At the Mercy of Tiberius

  CHAPTER XXIV

  Each human soul is dowered with an inherent adaptability to itsenvironment, with an innate energy which properly directed, grapplessuccessfully with all assailing ills; and Time, the tirelessreconciler, flies always low at our side, hardening the fibre ofendurance, stealthily administering that supreme and infallibleanaesthetic whereby the torturing throes of human woe are surelystilled. Existence involves strife; mental and moral growth depend uponthe vigor with which it is waged, and scorning cowardice, Natureprovides the weapons essential to victory. The evils that afflicthumanity are meted out with a marvellously accurate reference to theidiosyncrasies of character; and no weight is imposed which cannot byheroic effort be sustained. The Socratic belief that if all misfortuneswere laid in a heap, whence every man and woman must draw an equalportion, each would select the burden temporarily laid down and walkaway comforted, was merely an adumbration of the sublimer truth, "Asthy day, so shall thy strength be."

  Very slowly physical health and spiritual patience came back to Beryl;but by degrees she bravely lifted the stained and mutilated wreck oflife, and staggered on her lonely way, finding that repose which meansthe death of hope.

  At one time death had smilingly pushed ajar the door that opened intoeternal peace, and beckoned her bruised soul to follow; then mockinglybarred escape, and left her to renew the battle. From that doublewindow in the second story of the prison, she watched the silver offull moons shining on the spectral white columns that crowned "ElmBluff", the fire of setting suns that blazed ruby-red as Gubbio wine,along the line of casements that pierced the front facade, a bristlingperpetual reminder of the tragedy that cried to heaven for vengeance.She learned exactly where to expect the first glimpse of the slenderopal crescent in the primrose west; followed its waxing brilliance asit sailed out of the green bights of the pine forest, its waningpallor, amid the sparkling splendor of planets that lit the far east.

  As the constellations trod the mazes of their stately minuet across thedistant field of blue, their outlines grew familiar as humancountenances; and from the darkness of her cell she turned to the greatgolden stars throbbing in midnight skies, peering in through the ironbars like pitying eyes of heavenly guardians. Locked away from humancompanionship, and grateful for the isolation of her narrow cell, thelonely woman found tender compensation in the kindly embrace ofNature's arms, drawn closely about her.

  The procession of the seasons became to her the advent of so manyangels, who leaned in at her window and taught her the secret of floralrunes; the mysterious gamut of bird melodies, the shrill and weirddithyrambics of the insect world; the recitative and andante andscherzo of wind and rain, of hail and sleet, in storm symphonies.

  The Angel of Spring, with the snow of dogwood, and the faint pink ofapple blossoms on her dimpling cheeks; with violet censers swingingincense before her crocus-sandalled feet, and the bleating of younglambs that nestled in her warm arms.

  The Angel of Summer, full blown as the red roses flaunting amid thegolden grain and amber silk tassels that garlanded her sunny brow;poised languorously on the glittering apex of salmon clouds at whosebase lightning flickered and thunder growled,--watching through drowsyhalf shut lids the speckled broods of partridges scurrying with frantichaste through the wild poppies of ripe wheat fields, the brown covey ofshy doves ambushed among purple morning glories swinging in the denseshade of rustling corn; listening as in a dream to the laughter ofreapers, whetting scythes in the blistering glare of meadow slopes, yethearing all the while, the low, sweet babble of the slender stream thattrickled through pine roots, down the hillside, and added its silverytinkle to the lullaby crooned by the river to its fringe of willows,its sleeping lily pads.

  The Angel of Autumn, radiant through her crystal veil of falling rain,as with caressing touches she deepened the crimson on orchardtreasures, mellowed the heart of vineyard clusters, painted the leaveswith hectic glory that reconciled to their approaching fall, smiled onthe chestnuts that burst their burrs to greet her, whispered to thesquirrels that the banquet was ready; kissed into starry bloom blueasters crowding about her knees, and left the scarlet of her lips onthe kingdom of berries ordained to flush the forest aisles, wherewolfish winds howled, when leaves had rustled down to die, and verdurewas no more.

