inquest, and of course, as an old and intimate
friend of General Darrington's, Mitchell feels he must do all he can.
Poor old gentleman! So proud and aristocratic! To be murdered in his
own house, like any common pauper! Positively it makes me sick. May the
Lord have mercy on his soul."

"Amen!" murmured Leo.

"Will you go with me to Elm Bluff?"

"Oh, no! Not for worlds. Why should I? Women will only be in the way;
and who could desire to contemplate so horrible a spectacle? It will
merely harrow your feelings, Aunt Patty, and you can do no good."

"It is my Christian duty as a neighbor; and I was always very fond of
the first Mrs. Darrington, Helena Tracey. What is this wicked world
coming to? Robbery and murder stalking bare-faced through the land. It
will be a dreadful blow to Mitchell, because he and Luke Darrington
have been intimate all their lives. I see the carriage coming round, so
I must get my bonnet and wrap."

"I presume Mr. Dunbar is engaged in the same melancholy details which
occupy my uncle."

"Doubtless he is, because his father was General Darrington's attorney
until his health failed; and Lennox is now his lawyer and business
agent. It is a thousand pities that Prince is away in Europe."

Two hours after the carriage had disappeared on the road leading to Elm
Bluff, Leo crossed the grassy lawn, and sat down near the gate, on a
rustic bench under a cluster of tall lilacs, which gave their name to
her uncle's home.

A keen north wind whistling through neighboring walnut tree tops, drove
the dying leaves like frightened flocks before it, and ever and anon
the ripened nuts pattered down, hiding themselves under the drift of
yellow foliage, that had sheltered them in cool greenery during summer
heats. Overhead a red squirrel barked and frisked, and across the
pale-blue sky, feathered nomads, teal or mallard, moved swiftly en
echelon, their quivering pinions flashing like silver, as they fled
southward. On a distant hillside cattle browsed, and sheep wandered;
and the drowsy tinkle of bells, as the herd wended homeward, seemed a
nocturne of rest, for the closing day.

How serene, harmonious and holy all nature appeared; and yet a few
miles distant, into what a fierce seething whirlpool of conflicting
passions, of hatred and bloodthirsty vengeance, had human crime plunged
an entire community. We plume ourselves upon nineteenth century
civilization, upon ethical advancement, upon Christian progress; we
adorn our cathedrals, build temples for art treasures, and museums for
science, and listen to preludes of the "music of the future;" and we
shudder at the mention of vice, as at the remembrance of the tortures
of Regulus, but will the Cain type ever become extinct, like the dodo,
or the ichthyosaurus? When will the laws of heredity, and the by-laws
of agnation result in an altruism, where human bloodshed is an unknown
horror?

The apostles of Evolution tell us, that in the genealogical ages during
which man has struggled upward, from the lower stages of vertebrate and
mammal to the genus of catarrhine apes, he has gradually thrown off
bestial instincts, and that the tiger taint will ultimately be totally
eliminated; that "original sin is neither more nor less than the brute
inheritance which every man carries with him, and that Evolution is an
advance toward true salvation." Meanwhile what becomes of the "Survival
of the Fittest", which is only a euphemism for the strangling of the
feeble by the strong? We can understand how perfection, or permanence
of type, individual and national, demands carnage, and entails all the
dire catalogue of human woes, but wherein is altruism evolved? How many
aeons shall we wait, to behold the leopard and the lamb pasturing
together in peace?

Pondering this problem, as he rode along the public road outside the
boundary of Judge Dent's lawn, Mr. Dunbar caught a glimpse of his
betrothed, sitting behind the hedge of lilacs, and he lifted his hat,
hoping that she would meet him at the entrance; but although she bowed
in recognition, he was forced to open the gate and admit himself.
Throwing the bridle rein over one of the iron spikes of the fence, and
taking off his gloves, he approached the bench.

"Dare I flatter myself, that my queen deigns to meet me half way?"

He took her outstretched hand, and kissed it softly, while his glance
noted every detail of her handsome fawn-colored dress, with its jabot
of creamy lace, and the cluster of crimson carnations in her belt. The
touch of his lips on her fingers, deepened the flush in her cheeks,
and, making room for him beside her, she replied:

"Sit down, and tell me if this dreadful news about General Darrington
be indeed true? I have hoped there might be some mistake, some
exaggeration."

"Some horrors exceed the possibility of verbal exaggeration, and last
night's tragedy is one of that class. General Darrington was most
brutally murdered."

"Poor old gentleman! How incredible it seems that such awful crimes can
be committed in our quiet neighborhood? who could have been so guilty;
and what motive could have prompted such a fiendish act?"

"The one all-powerful evil passion of mankind--greed of gold; lust of
filthy lucre. He was first robbed, then murdered by the thief, to avoid
detection and punishment. There is unmistakable evidence that the
General was chloroformed while asleep; but he must have awakened in
time to discover the robber, with whom he struggled desperately, and by
whom he was struck down. The coroner's inquest developed some startling
facts."

"Has any clue been discovered which would indicate the murderer?"

"A handful of clues."

"Then you have a theory concerning the person who perpetrated this
awful crime?"

"My dear Leo, not a theory, but a conviction; I might almost say an
absolute knowledge."

"Would it be pardonable for me to ask whom you suspect; would it be a
violation of professional etiquette for you to tell me?"

"Certainly, my dearest, you can ask me anything, only--" he paused a
moment; and she put her hand quickly on his arm.

"I see. Do not tell me mere suspicions; they might cruelly wrong an
innocent person; and I ought not to have asked the question."

"My hesitation arose from a totally different source, and I was merely
wondering whether you, my sweet saint, could believe that a woman
committed the bloody deed."

"Oh, Mr. Dunbar, impossible! A woman guilty of taking that old man's
life? The supposition is as horrible as the crime itself."

Passing his hand lightly over her crimped fair hair, and looking down
into her eyes, as brown as the back of a thrush, her lover replied:

"I find that the nobler and purer a woman's heart is, the less she
credits the existence of vice and the possibility of crime among her
own sex. You doubtless consider the Brinvilliers, Fredegonds, Fulvias
and Faustinas, quite as fabulous as Centaurs, Sirens and Were-wolves;
and I feel as reluctant to shake your fair faith in womanhood, as to
dash the dew from a rose-bud, or rudely brush the bloom a cluster of
tempting grapes; but the grim truth must be told, that our old friend
was robbed and murdered by a woman."

"One of his servants? They all seemed devotedly attached to him."

"No, by his granddaughter, a young and very beautiful woman; Beryl
Brentano, the child of General Darrington's daughter Ellice, whom he
had disowned on account of her wretched marriage with a foreigner, who
taught her music and the languages. Of course you have heard from your
aunt and uncle all the details of that family episode. Yesterday this
girl Beryl suddenly presented herself at Elm Bluff, and demanded money
from her grandfather; alleging that her mother's life was in danger for
want of it. I learn there was a stormy interview, part of the
conversation having been overheard by two persons; and the General, who
was as vindictive as a Modoc, or a Cossack, drove the young lady
through a door leading down to the rosery. This occurred in the
afternoon, immediately after I left Elm Bluff, where I went to obtain
his signature to a deed to some lands recently sold in Texas. I saw the
girl sitting on the front steps, and when she rose and looked at me,
her superb physique impressed me powerfully. She is as beautiful and
stately as some goddess stepping out of the Norse 'Edda', and
altogether a remarkable looking person. It will appear in evidence,
that the General harshly refused her pleadings, and made a point of
assuring her that his will, already prepared, would forever debar her
mother and herself from any inheritance at his death; as he had
bequeathed his entire estate to his adopted son Prince. Unfortunately,
she learned where the will was kept, as during the interview, persons
in the next room distinctly heard the peculiar noise made by the
sliding door of the iron vault, where General Darrington kept all his
valuable papers. She disappeared from Elm Bluff about sunset, going
toward town; and last night at ten o'clock, when I left you and rode
home, I saw her lurking in the pine woods not very far from the bridge
over the branch, near the park gate. She was evidently hiding, as she
sat on the ground half screened by a tree; but my horse shied and
plunged badly, and when she rose, the full moon showed her face and
figure distinctly. There was something so mysterious in her movements,
that I asked her if she had lost her way; to which she curtly replied
that she had not. I learn from Burk, the station agent, that her
actions aroused his suspicion, and that instead of leaving town, as she
said she intended, by the 7:15 train, she hung about the station, and
finally took the 3:05 express this morning. He said she had begged
permission to stay in the waiting-room, but that at 2:30 A.M., when he
went back to open the ticket office, she was nowhere to be found; and
that later, he saw her coming down the railroad track. She must have
gone back to Elm Bluff after I passed her on the road, and effected an
entrance through the window on the front piazza, as it was found open;
and the awful work of robbery and murder was accomplished during the
storm, which you know was so frightful that it drowned all minor
sounds. This morning when the General did not ring for his hot water at
the usual time, it was supposed that he was sleeping late, but finally
old Bedney knocked. Unable to arouse his master, he opened the door,
and found our old friend lying on the floor, near the fireplace. He had
been dead for hours, and close to his head was a heavy brass andiron,
which evidently had been snatched from the hearth by the murderess, who
must have dealt the fatal blow with it, as there was a dark spot on his
temple, and also on the left side near the heart. The room was in
disorder, and two glass vases on the mantel were shivered, as though
some missile had struck them--probably a heavy ledger which was found
on the floor."

"How horrible! But no woman could have overpowered a man like General
Darrington."

"Physically, his granddaughter was more than a match for him,
especially since his last illness; and I assure you she looks like some
daughter of the Vikings. She certainly is a woman of grand proportions,
and wonderfully symmetrical."

"What is her age?"

"About eighteen, I should think; though her size and a certain majestic
bearing might convey the impression that she was older."

"How can you connect so dreadful a crime with a young and beautiful
woman, of whom you know absolutely nothing?"

"My theory is, that she intended merely to get possession of the will,
the contents of which had been made known to her--and of the money,
that she knew or surmised was kept in the vault. When the effect of the
chloroform wore off, and the General waked to find her at the vault; a
struggle evidently took place, and in desperation at the thought of
being detected, she killed him. You do not understand all the bearings
of even slight circumstances in a case like this, but we who make a
study of such sad matters, know the significance of the disappearance
of the will; the destruction of which could benefit only her mother and
herself. The vault was open; the gold, silver, some valuable jewelry,
and the will are missing from the tin box. All the other papers were
left, even a package of bonds, amounting to thousands of dollars. She
seemed to know that the bonds might lead to detection, hence she did
not take them. On the floor, and in the bottom of the tin box were
found two twenty-dollar gold pieces. We are collecting all the
evidence, and it constitutes a powerful array of proof."

"We? Do you mean that you are hunting down a woman?"

Miss Gordon withdrew her hand from her lover's, and instinctively moved
farther from him.

"I am most diligently hunting down the author of a foul and awful
crime; and it is my duty to my friend and client to use every possible
exertion, in discovering and bringing to punishment the person who
robbed and murdered him--be it man, woman or child. Feminine youth and
beauty are no aegis against the barbed javelins of justice and the
District Solicitor (Mr. Churchill) and I, have no doubt of the guilt of
the woman, who will soon be put on trial here for her monstrous and
unnatural crime."




CHAPTER V.


In a deep, narrow "railway cut," through Virginia hills, a south-bound
freight train had been so badly wrecked in consequence of a "washout,"
that the southern passenger express going north was detained fourteen
hours; thereby missing connection at Washington City, where the
passengers were again delayed nearly twelve hours. Tired and very
hungry, having eaten nothing but a sandwich and a cup of coffee for
three days, Beryl felt profoundly thankful when the cars rolled into
Jersey City. In the bustle and confusion incident to arrival in that
Babel, she did not observe the scrutiny to which she was subjected by a
man genteelly dressed, who gave her his hand as she stepped down from
the train, and kept by her side while she hastened in the direction of
the ferry.

Reaching the slip where the boat awaited passengers, she was vexed to
see it backing out into the stream, and leaned against the chain which
barred egress until the next trip.

"You have only five minutes to wait for the boat. You seem to have had
a long and trying journey, madam?"

Glancing at him for the first time, Beryl perceived that he held a slip
of yellow paper from which he looked now and then to her face. His
features were coarse and heavy, but his eyes were keen as a ferret's;
and without answering his question, she turned away and looked across
the water which teemed with craft of every description, laden with
freight animate and inanimate, passing to and from the vast city, whose
spires, domes and forest of masts rose like a gray cloud against the
sky, etching there their leaden outlines.

"You live at No.--West--Street, between 8th and 9th Avenue?"

"You are a stranger, and your questions are offensive and impertinent."

As she turned and confronted him haughtily, he stepped closer to her,
threw back his blue overcoat, and pointed to the metal badge on his
breast.

"I am an officer of the law, and have a warrant for your arrest. You
are Beryl Brentano."

"I am Beryl Brentano, yes; but there is some blunder, some mistake. How
dare you annoy me? Arrest me? Me!"

"Do not make a scene. My instructions are to deal with you as gently as
possible. Better come quietly into the station near, and I will read
you the warrant, otherwise I shall be obliged to use force. You see I
have two assistants yonder."

"Arrested for what? By whom?"

"I am ordered to arrest you for the murder of General Darrington."

"Murder! General Darrington is alive and well. I have just left him.
Stand back! Do not touch me. I will call on the police to protect me."

Laying his fingers firmly on her arm, he beckoned to two men clad in
police uniform, who promptly approached.

"You see resistance is worse than useless, and since there is no
escape, come quietly."

"You are insulting me, under some frightful mistake. I am a lady. Do I
look like a criminal?"

"General Darrington has been robbed and murdered, and I have
telegraphic orders to arrest and hold a woman named Beryl Brentano, who
corresponds in every respect with the description of the person
suspected of having committed the crime."

Hitherto she had attributed the insult of the interview to some
question of mistaken identity, but as she slowly comprehended the
possibility that she was the person accused, and intended for arrest, a
sickening horror seized and almost paralyzed her, blanching her face
and turning her to stone. As he led her along the street, she staggered
from the numbness that possessed her, and her eyes stared blankly, like
those of a somnambulist. When she had been ushered into a room where
several policemen were lounging and smoking, the intolerable sense of
shame and indignation shook off her apathy.

"This is a cruel and outrageous wrong, and only base cowards could
wantonly insult an unprotected and innocent woman. You call yourselves
men? Have you no mothers, no sisters, whose memory can arouse some
reverence, some respect for womanhood in your brutal souls?"

Electric lamps set in the sockets of some marble face, might perhaps
resemble the blaze that leaped up in her eyes, as she wrenched her arm
from the officer's profaning touch, and her voice rang like the clash
of steel.

"Madam, we are allowed no discretion; we are only the blind and deaf
machines that obey orders. Read the warrant, and you will understand
that our duty is imperative."

Again and again she read the paper, in which the sheriff of the county
where Elm Bluff is situated, demanded her arrest and return to X---, on
the charge of robbery and murder committed during the night which she
had spent at the station. Then several telegrams were placed before
her. The description of herself, her dress, even of the little basket
and shawl, was minutely accurate; and by degrees the horror of her
situation, and her utter helplessness, became frightfully distinct. The
papers fell from her nerveless fingers, and one desperate cry broke
from her white lips:

"O just God! Will you permit such a shameful, cruel outrage? Save me
from this horrible injustice and disgrace!"

Seeing neither the men, nor the room, her strained gaze seemed in her
great agony fixed upon the face of Him, who, silvering the lilies of
the field and watching the flight of sparrows, has tender care for all
who trust Him. Even in this terrible trial, the girl's first thought
was of her mother; and of the disastrous effect that the misfortune
would produce upon the invalid.

"I am sorry to tell you, that we are required to search all persons
arrested under similar charges, and in the next room a female detective
will receive and retain every thing in your possession, except your
clothing. You are suspected of having secreted money, jewelry and some
very valuable papers."

"Suspected of being a common thief! I am as innocent as any angel
beside the throne of Christ! Save me at least from the degradation of
being searched. Here is my basket, and here is my purse."

She handed him the worn leather pocket-book, which contained only the
few pennies reserved to pay her passage across the ferry, and turned
the pocket of her dress inside cut.

At the tap of a hand-bell, a tall, angular woman opened the door of an
adjoining room.

"Mrs. Foster, you will very carefully examine the prisoner, and search
her clothing for papers, as well as valuables."

"Spare me at least this indignity!" cried the shuddering girl.

"Come with me, madam. We have no choice."

When the door closed behind her, the constable walked up and down the
floor.

"How deceitful appearances are! That woman looks as pure and innocent
as an angel, and I half believed her protestations; but here in the
basket, sure enough, hidden at the bottom, are the jewelry and the
gold. No sign of the papers, but she may have destroyed them.

"Thief or not, she is a grand beauty; and if her heart was not in that
prayer she put up just now, she is a grand actress also. This is a
beastly trade of ours, hunting down and trapping the unwary. Sometimes
I feel no better than a sleuth-hound, and that girl's eyes went through
and through me a while ago like a two-edged dirk."

As he vented his views of his profession, one of the policemen lighted
his pipe and puffed vigorously.

Mrs. Foster came back, followed by her victim.

"I find absolutely nothing secreted on the prisoner."

"No papers of any description?"

"None, sir."

"Madam, your basket contains the missing jewelry and money, at least a
portion of it, and I shall place it in the hands of the sheriff."

"The money and jewels are not mine. They belong to my mother, to whom
they were given by her father; and she needs the money at this moment--"

"Let me advise you to say as little as possible for your own sake;
because your words will be weighed against you."

"I speak only the truth, and it will, it must, vindicate me. What
papers are you searching for?"

"General Darrington's will. It was stolen with the money. Here is
yesterday's paper, with an account of the whole affair, telegraphed
from X----. If you need to learn anything, you will understand when you
read it."

The sight of the capital letters in the Telegraphic Despatches,
coupling her name with a heinous and revolting crime, seemed to stab
her eyes with red-hot thrusts; and shivering from head to foot, she
slowly realized the suspicious significance of the disappearance of the
will, which was the sole obstacle that debarred her from her
grandfather's wealth. Although sustained by an unfaltering trust in the
omnipotence of innocence, she was tormented by a dread spectre that
would not "down" at her bidding; how could she prove that the money and
jewels had been given to her? Would the shock of the tidings of her
arrest kill her mother? Was there any possible way by which she might
be kept in ignorance of this foul disgrace?

Beryl hid her face in her hands, and tried to think, but the whole
universe appeared spinning into chaos. She had opposed the trip South
so steadily and vehemently: had so sorrowfully and reluctantly yielded
at last to maternal solicitation, and had been oppressed with such dire
forebodings of some resultant evil. So bitter was her repugnance to the
application to her grandfather, that she had set out on her journey
feeling as though it were a challenge to fate; and this was the answer?
The vague distrust, the subtle sombre presentiment, the haunting shadow
of an inexplicable ill, had all meant this; this bloody horror,
dragging her fair name down to the loathsome mire of the slums of
crime. Had some merciful angel leaned from the parapets of heaven and
warned her; or did her father's spirit, in mysterious communion of
deathless love and prescient guardianship, stir her soul to oppose her
mother's scheme? Sceptical and heedless Tarquins are we all, whom our
patient Sibylline intuitions finally abandon to the woes which they
sought to avert.

In the maddening rush and whirl of Beryl's reflections, her mother's
image was the one centre around which all things circled; and at
length, rallying her energies, she turned to her captor.

"You intend to take me to prison?"

"I am obliged to detain and deliver you to the officer who has come
from X---with the warrant, and who will carry you back there for trial.
He knew from the detentions along the route, that he could easily
overhaul you here, so he went straight to Trenton with a requisition
from the Governor of his State upon Governor Mansfield, for your
surrender. It is but a short run to the Capital, and he expects to get
here in time to catch the train going South to-day. We had a telegram a
while ago, saying the papers were all right, and that he would meet us
at the train, as there will be only a few moments to spare."

"But I must first see my mother. I must give her the money and
explain--"

"The money will be claimed by the officer who takes charge of you."

"Have you no mercy? My mother is ill, destitute; and she will die
unless I can go to her. Oh! I beg of you, for the sake of common
humanity, carry me home, if only for five minutes! Just let me see
mother, let me speak to her!"

In the intensity of her dread, she fell upon her knees, and lifted her
hands imploringly; and the anguish in her white quivering face was so
piteous that the man turned his head away.

"I would oblige you if I could, but it is impossible. The law is cruel,
as you say, but it is intended as a terror to evil-doers. Things look
awfully black for you, but all the same I am sorry for you, if your
mother is to suffer for your deeds. If you wish to write to her, I will
see that she receives your note; but you have very little time left."

"O God! how hard! What a foul, horrible wrong inflicted upon the
innocent!"

She cowered on the floor, unconscious that she still knelt; seeing only
the suffering woman in that dreary attic across the river, where sunken
feverish eyes watched for her return.

Accidentally Beryl's gaze fell on the bunch of faded chrysanthemums
which had dropped unnoticed on the floor, and snatching them she buried
her face in their petals. Their perfume was the potent spell that now
melted her to tears, and the tension of her overtaxed nerves gave way
in a passionate burst of sobs. When she rose a few moments later, the
storm had passed; the face regained its stony rigidity, and henceforth
she fronted fate with an unnatural calmness.

"Will you give me some paper and a pen?"

"You can write here at the desk."

Mrs. Foster approached her, and said hesitatingly:

"Would it comfort you at all, for me to go and see your mother and
explain why you could not return to her? I am very sorry for you, poor
thing."

"Thank you, but--you could not explain, and the sight of a stranger
would startle her. In one way you can help me; do you know Dr. Grantlin
of New York?"

"Only by reputation; but I can find him."

"Will you deliver into his hand the note I am writing?"

"I certainly will."

"How soon?"

"Before nine o'clock to-night."

"Thank you--a thousand times."

After a while she folded a sheet containing these words:

"DEAR DR. GRANTLIN:

"In the extremity of my distress, I appeal to you as a Christian
gentleman, as a true physician, a healer of the suffering, and under
God, the guardian of my mother's life. You know why I went to my
grandfather. He gave me the money, one hundred dollars, and some
valuable jewels. When in sight of home, I have been arrested on the
charge of having murdered my grandfather, and stolen his will. Need I
tell you that I am as innocent as you are? The thought of my mother is
the bitterest drop in my cup of shame and sorrow. You can judge best,
how much it may be expedient to tell her, and you can devise the
kindest method of breaking the truth, if she must know it. Have her
removed to the hospital, and do not postpone the operation. O Doctor!
be pitiful, be tender to her, and do not let her need any little
comforts. Some day I will pay you for all expenses incurred in her
behalf, but at present I have not a dollar, as the money has been
seized. I am sure you will not deny my prayer, and may God reward and
bless you, for your mercy to my precious mother.

"In grateful trust,

"BERYL BRENTANO.

"P.S.--If you approve, deliver the enclosed note."

On a separate sheet she wrote:

"MY DARLING MOTHER:

"Finding it necessary to return to X---, I have requested Dr. Grantlin
to take particularly good care of you for a few days. Your father will
never forgive, never receive you, but he kindly complied with your
request and gave me one hundred dollars. Try to be patient until I can
come and tell you everything, and believe that God will not forsake us.
With these hurried lines, I send you a few chrysanthemums--your
favorite flowers--which I gathered in the rose garden of your old home.
When you smell them, think of your little girl who loves you better
than her own life, and who will hasten home at the earliest possible
moment, to take you in her arms. Mother, pray for me, and may God be
very merciful to you, my dearest, and to--

"Your devoted child,

"BERYL."

She had bound the withered flowers together with a strip of fringe from
her shawl, and now, with dry eyes and firm white lips, she kissed them
twice, pinned the last note around them and laid the whole in Mrs.
Foster's hand.

"I trust you to deliver them in person to Dr. Grantlin before you sleep
to-night; and if I survive this awful outrage, perpetrated under the
name of law, I will find you some day, and thank you."

Looking at the lovely face, pure in its frozen calm, as some marble
lily in the fingers of a monumental effigy, Mrs. Foster felt the tears
dimming her own vision and said earnestly:

"Keep as silent as possible. The less you say, the safer you will be;
and run no risk of contradicting your own statements."

"I appreciate your motive, but I have nothing to conceal."

Beryl laid her hand on her shawl, then drew back.

"Am I allowed the use of my shawl?"

"Oh, certainly, madam."

The officer would have opened and put it around her, but with an
indescribable movement of proud repulsion, she shook it out, then
wrapped it closely about her, and sat down, keeping her eyes fixed on
the face of the clock ticking over the fireplace. After a long and
profound silence, the man who had arrested her, said gravely and gently:

"Time is up. I must deliver you to Officer Gibson at the train. Come
with me."

She rose, gave her hand to Mrs. Foster, and stooping suddenly touched
with her lips the withered flowers, then followed silently.

In subsequent years, when she attempted to recall consecutively the
incidents of the ensuing forty-eight hours, they eluded her, like the
flitting phantasmagoria that throng delirium; yet subtle links fastened
the details upon her brain, and sometimes most unexpectedly, that
psychic necromancer--association of ideas--selected some episode from
the sombre kaleidoscope of this dismal journey, and set it in lurid
light before her, as startling and unwelcome as the face of an enemy
long dead. Life and personality partook in some degree of duality; all
that she had been before she saw Elm Bluff, seemed a hopelessly
distinct existence, yet irrevocably chained to the mutilated and
blackened Afterward, like the grim and loathsome unions enforced by the
Noyades of Nantes.

The sun did not forget to shine, nor the moon to keep her appointment
with the throbbing stars that signalled all along her circuit. Men
whistled, children laughed; the train thundered through tunnels, and
flew across golden stubble fields, where grain shocks and hay stacks
crowded like tents of the God of plenty, in the Autumnal bivouac; and
throughout the long days and dreary lagging nights. Beryl was fully
conscious of a ceaseless surveillance, of an ever-present shadow, which
was tall and gaunt, wore a drab overcoat and slouched hat, and was
redolent of tobacco. As silent as two mummies in the crypts of Karnac
they sat side by side; and twice when the officer touched her arm and
asked if she would take some refreshments, she merely shook her head,
and tightened the folds of her veil; shrinking closer to the window
against which she leaned. Not until they approached X---, and she
recognized some features of the landscape, were her lips unsealed:

"What persons are responsible for my arrest?"

"Our District Solicitor, Mr. Churchill, and Mr. Dunbar, the lawyer, who
made the affidavit under which the warrant was issued. I am only a
deputy, acting under orders from the sheriff."

"You are taking me to prison?"

"Perhaps not; it depends on the result of the preliminary examination,
and you may be allowed bail."

A ray of hope silvered the shrouding gloom; there was a possibility of
escaping the stain of incarceration.

"When will the examination take place?"

"About noon to-day. You will have time to eat something and freshen up
a little. Here we are. What a crowd to welcome us! Don't stir. We will
just wait a while, and I will get you into a carriage as quietly as
possible."

He whispered some directions to the conductor of the train, and
standing in the aisle with his arm across the seat, screened her from
the gaze of a motley crew of men and boys who rushed in to stare at the
prisoner, whose arrival had been impatiently expected. On the railway
platform and about the station house surged a sea of human heads,
straining now in the direction of the first passenger coach; and when
in answer to some question, the conductor pointed to the sleeping car
which was at the rear of the train, the mass swayed down the track.

"Quick! Now is our time!"

The deputy sheriff hurried her out, almost lifted her from the steps,
and pushing her forward, turned a corner of the street, and handed her
into a carriage which awaited them.




CHAPTER VI.


To Beryl many hours seemed to have crept away, since she had been left
alone in a small dusty apartment, adjoining the office where the chief
magistrate of X---daily held court. Too restless to sit still, she
paced up and down the floor, trying to collect her thoughts, and at
last knelt by the side of a table, and laid her weight of dread and
peril before the Throne of the God she trusted. The Father of the
fatherless and Friend of the friendless, would surely protect her in
this hour of intolerable degradation.

"O, Thou that hearest prayer; unto Thee shall all flesh come."

The door opened, and a venerable, gray-haired man approached the table,
where her head was bent upon her crossed arms. When she lifted her
white face, with the violet circles under her dry eyes, making them
appear preternaturally large and luminous, and the beautiful mouth
contracted by a spasm of intense pain, a deep sigh of compassion passed
the stranger's lips.

"I am Mitchell Dent, an old friend of General Darrington's, and of your
mother, who has often sat upon my knee. Because of my affection for
your grandfather, I have asked permission to see you for a few moments.
If you are unjustly accused, I desire to befriend you, and offer you
some advice. I am told you assert your innocence of the great crime of
which you are suspected. I hope you can prove it; but for your own sake
I advise you to waive an examination, and await the action of the Grand
Jury, as you have had no opportunity of consulting counsel, or
preparing your defence."

"You knew my mother? Then you should require no other proof that her
child is not a criminal. I am innocent of every offence against General
Darrington, except that of being my father's daughter; and my
unjustifiable arrest is almost as foul a wrong as his murder."

She drew herself proudly to her full height, and as his eyes dwelt in
irrepressible admiration upon her, his manhood did homage to her grace
and dignity, and he took off his hat.

"I earnestly hope so; and the law holds every person innocent until her
guilt be fully proved and established."

"Of the significance of law terms I know nothing; and of the usages of
courts I am equally ignorant. If, as you suggest, I should waive an
examination, should I escape imprisonment?"

"No."

"Then I must be tried at once; because I want to hurry back to my
mother who is ill, and needs me."

"But you have no counsel as yet, and delay is your best policy."

"Delay might cost my mother's life. I have no money to pay a lawyer to
stand up and mystify matters, and my best policy is to defend myself,
by telling the simple truth."

Again Judge Dent sighed. Could guilt be masked by this fair semblance
of childlike guilelessness?

"Can you summon any witnesses to prove that you were not at Elm Bluff
on the night of the storm?"

"Yes, the ticket agent knows I was in the waiting-room during that
storm."

He shook his gray head.

"He will be one of the strongest witnesses against you."

"Then I have no witnesses except--God, and my conscience."

The door opened, and with his watch in his hand the deputy sheriff
entered.

"Sorry to shorten your interview, Judge, but you know we have a
martinet in yonder, a regular Turk, and he splits seconds into
fractions."

As Judge Dent withdrew, Beryl realized that her hour of woe had
arrived, and she began to pin her veil tightly over her face.

"Come along--You can't keep your veil on. Try to be as non-committal as
possible when they ask you crooked questions. Of course I want justice
done, and I hope I am a faithful servant of the law; but if you are as
innocent as a flock of ring-doves, the lawyers will try to confuse you."

He attempted to lead her, but she drew back.

"I will follow you; but please do not hold my arm; do not touch me."

A moment later, a door opened and closed, a glare of light showed her a
crowded room; a monotonous hum like the swell of the sea fell on her
ear; then stifled ejaculations, to which succeeded a sudden, deathlike
hush. The officer placed a chair for her in front of the platform where
the magistrate sat, and retired to the rear of the room. With some
difficulty Judge Dent made his way through the throng of spectators,
and seated himself beside Mr. Dunbar.

"Well, sir, how did the prisoner impress you?" asked the latter, as he
folded up a paper.

"Dunbar, you have made a mistake. I have spent the best of my life in
the study of criminals; and if that woman yonder is not innocent, I am
in my dotage."

"Pardon me, Judge, if I dispute both propositions. I made no mistake;
and you are merely, in the goodness of your heart, and the fervor of
your chivalry, dazzled momentarily by the glamour of extraordinary
beauty and touching youth."

When Beryl recovered in some degree from the shock of finding herself
actually on trial, she endeavored to collect her faculties; but the
violent palpitation of her heart was almost suffocating, and in her
ears the surging as of an ocean tide, drowned the accents of the
magistrate. At first the words were as meaningless as some Sanskrit
formula, but gradually her attention grasped and comprehended. In a
strident incisive voice he read from a paper on the desk before him:

"At an inquisition held at X---, T---county, on the twenty-seventh day
of October, before me, Jeremiah Bateman, Coroner of said county, on the
body of Robert Luke Darrington, there lying dead, by the jurors whose
names are hereto subscribed; the said jurors upon their oath do say
that Robert Luke Darrington came to his death on the night of Thursday,
October twenty-sixth, by a murderous assault committed upon him by
means of a heavy brass andiron. And from all the evidence brought
before them, the jury believe that the fatal blow was feloniously given
by the hand of his granddaughter, Beryl Brentano.

"In testimony whereof, the said jurors have hereunto set their hands,
this twenty-seventh day of October, A.D., 18--.

"Signed------

"Attest,

"JEREMIAH BATEMAN, Coroner."

"In consequence of this verdict, and by virtue of a warrant issued at
the request of the District Solicitor, Governor Glenbeigh made a prompt
requisition for the arrest and detention of the said Beryl Brentano,
who has been identified and returned to this city, to answer the
charges brought against her. The prisoner will unveil and stand up.

"Beryl Brentano, you are charged with the murder of Robert Luke
Darrington, by striking him with a brass andiron. Are you guilty, or
not guilty?"

"Not guilty." Her voice was unsteady, but the words were distinct.

Mr. Dunbar, Mr. Burk, and a middle-aged woman lean as Cassius, came
nearer to the platform, and after a leisurely survey of the girl's face
and figure, pronounced her the person whom they had severally accused
of the crime of causing the death of General Darrington.

The canons that govern psychical phenomena are as occult as the
abstraction of the "fourth division of space"; and they defy the
realism of common-place probability, mock all analysis, and annihilate
distance. When Beryl had first met the keen scrutiny of Mr. Dunbar's
glittering blue eyes, their baleful influence made her shiver slightly;
and now at the instant in which he approached, and inspected her
closely, she forgot that she was on trial for her life, became
temporarily oblivious of her dismal entourage, and stood once more
before a marble image in the Vatican, where the light streamed full on
the cold face, that for centuries has been the synonym of blended
beauty and cruelty. In her ears rang again the words her father had
rend aloud at her side, while she sketched: "But he does not inspire
confidence, by the smile that would like to express goodness. The
finely cut underlip that rises from the strongly marked hollow over the
chin ought to sharpen with a dash of contempt the conscious superiority
that lies upon his broad, magnificent forehead. His smile is in strong
contrast with the cold gaze of the large open eyes; a gaze that
hesitates not, but without mercy verifies a judgment fixed in advance,
that gives up every one to condemnation."

The dusty crowded court-room appeared to swim in the rich aroma
distilled from the creamy hearts of Roman hyacinths; and the velvet
lips of purple Roman violets suddenly babbled out the secret of the
mysterious repulsion which had puzzled her, from the hour in which she
first looked into Mr. Dunbar's face; his strange resemblance to the
Chiaramonti Tiberius, which she had studied and copied so carefully. In
days gone by, the subtle repose, the marvelous beauty of that marble
face, where as yet the demon of destruction had cast no stain,
possessed a singular fascination for her; and now the haunting likeness
which had perplexed her at Elm Bluff, became associated inseparably
with old Bedney's description of Mr. Dunbar's merciless treatment of
witnesses, and Beryl realized with alarming clearness that in her
grandfather's lawyer she had met the incarnation of her cruel fate.

Standing quite near her, he gravely related, with emphatic distinctness
and careful detail, his first meeting with the prisoner on the piazza
at Elm Bluff, and the vivid impression she left on his mind; his return
to Elm Bluff about half-past nine the same evening, in order to get a
deed which he had forgotten to put into his pocket at the first visit.
Learning that General Darrington had not yet retired for the night, he
sent in to ask for the deed, and was summoned "to come and get it
himself." On entering the bedroom, he found his client wrapped in a
cashmere dressing-gown, and sitting in an easy chair by the window,
which opened on the north or front piazza. He appeared much perturbed
and harassed, and in reply to inquiries touching his health, answered
that he was "completely shaken up, and unnerved, by a very stormy and
disagreeable interview held that afternoon with the child of his
wayward daughter Ellice. "When witness asked: "Did not the great beauty
of the embassadress accomplish the pardon and restoration of the erring
mother?" General Darrington had struck his cane violently on the floor,
and exclaimed: "Don't talk such infernal nonsense! Did you ever hear of
my pardoning a wrong against my family name and honor? Does any man
live, idiotic enough to consider me so soft-hearted? No, no. On the
contrary, I was harsh to the girl; so harsh that she turned upon me,
savage as a strong cub defending a crippled helpless dam. They know now
that the last card has been played, and the game ended; for I gave her
distinctly to understand that at my death, Prince would inherit every
iota of my estate, and that my will had cut them off without a cent. I
meant it then, I mean it now. I swear that lowborn fiddler's brood
shall never darken these doors; but somehow, I am unable to get rid of
the strange, disagreeable sensation the girl left behind her, as a
farewell legacy. She stood there at that glass door, and raised her
hand like a prophetess. 'General Darrington, when you lie down to die,
may God have more mercy on your poor soul than you have shown to your
suffering child.'"

Witness advised him to go to bed, and sleep off the unpleasant
recollections of  the day, but he said it was so oppressively hot, he
wanted to sit at the window, which was wide open. Witness having
secured the deed, which was on the table in the room, bade his client
good-night, and left the house.

He was riding toward town, and thought it was about ten o'clock, when
he saw the prisoner sitting under a pine tree near the road, and not
more than a half a mile from the bridge over the "Branch" that runs at
the foot of Elm Bluff. His horse had shied and plunged at sight of her,
and, the moonlight being bright as day, witness easily recognized her
as the same person he had seen earlier in the afternoon. Thinking her
appearance there at that hour was rather mysterious, he asked her if
she had lost her way; to which she replied "No, sir." On the following
morning, when the mournful news of the murder of General Darrington had
convulsed the entire community with grief and horror, witness had
smothered his reluctance to proceed against a woman, and a solemn sense
of duty forced him to bring these suspicious circumstances to the
knowledge of the District Solicitor.

While he gave his testimony, Mr. Dunbar watched her closely for some
trace of emotion, but she met his gaze without the movement of a
muscle, and he detected not even a quiver of the jet lashes that
darkened her proud gray eyes.

Antony Burk next testified that he had given the accused instructions
about the road to Elm Bluff, when she arrived at X--; and that after
buying her return ticket, she told him it was necessary she should take
the 7:15 train, and that she would be sure to catch it. The train was a
few minutes late, but had pulled out of the station twenty minutes
before the prisoner came back, when she appeared much annoyed at having
missed it.

Then she had sent a telegram (a copy of which was in the possession of
the Solicitor), and requested him to allow her to remain in the ladies'
waiting-room until the next train at 3:05. He had directed her to a
hotel close by, but she declined going there. Thinking she was fatigued
and might relish it, he had, after supper, carried a pitcher of iced
tea to the waiting-room, but though he remained there until nine
o'clock she was nowhere visible. He went home and went to sleep, but
the violence of the storm aroused him; and when he took his lantern and
went back to unlock the ticket office, he searched the whole place, and
the prisoner was not in the building. This was at half-past two A.M.,
and the pitcher of tea remained untouched where he had placed it. It
was not raining when he returned, and a few minutes after he had hunted
for the prisoner, he was standing in the door of his office and he saw
her coming down the railway track, from the direction of the water tank
and the bridge. She was breathing rapidly as if she had been running,
and witness noticed that her clothes were damp, and that some drops of
water fell from the edge of her hat. A lamp-post stood in front of the
station, and he saw her plainly; asked her why she did not stay in the
room, which he had left open for her? Prisoner said she had remained
there. Witness told her he knew better; that she was not there at nine
nor yet at half-past two o'clock. The accused did not appear inclined
to talk, and gave no explanation, but got aboard the 3:05 train.
Witness considered her actions so suspicious, that he had related all
he knew to Mr. Dunbar, who had summoned him before the magistrate. He
(witness) was very loath to think evil of a woman, especially one so
beautiful and noble looking, and if he wronged her, he hoped God would
forgive him; but he never dodged telling the truth.

Here the female Cassius rose, and gave her name as Angeline Dobbs.

"She had for several years attended to the sewing and mending at Elm
Bluff, being summoned there whenever her services were required. On the
afternoon previous to General Darrington's death she was sitting at her
needlework in the hall of the second story of his house. As the day was
very hot, she had opened the door leading out to an iron balcony, which
projected just over the front hall door downstairs; and since the
piazza was open from the roof to the floor, she had peeped over, and
seen the prisoner when she arrived and had watched her while she sat on
the steps, waiting to be admitted. After the accused had been inside
the house some time, she (witness) recollected that she had seen a hole
in one of the lace curtains in the library downstairs, and thought this
would be such a nice time to darn it. The library was opposite the
drawing room, and adjoined General Darrington's bed-room. The door was
open and witness heard what she supposed was a quarrel, as General
Darrington's voice was loud and violent; and she distinctly heard him
say: 'My will is so strong, no contest can touch it! and it will stand
forever between your mother and my property.' Soon after, General
Darrington had slammed the door, and though she heard loud tones for
some time, she could not make out the words. The impression left on
witness's mind was that the prisoner was very impudent to the old
gentleman; and not long afterward she saw accused standing in the rose
garden, pretending to gather some flowers, but really looking up and
down at the front windows. Witness knew the prisoner saw the vault
where the General kept his papers, because she heard it opened while
she was in the bed-room. The door of the vault or safe did not open on
hinges, but was iron, and slid on a metal rod, which made a very
peculiar squeaking sound. When she heard the noise she thought that
General Darrington was so enraged that he got the will to show prisoner
it was all fixed forever, against her and her mother."

When Miss Dobbs sat down, a lame man, disfigured by a scar on his
cheek, learned upon a stick and testified:

"My name is Belshazzar Tatem. Was an orderly sergeant attached to
General Darrington's staff dtiring the war; but since that time have
been a florist and gardener, and am employed to trim hedges and vines,
and transplant flowers at Elm Bluff." On the afternoon of the
prisoner's visit there, he was resetting violet roots on a border under
the western veranda, upon which opened the glass door leading out from
the General's bed-room. He had heard an angry altercation carried on
between General Darrington and some one, and supposed he was scolding
one of the servants. He went to a shed in the barn yard to get a spade
he needed, and when he came back he saw the prisoner walk down the
steps, and thought it singular a stranger should leave the house that
way. Wondered whom she could be, and wondered also that the General had
quarrelled with such a splendid looking lady. Next morning when he went
back to his work, he noticed the glass door was shut, but the red
curtain inside was looped back. He thought it was half-past eight
o'clock, when he heard a loud cry in the bed-room, and very soon after,
somebody screamed. He ran up the steps, but the glass door was locked
on the inside, and when he went around and got into the room, the first
thing he saw was General Darrington's body lying on the floor, with his
feet toward the hearth, and his head almost on a line with the iron
vault built in the wall. The servants were screaming and wringing their
hands, and he called them to help him lift the General, thinking that
he had dropped in a fit; but he found him stone cold and stiff. There
was no sign of blood anywhere, but a heavy, old-fashioned brass andiron
was lying close to the General's head, and he saw a black spot like a
bruise on his right temple. General Darrington wore his night clothes,
and the bed showed he had been asleep there. Some broken vases were on
the floor and hearth, and the vault was wide open. The tin box was
upside down on the carpet, and some papers in envelopes were scattered
about.

Witness had picked up a leather bag carefully tied at the top with red
tape, drawn into hard knots; but in one side he found a hole which had
been cut with a knife, and at the bottom of the bag was a twenty-dollar
gold piece. Two more coins of the same value were discovered on the
floor, when General Darrington's body was lifted; and on the bolster of
the bed lay a bottle containing chloroform. Witness immediately sent
off for some of General Darrington's friends, and also notified the
coroner; and he did not leave the room again until the inquest was
held. The window on the front piazza was open, and witness had searched
the piazza and the grounds for tracks, but discovered no traces of the
burglar and murderer, who had escaped before the rain ceased, otherwise
the tracks would have been found. Witness was positive that the
prisoner was the same person whom he had seen coming out of the
bed-room, and with whom General Darrington had quarrelled.

