CHAPTER XXVIII.
On Saturday the regulations of prison discipline reduced the workinghours much below the daily quota, and at two o'clock the ringing of thetower bell announced that the busy convicts of the various industrialrooms were allowed leisure during the remainder of the afternoon, togive place to the squad of sweepers and scrubbers, who flooded thefloors and scoured the benches.
June heat had followed fast upon the balmy breath of May, and thoughthe air at dawn was still iced with crystal dew, the sun that shonethrough the open windows of the little chapel, burned fiercely on theunpainted pine seats, the undraped reading-desk of the pulpit, thetarnished gilt pipes of the cabinet organ within the chancel railing.
On one of the front benches sat Iva Le Bougeois, with a pair ofcrutches resting beside her on the arm of the seat, and her handsfolded in her lap. Recovering slowly from the paralysis resulting fromdiphtheria, she had followed Beryl into the chapel, and listened to thehymns the latter had played and sung. The glossy black head was bent inabject despondency upon her breast, and tears dripped over the smootholive cheeks, but no sound escaped the trembling mouth, once so red andriotous, now drawn into curves of passionate sorrow; and the topazgleams that formerly flickered in her sullen hazel eyes were drowned inthe gloom of dejection. For her, memory was an angel of wrath, drivingher into the hideous Golgotha of the past, where bloody spectresgibbered; the present was a loathsome death in life, the future anameless torturing horror. Helpless victim of her own outragedconscience, she seemed at times sinking into mental apathy morepitiable than that which had seized her physically; and the only solacepossible, she found in the encouraging words uttered by the voice thathad prayed for her during that long night of mortal agony, in thegentle pressure of the soft hand that often guided her totteringfootsteps.
The organ stops had been pushed back, the musical echoes vibrated nolonger; and the bare room, filled with garish sunshine, was so stillthat the drowsy droning of a bee high up on the dusty sash of thebarred window, became monotonously audible.
Within the chancel and to the right of the pulpit, a large reversibleblackboard had recently been placed, and on a chair in front of itstood Beryl, engrossed in putting the finishing touches to a sketchwhich filled the entire board; and oblivious for the moment of EveWerneth's baby, who, having emptied her bottle of milk, had pulledherself up by the chair, and with the thumb of her right hand in hermouth, was staring up at the picture.
The lesson selected for the Sunday afternoon Bible class, which Berylhad so successfully organized among a few of the female convicts, wasthe fifteenth chapter of Luke; and at the top of the blackboard waswritten in large letters: "Rejoice with Me, for I have found My sheepwhich was lost." She had drawn in the foreground the flock couched insecurity, rounded up by the collie guard in a grassy meadow; in thedistance, overhanging a gorge, was a bald, precipitous crag, behindwhich a wolf crouched, watching the Shepherd who tenderly bore in hisarms the lost wanderer. On the opposite side of the blackboard had beencarefully copied the Gospel Hymn beginning:--
"There were ninety and nine that safely lay, In the shelter of thefold, But one was out on the hills away, Far off from the gates ofgold--Away on the mountains wild and bare, Away from the tenderShepherd's care."
Mental processes are strangely dualistic, and it not unfrequentlyhappens that while one is consciously intent upon a certain train ofthought, some secret cunning current of association sets in vibrationthe coil of ideas locked in the chambers of memory, and long forgottenimages leap forth, startling in their pristine vividness.
Absorbed by the text she was illustrating, the artist insensiblyfollowed lines she deemed imaginary, yet when the sketch wascompleted, the ensemble suddenly confronted her as a miniaturereproduction of a very distant scene, that had gladdened her childishheart in the blessed by-gone. Far away from the beaten track of travel,in a sunny cleft of the Pistoian Apennines, she saw the white fleecesgrouped under vast chestnuts, the flash of copper buckets plunged bytwo peasant women into a gurgling fountain, the curly head of Bertiebowed over the rude stone basin, as he gayly coaxed the bearers to lethim drink from the beautiful burnished copper; the rocky terraces cutin the beetling cliffs above, where dark ruby-red oleanders flouted thesky with fragrant banners; and the pathetic face of a vagrant ewetangled among vines, high on a jagged ledge, bleating for the lambasleep under the chestnuts down in the dell.
Across the chasm of years floated the echo of the tinkling bell, thattold where cows climbed in search of herbage; the singular rhythmiccadence of the trescone, danced in a neighboring vineyard; the deep,mellow, lingering tones of a monastery bell, rung by hermit hands in agray tower on a mountain eyry, that looked westward upon the sparklingblue mirror of the Mediterranean.