  The Angel of Winter, a sad, mute image, wan as her robes of snow,stretching white wings to shelter perishing birds huddled on the coldpall that covered a numb world,--crowned with icicles that clasped hersilver locks, shedding tears that froze upon her marble cheeks;standing on the universal grave where Nature lay bound in cerements,hearkening to the dismal hooting of the owl at her feet, the sharpinsistent cry of gray killdees hovering above icy marshes, the wailingtempest dirge over the dead earth; and while with one benignant handshe tenderly folded her mantle about the sleepers, the other kindled aconflagration along the western sky, that reddened and warmed even thewastes of snow, and when she beckoned, the attendant stars seemed tocircle closer and closer, burning with an added lustre that made nightglorious. Answering her call, the Auroral arch sprang out of the North,spanning the sky with waving banners of orange and violet flame, thatillumined the Niobe of the Seasons, as she hovered with out-stretchedglittering pinions, and mournful ice-dimmed eyes above her shroudeddead children.

  With returning health, had come to Beryl activity of those artisticinstincts, which for a time, had slumbered in the torpor of despair;and when her daily task of work had been accomplished, the prisonerleaned with folded arms on the stone ledge of the window, and studiedevery changing aspect of earth and atmosphere. By degrees the oldambition stirred, and she began to sketch the slow panorama of Julyclouds, built of mist and foam into the likeness of domes of burnishedcopper, and campaniles of silver; the opaque mountain masses,stratified along the horizon, leaden in hue, with sullen bluish gorgeswhere ravening January winds made their lair; the intricate, gracefultracery of gnaried bare boughs and interlacing twigs, that would serveas a framework when May hung up her green portieres to screen thedown-lined boudoirs where happy birds nestled; the gray stone arches ofthe bridge in the valley below, the groups of cattle couched on therocky hillside, up which the pine forest marched like ranks of giants.

  On sultry afternoons she watched lengthening tree-shadows creep acrossthe reddish-brown carpeting of straw, and in the long nights whensleeplessness betrayed her into the clutches of torturingretrospection, she waited and longed for the pearly lustre that pavedthe east for the rosy feet of dawn; listened to the beating of Nature'sheart in the solemn roar of the Falls two miles away, in the stropheand anti-strophe of winds quivering through pine tops, the startled cryof birds dozing in cedar thickets, the shrill droning of crickets, themonotonous recrimination of katydids, the peculiar, querulous call of afamily of flying squirrels housed in the cleft of an old magnolia, theGregorian chant of frogs cradled in the sedge and ferns, where theriver lapped and gurgled.

  Humanity had turned its back upon her; but the sinless world ofcreation, with all its glorious chords of beautiful color, and thesoothing witchery of the solemn voices of the night, ministeredabundantly to eye and ear. She had hoped and prayed to die; God deniedher petition; and sent, instead of His Angel of Death, two to comforther, the Angel of Health and the Angel of Resignation; whereby sheunderstood, that she had not yet earned surcease from suffering, butwas needed for future work in the Master's vineyard.

  If live she must, through the five years of piacular sacrifice, whyvitiate its efficacy by rebellious repining, that seemed an affront tothe divine arbiter of human destinies? She could not escape the cross;and bitterness of heart might jeopardize the crown. Beggared by time,could she afford to risk the eternal heritage? The deepest convictionof her soul was, "Behind fate, stands God"; hidden for a season, deafand blind and mute, it seemed, but always surely there; waiting His ownappointed season of rescue, and of recompense. So strong was her faithin His overruling wisdom and mercy, that her soul found rest, throughperpetual prayer for patience; and as weeks slipped in
to months, andseason followed season, she realized that though no roses of happinesscould ever bloom along her arid path, the lilies of peace kissed hertired feet.

  Somewhere in the wicked world, Bertie was astray; and perhaps God haskept her alive, intending she should fulfil her mission years hence, bybringing him out of the snares of temptation, back into the fold ofChrist's redeemed. Five years of penal servitude to ransom his soul;was the price exorbitant?

  One dull, wintry afternoon as she pressed close to the window, to catchthe fading light on the page of her Bible, it chanced to be the chapterin St. Luke, which contained the parable of the Pharisee and thePublican; and while she read, a great compunction smote her; aremorseful sense of having scorned as utterly unclean and debased, hersuffering fellow prisoners.

  Was there no work to be done for the dear Master, in that morallazaretto--the long rows of cells down stairs, where some had beenconsigned for 'ninety-nine years'? Hitherto, she had shrunk fromcontact, as from leprous contagion; meeting the Penitentiary inmatesonly in the chapel where, since her restoration to health, she wentregularly to sing and play on the organ, when the chaplain heldservice. The world had cruelly misjudged her; was she any more lenientto those who might be equally innocent?