The sheriff here handed to the magistrate, the gold pieces found on the
floor at Elm Bluff, by the last witness; then the little wicker basket
which had been taken from the prisoner when she was arrested. The coins
discovered therein were taken out, and careful comparison showed that
they corresponded exactly with those picked up after the murder. The
case of sapphires was also shown, and Mr. Dunbar rose to say, that "The
prosecution would prove by the attorney who drew up General
Darrington's will, that these exceedingly valuable stones had been
bequeathed by a clause in that will to Prince Darrington, as a bridal
present for whomsoever he might marry."

A brief silence ensued, during which the magistrate pulled at the
corner of his tawny mustache, and earnestly regarded the prisoner. She
stood, with her beautiful white hands clasped before her, the slender
fingers interlaced, the head thrown proudly back. Extreme pallor had
given place to a vivid flush that dyed her cheeks, and crimsoned her
delicate lips; and her eyes looking straight into space, glowed with an
unnatural and indescribable lustre. Tadmor's queen Bath Zabbai could
not have appeared more regal in her haughty pose, amid the exulting
shouts that rent the skies of conquering Rome. The magistrate cleared
his throat, and addressed the accused.

"You are Beryl Brentano, the granddaughter of General Darrington?"

"I am Beryl Brentano."

"You have heard the charges brought against you. What have you to say
in defence?"

"That I am innocent of every accusation."

"By what witnesses will you prove it?"

"By a statement of the whole truth in detail, if I may be allowed to
make it."

Here the Solicitor, Mr. Churchill, rose and said:

"While faithfully discharging my official duties, loyalty to justice
does not smother the accents of human sympathy; and before proceeding
any further, I hope your Honor will appoint some counsel to confer with
and advise the prisoner. Her isolation appeals to every noble instinct
of manhood, and it were indeed puerile tribute to our lamented General
Darrington, to bring his granddaughter before this tribunal, without
the aid and defence of legal advisers. Justice itself would not be
welcome to me, if unjustly won. My friend, Mr. Hazelton, who is
present, has expressed his desire to defend the prisoner; and while I
am aware that your Honor is under the impression she refuses to accept
counsel, I trust you will nevertheless commit her, until she can confer
with him."

Mr. Hazelton rose and bowed, in tacit approval.

Beryl advanced a few steps, and her clear pure voice thrilled every
heart in the crowded room.

"I need no help to tell the truth, and I want to conceal nothing. Time
is inexpressibly valuable to me now, for a human life more precious
than my own is at stake; and if I am detained here, my mother may die.
May I speak at once, and explain the circumstances which you consider
so mysterious as to justify the shameful indignity put upon me?"

"Since you assume the responsibility of your own defence, you may
proceed with your statement. Relate what occurred from the hour you
reached Elm Bluff, until you left X---next morning."

"I came here to deliver in person a letter written by my mother to her
father, General Darrington, because other letters sent through the
mail, had been returned unread. It contained a request for one hundred
dollars to pay the expense of a surgical operation, which we hoped
would restore her health. When I reached Elm Bluff, I waited on the
steps, until General Darrington's attorney finished his business and
came out; then I was led by an old colored man to the bed-room where
General Darrington sat. I gave no name, fearing he might refuse to
admit me, and he was very courteous in his manner until I laid the
letter before him. He immediately recognized the handwriting, and threw
it to the floor, declaring that no human being had the right to address
him as father, except his son Prince. I picked up the letter, and
insisted he should at least read the petition of a suffering, and
perhaps dying woman. He was very violent in his denunciation of my
parents, and his voice was loud and angry. So painful was the whole
interview, that it was a bitter trial to me to remain in his presence,
but knowing how absolutely necessary it was that mother should obtain
the money, I forced myself to beg him to read the letter. Finally he
consented, read it, and seemed somewhat softened; but he tore it into
strips and threw it from him. He drank several glasses of wine from a
decanter on the table, and offered me some, expressing the opinion that
I must be tired from my journey. I declined it. General Darrington then
questioned me about my family, my mode of living; and after a few
moments became very much excited, renewing his harsh invectives against
my parents. It was at this stage of the interview that he uttered the
identical words quoted by the witness: 'My Will is so strong, no
contest can touch it, and it will stand forever between your mother and
my property.'

"Immediately after, he went to the door leading into the library and
called 'Bedney!' No one answered, and he shut the door, kicking it as
it closed. When he came back to his chair, he said very bitterly: 'At
least we will have no eavesdroppers at this resurrection of my dead.'
He told me all the story of my mother's girlhood; of her marriage,
which had infuriated him; that he had sent her a certain proportion of
property, and then disowned and disinherited her. Afterward he
described his lonely life, his second marriage which was very happy,
and his adoption of his wife's son, who, he repeatedly told me, had
usurped my mother's place in his affections. Finally he said:

"'Your mother has asked for one hundred dollars. You shall have it; not
because I recognize her as child of mine, but because a sick woman
appeals to a Southern gentleman.'

"He took a bunch of keys from his pocket, and with one of them opened a
safe or iron closet on the wall near the chimney, and from that vault
he brought a square black tin box to the table, where he opened it. He
took out a leather bag, and counted into my hand five gold pieces of
twenty dollars each. The money was given so ungraciously that I told
him I would not accept it, save as a loan for mother's benefit; and
that as soon as I could earn it I would return the amount to him. I was
so anxious to get away, I started toward the library door, but he
called me back, and gave me the morocco case which contains the
sapphires. He said my mother's mother had bought them as a gift for her
daughter, to be worn when she was graduated at school; but as she
married and left school without his knowledge, the jewels had never
been seen by her. He told me he had intended to give them to his son
Prince, for his bride, but that now he would send them to mother, who
could sell them for a handsome sum, because they were valuable. He
showed so much sorrow at this time, that I begged him to give me some
message of pardon and affection, which she would prize infinitely more
than money or jewels; but he again became angry and bitter, and so I
left him. I came away by the door leading out on the iron veranda,
because he directed me to do so, saying that he did not wish me to meet
the servants, who would pry and tattle. When I closed the glass door I
saw him standing in the middle of the room, leaning on his cane, and he
had the black tin box in his hand. The sun was setting then, and now--"

She ceased speaking for some seconds, then raised her hands toward
heaven, and with uplifted eyes that seemed in their strained gaze to
pierce beyond the veil, she added with solemn emphasis:

"I call God to witness, that was the last and only time I ever saw
General Darrington. That was the last and only visit I ever made to Elm
Bluff."

There was a general movement among the spectators, and audible
excitement, which was promptly quelled by the magistrate.

"Silence there in front, or I shall order the room cleared."

Turning toward Beryl, he said:

"If you left Elm Bluff at sunset, why did you not take the 7:15 train?"

"I tried to do so, but missed it because I desired to obey my mother's
injunctions as strictly as possible. She gave me a small bunch of
flowers, and asked me to be sure to lay them for her on her mother's
grave. When I reached the cemetery, which you know is in sight of the
road from Elm Bluff, the gate was locked, and it required some time to
enable me to climb over the wall and find the monument. It was growing
dark, and when I arrived at the station, I learned the train had just
gone."

"Why did you not go to a hotel, as you were advised to do?"

"Because after sending the telegram to my mother, I had no money to pay
for lodging; and I asked permission to stay in the ladies'
waiting-room."

"State where and how you spent the night."

"It was very hot and sultry in that room, and as there was a bright
moon shining, I walked out to get some fresh air. The pine woods had
appeared so pretty and pleasant that afternoon, that I went on and on
toward them, and did not realize how far they were. I met people
passing along the road, and it did not seem lonely. The smell of the
pines was new to me, and to enjoy it, I sat down on the straw. I was
tired, and must have fallen asleep at once, for I remember nothing till
some noise startled me, and there I saw the same man on horseback in
the road, whom I had met at Elm Bluff. He asked me if I had misled my
way, and I answered 'No, sir.' The height of the moon showed me it was
late, and as I was frightened at finding myself alone in the woods, I
almost ran back to the railway station, where I saw no one, except a
telegraph operator, who seemed to be asleep in his chair. I cannot say
what time it was, because I could not see the clock. Soon after, it
began to thunder, and all through that terrible storm I was alone in
the waiting-room. So great was my relief when the wind and lightning
ceased, that I went to sleep, and dreamed of a happy time when I lived
in Italy, and of talking with one very dear to me. Just then I awoke
with a start, and heard a voice talking outside, which seemed very
familiar. There were two persons; one, a negro, said:

"'There ain't no train 'till daylight, excepting the through freight.'

"The other person asked: 'When is it due?' The negro answered:

"'Pretty soon, but it don't stop here; it goes to the water tank where
it blows for the railroad bridge; and that is only a short distance up
the track.'

"I think I must have been only half awake, and with my mind fixed on my
dream, I ran out in front of the station house. An old negro man
limping down the street was the only person visible, and while I
watched him he suddenly vanished. I went along the track for some
distance but saw no one; and when I came back, the ticket agent was
standing in the door of his office. I cannot explain to you the
singular impulse which carried me out, when I heard the dialogue,
because it is inexplicable to myself, save by the supposition that I
was still dreaming; and yet I saw the negro man distinctly. There was a
lamp-post near him, and he had a bundle on his shoulder. When the 3:05
train came, I went aboard and left X---."

A smile parted Mr. Dunbar's lips, and his handsome teeth glittered as
he whispered to Judge Dent:

"Even your chivalrous compassion can scarcely digest this knotty
solution of her movements that night. As a fabrication, it does little
credit to her ingenuity."

"Her statement impresses me differently. She is either entirely
innocent, or she had an accomplice, whose voice she recognized; and
this clue should be investigated."

The District Solicitor rose and bowed to the Magistrate.

"With your Honor's permission, I should like to ask the prisoner whom
she expected to see, when she recognized the voice?"

"A person who is very dear to me, but who is not in the United States."

"What is the name of that person?"

Her lips moved to pronounce his name, but some swift intuitive warning
restrained the utterance. Suddenly a new horror, a ghastly possibility,
thrust itself for the first time before her, and she felt as though
some hand of ice clutched her heart.

Those who watched her so closely, saw the blood ebb from cheeks and
lips; noted the ashy pallor that succeeded, and the strange groping
motion of her hands. She staggered toward the platform, and when the
Magistrate caught her arm, she fell against him like some tottering
marble image, entirely unconscious.

                       *       *       *       *       *

So prolonged and death-like was the swoon, and so futile the usual
methods of restoration, that the prisoner was carried into the small
ante-room, and laid upon a wooden bench; where a physician, who chanced
to be in the audience, was summoned to attend her. Finding restoratives
ineffectual, he took out his lancet:

"This is no ordinary fainting fit."

He attempted to roll up one of her sleeves, but seeing this was
impracticable, would have unfastened her dress, had not Judge Dent
arrested his hand.

"No, doctor; cut out the sleeve if necessary, but don't touch her
otherwise."

"Let me assist you; I can easily bare the arm."

As he spoke, Mr. Dunbar knelt beside the bench, and with a small, sharp
pen-knife ripped the seam from elbow to shoulder, from elbow to wrist,
swiftly and deftly folding back the sleeve, and exposing the perfect
moulding of the snowy arm.

"Just hold the hand, Dunbar, so as to keep it steady."

Clasping closely the hand, which the physician laid in his palm the
attorney noted the exquisite symmetry of the slender fingers and oval
nails. He bent forward and watched the frozen face. When the heavily
lashed lids quivered and lifted, and she looked vacantly at the grave
compassionate countenances leaning over her, a certain tightening of
the hold upon her fingers, drew her attention. Her gaze fastened on the
lawyer's blue eyes as if by a subtle malign fascination. The veil that
shrouded consciousness was rent, not fully raised; and as in some dream
the solemn eyes appeared to search his. A strange shivering thrill shot
along his nerves, and his quiet, well regulated heart so long the
docile obedient motor, fettered vassal of his will, bounded, strained
hard on the steel cable that held it in thrall.

"You feel better now?" asked the physician, who was stanching the flow
of blood.

Still her gaze seemed to penetrate the inmost recesses of the lawyer's
nature, calling into sudden revolt dormant elements that amazed and
defied him.

A shadowy smile curved her pale lips.

"At the mercy of Tiberius. At the mercy of Tiberius."

Those present looked inquiringly at each other.

"Her mind wanders a little. Sheriff, give her some of that brandy. She
is as weak as a baby."

Judge Dent raised her head, and the officer held the tumbler to her
mouth; while the former said gently:

"My poor girl, drink a little, it will strengthen you."

With a gesture of loathing, she rejected it; and as she attempted to
raise herself, all the dire extremity of her peril rushed back upon her
mind, like a black overwhelming tide from the sea of the past.

"Lie still, until I have bandaged your arm. Here, Dunbar, you acquitted
yourself so dexterously with your knife, just lend a hand. Hold the arm
until I secure the bandage."

To find herself surrounded by men, helpless in the grasp of strangers,
with no womanly touch or glance to sustain her, served to intensify her
misery; and wrenching herself free, she struggled into a sitting
posture, then staggered to her feet. The heavy coil of hair loosened
when they bore her from the court-room, now released itself from
restraining pins, and fell in burnished waves to her knees, clothing
her with a glory, such as the world's great masters in art reserve for
the beatified. Had all the blood that fed her heart been drained, she
would not have appeared more deadly pale, and in her wide eyes was the
desperate look of a doomed animal, that feels the hot fangs of the
hounds, and the cold steel of the hunters.

"Be persuaded for your own sake, to swallow some stimulant, of which
you are sadly in need. You will require all your strength, and, as a
physician, I insist upon your taking my prescription."

"If I might have some water. Just a little water."

Some one brought a brown stone pitcher, and she drank long and
thirstily; then looked for a moment at the faces of those who crowded
about her.

"What will be done now?"

Every eye fell to the floor, and after a painful silence Judge Dent
said very gently:

"For the present, the Magistrate will retain you in custody, until the
action of the Grand Jury. Should they fail to indict you, then you will
at once be released."

"I am to go to prison? I am to be thrust among convicts, vile
criminals! I--? My father's Beryl? O, righteous God! Where is Thy
justice? O, Christ! Is Thy mercy a mockery?"

She stood, with her chin resting on her clenched hands, and twice a
long violent shudder shook her from head to foot.

"I hope your imprisonment will be only temporary. The Grand Jury will
be in session next week. Meantime diligent search may discover the
persons whose conversation you overheard at the station; and if you be
innocent, we are all your friends, and the law, which now seems so
stern, will prove your strongest protector and vindicator."

Judge Dent stood close beside her, as he essayed these words of
comfort, and saw that she caught her breath as though in mortal agony.
Her face writhed, and she shut her eyes, unable to contemplate some
hideous apparition. He suspected that she was fighting desperately an
impulse that suggested succor; and he was sure she had strangled it,
when her hands fell nerveless at her side, and she raised her bowed
head. If the finger of paralysis had passed over her features, they
would not have appeared more hopelessly fixed. Mechanically she twisted
and coiled her hair, and took the hat and shawl which the officer held
out to her.

"If I can assist you in any way, you have only to send for me."

She looked at Judge Dent intently, for an instant, then shook her head.

"No one can help me now."

She tied her veil over her face, and silently followed the deputy
sheriff to a carriage, that stood near the pavement.

When he would have assisted her, she haughtily repelled him.

"I will follow you, because I must; but do not put your hands on me."




CHAPTER VII.


In ante bellum days, when States' Rights was a sacred faith, a revered
and precious palladium, State pride blossomed under Southern skies, and
State coffers overflowed with the abundance wherewith God blessed the
land. During that period, when it became necessary to select a site for
a new Penitentiary, the salubrity and central location of X---had so
strongly commended it, that the spacious structure was erected within
its limits, and regarded as an architectural triumph of which the State
might justly boast. Soon after this had been completed, the old county
jail, situated on the border of the town, was burned one windy March
night; then the red rain of war deluged the land, and when the ghastly
sun of "Reconstruction" smiled upon the grave of States' Rights,
Municipal money disappeared in subterranean channels. Thus it came to
pass, that with the exception of a small "lockup" attached to Police
Headquarters, X--had failed to rebuild its jail, and domiciled its
dangerous transgressors in the great stone prison; paying therefor to
the State an annual amount per capita.

Built of gray granite which darkened with time and weather stains, its
massive walls, machicolated roof, and tall arched clock-tower lifted
their leaden outlines against the sky, and cast a brooding shadow over
the town, lying below; a grim perpetual menace to all who subsequently
found themselves locked in its reformatory arms. Separated from the
bustling mart and busy traffic, by the winding river that divided the
little city into North and South X--, it crested an eminence on the
north; and the single lower story flanking the main edifice east and
west, resembled the trailing wings of some vast bird of prey, an
exaggerated simulacrum of a monstrous gray condor perched on a "coigne
of vantage," waiting to swoop upon its victims. Encircled by a tall
brick wall, which was surmounted by iron spikes sharp as bayonets, that
defied escalade, the grounds extended to the verge of the swift stream
in front, and stretched back to the border of a heavily timbered tract
of pine land, a bit of primeval forest left to stare at the encroaching
armies of Philistinism.

Within the precincts of the yard, the tender conservatism of our
great-hearted mother Nature, gently toned the savage stony features;
and even under the chill frown of iron barred windows, golden sunshine
bravely smiled, soft grasses wove their emerald velvet tapestries
starred and flushed with dainty satin petals, which late Autumn roses
showered in munificent contribution, to the work of pitying love.

In a comfortably furnished room situated in the second story of the
main building, sat a woman apparently thirty-five years old, who was
singing to a baby lying face downward on her lap, while with one hand
she rocked the wicker cradle beside her, where a boy of four years was
tossing. Her hazel eyes were full of kindly light, the whole face
eloquent with that patient, limitless tenderness, which is the magic
chrism of maternity, wherewith Lucina and Cuba abundantly anoint
Motherhood. The blessed and infallible nepenthe for all childhood's
ills and aches, mother touch, mother songs, soon held soothing sway;
and when the woman laid the sleeping babe on her own bed, and covered
her with a shawl, she saw her husband leaning against the partly open
door.

"Come here, Susie. The kids are snug and safe for the present, and I
want you."

"For shame, Ned! To call our darlings such a beastly name. Kids,
indeed! My sweetest, loveliest lambs!"

"There! Hear yourself! If I can see any choice of respectability
between kids and lambs, may I turn to a thoroughbred Southdown, and
take the blue ribbon at the next Fair. Beasts of the field, all of
them. The always-wide-awake-contrariness of womankind is a curious and
fearful thing. If I had called our beloved towheads, lambs, you would
have sworn through blue ruin that they were the cutest, spryest pair of
spotted kids, that ever skipped over a five-railed fence!"

"So much the worse for you, Ned Singleton, that you are such a hopeless
heathen; you do not even know where the Elect are appointed to stand,
at that great day when the sheep come up on the right hand of the Lord,
and the goats go down to the left. If you read your Bible more, I
should have less to teach you."

"Oh! but let me tell you, I thought of all that before I made up my
mind to marry the daughter of a Presbyterian preacher. I knew your dear
little blue-nose would keep the orthodox trail; and being one of the
Elect you could not get the points of the celestial compass mixed.
Don't you forget, that it is part of the unspoken marriage contract,
that the wife must not only keep her own soul white, but bleach her
husband's also; and no matter what a reprobate a man may be, he always
expects his better-half, by hook or by crook, to steer him into heaven."

He put his hands on his wife's shoulders, shook her, in token of
mastery, and kissed her.

"What do you want of my 'always-wide-awake-contrariness'? I have half a
mind not to help you out of your scrape; for of course you have mired
somewhere. What is the matter now, Ned?"

"Yes--stuck hard and fast; so my dear little woman, don't you go back
on your wedding-day promises, but just lend a helping hand. I don't
know what is to be done with that poor young woman in No. 19. One of
the under-wardens, Jarvis, sleeps this week right under her cell, and
he tells me that all night long she tramps up and down, without
cessation, like some caged animal. This is her third day in, and she
has not touched a morsel; though at Judge Dent's request I ordered some
extras given her. Jarvis said she was not sullen, but he thought it
proper to report to me that she seemed to act very strangely; so I went
up to see after her. When I opened the door she was walking up and down
the floor, with her hands locked at the back of her head, and I
declare, Susie, she looks five years older than when she came here.
There are great dark hollows under her eyes, and two red spots like
coals of fire on her cheeks. I said: 'Are you sick, that you reject
your meals?' To which she replied: 'Don't trouble yourself to send me
food; I cannot eat!' Then I told her I understood that she was restless
at night, and I advised her to take a mixture which would quiet her
nerves. She shook her head, and I could not bear to look at her; the
eyes seemed so like a wounded fawn's, brimful of misery. I asked her if
there was anything I could do, to make her more comfortable; or if she
needed medicine. All this time she kept up her quick walk to and fro,
and she answered: 'Thank you. I need nothing--but death; and that will
come soon.' Now what could I say? I felt such a lump in my throat, that
if Solomon had whispered to me some kind speech, I could not have
uttered it, so I got out of the room just as fast as possible, to dry
the tears that somehow would blur my eyes. When they are surly, or
snappish, or violent, or insolent, I know exactly what to do, and have
no trouble; but hang me, if I can cope with this lady--there it is out!
She is a lady every inch, and as much out of place here as I should be
in Queen Victoria's drawing-room. Men are clumsy brutes, even in kid
gloves, and bruise much oftener than they heal. Whenever I am in that
girl's presence, I have a queer feeling that I am walking on eggs, and
tip-toe as I may, shall smash things. If something is not done, she
will be ill on our hands, and a funeral will balk the bloodhounds."

"O, hush, Ned! You give me the shivers. My heart yearns toward that
beautiful young creature, and I believe she is as innocent as my baby.
It is a burning shame to send her here, unless there is no doubt of her
guilt. Judge Dent is too shrewd an old fox to be baited with chaff, and
I am satisfied from what he told you, that he believes her statement.
There is nothing I would not do to comfort her, but I would rather have
my ears boxed than witness her suffering. The day I carried to her a
change of clothes, until her own could be washed, and sewed up her
dress sleeve. I did nothing but cry. I could not help it, when she
moaned and wrung her hands, and said her mother's heart would break. I
have heard all my life that justice is blind; I have learned to believe
it, for it stumbles, and gropes, and lays iron claws on the wrong
person. As for the lawyers? They are fit pilots: and the courts are
little better than blind man's buff. Don't stand chewing your mustache,
Ned. Tell me what you want me to do, while baby is asleep. She has a
vexatious habit of taking cat naps."

"Little woman, I turn over the case to you. Just let your heart loose,
and follow it."

"If I do, will you endorse me?"

"Till the stars fall."

"Can you stay here awhile?"

"Yes, if you will tell Jarvis where he can find me."

"Mind you, Ned, you are not to interfere with me?"

"No--I swear I won't. Hurry up, or there will be much music in this
bleating fold; and you know I am as utterly useless with a crying
child, as a one-armed man in a concert of fiddlers."

The cell assigned to the new prisoner was in the centre of a line,
which rose tier above tier, like the compartments in a pigeon house, or
the sombre caves hewn out of rock-ribbed cliffs, in some lonely Laura.
Iron stairways conducted the unfortunates to these stone cages, where
the dim cold light filtered through the iron lattice-work of the upper
part of the door, made a perpetual crepuscular atmosphere within. The
bare floor, walls, and low ceiling were spotlessly clean and white; and
an iron cot with heavy brown blankets spread smoothly and a wooden
bench in one corner, constituted the furniture. Scrupulous neatness
reigned everywhere, but the air was burdened with the odor of carbolic
acid, and even at mid-day was chill as the breath of a tomb. Where the
doors were thrown open, they resembled the yawning jaws of rifled
graves; and when closed, the woful inmates peering through the black
lattice seemed an incarnation of Dante's hideous Caina tenants.

When Mrs. Singleton stopped in front of No. 19, and looked through the
grating, Beryl was standing at the extremity of the cell, with her face
turned to the wall, and her hands clasping the back of her neck. The
ceiling was so low she could have touched it, had she lifted her arms,
and she appeared to have retreated as far in the gloomy den as the
barriers allowed. Thinking that perhaps the girl was praying, the
warden's wife waited some minutes, but no sound greeted her; and so
motionless was the figure, that it might have been only an alto rilievo
carved on the wall. Pushing the door open, Mrs. Singleton entered, and
deposited on the iron bed a waiter covered with a snowy napkin. At the
sound, Beryl turned, and her arms fell to her side, but she shrank back
against the wall, as if solitude were her only solace, and human
intrusion an added torture.

Mrs. Singleton took both hands, and held them firmly:

"Do you believe it right to commit suicide?"

"I believe in everything but human justice, and Divine mercy."

"Your conscience tells you that--"

"Am I allowed a conscience? What ghastly mockery! Thieves and murderers
are not fit tenements for conscience, and I--I--am accused of stealing,
and of bloodshed. Justice! What a horrible sham! We--her victims--who
adored the beneficent and incorruptible attribute of God Himself--we
are undeceived, when Justice--the harpy--tears our hearts out with her
hideous, foul, defiling claws."

She spoke through set teeth, and a spasm of shuddering shook her from
head to feet.

"Listen to me. Suspicion is one thing, proof something very different.
You are accused, but not convicted, and--"

"I shall be. Justice must be appeased, and I am the most convenient and
available victim. An awful crime has been committed, and outraged law,
screaming for vengeance, pounces like a hungry hawk on an innocent and
unsuspecting prey. Does she spare the victim because it quivers, and
dies hard?"

"Hush! You must not despair. I believe in your innocence; I believe
every word you uttered that day was true, and I believe that our
merciful God will protect you. Put yourself in His hands, and His mercy
will save, for 'it endureth forever.'"

"I don't ask mercy! I claim justice--from God and man. The wicked
grovel, and beg for mercy; but innocence lays hold upon the very throne
of God, and clutches His sword, and demands justice!"

"I understand how you feel, and I do not wonder; but for your own sake,
in order to keep your mind clear and strong for your vindication, you
certainly ought to take care of your health. Starvation is the surest
leech for depleting soul and body. Do you want to die here in prison,
leaving your name tarnished, and smirched with suspicion of crime, when
you can live to proclaim your innocence to the world? Remember that
even if you care nothing for your life, you owe something to your
mother. You have two chances yet; the Grand Jury may not find a true
bill--"

"Yes, that tiger-eyed lawyer will see that they do. He knows that the
law is a cunning net for the feet of the innocent and the unwary. He
set his snare dexterously, and will not fail to watch it."

"You mean Mr. Dunbar? Yes, you certainly have cause to dread him; but
even if you should be indicted, you have twelve human hearts full of
compassion to appeal to--and I can't think it possible a jury of sane
men could look at you and condemn you. You must fight for your life;
and what is far more to you than life, you must fight for your good
name, for your character. Suspicion is not proof of crime, and there is
no taint on you yet; for sin alone stains, and if you will only be
brave and clear yourself as I know you can, what a grand triumph it
will be. If you starve yourself you seal your doom. An empty stomach
will do you more harm than the Grand Jury and all the lawyers; for it
utterly upsets your nerves, and makes your brain whirl like a top. For
three days and nights you have not tasted food: now just to please me,
since I have taken so much trouble, sit down here by me, and eat what I
have brought. I know you would rather not; I know you don't want it;
but, my dear child, take it like any other dose, which will strengthen
you for your battle. It is very fine to rant about heroism, but
starvation is the best factory for turning out cowards: and even the
courage of old Caesar would have had the 'dwindles,' if he had been
stinted in his rations."

She removed the napkin, and displayed a tempting luncheon, served in
pretty, gilt-banded white china. What a contrast it presented, to the
steaming tin platter and dull tin quart cups carried daily to the
adjoining cell?

Beryl laid her hand on Mrs. Singleton's shoulder, and her mouth
trembled.

"I thank you, sincerely, for your sympathy--and for your confidence;
and to show my appreciation of your kindness, I wish I could eat that
dainty luncheon; but I think it would strangle me--I have such a
ceaseless aching here, in my throat. I feel as if I should stifle."

"See here! I brought you some sweet rich milk in my little boy's cup.
He was my first-born, and I lost him. This was his christening present
from my mother. It is very precious, very sacred to me. If you will
only drink what is in it, I shall be satisfied. Don't slight my angel
baby's cup. That would hurt me."

She raised the pretty "Bo-Peep" silver cup to the prisoner's lips, and
seeing the kind hazel eyes swimming in tears, Beryl stooped her head
and drank the milk.

The warden's wife lifted the cup, looked wistfully at it, and kissed
the name engraved on the metal:

"You know now I must think you pure and worthy. I have given you the
strongest possible proof; for only the good could be allowed to touch
what my dead boy's lips have consecrated. Now come out with me, and get
some pure fresh air."

Beryl shrank back.

"These close walls seem a friendly shelter from the horrible faces that
cluster outside. You can form no idea how I dread contact with the vile
creatures, whose crimes have brought them here for expiation. The
thought of breathing the same atmosphere pollutes me. I think the
loathsomeness of perdition must consist in association with the
depraved and wicked. Not the undying flames would affright me, but the
doom of eternal companionship with outcast criminals. No! No! I would
sooner freeze here, than wander in the sunshine with those hideous
wretches I saw the day I was thrust among them."

"Trust me, and I will expose you to nothing unpleasant. Take your hat
and shawl; I shall not bring you back here. There is time enough for
cells when you have been convicted and sentenced; and please God, you
shall never stay in this one again. Come."

"Stay, madam. What is your purpose? I have been so hunted down, I am
growing suspicious of the appearance of kindness. What are you going to
do?"

Mrs. Singleton took her hand and pressed it gently.

"I am going to trust, and help, and love you, if you will let me; and
for the present, I intend to keep you in a room adjoining mine, where
you will have no fear of wicked neighbors."

"That will be merciful indeed. May God bless you for the thought."

Down iron staircases, and through dim corridors bordered with dark
cells, gloomy as the lairs of wild beasts whom the besotted inmates
resembled, the two women walked; and once, when a clank of chains and a
hoarse human cry broke the dismal silence, Beryl clutched her
companion's arm, and her teeth chattered with horror.

"Yes, it is awful! That poor woman is the saddest case we have. She
waylaid and stabbed her husband to death, and poisoned his mother. We
think she is really insane, and as she is dangerous at times, it is
necessary to keep her chained, until arrangements can be made to remove
her to the insane asylum."

"I don't wonder she is mad! People cannot dwell here and retain their
reason; and madness is a mercy that blesses them with forgetfulness."

Beryl shivered, and her eyes glittered with an unnatural and ominous
brilliance.

The warden's wife paused before a large door with solid iron panels,
and rang a bell. Some one on the other side asked:

"What is the order? Who rang?"

"Mrs. Singleton; I want to get into the chapel. Let me out, Jasper."

The door swung slowly back, and the guard touched his hat respectfully.

Through an open arcade, where the sunlight streamed, Mrs. Singleton led
her companion; then up a short flight of stone steps, and they found
themselves in a long room, with an altar railing and pulpit at one end,
and rows of wooden benches crossing the floor from wall to wall. Even
here, the narrow windows were iron barred, but sunshine and the sweet,
pure breath of the outside world entered freely. Within the altar
railing, and at the right of the reading desk where a Bible lay, stood
a cabinet organ. Leaving the prisoner to walk up and down the aisle,
Mrs. Singleton opened the organ, drew out the stops, and after waiting
a few moments, began to play.

At first, only a solemn prelude rolled its waves of harmony through the
peaceful sunny room, but soon the strains of the beautiful Motet "Cast
thy burden on the Lord," swelled like the voice of some divine
consoler. Watching the stately figure of the prisoner who wandered to
and fro, the warden's wife noticed that like a magnet the music drew
her nearer and nearer each time she approached the chancel, and at last
she stood with one hand on the railing. The beautiful face, sharpened
and drawn by mental agony, was piteously wan save where two scarlet
spots burned on her cheeks, and the rigid lips were gray as some
granite Statue's, but the eyes glowed with a strange splendor that
almost transfigured her countenance.

On and on glided the soft, subtle variations of the Motet, and
gradually the strained expression of the shining eyes relaxed, as if
the soul of the listener were drifting back from a far-off realm; the
white lids quivered, the stern lines of the pale lips unbent. At that
moment, the face of her father seemed floating on the sunbeams that
gilded the pulpit, and the tones of her mother's voice rang in her
ears. The terrible tension of many days and nights of torture gave way
suddenly, like a silver thread long taut, which snaps with one last
vibration. She raised her hands:

"My God! Why hast Thou forsaken me?"

The cry ended in a wail. Into her burning eyes merciful tears rushed,
and sinking on her knees she rested against the railing, shaken by a
storm of passionate weeping.

Mrs. Singleton felt her own tears falling fast, but she played for a
while longer; then stole out of the chapel, and sat down on the steps.

Across the grass plot before the door, burnished pigeons cooed, and
trod their stately minuet, their iridescent plumage showing every
opaline splendor as the sunlight smote them; and on a buttress of the
clock tower, a lonely hedge-sparrow poured his heart out in that
peculiarly pathetic threnody which no other feathered throat
contributes to the varied volume of bird lays. Poised on the point of
an iron spike in the line that bristled along the wall, a mocking bird
preened, then spread his wings, soared and finally swept downward,
thrilling the air with the bravura of the "tumbling song"; and over the
rampart that shut out the world, drifted the refrain of a paean to
peace:

"Bob White!" "Peas ripe?" "Not quite!"

In the vast epic of the Cosmos, evoked when the "Spirit of God moved
upon the face of the waters"--an epic printed in stars on blue abysses
of illimitable space; in illuminated type of rose leaf, primrose petal,
scarlet berry on the great greenery of field and forest; in the
rainbows that glow on tropical humming birds, on Himalayan pheasants,
on dying dolphins in purple seas; and in all the riotous carnival of
color on Nature's palette, from shifting glory of summer clouds, to the
steady fires of red autumn skies--we find no blot, no break, no blurred
abortive passages, until man stepped into creation's story. In the
material, physical Universe, the divine rhythm flows on, majestic,
serene as when the "morning stars sing together" in the choral of
praise to Him, unto whom "all seemed good"; but in the moral and
spiritual realm evolved by humanity, what hideous pandemonium of
discords drowns the heavenly harmony? What grim havoc marks the swath,
when the dripping scythe of human sin and crime swings madly, where the
lilies of eternal "Peace on earth, good will to man," should lift their
silver chalices to meet the smile of God?

A vague conception of this vexing problem, which like a huge
carnivorous spectre, flaps its dusky wings along the sky of sociology,
now saddened Mrs. Singleton's meditations, as she watched the
lengthening shadow cast by the tower upon the court-yard; but she was
not addicted to abstract speculation, and the words of her favorite
hymn epitomized her thoughts: "Though every prospect pleases, and only
man is vile."

The brazen clang of the deep-throated bell rang out on the quiet air,
and a moment later, the piercing treble of a child's cry made her
spring to her feet. She peeped into the chapel all was still.

On tiptoe she passed swiftly down the aisle to the chancel, and saw the
figure crouched at the altar, with one arm twined through the railing.
For many days and nights the tortured woman had not known an instant of
repose; nervous dread had scourged her to the verge of frenzy, but when
the flow of long-pent tears partly extinguished the fire in her brain,
overtaxed Nature claimed restitution, and the prisoner yielded to
overwhelming prostration. Death might be hovering near, but her twin
sister sleep intervened, and compassionately laid her poppies on the
snowy eyelids.

Stooping close, Mrs. Singleton saw that tears yet hung on the black
lashes which swept the flushed cheeks, but the parted lips were at
rest, and the deep regularly drawn breath told her that at last the
weary soul reposed in the peaceful domain of dreams. Deftly, and softly
as thistledown falls, she spread her own shawl over the drooping
shoulders, then noiselessly hurried back to the door. Locking it, she
took the key, ran across the grass, into the arcade, and up to the
great iron barrier, which the guard opened as she approached. With
flying feet she neared her own apartments, whence issued the indignant
wail of her implacable baby girl. As she opened the door, her husband
held the disconsolate child toward her.

"You are in time for your share of the fun; I have had enough and to
spare. How you stand this diabolical din day in, day out, passes my
comprehension. You had not been gone fifteen minutes when Missy tuned
up. I patted and, 'She-e-d' her, but she got her head above cover,
squinted around the room, and not finding you, set up a squall that
would have scared a wildcat. The more I patted, the worse she screamed,
and her feet and hands flew around like a wind-mill. I took her up, and
trotted her on my knee, but bless you! she squirmed like an eel, and
her little bald head bobbed up and down faster than a di-dapper. Then I
walked her, but I would as soon try to swing to a greased snake. She
wriggled and bucked, and tied herself up into a bow knot, and yelled--.
Oh! a Comanche papoose is a dummy to her. As if I had not hands full,
arms full, and ears full, Dick must needs wake up and pitch head
foremost out of the cradle, and turn a double summerset before he
landed upside down on the floor, whereupon he lifted up his voice, and
the concert grew lively. I took him under one arm, so, and laid Missy
over my shoulder, and it struck me I would join the chorus in self
defence, so I opened with all my might on 'Hold the Fort'; but great
Tecumseh! I only insulted them both, and finding my fifth fiddle was
nowhere in the fray, I feared Jarvis would hear the howling and ring
the alarm bell, so I just sat down. I spread out Dick in a soft place,
where he could not bump his brains out, and laying my lady across my
lap, I held her down by main force, while she screamed till she was
black in the face. If you had not come just when you did, I should have
turned gray and cross-eyed. Hello, Missy! If she is not cooing and
laughing! Little vixen! Oh! but--'lambs'!--I believe they are!
Hereafter tend your own flock; and in preference I will herd young
panthers."

He wiped his forehead where the perspiration stood in drops, and
watched with amazement the sudden lull in the tempest.

Clasped in her mother's arms, the baby smiled and gurgled, and Dick,
drying his eyes on the maternal bosom, showed the exact spot where she
must kiss his bruised head.

"Ned, what have you done? This baby's hair is dripping wet, and so is
the neck of her dress."

"Serves her right, too. I sprinkled her, that's all."

"Sprinkled her! Have you lost your senses?"

"Shouldn't wonder if I had; people in bedlam are apt to be crazy. Yes,
I sprinkled Missy, because she turned so black in the face, I thought
she was strangling; and my step-mother always sprinkled me when I had a
fit of tantrums. But let me tell you, Missy will never be a zealous
Baptist, she doesn't take to water kindly."

"When I want my children step-mothered I will let you know. Give me
that towel, and baby's woollen cap hanging on the knob of the bureau.
Bless her precious heart! if she does not keep you up all night, with
the croup, you may thank your stars."

"Susie, just tell me how you tame them, so that next time--"

"Next time, sir, I shall not trust you. I just love them, and they know
it; that is what tames the whole world."

Edward Singleton stooped over his wife, and kissed her rosy cheek.

"Little woman, what luck had you in No. 19?"

"The best I could wish. I have saved that poor girl from brain-fever, I
hope."

"How did you manage it?"

"Just simply because I am a flesh and blood woman, and not a
blundering, cast-iron man."

"How does she seem now?"

"She has had a good, hearty spell of wholesome crying; no hysterics,
mind you, but floods of tears; and now she is sound asleep with her
head on the altar railing, in the chapel. I locked her up there, and
here is the key. When she wakes, I want her brought up here, put in
that room yonder, and left entirely to me, until her trial is over. I
never do things half way, Ned, and you need not pucker your eyebrows,
for I will be responsible for her. I have put my hand to the plough,
and you are not to meddle with the lines, till I finish my furrow."




CHAPTER VIII.


In one of the "outhouses" which constituted the servants' quarters, in
that which common parlance denominated the "back-yard" at "Elm Bluff,"
an old negro woman sat smoking a pipe.

The room which she had occupied for more than forty years, presented a
singular melange of incongruous odds and ends, the flotsam of a long
term of service, where the rewards, if intrinsically incommensurate,
were none the less invaluable, to the proud recipient. The floor was
covered by a faded carpet, once the pride of the great drawing-room,
but the velvet pile had disappeared beneath the arched insteps and high
heels of lovely belles and haughty beaux, and the scarlet feathers and
peacock plumes that originally glowed on the brilliant buff ground,
were no longer distinguishable.

An old-fashioned piece of furniture, coeval with diamond shoe-buckles,
ruffled shirts and queues, a brass bound mahogany chiffonier, with
brass handles and tall brass feet representing cat claws, stood in one
corner; and across the top was stretched a rusty purple velvet strip,
bordered with tarnished gilt gimp and fringe, a fragment of the cover
which belonged to the harp on which General Darrington's grandmother
had played.

The square bedstead was a marvel in size and massiveness, and the heavy
mahogany posts nearly black with age, and carved like the twisted
strands of a rope, supported a tester lined with turkey-red pleatings,
held in the centre by the talons of a gilt spread-eagle. So tall was
the bed, that three steps were required to ascend it, and the space
thus left between the mahogany and the floor, was hidden by a valance
of white dimity, garnished with wide cotton fringe. Over this spacious
place of repose, a patchwork quilt of the "rising sun" pattern
displayed its gaudy rays, resembling some sprawling octopus, rather
than the face of Phoebus.

The contents of a wide mantel board flounced with fringed dimity,
(venerable prototype of macrame and Arrasene lambrequins), would have
filled with covetousness the soul of the bric-a-brac devotee; and
graced the counters of Sypher.

There were burnished brass candle-sticks, with extinguishers in the
shape of prancing griffins, and snuffers of the same metal, fashioned
after the similitude of some strange and presumably extinct saurian;
and a Dresden china shepherdess, whose shattered crook had long since
disappeared, peeped coquettishly through the engraved crystal of a tall
candle shade at the bloated features of a mandarin, on a tea-pot with a
cracked spout--that some Darrington, stung by the gad-fly of travel,
had brought to the homestead from Nanking. A rich blue glass vase
poised on the back of a bronze swan, which had lost one wing and part
of its bill in the combat with time, hinted at the rainbow splendors of
its native Prague, and bewailed the captivity that degraded its
ultra-marine depths into a receptacle for cut tobacco.

The walls, ceiled with curled pine planks, were covered with a motley
array of pasted and tacked pictures; some engraved, many colored, and
ranging in comprehensiveness of designs, from Bible scenes cut from
magazines, to "riots" in illustrated papers; and even the garish glory
of circus and theatre posters.

In one corner stood an oak spinning-wheel, more than centenarian in
age, fallen into hopeless desuetude, but gay with the strings of
scarlet pepper pods hung up to dry, and twined among its silent spokes.
On a trivet provided with lizard feet that threatened to crawl away,
rested a copper kettle bereft of its top, once the idol of three
generations of Darringtons, to whom it had liberally dispensed "hot
water tea," in the blessed dead and embalmed era of nursery rule and
parental power; now eschewed with its despised use, and packed to the
brim with medicinal "yarbs," bone-set, horse mint, life everlasting,
and snake-root.

In front of the fire which roared and crackled in the cavernous
chimney, "Mam' Dyce" rocked slowly, enjoying her clay pipe, and
meditatively gazing up at an engraved portrait of "Our First
President," suspended on the wall. It was appropriately framed in
black, and where the cord that held it was twined around a hook, a bow
and streamers of very brown and rusty crape fluttered, when a draught
entered the apartment.

Obese in form, and glossy black in complexion, "Mam' Dyce" retained in
old age the scrupulous neatness which had characterized her youth, when
promoted to the post of seamstress and ladies' maid, she had ruled the
servants' realm at "Elm Bluff" with a sway as autocratic as that of
Catherine over the Muscovites. Her black calico dress, donned as
mourning for her master, was relieved by a white apron tied about the
ample waist; a snowy handkerchief was crossed over the vast bosom, and
a checked white and black turban skilfully wound in intricate folds
around her gray head, terminated in a peculiar knot, which was the
pride of her toilet. A beautiful spotted pointer dog with ears like
brown satin, was lying asleep near the fire, but suddenly he lifted his
head, rose, stretched himself and went to the door. A moment later it
opened, and the whilom major-domo, Abednego, came in; put his stick in
one corner, hung his hat on a wooden peg, and approached the fireplace.