Then she was twelve years old, dreaming glorious midsummer day-dreams,as she wandered with parents and brother on one of her father'ssketching tours through unfrequented nooks; now--?
A petulant cry, emphasized by the baby hand tugging at the hem of herdress skirt, recalled Beryl's attention; and as she looked down at thewaif, whom the chaplain had christened "Dovie" on the day of hermother's burial, the little one held up her arms.
"So tired, Dulce? You can't be hungry; you must want your nap. Theredon't fret, baby girl. I will take you directly."
She stepped down, turned the side of the blackboard that contained thesketch to the wall; lowered the sash which she had raised to admitfresh air, and lifted the child from the floor. Approaching the figurewho sat motionless as a statue of woe, she laid a hand on the droopingshoulder.
"Shall I help you down the steps?"
"No, I'll stay here a while. This is the only place where I can getcourage enough to pray. Couldn't you leave her--the child--with me? Ithas been years since I could bear the sight of one. I hated children,because my heart was so black--so bitter; but now, I yearn toward thislittle thing. I am so starved for the kiss of--of--," she swept herhand across her throat, where a sob stifled her.
"Certainly, if she will stay contentedly. See whether she will come toyou."
At sight of the extended arms, the baby shrank closer to Beryl, nestledher head under the girl's chin, and put up her lower lip in ominousprotest. With an indescribably mournful gesture of surrender, thechildless mother sank back in the corner of the bench.
"I don't wonder she is afraid; she knows--everybody, everything knows Ikilled my baby--my own boy, who slept for nearly four years on myheart--oh!--"
"Hush--she was frightened by your crying. She is sleepy now, but whenshe has had her nap, and wakes good-humored, I will fill her bottle,and bring her down to you. Try not to torment yourself by dwelling upona distressing past, which you cannot undo; but by prayer anchor yoursoul in God's pardoning mercy. When all the world hoots and stones us,God is our 'sure refuge'."
"That promise is to pure hearts and innocent hands; not to such as Iam, steeped to the lips in crime--black, black--"
"No. One said: 'The whole need not a physician; but they that aresick.' Your soul is sick unto death; claim the pledged cure. Yonder Ihave copied the hymn for to-morrow's lesson. While you sit here, commitit to memory; and the Shepherd will hear your cry."
Glancing back from the chapel door, she saw that the miserable womanhad bowed her face in her hands, and with elbows supported on herknees, was swaying back and forth in a storm of passionate sobs.
"O! my beautiful baby, my angel Max, pray for mother now.Max--Max--there is no 'Sweet By and By'--for mother--"
Hurrying from the wail of anguish that no human agency could lighten,Beryl carried the orphan across the yard, and up the stairs leading tothe corridor, whence she was allowed egress at will. She noticedcasually, signs of suppressed excitement among some of the convicts,who were lounging in groups, enjoying the half holiday, and three orfour men stood around the under-warden who was gesticulatingvivaciously; but at her approach he lowered his voice, and she lived sofar aloof from the jars and gossip of the lower human strata, that thesuspicious in
dications failed to arouse any curiosity.
The southwest angle of the building was exposed fully to the force ofthe afternoon sun, and the narrow cell was so hot that Beryl opened thedoor leading into the corridor, in order to create a draught throughthe opposite window.
The tired child was fretfully drowsy, but with the innate perversity oftoddling babyhood, resented and resisted every effort to soothe her tosleep. Refusing to lie across the nurse's lap, the small tyrantclambered up, wrapped her arms about her neck, and finally Beryl roseand walked up and down, humming softly Chopin's dreamy "Berceuse";while the baby added a crooning accompaniment that grew fainter andintermittent until the blue eyes closed, one arm fell, and the thumbwas plunged between the soft full lips.
Warily the nurse laid her down in a cradle, which consisted of an ovalbasket mounted on roughly fashioned wooden rockers, and drawing itclose to the table, Beryl straightened the white cross-barred muslinslip that was too short to cover the rosy dimpled feet; and smoothedthe flossy tendrils of yellow hair crumpled around the lovely face.
The Sister of Charity, who, in the darkest hours of the pestilence hadshrouded the poor young mother, did not forget the human waif astray inthe world; but having secured a home for it in an "asylum," to whichshe promised it should be removed so soon as all danger of carryingcontagion was over, had appointed the ensuing Monday on which to bearit away from the gloomy precincts, where sinless life had dawned indisgrace and degradation. This pretty toy, dowered with an immortalsoul, stained by an inherited criminal strain, had appealed to thefeminine tenderness in Beryl's nature, and she stood a moment, lost inadmiration of the rounded curves and dainty coloring.