  Next day she went humbly, yet shyly, down to the common work-room, andtook her place among the publicans, hoping that the soul of someoutcast might be won to repentance. Now and then messages of sympathyreached her from the outside world, in the form of flowers, books,magazines; and two of the jurors who convicted her, sent from time totime generous contributions of dainty articles that materially promotedher comfort; while a third, whose dead child had clung to her Christmascard, eased his regretful pangs by the gift of a box containing paper,canvas, crayons, brushes, paints, and all requisite appliances forartistic work.

  Sister Serena had gone on a labor of love, to a distant State; andfaithful Dyce, hopelessly crippled by a fall from the mule which shewas forcing across the bridge leading to the State dungeon, had beenpermanently consigned to the wide rocking chair, beside her cabinhearth at "Elm Bluff".

  It was a bleak night in January, and intensely cold, when Mrs.Singleton wrapped a shawl about her head, and ran along the darkcorridor to the cell, where Beryl was walking up and down to keepherself warm. Only the moonlight illumined it, as the rays fell on thebare floor, making a broad band of silver beneath the window.

  "I forgot to tell you, that something very dreadful happened at the'Lilacs' last week. Judge Dent had a stroke of paralysis and died thesame night. As if that were not trouble enough to last for a while atleast, the house took fire in that high wind yesterday, and burned tothe ground; leaving poor Miss Patty Dent without a roof to cover her.She had gone to the cemetery to carry flowers to her brother's grave,and when she returned, it was too late to save anything. Miss Gordon'snew wing cost thousands of dollars and was furnished like a palace, soI am told; but the flames destroyed every vestige of the beautifulhouse, and the pictures and statues. It seems that it was heavilyinsured, but money can't buy the old portraits and family silver, themahogany and glass, and the yellow damask--that have been kept in theDent family since George Washington was a teething baby; and Miss Pattywails loudest over the loss of an old, old timey communion service,that the Dents boasted Queen Anne gave to one of them, who was anEpiscopal minister. The poor old soul is almost crazy, I hear, and Mr.Dunbar carries her to New York to-morrow, where she has a nephewliving; and next month she will go to Europe to join Miss Gordon. It isreported in town, that when Judge Dent died so suddenly, Miss Pattysent a cable telegram to her niece to come home; but early yesterday,just before the fire, an answer came by cable, asking Miss Patty tocome to Europe. Some people think Mr. Dunbar intends escorting her, andthat when he meets Miss Gordon, the marriage will take place overthere; but I never will believe that, till it happens."

  She peered curiously into the face of her listener, but the light wastoo dim to enable her to read its expression.

  "Why not? Under the circumstances, such a course seems eminentlynatural and proper."

  "Do you really think he intends marrying?"

  "I am the confidant of neither the gentleman nor the lady; but you toldme long ago, that a marriage engagement existed between them; and sinceboth have shown me much kindness and sympathy, I sincerely hope theirunited lives may be very happy. If Mr. Dunbar searched the universe, hecould scarcely find Miss Gordon's equal, certainly not her superior;and he cannot fail to appreciate his good fortune in winning her."

  Mrs. Singleton lifted her shoulder significantly. "Perhaps! but you cannever be sure of men. They are about as uncertain calculations as thehatching of guinea eggs, or the sprouting of parsley seed. What istheirs can't be worth much; but what belongs to somebody else, isinvaluable; moreover, they are liable to sudden tantrums of sheerobstinacy, that hang on like whooping-cough, or a sprain in one'sjoints. Did you never see a mule take the sulks on his way to the corncrib and the fodder rack, and refuse to budge, even for his ownbenefit? Some men are just that perverse. Mr. Dunbar is trailing game,worth more to him at present, than a sweetheart across the AtlanticOcean; which reminds me of what brought me here. He asked Ned to-day,if you saw Mr. Darrington yesterday when he came here; and learningthat you did not, he gave him this paper, which he said would explainwhat the Legislature did last month, about declaring you of age. Nedtold him you signed some document Mr. Wolverton brought here last week,which secured all the property to Mr. Darrington, and he said he hadbeen informed of the transaction, and that Mr. Darrington would soon goback to Germany. Then he added: 'Singleton, present my respects to MissBrentano and tell her, I am happy to say that my trip West last summerwas not entirely unsuccessful. It has furnished me with a very valuableclue. She will understand.' Oh, dear! how bitterly cold it is! Come tomy room, and get thoroughly thawed; Ned is down stairs, and thechildren are asleep."