"Well, ole man; you know I tole you so."

"You wimmen would ruther say that, than eat pound cake. Supposin' you
did tell me, what's the upshot?"

"That gimlet-eyed weasel is snuffing round you and me; but we won't
turn out to be spring chickens, ready picked."

"Which is to signify that Miss Angerline smells a mouse? Don't talk
parables, Dyce. What's she done now?"

"She is hankering after that hankchiff. 'Pears to me, if she only went
on four legs 'sted of two, she would sell high for a bloodhound."

"Great Nebuckadanzer! How did she find out?"

"Don't ax me; ax the witches what she has in cahoot. I always tole you,
she had the eyes of a cunjor, and she has sarched it out. Says she saw
you when you found it; which ain't true. Eavesdrapping is her trade;
she was fotch up on it, and her ears fit a key-hole, like a bung plugs
a barrel. She has eavesdrapped that hankchiff chat of our'n somehow.
Wuss than that, Bedney, she sot thar this evening and faced me down,
that I was hiding something else; that I picked up something on the
floor and hid it in my bosom, after the crowner's inquess. Sez I:
'Well, Miss Angerline, you had better sarch me and be done with it, if
you are the judge, and the jury, and the crowner, and the law, and have
got the job to run this case.' Sez she, a-squinting them venomous eyes
of her'n, till they looked like knitting needles red hot: 'I leave the
sarching to be done by the cunstable--when you are 'rested and
handcuffed for 'betting of murder.' Then my dander riz. Sez I, 'Crack
your whip and go ahead! You know how, seeing you is the offspring of a
Yankee overseer, what my marster, Gin'l Darrington, had 'rested for
beating one of our wimen, on our 'Bend' plantation. You and your pa is
as much alike, as two shrivelled cow peas out'en one pod. Fetch your
cunstable, and help yourselves.'"

Dyce rose, knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and stood like a dusky
image of an Ethiopian Bellona.

"Drat your servigerous tongue! Now the fat's in the fire, to be sho!
Ever since I tuck you for better for wuss, I have been trying to larn
you 'screshun! and I might as well 'a wasted my time picking a banjo
for a dead jackass tu dance by; for you have got no more 'screshun than
old Eve had, in confabulating with the old adversary! Why couldn't you
temperlize? Sassing that white 'oman, is a aggervating mistake."

Under ordinary circumstances, Bedney and Dyce prided themselves on the
purity of their diction, and they usually abstained from plantation
dialect; but when embarrassed, frightened or excited, they invariably
relapsed into the lingo of the "Quarters."

"Hush! What's that? A screech owull! Bedney, turn your pocket."

With marvellous swiftness she plunged her hand into her dress pocket,
and turned it wrong side out, scattering the contents--thimble, thread,
two "scalybarks," and some "ground peas" over the floor. Then stooping,
she slipped off one shoe, turned it upside down, and hung it thus on a
horseshoe fastened to the mantel board.

"Just lem'me know when you have appinted to hold your sarching, and I
will make it convenient to have bizness consarning that bunch of horgs
and cattle, I am raising on shares in the 'Bend' plantation: and you
can have your sarching frolic," said Bedney, too angry to heed the
superstitious rites.

Dyce made a warning gesture, and listened intently.

"I am a-thinking you will be chief cook and bottle-washer at that
sarching, for the appintment is at hand. Don't you hear Pilot baying
the cunstable?"

She sank into her rocking-chair, picked up a gray yarn sock, and began
to knit unconcernedly; but in a significant tone, she added, nodding
her head:

"Hold your own hand, Bedney; don't be pestered about mine. I'll hoe my
row; you 'tend to yourn."

Then she leaned back, plying her knitting needles, and began to chant:
"Who will be the leader when the Bridegroom comes?"

Hearing the knock on the door, her voice swelled louder, and Bedney,
the picture of perplexity, stood filling his pipe, when the bolt was
turned, and a gentleman holding a whip and wearing a long overcoat
entered the room.

"Good evening, Bedney. Are you and Dyce holding a camp meeting all by
yourselves? I hallooed at the gate till your dog threatened to devour
me, and I had to scare him off with my buggy whip."

"Why, how'dy, Mars Alfred? I am mighty glad to see you! Seems like old
times, to shake hands with you in my cabin. Lem'me take off your
overcoat, sir, and gim'me your hat, and make yourself comfortable, here
by the jam of the chimbly."

"No, Bedney, I can't spare the time, and I only want a little business
matter settled before I get back to town to my office. Thank you, Dyce,
this is an old-time rocker sure enough. It is a regular 'Sleepy
Hollow.'"

Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved hand toward the
fire.

"Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in your master's
room, the day after he was murdered."

"What hankchuf, Marse Alfred? I done tole everything I know, to the
Crowner's inquess."

"I dare say you did; but something was found afterward. I want to see
it."

"Who has been villifying of me? You have knowed me ever since you was
knee-high to a duck, and I--."

"Nobody has vilified you, but Miss Dobbs saw you examining something,
which she says you pushed up your coat sleeve. She thinks it was a
handkerchief, but it may have been valuables. Now it is my duty, as
District Solicitor, to discover and prosecute the person who killed
your master, and you ought to render me every possible assistance. Any
unwillingness to give your testimony, or surrender the articles found,
will cast suspicion on you, and I should be sorry to have you arrested."

"Fore Gord, Marse Alfred, I--"

"Own up, husband. You did find a hankchef. You see, Marse Alfred, we
helped to raise that poor young gal's mother; and Bedney and me was
'votedly attached to our young Mistiss, Miss Ellie, and we thought ole
Marster was too hard on her, when she run off with the furrin fiddler;
so when this awful 'fliction fell upon us and everybody was cusing Miss
Ellie's child of killing her own grandpa, we couldn't believe no such
onlikely yarn, and Bedney and me has done swore our vow, we will stand
by that poor young creetur, for her ma's sake; for our young mistiss
was good to us, and our heart strings was 'rapped round her. We does
not intend, if we can help it, to lend a hand in jailing Miss Ellie's
child, and so, after the Crowner had 'liceted all the facts as he said,
and the verdict was made up, Bedney and me didn't feel no crampings in
our conscience, about holding our tongues. Another reason why we wanted
to lay low in this hiere bizness, was that we didn't hanker after
sitting on the anxious seats of witnesses in the court-house; and being
called ongodly thieves, and perjured liars, and turned wrong side out
by the lie-yers, and told our livers was white, and our hearts blacker
than our skins. Marse Alfred, Bedney and me are scared of that court;
what you call the law, cuts curous contarabims sometimes, and when the
broad axe of jestice hits, there is no telling whar the chips will fly;
it's wuss than hull-gull, or pitching heads and tails. You are a
lie-yer, Marse Alfred, and you know how it is yourself; and I beg your
pardon, sir, for slighting the perfession; but when I was a little gal,
I got my scare of lie-yers, and it has stuck to me like a kuckleburrow.
One Christmas eve jest before ole Marster got married, he had a egg-nog
party; and a lot of gentlemen was standing 'round the table in the
dining-room. One of 'em was ole Mr. Dunbar, Marse Lennox' father, and
he axed ole Marster if he had saved that game rooster for him, as he
promised, Marster told him he was very sorry, but some rogue had done
gone and burnt some sulphur the week before in his henhouse, and bagged
that 'dentical rooster. Presently Mr. Dunbar axed if Marster would let
him have one of the blue hen's roosters, if he would catch the rogue
for him before midnight. Of course Marster said he would. Mr. Dunbar
(Marse Lennox' pa), he was practicing law then, had a pot full of smut
on the bottom, turned upside down on the dining-room flo', and he and
Marster went out to the hen-'ouse and got a dominicker rooster and
shoved him under the pot. Then they rung the bell, and called every
darkey on the place into the dining-room, and made us stand in a line.
I was a little gal then, only so high, but I followed my daddy in the
house, and I never shall disremember that night, 'cause it broke up our
home preachment. Mr. Dunbar made a speech, and the upshot of it was,
that every darkey was to walk past the pot and rub his finger in the
smut; and he swore a solemn oath, that when the pusson that stole that
fine game rooster, touched the pot, the dominicker rooster would crow.
As Marster called our names, we every one marched out and rubbed the
pot, and when all of us had tried, the rooster hadn't crowed. Mr.
Dunbar said there was some mistake somewhere, and he made us step up
and show hands, and make prints on his hankcher; and lo, and behold!
one darkey had not touched the pot; his forefinger was clean; so Mr.
Dunbar says, 'Luke, here is your thief?' and shore 'nuff, it was our
preacher, and he owned up. I never forgot that trick, and from that day
'till now, I have been more scared of a lie-yer, than I am of a mad
dog. They is the only perfession that the Bible is agin, for you know
they jawed our Lord hisself, and he said, 'Woe! woe! to you lie-yers.'
Now, Marse Alfred, if you have made up your mind you are gwine to have
that hankcher, it will be bound to come; for if it was tied to a
millstone and drapped in the sea, you lie-yers would float it into
court; so Bedney, jest perduce what you found."

"That is right, Dyce; I am glad your opinion of my profession has
forced you to such a sensible conclusion. Come, Bedney, no balking now."

Perplexed by Dyce's tactics, Bedney stood irresolute, with his
half-filled pipe slipping from his fingers; and he stared at his wife
for a few seconds, hoping that some cue would be furnished.

"Bedney, there's no use in being cantankerous. If you won't perduce it,
I will."

Plunging her hand into the blue glass bowl, she pushed aside the
tobacco, and extracted a key; then crossed the room, lifted the valance
of the patriarchal bed, and dragged out a small, old-fashioned hair
trunk, ornamented with stars and diamonds of brass tack heads. Drawing
it across the floor, she sat down near Mr. Churchill, and bending over,
unlocked and opened it. After removing many articles of clothing, and
sundry heirlooms, she lifted from the bottom a bundle, which she laid
on her lap, and edging her chair closer to the Solicitor, proceeded to
unfold the contents. The outside covering was a richly embroidered
Canton crape shawl, originally white, now yellow as old ivory; but when
this was unwrapped, there appeared only an ordinary sized brown gourd,
with a long and singularly curved handle, as crooked as a ram's horn.
Bending one of her knitting needles into a hook, Dyce deftly inserted
it in the neck, where it joined the bowl, and after manoeuvring a few
seconds, laid down the needle, and with the aid of her thumb and
forefinger slowly drew out a long roll, tightly wrapped with thread.
Unwinding it, she shook the roll, and a small, gray object, about two
inches long, dropped into her lap. Mr. Churchill sat leaning a little
forward, as if intent on Dyce's movements, but his elbow rested on the
arm of the rocking chair, and holding his hand up to screen his face
from the blaze of the fire, he was closely watching Bedney. When Dyce
shook out and held up a faded, dingy blue silk handkerchief, the lawyer
noted a sudden twinkle in the old man's eyes, but no other feature
moved, and he stooped to take a coal of fire from the hearth.

"There is the hankchuf that Bedney found. But mebbe you don't know what
this is, that I wrapped up in it, to bring us good luck?"

She spread the handkerchief over his knee, and held up the small gray
furry object, which had fallen from its folds.

"Rabbit's foot? Let me see; yes, that is the genuine left hind foot. I
know all about it, because when my regiment was ordered to the front,
my old colored Mammy--Ma'm Judy--who nursed me, sewed one just like
that, inside the lining of my coat skirt. But, Dyce, that rabbit's foot
was not worth a button; for the very first battle I was in, a cannon
ball killed my horse under me, and carried away my coat tail--rabbit's
foot and all. Don't pin your faith to left hind feet, they are fatal
frauds. You are positive, this is the handkerchief Bedney found? It
smells of asafoetida and camphor, and looks like it had recently been
tied around somebody's sore throat."

"Marse Alfred, I will swear on a stack of Bibles high as the 'Piscopal
church steeple, that Bedney Darrington gim'me that same blue hankcher,
and he said he found it. I wasn't with him when he found it, but I
hardly think he would 'a stole a' old rag like that. I have perduced
it! now if you want to sarch behind it, you must tackle Bedney."

She resumed her knitting and her lips closed like the spring of a steel
trap.

"Dyce, I haven't heard the rooster crow yet. Somebody has fought shy of
the pot. See here, I am in earnest now, and I will give you both a
friendly word of warning. Your actions are so suspicious, that unless
you produce the real article you found, I shall be obliged to send you
to jail, and try you for the murder. How do I know that you and Bedney
are not the guilty parties, instead of General Darrington's
granddaughter? This soiled rag will impose neither upon me, nor upon
the court, and I give you five minutes to put into my possession the
real genuine handkerchief. I shall know it when I see it, because it is
white, with red spots on the border."

"Paddle your own 'dug out,' Bedney, and show your s'creshun. If Marse
Alfred wants to set the red-eyed hounds of the Law on an innocent
'oman, let him blow his horn."

She knitted assiduously, and looked composedly at her husband, whose
lower jaw had suddenly fallen, while his eyelids blinked nervously, as
though attacked by St. Vitus' dance.

"Only five minutes, Bedney."

Mr. Churchill took out his watch, and held it open.

"You see, Marse Alfred, I--"

"I don't see anything but an infernal fraud you two have planned. Only
three minutes more. There is a constable waiting at the gate, and if he
can not persuade you to--"

"Bedney, step and fetch him in, and let Marse Alfred see the sarching
job done up all right."

"No, I don't hunt foxes that way. Instead of searching this cabin, we
will just march you both instanter out of these comfortable quarters,
and let you try how soft the beds are, at the 'State boarding-house.'
You will sleep cold on iron bunks, and miss your feathers and your
crazy quilts. Time's up."

He closed his watch, with a snap, and rose as he returned it to his
pocket.

"Hold on, Marse Alfred! My head ain't hard enough to run it plum into a
wolf's jaws. I ain't 'sponsible for nobody's acts but my own, and if
Dyce have committed a pius fraud, in this here hank'cher bizness, to
screen Miss Ellie's child, why, you see yourself, I had no hand in it.
I did find that blue 'rag,' as you seen fit to call it, but it was nigh
on to twenty years ago, when I pulled it out of the breast pocket of a
dead Yankee officer, we found lying across a cannon, what my old
Marster's regiment captured at the battle of Manassas. I gin it to my
wife as a screw-veneer o' the war and she have treasured it accordin'.
You are a married man yourself, Marse Alfred, and you are obleedged to
know that wedlock is such a tight partnership, that it is an awfully
resky thing for a man to so much as bat his eyes, or squint 'em, toward
the west, when the wife of his bosom has set her'n to the east. I have
always 'lowed Dyce her head, 'pecially in jokes like that one she was
playing on you just now, 'cause St. John the Baptist said a man must
forsake father and mother and cleave unto his wife; but conjugular
harness is one thing, and the law is another, and I don't hanker after
forsaking my pine-knot fire, and feather bed, to cleave unto jail bars,
and handcuffs. I see you are tired of Dyce's jokes, and you mean
bizzness; and I don't intend to consume no more of your valuable
solicitous time. Dyce, fetch me that plank bottom cher to stand on."

"Fetch it yourself. Paddling your own canoe, means headin' for the mill
dam."

Bedney hastened to procure the designated chair, which he mounted in
front of the mantel piece, and thence reaching up to the portrait of
President Lincoln, took it carefully down from the hook. With the blade
of his pocket-knife, he loosened some tacks which secured the thin pine
slats at the back of the picture, and removed them. He took everything
from the frame, and blank dismay seized him, when the desired object
was nowhere visible.

"Marse Alfred, I swear I tacked that hank'cher in the back of this here
portrait, between the pasteboard and the brown paper, only yestiddy;
and 'fore Gord! I haint seen it since."

Grasping his wife's shoulder, he shook her, until her tall turban
quivered and bent over like the Tower of Pisa, and Mr. Churchill saw
that in his unfeigned terror, drops of perspiration broke out on his
wrinkled forehead.

"Have you turned idjut, that you want us both to be devoured by the
roarin' lion of the Law? My mammy named me Bedney, not Dani-yell, and
she had oughter, for Gord knows, you have kept me in a fiery furnace
ever since I tuck you for better for wurser, mostly wurser. I want that
hank'cher, and you'd better believe--I want it quick. I found it, and
I'm gwine to give it up; and you have got no right to jeppardy my life,
if you are fool enough to resk your own stiff neck. Gim'me that
hank'cher! Fantods is played out. I would ruther play leap frog over a
buzz-saw than--than--pester and rile Marse Alfred, and have the
cunstable clawing my collar."

"You poor, pitiful, rascally, cowardly creetur! Whar's that oath you
done swore, to help 'fend Miss Ellie's child? And you a deacon, high in
the church! If I had found that hank'cher, I would hide it, till
Gabriel's horn blows; and I would go to jail or to Jericho; and before
I would give testimony agin my dear young Mistiss's poor friendless
gal, I would chaw my tongue into sassage meat. That's the diffunce
between a palavering man full of 'screshun, and a 'oman who means what
she says; and will stand by her word, if it rains fire and brimstone.
Betrayin' and denying the innercent, has been men's work, ever since
the time of Judas and Peter. Now, Marse Alfred, Bedney did tack the
hank'cher inside the portrait of President Linkum, 'cause we thought
that was the saftest place, but I knowed the house would be sarched, so
I jest hid it in a better place. Since he ain't showed no more backbone
than a saucer of blue-mange, I shall have to give it up; but if I had
found it, you would never set your two eyes on it, while my head is
warm."

She stooped, lifted the wide hem of her black calico skirt, and
proceeded to pick out the stitches which held it securely. When she had
ripped the thread about a quarter of a yard, she raised the edge of the
unusually deep hem, and drew out a white handkerchief with a colored
border.

Bedney snatched it from her, and handed it to the Solicitor, who leaned
close to the fire, and carefully examined it. As he held it up by the
corners, his face became very grave and stern, and he sighed.

"This is evidently a lady's handkerchief, and is so important in the
case, that I shall keep it until the trial is over. Bedney, come to my
office by nine o'clock to-morrow, as the Grand Jury may ask you some
questions. Good bye, Dyce, shake hands; for I honor your loyalty to
your poor young mistress, and her unfortunate child. You remind me of
my own old mammy. Dear good soul, she was as true as steel."

As Mr. Churchill left the house, Bedney accompanied him to the gate.
When he returned, the door was locked. In vain he demanded admittance;
in vain tried the windows; every entrance was securely barred, and
though he heard Dyce moving about within, she deigned no answer to his
earnest pleadings, his vehement expostulations, or his fierce threats
of summary vengeance. The remainder of that night was spent by Pilot
and his irate master in the great hay bin of the "Elm Bluff" stables.
When the sun rose next morning, Bedney rushed wrathful as Achilles, to
resent his wrongs. The door of his house stood open; a fire glowed on
the well swept hearth, where a pot of boiling coffee and a plate of
biscuit welcomed him; but Dyce was nowhere visible, and a vigorous
search soon convinced him she had left home on some pressing errand.

Two hours later, Mrs. Singleton opened the door of the small room
adjoining her own bedchamber, to which she had insisted upon removing
the prisoner.

Beryl stood leaning against the barred window, and did not even turn
her head.

"Here is a negro woman, begging to see you for a few moments. She says
she is an old family servant of General Darrington's."

Standing with her back toward the door, the prisoner put out one hand
with a repellent gesture:

"I have surely suffered enough from General Darrington and his friends;
and I will see nobody connected with that fatal place, which has been a
curse to me."

"Just as you please; but old Auntie here, says she nursed your mother,
and on that account wants to see you."

Without waiting for permission, Dyce darted past the warden's wife,
into the room, and almost before Beryl was aware of her presence, stood
beside her.

"Are you Miss Ellie's daughter?"

Listlessly the girl turned and looked at her, and Dyce threw her arms
around her slender waist, and falling on her knees hid her face in
Beryl's dress, sobbing passionately. In the violence of her emotion,
she rocked back and forth, swaying like a reed in some fierce blast the
tall form, to whom she clung.

"Oh, my lovely! my lovely! To think you should be shut up here! To see
Miss Ellie's baby jailed, among the off-scourings of the earth! Oh, you
beautiful white deer! tracked and tore to pieces by wolves, and hounds,
and jackalls! Oh, honey! Just look straight at me, like you was facing
your accusers before the bar of God, and tell me you didn't kill your
grandpa. Tell me you never dipped your pretty hands in ole Marster's
blood."

Tears were streaming down Dyce's cheeks.

"If you knew my mother, how can you think it possible her child could
commit an awful crime?"

"Oh, God knows--I don't know what to think! 'Peers to me the world is
turned upside down. You see, honey, you are half and half; and while I
am perfectly shore of Miss Ellie's half of you, 'cause I can always
swear to our side, the Darrington in you, I can't testify about your
pa's side; he was a--a--"

"He was as much a gentleman, as my mother was a lady; and I would
rather be his daughter, than call a king my father."

"I believe you! There ain't no drop of scrub blood in you, as I can
see, and if you ain't thoroughbred, 'pearances are deceitful. I loved
your ma; I loved the very ground her little feet trod on. I fed her out
of my own plate many a time, 'cause she thought her Mammy's vittils was
sweeter than what Mistiss 'lowed her to have; and she have slept in my
bosom, and these arms have carried her, and hugged her, and--and--oh,
Lord God A'mighty! it most kills me to see you, her own little baby
here! In this awful, cussed den of thieves and villi-yans! Oh, honey!
for God's sake, just gin me some 'surance you are as pure as you look;
just tell me your soul is a lily, like your face."

Beryl stooped, put her hand on the turbaned head, and bending it back,
so as to look down into the swimming eyes, answered:

"If I had died when I was a month old, my baby soul would not have
faced God any more innocent of crime then, than I am to-day. I had no
more to do with taking General Darrington's money and his life, than
the archangels in Heaven."

"Bless God! Now I am satisfied. Now I see my way clare. But it sets my
blood afire to see you here; it's a burning shame to put my dear young
Mistiss' child in this beasts' cage. I can't help thinking of that poor
beautiful white deer, what Marster found crippled, down at our 'Bend'
Plantation, that some vagabond had shot. Marster fotch it up home, and
of all the pitifulist sights!"

Dyce had risen, and covering her face with her white apron, she wept
for some minutes.

"Are you not the wife of Bedney, who saved my mother's life, when the
barn burned?"

"Yes, honey, I am Mam' Dyce, and if I am spared, I will try to save
your'n. That is what has brung me here. You are 'cused of the robb'ry
and the murder, and you have denied it in the court; but chile, the
lie-yers are aworking day and night fur to hang you, and little is made
of much, on your side, and much is spun out of little, on theirn. They
are more cunning than foxes, and bloodthirstier than panters, and they
no more git tired than the spiders, that spin and piece a web as fast
as you break it. Three nights ago, I got down on my knees, and I kissed
a little pink morocco slipper what your Ma wore the day when she took
her first step from my arm to her own mother's knees, and I swore a
solemn oath, if I could help free Miss Ellie's child, I would do it.
Now I want to ask you one thing. Did you lose anything that day you
come to our house, and had the talk with old Marster?"

"Nothing, but my peace and happiness."

"Are you shore you didn't drap your hank'cher?"

"Yes, I am sure I did not, because I wrapped it around some
chrysanthemums I gathered as I went away."

"Well, a lady's hank'cher was found in Marster's room, and it did smell
of chloryform. Bedney picked it up, and we said nothing and laid low,
and hid the thing; but that Godforsaken and predestinated sinner, Miss
Angeline, kept sarching and eavesdrapping, and set the lie-yers on the
scent, and they have 'strained Bedney on peril of jailing him, to
perduce it. When it got into their claws, and I thought it might belonk
to you, my teeth chattered, and I felt like the back of my frock was a
ice-warehouse. Now, honey, can you testify before God and man, that
hank'cher ain't yourn?"

"I certainly can. I had only three handkerchiefs with me when I left
home, and I have them still. Here is one, the other two lie yonder. But
that handkerchief is worth everything; because it must belong to the
vile wretch who committed the crime, and it will help to prove my
innocence. Where is it?"

"The Grand Jury is setting on it."

Here Dyce looked cautiously around, and tip-toed to the door; finding
it ajar, closed it, then stole back. Putting her lips close to Beryl's
ear, she whispered:

"Did you lose a sleeve button?"

"No. I did not wear any."

"Thank God! I feel like all the bricks in the court-house was lifted
off my heart, and flung away. I was in fear and trimbling about that
button, 'cause I picked it up, just under the aidge of the rug, where
ole Marster fell, when he got his death blow; and as sure as the coming
of the Judgment Day, it was drapped by the pusson who killed him. I was
so afeared it might belonk to you, that I have been on the anxious seat
ever since I found it; and I concluded the safest way was to bring it
here to you. I am scared to keep it at home, 'cause them yelping wolves
as wears the sheepskins of Justice, are on my tracks. I would never
give it up, if I was chopped to mince meat; but Bedney ain't got no
more than enuff backbone for half of a man, and the lie-yers
discomfrizzle him so, I could not trust him, when it comes to the
scratch. Now that button is worth a heap, and I am precious careful of
it. Look here."

She took from her pocket two large pods of red pepper, which looked
exactly alike, but the end of one had been cut out around the stem,
then neatly fitted back, and held in place by some colorless cement.
Beckoning Beryl to follow, Dyce went closer to the window, and with the
aid of her teeth drew out the stem. Into her palm rolled a circular
button of some opaque reddish-brown substance, resembling tortoise
shell, and enamelled with gilt bunches of grapes, and inlaid leaves of
mother-of-pearl. Across the top, embossed in gilt letters ran the word
"Ricordo."

The old woman lifted her open palm, and as Beryl saw the button, a
gasping, gurgling sound broke from her. She snatched it, stared at it.
Then the Gorgon head slipped through her fingers, she threw herself
against the window, shook the iron bar frantically; and one desperate
cry seemed to tear its way through her clinched teeth, over her ashy
lips:

"Oh, Mother! Mother--Mother! You are nailing me to a cross."




CHAPTER IX.


Nowhere in the vast vista of literature is there an episode more
exquisitely pathetic than that serene picture of the Grove at Colonus,
sacred to the "Semnai Theai;" where the dewy freshness, the floral
loveliness, the spicery, and all the warbling witchery of nature pay
tribute to the Avenging Goddesses.

Twenty-two centuries have sifted their dust over the immortal figures
seated on the marble bench within the precincts consecrated to the
Eumenides, but in deathless tenacity, the rich aroma of Sophocles'
narcissus, and the soft crocus light linger there still; while from
thickets of olive, nightingales break their hearts in song, as
thrilling as the melody that smote the ears of doomed and dying Oedipus.

So in all ages, we, born thralls of grief, lift streaming eyes, and
chant elegies to stony-hearted Mother-Earth, but her starry orbs shine
on, undimmed by sympathetic tears; her smiling lips show only sunshine
in their changeless dimples, and her myriad fingers sweeping the keys
of the Universal Organ, drown our De Profundis in the rhythmic thunders
of her Jubilate. Wailing children of Time, we crouch and tug at the
moss-velvet, daisy-sprinkled skirts of the mighty Mater, praying some
lullaby from her to soothe our pain; but human woe frets not her
sublime serenity, as deaf as desert sphinx, she fronts the future.

Some echo of this maddening mystery sounded in the ears of the lonely
woman, who clutched the bars of her dungeon, and stared through its
iron lattice, at the peaceful, happy, outside world. At her feet lay
X---, divided by the silvery river, which, here rushed with arrowy
swiftness under the gray stone arches of the bridge, and there widened
into glassy lakelets, as if weary from the mad plunge over a distant
rocky ledge in mid-stream, whence the dull steady roar of the "falls"
thrilled the atmosphere, like the "tremolo" in a dim cathedral, where
fading daylight dies on painted apse and gilded pipes. As a chessboard
the squares of buildings were spread out, defined by wide streets,
where humanity and its traffic sped, busy as ants. In a green plot, the
sombre facade of the court-house surmounted by an eyeless stone statue
of Justice, frowned on the frivolous throng below; and along the verge
of the common, marble fingers pointed up to the heaven of blue that
bent above "God's Acre"; while now and then, bulbous towers, and
glittering steeple vanes, caught the sunshine on their polished crests.
Beyond the whole, and bounding the valley filled with a billowy sea of
bluish-green pine tops, rose a wooded eminence, wearing still its
Persian robe of autumn foliage, and on its brow the colonnade and
chimneys of "Elm Bluff" blotted the southern sky, like a threatening
phantom.

To-day forest, stream, earth and sky, appeared branded with one fatal
word, as if the world's wide page held only "Ricordo! Ricordo!"

Beryl shut her eyes and groaned; but the scene merely shifted to a dell
under the shadow of Carrara hills, where olives set "Ricordo" among
their silver leaves; and lemons painted "Ricordo" in their pale gold;
and scarlet pomegranates and nodding violets, burning anemones and
tender green of trailing maiden-hair ferns all blazoned "Ricordo."

The fierce tide of wrath, that indignation and her keen sense of
outraged innocence had poured like molten lead through her throbbing
arteries, was oozing sluggishly, congealing under the awful spell of
that one word "Ricordo." Hitherto, the shame of the suspicion, the
degradation of the imprisonment had caught and empaled her thoughts;
but by degrees, these became dwarfed by the growing shadow of a
possibly ignominious death, which spread its sable pinions along the
rosy dawn of her womanhood, and devoured the glorious sun of her high
hopes. The freezing gloom was creeping nearer, and to-day she could
expect no succor, save by one avenue.

Islam believes that only the cimeter edge of Al Sirat divides Paradise
from perdition. Beryl realized that in her peril, she trod an equally
narrow snare, over yawning ruin, holding by a single thread of hope
that handkerchief. Weak natures shiver and procrastinate, shunning
confirmation of their dread; but to this woman had come a frantic
longing to see, to grasp, to embrace the worst. She was in a death
grapple with appalling fate, and that handkerchief would decide the
issue.

Physical exhaustion was following close upon the mental agony that had
stretched her on the rack, for so many days and nights. To sit still
was impossible, yet in her wandering up and down the narrow room, she
reeled, and sometimes staggered against the wall, dizzy from weakness,
to which she would not succumb.

Human help was no more possible for her, than for Moses, when he
climbed Nebo to die; and alone with her God, the brave soul wrestled.
Wearily she leaned against the window bars, twining her hot fingers
around them, pressing her forehead to the cold barrier; and everywhere
"Ricordo" stabbed her eyes like glowing steel.

The door opened, some words were uttered in an undertone, then the bolt
clicked in its socket, and Mr. Dunbar approached the window.
Mechanically Beryl glanced over her shoulder, and a shiver crept across
her.

"I believe you know me. Dunbar is my name."

He stood at her side, and they looked into each other's eyes, and
measured lances. Could this worn, pallid woman, be the same person who
in the fresh vigor of her youthful beauty, had suggested to him on the
steps of "Elm Bluff," an image of Hygeia? Here insouciante girlhood was
dead as Manetho's dynasties, and years seemed to have passed over this
auburn head since he saw it last. Human faces are Nature's highest type
of etchings, and mental anguish bites deeper than Dutch mordant;
heart-ache is the keen needle that traces finest lines.

"Yes, I know you only too well. You are Tiberius."

Her luminous deep eyes held his at bay, and despite his habitual,
haughty equipoise, her crisp tone of measureless aversion stung him.

"Sarcasm is an ill-selected arbiter between you and me; and your fate
for all time, your future weal or woe is rather a costly shuttlecock to
be tossed to and fro in a game of words. I do not come to bandy
phrases, and in view of your imminent peril, I cannot quite understand
your irony."

"Understand me? You never will. Did the bloodthirsty soul of Tiberius
comprehend the stainless innocence of the victims he crushed for
pastime on the rocks below Villa Jovis? There is but one arbiter for
your hatred, the hang-man, to whom you would so gladly hurry me.
Hunting a woman to the gallows is fit sport for men of your type."

Unable to withdraw his gaze from the magnetism of hers, he frowned and
bit his lip. Was she feigning madness, or under the terrible nervous
strain, did her mind wander?

"Your language is so enigmatical, that I am forced to conclude you
resort to this method of defence. The exigencies of professional duty
compel me to assume toward you an attitude, as painfully embarrassing
to me as it is threatening to you. Because the stern and bitter law of
justice sometimes entails keen sorrow upon those who are forced to
execute her decrees, is it any less obligatory upon the appointed
officers to obey the solemn behests?"

"Justice! Into what a frightful mockery have such as you degraded her
worship! No wonder justice fled to the stars. You are the appointed
officer of a harpy screaming for the blood of the innocent. How dare
you commit your crimes, raise your red hands, in the sacred name of
justice? Call yourself the priest of a frantic vengeance, for whom some
victim must be provided; and libel no more the attribute of Jehovah."

Scorn curled her lips, and beneath her glowing eyes, his grew restless,
as panoplied in conscious innocence she seemed to defy attack.

"You evidently credit me with motives of personal animosity, which
would alike disgrace my profession and my manhood. For your sake,
rather than my own, I should like to remove this erroneous impression
from your mind. If you could only understand--"

She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture of disdain.

"Save your sophistries; they are wasted here. Why multiply cobwebs? I
understand you. If doves have a sixth sense that warns them before they
hear the hawk's cry, or discern the shadow of his circling wings, and
if mice, dumb in a cat's claws, surmise the exact value of the
preliminary caresses, the graceful antics, the fatal fondling of the
velvet paw, so we, the prey of legal 'Justice' know instinctively what
the swinging of censers, and the chanting of her high priest mean, when
he draws near us. I understand you. You intend to hang me if you can."

He drew his breath with a hissing sound, and a dark flush Stained his
broad smooth brow.

"On my honor as a gentleman, I came here to-day solely to--"

"Solely to assure yourself of some doubtful link you must weld into
your chain; solely to plunge the scalpel of some double-edged question.
If there must be an ante mortem examination, we will wait, if you
please, for the legal dissection when I am stretched before the
jury-box. Until then, you have no right to intrude upon the misery you
have brought on an innocent woman."

They stood so near each other, that he could count the fierce throbbing
of the artery in her round snowy throat, and see the shadow of her long
lashes; and again some electric current flashed from her feverishly
bright eyes, burning its way to the secret chambers of his selfish
heart, melting the dross that ambition and greed had slowly cemented,
and dropping one deathless spark into a deep adytum, of the existence
of which he had never even dreamed. Unconsciously he leaned toward her,
but she pressed back against the iron bars, and drew her dress aside as
if shunning a leper. There was no petulance in the motion, but its
significance pricked him, like a dagger point.

"It was the hope of finding you an innocent woman, that must plead my
pardon for what you consider an unwarrantable 'intrusion.' Will you
believe me, if I swear to you, that I have come as a friend?"

"As a friend to me? No. As a friend to General Darrington and his
adopted son Prince? Yes. Oh, Tiberius! Your rosy apples are flavored
like those your forefather offered Agrippina."

"Do you regard me as an unscrupulous, calculating villain, who
pretending kindness, plots treachery? Do you deliberately offer me this
wanton insult?"

His swart face reddened, and the fine lines of his handsome mouth
hardened.

She shrank a few inches closer to the window, and compressed her lips.

"If you were a man, I should swiftly resent the affront you have thrust
upon me, and suitable redress would be peculiarly sweet and welcome;
but you are a defenceless and unfortunate woman, and my hands are tied.
I desire to help you; you repulse me and insult my manhood. I will do
my painful duty, because it is sternly and inexorably my duty; but, I
wish to God, I had never set my eyes on you."

The sudden passionate ring in his voice surprised her, and she looked
searchingly at him, wondering into what pitfall it was intended to lure
her.

"If you had never set your eyes on me? Ah, would to God I had died ten
thousand times before I encountered their evil spell! If you had never
set your eyes on me? I should be now, a happy, hopeful girl, with life
beckoning me like the rosy Syrian plains that smiled on the
desert-weary. The world looked so bright to me that day, when first I
smelled the sweet resinous pines, and dreamed of my work, and all the
glory of the victory, I knew that I should win over poverty and want. I
was so poor in worldly goods, but oh!--Croesus could not have bought my
proud hopes! So rich, so overflowing with high hope! As I think of my
feelings that day, among the primroses and pine cones, it seems a
hundred years ago, and I recall the image of a girl long dead; such a
proud girl; so happy in the beautiful world of the art she loved! Then
some strange awful curse that had lain in wait, ambushed among the
flowers I gathered that last day of my dead existence, fell upon me--I
saw you! No wonder I shivered, when you met me. I saw you. Then my sun
sickened and went out, and my hopes crumbled, and my youth shrivelled
and perished forever; and the wide world is a rayless dungeon, and the
girl Beryl is buried so deep, that the Angels of the Resurrection will
never find her!--and I?--I am only a withered, disgraced woman, hurled
into a den; trampled, branded; with a soul devoured by despairing
bitterness, with a broken heart, a brain on fire! If you had drawn a
knife across my throat, or sent a bullet through my temples, my spirit
might have rested in the Beyond, and I could have forgiven that which
hastened me to heaven; but you strangled my hopes, and mutilated my
youth, and dishonored my father's name!--You robbed me of my stainless
character, and cast me among outlaws and fiends!--Worse yet, oh!
blackest of all your crimes!--you have almost throttled my faith in
Christ. You have torn away my hold upon the eternal God! You are the
curse of my life. You wish you had never set your eyes on me? Take
courage, finish your work; the best of me is utterly dead already, and
when you have taken my blood, and laid my polluted body in a convict's
shallow grave, your enmity will be satiated. Then I, at least, I shall
be free from my hideous curse. If there be any comfort left me, it
lurks in the knowledge that when you succeed in convicting me, the same
world will no longer hold us both."

Was it the fever of disease, or incipient madness that blazed in her
eyes, flamed on her cheeks, and lent such thrilling cadence to her pure
clear voice? Was she a consummate actress, or had he made a frightful
mistake, and goaded an innocent girl to the verge of frenzy? Some
occult influence seemed clouding his hitherto infallible perceptions,
melting his heart, paralyzing his will. He walked up and down the
floor, with his hands clasped behind him, then came close to the
prisoner.

"If I have unjustly suspected and persecuted you, may God forgive me!
If I have wronged you by suspicion and accusation of a crime which you
did not commit, then my atonement shall be your triumphant vindication.
I would give a good deal to know that your hands are as pure as they
look, and innocent of theft and murder. Tell me--tell me the truth. I
will save you, I will give you back all that you have lost, and tenfold
more. For God's sake, for your own sake, and for mine, I entreat you to
tell me the truth. Did you go back to 'Elm Bluff' that night, after I
met you in the pine woods?"

His dark face was close to hers, and his keen blue eyes seemed to probe
the recesses of her soul. If she answered, would the steel springs of
some trap close upon her?

"I did not go back to 'Elm Bluff.' My hands, my heart, my soul are as
free from crime as they were when God sent them into the world. I am
innocent--innocent--innocent as any baby only a week old, lying dead in
its little coffin. Innocent--but defiled, disgraced; innocent as the
Lord Jesus was of the sins for which He died; but you can not save what
you have destroyed. You have ruined my life."

He was a strong man, cold, collected, priding himself upon his superb
physique, his nerves of steel; but as he watched and listened, he
trembled, and the girl's eyes dilated, sparkled through the sudden
moisture that so strangely and unexpectedly gathered in his own.

"Then you must prove the truth of your solemn words; and it was this
faint hope that induced me to come here to-day. Only one circumstance
stands between the Grand Jury and your indictment for murder; and time
presses. Now tell me, do you know this?"

He took from his coat pocket a small parcel wrapped in paper, and tore
off the covering. Beryl stood faint and dizzy, resting against the
window, but erect, on guard and defiant. He shook out and held up a
square of fine linen, daintily hem-stitched. Along the border ran
graceful arabesques, swelling into scallops and dotted with stars,
embroidered in some rich red thread; and in one corner, enclosed in a
wreath of exquisitely designed fuchsias, the large, elaborately ornate
capitals "B. B." were worked in fadeless scarlet scrolls to match the
wreath. Above the drooping flowers, poised the red wings of a
descending butterfly. Artistic instincts had outlined, and deft
delicate touches filled in, with the glowing embroidery.

Did she know it? Could she ever forget that serene May day when the air
was liquid gold, and the Mediterranean molten sapphire, wreathed with
pearls, as the wavelets crested; when the rosy oleanders and silvery
flakes of orange blossoms floated down upon the ferny cliff, where
sitting by her father's side, she had drawn this design, spreading the
linen on the back of her father's worn copy of Theocritus? If she lived
a thousand years, would it be possible to forget the thin, almost
transparent white hand, with its blue veins swollen like cords, which
had gently taken the pencil from her fingers, and retouched and rounded
the sweep of the curves; the dear wasted hand that she had stooped and
kissed, as it corrected her work?

As on the golden background of a cherished Byzantine picture, memory
held untarnished every tint and outline of that blessed day, when she
and her father had looked for the last time on the sunny sea they loved
so well.

Did fell fate hover, even then, in that sparkling perfumed air, and in
sinister prescience trace this tangling web of threads, with grim
intent to snare her unwary feet?

Savants tell us, that ages ago, in the dim dawn, primeval rain drops
made their pattering print, and left it to harden on the stone pages,
awaiting decipherment by human eyes and human brains, not yet

  "Born of the brainless Nature,
  Who knew not that which she bore."

Is there an analogous iron chain linking the merest trifles, the
frivolous accidents, the apparently worthless coincidences that swell
the sum of what we are pleased to call the nobly independent life of
the "free-agent" Man? In the matrix of time, do human tears and human
blood-drops leave their record, to be conned when Nemesis holds her
last assize?

As the handkerchief swayed in the lawyer's grasp, Beryl saw the red "B.
B." like a bloody brand. At that instant she felt that the death clutch
fastened upon her throat; that fate had cast her adrift, on the black
waves of despair. In her reeling brain kaleidoscopic images danced; her
father's face, the lateen sail of fishing boats rocking on blue
billows, white oxen browsing amid purple iris clusters; she heard her
mother's voice, her brother's gay laugh; she smelled the prussic acid
fragrance of the vivid oleanders, then over all, like tongues of
devouring flames, flickered "Ricordo." "B. B."

In the frenzy of her desperation she sprang forward, seized the arms
that held up the fatal handkerchief, and shook the man, as if he had
been an infant. Her eyes full of horror, were fixed on the scrap of
linen, and a frantic cry rang from her lips.

"Father! Father! There is no hereafter for you and me! Prayer is but
the mockery of fools! There is no heaven for the pure, because there is
no God! No God!--to hear, to save the innocent who trusted in Him.
Oh--no God!"

Mr. Dunbar dropped the handkerchief, and as the irresistible conviction
of her guilt rolled back, crushing the hope he had cherished a moment
before, a spasm of pain seized his heart, and with a groan that would
not be repressed, he covered his eyes to shut out the vision of the
despairing woman, whose doom seemed sealed. Her right hand which
unconsciously clutched his left shoulder, shivered like an aspen, and
he knew that for the moment she was entirely oblivious of his presence;
blind to everything but the assurance of her ruin.

After all, he had made no mistake; his keen insight was well nigh
infallible; but his triumph was costly. The luscious fruit of
professional success left an acrid flavor; the pungent dead sea ashes
sifted freely. He set his heel on the embroidered butterfly, and in his
heart cursed the hour he had first seen it. His coveted bread was
petrifying between his teeth.

The grasp on his shoulder relaxed, the hand fell heavily. When he
looked in the face of his victim, he caught his breath at the strange,
inexplicable change a few minutes had wrought. Protest and resistance
had come to an end. Surrender was printed on every feature. The wild
fury of the passionate struggle that convulsed her, had spent itself;
and as after a violent wintry tempest the gale subsides, and the snow
compassionately shrouds the scene, burning the dead sparrows, the
bruised flowers, so submission laid her cold touch on this quivering
face, and veiled and froze it.