"Poor little blossom. Nobody's baby! A lily bud adrift on a dead sea ofsin. Dovie--Eve Werneth's child--but you will always be to me Dulce, mypretty clinging Dulce, my velvet-eyed cherub model."
Turning away, she bathed her face and hands, and leaned for a whileagainst the southern window; listening to the exultant song of a redbird hovering near his brooding brown mate, to the soothing murmur ofthe distant falls, borne in on the wings of the thievish June breezethat had rifled some far-off garden of the aroma of honeysuckle. Thecurrent of air had swung the door back, leaving only a hand's breadthof open space, and while she sang to the baby, her own voice haddrowned the sound of footsteps in the corridor.
On the whitewashed wall of the cell, a sheet of drawing paper had beentacked, and taking her crayons, Beryl returned to the cradle, changedthe position of the child's left hand, and approaching the almostcompleted sketch on the wall, retouched the outline of the sleepingfigure. Now and then she paused in her work, to look down at the goldenlashes sweeping the slumber-flushed cheeks, and pondering the mysteryof the waif's future, she chanted in a rich contralto voice, the solemn"Reproaches" of Gounod's "Redemption."
"Oh, my vineyard, come tell me why thy grapes are bitter? What have Idone, my People? Wherein hast thou been wronged?"
For weeks the elaboration of this sketch had employed every momentwhich was not demanded for the execution of her allotted daily task inthe convict workroom; and knowing that on Monday she would be bereft ofher pretty model, she had redoubled her exertions to complete it.
Beside a bier knelt a winged figure, in act of stealing the rigid form,and to the awful yet strangely beautiful face of the messenger ofgloom, she had given the streaming hair, the sunken, cavernous butwonderfully radiant eyes of Moritz Retzsch's weird image of Death. Awhite butterfly fluttered upward, and in mid-air--neither descendingnor drifting, but waiting--poised on outspread pinions, hovered theAngel of the Resurrection holding out his hands. Behind and beneath theDestroyer, rolled dense shadows, and all the light in this picturerayed out from the plumes above, and fell like a glory on the baby'sface.
Cut off from all congenial companionship, thrown upon her own mentalresources, the prisoner had learned to live in an ideal world; and herartistic tastes proved an indestructible heritage of comfort, whilememory ministered lavishly with images from the crowded realm ofaesthetics. Victorious over the stony limitations of dungeon walls anddungeon discipline, fetterless imagination soared into the kingdom ofbeauty, and fed her lonely soul, as Syrian ravens fed God's prophet.
Fourteen months had passed since Mr. Dunbar walked away from this cell,after the interview relative to Gen'l Darrington's will; and though hislonging to see the prisoner had driven him twice to the entrance of thechapel, whence he heard the marvellously sweet voice, and gazed at thefigure before the organ, no word was exchanged.
To-day, with his hand on the bolt of the door, and his heart in hiseyes, he leaned against the facing, and through the opening studied theoccupant of the cell that held the one treasure which fate had deniedhim.
The ravages of disease, the blemish of acute physical suffering hadvanished; the clear pallor of her complexion, the full white throat,the rounded contour of the graceful form, bespoke complete restorationof all the vital forces; and never had she appeared so incomparablybeautiful.
Oppressed by the heat, she had pushed back the hair from her temples,and though hopeless sadness reigned over the profound repose of herfeatures, the expression of her eyes told that the dream of the artisthad borne her beyond surrounding ills.
Where the button of her blue homespun dress fastened the collar, shewore a sprig of heliotrope and a cluster of mignonette, from theshallow box in the window-ledge where they grew together.
How long he stood there, surrendering himself to the happiness ofwatching the woman whom, against his will, he loved with suchunreasoning and passionate fervor, Mr. Dunbar never knew; but a suddenrecollection of the face printed on the glass, the face, beautiful asfabled Hylas--of the man for whose sake she was willing to die--stunghim like an adder's bite; and setting his teeth hard, he rapped uponthe door held ajar; then threw it open.
At sight of him, her arm, lifted to the sketch, fell; the crayonslipped from her nerveless fingers, and a glow rich as the heart ofsome red June rose stained her cheeks.
As he stepped toward her, she leaned against the wall, and swiftly drewthe baby's cradle between them. He understood, and for a momentrecoiled.
"You barricade yourself as though I were some loathsome monster! Areyou afraid of me?"
"What is there left to fear? Have you spared any exertion to accomplishthat which you believe would overwhelm me with sorrow?"