  "No, thank you; I should only feel the cold more, when I came back."

  "Then take my shawl and cover your ears and throat. There, you must.Good night."

  She closed the door, and fled down the long black passage, to thebright cozy room, where her babes slumbered.

  Slowly Beryl resumed her walk from window to door, from bar to bar, butof the stinging cold she grew oblivious; and the blood burned in hercheeks and throbbed with almost suffocating violence at her heart.

  She comprehended fully the significance of the message, and dared notcomfort herself with the supposition that it was prompted by a spiritof bravado.

  To what quarter of the globe was he tracking the desperate culprit, whohad fled sorely wounded from his murderous assault? Ignorant of hismother's death, and of his sister's expiatory incarceration, might notBertie venture back to the great city, where she had last seen him; andbe trapped by those wily "Quaestores Paricidii" of the nineteenthcentury--special detectives?

  Fettered, muzzled by the stone walls of her dungeon, she could send himno warning, could only pray and endure, while she and her reckless,wayward brother drifted helplessly down the dark, swift river of doom.At every revival of fears for his safety, up started the mightytemptation that never slumbered, to confess all to Mr. Dunbar; but aspersistently she took it by the throat, and crushed it back, resolvedat all hazards to secure, if possible, the happiness of the woman whohad trusted her.

  In the midst of the wreck of her life, out of the depths of the dust ofhumiliation, had sprung the beautiful blossom of love, shedding itsintoxicating fragrance over ruin; yet, because the asp of treacherylurked in the exquisite, folded petals, she shut her eyes to thebewildering loveliness, and loyalty strove to tear it up by the roots,to trample it out; learning thereby, that the fibrous thread had struckdeep into her own heart, defying ejectment.

  She had forbidden his visits, interdicted letters; but she could notexpel the vision of a dear face that haunted her memory; nor exorcisethe spell of a voice that had first thrilled her pulses when pleadingwith the jury in her behalf.

  Sometimes she wondered wheth
er she had been created as a mere sentientplummet to sound every gulf of human woe; then humbly recanted theimpious repining, and thanked God that, at least, she had been sparedthat deepest of all abysses, the Hades of remorse. That which comes tomost women as the supreme earthly joy--the consciousness of possessingthe heart of the man they love, fell upon Beryl like the lash offlagellation; rendering doubly fierce the battle of renunciation, whichshe fought, knowing that sedition and treason were raising the standardof revolt within the fortress.

  During the eight months that had elapsed since Leo sailed for Europe,Beryl had exchanged no word with Mr. Dunbar; but twice a sudden,tumultuous leaping of her heart surprised her at sight of him, standingin the door of the chapel; watching her as she sat within the altarrail, playing the little organ, while the convict congregation stood upto sing. Although no name was ever appended, she knew what hand haddirected the various American and foreign art magazines, which broughttheir argosy of beauty to divert and gladden her sombre meditations.

  On Christmas morning, the second of her sojourn within penitentiarywalls, the express messenger had brought to the door of her cell, twopackages, one a glowing heart of crimson and purple passion flowers,the other an exquisite engraving of Sir Frederick Leighton's "HerculesWrestling with Death"; and below the printed title, she recognized thebold characters traced in red ink: "The Alcestis you emulate."

  To-night, a ray of moonlight crept across the wall, and shivered itssilver over the rigid face of the dead wife in the picture; and theprisoner, gazing mournfully at it, comprehended that her own fate wassadder than that of the immortal Greek devotee. To die for Admetusafter he had sworn on the altar of his gods, that he would spend alonethe remainder of his days, solaced by no fair successor, dedicating hisfidelity to appease her manes, was comparatively easy; but to turnaway, voluntarily resign the man she loved, and assist in forging thelinks which she must live to see chaining him to a happy rival, were anordeal more appalling to Alcestis than premature descent into the duskyrealm of Persephone.