From afar the sound of rushing waters seemed to smite Beryl's ears, to
surge nearer, to overflow her brain. She sank suddenly to the floor,
clinging with one hand to the window bar, and her auburn head fell
forward on the up-lifted arm. Thinking that  she had fainted, Mr.
Dunbar stooped and raised her face, holding it in his palms. The eyes
met his, unflinching but mournful as those of a tormented deer whom the
hunters drag from worrying hounds. She writhed, freed herself from his
touch; and resting against the window sill, drew a long deep breath.

"You have succeeded in your mission today. You have the only clue you
needed. You have no occasion to linger. Now--will you leave me?"

He picked up the handkerchief.

"This is your handkerchief?"

She made no answer. A leaden hand was pressing upon her heart, her
brain, her aching eyes.

"You have basely deceived me. You did go back that night, and you left
this, to betray you. Saturated with chloroform you laid it over your
grandfather's face. Load your soul with no more falsehoods. Confess the
deeds of that awful night."

"I did not go back. I never saw 'Elm Bluff' after I met you. I know no
more of the chloroform than you do. I have told the truth first and
last, and always. I have no confession to make. I am as innocent as you
are. Innocent! Innocent! You are going to hang me for a crime I did not
commit. When you do, you will murder an innocent woman."

She spoke slowly, solemnly, and at intervals, as if she found it
difficult to express her meaning. The passionless tone was that of one,
standing where the river of death flowed close to her feet, and her
beautiful face shone with the transfiguring light of conscious purity.

"Hold up your hand, and tell me this is not your handkerchief; and I
will yet save you."

"It was my handkerchief, but I am innocent. Finish your work."

"How can you expect me to believe your contradictory statements?"

Wearily she turned her head, and looked at him. A strange drowsiness
dimmed her vision, thickened her speech.

"I expect nothing from you--but--death."

"Will you explain how your handkerchief chanced to be found on your
grandfather's pillow? Trust me, I am trying to believe you. Tell me."

In his eagerness he seized her hand, clasped it tightly, bent over her.
She made no reply, and the silky black lashes sank lower, lower till
they touched the violet circle suffering had worn under her eyes. Like
a lily too heavy for its stem, the glossy head fell upon her breast.
Her hot fingers throbbed in his palm, and when he felt her pulse, the
rapid bounding tide defied his counting. Kneeling beside her, he laid
the head against his shoulder.

"Are you ill? What is the matter? Speak to me."

Her parched lips unclosed, and she muttered with a sigh, like a child
falling asleep after long sobbing:

"My handkerchief--Tiberius--my--han--"

She had fought against fearful odds, with sleepless nights and fasting
days sapping her strength; and when the battle ended, though the will
was unfaltering, physical exhaustion triumphed, and delirium mercifully
took the tortured spirit into her cradling arms.




CHAPTER X.


When Leo Gordon celebrated her twenty-second birthday, Judge Dent,
appreciating the importance of familiarizing her with the business
details and technicalities of commercial usage, incident to the
management of her large estate, had insisted upon terminating his
guardianship, and transferring to her all responsibility for the future
conduct of her financial affairs. New books were placed in her hands,
in which he required her to keep systematically and legibly all her
accounts; she drew and signed her own checks, and semi-annually
furnished for his inspection a neat balance-sheet.

As adviser, and agent for the collection of dividends and rents, the
change or renewal of investments, he maintained only a general
supervision, and left her untrammelled the use of her income. As a
dangerous innovation upon time-honored customs, which  under the ante
bellum regime, had kept Southern women as ignorant of practical
business routine, as of the origin  of the Weddas of Ceylon, Miss Patty
bitterly opposed and lamented her brother's decision; dismally
predicting that  the result must inevitably be the transformation of
their refined, delicate,  clinging "Southern lady", into that abhorred
monster--"a strong-minded independent business woman".

Intensely loyal to the social standard, usages and traditions of an
aristocracy, that throughout the South had guarded its patrician ranks
with almost Brahmin jealousy, she sternly decried every infringement of
caste custom and etiquette. Nature and education had combined to
deprive her of any adaptability to the new order of things; and she
rejected the idea that "a lady should transact business", with the same
contemptuous indignation that would have greeted a proposition to wear
"machine-sewed garments", that last resort of impecunious plebeianism.
However unwelcome Leo had found this assumption of the grave duties of
mature womanhood, she met the responsibility unflinchingly, and
gathered very firmly the reins transferred to her fair hands for
guidance. Judge Dent and Miss Patty were the last of their family,
except the orphan niece who had been left to their care, and as their
earthly possessions would ultimately descend to her, she had been
reared in the conviction that their house was her only home.

Study and travel, potent factors in the march of progress, had so
enlarged the periphery of Leo's intellectual vision, that she
frequently startled her prim aunt, by the enunciation of views much too
extended and cosmopolitan to fit that haughty dame's Procrustean limits
of "Southern ladyhood". Blessed with a discriminating governess and
chaperon, who while fostering a genuine love of the beautiful, had
endeavored to guard her pupil from straying into any of those
fashionable "art crazes", which in their ephemeral exaggeration
approach caricatures of aestheticism, Leo became deeply imbued with the
spirit of classic literature and art; and grew especially fond of the
study of Greek and Roman architecture.

Believing that the similarity of climate in her native State, justified
the revival of an archaic style of building, she ardently desired and
finally obtained her uncle's consent to the erection (as an addition to
the Dent mansion), of a suite of rooms, designed in accordance with her
taste, and for her own occupancy. Hampered by no prudential economic
considerations, and fearless of criticism as regarded archaeological
anachronisms, Leo allowed herself a wide-eyed eclecticism, that
resulted in a thoroughly composite structure, eminently satisfactory at
least to its fastidious owner. A single story in height, it contained
only four rooms, and on a reduced scale resembled the typical house of
Pansa, except that the flat roof rose in the center to a dome.
Constituting a western wing of the old brick mansion which it adjoined,
the entrance fronting north, opened from a portico with clustered
columns, into a square vestibule; which led directly to a large,
octagonal atrium, surrounded by lofty fluted pillars with foliated
capitals that supported the arched and frescoed ceiling. In the centre,
a circular impluvium was sunk in the marble paved floor, where in
summer a jet of spray sprang from the water on whose surface lily pads
floated; and in winter, shelves were inserted, which held blooming pot
plants, that were arranged in the form of a pyramid. The dome
overarching this, was divided into three sections; the lower frescoed,
the one above it filled with Etruscan designs in stained glass; the
upper, formed of white ground glass sprinkled with gilt stars
representing constellations, was so constructed, that it could be
opened outward in panels, and thus admit the fresh air.

On the east side of this atrium, Leo's bed-room connected with that
occupied by Miss Patty in the old house; and opposite, on the west, was
a large square Pompeian library, with dark red dado, daintily frescoed
panels, and richly tinted glowing frieze. At the end of this apartment,
and concealed by purple velvet curtains lined with rose silk, an arch
opened into a small semi-circular chapel or oratory, lighted by stained
glass windows, whose brilliant hues fell on a marble altar upheld by
two kneeling figures; and here lay the family Bible of Leo's
great-grandfather, Duncan Gordon, with tall bronze candelabra on each
side, holding wax candles. At the right of two marble steps that led to
the altar, was spread a rug, and upon this stood an ebony reading-desk
where a prayer-book rested. Filling a niche in the wall on the left
side, the gilded pipes of an organ rose to meet a marble console that
supported a Greek cross.

In order to secure an unobstructed vista from the front door, that
portion of the building which corresponded to the ancient tablinum, was
used merely as an aviary, where handsome brass cages of various shapes
showed through their burnished wires snowy cockatoos, gaudy paroquets,
green and gold canaries, flaming red and vivid blue birds, and one huge
white owl, whose favorite perch when allowed his freedom, was a bronze
Pallas on a projecting bracket.

Conspicuous among these, was a peculiar cage made of tortoise shell,
ivory and silver wire, which Leo had assigned to a scarlet-crested,
crimson-throated Australian cockatoo. Beyond this undraped rear
vestibule stretched the peristyle, a parallelogram, surrounded by a
lofty colonnade. The centre of this space was adorned by a rockery
whence a fountain rose; flower beds of brilliant annuals and coleus
encircled it like a mosaic, and the ground was studded with orange and
lemon trees, banana and pineapple plants; while at the farther side
delicate exotic grape vines were trained from column to column.

In summer this beautiful court was entirely open to the sky, but at the
approach of winter a movable framework of iron pillars was erected,
which supported a glass roof, that sloped southward, and garnered heat
and sunshine. Neither chimneys nor fireplaces were visible, but a
hidden furnace thoroughly warmed the entire house, and in each
apartment the registers represented braziers of classic design.

Except for the external entrances, doors had been abolished; portieres
of plush, satin, and Oriental silk closed all openings in winter; and
during long sultry Southern summers were replaced by draperies of lace,
and wicker-work screens where growing ivy and smilax trained their cool
green leaves, and graceful tendrils. Wooden floors had accompanied the
doors to Coventry; and everywhere squares of marble, and lemon and blue
tiles showed shimmering surfaces between the costly rugs, and fur robes
scattered lavishly about the rooms. Surrounded by a gilded wreath of
olive leaves, and incised on an architrave fronting the vestibule, the
golden "Salve" greeted visitors; just beneath it, on an antique shaped
table of topaz-veined onyx, stood a Vulci black bowl or vase, decorated
in vermilion with Bacchanal figures; and this Leo filled in summer with
creamy roses, in winter, with camellias. Where the shrines and Lares
stood in ancient houses, a square, burnished copper pedestal fashioned
like an altar had been placed, and upon it rose from a bed of carved
lilies, a copy in white marble of Palmer's "Faith".

From the front portico, one could look through the vestibule, the
atrium, the aviary, and on into the peristyle, where among vine
branches and lemon boughs, the vista was closed by a flight of stone
steps with carved cedar balustrade, leading up to the flat roof, where
it sometimes pleased the mistress to take her tea, or watch the sunset.
In selecting and ordering designs for the furniture, a strict adherence
to archaic types had been observed; hence the couches, divans, chairs,
and tables, the pottery and bric-a-brac, the mirrors and draperies,
were severely classic.

An expensive whim certainly, far exceeding the original estimate of its
cost; and Miss Patty bewailed the "wicked extravagance of squandering
money that would have built a handsome church, and supported for life
two missionaries in mid-China"; but Judge Dent encouraged and approved,
reviving his classical studies to facilitate the successful
accomplishment of the scheme. When the structure was completed and Leo
declared herself perfectly satisfied with the result, it was her uncle
who had proposed to celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday by a mask-ball
in which every costume should be classic, distinctively Roman or Greek;
and where the mulsum dispensed to the guests should be mixed in a
genuine Cratera.

To this brilliant fete, one cloudless June night, friends from distant
States were invited; and fragrant with the breath of its glowing roses,
the occasion became memorable, embalmed forever in Leo's happy heart,
because then and there, beside the fountain in the peristyle, she had
pledged her hand and faith to Mr. Dunbar.

Sitting to-day in front of the library window, whence she had looped
back the crimson curtains, to admit the November sunshine, Leo was
absorbed in reading the description of the private Ambar-valia
celebrated by Marius at "White Nights". Under the spell of the Apostle
of Culture, whose golden precept: "BE PERFECT IN REGARD TO WHAT IS HERE
AND NOW," had appealed powerfully to her earnest exalted nature, she
failed to observe the signals of her pet ring-doves cooing on the ledge
outside. Finally their importunate tapping on the glass arrested her
attention, and she raised the sash and scattered a handful of rice and
millet seed; whereupon a cloud of dainty wings swept down, and into the
library, hovering around her sunny head, and pecking the food from her
open palms. One dove seemed particularly attracted by the glitter of
the diamond in her engagement ring, and perched on her wrist, made
repeated attempts to dislodge the jewel from its crown setting.
Playfully she shook it off several times, and amused by its
pertinacity, finally closed her hands over it, and rubbed her soft
cheek against the delicate silvery plumage.

"No, no, you saucy scamp! I can't afford to feed you on diamonds from
my sacred ring! Did you get your greedy nature from some sable Dodonean
ancestress? If we had lived three thousand years ago, I might be
superstitious, and construe your freak into an oracular protest against
my engagement. Feathered augurs survive their shrines. Clear out! you
heretic!"

As she tossed it into the garden and closed the window, the portiere of
the library was drawn aside, and her maid approached, followed by a
female figure draped in a shawl and wearing a lofty turban.

"Miss Leo, Aunt Dyce wants to see you on some particular business."

"Howdy do, Aunt Dyce? It is a long time since you paid us a visit.
Justine, push up a chair for her, and then open the cages and let the
birds out for an hour. What is the matter, Aunt Dyce, you look
troubled? Sit down, and tell me your tribulations."

"Yes, Miss Leo, I am in deep waters; up to my chin in trouble, and my
heart is dragging me down; for it's heavier 'an a bushel of lead. You
don't remember your own ma, do you?"

"I wish I did; but I was only five months old when I lost her."

"Well, if she was living to-day, she would stretch her two hands and
pull me out of muddy waves; and that's why I have come to you. You see,
Miss Marcia and my young Mistiss, Miss Ellice, was bosom friends,
playmates, and like sisters. They named their dolls after one another,
and many a time your ma brought her wax doll to our house, for me to
dress it just like Miss Ellice's, 'cause I was the seamstus in our
family, and I always humored the childun about their doll clothes. They
had their candy pullins, and their birthday frolics, and their shetlan'
ponies no bigger 'an dogs, and, oh Lord! what blessed happy times them
was! Now, your ma's in glory, and you is the richest belle in the
State; and my poor young mistiss is in the worst puggatory, the one
that comes before death; and her child, her daughter that oughter be
living in style at 'Elm Bluff', like you are here, where is she? Where
is she? Flung down among vilyans and mallyfactors, and the very
off-scourings of creation, in the penitenchery! Tears to me like, if
old mistiss is as high-headed and proud as she was in this world, her
speerit would tear down the walls and set her grandchild free. When I
saw that beautiful young thing beating her white hands agin the iron
bars, it went to my heart like a carving knife, and--"

Dyce burst into tears, and covered her face with her apron, Leo patted
her shoulder softly, and essayed to comfort her.

"Don't cry so bitterly; try to be hopeful. It is very, very sad, but if
she is innocent, her stay in prison will be short."

"There ain't no 'ifs'--when it comes to 'cusing my mistiss' child of
stealing and murdering. Suppose the sheriff was to light down here this
minute, and grab you up and tell folks 'spectable witnesses swore you
broke open your Uncle Mitchell's safe, and brained him with a handi'on?
Would you think it friendly for people to say, if she didn't they will
soon turn her aloose? Would that be any warm poultice to your hurt
feelin's? It's the stinging shame and the awful, disgrace of being
'spicioned, that you never would forgive."

"Yes, it is very dreadful, and I pity the poor girl; but it seems that
appearances are all against her, and I fear she will find it difficult
to explain some circumstances."

"If your ma was here to-day, she wouldn't say that. When she was a
friend, she was stone deaf and mole blind to every evil report agin
them she loved. Miss Marcia would go straight to that jail, and put her
arms 'round Miss Ellice's child, and stand by her till her last breath;
and the more she was pussecuted, the closer she would stick. Miss Leo,
you must take your ma's place, you must heir her friendship just like
you do her other property. I have come to you, 'cause I am going away
to New York, and can't feel easy 'till you promise me you will do what
you can. Miss Ellice is laying at the pint of death, and her poor child
is so deestracted about her needing comforts, that I tole her I'de go
on an' nuss her ma for her, 'till she was sot free and could hurry
back. I dreampt last night that ole mistiss called me and Bedney, and
said 'Take good care of Ellice'; and I got right out of bed and packed
my trunk. I'm just from the penitenchery, and that poor tormented child
don't know me, don't know nothing. Trouble have run her plum crazy, and
what with brain fever and them lie-yers, God only knows what's to
become of her. Handi'ons ain't the only godforsaken things folks are
murdered with. Miss Leo, promise me you will go to see her while I am
gone, and 'tend to it that she has good nussing."

"I will do what is possible for her comfort; and as it will be an
expensive journey to you, I will also help you to pay your passage to
New York. How much money--"

"I don't want your money, Miss Leo. Bedney and me never is beholdin' to
nobody for money. We was too sharp to drap our savings in the
'Freedman's Bank', 'cause we 'spicioned the bottom was not soddered
tight, and Marster's britches' pocket was a good enough bank for us. We
don't need to beg, borrow, nor steal. As I tole you, I was the
seamstress, and just before Miss Ellice run away from the school, ole
mistiss had a fine lot of bran-new clothes made ready for her when she
come home to be a young lady. She never did come home, and when ole
mistiss died I jist tuck them new clothes I had made, and packed 'em in
a wooden chist, and kept 'em hid away; 'cause I was determed nobody but
Miss Ellice should wear 'em. I've hid 'em twenty-three years, and now
I've had 'em done up, and one-half I tuck to that jail, for that poor
young thing, and the rest of 'em I'm gwine to carry to Miss Ellice.
They shan't need money nor clothes; for Bedney and me has got too much
famly pride to let outsiders do for our own folks; but Miss Leo, you
can do what nobody else in this wide world can. I ain't a gwine to walk
the devil 'round the stump, and you mustn't take no 'fence when I jumps
plum to the pint. Mars Lennox is huntin' down Miss Ellice's child like
a hungry hound runs a rabbit, and I want you to call him off. If he
thinks half as much of you as he oughter, you can stop him. Oh, Miss
Leo, for God's sake--call him off--muzzle him!"

Leo rose haughtily, and a quick flush fired her cheek; but as she
looked at the old woman's quivering mouth and streaming eyes,
compassion arrested her displeasure.

"Aunt Dyce, there are some things with which ladies should not meddle;
and I cannot interfere with any gentleman's business affairs."

"Oh, honey! if Miss Marcia was living, she wouldn't say that! She would
just put her arm round Miss Beryl and tell Mars Lennox: 'If you help to
hang my friend's child, you shan't marry my daughter!' Your ma had
pluck enuff to stop him. Mark what I say; that poor child is innercent,
and the Lord will clear up everything some day, and then He will
require the blood of them that condemned the innercent. Suppos'n
appearances are agin her? Wasn't appearances all agin Joseph's bruthren
when the money and the silver cup was found in their bags, and them
afleein home? And if the 'Gyptian lie-yers could have got their claws
on that case, don't you know they would have proved them innercent boys
guilty, and a hung em? Oh, I am afeerd of Mars Lennox, for he favors
his pa mightily; he has got the keenest scent of all the pack; and he
went up yonder, and 'cused, and 'bused, and browbeat and aggervated and
tormented that poor, helpless young creetur,'till she fell down in a
dead faint on the jail floor; and sence then, the Doctor says her mind
is done clean gone. Don't get mad with me, Miss Leo; I am bound to
clare my conscience, and now I have done all I could, I am gwine to
leave my poor young mistiss' child in God's hands, and in yourn, Miss
Leo; and when I come back, you must gim'me an account of your
stewudship. You are enuff like Miss Marcia, not to shirk your duty; and
as you do, by that pussecuted child, I pray the Lord to do by you."

She seized Leo's hand, kissed it, and left the room.

For some moments Leo sat, with one finger between the creamy leaves of
her favorite book, but the charm was broken; her thoughts wandered far
from the stories of Apuleius, and the oration of Aurelius, and after
mature deliberation, she put aside the volume and rang the library bell.

"Justine, is Mrs. Graham here?"

"She is coming now; I see the carriage at the gate."

"Do not invite her into Aunt Patty's room, until I have seen her. Tell
Andrew to harness Gypsy, and bring my phaeton to the door; and Justine,
carry my felt hat, driving gloves and fur jacket to Aunt Patty's room."

Confined to her bed by a severe attack of her chronic foe, inflammatory
rheumatism, Miss Dent had sent for her dearest friend and faithful
colleague in church work, Mrs. Graham, who came to spend a day and
night, and discuss the affairs of the parish.

"Aunt Patty, Mrs. Graham is in the parlor, and as I am well aware you
can both cheerfully dispense with my society for the present, I am
going into town. Dyce Darrington has been here, and I have promised to
go and see that unfortunate girl who is in prison."

"Leo Gordon, you don't mean to tell me that you are going into the
penitentiary!"

"Why not?"

"It is highly improper for a young lady to visit such places, and I am
astonished that you should feel any inclination to see the countenances
of the depraved wretches herded there. I totally disapprove of such an
incomprehensible freak."

"Then I will hold the scheme in abeyance, until I ask Uncle Mitchell's
advice. I shall call at his office, and request him to go with me."

"Don't you know that the Grand Jury brought in a true bill against that
young woman? She is indicted for murder, robbery and the destruction of
her grandfather's will. Mitchell tells me the evidence is overwhelming
against her, and you know he was disposed to defend her at first."

"Yes, Aunty. I am aware that everything looks black for the unfortunate
girl; but I learn she is very ill, and as it cannot possibly injure me
to endeavor to contribute to her physical comfort. I shall go and sec
her, unless Uncle Mitchell refuses his consent to my visit to the
prison."

"But, Leo, what do you suppose Mr. Dunbar will think and say, when he
hears of this extraordinary procedure?"

"Mr. Dunbar is neither the custodian of my conscience, nor the guardian
and dictator of my actions. Good-bye, Aunty dear. Justine, show Mrs.
Graham in."

"Mr. Dunbar will never forgive such a step; because, like all other
men, no matter how much license he allows himself, he is very exacting
and fastidious about the demeanor of his lady-love."

"I shall not ask absolution of Mr. Dunbar, and I hope my womanly
intuitions are a safer and more refined guide, than any man's
fastidiousness. Remember, Aunt Patty, religion's holiest work consists
in ministering to souls steeped in sin. Are we too pure to follow where
Christ led the way?"




CHAPTER XI.


"Madam, I ordered the prisoner's head shaved. Did you understand my
instructions?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why were my orders not obeyed?"

"Because I don't intend you shall make a convict of her, before she has
been tried and sentenced. She has the most glorious suit of hair I ever
looked at, and I shall save it till the last moment. Doctor Moffat, you
need not swear and fume, for I don't allow even my husband to talk ugly
to me. You directed a blister put on the back of the neck, as close as
possible to the skull; it is there, and it is drawing fast enough to
satisfy any reasonable person. I divided the hair into four braids and
plaited them, and you can see I have hung up the ends here just loose
enough to save any pulling, and yet the hair is out of the way, so that
I keep her head cool with this India-rubber ice-bag. I will be
responsible for the  blister."

Mrs. Singleton spread her arms over the sick girl, as a hen shelters
her brood from a swooping hawk.

"But, Susie, the Doctor knows better what is--"

"Hush, Ned. Perhaps he does; but I 'detailed' myself to nurse this
case; and I don't propose to surrender all my common sense, and all my
womanly judgment, and maternal experience, in order to keep the Doctor
in a good humor. I will have my own head shaved before hers shall be
touched."

Mr. Singleton discreetly withdrew from the conference, softly closing
the door behind him; and Doctor Moffat bent over the thermometer with
which he was testing the temperature. When he raised his head, a kindly
smile lurked in his deep set eyes:

"I can't afford to quarrel with you, madam; you are too faithful and
watchful a nurse. After all, the chances are, that it will ultimately
make very little difference; she grows worse so rapidly. I will come in
again before bed-time, and meanwhile make no change in the medicine."

The warden's wife replenished the ice in a bowl, whence a tube supplied
the cap or bag on the head of the sufferer, and taking a child's apron
from her work-basket on the floor, resumed her sewing. After a while,
the door opened noiselessly, and glancing up, she saw Mr. Dunbar.

"May I come in?"

"Yes. You need repentance; and this is a good place to begin."

"Is there any change?"

"Only for the worse. No need now to tip-toe; she is beyond being
disturbed by noise. I think the first sound she will notice, will be
the harps of the angels."

"I trust the case is not so hopeless?"

"Queer heart you must have! You are afraid she will slip through your
fingers, and get to heaven without the help of the gallows and the
black cap? Death cheats even the lawyers, sometimes, and seems to be
snatching at your prey. You don't believe in prayer, and you have no
time to waste that way. I do; and I get down here constantly on my
knees, and pray to my God to take this poor young thing out of the
world now, before you all convict her, and punish her for crimes she
never committed."

"Madam, her conviction would grieve me as much as it possibly could
you; and unless she can vindicate herself, I earnestly hope she may
never recover her consciousness."

The unmistakable sincerity of his tone surprised the little woman, and
scanning him keenly as he stood, hat in hand, at the foot of the cot,
her heart relented toward him.

"You still consider her guilty?"

"Since my last interview with her, I have arrived at no conclusion.
Whether she be innocent or guilty, is known only by her, and her God.
All human judgments in such cases are but guesses at the truth. Is she
entirely unconscious, or has she lucid intervals?"

"Mr. Dunbar, on your honor as a gentleman, answer me. Are you here
hunting evidence on a death-bed? Would you be so diabolical as to use
against her any utterances of delirium?"  The flash of his eyes
reminded her of the peculiar blue flame that leaps from a glowing bed
of anthracite coal; and she had her reply before his lips moved.

"Am I a butcher, madam? Your insinuations are so insulting to my
manhood, that it is difficult for me to remember my interrogator is a
lady; doubly difficult for me to show you the courtesy your sex
demands. Sooner than betray the secrets of a sick room, or violate the
sanctity of the confidence which that poor girl's condition enjoins, I
would cut off my right arm."

"I intend no discourtesy, sir; but my feelings are so deeply enlisted,
that I cannot stop to choose and pick phrases, in talking to the person
who caused that child to be shut up here. She thinks you are the most
vindictive and dangerous enemy she has; and I had no reason to
contradict her. Don't be offended, Mr. Dunbar."

He deigned no answer, but the dilation of his thin nostrils, and the
stern contraction of his handsome lips, attested his wrath. Mrs.
Singleton rose and laid her fingers on his coat sleeve.

"If I felt sure I could trust you--"

"I decline your confidence. Madam, if I could only tell you, that your
vile suspicions are too contemptible to merit the indignation they
arouse, I should to some extent feel relieved."

"Then having said it, I will let you off without an apology; and wipe
the slate, and start fresh. You are sensitive about your honor, and I
am determined to find out just how much it is worth. Trusting you as an
honorable gentleman, I am going to ask you to do something for me,
which may be of service to my patient; and I ask it, because I have
unlimited faith in your skill. Find out who 'Ricordo' is."

"Why? I must thoroughly understand the import of whatever I undertake,
and if your reasons are too sacred to be communicated to me, you must
select some other agent. I do not solicit your confidence, mark you;
but I must know all, or nothing."

"The day she was taken so ill, I was undressing her, and she looked at
me very strangely, and said she believed she was losing her mind. Then
she raised her hands and prayed:

"'Lord, be merciful! Lord, seal my lips! Seal my lips!'

"Since then she has not known me, but several times she cried out
'Ricordo'! Last night she sat up suddenly, and stared at something she
seemed to see right before her in the air. She shook her head at first,
and said--'Oh, no! it cannot be possible'. Then she clutched at some
invisible object, and a look of horror came into her eyes. She struck
her palms together, and I never heard such an agonizing cry, 'There is
no help! I must believe it--oh Ricordo!--Ricordo--Ricordo'. She fell
back and shivered as if she had an ague. I tried to soothe her, and
told her she had a bad dream. She kept saying: 'Oh, horrible--it was,
it was Ricordo!' Once, early this morning, she pulled me down to her
and whispered: 'Don't tell mother--it would break her heart to know it
was Ricordo!' She has not spoken distinctly since, though she mutters
to herself. Now, Mr. Dunbar, if I did not feel as sure of her innocence
as I am of my own, I should never tell you this; but I want your aid to
hunt and catch this 'Ricordo', because I am satisfied it will help to
clear her."

"Was it not 'Ricardo'?"

"No, sir--it sounded as if spelled with an o not an a--and it was
'Ricordo'."

"Ricardo is a proper name, but I am under the impression that 'Ricordo'
is an Italian word that means simply a remembrance, a souvenir,
sometimes a warning. I am glad, however, to have the clue, and I will
do all I can to discover what connection exists between that word, and
the crime. Can you tell me nothing more?"

"Sometimes she seems to be drawing and painting, and talks to her
father about pictures; and once she said: 'Hush! hush--mother is ill.
She must not know I died, because I promised her I would bear
everything. She made me promise'."

At this moment the keen wail of a young child, summoned the warden's
wife to her own apartment, and Mr. Dunbar sat down in the rocking-chair
beside the iron cot.

In that strange terra incognita, the realm of psychology, are there
hidden laws that defy alike the ravages of cerebral disease, and the
intuitions of the moral nature; inexorable as the atomic affinities,
the molecular attractions that govern crystallization? Is the day
dawning, when the phenomena of hypnotism will be analyzed and
formulated as accurately as the symbols of chemistry, or the
constituents of protoplasm, or the weird chromatics of spectroscopy?
Beryl's head, that hitherto had turned restlessly on its pillow, became
motionless; the closed eyes opened suddenly, fastened upon the
lawyer's; and some inexplicable influence impelled her to stretch out
her hand to him.

"Tiberius, you have come for me."

"I have come to ask if you are better to-day."

Her burning fingers closed tightly over his, and the fever flame lent
an indescribable splendor to eyes that seemed to penetrate his heart.
Bending over her, he gently lifted a shining fold of hair from her
white temple, and still clasping her hand, said in a low voice:

"Beryl, do you know me? Are you better?"

"Wait till I finish the sketch from San Michele. After I am hung, you
will sell it. The light is so lovely."

Up and down, her right hand moved through the air, making imaginary
strokes as on canvas, but her luminous gaze, held by some powerful
fascination, never left his. The gray depths had darkened, swallowed by
the widening pupils that made them almost black; and as Mr. Dunbar
recognized the complete surrender of physical and mental faculties, her
helplessness stirred some unknown sea of tenderness in the man's hard,
practical, realistic nature.

Phlegmatic rather than emotional, and wholly secretive, he had
accustomed himself to regard romantic ideality, and susceptibility to
sentimentality as a species of intellectual anaemia; holding himself
always thoroughly in hand, when subjected to the softening influences
that now and then invaded professional existence, and melted the
conventional selfish crust over the hearts of his colleagues, as the
warm lips and balmy breath of equatorial currents kiss away the jagged
ledges of drifting icebergs. In his laborious life, that which is
ordinarily denominated "love" had been so insignificant a factor, that
he had never computed its potentiality; much less realized its
tremendous importance in solving the problem of his social, financial,
and professional success. Beauty had not allured, nor grace enthralled
his fancy; and his betrothal was a mere incident in the quiet tenor of
business routine, a necessary means for the accomplishment of a
cherished plan.

To-day, while those hot slender fingers clung to his, and he leaned
over the pillow, watching his victim, a rising tide surged, rolled up
from some unexplored ocean of strange sensations, and its devouring
waves threatened to demolish and engulf the stately structure pride and
ambition had combined to rear. A brilliant alliance that insured great
wealth, that promised a secure stepping-stone to political preferment,
was apparently a substantial bulwark against the swelling billows of an
unaccountable whim; yet he was impotent to resist the yearning
tenderness which impelled him to forget all else, in one determined
effort to rescue and shelter the life he had been the chief agent in
imperilling. Clear eyed, keen witted, he did not for an instant deceive
himself; and he knew that neither compassion for misfortune, nor yet a
chivalrous remorse for having consigned a helpless woman to a dungeon,
explained this new emotion that threatened to dominate all others.

Cool reason assured him that under existing entanglements, the girl's
speedy death would prove the most felicitous solution of this devouring
riddle, which so unexpectedly crossed his smooth path; then what meant
the vehement protest of his throbbing heart, the passionate longing to
snatch her from disease, and disgrace, and keep her safe forever in the
close cordon of his arms?

The door was cautiously opened and closed, and noiselessly as a
phantom, Leo Gordon stood within the room. One swift survey enabled her
to grasp all the details. The small, comfortless, dismal apartment, the
barred narrow window, the bare floor, the low iron cot in one corner,
with its beautiful burden; the watching attitude of the man, who for
years had possessed her heart. Resting one elbow on his knee, his chin
leaned on his left hand, but the light fell full on his handsome face,
and she started, marvelled at the expression of the brilliant eyes
fixed upon the sufferer; eyes suffused and eloquent with tenderness,
never before seen in their cold sparkling depths.

Mighty indeed must be the compassion, evocative of that intense
yearning look in his usually guarded, irresponsive countenance. A
painfully humiliating sense of her own personal incompetence to arouse
the feeling, so legibly printed on her lover's features, jarred upon
Leo's heart like a twanging dissonance breaking the harmonious flow of
minor chords; but a noble pity strangled this jealous thrill, and she
softly approached the cot.

The rustle of her dress attracted his attention, and glancing up, he
saw his betrothed at his side. One might have counted ten, while they
silently regarded each other; and as if conscious of having unmasked
some disloyalty, scarcely yet acknowledged to himself, haughty defiance
hardened and darkened his face. Involuntarily his hold on Beryl's
fingers tightened.

"Prison wards are not proper fields for the cultivation and display of
Miss Gordon's amateur kid glove charity. I hope, at least, it was a
species of exaggerated high-flown sentimentality, rather than mere
feminine curiosity that tempted you to precincts revolting to the
delicacy and refinement with which my imagination invested you."

"My motives I shall not submit to the crucible of your criticism; and a
little reflection will probably suggest to you, that perhaps you are
unduly enlarging the limits, and prematurely exercising the rights of
anticipated censorship. There are blunders that trench closely upon the
borders of crime, and if professional zeal has betrayed you into the
commission of a great wrong upon an innocent woman, it is a sacred duty
to your victim, as well as my privilege as your betrothed, to alleviate
her suffering as much as possible, and to repair the injury for which
you are responsible. When human life and reputation are at stake,
hypercritical fastidiousness is less pardonable than the deplorable
mistake that endangers both."

"And if I have not blundered; and she be guilty?"

"Then your presence here, can only be explained by motives so malignant
and contemptible, that I blush to ascribe them to you."

"If I am morbidly sensitive about your line of conduct you should
understand and pardon my jealous espionage."

"If I, realizing that you are act infallible, entertain a nervous dread
that unintentionally you may have inflicted an irreparable wrong, you
at least should not feel offended, because I am sensitive as regards
reflections upon your honor as a gentleman, and your astuteness as a
lawyer."

Her fair face had flushed; his grew pale.

"Leo, is this to be our first quarrel?"

"If so, you are entitled to the role of protagonist."

He put out his left hand, and took hers, while his right was closely
clasping one that lay upon the chintz coverlid.

What strange obliquity of vision, what inscrutable perversity possessed
him, he asked himself, as he looked up at the slight elegant figure,
clad in costly camel's-hair garments, with Russian sables wrapped about
her delicate throat, with a long drifting plume casting flickering
shadows over her sweet flowerlike face; the attractive embodiment of
patrician birth and environment of riches, and all that the world
values most--then down at the human epitome of wretchedness,
represented by a bronze-crowned head, with singularly magnetic eyes,
crimsoned cheeks, and a perfect mouth, whose glowing, fever-rouged lips
were curved in a shadowy smile, as she muttered incoherently of
incidents, connected with the life of a poverty-stricken adventuress?
Was friendly fate flying danger signals by arranging and accentuating
this vivid contrast, in order to recall his vagrant wits, to cement his
wavering allegiance?

He was a brave man, but he shivered slightly, as he confronted his own
insurgent and defiant heart; and involuntarily, his fingers dropped
Leo's, and his right hand tightened on the hot palm throbbing against
it.

On that dark tossing main, where delirium drove Beryl's consciousness
to and fro like a rudderless wreck, did some mysterious communion of
spirits survive? Did some subtle mesmeric current telegraph her soul,
that her foul wrongs were at last avenged? Whatever the cause,
certainly a strangely clear, musical laugh broke suddenly from her
lovely lips, mingled with a triumphant "Che sara, sara!" The heavy lids
slowly drooped, the head turned wearily away.

Smothering a long drawn sigh, which his pride throttled, Mr. Dunbar
rose and stood beside his fiancee.

"You have been feeling her pulse, how is the fever?" asked Leo.

"About as high as it can mount. The pulse is frightfully rapid. I did
not even attempt to count it."

"Mrs. Singleton tells me she is entirely unconscious--recognizes no
one."

"At times, I think she has partly lucid glimpses; for instance, a
little while ago she called me 'Tiberius', the same appellation she
unaccountably bestowed on me the day of her preliminary examination.
Evidently she associates me with every cruel, brutal monster, and even
in delirium maintains her aversion."

Miss Gordon's hand stole into his, pressing it gently in mute
attestation of sympathy. After a moment, she said in a low tone:

"She is very beautiful. What a noble, pure face? How exquisitely turned
her white throat, and wrists, and hands."

He merely inclined his head in assent.

"It seems a profanation to connect the idea of crime with so lovely and
refined a woman. Lennox?"

He turned, and looked into her brown eyes, which were misty with tears.

"Well, my dear Leo, what is burdening your generous heart?"

"Do you, can you, believe her guilty? Her whole appearance is a
powerful protest."

"Appearances are sometimes fatally false. I think you told me, that the
purest and loveliest face, guileless as an angel's, that you saw in
Europe, was a portrait of Vittoria Accoramboni; yet she was veritably
the 'White Devil', 'beautiful as the leprosy, dazzling as the
lightning'. Do I believe her guilty? From any other lips than yours, I
should evade the question; but I proudly acknowledge your right to an
expression of my opinion, when--"

"I withdraw the question, because I arrogate no 'rights'. I merely
desire the privilege of sympathizing, if possible, with your views; of
sharing your anxiety in a matter involving such vital consequences.
Privilege is the gift of affection; right, the stern allotment of law.
Tell me nothing now; I shall value much more the privilege of receiving
your confidence unsolicited."

He took both her hands, drew her close to him, and looked steadily down
into her frank tender eyes.

"Thank you, my dear Leo. Only your own noble self could so delicately
seek to relieve me from a painful embarrassment; but our relations
invest you with both rights and privileges, which for my sake at least,
I prefer you should exercise. You must allow me to conclude my
sentence; you are entitled to my opinion--when matured. As far as I am
capable of judging, the evidence against her is--overwhelmingly
condemnatory. I thought so before her arrest; believed it when her
preliminary examination ended, and subsequent incidents strengthen and
confirm that opinion; yet a theory has dawned upon me, that may
possibly lighten her culpability. I need not tell you, that I feel
acutely the responsibility of having brought her here for trial, and
especially of her present pitiable condition, which causes me sleepless
nights. If she should live, I shall make some investigation in a
distant quarter, which may to some extent exculpate her, by proving her
an accessory instead of principal. My--generous Leo, you shall be the
first to whom I confide my solution--when attained. I am sorely
puzzled, and harassed by conflicting conjectures; and you must be
patient with me, if I appear negligent or indifferent to the privileges
of that lovely shrine where my homage is due."

"If you felt less keenly the distressing circumstances surrounding you,
I should deeply regret my misplaced confidence in your character; and
certainly you must acquit me of the selfishness that could desire to
engross your attention at this juncture."

Desirous of relieving him of all apprehension relative to a possible
misconstruction of his motives and conduct, she left one hand in his,
and laid the other with a caressing touch on his arm; an unprecedented
demonstration, which at any other time would have surprised and charmed
him.

"Ah, what a melancholy sight! So much delicate refined beauty, in this
horrible lair of human beasts! Lennox, let us hope that the mercy of
God will call her speedily to His own bar of justice, before she
suffers the torture and degradation of trial, by earthly tribunals."

She felt the slight shudder that crept over him, the sudden start with
which he dropped her hand, and bent once more over the cot.

"God forbid she should die now, leaving the burden of her murder on my
soul!"

His countenance was averted, but the ferver of his adjuration filled
her with a vague sense of painful foreboding.

"Is it friendly to desire the preservation of a life, whose probable
goal seems the gallows, or perpetual imprisonment? Poor girl! In the
choice of awful alternatives, death would come here as an angel of
mercy."

Leo took Beryl's hand in hers, and tears filled her eyes as she noted
the symmetry of the snowy fingers, the delicate arch of the black
brows, the exceeding beauty of the waving outline where the rich
mahogany-hued hair touched the forehead and temples, that gleamed like
polished marble.

"Is it friendly to wish an innocent girl to go down into her grave,
leaving a name stained for all time by suspicion, if not absolute
conviction of a horrible crime?"

Mr. Dunbar spoke through set teeth, and Leo's astonishment at the
expression of his countenance, delayed an answer, which was prevented
by the entrance of Mrs. Singleton.

"Miss Gordon, your uncle wishes to know whether you are ready to go
home; as he has an engagement that calls him away?"

Did Leo imagine the look of relief that seemed to brighten Mr. Dunbar's
face, as he said promptly:

"With your permission, I will see you safely down stairs, and commit
you to Judge Dent's care."

Standing beside the cot, she watched Mrs. Singleton measure the
medicine from a vial into a small glass. When the warden's wife knelt
down, and putting one arm under the pillow elevated it slightly, while
she held the glass to the girl's lips, Beryl attempted to push it aside.

"Take it for me, dear child; it will make you sleep, and ease your
pain."

The beautiful eyes regarded her wistfully, then wandered to the face of
the lawyer and rested, spellbound.

"Here, swallow this. It is not bad to take."

Mrs. Singleton patted her cheek and again essayed to administer the
draught, but without success.

"Let me try."

Mr. Dunbar took the glass, but as he bent down, the girl began to
shiver as though smitten with a mortal chill. She writhed away, put out
her shuddering hands to ward it off; and starting up, her eyes filled
with a look of indescribable horror and loathing, as she cried out:

"Ricordo! Oh, mother--it is Ricordo! I see, it! Father--it was my Pegli
handkerchief!--with the fuchsias you drew! Father--ask Christ to pity
me!"

She sank back quivering with dread, pitiable to contemplate; but after
a few moments her hands sought each other, and her trembling lips moved
evidently in prayer, though the petition was inaudible. Mrs. Singleton
sponged her forehead with iced water, and by degrees the convulsive
shivering became less violent. The wise nurse began in a subdued tone
to sing slowly, "Nearer my God to Thee," and after a little while, the
sufferer grew still, the heavy lids lifted once or twice, then closed,
and the laboring brain seized on some new vision in the world of
fevered dreams.

Mrs. Singleton took the medicine from the attorney, and put it aside.

"Sleep is her best physic. When these nervous shivers come on, I find a
hymn chanted, soothes her as it does one of my babies. Poor child! she
makes my heart ache so sometimes, that I want to scream the pain away.
How people with any human nature left in them, can look at her and
listen to her pitiful cries to her dead father, and her dying mother,
and her far-off God, and then believe that her poor beautiful hands
could shed blood, passes my comprehension; and all such ought to go on
four feet, and browse like other brutes. I am poor, but I vow before
the Lord, that I would not stand in your shoes, Mr. Dunbar, for all the
gold in the Government vaults, and all the diamonds in Brazil."

Tears were dripping on the costly furs about Leo's neck, as she moved
closer to the attorney, and linked her arm in his:

"Mr. Dunbar, we will detain my uncle no longer. Mrs. Singleton has told
me, that one of her children is ill, had a spasm last night; and since
maternal duties are most imperative, it is impossible for her to give
undivided attention to this poor sufferer. If you will kindly take me
down stairs, I will call at the 'Sheltering Arms', and secure the
services of one of the 'Sisters' who is an experienced nurse. This will
relieve Mrs. Singleton, and we shall all feel assured that our poor
girl has careful and tender watching, and every comfort that anxious
sympathy can provide."




CHAPTER XII.


It was midnight in November, keenly cold, but windless; and in the
purplish sky, the wintry crown of stars burned with silvery lustre,
unlike the golden glow of constellations throbbing in sultry summer,
and their white fires sparkled, flared as if blown by interstellar
storms. The large family of Lazarus huddled over dying embers on
darkening hearths, and shivered under scanty shreds of covering; but
the house of Dives was alight with the soft radiance of wax candles,
fragrant with the warm aroma of multitudinous exotics, and brimming
with waves of riotous music, on which merry-hearted favorites of
fashion swam in measured mazes. The "reception" given by Judge Parkman
to the Governor and his staff, on the occasion of a review of State
troops at X--, was at its height; and several counties had been skimmed
for the creme de la creme of most desirable representatives of wit,
wealth and beauty.