"You cannot forgive my rejection of the overtures for a compromisewrung from you by extremity of dread, when I started to Dakota?"
"That rejection freed me from a self-imposed, galling promise; andhence I forgive all, because of the failure of your journey."
"Suppose I have not failed?"
She caught her breath, and the color in her cheeks flickered.
"Had you succeeded, I should not have been allowed so long thecomparative mercy of suspense."
"Am I so wantonly cruel, think you, that I gloat over your sufferingsas a Modoc at sight of the string of scalps dangling at his pony'sneck?"
"When the spirit of revenge is unleashed, Tiberius becomes a law untohimself."
He leaned forward, and his voice was freighted with tenderness that hemade no attempt to disguise.
"Once after that long swoon in the court-room, when I held your hand,you looked at me without shrinking, and called me Tiberius. Again, whenfor hours I sat beside your cot, watching the crisis of your firstterrible illness, you opened your eyes and held out your hand, saying:'Have you come for me, Tiberius?' Why have you told me you were at themercy of Tiberius?"
Hitherto she had avoided looking at him, and kept her gaze upon thesleeping child, but warned by the tone that made her heart throb, shebravely lifted her eyes.
"When next you write to your betrothed, ask her to go to the MuseoChiaramonti while in Rome, and standing before the crowned Tiberius,she will fancy her future husband welcomes her. Your wife will need nobetter portrait of you than a copy of that head."
Into his eyes leaped the peculiar glow that can be likened unto nothingbut the
clear violet flame dancing over a bed of burning anthracitecoal, and into his voice an exultant ring:
"Meantime, like my inexorable prototype, 'I hold a wolf by the ears'.Shall I tell you my mission here?"
"As it appears I am indeed always at the mercy of Tiberius, yourcourtesy savors of sarcasm."
"Oh, my stately white rose! My Rosa Alba, I will see to it, that nopolluting hand lays a grasp on you. My errand should entitle me to amore cordial reception, for I bring you good news. Will you lay yourhand in mine just once, while I tell you?"
He extended his open palm, but she shook her head and smiled sadly.
"In this world no good news can ever come to me."
"Do you know that recently earnest efforts have been made to induce theGovernor to pardon you? That I have just returned from a visit to him?"
"I was not aware of it; but I am grateful for your effort in my behalf."
"I was disappointed. The pardon was not granted. Since then, fate, whofrowned so long upon you, has come to your rescue. The truth has beendiscovered, proclaimed; and I came here this afternoon with an orderfor your release. For you the prison doors and gates stand open. Youare as free as you were that cursed day when first you saw me androbbed my life of peace."
For a moment she looked at him bewildered; then a great dread drove theblood from her lips, and her voice shook.
"What truth has been discovered?"
"The truth that you are innocent has been established to the entiresatisfaction of judge and jury, prosecution and Governor, sheriff,warden, and you are free. Not pardoned for that which all the worldknows now you never committed; but acquitted without man's help, by thediscovery of a fact which removes every shadow of suspicion from yourname. You are at liberty, owing no thanks to human mercy; vindicated bya witness subpoenaed by the God of justice, in whom you trusted--evento the end."
"Witness? What witness? You do not mean that you have hunted down--"
She paused, and her white face was piteous with terror, as pushing awaythe cradle she came close to him.
"I have seen the face of the man who killed Gen'l Darrington."
She threw up her arms, crossing them over her head.
"O, my God! Have I suffered in vain? Shall I be denied the recompense?After all my martyrdom, must I lose the one hope that sustained me?"
Despite the rage which the sight of her suffering woke within hisheart, he could not endure to witness it.
"Can you find no comfort in release? No joy in the consciousness ofyour triumphant vindication?"
"None! If you have robbed me of that which is all I care for on earth,what solace can I find in release? Vindication? What is the opinion ofthe world to me? Oh! how have I ever wronged you, that you persecute meso vindictively, that you stab the only comfort life can ever hold forme?"
"And you love him so insanely, that to secure his safety, existencehere in this moral sty is sweet in comparison with freedom unsharedwith him? Listen! That belief stirs the worst elements in my nature; itswings the whip of the furies. For your own sake, do not thrust yourdegrading madness upon my notice. I have labored to liberate you; havesubordinated all other aims to this, and now, that I have come to setyou free, you repulse and spurn me!"
She was so engrossed by one foreboding, that it was evident she had noteven heard him, as moving to the bench in front of the window she satdown, shivering. Her black brows contracted till they met, and thestrained expression of her eyes told that she was revolving somepossibility of succor.
"Where did you see my--my--?"
"Not in Dakota mines, where I expected to find him."