  To secure to her brother immunity from pursuit, and to Miss Gordon theallegiance of the husband of her choice, was the problem that banishedsleep and kept Beryl pacing the floor, until welcome day hung herorange mantle over the quivering splendor of the morning star. Onefinal effort was all that seemed possible now; and kneeling before thetable she wrote and sealed a note, to be delivered before the expresstrain bore the lawyer away on his journey:

  "Your message was received, and it has so disquieted and alarmed methat I am forced to treat for peace. If you will cancel your policecontracts, cease your search, go to Europe with Miss Dent, and pledgeme your honor to marry Miss Gordon before you return, I will solemnlypromise, bind myself in the sight of the God I serve, to live and todie Beryl Brentano; and never, without your consent and permission,will I look again on the face of the man whom you are hunting to death.The assurance of his safety will atone for all you have made me suffer;will nerve me to bear whatever the future may hold. You will imagineyou understand, but it is impossible that you can ever realize thenature of the pain this proposal involves for me; nevertheless, if youaccept and keep the compact, I believe you know that, at all costs, Ishall never forfeit the pledged word of

  "BERYL BRENTANO."

  When marriage vows had irrevocably committed Leo's happiness to hishonor, it might then be safe to tell him the truth, and solicit releasefrom the self-imposed terms. Five hours later, she received an answer:

  "A trifle too late, you unfurled the flag of truce. With my game insight, I decline to forego the chase. For your solicitude regarding mymarriage, I tender my thanks; and the assurance, that no magnet candraw, not all the charms of Circe lure me across the Atlantic, until Ihave accomplished my purpose. The tardiness of your proposal isunerring appraiser of its costliness; and I were a monster of crueltyto debar you the sight of your idol, though I bring him with the grimgarniture of chains and handcuffs. When I consign Miss Dent to herrelatives in New York, I go to a miners' camp in Dakota, to identify aman bearing the marks of one who fled from X---, and lost his pipe, onthe night he murdered Gen'l Darrington.

  "DUNBAR."

  To temporize longer would be fatal to Bertie; and no alternativeremained but to tell the simple truth.

  Without an instant's delay she took up her pen, but ere half a line hadbeen traced on the paper, a hoarse whistle, somewhat muffled bydistance, told her the attempt was futile; and through the valleybeyond the river a trailing serpent of black smoke showed the expresstrain darting northward. The attorney had left X---, but might lingerin New York sufficiently long for a letter to reach him; and doubtlesshis address could be learned at his office:

  "If Mr. Dunbar will give me an opportunity of acquainting him with somefacts, he is anxious to discover, he shall find it unnecessary totravel to Dakota; and will thank me for saving him from the longjourney he contemplates.

  "B. B."

  The sun was setting when Mr. Singleton returned from the attorney'soffice, and held out the note which he had been instructed to addressand deposit in the mail.

  "If it is a matter of any importance, I am sorry to tell you that thiscannot reach Mr. Dunbar immediately. He goes only as far asPhiladelphia, where Miss Dent's nephew meets her; then Dunbar travelsright on West without stopping, till he reaches Bismarck. He leftinstructions at his office to retain all mail matter here, for a coupleof weeks, then forward to Washington City; as business would detain himthere some days after his return from the west. Good gracious! howwhite your lips are. Sit down. What ails you?"

  She put her hand over her eyes, and tried to collect her thoughts. Tosuffer so long, so keenly, and yet lose the victory; could it bepossible that her sacrifice would prove utterly futile?

  "Mr. Singleton, you have shown me many times your friendly sympathy,and I am again forced to tax your kindness. It is important that Ishould see or communicate with Mr. Dunbar within the next forty-eighthours. Could you induce the telegraph operator here to have a messagedelivered to him on the train, before it reaches Washington City?"

  "I will certainly do my best; and to insure it I will go to therailroad operator, who understands the stations, and can catch Dunbarmore easily than a message from the general office. Write our yourtelegram, while I order my buggy."

  "MR. DUNBAR. On board Train No. 2.

  "Please let me see you before you go West. I promise information thatwill render you unwilling to make the journey to Bismarck."

  "B."

  Anxiously she computed the time within which an answer might reasonablybe expected; and her heart dwelt as a suppliant before God, that themessage would avail to arrest pursuit; but hours wore wearily away,tedious days trod upon the slow skirts of dreary nights; and noresponse lifted the burden of dread. Hope whispered feebly that hisfailure to send a telegraphic reply, implied his intention of returningto X---from Philadelphia; and she clung to this rope of sand until aweek had passed. Then the conviction was inevitable that he regardedher appeal as merely a ruse to divert his course, to delay the seizureof his prey; and that while he misinterpreted the motive that promptedher message, she had merely furnished an additional goad to his jealoushatred.

  As helpless wrack borne on the sullen tide of destiny, she struck hertrembling hands together, and cried out in the dark solitude of hercell: "Verily! The stars in their courses fought against Sisera."