Miss Gordon had arrived unusually late, and as she entered the room,
leaning on her uncle's arm, she noticed that Mr. Dunbar was the centre
of a distinguished group standing under the chandelier. He was gently
fanning his hostess, who stood beside the Governor, and evidently he
was narrating some spicy incident, or uttering some pungent witticism,
whereat all laughed heartily. The light fell full on his fine figure,
which rose above all surrounding personages, and was faultlessly
apparelled in evening dress; and Leo's heart filled with tender pride,
at the consciousness that he was all her own. The exigencies of
etiquette prevented for more than an hour any nearer approach, but when
Mr. Dunbar had rendered "Caesar's things" to social Caesar, and paid
tribute of bows, smiles, compliments and persiflage into the coffer of
custom, he made his way through the throng, to the spot where his
betrothed stood resting after her third dance.

"Will Miss Gordon grant me a promenade in lieu of the dance, which
misfortunes conspired to prevent me from securing earlier in the
evening?"

He drew her hand under his arm, and his eyes ran with proprietorial
freedom over the details of her costume, pale blue satin, creamy foam
of white lace, soft sheen of large pearls, and bouquet of exquisite
half blown La France roses.

Since their betrothal, he had claimed the privilege of sending the
flowers she wore, on special occasions, and she had invariably
expressed her appreciation through the dainty lips of a boutonniere
arranged by her own fingers. Now while he recognized the roses resting
on her corsage, her eyes dwelt on her favorite double lilac violets,
nestling in the buttonhole of his coat.

"You were very late to-night. I loitered in ambush about the precincts
of the dressing-room, hoping for the pleasure of conducting you
down-stairs; but 'the best laid schemes o' mice and men gang aft
aglee', and I became the luckless prey of similar tactics. That
marauding Tomyris, Mrs. Halsey, sallied out at the head of her column
of daughters, espied me lurking behind the portiere, and proclaiming
her embarras de richesse, 'paid me the compliment' of consigning one
fair campaigner, Miss Eloise Hermione, to my care. Fancy the strain on
courtesy, as I accepted my 'quite unexpected good fortune'!"

He spoke with a nervous rapidity, at variance with his usual
imperturbable deliberateness of manner, and she thought she had never
seen his eyes so restless and brilliant.

"I was unusually late, owing to the fact that the Governor and staff
dined with Uncle Mitchell, and they lingered so long over their cigars
and wine, that I was delayed in the drawing-room, waiting for them;
consequently was very late in changing my dress. We were sorry you were
prevented from joining us. Uncle pronounced the dinner a perfect
success; and certainly Governor Glenbeigh was in his happiest mood, and
particularly agreeable."

"Given his hostess, and entourage, could he possibly have been less?
Rumor's hundred tongues wag with the announcement, that his Excellency
is no longer inconsolable for his wife's death; and desires to testify
to the happiness of conjugal relations, by a renewal of the sweet
bondage; a curiously subtile compliment to the deceased. If I may be
pardoned the enormity of the heresy, I think Shakspeare blundered
supremely, when he gave Iago's soul to a man. Diabolical cunning,
shrewd malevolence pure and simple, armed with myriads of stings for
hypodermic incisions that poison a man's blood, should be appropriately
costumed in a moss-green velvet robe, should wear frizzled bangs as
yellow as yonder bouquet of Marechal Neils, so suggestive of the
warning flag flying over pest-houses!"

"It is very evident you are not equally generous in surrendering the
amiability of Timon, along with the depravity of Iago, to the arsenal
of feminine weapons. What corroding mildew of discontent has fallen
from Mrs. Parkman's velvet dress, and rusted the bright blade of your
chivalry?"

"The very breath of Iago, filling my ears and firing my heart with the
architectural details of her coveted 'castle in Spain.' Glenbeigh is
her cousin. The ladder of his preferment is set up before my eyes, and
his Excellency springs up the rounds, from Governor to Senatorship,
thence to a place in the Cabinet, certainly to an important foreign
embassy; where, in the eternal fitness of things, somebody, somebody
with tender brown eyes like a thrush's, and the voice of a siren, and
the red lips of Hebe--will be invited to reign as l'ambassadrice! If I
am not as mad with jealous despair as Othello, attribute my escape
either to a sublime faith in your adorable constancy and
incorruptibility, or to my own colossal vanity, fatuous beyond
absolution."

He pressed her arm closer to his side, and covered with one hand the
gloved fingers resting on his sleeve; then added:

"You must permit me to congratulate you upon your beautiful toilette
to-night. The harmony of the dress, and the grace of the wearer leave
nothing to be desired. Although debarred the pleasure of dining with
you, I had hoped to enter, at least, with the coffee, but the freight
train upon which I returned, was delayed; and I had no choice but to
await your arrival here."

He indulged so rarely in verbal compliments, that she flushed with
profound gratification at flip fervor of his tone.

"I am glad you like my dress, to which your roses lend the loveliest
garniture. I was not aware that X--could furnish at this season such
superb La France buds. Where did you find them?"

"They travelled several hundred miles, for the privilege of nestling
against my Leo's heart."

Spartan thieves are not the only heroic sufferers who smile and make no
moan, clasping close the hidden fangs ravening on their vitals.

"As you mentioned in your note that very important business had called
you unexpectedly away, I hope your mission proved both pleasant and
successful."

A shadow drifted over his countenance, like that cast by some summer
cloud long becalmed, which sets sail before a sudden gust.

"Only a modicum of success to counterbalance the disagreeable features
of a journey in a freight train caboose."

"Why do you hazard that dangerous schedule, instead of waiting for the
passenger express?"

"Business exigencies narrow the limits of choice; moreover, had I
waited for the express, I should have missed the coveted pleasure of
this meeting with you. The rosy glamour of happy anticipation conquers
even the discomfort of a freight caboose."

Did she suspect that some sullen undercurrent of intense feeling drove
these eddying foam bells of flattery into the stream of conversation;
or was her reply merely a chance ricochet shot, more accurately
effective than direct fire?

"This afternoon I had a note from Sister Serena, asking for a few
articles conducive to the comfort of a sick room; and I really cannot
determine whether we should feel regret, or relief at the tidings that
that unfortunate girl--can scarcely--"

"Spare me the Egyptian mummy at my feast! The memento mori when I would
fain forget. Let me inhale the perfume of your roses, without hearing
that possibly a worm battens on their petals. Will you ride with me
tomorrow afternoon?"

"I am sorry that an engagement to dine will prevent, as the afternoons
are so short."

"Are you going to the Percy's?"

"Yes. Will you not be there?"

"Too bad! I have just declined attending that dinner, because I had
planned the horseback ride. Formerly fate seemed to smile upon me; now
she shows herself a scowling capricious beldam. I have lost this
evening, waiting to see you, and now, I must steal away unnoticed;
because of an important matter which admits of no delay. Have you
promised to dance with Mayfield? Here he comes. Good-night, my dear
Leo, expect to see me at 'The Lilacs' at the earliest possible moment."

Unobserved he made his escape, and hurried away. At a livery stable he
stopped to order his horse saddled, and brought to his door, and a few
moments later, stood before the grate in his law office, where the red
glow of the coals had paled under ashy veils. From the letter-rack over
the mantel, he took a note containing only a line:

"She has reached the crisis. We have no hope." "SINGLETON."

In the hot embers, it smoked, shrivelled, disappeared; and the attorney
crossed his arms over his chest to crush back the heavy sigh struggling
for escape. The long overcoat buttoned from throat to knee, enhanced
his height, and upon his stern, handsome features had settled an
expression of sorrowful perplexity; while his keen eyes showed the
feverish restlessness that, despite his efforts, betrayed heartache.
Above the heads of the gay throng he had just left, he had seen all
that evening a slender white hand beckoning to him from the bars of a
dungeon; and dominating the music of the ball room, the laughter of its
dancers, had risen the desperate, accusing cry:

"You have ruined my life!"

Was it true, that his hand had dashed a foul blot of shame upon the
fall pure page of a girl's existence, and written there the fatal
finis? If she died, could he escape the moral responsibility of having
been her murderer? Amid the ebb and flow of conflicting emotions, one
grim fact stared at him with sardonic significance. If he had ruined
her life, retribution promptly exacted a costly forfeit; and his
happiness was destined to share her grave.

He neither analyzed nor understood the nature of the strange
fascination which he had ineffectually striven to resist; and he ground
his teeth, and clinched his hands with impotent rage, under the
stinging and humiliating consciousness that his unfortunate victim had
grappled his heart to hers, and would hold it forever in bondage. No
other woman had ever stirred the latent and unsuspected depths of his
tenderness; but at the touch of her hand, the flood burst forth,
sweeping aside every barrier of selfish interest, defying the ramparts
of worldly pride. Guilty or innocent, he loved her; and the
wretchedness he had inflicted, was recoiling swiftly upon himself.

Unbuttoning his overcoat, he took from an inside pocket, the torn half
of a large envelope, and unlocking the drawer of his desk, hunted for a
similar fragment. Spreading them out before him, he fitted the zigzag
edges with great nicety, and there lay the well-known superscription:
"Last Will and Testament of Robert Luke Darrington." One corner of the
last found bit was brown and mud-stained, but the handwriting was in
perfect preservation. As he stooped to put it all back in a secret
drawer, something fell on the floor. He picked up the dainty
boutonniere of pale sweet violets, and looked at it, while a frown
darkened his countenance, as though he recognized some plenipotentiary
pleading for fealty to a sacred compact.

"Poor Leo! how little she suspects disloyalty. How infinite is her
trust, and what a besotted ingrate I am!"

He tossed the accusing flowers into the grate, took his riding-whip and
went down to the door, where his horse was champing the bit, and pawing
with impatience. Along the deserted streets, out of the sleeping town,
he rode toward the long stone bridge that spanned the winding river.
When he had reached the centre, his horse darted aside, because of the
sudden leap of a black cat from the coping of the nearest pier, whence
she sped on, keeping just ahead of him. The spectral sickle of a waning
moon hung on the edge of the sky, and up and down the banks of the
stream floated phantoms of silvery mist, here covering the water with
impalpable wreaths, and there drifting away to enable Andromeda to
print her starry image on the glassy surface.

Behind stretched the city, marked by lines of gas lamps; in front rose
the hill clothed with forests; and frowning down upon the rider, the
huge shadow of the dismal dungeon crouched like a stealthy beast ready
to spring upon him. Dark as the deeds of its inmates, the mass of stone
blotted the sky, save in one corner, where a solitary light shone
through iron lattice work. Was it a beacon of hope, or did the rays
fall on features cold under the kiss of death?

Spurring his horse up the rocky hill, Mr. Dunbar was greeted by the
baying of two bloodhounds within the enclosure; and soon after, Mr.
Singleton conducted him up the steps leading to the room where Beryl
had been placed.

"She is alive; that is all. The doctor said she could not last till
midnight, but it is now half-past one; and my wife has never lost hope.
She has sent the nurse off to get some sleep, and you will find Susie
in charge."

The hazel eyes of the gaoler's wife were humid with tears, as she
glanced up at the attorney, and motioned him to the low chair she
vacated.

"I knew you would come, and when I heard you gallop across the bridge,
I sent Sister Serena off to bed. There is nothing to be done now, but
watch and pray. If she ever wakes in this world she will be rational,
and she will get well. The nurse thinks she will pass away in this
stupor; but I have faith that she will not die, until she clears her
name."

Nature makes some women experts in the fine art of interpreting
countenance and character, and by a mysterious and unerring divination,
Mrs. Singleton knew that her visitor desired no companion in his
vigils; hence, after flitting about the room for a few moments, she
added:

"If you will sit here a while, I can look after my babies. Should any
change occur, tap at my door; I shall not be long away."

What a melancholy change in the sleeper, during the few days of his
absence; how much thinner the hollow cheek, how sunken the closed eyes;
how indescribably sharpened the outlines of each feature. The face
which had formerly suggested some marble statue, had now the finer
tracery as of an exquisite cameo; and oblivion of all earthly ills had
set there the seal of a perfect peace. She lay so motionless, with her
hands on her breast, that Mr. Dunbar bent his head close to hers, to
listen to her respiration; but no sound was audible, and when his ear
touched her lips, their coldness sent a shiver of horror through his
stalwart frame. Pure as the satin folds of an annunciation lily pearled
with dew, was the smooth girlish brow, where exhaustion hung heavy
drops; and about her temples the damp hair clung in glossy rings,
framing the pallid, deathlike face.

At her wrist, the fluttering thread eluded his grasp, and kneeling
beside the cot, he laid his head down on her breast, dreading to find
no pulsation; but slow and faint, he felt the tired heart beat feebly
against his cheek; and tears of joy, that reason could neither explain
nor justify, welled up and filled his eyes. Leaning his head on her
pillow, he took one hand between both his, and watched the profound
sleep that seemed indeed twin sister of death.

Softened by distance came the deep mellow sound of the city clock
striking two. Down among the willows fringing the river bank, some
lonely water-fowl uttered its plaintive cry, whereat the bloodhounds
bayed hoarsely; then velvet-sandalled silence laid her soothing touch
upon the world, and softly took all nature into her restful arms.

In the searching communion which he held with his own heart, during
that solemn watch, Mr. Dunbar thrust aside all quibbles and disguises,
and accepted as unalterable, two conclusions.

She was innocent of crime, and he loved her; but she knew who had
committed the murder, and would suffer rather than betray the criminal.
The conjecture that she was shielding a lover, was accompanied by so
keen a pang of jealous pain, that it allowed him no room to doubt the
nature or intensity of the feeling which she had inspired.

In her wan loveliness, she seemed as stainless as a frozen snowdrop,
and while his covetous gaze dwelt upon her he felt that he could lay
her in her coffin now, with less suffering, than see her live to give
her brave heart to any other man. To lift her spotless and untrampled
from the mire of foul suspicion, where his hand had hurled her, was the
supreme task to which he proposed to devote his energies; but
selfishness was the sharpest spur; she must be his, only his, otherwise
he would prefer to see her in the arms of death.

So the night waned; and twice, when the warden's wife stole to the
door, he lilted his head and waved her back. When the clock in the
tower struck four, he felt a slight quiver in the fingers lying within
his palm, and Beryl's face turned on the pillow, bringing her head
against his shoulder. Was it the magnet of his touch drawing her
unconsciously toward him, or merely the renewal of strength, attested
already by the quickened throb of the pulse that beat under his clasp?
By degrees her breathing became audible to his strained ear, and once a
sigh, such as escapes a tired child, told that nature was rallying her
physical forces, and that the tide was turning. Treacherous to his
plighted troth, and to the trusting woman whom he had assiduously wooed
and won, he yielded to the hungry yearning that possessed him, and
suddenly pressed his lips to Beryl's beautiful mouth. Under that
fervent touch, consciousness came back, and the lids lifted, the dull
eyes looked into his with drowsy wonder. Stepping swiftly to the door
which stood ajar, he met Mrs. Singleton, and put his hand on her
shoulder.

"She is awake, and will soon be fully conscious, but perfect quiet is
the only safeguard against relapse. When she remembers, leave her as
much alone as possible, and answer no questions."

Holding her baby on her breast, Mrs. Singleton whispered:

"Put out the lamp, so that she can see nothing to remind her."

As he took his hat, and put his hand on the lamp, he looked back at the
cot, and saw the solemn eyes fixed upon him. He extinguished the light,
and passed into the room where Susie Singleton stood waiting.

"She will not know Sister Serena, and for a day or two I will keep out
of sight when she is awake. Mr. Dunbar, God has done His part, now see
that you do yours. Have you found out who 'Ricordo' is?"

"Certainly, it is a thing; not a person. As yet the word has given no
aid."

"Then you have discovered nothing new during your absence?"

"Yes, I have found the missing half of the envelope which contained
General Darrington's will; but ask me no questions at present. For her
sake, I must work quietly. Send me a note at twelve o'clock, that I may
know her exact condition, and the opinion of the doctor. Has nothing
been heard from Dyce?"

"As far as I know, not a syllable."

They shook hands, and once more Mr. Dunbar sprang into his saddle.
Overhead the constellations glowed like crown jewels on black velvet,
but along the eastern horizon, where the morning-star burned, the sky
had blanched; and the air was keen with the additional iciness that
always precedes the dawn. Earth was powdered with rime, waiting to
kindle into diamonds when the sun smote its flower crystals, and the
soft banners of white fog trailed around the gray arches and mossy
piers of the old bridge. At a quick gallop Mr. Dunbar crossed the
river, passed through the heart of the city, and slackened his pace
only when he found himself opposite the cemetery, on the road leading
to "Elm Bluff." As the iron gate closed behind him, he walked his
horse, up the long avenue, and when he fastened him to the metal ring
in the ancient poplar, which stood sentinel before the deserted House,
the deep orange glow that paves the way for coming suns, had dyed all
the sky, blotting out the stars; and the new day smiled upon a sleeping
world. The peacock perched upon the balustrade of the terrace greeted
him vociferously, and after some moments his repeated knock was
answered by the cautious opening of the front door, and Bedney's gray
head peered out.

"Lord--Mars Lennox! Is it you? What next? 'Pears to me, there's nothing
left to happen; but howsomever, if ther's more to come, tell us what's
to pay now?"

"Bedney, I want you to help me in a little matter, where your services
may be very valuable; and as it concerns your old master's family, I am
sure you will gladly enter into my plan--"

"Bless your soul, Mars Lennox, you are too good a lieyer to be shore of
anything, but the undertaker and the tax collector. I am so old and
broke down in sperrits, that you will s'cuse me from undertaking of any
jobs, where I should be obleeged to pull one foot out'en the grave
before I could start. I ain't ekal to hard work now, and like the rest
of wore-out stock, I am only worth my grabs in old fields."

Sniffing danger, Bedney warily resolved to decline all overtures, by
taking refuge in his decrepitude; but the attorney's steady prolonged
gaze disconcerted him.

"You have no interest, then, in discovering the wretch who murdered
your master? That is rather suspicious."

"What ain't 'spicious to you, Mars Lennox? It comes as natchal to you
to 'spicion folks, as to eat or sleep, and it's your trade. You believe
I know something that I haven't tole; but I swear I done give up
everything to Mars Alfred; and if my heart was turned inside out, and
scraped with a fine-tooth comb, it wouldn't be no cleaner than what it
is. I know if I was lying you would ketch me, and I should own up
quick; 'cause your match doesn't go about in human flesh; but all the
lancets and all the doctors can't git no blood out'en a turnup."

"You are quite willing, then, to see General Darrington's granddaughter
suffer for the crime?"

"'Fore Gord! Mars Lennox, you don't tote fair!  'Pears to me you are
riding two horses. Which side is you on?"

"Always on the side of justice and truth, and it is to help your poor
young mistress that I came to see you; but it seems you are too
superannuated to stretch out your hand and save her."

"Ain't you aiming to prove she killed old marster? That's what you sot
out to do; and tarrapin's claws are slippery, compared to your grip,
when you take holt."

The old negro stood with his white head thrown back, and unfeigned
perplexity printed on his wrinkled features, while he scanned the swart
face, where a heavy frown gathered.

"I set out this morning to find a faithful, old family servant, whose
devotion has never before been questioned; but evidently I have wasted
my confidence as well as my time. Where is Dyce? She is worth a hundred
superannuated cowards."

"Don't call no names, Mars Lennox. If there's one mean thing I nachally
despises as a stunnin' insult, it's being named white-livered; and my
Confederate record is jest as good as if I wore three gilt stars on my
coat collar. You might say I was a liar and a thief, and maybe I would
take it as a joke; but don't call Bedney Darrington no coward! It
bruises my feelins mor'n I'le stand. Lem'me tell you the Gord's truth;
argufying with lie-yers is wuss than shootin' at di-dappers, and that
is sport I don't hanker after. I ain't spry enuff to keep up with the
devil, when you are whipping him around the stump; and I ain't such a
forsaken idjut as to jump in the dark. Tell me straight out what you
want me to do. Tote fair, Mars Lennox."

"I am about to offer a reward of two hundred and fifty dollars, and I
thought I would allow you privately the opportunity of securing the
money, before I made it public. Where is Dyce?"

"You might as well ax the man in the moon. The only satisfaction she
gin me when she left home, was--she was gwine to New York to hunt for
Miss Ellie. I tole her she was heading for a wild goose chase, and her
answer signified she was leaving all of them fowls behind. If she was
here, she'd be only a 'clean chip in your homny pot'; for she wouldn't
never touch your job with a forty-foot pole, and what's more, she'd tie
my hands. I ain't afeard of my ole 'oman, but I respects her too high
to cross her; and if ever you git married, you will find it's a mighty
good rule to 'let sleeping dogs lay'. Who do you expect me to ketch for
two hundred and fifty dollars?"

"A lame negro man, about medium size, who was seen carrying a bundle on
the end of a stick, and who was hanging about the railroad station on
the night of General Darrington's death. He probably lives on some
plantation south of town, as he was travelling in that direction, after
the severe storm that night. I want him, not because he had any
connection with your master's murder, but to obtain from him a
description of a strange white man, whom he directed to the railroad
water-tank. If you can discover that lame negro, and bring him to my
office, I will pay you two hundred and fifty dollars, and give him a
new suit of clothes. The only hope for General Darrington's
granddaughter is in putting that man on the witness stand, to
corroborate her statement of a conversation which she heard. This is
Wednesday. I will give you until Saturday noon to report. If you do not
succeed I shall then advertise. If you wish to save Miss Brentano, help
me to find that man."

He swung himself into the saddle, and rode away, leaving Bedney staring
after him, in pitiable dubiety as to his own line of duty.

"Wimmen are as hard to live peaceable with as a hatful of hornets, but
the'r brains works spryer even than the'r tongues; and they do think as
much faster 'an a man, as a express train beats er eight ox-team. Dyce
is the safest sign-post! If she was only here now, I couldn't botch
things, for she sees clare through a mill-stone, and she'd shove me the
right way. If I go a huntin', I may flounder into a steel trap; if I
stand still, wuss may happen. Mars Lennox is too much for me. I
wouldn't trust him no further 'n I would a fat possum. I am afeard of
his oily tongue. He sot out to hang that poor young gal, and now he is
willing to pay two hundred and fifty dollars to show the court he was a
idjut and a slanderer! I ain't gwine to set down on no such spring gun
as that! Dyce ought to be here. When Mars Lennox turns summersets in
the court, before the judge, I don't want to belong to his circus--but,
oh Lord! If I could only find out which side he raily is on?"




CHAPTER XIII.


During the early stages of her convalescence, Beryl, though perfectly
rational, asked no questions, made no reference to her gloomy
surroundings and maintained a calm, but mournful taciturnity, very
puzzling to Mrs. Singleton, who ascribed it at first to mental
prostration, which rendered her comparatively obtuse; but ere long, a
different solution presented itself, and she marvelled at the silence
with which a desperate battle was fought. With returning consciousness,
the prisoner had grasped the grievous burden of her fate, unflinchingly
lifted and bound it upon her shoulders; and though she reeled and bent
under it, made no moan, indulged no regret, uttered no invective.

One cold dismal day, when not a rift was visible in the leaden sky, and
a slanting gray veil of sleety rain darkened the air and pelted the
dumb, shivering earth, Beryl sat on the side of her cot, with her feet
resting on the round of a chair, and her hands clasped at the back of
her head. Her eyes remarkably large from the bluish circles illness had
worn beneath them, were fixed in a strained, unwinking, far-away gaze
upon the window, where black railing showed the outside world as
through some grim St. Lawrence's gridiron.

From time to time the warden's wife glanced from her sewing toward the
motionless figure, reluctant to obtrude upon her revery, yet equally
loath to leave her a prey to melancholy musing. After a while, she saw
the black lashes quiver, and fall upon the waxen cheeks, then, as she
watched, great tears glittered, rolled slowly, dripped softly, but
there was no sigh, no sound of sobs. Leaning closer, she laid her arm
across the girl's knee.

"What is it, dearie? Tell me."

There was no immediate reply; when Beryl spoke, her voice was calm, low
and measured, as in one where all the springs of youth, hope, and
energy are irreparably broken.

"Every Gethsemane has its strengthening Angels. The agony of the Garden
brought them to Christ. I thank God, mine did not fail me. If they had
not come, I think I could never have borne this last misery that earth
can inflict upon me. My mother is dead."

"Why distress yourself with sad forebodings? Weakness makes you
despondent, but you must try to hope for the best; and I dare say in a
few days, you will have good news from your mother."

"I shook hands with Hope, and in her place sits the only companion who
will abide with me during the darkness that is coming on--Patience,
pale-browed, meek-eyed, sad-lipped Patience. If I can only keep my hold
upon her skirts, till the end. To me, no good news can ever come. As
long as mother lived, I had an incentive to struggle; now I am alone,
and they who thirst for my blood are welcome to take it speedily. I
know my mother is dead; I have seen her."

"Wake up, child. Your brain is weak yet and full of queer delirious
visions, and when you doze, realities and dreams are all jumbled
together. You have a deal too much sense to harbor any crazy spiritual
crankiness. Take your wine, and lie down. You have sat up too long, and
tired yourself."

"No. I have wanted to tell you for several days, because you have been
so good, and I have heard you praying here at night that God would be
merciful to me; but I waited until I had strength to be calm. I have
lain here day after day, and night after night, face to face with
desolation and despair, and now I have grown accustomed to the horror.
I know that in this world there is no escape, no help, no hope; so--the
worst is over. When you consent to fate, and stretch out your arms to
meet death, there is no more terror, only waiting, weary waiting. I am
not superstitious, and unfortunately I am not one of the victims of
dementia, whose spectral woes are born of disordered brains. I am sadly
sane; and what I am about to tell you is no figment of feverish fancy.
I do not know how long I have been sick, but one night great peace and
ease came suddenly upon me. I swung in some soft tender arms, close to
the gates of Release, and the iron bars melted away, and my soul was
borne toward the wonderful light; but suddenly a shock, a strange
thrill ran through me, and the bars rose again, and the light faded.
Then all at once my father and my mother stood beside me, bent over me.
Father said: 'Courage, my daughter, courage! Bear your cross a little
longer,' My mother wept, and said, 'My good little girl. So faithful,
so true. I died in peace, trusting your promise. For my sake can you
endure till the end?' They faded away; and sorrow sat down once more,
clutching my heart; and death, the Angel who keeps the key of the Gate
of Release, turned his back upon me. I had almost escaped; I was close
to the other world, and I was conscious. I saw my mother's spirit; it
was no delirious fancy. I know that she is dead. Even in the world of
the released, she grieves over the awful consequences of my obedience
to her wishes. Mortal agony of body and soul brings us so near to the
borderland, that we have glimpses; and those we love, lean across the
boundary line and compassionate us. So my Gethsemane called down the
one strengthening Angel of all the heavenly hosts, who had most power
to comfort my heart, and gird me for my fate, my father, my noble
father. God, in pity, sent him to exhort me to bear my cross bravely."

The low solemn voice ceased, and in the silence that followed, only the
dull patter of the rain, and the persistent purring of a kitten curled
up on the cot were audible. Mrs. Singleton finished the buttonhole in
Dick's apron, and threaded her needle.

"If it comforts you at all to believe that, I have no right to say
anything."

"You think, however, that I am the victim of some hallucination?"

"Not even that. I think you had a very vivid dream, and being
exhausted, you mistook a feverish vision for a real apparition. I can't
believe your mother is dead, because if such were the case, Dyce would
have returned at once, and told us."

"Dyce has a kind heart, and shrinks from bringing me the sad news; for
she knows my cup was already full. I know that my mother is dead. Time
will show you that I make no mistake. The veil was lifted, and I saw
beyond."

"Maybe so; may be not. I am stubborn in my opinions, and I never could
think it possible for flesh to commune with spirits. Don't let us talk
about anything that disturbs you, until you regain your strength. Why
will you not try a little of this port wine? Miss Gordon brought it
yesterday, and insisted I should give it to you, three times a day. It
is very old and mellow. Look at things practically. God kept you alive
for some wise purpose, and since you are obliged to face trouble, is it
not better to arm yourself with all the physical vigor possible? Drink
this, and lie down."

As Beryl mechanically drained the glass and handed it back, Mrs.
Singleton added:

"I believe I told you, Miss Gordon is Mr. Dunbar's sweetheart. Their
engagement is no secret, and he is a lucky man; for she is as good as
she is pretty, and as sweet as she is rich. She has shown such a tender
interest in you, and manifests so much sympathy, that I am sure she
will influence him in your favor, and I feel so encouraged about your
future."

A shadowy smile crossed the girl's wan face,

"Invest no hope in my future; for escape is as impossible for me, as
for that innocent victim foreordained to entangle his horns in the
thicket on Mount Moriah. He could have fled from the sacrificial fire,
and from Abraham's uplifted knife, back to dewy green pastures
poppy-starred, back to some cool dell where Syrian oleanders flushed
the shade, as easily as I can defy these walls, loosen the chain of
fate, elude my awful doom."

"It is because you are not yet yourself, that you take such a
despairing view of matters. After a while, things will look very
different, and you are too plucky to surrender your life without a
brave fight. A great change has come over Mr. Dunbar, and there is no
telling what he cannot do, when he sets to work. If ever a lawyer's
heart has been gnawed by remorse, it is his. He and Miss Gordon
together can pull you out of the bog, and I believe they will."

"Mr. Dunbar's professional reputation is more precious in his sight
than a poor girl's life; moreover, even if he desired to undo his work,
he could not. I am beyond human succor. Fate nails me to a cross, but
God consents; so I make no struggle, for behind fate stands God--and my
father."

Wearily she leaned back on her pillows, and turned her face to the
wall. Mrs. Singleton drew the blankets over her, folded her own shawl
about the shoulders, and smoothing away the hair, kissed her on the
temple; then stole into the adjoining room, where her children slept.

Before the fire that leaped and crackled in the wide chimney, and
leaning forward to rest her turbaned head against the mantelpiece,
while she spread her hands toward the blaze, stood a much muffled
figure.

"Dyce!"

Mrs. Singleton had left the door ajar, and the old woman turned and
pointed to it, laying one finger on her lips; but the warning came too
late.

"Hush! I don't want her to know I am here. Your husband told me she was
sitting up, and in her right mind, but too weak to stand any more
trouble. I wish I could run away, and never see her again, for when I
go in there, I feel like I was carrying a knife to cut the heart out of
a fawn, what the hounds had barely left life in. I can't bear the
thought of having to tell her--"

Dyce covered her face with her shawl, to stifle her sobs, and her large
frame shook. Mrs. Singleton whispered:

"Tell me quick. What is it."

"Miss Ellie is dead. I got there three days after she was buried."

The warden's wife sank into a chair, and drew the weeping negro into
one beside her.

"Do you know exactly what time she died?"

"Yes--I had it all put down in black and white. She died on Tuesday
night, just as the clock struck two; and the hospital nurse says--Lord,
amercy, Miss Susan! are you going to faint? You have turned ashy!"

As Mrs. Singleton's thoughts recurred to the fact that it was at that
hour that Beryl lay in the stupor of the crisis, from which she awoke
perfectly conscious, and recalled the dream that the sick girl held as
a vision, she felt a vague but bewildering dread seize her faculties,
in defiance of cool reason, and scoffing scepticism.

"Go on, Dyce. I felt a little sick. Tell me--"

She paused and listened to an unusual and inexplicable noise issuing
from the next room; the harsh sound of something scraping the bare
floor.

"You must pick your time to break this misery to that poor young thing.
I can't do it. I would run a mile sooner than face her with the news,
that her ma is dead; and I have grieved and cried, till I feel like my
brains had been put in a pot and biled. The Lord knows His bizness, of
course; yes, of course He knows the best to do; but 'pears to me, His
mercy hid its face behind His wrath, when He saw fit to let that poor
innercent young creetur in there get well, after her ma was laid in the
grave. It will be a harder heart than mine what can stand by, and tell
her she is motherless."

"There is no need to tell her. She knows it."

"How? Did she get the letter the Doctor said he wrote?"

"No. She thinks her mother--"

The noise explained itself. Too feeble to walk alone, Beryl had pushed
a chair before her, until she reached the door, and now stood grasping
it, swaying to and fro, as she endeavored to steady herself. One hand
held at her throat the black shawl, whose loosened folds fell like a
mourning mantle to her feet, the other clutched the door, against the
edge of which she leaned for support.

"Dyce, I have known for some days that I have no mother in this world.
I have seen her. Your kind heart dreads giving me pain, but nothing can
hurt me now. I cannot suffer any more, because I am bruised and beaten
to numbness. I want to see you alone; I want to know everything."

At sight of her, the old woman darted forward and caught the tall,
wasted, tottering form in her strong arms. Lifting her as though she
had been a child, she bore her back to her small bleak room, laid her
softly on her cot, then knelt down, and burst into a fit of passionate
crying.

As if to shut out some torturing vision, Beryl clasped her hands over
her eyes, and when she spoke, her voice was very unsteady:

"Did you see mother alive?"

"Oh, honey, I was too late! I was three days too late to see her at
all. When I got to New York, and found the Doctor's house, he was not
at home; had just gone to Boston a half hour before I rung the bell.
His folks couldn't tell me nothin', so I had to wait two days. When I
give him your note, he looked dreadful cut up, and tole me Miss Ellie
had all the care and 'tention in the world, but nothin' couldn't save
her. He said she didn't suffer much, but was 'lirious all the time,
until the day before she died, when all of a sudden her mind cleared.
Then she axed for you, honey--God bless you, my poor lamb! I hate to
harrify your heart. The Doctor comforted her all he could, and tole her
bizness of importance had done kept you South. Miss Ellie axed how long
she could live; he said only a few hours. She begged him to prop her
up, so she could write a few words. He says he held the paper for her,
and she wrote a little, and rested; and then she wrote a little mere
and fell back speechless. He pat the piece of paper in a invellop and
sealed it, and axed her if she wished it given to her daughter Beryl.
She couldn't talk then, but she looked at him and nodded her head. That
was about four o'clock in the evening of Tuesday. She had a sort of
spasm, and went to sleep. At two o'clock, she woke up in Heaven. He
said he felt so sorry for you--dear lamb! He wouldn't let them burry
her where most was hurried that died in the hospital. He had her laid
away in his own lot in some graveyard, where his childun was burried,
'till he could hear from you. He tole me, she was tenderly handled, and
everything was done as you would have wanted it; and he cut off some of
the beautiful hair--and--"

Dyce smothered her sobs in the bedclothes, but Beryl lay like a stone
image.

"Oh, honey! It jest splits my heart in two, to tell you all this--"

"Go on, Dyce."

"The doctor gin me a note to the nuss at the hospital, what 'tended the
ward Miss Ellie was in, and I got all her clothes, and packed 'em in a
box and brought 'em home. She told me pretty much what the doctor had
said, only she was shore your ma spoke jest before she died, and called
twice--'Ignace! Ignace!' She said she was beautiful as a angel and her
hair was a wonder to all who saw her, it was so long and so lovely. She
tole me the doctor hissef put a big bunch of white carnations and
tuberoses in her hand, after they put her in the coffin, and she looked
like a queen. The doctor wrote you a letter 'splainin' everything, and
sent it to the postmaster here. He seemed dreadfull grieved and
'stonished when I tole him how I had left you, and said if he could
help you, he would be very glad to do it. I tole him we would pay his
bill, as soon as this here trial bizness was over; and he answered:
'Tut--tut; bill indeed! That poor unfortunate girl need never worry
over any bill of mine. I did all I could for her mother, but the best
of us fail sometimes. Tell that poor child to come and see me, as soon
as she gets out of the clutches of those fire-eating devils down
South.' Honey, I couldn't be satisfied without seeing for myself, where
they had laid my dear young mistiss. I got 'rections from the doctor,
and I spent good part of a day huntin' the cemetery, and at last a man
in a uniform showed me Doctor Grantlin's lot. Oh, my lamb! That was the
first and only comfort I had, when I stood in front of that grand
lovely marble potico--with great angels kneeling on the four corners,
and knew my dear young mistiss was resting in such a beautiful place. I
felt so proud that ole mistiss' chile was among the best people,
sleeping with flowers in her hands, in that white marble house! I
wanted to be shore there warn't no mistake, and the keeper of the
graveyard tole me a lady had been put 'temporary' in the vault, four
days before. I had bought a bunch of violets from a flower shop, but I
could not get nearer than the door, where some brass rods was stretched
like a kind of a net; so I laid my little bunch down on the marble
steps, close as I could push it agin the rod; and though I couldn't see
my dear young mistiss, maybe--up in heaven--she will know her poor ole
mammy did not forgit her, and--"

The old woman cried bitterly, and one thin hand, white as a snowflake,
fell upon her bowed head, and softly stroked her black wrinkled face.
After some minutes, when the paroxysm of weeping had spent itself, Dyce
took the hand, kissed it reverently, and pressed into it a package.

"The doctor tole me to put that into your hands. He said he knew it
would be very precious to you, but he felt shore he could trust me to
bring it safe. Now, honey, I know you want to be by yourself, when you
read your ma's last words. I will go and set in yonder by the fire,
till you call me. My heart aches and swells fit to bust, and I can't
stan' no more misery jest now, sech as this."

For some moments, Beryl lay motionless, then the intolerable agony
clutched her throat with an aching sense of suffocation, and she sat
up, with nerveless hands lying on the package in her lap. She was
prepared for, expectant of the worst, but the details added keener
stings to suffering that had benumbed her. At last, with a shuddering
sigh, she broke the seal, and took from folds of tissue paper, a long
thick tress of the beautiful black hair. Shaking it out of its satin
coil, she held it up, then wrapped it smoothly over her hand, and laid
it caressingly against her cheek.

Prison walls melted away; she stood again in the New York attic, and
combed, and brushed, and braided those raven locks, and saw the wan
face of the beloved invalid, and the jasmine and violets she had pinned
at her throat.

What had become of the proud, high-spirited ambitious girl, who laughed
at adverse fortune, and forgot poverty in lofty aspirations? How long
ago it seemed, since she kissed the dear faded cheek, and knelt for her
mother's farewell benediction. Was it the same world? Was she the same
Beryl; was the eternal and unchanging God over all, as of yore? She had
shattered and ruined the sparkling crystal goblet of her young life,
scattering in the dust the golden wine of happy hope, in the effort to
serve and comfort that loved sufferer, who, languishing on a hospital
cot, had died among strangers; had been shrouded by hirelings. That any
other hand than hers had touched her sacred dead, seemed a profanation;
and at the thought of the last rites rendered, the loyal child shivered
as though some polluting grasp had been laid upon herself. Out of the
envelope rolled a broad hoop of reddish gold, her mother's wedding
ring; and in zigzag lines across a sheet of paper was written the last
message:

"My dear, good little girl, so faithful, so true, my legacy of love is
your mother's blessing. You must be comforted to know I am dying in
peace, because I trust in your last promise--"

Then a blot, some unintelligible marks, and a space. Lower still,
scarcely legible characters were scrawled:

"Tell my darling--to wear my ring as a holy--"

In death as in life, the last word, and the deepest feeling were not
for her; the sacred souvenir was left for the hand that had so often
stabbed the idolatrous heart, now stilled forever.

In all ages the ninety and nine that go not astray, never feel the
caressing touch which the yearning Shepherd lays on the obstinate
wanderer, who would not pasture in peace; and from the immemorial dawn
of inchoate civilization, prodigals have possessed the open sesame to
parental hearts that seemed barred against the more dutiful. By what
perverted organon of ethics has it come to pass in sociology, that the
badge of favoritism is rarely the guerdon of merit?

To the orphaned, forsaken, disgraced captive, sitting amid the sombre
ruins of her life, drinking the bitter lees of the fatal cup a mother's
hand had forced to her reluctant lips, there seemed nothing strange in
the injustice meted out; for had not the second place in maternal love
always been hers? As the great gray eyes darkening behind their tears,
like deep lakes under coming rain, read and re-read the blurred lines,
the frozen mouth trembled, and Beryl kissed the hair, folded it away in
the letter, and pinned both close to her heart. Staggering to her feet,
she held up the ring, and said in a broken, half audible voice:

"When I am dead, your darling shall have it; until then lend it to your
little girl, as a strengthening amulet. The sight of it will hold me
firm, will girdle my soul with fortitude, as it girdles my finger; will
set a yet holier seal to the compact whereby I pledged my life, that
you might die in peace. If, in the last hour, you had known all my
peril, all that my promise entails, would you have released me? Would
you have died content knowing that your idol was guarded and safe,
behind the cold shield of your little girl's polluted body? The blood
in my veins flowed from yours; I slept on your heart, I was the last
baby whose lips fed at your bosom. Mother! Mother, if you had known
all, could you have seen the load of guilt and shame and woe laid on
your innocent child, and bought the life of your first-born, by the
sacrifice of a scapegoat? Dear mother, my mother, would you shelter
him, and leave your baby to die?"

Slipping the ring on her finger, she kissed it twice. The hot flood of
tears overflowed, and she fell on her knees beside the cot, clasping
her hands above her bowed head.

"Alone in my desolation! Oh, father! keep close to my soul, and pray
that I may have strength to bear my burden, even to the end. My God! My
God! sustain me now. Help me to be patient, and when the sacrifice is
finished, accept it for Christ's sake, and grant that the soul of my
brother may be ransomed, because I die for his sins."




CHAPTER XIV.


"Well, dear child, what is the trouble? Into what quagmire have your
little feet slipped? When you invite me so solemnly to a private
conference in this distractingly pretty room, the inference is
inevitable that some disaster threatens. Have you overdrawn your bank
account?"

Judge Dent leaned back, making himself thoroughly comfortable in a deep
easy chair in Leo's luxurious library; and taking his niece's hand,
looked up into her grave, sweet face.

"I want you to honor my draft for a large amount. I am about to draw
upon your sympathy; can I ever overdraw my account with that royal
bank?"

"Upon my sympathy, never; but mark you, this does not commit me to
compliance with all your Utopian schemes. If you were raving mad, I
should sympathize, but nevertheless I should see that the strait-jacket
was brought into requisition. When your generosity train dashes
recklessly beyond regulation schedules of safety, I must discharge
engineer sympathy, and whistle down the brakes. What new hobby do you
intend that I shall ride?"

"I have no intention of sharing that privilege even with you; I merely
desire you to inspect the accoutrements, to examine reins, and girth,
and stirrup. I lend my hobby to no one, and it is far too mettlesome to
'carry double'. Uncle Mitchell, I feel so unhappy about that poor girl,
that I must do something to comfort her, and only one avenue presents
itself. I want you to have her brought into court on a writ of Habeas
Corpus, and to use your influence with Judge Parkman to grant her bail.
I desire to give the amount of bond he may require, because I think it
would gratify her, to have this public assurance that she possessed the
confidence of her own sex; for nothing so strengthens and soothes a
true woman as the sympathy and trust of women."

"Looking at the case dispassionately from a professional point of view,
I am sorry to tell you that the judge would scarcely be warranted in
granting bail. Were I still upon the bench, I could not conscientiously
release her, in the face of constantly accumulating evidence against
her, although she has my deepest compassion. Conceding, however, for
the moment, that Parkman consents to the petition and the girl is set
at liberty, are you prepared to pay the large forfeit, if she,
realizing the fearful odds against her acquittal, should take permanent
bail by absconding before the trial? Abstract sympathy and generous
sentiments are one phase of this matter; positively paying a fifteen or
a twenty-thousand-dollar-bond is quite another. Weigh it carefully. We
pity this unfortunate prisoner, but we know absolutely nothing in her
favor, to counterbalance the terrible array of accusing circumstances
fate has piled against her. If she be guilty, can she resist the
temptation to escape by flight; and if indeed she be innocent, how much
more difficult to await all that is involved in this trial, and abide
the issue? Because she is beautiful, has a refined and noble air, and
seems unsullied as some grand snow image, do not blind yourself to the
fact, that for aught we can prove to the contrary, she may have a heart
as black as Tullias', hands as bloody as Brunehaut's."

"You believe that as little as I do. I have pondered the matter in all
its aspects, and I take the risk."

"You can afford to pay for her flight?"

"I will pay for her flight, no matter what it may cost."

Judge Dent took her hand between both his.

"Let us be frank."

                       "'The things we do--
     We do; we'll wear no mask, as if we blushed!'"

"Are you so assured of the woman's fidelity; or do you deliberately
leave the door ajar, foreseeing the result, deeming this the most
expedient method of cutting the Gordian knot?"

For a moment she hesitated, then her soft brown eyes looked down
bravely into his.

"I believe she is innocent, and that she will be loyal if released on
bail; but if I mistake her character, and she should flee for her life
from the lifted sword of justice, then I shall gladly pay the expense
of playing Alexander's role; and shall feel rejoiced that she lives to
repent her crime; and that the man to whom I have promised my hand, has
been relieved of the awful responsibility of hunting her to death."

"Have you made him acquainted with this scheme?"

"Certainly not. I owed it to you to secure your approbation and
co-operation, before mentioning the matter to him."

"Have you considered the opposition which, without inconsistency, he
cannot fail to offer? As prosecuting attorney for the Darringtons he
would be recreant to his client, if he consented to release on bail."

"His sympathy is deeply enlisted in her behalf, and I do not anticipate
opposition; nevertheless, it would not deter me from the attempt to
free her, at least temporarily from prison. As you have no connection
with the trial, I can see no impropriety in your telling Judge Parkman,
that the girl's health demands a change of air and scene, and that it
is my desire to furnish any bond he may deem suitable, and then bring
the prisoner under my own roof, until the day fixed for her trial. If
you are unwilling to speak to him, will you permit me to mention the
subject to him?"

"I fear enthusiasm is hurrying you into a proposal, the possibly grave
consequences of which you do not realize. You would run a great risk in
bringing here that unfortunate woman, over whose head has gathered so
black a cloud of suspicion. In becoming her gaoler, you assume a
fearful responsibility."

"I fully comprehend all the hazard, and with your permission, I shall
not shrink. I have a conviction, for which I can offer no adequate
grounds, that this girl is as innocent as I am; and if all the world
hissed and jeered, I should stretch out my hand to her. Do you
recollect Ortes' booty when Antwerp fell into Alva's hands? The keys of
the dungeons. I would rather swing wide the barred doors of yonder
human cage across the river, and lead that woman out under God's free
sky, than wear all of Alva's jewels, own his gold. Uncle, will you
speak, or shall I?"

"I must first talk with Churchill and Dunbar. Your effort might result
only in injury to the prisoner; because if she were brought into Court
on writ of Habeas Corpus, and refused bail, as I fear would be the
case, the failure would operate very unfavorably for her cause, on
public opinion, of which after all, in nineteen cases out of twenty,
the jury verdict is a reflection. Some new evidence has been presented
since the preliminary examination, and its character will determine the
question of bail. If I can see any chance of your success I will speak
to Parkman; for, indeed, my dear child, I honor your motive, and share
your hope; but unless I find more encouragement than I expect, I will
not complicate matters by a futile attempt, which would certainly
recoil disastrously."

"Thank you, Uncle Mitchell. Please act promptly. I have set my heart of
hearts on having that poor young woman here to spend Christmas. Her
freedom to walk about in the sunshine, is the one Christmas gift I
covet; and I know you will gratify me if possible. You have only four
days in which to secure my present."

"When do you expect to see Dunbar?"

"I promised to ride with him this afternoon; but I prefer not to
discuss this subject, as he has earnestly requested me 'to abstain from
any reference to that gloomy business during his hours of recreation;'
and I have no intention of setting black care en croupe to share our
canter to-day. Having told me that when he leaves his office to visit
us, he locks his professional affairs in his desk, you can readily
understand that good taste enforces respect for his wishes, at least in
the matter of avoiding tabooed topics."

"Does it occur to you that he will object very strenuously to seeing
the personification of 'that gloomy business' sitting at your
hearth-stone? That he may refuse to lock up in his law office the
significant and disagreeable reflection, that the woman whom he
arrested find prosecutes for a vile crime, is championed and housed by
one whom he claims as his promised wife? Dunbar has a keen eye for the
'eternal fitness of things,' and, where you are concerned, is a jealous
stickler for social convenance. I warn you he will be bitterly
offended, if you bring General Darrington's granddaughter under this
roof."

Her delicate flower-like face flushed; and the slight figure became
proudly erect.

"It is my house, and I acquit him of the presumption of desiring to
dictate to whom its doors shall be opened. If he has no confidence in
my discretion, no respect for my motives, no tolerance for difference
of opinion in a matter of vital importance, then the sooner our
engagement is annulled the better for both of us. When I have taken my
vows, I hope I shall steadfastly keep them, but meantime I am still a
Gordon. The irrevocable ubi tu Caius, ego Caia, has not yet been
uttered, and while it would grieve me very much to wound his feelings,
I claim the exercise of my own judgment. I am not indifferent to his
wishes; on the contrary, I ardently desire, as far as is consistent
with my self-respect, to defer to them; but when I pledged him my
faith, I did not surrender my will, nor obliterate my individuality."

Judge Dent rose, put his arm around her shoulders, and drew the sunny
head to his breast.

"Leo, listen to me. There is no heaven on earth, but the nearest
approach to it, the outlying suburbs whence we get bewildering glimpses
of beatitude beyond, is the season of courtship and betrothal. In the
magical days of sweetheartdom, a silvery glorifying glamour wraps the
world, brims jagged black chasms with glittering mist, paves rugged
paths with its shimmering folds, and tenderly covers very deep in rose
leaves, the clay feet of our idols. That wonderful light shines only
once full upon us, but the memory of it streams all along the
succeeding journey; follows us up the arid heights, throws its mellow
afterglow on the darkening road, as we go swiftly down the slippery
hill of life. It comes to all, as hope's happy prophecy, this sparkling
prologue, and we never dream that it is the sweetest and best of the
drama that follows; but let me tell you, enjoy it while you may.
Beautiful, hallowing sweetheart days, keep them unclouded, guard them
from strife; hold them for the precious enchantment they bring, and
take an old man's advice, do not quarrel with your sweetheart."

He kissed her cheek, and when the door closed behind him, she sat down
and covered her face with her hands.

Was that witching light already fading in her sky? Was the storm even
now muttering, that would rudely toss aside the rose leaves that
garlanded the feet of her beloved? In the midst of her eloquent
prologue would darkness smite suddenly, and end the drama? Life had
poured its richest wine into the cup she held to her lips; should she
risk spilling the priceless draught? She could turn a deaf ear to
teazing whispers of suspicion, she could shut her eyes to the spectre
that threw up warning hands, and so drift on; but the dream would be
broken perhaps too late, and all time could not repair the possible
shipwreck. Into the chill shadow of this problem plunged Miss Patty,
bringing through the room the penetrating spicery of an apron full of
pinks, which she was sorting and tying in star-shaped clusters.

"An extraordinary and most unexpected thing has happened, and I know
you will be surprised."

"What is it, Aunt Patty? Something very pleasant, I hope."

"I have actually changed my opinion; and you know how tenacious I
usually am of my well-matured views, because they are always founded on
such sound reasons. Quite surprised, aren't you, dear?"

"That is far too mild and inadequate a term to express my sensations.
Your views and opinions bear the same royal, inviolable seal as those
of the Medes and Persians, and from their unchangeableness must have
floated down the stream of Aryan migration, from some infallible
fountain in Bactria. I should not be much more astonished to hear that
Cynosure had grown giddy, had swung down and waltzed in the arms of
Sirius."

"Leo, that sounds very pedantic, and there is nothing I dislike more. A
woman bedecked with rags and tags of farfetched learning, is about as
attractive an object as if she had turned out a full beard and
mustache. I am very sure you have heard me assert more than once, that
I verily believe Venus herself would scare all the men into
monasteries, if she wore blue stockings. Too much learning in a lady's
conversation is as utterly unpardonable as a waste of lemon and nutmeg
in a chicken-pie; or a superfluity of cheese in Turbot a la creme; just
a hint of the flavor, the merest soupcon is all that is admissible in
either. I came in to tell you, that I have experienced quite a change
of feeling with reference to that poor young lady, whom Mr. Dunbar with
such officious haste arrested and threw into gaol. I am now convinced
that a great wrong has been committed."

For a moment Leo stooped to stroke the head of her Siberian hound,
crouching on the velvet rug at her feet; then she frankly met the
twinkling black eyes that peered over their gold-rimmed spectacles.

"I am glad to hear it; but to what circumstance is so deckled a
revulsion of sentiment attributable?"

"You know I have great confidence in Sister Serena's sagacity, and
during the past fortnight she has talked frequently with me on the
subject of the prisoner. When she undertook to nurse the poor child,
she too considered her guilty of the unnatural crime; but by degrees
she began to doubt it. About ten days ago, she says she went to the
penitentiary, and found the prisoner reading a Bible which she had
borrowed from the gaoler's wife. She asked her if she would like her to
offer up a prayer, in her behalf, and they knelt down side by side.
Sister Serena prayed that God would melt her heart if she was guilty,
and help her to repent. While they were still on their knees, Sister
Serena put one arm around her and said:

"'God knows whether you are the criminal; and if so, let me beg of you
to make a full confession; it will unload your conscience, and may be
the means of arousing more sympathy in the public heart.' She says that
the poor girl looked at her a moment so reproachfully, and answered:
'When we meet in heaven, you will understand how cruelly your words
hurt me. I know that appearances are hopelessly against me, and I
expect to die; but I am so innocent, I keep my soul close to God, for
He who knows the truth, will help me to bear man's injustice.' Then she
prayed aloud for herself, that she might endure patiently and meekly an
awful punishment which she did not deserve; and while she prayed, her
countenance was so pure, so angelic, and there was such unmistakable
fervor and sincerity in her petition, that Sister Serena says she could
not help bursting into tears, and she actually begged the girl's pardon
for having doubted her innocence. She has fallen completely in love
with the poor young creature, and tells me she finds her wonderfully
talented and cultivated. This morning she showed me some of the most
beautiful designs for decorating our altar on Christmas, which the
prisoner sketched for her. She cut all the models for her, and gave her
such lovely suggestions, and when Sister Serena thanked her, she says
the most touching smile she ever saw came into that child's face, as
she answered: 'I ought to thank you for the privilege of decorating my
Savior's altar, at the last Christmas I shall spend on earth. Next
year, I shall spend Jesus' birthday with Him.' I felt so uncomfortable
when I heard all that passed between her and Sister Serena, that I
could not be easy until I had seen for myself; and as Sister Serena was
going over to carry some letters to be painted and gilded, I went with
her. I have seen her, and talked with her, and I pity the hard, bitter,
unregenerate and vindictive heart of the man who is prosecuting her for
murder. I do not believe that in all the world, Mr. Dunbar can find
twelve men idiotic and vicious enough to convict that beautiful orphan
girl; and his failure will do as little credit to his intellect, as
success would to his moral nature."

"While I prefer to exclude Mr. Dunbar's name from our discussions, I
think it merely bare justice to the absent, to assure you that he
desires her conviction even less than you or I; and will do all in his
power to avert it. I feel more interest in this matter than you can
possibly realize, and, believing her innocent, I will befriend her to
the last extremity. Did Sister Serena succeed in fitting the black
dress I sent?"

"The poor child had on a mourning dress, but I was not aware you sent
it. Losing her mother seems almost to have broken her heart. Poor
Ellice Darrington! Petted and fostered like a hot-house flower, and
then to die a pauper in a hospital! What an awful retribution for her
disobedience to her parents? There is the bell."

"Yes, Auntie, and I must ask you to excuse me. Some of my Sunday-school
class are coming to practise their carols, and conclude a little
holiday preparation, and I hear them now on the steps."

"Did Mitchell show you Leighton's telegram?"

"He told me the good news, that at the last moment Leighton had filled
his pulpit for the holidays, and would preach for us on Christmas. How
delightfully it will revive the dear old days to have him back? Fancy
our hanging up our stockings once more at the foot of Uncle Mitchell's
bed! Your letter must have been eloquent, indeed, to entice him from
the splendors of the metropolis, to the yule log at our quiet 'Lilacs';
and his coming is a tribute of gratitude to you, for all your loving
care of him. I know you are so happy at the thought of taking the Holy
Communion from the hand of your dear boy, that it will consecrate this
Christmas above all others; and I congratulate you heartily, dear Aunt
Patty."

It was late in the afternoon of Saturday, Christmas Eve, when Leo
knocked at the door of Mrs. Singleton's room. A dispirited expression
characterized the countenance usually serene and happy, and between her
brows a perpendicular line marked the advent of anxious foreboding. Her
hopeful scheme had dissolved, vanished like a puff of steam on icy air,
leaving only a teazing memory of mocking failure. Judge Dent's
conference with the District Solicitor, had convinced him of the
futility of any attempt to secure bail; moreover, a message from the
prisoner earnestly exhorted them to abandon all intercessory designs in
her behalf, as she would not accept release on bail, and preferred to
await her trial.

"Good evening, Miss Gordon. If you want to see her, Ned will show you
the way to the chapel, where I left her a while ago. Since her mother's
death, the only comfort she gets, is from the organ; so we let her go
there very often. I would go with you, but I want to finish a black
shawl I am crocheting for her."

The warden escorted his visitor through the chill dim corridors that
had formerly so appalled Beryl's soul, and upon the steps of the
chapel, both paused to listen. On the small cabinet organ, a skilful
hand was playing a grand and solemn aria, which Leo had heard once
before in the cool depths of Freiburg Cathedral. It had impressed her
then most powerfully, as the despairing invocation of some doomed
Titan; to-day it thrilled her with keen and intolerable pain. Waving
the warden back, she softly entered the chapel, closed the door, and
sat down.

Through the narrow windows, the afternoon sunlight, fettered by shadowy
bars, fell on the bare floor, and the radiance smote the organ and the
wan face of the musician, gilding the dark reddish-brown hair coiled
loosely on her nobly poised head. Her black dress enhanced the extreme
pallor of delicate features, which, outlined against that golden
background, bore a strong resemblance to the lovely portrait of
Titian's wife in the Louvre. Unmindful of the keys, across which her
fingers strayed, she was gazing off into space, as if seeking some
friendly face; and to the same sombre, passionate, plaintive melody she
sang:

    "The way is dark, my Father! Cloud upon cloud
     Is gathering thickly o'er my head, and loud
     The thunders roar above me. O, see--I stand
     Like one bewildered! Father, take my hand--
     And through the gloom lead safely home Thy Child!
     The day declines, my Father! and the night
     Is drawing darkly down. My faithless sight
     Sees ghostly visions. Fears like a spectral band
     Encompass me. O, Father, take my hand,
     And from the night lead up to light Thy Child!
     The cross is heavy, Father! I have borne
     It long, and still do bear it. I cannot stand
     Or go alone. O, Father, take my hand,
     And reaching down, lead to the crown Thy Child!"

The voice was wonderfully sweet and rich, vibrating with the intense
pathos of minor chords in a mellow old violoncello, and either from
physical weakness, or the weight of woe, it quivered at last into a
thrilling cry. Tears were dripping over Leo's cheeks, as she went up to
the chancel railing, and leaning across, put out her hand. Beryl rose
and came forward, and so, with only the pine balustrade between, the
two stood palm in palm. No moisture dimmed the prisoner's eyes, but
around her beautiful mouth sorrowful curves betokened the fierceness of
the ordeal she was enduring; and her lips trembled a little, like rose
leaves under a sudden rude gust.

"I have wanted very much to see you, Miss Gordon, to thank you for the
great kindness that prompted your effort to help me; and yet, I have no
hope of expressing adequately the comfort I derived from this
manifestation of your confidence. The knowledge that you offered
security for me, above all, that you were willing to take me--an
outcast, almost a convicted criminal--into the holy shelter of your own
home, oh! you can never realize, unless you stood in my place, how it
soothes my heart, how it will always make a bright spot in the
blackness of my situation. The full sympathy of a noble woman is the
best tonic for a feeble sufferer, who knows the world has turned its
back upon her. If I were unworthy, your goodness would be the keenest
lash that could scourge me; but forlorn though I seem, your friendship
brings me measureless balm, and while I could never have accepted your
generous offer, I thank you sincerely."

"Why were you so unwilling that I should try to release you?"

"I have not a dollar to pay my expenses anywhere, and I appreciated too
fully all that was involved in your hospitable offer, to take me under
your roof, to be willing to avail myself of it. Here I am provided for,
by those who believe me guilty; and here I have the kind sympathy of
Mr. and Mrs. Singleton, who were my first friends when the storm broke
over my doomed head. To go out of prison into the world now, would be
torturing, because I am proud and sensitive; and these dark walls
screen me from the curious observation from which I shrink, as from
being flayed. To the desolate and homeless, change of place brings no
relief; and since there is no escape for me, I prefer to wait here for
the end, which, after all, cannot be very distant."

"Do you refer to the trial next month?"

"No, to that which yawns behind the trial; a shallow gash out there
under the pines, where the sound of the penitentiary bell tolls
requiems for the souls of its mangled victims."

"Hush! hush! You wrong yourself by imagining the possibility of such
horrible results. Gloomy surroundings, coupled with your great
bereavement, render you morbidly despondent; and it was the hope of
cheering you, that made me so anxious to get you away. If I could only
take you home, even for one week!"

"The wish has cheered me inexpressibly. How good, how noble, how tender
you are! Miss Gordon, because I am so grateful, let me now say one
thing. You cannot help me in future, and it would grieve me to think
that I fell, as an unlifting shadow, between your heart and the
sunshine that warms it. In the night of my wretchedness, you have
groped your way to me, and in defiance of the circumstances that are so
cruelly leagued to strangle me, you throw your confidence like a warm
mantle around my shivering soul; you have courageously laid your pure,
womanly hands in mine--oh, God bless you! God reward you! Do you think
I could bear to know that I had caused even a hand's breadth of cloud
to drift over the heavenly blue of your happy sky? The bow of promise
that spans your life is no secret. Let no thought of me jar the harmony
that reigned before I came here. Leave me to my doom, which human hands
cannot avert now; and be happy without questioning. Inexorable fate
stands behind men; makes them, sometimes, irresponsible puppets."

A deep flush had risen to Leo's temples, and withdrawing her hand, she
shaded her face for a moment. The great bell below the tower clock rang
sullenly.

"Good-bye, Miss Gordon. I had permission to stay here only till the
bell sounded. Pray for me, but do not come again. Visits to me could
bring you nothing but sorrow in return for your compassion, and that
would add to my misery. I wish you a pleasant Christmas, a happy New
Year, and as cloudless a life as your great goodness deserves."

Once more their hands met, in a long close clasp, then Leo laid on the
chancel railing a large square envelope.

"It is only a Christmas card, but so lovely, I know your artistic taste
cannot fail to admire it; and it may brighten your cheerless room. It
is the three-hundred-dollar-prize-card, and particularly beautiful."

"Thank you, dear Miss Gordon. It may help to deaden the merciless
stings of memory, which all day long has tortured me by unrolling the
past, where my Christmas days stand out like illuminated capitals on
black-letter pages."

Deaden the stings of memory? What spell suddenly evoked the image of
her invalid mother, all the details of the attic room, the litter of
pencils on the table; the windows of a florist's shop where, standing
on the pavement, she had studied hungrily the shapes of the blossoms
poverty denied her as models; the interior of the Creche, which she had
penetrated in order to sketch the heads of sleeping babies, as a study
for cherubs?

Leo had almost reached the door, when a passionate, indescribably
mournful cry arrested her steps.

"Too late!--too late! O, God! What a cruel mockery!"

Beryl stood leaning against the railing of the altar, with the light of
the setting sun falling aslant on the gilded card she held up in one
hand; on her white convulsed face, where tears fell in a scalding
flood. Retracing her steps, Leo said falteringly:

"In my efforts to comfort you, have I only wounded more sorely? How
have I hurt you? What can I do?"

"No--no! you are an angel of pity, hovering over an abyss of ruin,
whose darkest horrors you only imagine faintly. What can you do?
Nothing, but pray to God to paralyze my tongue, and grant me death,
before I lose my last clutch on faith, and curse my Creator, and drift
down to eternal perdition! It was hard enough before, but this mockery
maddens."

With a sudden abandonment, she hurled the card away, threw her arms
around Leo's neck and sobbed unrestrainedly. Tenderly the latter held
her shivering form, as the proud head fell on her shoulder; and after a
time, Beryl lifted a face white as an annunciation lily, drenched by
tropical rain.

"I thought misfortune had emptied all her vials, and that I was nerved,
because there was nothing more to dread. But the worst is always
behind, and this is the irony of fate. You think that merely a
rhetorical metaphor, a tragic trope? How should you know? That
Christmas card is the solitary dove I sent out to hunt a resting-place
for mother and for me, when the flood engulfed us. It was my design
sent to Boston, to compete for the prizes offered. How I dreamed, how I
toiled! Haunting the flower shops for a glimpse of heartsease, and
passion flowers, and stars of Bethlehem; begging a butcher at the
abattoir to spare a lamb, until I could sketch it; kneeling by cradles
in the public Creche to get the full red curve of a baby's sucking
lips, as they forsook the bottle, the dimple in the tiny hands, the
tendrils of hair on the satin brow! Over that card I sang, and I wept;
I worked, hoped, prayed, believed! So much depended upon it! Could the
Christ to whom I dedicated it, fail to answer my prayer for success?
Three hundred dollars! What a mint! It would pay the doctor, and make
mother comfortable, and get her a warm new suit for coming winter. Oh!
it is so easy to believe in God, until He denies us; and to trust
Christ, till He hurls our prayers back, and the stones crush us. Only
three hundred dollars between life and death; between a happy, proud
girl with a noble future, and a disgraced, broken-hearted wreck
trampled into a convict's grave! It would have saved all; all the awful
consequences of the journey here, which only dire extremity of need
forced upon me. On the fatal day I started South, I went at the last
moment, hoping that some tidings from my card would come on angel
wings. The decision had been made, but the awards were not yet
published, and so my doom was sealed. To-morrow, happy women, no more
innocent than I am, will smile at my Christmas card, and give it with
warm kisses and loving words to their dear ones; and to-day, my white
dove of hope, flies back in my face, with the talons of a harpy, to
devour me with maddening reminders of 'what might have been'. My
coveted three hundred dollars! Three hundred taunting fiends! to jeer
and torment me. The Christmas sun will shine on a pauper's empty cot in
a charity hospital; on a disgraced, insulted, forsaken convict. Take
away this last mockery, it is more than I can bear. There on the back
in gilt letters--Prize Card--Three Hundred Dollars! Yet a stranger paid
for my mother's coffin, and--. Three hundred furies to lash my heart
out! Too late! Take it away! too late! oh, too late! This is worse than
the pangs of death."




CHAPTER XV.


The Christmas Sabbath dawned cold and dim, and along the eastern sky
gray marbled masses of cloud with dun, stratified bases, built
themselves into the likeness of vast teocallis to Tonatiuh, over whose
apex the struggling rays fell red and presageful. Dulled by the stained
glass windows, the light that filled the semi-circular chapel at "The
Lilacs", was chill and sombre, until the fair sacristan held a taper
over the tall wax candles on each side of the altar, whence a mellow
radiance soon streamed over all; flashing along the golden letters
under the cross, and upon the gilded pipes of the little organ. On the
marble steps in front of the altar were two baskets filled with white
camellias, and great spikes of pink and blue hyacinths, that seemed to
break their hearts in waves of aromatic incense. The family Bible of
the Gordons lay open, on the reading desk, and upon its yellow pages
rested a Maltese cross of snowy Roman hyacinths. Looping back the
purple velvet portiere over the arch leading into the library, Leo sat
down on the organ bench to await the coming of the family, leisurely
arranged the stops, and marked in her prayer-book the Collect for
Christmas. In her morning robe of crimson cashmere, with its cascade of
soft rich lace foaming from throat to feet, and wearing a dainty
cluster of double white violets fastened just below one ear, where the
wax light kissed her sunny hair, she appeared a St. Cecilia, very fair
and sweet, to the eyes of the man who stood a moment unperceived
beneath the arch. A figure of medium height, clad in priestly garments,
with a white surplice sweeping to the marble floor; a finely modelled
head thickly fleeced with light brown hair, a serene pleasant face,
with regular features, deep-set black eyes magnified by spectacles, and
an expression of habitual placidity, that bespoke a soul consecrated by
noble aims, and at perfect peace with his God.

Hearing his step as he crossed the floor, Leo looked over her shoulder,
smiled, and began to play softly, while he ascended the steps and knelt
before the altar. After some moments Miss Patty rustled in, sank on her
knees and finally settled herself comfortably on one of the
crescent-shaped, cushioned sofas; then Judge Dent entered, followed by
Justine and the aged negro butler, Joel, the two servants finding seats
just behind their master. Doctor Leighton Douglass selected his hymns,
and the leaves of five prayer-books fluttered, as Collects were found,
but Leo continued to play.

Twice she turned and looked around the chapel, seeking some one,
delaying the commencement of the service. Finally accepting defeat, her
pretty fingers fell from the keys, and with them dropped two tears,
forced from her by the keen disappointment that robbed this occasion of
all its anticipated pleasure. Singularly free from fashionable
elocutionary affectations, and certain declamatory stage tricks, by
which the recitation of the Creed and the Lord's Prayer becomes a
competitive test of lungs in the race for breath, Leighton Douglass
read the morning service, in a well-modulated voice, and with a
profound solemnity that left its impress on each heart. The responses
were fervent, and the Christmas hymns were sung with joyful
earnestness; then priestly arms rose like the wings of a great snowy
dove, and from holy, priestly lips fell the mellow music of the
benediction:

"The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and the
fellowship of the Holy Ghost, be with us all evermore. Amen."

Even while he pronounced the words, a whirring rustle filled the
beautiful oratory, and two of Leo's pet ring-doves, fluttering round
and round the frescoed ceiling, descended swiftly. One perched upon her
head, cooing softly, and its mate nestled down with outspread pinions,
pecking at the white muslin folds on Doctor Douglass' shoulder.

"Paracletes, dun plumed! Leo, let us accept them as happy auguries,
prophetic of divine blessing on our future work in the Master's
vineyard. My cousin, I wish you a very happy Christmas."

He had approached the organ where she sat, and held out his hand.

"Happy Christmas, Leighton, and many thanks to you for this
consecrating service in my place of prayer. After today, it will always
seem a more hallowed shrine, and before you leave us, we will gather
here as a family, and join in the celebration of the Holy Communion."

They stood a moment hand in hand, looking into each other's eyes; and
watching them, Miss Patty's heart swelled with pardonable pride in the
two, whom her loving arms had so tenderly cradled. Pinching her
brother's hand, as she walked with him under the velvet draperies, she
whispered:

"What a noble match for both! And he's only her second cousin."

Leo's eyes were wet with tears, which Doctor Douglass ascribed to
devotional fervor; and withdrawing her hand, she opened one of the
windows, and called the doves to the stone ledge, putting them very
gently out upon the ivy wreaths that clambered up the wall, and peeped
into the chapel.

"I believe you are sacristan here?" he said, pointing to the candles
that flared, as the wind rushed in.

"Yes, here I sweep, dust, decorate daily, allowing no other touch; and
here I bring my daintiest, rarest flowers, as tribute to Him who
tapestried the earth with blossoms, and sprinkled it with
perfumes--when? Not until just before the advent of humanity, whose
material kingdom was perfected, and furnished in anticipation of his
arrival."

Extinguishing the candles, she closed the old Bible, covered it with a
square of velvet, and hung the cross of hyacinths upon the folded hands
of one of the marble angels that upheld the altar.

"Pure-handed women are natural priestesses, meet for temple
ministration; and I have no doubt your exoteric labors here, merely
typify the secret daily sweeping out of evil thoughts, the dusting away
of motes of selfishness, the decorating with noble beautiful aims, and
holy deeds, whereby you sanctify that inner shrine, your own soul."

"Praise from you means so much, that you need not stoop to flatter me.
The very vestments of you Levites should exhale infectious humility;
and I especially need exhortations against pride, my besetting sin. I
built this chapel, not because I am good, but in order to grow better.
Every dwelling has its room in which the inmates gather to eat, to
study, to work, to sleep; why not to pray, the most important privilege
of many that divide humanity from brutes? After all, the pagans were
wiser than we, and the heads of families were household priests,
setting examples of piety at every rising of the sun."

"Let us see. Greek and Roman fathers laid a cake dripping with wine, a
wreath of violets, a heart of honey-comb, a brace of doves on the home
altar, and immediately thereafter, set the example of violating every
clause in the Decalogue. Mark you, paganism drew fine lines in morals,
long anterior to the era of monotheism and of Moses, and furnished
immortal types of all the virtues; yet the excess of its religious
ceremonial, robbed it of vital fructifying energies. The frequency and
publicity of sacerdotal service, usurped the place of daily individual
piety. The tendency of all outward symbolical observances, unduly
multiplied, is to substitute mere formalism for fervor."

"Leighton, humanity craves the concrete. All the universe is God's
temple, yet the chill breath of the abstract freezes our hearts; and we
pray best in some pillared niche consecrated and set apart, I recall a
day in Umbria, when the wonderful light of sunset fell on ilex and
olive, on mountain snows, on valleys billowing between vine-mantled
hills, on creamy marble walls, on columned campaniles; and standing
there, I seemed verily to absorb, to become saturated as it were, with
the reigning essence of beauty. I walked on, a few steps, lifted a
worn, frayed leather curtain, and looked into a small gray, dingy
church, where a mist of incense blurred the lights on the ancient
altar, and the muffled roll of an organ broke into sonorous waves, like
reverberations of far-away thunder; and why was it, tell me, that the
universal glory thrilled me only as a sensuous chord of color, but in
the dark corner consecrated to the worship of our God, my soul
expanded, as if a holy finger touched it, and I fell on my knees, and
prayed? Each of us comes into this world dowered with the behest to
make desperate war against that indissoluble 'Triple Alliance, the
World, the Flesh and the Devil,' and needing all the auxiliaries
possible, I resort to conscription wherever I can recruit. Since I am
two thousand years too young to set up a statue of Hestia yonder in my
imitation prostas, I have built instead this small sacred nook for
prayer, which helps me spiritually, much as the Ulah aids Islam."

"Your oratory is lovely, and I wish its counterpart adorned every
homestead in our land; but are you quite sure that in your individual
experience you are not mistaking effect for cause? Your holy heart
demands fit shrine for--"

"I am quite sure I will not allow you to stand a moment longer on this
cold floor; and I do not intend that you shall pay me undeserved
compliments. It is derogatory to your dignity, and dangerous to my
modicum of humility. As soon as you are ready for breakfast, come to
the dining-room, where Santa Klaus left his remembrances last night. O,
Leighton! I had half a mind to hang up two stockings at uncle's bed,
for the sake of dear old lang syne. If we could only shut our eyes, and
drift back to the magical time of aprons, short clothes, and
roundabouts, when a sugar rooster with green wings and pink head, and a
doll that could open and shut her eyes, were considered more precious
than Tiffany's jewels, or Collamore's Crown Derby! Can Delmonico offer
you a repast half as appetizing as the hominy, the tea cakes, the honey
and the sweet milk which you and I used to enjoy at our supper just at
sunset, at our own little table set under the red mulberry trees in the
back yard?"

"Why should my cousin, whose present is so rose-colored, whose future
so blissful, turn to rake amid the ashes of the past?"

"Because, like Lot's wife, we are all prone to stare backward. Who
lives in the present? Do you? When we are young we pant for the future,
that pitches painted tents before us. When we are older, we live in the
past, that wraps itself in a sacred gilding glamour, and is vocal with
the happy echoes which alone survive. Far-off fields before and behind
us are so dewy, so vividly green; and the present is gray and stony,
and barren of charm, and we turn fretfully. It is part of the grim
tyranny of Time that it is tideless; that the stream bears
remorselessly on, and on, never back to the dear old spots; always on,
to lose itself in the eternal and unknown. So, to-day's Christmas lacks
the zest of its predecessors."

Leo loosened the gilded chain that looped the curtains, and as the
purple folds fell behind her, hiding the arch, Doctor Douglass said
gently:

"There is a solemn truth and wise admonition in one of Rabbi Tyra's
dicta: 'Thy yesterday is thy past; thy to-day is thy future; thy
to-morrow is a secret.'"

"Leo, here is a package and a note which arrived during service, and as
Mr. Dunbar's servant said there was no answer expected, he did not
wait."

As Miss Patty delivered the parcel to her niece, the minister walked
away to lay aside his vestments, but he noted the sudden hardening of
his cousin's face, the flush of displeasure, the haughty curl of her
lips; and on his ears fell his aunt's voice:

"You expected and waited for him at morning prayer?"

"I invited him to join us, if he felt disposed to do so."

"What possible excuse can he offer for such negligence, when he knew
that Leighton would read the service?"

An uwonted sparkle leaped into Leo's mild hazel eyes, and without
examination she handed the package and note to Justine.

"Lay them in the drawer of my writing-desk, and then call all the
servants into the dining-room. Auntie, tardy excuses must wait longer
for an audience than we waited for the writer. Come to breakfast; uncle
will be impatient, and I want to enjoy his surprise when he sees his
Santa Klaus."

She was sorely disappointed, deeply affronted by Mr. Dunbar's failure
to present himself on an occasion at which she had especially desired
his presence; and as she recalled the affectionate phraseology of her
note of invitation, her fair cheek burned with an intolerable sense of
humiliation. Was it partition, or total loss, of her precious kingdom?
In after years, she designated this Christmas as the era when the
"sceptre departed from Judah;" but putting away the chagrin, and
sealing the well of bitterness in her heart, she exchanged holiday
greetings, and proudly wore her royal robes throughout the day, holding
sternly off the spectre, which grimly bided its time--the hour of her
abdication.

Through the benevolent and compassionate efforts of Mr. and Mrs.
Singleton, some faint reflection of the outside world festivities
penetrated the dismal monotony of prison routine; and the hearts of the
inmates were softened and gladdened by kind tokens of remembrance, that
carried the thoughts of bearded convicts back to Christmas carols in
innocent youth, and to the mother's knees where prayers were lisped.

Illness had secured to Beryl immunity from contact with her comrades in
misery, and except to visit the little chapel, she never left the
sheltering walls of her small comfortless room, grateful for the
unexpected boon of silent seclusion. Her Christmas greeting had been
little Dick's sweet lips kissing her cheek, as he deposited upon her
narrow bed the black and white shawl his mother had knitted, and a box
left by Miss Gordon on the previous day, which contained half a dozen
pretty handkerchiefs with mourning borders, some delicate perfume and
soaps, toilet brushes and a sachet.

An hour later, when Mrs. Singleton and her babies had gone to spend the
day with relatives in the city, Beryl went to the window, pushed the
sash up, and listened to the ringing of the Sabbath-school bells, as
every church beyond the river called its nursery to the altar, to
celebrate the day. The metallic clangor was mellowed by distance,
rising and falling like rhythmic waves, and the faint echo, filtered
through dense pine forests behind the penitentiary, had the ghostly
iteration of the Folge Fond.

A gaunt yellow kitten, with a faded red ribbon knotted about its neck,
and vicious, amber-colored eyes that were a perpetual challenge, had
fled from the tender mercies of Dick to the city of refuge under
Beryl's cot; and community of suffering had kindled an attachment that
now prompted the lesser waif to spring into the girl's folded arms, and
rub its head against her shoulder. Mechanically Beryl's hand stroked
the creature's ear, while it purred softly under the caress; but
suddenly its back curved into an arch, the tail broadened, the purr
became a growl. Had association lifted the brute's instincts to the
plane of human antipathies?

The warden had opened the door and quickly closed it, after ushering in
a tall figure, who wore an overcoat which was buttoned from throat to
knees. At sight of Mr. Dunbar, the cat plunged to the floor, and sped
away to the darkest corner under the iron bedstead.

"Good morning. I dare not utter here the greetings of the day, because
you would construe it into a heartless mockery."

He came forward hesitatingly, and she turned swiftly away, pressing her
face against the bars of the window, waving him back.

"Why will you persist in regarding as an enemy, the one person in all
the world who is most anxious to befriend you?"

Still no answer; only the repellent gesture warning him away.

"Will you allow me, this Christmas morning, to comfort myself in some
degree, by leaving here a few flowers to brighten your desolate
surroundings?"

He held out a bouquet of rare and brilliant hothouse blossoms, whose
delicious fragrance had already pervaded the room. They stood side by
side, yet she shrank farther, and kept her face averted, shivering
perceptibly. Lifting one arm he drew down the sash to shut out the
freezing air.

"You are resolved neither to look at nor speak to me? So be it. At
least you must listen to me. You may not care to hear that I have been
absent, but perhaps it will interest you to know that I went in search
of the man for whose crime you are paying the penalty."

If he expected her to wince under the probe, her nerves were taut, and
she defied the steel; but the face she now turned fully to him was so
blanched by illness, so hopeless in its rigid calm, that he felt a keen
pain at his own heart.

"Prisoners, victims of justice, have, it seems, no privileges; else my
one request, my earnest prayer to be shielded from your presence, might
have protected me from this intrusion. Are you akin to Parrhasius that
you come to gloat over the agonies of a moral and mental vivisection?
The sight of suffering to which you have brought a helpless woman, is
scarcely the recompense I was taught to suppose agreeable to a
chivalrous Southern gentleman. If, wearing the red livery of Justice,
undue zeal for vengeance betrayed you into the fatal mistake of
trampling me into this horrible place, there might be palliation; but
for the brutal persistency with which you thrust your tormenting
presence upon me, not even heavenly charity could possibly find pardon.
Literally you are heaping insult upon awful injury. Is it a refinement
of cruelty that brings you here to watch and analyze my suffering, as a
biologist looks through lenses at an insect he empales, or Pasteur
scrutinizes the mortal throes of the victims into whose veins he has
injected poison?"

If she had drawn a lash across his face, it would not have stung more
keenly than her words, so expressive of detestation.

"Will you consider for a moment the possibility that other motives
actuate me; that ceaseless regret, remorse, if you choose, for a
terrible mistake, impels me to come here in the hope of making
reparation?"

"Such a supposition is as inconceivable as the idea of reparation. When
a reaper goes forth to his ripe harvest, his lawful labor, and wantonly
turns aside into a by-path, to try the edge of his sickle on an humble,
unoffending stalk that fights for life among the grass and weeds, and
struggles to get its head sufficiently in the sunshine to bloom--when
he cuts it off unopened, crushes it into the sod, can he make
reparation? Although it is neither bearded yellow wheat, nor yet a
black tare, it proved the temper of his blade; and all the skill, all
the science of universal humanity, cannot re-erect the stem, cannot
remove the stains, cannot unfold the bruised petals. There are wrongs
that all time will never repair. Your sword of justice needs no
whetting; one stroke has laid me low."

"I purpose to file it two-edged, in order to make no more mistakes.
Before long I shall cut down the real criminal, the principal, who
shall not escape, and for whom you shall not suffer."

"Then 'a life for a life' no longer satisfies? How many are required?
The law has need of a sacrificial stone wide as that of the Aztecs. Is
justice a'daughter of the horse-leech'?"

"So help me God--"

"Hush! Take not His name upon your lips. Men like you cannot afford to
credit the existence of a holy God. This is Christmas--at least
according to the almanac--now as a 'chivalrous Southern gentleman,'
will you grant me a very great favor if I humbly crave it? Ah, noblesse
oblige! you cannot deny me. I beg of you, then, leave me instantly;
come here no more. Never let me see your face again, or hear your
voice, except in the court-room, when I am tried for the crime which
you have told the world I committed. This boon is the sole possible
reparation left you."

She had clasped her hands so tightly, that the nails were bloodless,
and the fluttering in her white throat betrayed the throbbing of her
heart.

"You are afraid of me, because you dread my discovering your secret,
which is--"

"You have done your worst. You have locked me away from a dying mother;
disgraced an innocent life; broken a girl's pure, happy heart; what
else is there to dread? Although a bird knows full well when it has
received its death wound, instinct drives it to flutter, drag itself as
far as possible from the gaze of the sportsman, and gasp out its agony
in some lonely place."

"When I hunt birds, and a partridge droops its wings, and hovers almost
at my feet, inviting capture, I know beyond all peradventure that it is
only love's ruse; that something she holds dearer than her own life, is
thereby screened, saved. You are guilty of a great crime against
yourself, you are submitting tacitly, consenting to an awful doom, in
order to spare and protect the real murderer."

He bent closer, watching breathlessly for some change in her white
stony face; but her sad eyes met his with no wavering of the lids, and
only her delicate nostrils dilated slightly. She raised her locked
hands, rested her lips a moment on her mother's ring, as if drinking
some needed tonic, and answered in the same low, quiet tone:

"Then, prime minister of justice, set me free, and punish the guilty.
Who murdered General Darrington?"

"You have known from the beginning; and I intend to set you free, when
that cowardly miscreant has been secured. You would die to save your
lover; you, proud, brave, noble natured, would sacrifice your precious
life for that wretched, vile poltroon, who flees and leaves you to
suffer in his stead! Truly, there is no mystery so profound, so
complex, so subtle as a woman's heart. To die for his crimes, were a
happier fate than to sully your fair soul by alliance with one so
degraded; and, by the help of God, I intend to snatch you from both!"

He had put his hands for an instant upon her shoulders, and his
handsome face flushed, eloquent with the feeling that he no longer
cared to disguise, was so close to hers, that she felt his breath on
her cheek.

Swiftly, unerringly she comprehended everything; and the suddenness of
the discovery dazzled, awed her, as one might feel under the blue flash
of a dagger when thrust into one's clasp for novice fingers to feel the
edge. Was the weapon valued merely because of the possibility of
fleshing it in the heart of him who had darkened her life? Did he
understand as fully the marvellous change in the beautiful face, that
had lured him from his chapel tryst with his betrothed? He was on the
alert for signals of distress, of embarrassment, of terror; but what
meant the glad light that leaped up in her eyes, the quick flush
staining her wan cheek, the triumphant smile curving lips that a moment
before might have belonged to Guercino's Mater Dolorosa, the relaxation
of figure and features, the unmistakable expression of intense relief
that stole into the countenance?

"Will you be so good as to tell me my lover's name, and where the fox
terriers of the law unearthed him?"

"I will tell you something which you do not already know; that I have
found a clue, that I shall hunt him out, hide, crouch where he may;
that here, where he sinned, he shall expiate his crime, and that when
your lover is hung, your name, your honor, shall be vindicated. So
much, Lennox Dunbar promises you, on his honor as a gentleman."

"Words, vapid words! Empty, worthless as last year's nests. My lover,"
she laughed scornfully, "is quite safe even from your malevolence. If
indeed 'one touch of nature makes the whole world kin,' one might
expect some pity from the guild of love swains; and it augurs sadly for
Miss Gordon's future, that the spell is so utterly broken."

His dark face reddened, lowered.

"If you please, we will keep Miss Gordon's name out of the
conversation, and hereafter when--"

"Enough! I shall keep her image in my grateful heart, the few tedious
months I have to live; and there seems indeed a sort of poetic justice
in the fact that the bride you covet, has become the truest, tenderest
friend of the hapless girl whom you are prosecuting for murder."

"Beryl--"

"I forbid such insolent presumption! You shall not utter the name my
father gave me. It is holy as my baptism; it must be kept unsullied for
my lover's lips to fondle. This is your last visit here, for if you
dare to intrude again, I will demand protection from the warden. I will
bear no more."

As he looked at her, the witchery of her youthful loveliness,
heightened by the angry sparkle in her deep eyes, by the vivid
carnation of her curling lips, mastered him; and when he thought of the
brown-haired woman to whom he was pledged, he set his teeth tight, to
smother an execration. He moved toward the door, paused, and came back.

"Will it comfort you to know that I suffer even more than you do; that
I am plunged into a fiercer purgatory than that to which I have
condemned you? I am devoured by regret; but I will atone. I came here
as your friend; I can never be less, and in defiance of your hatred, I
shall prove my sincerity. Because I bemoan my rash haste, will you say
good-bye kindly? Some day, perhaps, you will understand."

He held out his hand, and his blue eyes lost their steely glitter,
filled with a prayer for pardon.

She picked up the bouquet which had fallen from the window sill to the
floor, and without hesitation put it into his fingers:

"I think I understand all that words could ever explain. My short
stream of life is very near the great ocean of rest. I have ceased to
struggle, ceased to hope; and since the end is so close, I wish no
active warfare even with those who wronged me most foully. If you will
spare me the sight of you, I will try to forget the added misery of the
visits you have forced upon me, and perhaps some of the bitterness may
die out. Take the flowers to Miss Gordon; leave no trace to remind me
of your persecution. We bear chastisement because we must, but the
sight of the rod renews the sting; so, henceforth, I hope to see you no
more. When we meet before our God, I may have a new heart, swept clean
of earthly hate, but until then--until then--"

He caught her fingers, crushed his lips against them, and walked from
the room, leaving the bouquet a shattered mass of perfume in the middle
of the floor.




CHAPTER XVI.


Standing before Leon Gerome's tragic picture, and listening to the
sepulchral echo that floats down the arcade of centuries. "Ave,
Imperator, morituri te salutant," nineteenth century womanhood frowns,
and deplores the brutal depravity which alone explains the presence of
that white-veiled vestal band, whose snowy arms are thrust in signal
over the parapet of the bloody arena; yet fair daughters of the latest
civilization show unblushing flower faces among the heaving mass of the
"great unwashed" who crowd our court-rooms--and listen to revolting
details more repugnant to genuine modesty, than the mangled remains in
the Colosseum. The rosy thumbs of Roman vestals were potent ballots in
the Eternal City, and possibly were thrown only in the scale of mercy;
but having no voice in verdicts, to what conservative motive may be
ascribed the presence of women at criminal trials? Are the children of
Culture, the heiresses of "all the ages", really more refined than the
proud old dames of the era of Spartacus?

Is the spectacle of mere physical torture, in gladiatorial combats, or
in the bloody precincts of plaza de toros, as grossly demoralizing as
the loathsome minutiae of heinous crimes upon which legal orators
dilate; and which Argus reporters, with magnifying lenses at every eye,
reproduce for countless newspapers, that serve as wings for
transporting moral dynamite to hearthstones and nurseries all over our
land? Is there a distinction, without a difference, between police
gazettes and the journalistic press?

If extremes meet, and the march of human progress be along no asymtotic
line, is the day very distant when we shall welcome the Renaissance of
that wisdom which two thousand years ago held its august tribunal in
the solemn hours of night, when darkness hid from the Judges everything
save well-authenticated facts? The supreme aim of civil and criminal
law being the conservation of national and individual purity, to what
shall we attribute the paradox presented in its administration, whereby
its temples become lairs of libel, their moral atmosphere defiled by
the monstrous vivisection of parental character by children, the
slaughter of family reputation, the exhaustive analysis of every
species of sin forbidden by the Decalogue, and floods of vulgar
vituperation dreadful as the Apocalyptic vials? Can this generation

     "--in the foremost files of time--"

afford to believe that a grim significance lurks in the desuetude of
typical judicial ermine?

Traditions of ante bellum custom proclaimed that "good society" in the
town of X--, formerly considered the precincts of courts as unfit for
ladies as the fetid air of morgues, or the surgical instruments on
dissecting tables; but the vanguard of cosmopolitan freedom and
progress had pitched tents in the old-fashioned place, and recruited
rapidly from the ranks of the invaded; hence it came to pass, that on
the second day of the murder trial, when the preliminaries of jury
empanelling had been completed, and all were ready to launch the case,
X--announced its social emancipation from ancient canons of decorum, by
the unwonted spectacle of benches crowded with "ladies", whose silken
garments were crushed against the coarser fabrics of proletariat.
Despite the piercing cold of a morning late in February, the mass of
human furnaces had raised the temperature to a degree that encouraged
the fluttering of fans, and necessitated the order that no additional
spectators should be admitted.

Viewed through the leaden haze of fearful anticipation, the horror of
the impending trial had seemed unendurable to the proud and sensitive
girl, whom the Sheriff placed on a seat fronting the sea of curious
faces, the battery of scrutinizing eyes turned on her from the
jury-box. Four months of dread had unnerved her, yet now when the cruel
actuality seized her in its iron grasp, that superb strength which the
inevitable lends to conscious innocence, so steeled and fortified her,
that she felt lifted to some lonely height, where numbness eased her
aching wounds.

Pallid and motionless, she sat like a statue, save for the slow strokes
of her right hand upon the red gold of her mother's ring; and the sound
of a man's voice reading a formula, seemed to echo from an immeasurable
distance. She had consented to, had deliberately accepted the worst
possible fate, and realized the isolation of her lot; but for one thing
she was not prepared, and its unexpectedness threatened to shiver her
calmness. Two women made their way toward her: Dyce and Sister Serena.
The former sat down in the rear of the prisoner, the latter stood for a
few seconds, and her thin delicate hand fell upon the girl's shoulder.
At sight of the sweet, placid countenance below the floating white
muslin veil, Beryl's lips quivered into a sad smile; and as they shook
hands she whispered:

"I believe even the gallows will not frighten you two from my side."

Sister Serena seated herself as close as possible, drew from her pocket
a gray woollen stocking, and began to knit. For an instant Beryl's eyes
closed, to shut in the sudden gush of grateful tears; when she opened
them, Mr. Churchill had risen:

"May it please the Court, Gentlemen of the Jury: If fidelity to duty
involved no sacrifice of personal feeling, should we make it the
touchstone of human character, value it as the most precious jewel in
the crown of human virtues? I were less than a man, immeasurably less
than a gentleman, were I capable of addressing you to-day, in obedience
to the behests of justice, and in fulfilment of the stern requirements
of my official position, without emotions of profound regret, that
implacable Duty, to whom I have sworn allegiance, forces me to hush the
pleading whispers of my pitying heart, to smother the tender instincts
of human sympathy, and to listen only to the solemn mandate of those
laws, which alone can secure to our race the enjoyment of life, liberty
and property. An extended professional career has hitherto furnished me
no parallel for the peculiarly painful exigencies of this occasion; and
an awful responsibility scourges me with scorpion lash to a most
unwelcome task. When man crosses swords with man on any arena, innate
pride nerves his arm and kindles enthusiasm, but alas, for the man! be
he worthy the name, who draws his blade and sees before him a young,
helpless, beautiful woman, disarmed. Were it not a bailable offence in
the court of honor, if his arm fell palsied? Each of you who has a
mother, a wife, a lily browed daughter, put yourself in my place, lend
me your sympathy; and at least applaud the loyalty that strangles all
individuality, and renders me bound thrall of official duty. Counsel
for the defence has been repeatedly offered, nay, pressed upon the
prisoner, but as often persistently rejected; hence the almost
paralyzing repugnance with which I approach my theme.

"The Grand Jury of the county, at its last sitting, returned to this
court a bill of indictment, charging the prisoner at the bar with the
wilful, deliberate and premeditated murder of Robert Luke Darrington,
by striking him with a brass andiron. To this indictment she has
pleaded 'Not Guilty,' and stands before her God and this community for
trial. Gentlemen of the jury, you represent this commonwealth, jealous
of the inviolability of its laws, and by virtue of your oaths, you are
solemnly pledged to decide upon her guilt or innocence, in strict
accordance with the evidence that may be laid before you. In fulfilling
this sacred duty, you will, I feel assured, be governed exclusively by
a stern regard to the demands of public justice. While it taxes our
reluctant credulity to believe that a crime so hideous could have been
committed by a woman's hand, could have been perpetrated without
provocation, within the borders of our peaceful community,
nevertheless, the evidence we shall adduce must inevitably force you to
the melancholy conclusion that the prisoner at the bar is guilty of the
offence, with which she stands charged. The indictment which you are
about to try, charges Beryl Brentano with the murder.

"In outlining the evidence which will be presented in support of this
indictment, I earnestly desire that you will give me your dispassionate
and undivided attention; and I call God to witness, that disclaiming
personal animosity and undue zeal for vengeance, I am sorrowfully
indicating as an officer of the law, a path of inquiry, that must lead
you to that goal where, before the altar of Truth, Justice swings her
divine scales, and bids Nemesis unsheathe her sword.

"On the afternoon of October the twenty-sixth, about three o'clock, a
stranger arrived in X--and inquired of the station agent what road
would carry her to 'Elm Bluff', the home of General Darrington;
assuring him she would return in time to take the north-bound train at
7.15, as urgent business necessitated her return. Demanding an
interview with Gen'l Darrington, she was admitted, incognito, and
proclaimed herself his granddaughter, sent hither by a sick mother, to
procure a certain sum of money required for specified purposes. That
the interview was stormy, was characterized by fierce invective on her
part, and by bitter denunciation and recrimination on his, is too well
established to admit of question; and they parted implacable foes, as
is attested by the fact that he drove her from his room through a rear
and unfrequented door, opening into a flower garden, whence she
wandered over the grounds until she found the gate. The vital import of
this interview lies in the great stress Gen'l Darrington placed upon
the statement he iterated and reiterated; that he had disinherited his
daughter, and drawn up a will bequeathing his entire estate to his
step-son Prince.

"Miss Brentano did not leave X--at 7.15, though she had ample time to
do so, after quitting 'Elm Bluff'. She loitered about the station house
until nearly half-past eight, then disappeared. At 10 P.M. she was seen
and identified by a person who had met her at 'Elm Bluff', crouching
behind a tree near the road that led to that ill-fated house, and when
questioned regarding her presence there, gave unsatisfactory answers.
At half-past two o'clock she was next seen hastening toward the station
office, along the line of the railroad, from the direction of the water
tank, which is situated nearly a mile north of town. Meanwhile an
unusually severe storm had been followed by a drenching rain, and the
stranger's garments were wet, when, after a confused and contradictory
account of her movements, she boarded the 3.05 train bound north.

"During that night, certainly after ten o'clock, Gen'l Darrington was
murdered. His vault was forced open, money was stolen, and most
significant of all, the WILL was abstracted. Criminal jurisprudence
holds that the absence of motive renders nugatory much weighty
testimony. In this melancholy cause, could a more powerful motive be
imagined than that which goaded the prisoner to dip her fair hands in
her grandfather's blood, in order to possess and destroy that will,
which stood as an everlasting barrier between her and the estate she
coveted?

"Crimes are referrible to two potent passions of the human soul;
malice, engendering thirst for revenge, and the insatiable lust of
money. If that old man had died a natural death, leaving the will he
had signed, his property would have belonged to the adopted son, to
whom he bequeathed it, and Mrs. Brentano and her daughter would have
remained paupers. Cut off by assassination, and with no record of his
last wishes in existence, the beloved son is bereft of his legacy, and
Beryl Brentano and her mother inherit the blood-bought riches they
covet. When arrested, gold coins and jewels identified as those
formerly deposited in Gen'l Darrington's vault, were found in
possession of the prisoner; and as if every emissary of fate were armed
with warrants for her detection, a handkerchief bearing her initials,
and saturated with the chloroform which she had administered to her
victim, was taken from the pillow, where his honored gray head rested,
when he slept his last sleep on earth. Further analysis would insult
your intelligence, and having very briefly laid before you the intended
line of testimony, I believe I have assigned a motive for this
monstrous crime, which must precipitate the vengeance of the law, in a
degree commensurate with its enormity. Time, opportunity, motive, when
in full accord, constitute a fatal triad, and the suspicious and
unexplainable conduct of the prisoner in various respects, furnishes,
in connection with other circumstances of this case, the strongest
presumptive evidence of her guilt. These circumstances, far beyond the
realm of human volition, smelted and shaped in the rolling mills of
destiny, form the tramway along which already the car of doom thunders;
and when they shall have been fully proved to you, by unassailable
testimony, no alternative remains but the verdict of guilty. Mournful
as is the duty, and awfully solemn the necessity that leaves the issue
of life and death in your hands, remember, gentlemen, Curran's immortal
words: 'A juror's oath is the adamantine chain that binds the integrity
of man to the throne of eternal justice'."

No trace of emotion was visible on the prisoner's face, except at the
harsh mention of her mother's name; when a shudder was perceptible, as
in one where dentist's steel pierces a sensitive nerve. In order to
avoid the hundreds of eyes that stabbed her like merciless probes, her
own had been raised and fixed upon a portion of the cornice in the room
where a family of spiders held busy camp; but a fascination song
resisted, finally drew their gaze down to a seat near the bar, and she
encountered the steady, sorrowful regard of Mr. Dunbar.

Two months had elapsed since the Christmas morning on which she had
rejected his floral offering, and during that weary season of waiting,
she had refused to see any visitors except Dyce and Sister Serena;
resolutely denying admittance to Miss Gordon. She knew that he had been
absent, had searched for some testimony in New York, and now meeting
his eyes, she saw a sudden change in their expression--a sparkle, a
smile of encouragement, a declaration of success. He fancied he
understood the shadow of dread that drifted over her face; and she
realized at that instant, that of all foes, she had most to apprehend
from the man who she knew loved her with an unreasoning and
ineradicable fervor. How much had he discovered? She could defy the
district solicitor, the judge, the jury; but only one method of
silencing the battery that was ambushed in those gleaming blue eyes
presented itself. To extinguish his jealousy, by removing the figment
of a rival, might rob him of the motive that explained his persistent
pursuit of the clue she had concealed; but it would simultaneously
demolish, also, the barrier that stretched between Miss Gordon's happy
heart and the bitter waves of a cruel disappointment. If assured that
her own affection was unpledged, would the bare form and ceremonial of
honor bind his allegiance to his betrothed? Absorbed in these
reflections, the prisoner became temporarily oblivious of the
proceedings; and it was not until Sister Serena touched her arm, that
she saw the vast throng was watching her, waiting for some reply. The
Judge repeated his question:

"Is it the desire of the prisoner to answer the presentation of the
prosecution? Having refused professional defence, you now have the
option of addressing the Court."

"Let the prosecution proceed."

There was no quiver in her voice, as cold, sweet and distinct it found
its way to the extremity of the wide apartment; yet therein lurked no
defiance. She resumed her seat, and her eyes sank, until the long black
fringes veiled their depths. Unperceived, Judge Dent had found a seat
behind her, and leaning forward he whispered:

"Will you permit me to speak for you?"

"Thank you--no."

"But it cuts me to the heart to see you so forsaken, so helpless."

"God is my helper; He will not forsake me."

The first witness called and sworn was Doctor Ledyard, the physician
who for many years had attended General Darrington; and who testified
that when summoned to examine the body of deceased, on the morning of
the inquest, he had found it so rigid that at least eight hours must
have elapsed since life became extinct. Had discovered no blood stains,
and only two contusions, one on the right temple, where a circular
black spot was conspicuous, and a bluish bruise over the region of the
heart. He had visited deceased on the morning of previous day, and he
then appeared much better, and almost relieved of rheumatism and pains
attributable to an old wound in the right knee. The skull had not been
fractured by the blow on the temple, but witness believed it had caused
death; and the andiron, which he identified as the one found on the
floor close to the deceased, was so unusually massive, he was positive
that if hurled with any force, it would produce a fatal result.

Mr. Churchill: "Did you at that examination detect any traces of
chloroform?"

"There was an odor of chloroform very perceptible when we lifted the
hair to examine the skull; and on searching the room, we found a vial
which had contained chloroform, and was beside the pillow, where a
portion had evidently leaked out."

"Could death have occurred in consequence of inhaling that chloroform?"

"If so, the deceased could never have risen, and would have been found
in his bed; moreover, the limbs were drawn up, and bent into a position
totally inconsistent with any theory of death produced by anaesthetics;
and the body was rigid as iron."

The foregoing testimony was confirmed by that of Doctor Cranmar, a
resident physician, who had been summoned by the Coroner to assist
Doctor Ledyard in the examination, reported formally at the inquest.

"Here, gentlemen of the jury, is the fatal weapon with which a woman's
hand, supernaturally nerved in the struggle for gain, struck down,
destroyed a venerable old man, an honored citizen, whose gray hairs
should have shielded him from the murderous assault of a mercenary
adventuress. Can she behold without a shudder, this tell-tale
instrument of her monstrous crime?"

High above his head, Mr. Churchill raised the old-fashioned andiron,
and involuntarily Beryl glanced at the quaint brass figure, cast in the
form of a unicorn, with a heavy ball surmounting the horn.

"Abednego Darrington!"

Sullen, crestfallen and woe-begone was the demeanor of the old negro,
who had been brought vi et armis by a constable, from the seclusion of
a corner of the "Bend Plantation", where he had secreted himself, to
avoid the shame of bearing testimony against his mistress' child. When
placed on the witness stand, he crossed his arms over his chest,
planted his right foot firmly in advance, and fixed his eyes on the
leather strings that tied his shoes.

After some unimportant preliminaries, the District Solicitor asked:

"When did you first see the prisoner, who now sits before you?"

"When she come to our house, the evening before ole Marster died."

"You admitted her to your Master's presence?"

"I never tuck no sech libberties. He tole me to let her in."

"You carried her to his room?"

"Yes, sir."

"About what time of the day was it?"

"Don't know."

"Gen'l Darrington always dined at three o'clock. Was it before or after
dinner?"

"After."

"How long was the prisoner in the General's room?"

"Don't know."

"Did she leave the house by the front door, or the side door?"

"Can't say. Didn't see her when she come out."

"About how long was she in the house?"

"I totes no watch, and I never had no luck guessing. I'm shore to land
wrong."

"Was it one hour or two?"

"Mebbe more, mebbe less."

"Where were you during that visit?"

"Feedin' my game pullets in the backyard."

"Did you hear any part of the conversation between the prisoner and
Gen'l Darrington?"

"No, sir! I'm above the meanness of eavesdrapping."

"How did you learn that she was the granddaughter of Gen'l Darrington?"

"Miss Angerline, the white 'oman what mends and sews, come to the back
piazer, and beckoned me to run there. She said ther must be a 'high ole
fracas', them was her words, agoin' on in Marster's room, for he was
cussin' and swearin', and his granddaughter was jawing back very
vicious. Sez I, 'Who'? Sez she, 'His granddaughter; that is Ellice's
chile'. Sez I, 'How do you know so much'? Sez she, 'I was darning them
liberry curtains, and I couldn't help hearing the wrangle'. Sez I, 'You
picked a oncommon handy time to tackle them curtains; they must be
mighty good to cure the ear-itch'. She axed me if I didn't see the
family favor in the 'oman's face; and I tole her no, but I would see
for myself. Sez she, to me, 'No yow won't, for the Gen'l is in a
tearing rage, and he's done drove her out, and kicked and slammed the
doors. She's gone.'"

"Then you did not see her?"

"I went to the front piazer, and I seen her far down the lawn, but
Marster rung his bell so savage, I had to run back to him."

"Did he tell you the prisoner was his granddaughter?"

"No, sir."

"Did you mention the fact to him?"

"I wouldn't 'a dared to meddle with his fambly bizness!"

"He appeared very angry and excited?"

"He 'peard to want some ole Conyyac what was in the sideboard, and I
brung the bottle to him."

"Do you remember whether his vault in the wall was open, when you
answered the bell?"

"I didn't notice it."

"Where did you sleep that night?"

"On a pallet in the middle passage, nigh the star steps."

"Was that your usual custom?"

"No, sir. But the boy what had been sleepin' in the house while ole
Marster was sick, had gone to set up with his daddy's corpse, and I
tuck his place."

"Did you hear any unusual noise during the night?"

"Only the squalling of the pea-fowul what was oncommon oneasy, and the
thunder that was ear-splitting. One clap was so tremenjous it raised me
plum off'en the pallet, and jarred me to my backbone, as if a cannon
had gone off close by."

"Now, Bedney, state carefully all the circumstances under which you
found your master the next morning; and remember you are on your oath,
to speak the truth, and all the truth."

"He was a early riser, and always wanted his shavin' water promp'. When
his bell didn't ring, I thought the storm had kep' him awake, and he
was having a mornin' nap, to make up for lost time. The clock had
struck eight, and the cook said as how the steak and chops was as dry
as a bone from waitin', and so I got the water and went to Marster's
door. It was shet tight, and I knocked easy. He never answered; so I
knocked louder; and thinkin' somethin' was shorely wrong, I opened the
door--"

"Go on. What did you find?"

"Mars Alfred, sir, it's very harryfyin to my feelins."

"Go on. You are required to state all you saw, all you know."

Bedney drew back his right foot, advanced his left. Took out his
handkerchief, wiped his face and refolded his arms.

"My Marster was layin' on the rug before the fireplace, and his knees
was all drawed up. His right arm, was stretched out, so--and his left
hand was all doubled up. I know'd he was dead, before I tetched him,
for his face was set; and pinched and blue. I reckon I hollered, but I
can't say, for the next thing I knowed, the horsler and the cook, and
Miss Angerline, and Dyce, my ole 'oman, and Gord knows who all, was
streamin' in and out and screamin'."

"What was the condition of the room?"

"The front window was up, and the blinds was flung wide open, and a
cheer was upside clown close to it. The red vases what stood on the
fire-place mantle was smashed on the carpet, and the handi'on was close
to Marster's right hand. The vault was open, and papers was strowed
plentiful round on the floor under it. Then the neighburs and the
Doctor, and the Crowner come runnin' in, and I sot down by the bed and
cried like a chile. Pretty soon they turned us all out and hilt the
inquess."

"You do not recollect any other circumstance?"

"The lamp on the table was burnin'--and ther' wan't much oil left in
it. I seen Miss Angerline blow it out, after the Doctor come."

"Who found the chloroform vial?"

"Don't know."

"Did you hear any name mentioned as that of the murderer?"

"Miss Angerline tole the Crowner, that ef the will was missin', Gen'l
Darrington's granddaughter had stole it. They two, with some other
gentleman, sarched the vault, and Miss Angerline said everything was
higgledy piggledy and no will there."

"You testified before the Coroner?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why did you not give him the handkerchief you found?"

"I didn't have it then."

"When and where did you get it? Be very careful now."

For the first time Bedney raised his eyes toward the place where Dyce
sat near the prisoner, and he hesitated. He took some tobacco from his
vest pocket, stowed it away in the hollow of his cheek, and re-crossed
his arms.

"When Marster was dressed, and they carried him out to the
drawing-room, Dyce was standin' cryin' by the fireplace, and I went to
the bed, and put my hand under the bolster, where Marster always kep'
his watch and his pistol. The watch was ther' but no pistol; and just
sorter stuffed under the pillow case--was, a hank'cher. I tuk the watch
straight to the gentlemen in the drawin'-room, and they come back and
sarched for the pistol, and we foun' it layin' in its case in the table
draw'. Of all the nights in his life, ole Marster had forgot to lay his
pistol handy."

"Never mind about the pistol. What became of the handkerchief?"

"When I picked it up, an injun-rubber stopper rolled out, and as ther'
wan't no value in a hank'cher, I saw no harm in keepin' it--for a'mento
of ole Marster's death."

"You knew it was a lady's handkerchief."

"No, sir! I didn't know it then; and what's more, I don't know it now."

"Is not this the identical handkerchief you found?"

"Cant say. 'Dentical is a ticklish trap for a pusson on oath. It do
look like it, to be shore; but two seed in a okrey pod is ezactly
alike, and one is one, and t'other is t'other."

"Look at it. To the best of your knowledge and belief it is the
identical handkerchief you found on Gen'l Darrington's pillow?"

"What I found had red specks sewed in the border, and this seems jest
like it; but I don't sware to no dentical--'cause I means to be
kereful; and I will stand to the aidge of my oath; but--Mars
Alfred--don't shove me over it."

"Can't you read?"

"No, sir; I never hankered after book-larnin' tomfoolery, and other
freedom frauds."

"You know your A B C's?"

"No more 'n a blind mule."

As the solicitor took from the table in front of the jury box, the
embroidered square of cambric, and held it up by two corners, every eye
in the court-room fastened upon it; and a deadly faintness seized the
prisoner, whitening lips that hitherto had kept their scarlet outlines.

"Gentlemen of the jury, if the murdered man could stand before you, for
one instant only, his frozen finger would point to the fatal letters
which destiny seems to have left as a bloody brand. Here in indelible
colors are wrought 'B. B.'!--Beryl Brentano. Do you wonder, gentlemen,
that when this overwhelming evidence of her guilt came into my
possession, compassion for a beautiful woman was strangled by supreme
horror, in the contemplation of the depravity of a female monster? If
these crimson letters were gaping wounds, could their bloody lips more
solemnly accuse yonder blanched, shuddering, conscience-stricken woman
of the sickening crime of murdering her aged, infirm grandfather, from
whose veins she drew the red tide that now curdles at her heart?"




CHAPTER XVII.


As the third day of the trial wore away, the dense crowd in the
court-room became acquainted with the sensation of having been unjustly
defrauded of the customary public peruisite; because the monotonous
proceedings were entirely devoid of the spirited verbal duels, the
microscopic hair splitting, the biting sarcasms of opposing counsel,
the brow-beating of witnesses, the tenacious wrangling over invisible
legal points, which usually vary and spice the routine and stimulate
the interest of curious spectators. When a spiritless fox disdains to
double, and stands waiting for the hounds, who have only to rend it,
hunters feel cheated, and deem it no chase.

To the impatient spectators, it appeared a very tame, one-sided, and
anomalous trial, where like a slow stream the evidences of guilt oozed,
and settled about the prisoner, who challenged the credibility of no
witness, and waived all the privileges of cross-examination. Now and
then, the audience criticised in whispers the "undue latitude" allowed
by the Judge, to the District Solicitor; but their "exceptions" were
informal, and the prosecution received no serious or important rebuff.

Was the accused utterly callous, or paralyzed by consciousness of her
crime; or biding her time for a dramatic outburst of vindicating
testimony? To her sensitive nature, the ordeal of sitting day after day
to be stared at by a curious and prejudiced public, was more torturing
than the pangs of Marsyas; and she wondered whether a courageous Roman
captive who was shorn of his eyelids, and set under the blistering sun
of Africa, suffered any more keenly; but motionless, apparently
impassive as a stone mask, on whose features pitiless storms beat in
vain, she bore without wincing the agony of her humiliation. Very white
and still, she sat hour by hour with downcast eyes, and folded hands;
and those who watched most closely could detect only one change of
position; now and then she raised her clasped hands, and rested her
lips a moment on the locked fingers, then dropped them wearily on her
lap.

Even when a juryman asked two searching questions of a witness, she
showed no sign of perturbation, and avoided meeting the eyes in the
jury-box, as though they belonged to basilisks. Was it only three days
since the beginning of this excruciating martyrdom of soul; and how
much longer could she endure silently, and keep her reason?

At times, Sister Serena's hand forsook the knitting, to lay a soft,
caressing touch of encouragement and sympathy on the girl's shoulder;
and Dyce's burning indignation vented itself in frequent audible
grating of her strong white teeth. So passed Monday, Tuesday,
Wednesday, in the examination of witnesses who recapitulated all that
had been elicited at the preliminary investigation; and each nook and
cranny of recollection in the mind of Anthony Burk, the station agent;
of Belshazzer Tatem, the lame gardener; of lean and acrid Miss
Angeline, the seamstress, was illuminated by the lurid light of Mr.
Churchill's adroit interrogation. Thus far, the prosecution had been
conducted by the District Solicitor, with the occasional assistance of
Mr. Wolverton, who, in conjunction with Mr. Dunbar, had appeared as
representative of the Darrington estate, and its legal heir, Prince;
and when court adjourned on Wednesday, the belief was generally
entertained that no defence was possible; and that at the last moment,
the prisoner would confess her crime, and appeal to the mercy of the
jury. As the deputy sheriff led his prisoner toward the rear entrance,
where stood the dismal funereal black wagon in which she was brought
from prison to court, Judge Dent came quickly to meet her.

"My niece, Miss Gordon, could not, of course, come into the court-room,
but she is here in the library, with her aunt, and desires to see you
for a moment?"

"Tell her I am grateful for her kind motives, but I wish to see no one
now."

"For your own sake, consider the--ah! here is my niece."

"I hope you need no verbal assurance of my deep sympathy, and my
constant prayers," said Leo, taking one passive hand between hers, and
pressing it warmly.

"Miss Gordon, I am comforted by your compassion, and by your unwavering
confidence in a stranger whom your townsmen hold up as a 'female
monster'. Because I so profoundly realize how good you are, I am
unwilling that you should identify yourself with my hopeless cause. My
sufferings will soon be over, and then I want no shadowy reflex cast
upon the smiling blue sky of your future. I have nothing more to lose,
save the burden of a life--that I shall be glad to lay down; but you--!
Be careful, do not jeopardize your beautiful dream of happiness."

"Why do you persist in rejecting the overtures of those who could
assist, who might successfully defend you? I beg of you, consent to
receive and confer with counsel, even to-night."

"You will never understand why I must not, till the earth gives up her
dead. You tremble, because only one more link can be added to the chain
that is coiling about my neck, and that link is the testimony of the
man whose name you expect to bear. Miss Gordon"--she stooped closer,
and whispered slowly: "Do not upbraid your lover; be tender, cling to
him; and afford me the consolation of knowing that the unfortunate
woman you befriended, and trusted, cast not even a fleeting shadow
between your heart and his. Pray for me, that I may be patient and
strong. God bless you."

Turning swiftly, she hurried on to the officer, who had courteously
withdrawn a few yards distant. As he opened the door of the wagon, he
handed her a loosely folded sheet of paper.

"I promised to deliver your answer as soon as possible."

By aid of the red glow, burning low in the western sky, she read:

"Mr. Dunbar requests that for her own sake, Miss Brentano will grant
him an interview this evening."

"My answer must necessarily be verbal. Say that I will see no one."

To the solitude and darkness of prison she fled for relief, as into
some merciful sheltering arms; and not even the loving solicitude of
Mrs. Singleton was permitted to penetrate her seclusion, or share her
dreary vigil. Another sleepless night dragged its leaden hours to meet
the dawn, bringing no rest to the desolate soul, who silently grappled
with fate, while every womanly instinct shuddered at the loathsome
degradation forced upon her. Face downward on her hard, narrow cot, she
recalled the terrible accusations, the opprobrious epithets, and
tearless, convulsive sobs of passionate protest shook her from head to
foot.

Tortured with indignation and shame, at the insults heaped upon her,
yet sternly resolved to endure silently, these nights were veritable
stations along her Via Dolorosa; and fortified her for the daily
flagellation in front of the jury-box.

On Thursday a slow, sleeting rain enveloped the world in a gray cowl,
bristling with ice needles; yet when Judge Parkman took his seat at
nine o'clock, there was a perceptible increase in the living mass,
packed in every available inch of space.

For the first time, Mr. Dunbar's seat between his colleagues was
vacant; and Mr. Churchill and Mr. Wolverton were conversing in an
animated whisper.

Clad in mourning garments, and with a long crape veil put back from her
face, the prisoner was escorted to her accustomed place; and braced by
a supreme effort for the critical hour, which she felt assured was at
hand, her pale set features gleamed like those of a marble statue
shrouded in black.

Called to the stand, Simon Frisby testified that "he was telegraph
operator, and night train despatcher for railway in X--. On October the
twenty-sixth, had just gone on duty at 8 P.M. at the station, when
prisoner came in, and sent a telegram to New York. A copy of that
message had been surrendered to the District Solicitor. Witness had
remained all night in his office, which adjoined the ladies'
waiting-room, and his attention having been attracted by the unusual
fact that it was left open and lighted, he had twice gone to the door
and looked in, but saw no one. Thought the last inspection was about
two o'clock, immediately after he had sent a message to the conductor
on train No. 4. Saw prisoner when she came in, a half hour later, and
heard the conversation between her and Burk, the station agent. Was
very positive prisoner could not have been in the ladies' waiting-room
during the severe storm."

Mr. Churchill read aloud the telegram addressed to Mrs. Ignace
Brentano: "Complete success required delay. All will be satisfactory.
Expect me Saturday. B. B."

He commented on its ambiguous phraseology, sent the message to the jury
for inspection, and resumed his chair.

"Lennox Dunbar."

Sister Serena's knitting fell from her fingers; Dyce groaned audibly,
and Judge Dent, sitting quite near, uttered a heavy sigh. The statue
throbbed into life, drew herself proudly up; and with a haughty poise
of the head, her grand eloquent gray eyes looked up at the witness, and
for the first time during the trial bore a challenge. For fully a
moment, eye met eye, soul looked into soul, with only a few feet of
space dividing prisoner from witness; and as the girl scanned the dark,
resolute, sternly chiselled face, cold, yet handsome as some faultless
bronze god, a singular smile unbent her frozen lips, and Judge Dent and
Sister Serena wondered what the scarcely audible ejaculation meant:

"At the mercy of Tiberius!"

No faintest reflection of the fierce pain at his heart could have been
discerned on that non-committal countenance; and as he turned to the
jury, his swart magnetic face appeared cruelly hard, sinister.

"I first saw the prisoner at 'Elm Bluff', on the afternoon previous to
Gen'l Darrington's death. When I came out of the house, she was sitting
bareheaded on the front steps, fanning herself with her hat, and while
I was untying my horse, she followed Bedney into the library. The
blinds were open and I saw her pass the window, walking in the
direction of the bedroom."

Mr. Churchill: "At that time did you suspect her relationship to your
client, Gen'l Darrington?"

"I did not."

"What was the impression left upon your mind?"

"That she was a distinguished stranger, upon some important errand."

"She excited your suspicions at once?"

"Nothing had occurred to justify suspicion. My curiosity was aroused.
Several hours later I was again at 'Elm Bluff' on legal business, and
found Gen'l Darrington much disturbed in consequence of an interview
with the prisoner, who, he informed me, was the child of his daughter,
whom he had many years previous disowned and disinherited. In referring
to this interview, his words were: 'I was harsh to the girl, so harsh
that she turned upon me, savage as a strong cub defending a crippled,
helpless dam. Mother and daughter know now that the last card has been
played; for I gave the girl distinctly to understand, that at my death
Prince would inherit every iota of my estate, and that my will had been
carefully written in order to cut them off without a cent.'"

"You were led to infer that Gen'l Darrington had refused her
application for money?"

"There was no mention of an application for money, hence I inferred
nothing."

"During that conversation, the last which Gen'l Darrington held on
earth, did he not tell you he was oppressed by an awful presentiment
connected with his granddaughter?"

"His words were: 'Somehow I am unable to get rid of the strange,
disagreeable presentiment that girl let behind her as a farewell
legacy. She stood there at the glass door, and raised her hand: 'Gen'l
Darrington, when you lie down to die, may God have more mercy on your
poor soul, than you have shown to your suffering child.'

"I advised him to sleep off the disagreeable train of thought, and as I
bade him good night, his last words were:

"'I shall write to Prince to come home.'"

"What do you know concerning the contents of your client's will?"

"The original will was drawn up by my father in 187-, but last May,
Gen'l Darrington required me to re-write it, as he wished to increase
the amount of a bequest to a certain charitable institution. The
provisions of the will were, that with the exception of various
specified legacies, his entire estate, real and personal, should be
given to his stepson Prince; and it was carefully worded, with the
avowed intention of barring all claims that might be presented by
Ellice Brentano or her heirs."

"Do you recollect any allusion to jewelry?"

"One clause of the will set aside a case of sapphire stones, with the
direction that whenever Prince Darrington married, they should be worn
by the lady as a bridal present from him."

"Would you not deem it highly incompatible with all you know of the
Gen'l's relentless character, that said sapphires and money should have
been given to the prisoner?"

"My surmises would be irrelevant and valueless to the Court; and facts,
indisputable facts, are all that should be required of witnesses."

"When and where did you next see the prisoner?"

Cold, crisp, carefully accentuated, his words fell like lead upon the
ears of all present, whose sympathies were enlisted for the desolate
woman; and as he stood, tall, graceful, with one hand thrust within his
vest, the other resting easily on the back of the bench near him, his
clear cut face so suggestive of metallic medallions, gave no more hint
of the smouldering flame at his heart than the glittering ice crown of
Eiriksjokull betrays the fierce lava tides beating beneath its frozen
crust.

"At 10 o'clock on the same night, I saw the prisoner on the road
leading from town to 'Elm Bluff', and not farther than half a mile from
the cedar bridge spanning the 'branch', at the foot of the hill where
the iron gate stands."

"She was then going in the direction of 'Elm Bluff?'"

"She was sitting on the ground, with her head leaning against a pine
tree, but she rose as I approached."

"As it was at night, is there a possibility of your having mistaken
some one else for the prisoner?"

"None whatever. She wore no hat, and the moon shone full on her face."

"Did you not question her about her presence there, at such an hour?"

"I asked: 'Madam, you seem a stranger; have you lost your way?' She
answered, 'No, sir.' I added: 'Pardon me, but having seen you at "Elm
Bluff" this afternoon, I thought it possible you had missed the road.'
She made no reply, and I rode on to town."

"She betrayed so much trepidation and embarrassment, that your
suspicion was at once aroused?"

"She evinced neither trepidation nor embarrassment. Her manner was
haughty and repellent, as though designed to rebuke impertinence. Next
morning, when informed of the peculiar circumstances attending Gen'l
Darrington's death, I felt it incumbent upon me to communicate to the
magistrate the facts which I have just narrated."

"An overwhelming conviction of the prisoner's guilt impelled you to
demand her arrest?"

"Overwhelming conviction rarely results from merely circumstantial
evidence, but a combination of accusing circumstances certainly pointed
to the prisoner; and following their guidance, I am responsible for her
arrest and detention for trial. To the scrutiny of the Court I have
submitted every fact that influenced my action, and the estimate of
their value decided by the jurymen, must either confirm the cogency of
my reasoning, or condemn my rash fallibility. Having under oath
conscientiously given all the evidence in my possession, that the
prosecution would accept or desire, I now respectfully request, that
unless the prisoner chooses to exercise her right of cross-examination,
my colleagues of the prosecution, and his Honor, will grant me a final
discharge as witness."

Turning toward Beryl, Judge Parkman said:

"It is my duty again to remind you, that the cross-examination of
witnesses is one of the most important methods of defence; as thereby
inaccuracies of statement regarding time, place, etc., are often
detected in criminal prosecutions, which otherwise might remain
undiscovered. To this invaluable privilege of every defendant, I call
your attention once more. Will you cross-question the witness on the
stand?"

Involuntarily her eyes sought those of the witness, and despite his
locked and guarded face, she read there an intimation that vaguely
disquieted her. She knew that the battle with him must yet be fought.

"I waive the right."

"Then, with the consent of the prosecuting counsel, witness is
discharged, subject to recall should the necessities of rebuttal demand
it."

"By agreement with my colleagues, I ask for final discharge, subject to
your Honor's approval."

"If in accordance with their wishes, the request is granted."

The clock on the turret struck one, the hour of adjournment, and ere
recess was declared, Mr. Churchill rose.

"Having now proved by trustworthy and unquestioned witnesses, a dark
array of facts, which no amount of additional testimony could either
strengthen, or controvert, the prosecution here rest their case before
the jury for inspection; and feeling assured that only one conclusion
can result, will call no other witness, unless required in rebuttal."

Desiring to be alone, Beryl had shut out even Sister Serena, and as the
officer locked her into a dark antechamber, adjoining the court-room,
she began to pace the floor. One tall, narrow window, dim with inside
dust, showed her through filmy cobwebs the gray veil of rain falling
ceaselessly outside, darkening the day that seemed a fit type of her
sombre-hued life, drawing swiftly to its close, with no hope of rift in
the clouds, no possibility of sunset glow even to stain its grave. Oh!
to be hidden safely in mother earth--away from the gaping crowd that
thirsted for her blood!--at rest in darkness and in silence; with the
maddening stings of outraged innocence and womanly delicacy stilled
forever. Oh! the coveted peace of lying under the sod, with only
nodding daisies, whispering grasses, crystal chimes of vernal rain,
solemn fugue of wintry winds between her tired, aching eyes and the
fair, eternal heavens! Harrowing days and sleepless, horror-haunted
nights, invincible sappers and miners, had robbed her of strength; and
the uncontrollable shivering that now and then seized her, warned her
that her nerves were in revolt against the unnatural strain. The end
was not far distant, she must endure a little longer; but that last
battle with Mr. Dunbar? On what ground, with what weapons would he
force her to fight? Kneeling in front of a wooden bench that lined one
side of the room, she laid her head on the seat, covered her face with
her hands, and prayed for guidance, for divine help in her hour of
supreme desolation.

"God of the helpless, succor me in my need. Forbid that through
weakness the sacrifice should be incomplete. Lead, sustain, fortify me
with patience, that I may ransom the soul I have promised to save."

After a time, when she resumed her walk, a strange expedient presented
itself. If she sent for Mr. Dunbar, exacted an oath of secrecy, and
confided the truth to his keeping, would it avail to protect her
secret; would it silence him? Could she stoop so low as to throw
herself upon his mercy? Therein lay the nauseous lees of her cup of
humiliation; yet if she drained this last black drop, would any pledge
have power to seal his lips, when he saw that she must die?

The deputy sheriff unlocked the door, and she mechanically followed him.

"I wish you would drink this glass of wine. You look so exhausted, and
the air in yonder is so close, it is enough to stifle a mole. This will
help to brace you up."

"Thank you very much, but I could not take it. I can bear my wrongs
even to the end, and that must be very near."

As he ushered her into the court-room, Judge Dent met her, took her
hand, and led her to the seat where Dyce and Sister Serena awaited her
return.

"My poor child, be courageous now; and remember that you have some
friends here, who are praying God to help and deliver you."

"Did He deliver His own Son from the pangs of death? Pray, that I may
be patient to endure."

One swift glance, showed her that Mr. Dunbar, forsaking his former
place beside the district attorney, was sitting very near, just in
front of her. The jurymen filed slowly into their accustomed seats, and
the judge, who had been resting his head on his hand, straightened
himself, and put aside a book. There was an ominous hush pervading the
dense crowd, and in that moment of silent expectancy, Beryl shut her
eyes and communed with her God. Some mystical exaltation of soul
removed her from the realm of nervous dread; and a peace, that this
world neither gives nor takes away, settled upon her. Sister Serena
untied and took off the crape veil and bonnet, and as she resumed her
seat, Judge Parkman turned to the prisoner.

"In assuming the responsibility of your own defence you have adopted a
line of policy which, however satisfactory to yourself, must, in the
opinion of the public, have a tendency to invest your cause with
peculiar peril; therefore I impress upon you the fact, that while the
law holds you innocent, until twelve men agree that the evidence proves
you guilty, the time has arrived when your cause depends upon your
power to refute the charges, and disprove the alleged facts arrayed
against you. The discovery and elucidation of Truth, is the supreme aim
of a court of justice, and to its faithful ministers the defence of
innocence is even more imperative than the conviction of guilt. The law
is a Gibraltar, fortified and armed by the consummate wisdom of
successive civilizations, as an impregnable refuge for innocence; and
here, within its protecting bulwarks, as in the house of a friend, you
are called on to plead your defence. You have heard the charges of the
prosecution; listened to the testimony of the witnesses; and having
taken your cause into your own hands, you must now stand up and defend
it."

She rose and walked a few steps closer to the jury, and for the first
time during the trial, looked at them steadily. White as a statue of
Purity, she stood for a moment, with her wealth of shining auburn hair
coiled low on her shapely head, and waving in soft outlines around her
broad full brow. Unnaturally calm, and wonderfully beautiful in that
sublime surrender, which like a halo illumines the myth of Antigone, it
was not strange that every heart thrilled, when upon the strained ears
of the multitude fell the clear, sweet, indescribably mournful voice.

"When a magnolia blossom or a white camellia just fully open, is
snatched by violent hands, bruised, crushed, blackened, scarred by
rents, is it worth keeping? No power can undo the ruin, and since all
that made it lovely--its stainless purity--is irrevocably destroyed,
why preserve it? Such a pitiable wreck you have made of the young life
I am bidden to stand up and defend. Have you left me anything to live
for? Dragged by constables before prejudiced strangers, accused of
awful crimes, denounced as a female monster, herded with convicts, can
you imagine any reason why I should struggle to prolong a disgraced,
hopelessly ruined existence? My shrivelled, mutilated life is in your
hands, and if you decide to crush it quickly, you will save me much
suffering; as when having, perhaps unintentionally, mangled some
harmless insect, you mercifully turn back, grind it under your heel,
and end its torture. My life is too wretched now to induce me to defend
it, but there is something I hold far dearer, my reputation as an
honorable Christian woman; something I deem most sacred of all--the
unsullied purity of the name my father and mother bore. Because I am
innocent of every charge made against me, I owe it to my dead, to lift
their honored name out of the mire. I have pondered the testimony; and
the awful mass of circumstances that have combined to accuse me, seems
indeed so overwhelming, that as each witness came forward, I have asked
myself, am I the victim of some baleful destiny, placed in the grooves
of destroying fate-foreordained from the foundations of the world to
bear the burden of another's guilt? You have been told that I killed
Gen'l Darrington, and stole his money and jewels, and destroyed his
will, in order to possess his estate. Trustworthy witnesses have sworn
to facts, which I cannot deny, and you believe these facts; and yet,
while the snare tightens around my feet, and I believe you intend to
condemn me, I stand here, and look you in the face--as one day we
thirteen will surely stand at the final judgment--and in the name of
the God I love, and fear, and trust, I call you each to witness, that I
am innocent of every charge in the indictment. My hands are as
unstained, my soul is as unsullied by theft or bloodshed, as your
sinless babes cooing in their cradles.

"If you can clear your minds of the foul tenants thrust into them, try
for a little while to forget all the monstrous crimes you have heard
ascribed to me, and as you love your mothers, wives, daughters, go back
with me, leaving prejudice behind, and listen dispassionately to my
most melancholy story. The river of death rolls so close to my weary
feet, that I speak as one on the brink of eternity; and as I hope to
meet my God in peace, I shall tell you the truth. Sometimes it almost
shakes our faith in God's justice, when we suffer terrible
consequences, solely because we did our duty; and it seems to me
bitterly hard, inscrutable, that all my misfortunes should have come
upon me thick and fast, simply because I obeyed my mother. You,
fathers, say to your children, 'Do this for my sake,' and lovingly they
spring to accomplish your wishes; and when they are devoured by agony,
and smothered by disgrace, can you sufficiently pity them, blind
artificers of their own ruin?

"Four months ago I was a very poor girl, but proud and happy, because
by my own work I could support my mother and myself. Her health failed
rapidly, and life hung upon an operation and certain careful subsequent
treatment, which it required one hundred dollars to secure. I was
competing for a prize that would lift us above want, but time pressed;
the doctor urged prompt action, and my mother desired me to come South,
see her father, deliver a letter and beg assistance. As long as
possible, I resisted her entreaties, because I shrank from the
degradation of coming as a beggar to the man who, I knew, had
disinherited and disowned his daughter.

"Finally, strangling my rebellious reluctance, I accepted the bitter
task. My mother kissed me good-bye, laid her hands on my head and
blessed me for acceding to her wishes; and so--following the finger of
Duty--I came here to be trampled, mangled, destroyed. When I arrived, I
found I could catch a train going north at 7.15, and I bought a return
ticket, and told the agent I intended to take that train. I walked to
'Elm Bluff,' and after waiting a few moments was admitted to Gen'l
Darrington's presence. The letter which I delivered was an appeal for
one hundred dollars, and it was received with an outburst of wrath, a
flood of fierce and bitter denunciation of my parents. The interview
was indescribably painful, but toward its close, Gen'l Darrington
relented. He opened his safe or vault, and took out a square tin box.
Placing it on the table, he removed some papers, and counted down into
my hand, five gold coins--twenty dollars each. When I turned to leave
him, he called me back, gave me the morocco case, and stated that the
sapphires were very costly, and could be sold for a large amount. He
added, with great bitterness, that he gave them, simply because they
were painful souvenirs of a past, which he was trying to forget; and
that he had intended them as a bridal gift to his son Prince's wife;
but as they had been bought by my mother's mother as a present for her
only child, he would send them to their original destination, for the
sake of his first wife, Helena.

"I left the room by the veranda door, because he bade me do so, to
avoid what he termed 'the prying of servants.' I broke some clusters of
chrysanthemums blooming in the rose garden, to carry to my mother, and
then I hurried away. If the wages of disobedience be death, then fate
reversed the mandate, and obedience exacts my life as a forfeit. Think
of it: I had ample time to reach the station before seven o'clock, and
if I had gone straight on, all would have been well. I should have
taken the 7.15 train, and left forever this horrible place. If I had
not loitered, I should have seen once more my mother's face, have
escaped shame, despair, ruin--oh! the blessedness of what 'might have
been!'

"Listen, my twelve judges, and pity the child who obeyed at all
hazards. Poor though I was, I bought a small bouquet for my sick mother
the day that I left her, and the last thing she did was to arrange the
flowers, tie them with a wisp of faded blue ribbon, and putting them in
my hand, she desired me to be sure to stop at the cemetery, find her
mother's grave in the Darrington lot, and lay the bunch of blossoms for
her upon her mother's monument. Mother's last words were: 'Don't forget
to kneel down and pray for me, at mother's grave.'"

The voice so clear, so steady hitherto, quivered, ceased; and the heavy
lashes drooped to hide the tears that gathered; but it was only for a
few seconds, and she resumed in the same cold, distinct tone:

"So I went on, and fate tied the last millstone around my neck. After
some search I found the place, and left the bunch of flowers with a few
of the chrysanthemums; then I hastened toward town, and reached the
station too late; the 7.15 train had gone. Too late!--only a half hour
lost, but it carried down everything that this world held for me. I
used to wonder and puzzle over that passage in the Bible, 'The stars in
their courses fought against Sisera!' I have solved that mystery, for
the stars in their courses' have fought against me; heaven, earth, man,
time, circumstances, coincidences, all spun the web that snared my
innocent feet. When I paid for the telegram to relieve my mother's
suspense, I had not sufficient money (without using the gold) to enable
me to incur hotel bills; and I asked permission to remain in the
waiting-room until the next train, which was due at 3.05. The room was
so close and warm I walked out, and the fresh air tempted me to remain.
The moon was up, full and bright, and knowing no other street, I
unconsciously followed the one I had taken in the afternoon. Very soon
I reached the point near the old church where the road crosses, and I
turned into it, thinking that I would enjoy one more breath of the pine
forest, which was so new to me. It was so oppressively hot I sat down
on the pine straw, and fanned myself with my hat. How long I remained
there, I know not, for I fell asleep; and when I awoke, Mr. Dunbar rode
up and asked if I had lost my way. I answered that I had not, and as
soon as he galloped on, I walked back as rapidly as possible, somewhat
frightened at the loneliness of my position. Already clouds were
gathering, and I had been in the waiting-room, I think about an hour,
when the storm broke in its fury. I had seen the telegraph operator
sitting in his office, but he seemed asleep, with his head resting on
the table; and during the storm I sat on the floor, in one corner of
the waiting-room, and laid my head on a chair. At last, when the
tempest ended, I went to sleep. During that sleep, I dreamed of my old
home in Italy, of some of my dead, of my father--of gathering grapes
with one I dearly loved--and suddenly some noise made me spring to my
feet. I heard voices talking, and in my feverish dreamy state, there
seemed a resemblance to one I knew. Only half awake, I ran out on the
pavement. Whether I dreamed the whole, I cannot tell; but the
conversation seemed strangely distinct; and I can never forget the
words, be they real, or imaginary:  "'There ain't no train till
daylight, 'cepting it be the through freight.'

"Then a different voice asked: 'When it that due?'"

"'Pretty soon I reckon, it's mighty nigh time now, but it don't stop
here; it goes on to the water tank, where it blows for the bridge.'"

'"How far is the bridge?'"

"'Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the tank.'"

"When I reached the street, I saw no one but the figure of an old man,
I think a negro, who was walking away. He limped and carried a bundle
on the end of a stick thrown over his shoulder. I was so startled and
impressed by the fancied sound of a voice once familiar to me, that I
walked on down the track, but could see no one. Soon the 'freight' came
along; I stood aside until it passed, then returned to the station, and
found the agent standing in the door. When he questioned me about my
movements; I deemed him impertinent; but having nothing to conceal,
stated the facts I have just recapitulated. You have been told that I
intentionally missed the train; that when seen at 10 P.M. in the pine
woods, I was stealing back to my mother's old home; that I entered at
midnight the bedroom where her father slept, stupefied him with
chloroform, broke open his vault, robbed it of money, jewels and will;
and that when Gen'l Darrington awoke and attempted to rescue his
property, I deliberately killed him. You are asked to believe that I am
'the incarnate fiend' who planned and committed that horrible crime,
and, alas for me! every circumstance seems like a bloodhound to bay me.
My handkerchief was found, tainted with chloroform. It was my
handkerchief; but how it came there, on Gen'l Darrington's bed, only
God witnessed. I saw among the papers taken from the tin box and laid
on the table, a large envelope marked in red ink, 'Last Will and
Testament of Robert Luke Darrington'; but I never saw it afterward. I
was never in that room but once; and the last and only time I ever saw
General Darrington was when I passed out of the glass door, and left
him standing in the middle of the room, with the tin box in his hand.

"I can call no witnesses; for it is one of the terrible fatalities of
my situation that I stand alone, with none to corroborate my
assertions. Strange, inexplicable coincidences drag me down; not the
malice of men, but the throttling grasp of circumstances. I am the
victim of some diabolical fate, which only innocent blood will appease;
but though I am slaughtered for crimes I did not commit, I know, oh! I
know, that BEHIND FATE, STANDS GOD!--the just and eternal God, whom I
trust, even in this my hour of extremest peril. Alone in the world,
orphaned, reviled, wrecked for all time, without a ray of hope, I,
Beryl Brentano, deny every accusation brought against me in this cruel
arraignment; and I call my only witness, the righteous God above us, to
hear my solemn asseveration: I am innocent of this crime; and when you
judicially murder me in the name of Justice, your hands will be dyed in
blood that an avenging God will one day require of you. Appearances,
circumstances, coincidences of time and place, each, all, conspire to
hunt me into a convict's grave; but remember, my twelve judges,
remember that a hopeless, forsaken, broken-hearted woman, expecting to
die at your hands, stood before you, and pleaded first and last--Not
Guilty! Not Guilty!--"

A moment she paused, then raised her arms toward heaven and added, with
a sudden exultant ring in her thrilling voice, and a strange rapt
splendor in her uplifted eyes:

"Innocent! Innocent! Thou God knowest! Innocent of this sin, as the
angels that see Thy face."




CHAPTER XVIII.


As a glassy summer sea suddenly quivers, heaves, billows under the
strong steady pressure of a rising gale, so that human mass surged and
broke in waves of audible emotion, when Beryl's voice ceased; for the
grace and beauty of a sorrowing woman hold a spell more potent than
volumes of forensic eloquence, of juridic casuistry, of rhetorical
pyrotechnics, and at its touch, the latent floods of pity gushed;
people sprang to their feet, and somewhere in the wide auditory a woman
sobbed. Habitues of a celebrated Salon des Etrangers recall the
tradition of a Hungarian nobleman who, apparently calm, nonchalant,
debonair, gambled desperately; "while his right hand, resting easily
inside the breast of his coat, clutched and lacerated his flesh till
his nails dripped with blood." With emotions somewhat analogous, Mr.
Dunbar sat as participant in this judicial rouge et noir, where the
stakes were a human life, and the skeleton hand of death was already
outstretched. Listening to the calm, mournful voice which alone had
power to stir and thrill his pulses, he could not endure the pain of
watching the exquisite face that haunted him day and night; and when he
computed the chances of her conviction, a maddening perception of her
danger made his brain reel.

To all of us comes a supreme hour, when realizing the adamantine
limitations of human power, the "thus far, no farther" of relentless
physiological, psychological and ethical statutes under which humanity
lives, moves, has its being--our desperate souls break through the
meshes of that pantheistic idolatry which kneels only to "Natural
Laws"; and spring as suppliants to Him, who made Law possible. We take
our portion of happiness and prosperity, and while it lasts we wander
far, far away in the seductive land of philosophical speculation, and
revel in the freedom and irresponsibility of Agnosticism; and lo! when
adversity smites, and bankruptcy is upon us, we toss the husks of the
"Unknowable and Unthinkable" behind us, and flee as the Prodigal who
knew his father, to that God whom (in trouble) we surely know.

Certainly Lennox Dunbar was as far removed from religious tendencies as
conformity to the canons of conventional morality and the habits of an
honorable gentleman in good society would permit; yet to-day, in the
intensity of his dread, lest the "consummate flower" of his heart's
dearest hope should be laid low in the dust, he involuntarily invoked
the aid of a long-forgotten God; and through his set teeth a prayer
struggled up to the throne of that divine mercy, which in sunshine we
do not see, but which as the soul's eternal lighthouse gleams, glows,
beckons in the blackest night of human anguish. In boyhood, desiring to
please his invalid and slowly dying mother, he had purchased and hung
up opposite her bed, an illuminated copy of her favorite text; and now,
by some subtle transmutation in the conservation of spiritual energy,
each golden letter of that Bible text seemed emblazoned on the dusty
wall of the court-room: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present
help in trouble."

When a stern reprimand from the Judge had quelled all audible
expression of the compassionate sympathy that flowed at the prisoner's
story--as the flood at Horeb responded to Moses' touch--there was a
brief silence.

Mr. Dunbar rose, crossed the intervening space and stood with his hand
on the back of Beryl's chair; then moved on closer to the jury box.

"May it please your Honor, and Gentlemen of the Jury: Sometimes
mistakes are crimes, and he who through unpardonable rashness commits
them, should not escape 'unwhipped of justice'. When a man in the
discharge of that which he deemed a duty, becomes aware that
unintentionally he has perpetrated a great wrong, can he parley with
pride, or dally, because the haunting ghost of consistency waves him
back from the path of a humiliating reparation? Error is easy,
confession galling; and stepping down from the censor's seat to share
the mortification of the pillory, is at all times a peculiarly painful
reverse; hence, powerful indeed must be the conviction which impels a
man who prided himself on his legal astuteness, to come boldly into
this sacred confessional of truth and justice and plead for absolution
from a stupendous mistake. Two years ago, I became Gen'l Darrington's
attorney, and when his tragic death occurred in October last, my
professional relations, as well as life-long friendship, incited me to
the prompt apprehension of the person who had murdered him. After a
careful and apparently exhaustive examination of the authenticated
facts, I was convinced that they pointed only in one direction; and in
that belief, I demanded and procured the arrest of the prisoner. For
her imprisonment, her presence here to-day, her awful peril, I hold
myself responsible; and now, gentlemen of the jury, I ask you as men
having hearts of flesh, and all the honorable instincts of manhood,
which alone could constitute you worthy umpires in this issue of life
or death, do you, can you wonder that regret sits at my ear, chanting
mournful dirges, and remorse like a harpy fastens her talons in my
soul, when I tell you, that I have committed a blunder so frightful,
that it borders on a crime as heinous as that for which my victim
stands arraigned? Wise was the spirit of a traditional statute, which
decreed that the author of a false accusation should pay the penalty
designed for the accused; and just indeed would be the retribution,
that imposed on me the suffering I have entailed on her.

"Acknowledging the error into which undue haste betrayed me, yet
confident that divine justice, to whom I have sworn allegiance, has
recalled me from a false path to one that I can now tread with absolute
certainty of success, I come to-day into this, her sacred temple, lay
my hand on her inviolate altar, and claiming the approval of her
officiating high-priest, his Honor, appeal to you, gentlemen of the
jury, to give me your hearty co-operation in my effort to repair a foul
wrong, by vindicating innocence.

"Professors of ophthalmology in a diagnosis of optical diseases, tell
us of a symptom of infirmity which they call pseudoblepsis, or 'false
sight.' Legal vision exhibits, now and then, a corresponding phase of
unconscious perversion of sight, whereby objects are perceived that do
not exist, and objects present become transformed, distorted; and such
an instance of exaggerated metamorphosia is presented to-day, in the
perverted vision of the prosecution. In the incipiency of this case,
prior to, and during the preliminary examination held in October last,
I appeared in conjunction with Mr. Wolverton, as assistant counsel in
the prosecution, represented by the Honorable Mr. Churchill, District
Solicitor; the object of said prosecution being the conviction of the
prisoner, who was held as guilty of Gen'l Darrington's death.
Subsequent reflection and search necessitated an abandonment of views
that could alone justify such a position; and after consultation with
my colleagues I withdrew; not from the prosecution of the real
criminal, to the discovery and conviction of whom I shall dedicate
every energy of my nature, but from the pursuit of one most unjustly
accused. Anomalous as is my attitude, the dictates of conscience,
reason, heart, force me into it; and because I am the implacable
prosecutor of Gen'l Darrington's murderer, _I_ COME TO PLEAD IN DEFENSE
OF THE PRISONER, whom I hold guiltless of the crime, innocent of the
charge in the indictment. In the supreme hour of her isolation, she has
invoked only one witness; and may that witness, the God above us, the
God of justice, the God of innocence, grant me the inspiration, and
nerve my arm to snatch her from peril, and triumphantly vindicate the
purity of her noble heart and life."

Remembering the important evidence which he had furnished to the
prosecution, only a few hours previous, when on the witness stand,
people looked at one another questioningly; doubting the testimony of
their own senses; and VOX POPULI was not inaptly expressed by the
whispered ejaculation of Bedney to Dyce.

"Judgment day must be breaking! Mars Lennox is done turned a double
summersett, and lit plum over on t'other side! It's about ekal to a
spavinned, ring-boned, hamstrung, hobbled horse clearin' a ten-rail
fence! He jumps so beautiful, I am afeered he won't stay whar he lit!"

Comprehending all that this public recantation had cost a proud man,
jealous of his reputation for professional tact and skill, as well as
for individual acumen, Beryl began to realize the depth and fervor of
the love that prompted it; and the merciless ordeal to which he would
subject her. Inflicting upon himself the smarting sting of the keenest
possible humiliation, could she hope that in the attainment of his aim
he would spare her? If she threw herself even now upon his mercy, would
he grant to her that which he had denied himself?

Dreading the consequences of even a moment's delay, she rose, and a hot
flush crimsoned her cheeks, as she looked up at the Judge.

"Is it my privilege to decide who shall defend me? Have I now the right
to accept or reject proffered aid?"

"The law grants you that privilege; secures you that right."

"Then I decline the services of the counsel who offers to plead in my
defence. I wish no human voice raised in my behalf, and having made my
statement in my own defence, I commit my cause to the hands of my God."

For a moment her eyes dwelt upon the lawyer's, and as she resumed her
seat, she saw the spark in their blue depths leap into a flame.
Advancing a few steps, his handsome face aglow, his voice rang like a
bugle call:

"May it please your Honor: Anomalous conditions sanction, necessitate
most anomalous procedure, where the goal sought is simple truth and
justice; and since the prisoner prefers to rest her cause, I come to
this bar as Amicus Curiae, and appeal for permission to plead in behalf
of my clients, truth and justice, who hold me in perpetual retainment.
In prosecution of the real criminal, in order to unravel the curiously
knitted web, and bring the culprit to summary punishment, I ask you,
gentlemen of the jury, to ponder dispassionately the theory I have now
the honor to submit to your scrutiny.

"The prisoner, whom I regard as the victim of my culpable haste and
deplorably distorted vision, is as innocent of Gen'l Darrington's
murder as you or I; but I charge, that while having no complicity in
that awful deed, she is nevertheless perfectly aware of the name of the
person who committed it. Not particeps crimmis, neither consenting to,
aiding, abetting nor even acquainted with the fact of the crime, until
accused of its perpetration; yet at this moment in possession of the
only clue which will enable justice to seize the murderer. Conscious of
her innocence, she braves peril that would chill the blood of men, and
extort almost any secret; and shall I tell you the reason? Shall I give
you the key to an enigma which she knows means death?

"Gentlemen of the jury, is there any sacrifice so tremendous, any
anguish so keen, any shame so dreadful, any fate so overwhelmingly
terrible as to transcend the endurance, or crush the power of a woman's
love? Under this invincible inspiration, when danger threatens her
idol, she knows no self; disgrace, death affright her not; she extends
her arms to arrest every approach, offers her own breast as a shield
against darts, bullets, sword thrusts, and counts it a privilege to lay
down life in defence of that idol. O! loyalty supreme, sublime,
immortal! thy name is woman's love.

"All along the march of humanity, where centuries have trailed their
dust, traditions gleam like monuments to attest the victory of this
immemorial potency, female fidelity; and when we of the nineteenth
century seek the noblest, grandest type of merely human
self-abnegation, that laid down a pure and happy life, to prolong that
of a beloved object, we look back to the lovely image of that fair
Greek woman, who, when the parents of the man she loved refused to give
their lives to save their son, summoned death to accept her as a
willing victim; and deeming it a privilege, went down triumphantly into
the grave. Sustained, exalted by this most powerful passion that can
animate and possess a human soul, the prisoner stands a pure,
voluntary, self-devoted victim; defying the terrors of the law,
consenting to condemnation--surrendering to an ignominious death, in
order to save the life of the man she loves.

"Grand and beautiful as is the spectacle of her calm mournful heroism,
I ask you, as men capable of appreciating her noble self-immolation,
can you permit the consummation of this sacrifice? Will you, dare you,
selected, appointed, dedicated by solemn oaths to administer justice,
prove so recreant to your holy trust as to aid, abet, become
accessories to, and responsible for the murder of the prisoner by
accepting a stainless victim, to appease that violated law which only
the blood of the guilty can ever satisfy?

"In order to avert so foul a blot on the escutcheon of our State
judiciary, in order to protect innocence from being slaughtered, and
supremely in order to track and bring to summary punishment the
criminal who robbed and murdered Gen'l Darrington, I now desire, and
request, that your Honor will permit me to cross-examine the prisoner
on the statement she has offered in defence."

"In making that request, counsel must be aware that it is one of the
statutory provisions of safety to the accused, whom the law holds
innocent until proved guilty, that no coercion can be employed to
extort answers. It is, however, the desire of the court, and certainly
must accrue to the benefit of the prisoner, that she should take the
witness stand in her own defence."

For a moment there was neither sound nor motion.

"Will the prisoner answer such questions as in the opinion of the court
are designed solely to establish her innocence? If so, she will take
the stand."

With a sudden passionate movement at variance with her demeanor
throughout the trial, she threw up her clasped hands, gazed at them,
then pressed them ring downward as a seal upon her lips; and after an
instant, answered slowly:

"Now and henceforth, I decline to answer any and all questions. I am
innocent, entirely innocent. The burden of proof rests upon my
accusers."

As Mr. Dunbar watched her, noted the scarlet spots burning on her
cheeks, the strange expression of her eyes that glowed with unnatural
lustre, a scowl darkened his face; a cruel smile curved his lips, and
made his teeth gleam. Was it worth while to save her against her will;
to preserve the heart he coveted, for the vile miscreant to whom she
had irrevocably given it? With an upward movement of his noble head,
like the impatient toss of a horse intolerant of curb, he stepped back
close to the girl, and stood with his hand on the back of her chair.

"In view of this palpable evasion of justice through obstinate non
responsion, will it please the Court to overrule the prisoner's
objection?"

Several moments elapsed before Judge Parkman replied, and he gnawed the
end of his grizzled mustache, debating the consequences of dishonoring
precedent--that fetich of the Bench.

"The Court cannot so rule. The prisoner has decided upon the line of
defence, as is her inalienable right; and since she persistently
assumes that responsibility, the Court must sustain her decision."

The expression of infinite and intense relief that stole over the
girl's countenance, was, noted by both judge and jury, as she sank back
wearily in her chair, like one lifted from some rack of torture.
Resting thus, her shoulder pressed against the hand that lay on the top
of the chair, but he did not move a finger; and some magnetic influence
drew her gaze to meet his. He felt the tremor that crept over her,
understood the mute appeal, the prayer for forbearance that made her
mournful gray eyes so eloquent, and a sinister smile distorted his
handsome mouth.

"The spirit and intent of the law, the usages of criminal practice,
above all, hoary precedent, before which we bow, each and all sanction
your Honor's ruling; and yet despite everything, the end I sought is
already attained. Is not the refusal of the prisoner proof positive,
'confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ' of the truth of my theory?
With jealous dread she seeks to lock the clue in her faithful heart,
courting even the coffin, that would keep it safe through all the
storms of time. Impregnable in her citadel of silence, with the cohorts
of Codes to protect her from escalade and assault, will the guardians
of justice have obeyed her solemn commands when they permit the
prisoner to light the funeral pyre where she elects to throw herself--a
vicarious sacrifice for another's sins? For a nature so exalted, the
Providence who endowed it has decreed a nobler fate; and by His help,
and that of your twelve consciences, I purpose to save her from a
species of suicide, and to consign to the hangman the real criminal.
The evidence now submitted, will be furnished by the testimony of
witnesses who, at my request, have been kept without the hearing of the
Court."

He left Beryl's chair, and once more approached the jury,

"Isam Hornbuckle."

A negro man, apparently sixty years old, limped into the witness stand,
and having been sworn, stood leaning on his stick, staring uneasily
about him.

"What is your name?"

"Isam Clay Hornbuckle."

"Where do you live?"

"Nigh the forks of the road, close to 'Possum Ridge."

"How far from town?"

"By short cuts I make it about ten miles; but the gang what works the
road, calls it twelve."

"Have you a farm there?"

"Yes'ir. A pretty tolerable farm; a cornfield and potato patch and
gyarden, and parsture for my horgs and oxin, and a slipe of woods for
my pine knots."

"What is your business?"

"Tryin' to make a livin', and it keeps me bizzy, for lans is poor, and
seasons is most ginerally agin crops."

"How long have you been farming?"

"Only sence I got mashed up more 'an a year ago on the railroad."

"In what capacity did you serve when working on the road?"

"I was fireman under ingeneer Walker on the lokymotive 'Gin'l
Borygyard,' what most ginerally hauled Freight No. 2. The ingines goes
now by numbers, but we ole hands called our'n always 'Borygyard'."

"You were crippled in a collision between two freight trains?"

"Yes'ir; but t'other train was the cause of the--"

"Never mind the cause of the accident. You moved out to 'Possum Ridge;
can you remember exactly when you were last in town?"

"To be shore! I know exactly, 'cause it was the day my ole 'oman's
step-father's granny's funeral sarmont was preached; and that was on a
Thursday, twenty-sixth of October, an' I come up to 'tend it."

"Is it not customary to preach the funeral sermons on Sunday?"

"Most generally, Boss, it are; but you see Bre'r Green, what was to
preach the ole 'oman's sarmont, had a big baptizin' for two Sundays
han' runnin', and he was gwine to Boston for a spell, on the next
comin' Saddy, so bein' as our time belonks to us now, we was free to
'pint a week day."

"You are positive it was the twenty-sixth?"

"Oh, yes'ir; plum postiv. The day was norated from all the baptiss
churches, so as the kinfolks could gether from fur and nigh."

"At what hour on Thursday was the funeral sermon preached?"

"Four o'clock sharp."

"Where did you stay while in town?"

"With my son Ducaleyon who keeps a barber-shop on Main Street."

"When did you return home?"

"I started before day, Friday mornin', as soon as the rain hilt up."

"At what hour, do you think?"

"The town clock was a strikin' two, jes as I passed the express office,
at the station."

"Now, Isam, tell the Court whom you saw, and what happened; and be very
careful in all you say, remembering you are on your oath."

"I was atoting a bundle so--slung on to a stick, and it gaided my
shoulder, 'cause amongst a whole passel of plunder I had bought, ther
was a bag of shot inside, what had slewed 'round oft the balance, and I
sot down, close to a lamp-post nigh the station, to shift the heft of
the shot bag. Whilst I were a squatting, tying up my bundle, I heered
all of a suddent--somebody runnin', brip--brap--! and up kern a man
from round the corner of the stationhouse, a runnin' full tilt; and he
would a run over me, but I grabbed my bundle and riz up. Sez I: 'Hello!
what's to pay?' He was most out of breath, but sez he: 'Is the train in
yet?' Sez I: 'There ain't no train till daylight, 'cepting it be the
through freight.' Then he axed me: 'When is that due?' and I tole him:
'Pretty soon, I reckon, but it don't stop here; it only slows up at the
water tank, whar it blows for the Bridge.' Sez he: 'How fur is that
bridge?' Sez I: 'Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the
tank.' He tuck a long breath, and kinder whistled, and with that he
turned and heeled it down the middle of the track. I thought it mighty
curus, and my mind misgive me thar was somethin' crooked; but I always
pintedly dodges; 'lie-lows to ketch meddlers,' and I went on my way.
When I got nigh the next corner whar I had to turn to cross the river,
I looked back and I seen a 'oman standin' on the track, in front of the
station-house; but I parsed on, and soon kem to the bridge (not the
railroad bridge), Boss. I had got on the top of the hill to the left of
the Pentenchry, when I hearn ole 'Bory' blow. You see I knowed the
runnin' of the kyars, 'cause that through freight was my ole
stormpin-ground, and I love the sound of that ingine's whistle more 'an
I do my gran'childun's hymn chunes. She blowed long and vicious like,
and I seen her sparks fly, as she lit out through town; and then I
footed it home."

"You think the train was on time?"

"Bound to be; she never was cotched behind time, not while I stuffed
her with coal and lightwood knots. She was plum punctchul."

"Was the lamp lighted where you tied your bundle?"

"Yes'ir, burnin' bright."

"Tell the Court the appearance of the man whom you talked with."

Mr. Dunbar was watching the beautiful face so dear to him, and saw the
prisoner lean forward, her lips parted, all her soul in the wide,
glowing eyes fastened on the countenance of the witness.

"He was very tall and wiry, and 'peared like a young man what had
parstured 'mongst wild oats. He seemed cut out for a gintleman, but run
to seed too quick and turned out nigh kin to a dead beat. One-half of
him was hanssum, 'minded me mightly of that stone head with kurly hair
what sets over the sody fountin in the drug store, on Main Street. Oh,
yes'ir, one side was too pretty for a man; but t'other! Fo' Gawd!
t'other made your teeth ache, and sot you cross-eyed to look at it. He
toted a awful brand to be shore."

"What do you mean by one side? Explain yourself carefully now."

"I dun'no as I can 'splain, 'cause I ain't never seed nothing like it
afore. One 'zact half of him, from his hair to his shirt collar was
white and pretty, like I tell you, but t'other side of his face was
black as tar, and his kurly hair was gone, and the whiskers on that
side--and his eye was drapped down kinder so, and that side of his
mouth sorter hung, like it was unpinned, this way. Mebbee he was born
so, mebbee not; but he looked like he had jes broke loose from the
conjur, and caryd his mark."

For one fleeting moment, the gates of heaven seemed thrown wide, and
the glory of the Kingdom of Peace streamed down upon the aching heart
of the desolate woman. She could recognize no dreaded resemblance in
the photograph drawn by the witness; and judge, jury and counsel who
scrutinized her during the recital of the testimony, were puzzled by
the smile of joy that suddenly flashed over her features, like ilie
radiance of a lamp lifted close to some marble face, dim with shadows.

"Do you think his face indicated that he had been engaged in a
difficulty, in a fight? Was there any sign of blood, or anything that
looked as if he had been bruised and wounded by some heavy blow?"

"Naw, sir. Didn't seem like sech bruises as comes of fightin'. 'Peared
to me he was somehow branded like, and the mark he toted was onnatral."

"If he had wished to disguise himself by blackening one side of his
face, would he not have presented a similar appearance?"

"Naw, sir, not by no manner of means. No minstrel tricks fotch him to
the pass he was at. The hand of the Lord must have laid too heavy on
him; no mortal wounds leave sech terrifyin' prints."

"How was he dressed?"

"Dunno. My eyes never drapped below that curus face of his'n."

"Was he bareheaded?"

"Bar headed as when he come into the world."

"He talked like a man in desperate haste, who was running to escape
pursuit?"

"He shorely did."

"Did you mention to any person what you have told here to-day?"

"I tole my ole 'oman, and she said she reckoned it was a buth mark what
the man carryd; but when I seen him I thunk he was cunjured."

"When you heard that Gen'l Darrington had been murdered, did you think
of this man and his singular behavior that night?"

"I never hearn of the murder till Christmas, 'cause I went down to
Elbert County arter a yoke of steers what a man owed me, and thar I
tuck sick and kep my bed for weeks. When I got home, and hearn the talk
about the murder, I didn't know it was the same night what I seen the
branded man."

"Tell the Court how your testimony was secured."

"It was norated in all our churches that a 'ward was offered for a lame
cullud pusson of my 'scription, and Deacon Nathan he cum down and axed
me what mischief I'de been a doin', that I was wanted to answer fur. He
read me the 'vertisement, and pussuaded me to go with him to your
office, and you tuck me to Mr. Churchill."

Mr. Dunbar bowed to the District Solicitor, who rose and cross-examined.

"Can you read?"

"Naw, sir."

"Where is your son Deucalion?"

"Two days after I left town he want with a 'Love and Charity'
scurschion up north, and he liked it so well in Baltymore, he staid
thar."

"When Deacon Nathan brought you up to town, did you know for what
purpose Mr. Dunbar wanted you?"

"Naw, sir."

"Was it not rather strange that none of your friends recognized the
description of you, published in the paper?"

"Seems some of 'em did, but felt kind of jub'rus 'bout pinting me out,
for human natur is prone to crooked ways, and they never hearn I
perfessed sanctification."

"Who told you the prisoner had heard your conversation with the man you
met that night?"

"Did she hear it? Then you are the first pusson to tell me."

"How long was it, after you saw the man, before you heard the whistle
of the freight train?"

"As nigh as I kin rickolect about a half a hour, but not quite."

"Was it raining at all when you saw the woman standing on the track?"

"Naw, sir. The trees was dripping steady, but the moon was shining."

"Do you know anything about the statement made by the prisoner?"

"Naw, sir."

"Fritz Helmetag."

As Isam withdrew, a middle-aged man took the stand, and in answer to
Mr. Dunbar's questions deposed: "That he was 'bridge tender' on the
railroad, and lived in a cottage not far from the water tank. On the
night of the twenty-sixth of October, he was sitting up with a sick
wife, and remembered that being feverish, she asked for some fresh
water. He went out to draw some from the well, and saw a man standing
not far from the bridge. The moon was behind a row of trees, but he
noticed the man was bareheaded, and when he called to know what he
wanted, he walked back toward the tank. Five minutes later the freight
train blew, and after it had crossed the bridge, he went back to his
cottage. The man was standing close to the safety signal, a white light
fastened to an iron stanchion at south end of the bridge, and seemed to
be reading something. Next day, when he (witness) went as usual to
examine the piers and under portions of the bridge, he had found the
pipe, now in Mr. Dunbar's possession. Tramps so often rested on the
bridge, and on the shelving bank of the river beneath it, that he
attached no importance to the circumstance; but felt confident the pipe
was left by the man whom he had seen, as it was not there the previous
afternoon; and he put it in a pigeon-hole of his desk, thinking the
owner might return to claim it. On the same day, he had left X--to
carry his wife to her mother, who lived in Pennsylvania, and was absent
for several weeks. Had never associated the pipe with the murder, but
after talking with Mr. Dunbar, who had found the half of an envelope
near the south end of the bridge, he had surrendered it to him. Did not
see the man's face distinctly. He looked tall and thin."

Here Mr. Dunbar held up a fragment of a long white em elope such as
usually contain legal documents, on which in large letters was written
"LAST WILL"--and underscored with red ink. Then he lifted a pipe, for
the inspection of the witness, who identified it as the one he had
found.

As he turned it slowly, the Court and the multitude saw only a
meerschaum with a large bowl representing a death's head, to which was
attached a short mouth-piece of twisted amber.

The golden gates of hope clashed suddenly, and over them flashed a
drawn sword, as Beryl looked at the familiar pipe, which her baby
fingers had so often strained to grasp. How well she knew the ghastly
ivory features, the sunken eyeless sockets--of that veritable death's
head? How vividly came back the day, when asleep in her father's arms,
a spark from that grinning skull had fallen on her cheek, and she awoke
to find that fond father bending in remorseful tenderness over her?
Years ago, she had reverently packed the pipe away, with other articles
belonging to the dead, and ignorant that her mother had given it to
Bertie, she deemed it safe in that sacred repository. Now, like the
face of Medusa it glared at her, and that which her father's lips had
sanctified, became the polluted medium of a retributive curse upon his
devoted child. So the Diabolus ex machina, the evil genius of each
human life decrees that the most cruel cureless pangs are inflicted by
the instruments we love best.

Watching for some sign of recognition, Mr. Dunbar's heart was fired
with jealous rage, as he marked the swift change of the prisoner's
countenance; the vanishing of the gleam of hope, the gloomy desperation
that succeeded. The beautiful black brows met in a spasm of pain over
eyes that stared at an abyss of ruin; her lips whitened, she wrung her
hands unconsciously; and then, as if numb with horror, she leaned back
in her chair, and her chin sank until it touched the black ribbon at
her throat. When after a while she rallied, and forced herself to
listen, a pleasant-faced young man was on the witness stand.

"My name is Edgar Jennings, and I live at T----, in Pennsylvania. I am
ticket agent at that point, of----railway. One day, about the last of
October (I think it was on Monday), I was sitting in my office when a
man came in, and asked if I could sell him a ticket to St. Paul. I told
him I only had tickets as far as Chicago, via Cincinnati. He bought one
to Cincinnati and asked how soon he could go on. I told him the train
from the east was due in a few minutes. When he paid for his ticket he
gave me a twenty-dollar gold piece, and his hand shook so, he dropped
another piece of the same value on the floor. His appearance was so
remarkable I noticed him particularly. He was a man about my age, very
tall and finely made, but one half of his face was black, or rather
very dark blue, and he wore a handkerchief bandage-fashion across it.
His left eye was drawn down, this way, and his mouth was one-sided. His
right eye was black, and his hair was very light brown. He wore a
close-fitting wool hat, that flapped down and his clothes were
seal-brown in color, but much worn, and evidently old. I asked him
where he lived, and he said he was a stranger going West, on a
pioneering tour. Then I asked what ailed his face, and he pulled the
handkerchief over his left eye, and said he was partly paralyzed from
an accident. Just then, the eastern train blew for T----. He said he
wanted some cigars or a pipe, as he had lost his own on the way, and
wondered if he would have time to go out and buy some. I told him no;
but that he could have a couple of cigars from my box. He thanked me,
and took two, laying down a silver dime on top of the box. He put his
hand in the inside pocket of his coat, and pulled out an empty
envelope, twisted it, lit it by the coal fire in the grate, and lighted
his cigar. The train rolled into the station; he passed out, and I saw
him jump aboard the front passenger coach. He had thrown the paper, as
he thought, into the fire, but it slipped off the grate, fell just
inside the fender, and the flame went out. There was something so very
peculiar in his looks and manner, that I thought there was some mystery
about his movements. I picked up the paper, saw the writing on it, and
locked it up in my cash drawer. He had evidently been a very handsome
man, before his 'accident', but he had a jaded, worried, wretched look.
When a detective from Baltimore interviewed me, I told him all I knew,
and gave him the paper."

Again Mr. Dunbar drew closer to the jury, held up the former fragment
of envelope, and then took from his pocket a second piece. Jagged edges
fitted into each other, and he lifted for the inspection of hundreds of
eyes, the long envelope marked and underscored:-"LAST WILL AND
TESTAMENT OF ROBERT LUKE DARRINGTON." The lower edge of the paper was
at one corner brown, scorched, somewhat burned.

"Lucullus Grantlin."

An elderly man of noble presence advanced, and Mr. Dunbar met and shook
hands with him, accompanying him almost to the stand. At sight of his
white head, and flowing silvery beard, Beryl's heart almost ceased its
pulsation. If, during her last illness her mother had acquainted him
with their family history, then indeed all was lost. It was as
impossible to reach him and implore his silence, as though the ocean
rocked between them; and how would he interpret the pleading gaze she
fixed upon his face? The imminence of the danger, vanquished every
scruple, strangled her pride. She caught Mr. Dunbar's eye, beckoned him
to approach.

When he stood before her, she put out her hand, seized one of his, and
drew him down until his black head almost touched hers. She placed her
lips close to his ear, and whispered:

"For God's sake spare the secrets of a death-bed. Be merciful to me
now; oh! I entreat you--do not drag my mother from her grave! Do not
question Doctor Grantlin."

She locked her icy hands around his, pressing it convulsively. Turning,
he laid  his lips close to the silky fold of hair that had fallen
across her ear:

"If I dismiss this witness, will you tell me the truth? Will you give
me the name of the man whom I am hunting? Will you confess all to me?"

"I have no sins to confess. I have made my last statement. If you laid
my coffin at my feet, I should only say I am innocent; I would tell you
nothing more."

"Then his life is so precious, you are resolved to die, rather than
trust me?"

She dropped his hand, and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.
When she opened them, Doctor Grantlin was speaking:

"I am on my way to Havana, with an invalid daughter, and stopped here
last night, at the request of Mr. Dunbar."

"Please state all that you know of the prisoner, and of the
circumstances which induced her to visit X----."

"I first saw the prisoner in August last, when she summoned me to see
her mother, who was suffering from an attack of fever. I discovered
that she was in a dangerous condition in consequence of an aneurism
located in the carotid artery, and when she had been relieved of
malarial fever, I told both mother and daughter that an operation was
necessary, to remove the aneurism. Soon after, I left the city for a
month, and on my return the daughter again called me in. I advised that
without delay the patient should be removed to the hospital, where a
surgeon--a specialist--could perform the operation. To this the young
lady objected, on the ground that she could not assist in nursing, if
her mother entered the hospital; and she would not consent to the
separation. She asked what amount would be required to secure at home
the services of the surgeon, a trained nurse, and the subsequent
treatment; and I told her I thought a hundred dollars would cover all
incidentals, and secure one of the most skilful surgeons in the city. I
continued from time to time to see the mother, and administered such
medicines as I deemed necessary to invigorate and tone up the patient's
system for the operation. One day in October, the young lady came to
pay me for some prescriptions, and asked if a few weeks' delay would
enhance the danger of the operation. I assured her it was important to
lose no time, and urged her to arrange matters so as to remove the
patient to the hospital as soon as possible, offering to procure her
admission. She showed great distress, and informed me that she hoped to
receive very soon a considerable sum of money, from some artistic
designs that she felt sure would secure the prize. A week later she
came again, and I gave her a prescription to allay her mother's
nervousness. Then, with much agitation, she told me that she was going
South by the night express, to seek assistance from her mother's
father, who was a man of wealth, but had disowned Mrs. Brentano on
account of her marriage. She asked for a written statement of the
patient's condition, and the absolute necessity of the operation. I
wrote it, and as she stood looking at the paper, she said:

"'Doctor do you believe in an Ahnung?' I said, 'A what?' She answered
slowly and solemnly: 'An Ahnung--a presentiment? I have a crushing
presentiment that trouble will come to me, if I leave mother; and yet
she entreats, commands me to go South. It is my duty to obey her, but
the errand is so humiliating I shrink, I dread it. I shall not be long
away, and meanwhile do please be so kind as to see her, and cheer her
up. If her father refuses to give me the one hundred dollars, I will
take her to the hospital when I return.' I walked to the door with her,
and her last words were: 'Doctor, I trust my mother to you; don't let
her suffer.' I have never seen her again, until I entered this room. I
visited Mrs.