"Mr. Dunbar." She pointed to the chair at her side.
He shook his head, but approached and stood before her.
"I am waiting to hear you."
"I sent you a telegram, promising information that would have preventedthat journey."
"It failed to reach me."
Unconsciously she was wringing her hands as her thoughts whirled.
"I will tell you something now, if you will promise me that no harmshall--"
He laughed scornfully.
"As if I had anything to learn concerning that cowardly villain! Thanksfor your confidence, which comes much too late."
"You do not know that--"
"Yes, I know all I want to know; more than you shall ever tell me, andI decline to hear a confession that, in my eyes, defiles you; thatwould only drive me to harsh denunciation of your foul idol. Moreover,I will not extort by torture what you have withheld so jealously. Donot wring your hands so desperately. You are goaded to confession now,because you believe that I have secured your lover? Take courage, hehas not yet been arrested; he is still a wanderer hiding fromretribution."
She sprang up, trembling.
"But you said you had seen his face?"
"Yes, and I have come to take you where you can identify that face?"
"Then, he is dead." She covered her face with her hands.
"No, I wish to God he was dead! Sit down. I will not see you suffersuch agony. He is safe for the present. If you will try to think ofyourself for a moment, and pay me the compliment of listening, I willexplain. Do you recollect that during the storm on the night of themurder the lightning was remarkably vivid and severe?"
"Yes; can I ever forget any details of that night? Go on."
"Do you recall the position of the glass door on the west veranda; andalso that the crimson drapery or curtain was drawn aside?"
"I recall it distinctly because, while Gen'l Darrington was reading mymother's letter, I looked out through the glass at the chrysanthemumsblooming in the garden."
"That door was almost opposite the chimney, and the safe or vault inthe wall was very near the fireplace. It appears that when thechloroform failed to stupefy Gen'l Darrington, he got up and seized oneof the andirons on the hearth, and attacked the thief who was stealinghis money. While they were struggling in front of the vault, a burst ofelectricity, some peculiarly vivid flash of lightning, sent by fate, byyour guardian angel, it may have been by God himself--photographed bothmen, and the interior of the room on the wide glass panel of that door.Forms, faces, features, even the pattern of the cloth coat, are printedplainly there, for the whole world to study. The murderer and thevictim in mortal combat over the tin box. Accident--shall I sayProvidence--unexpectedly brought this witness to light. The curtain solong looped back, was recently lowered, and when, two days ago, theoutside blinds were opened, there lay your complete vindication. Crowdshave seen it; the newspaper issued an 'extra', and so general was therejoicing, that a public demonstration would have been made here at thegaol, had not Churchill and I harangued the people and assured them itwould only annoy and embarrass you. So you are free. Free to shake thedust of X---forever from your feet; and it must comfort your proud soulto know that you do not owe your liberty to the mercy of a communitywhich wronged you. I forbade Singleton to tell you, to allow anypremature hint to reach you; for I claimed the privilege of bringingthe glad tidings. Last night I spent in that room at 'Elm Bluff',guarding that door; and the vigil was cheered by the picture hope drew,that when I came to-day you would greet me kindly; would lay your dearhands in mine, and tell me that, at least, gratitude would always keepa place for me warm in your noble heart. I have my recompense in theold currency of scorn. It were well for you if you had shown me yourhatred less plainly; now I shall indulge less hesitation in followingthe clue the lightning lays in my grasp. I warn you that your releaseonly expedites his arrest; for you can never pass beyond mysurveillance; and the day you hasten to him, seals his fate. Longimprisoned doves, when set free, fly straight to their distant mates;so--take care--lest the hawk overtake both."
Looking up at him, listening almost breathlessly to the tale of adeliverance that involved new peril for Bertie, the color came slowlyback to her blanched face, and her parted lips quivered.
"If the picture means anything, it proves that Gen'l Darrington madethe assault with the brass andiron, and in the
struggle that followed,the man you saw might have killed him in self defence."
"When he is brought to trial in X--he shall never be allowed thebenefit of your affectionate supposition. I promise you, that I willannihilate your tenderly devised theory."
He ground his teeth in view of the transparent fact, that she was toointently considering the bearing of the revelation upon the safety ofanother, to heed the thought of her own escape from bondage.
The little cluster of flowers fastened at her throat had becomeloosened, and fell unnoticed into her lap. He stooped, picked them up,and straightened them on his palm. When his eyes returned to Beryl, shehad bowed her face in her shielding hands.
How little he dreamed that she was silently praying for strength todeny the cry of her own beating heart, and to keep him from makingshipwreck of the honor which she supposed was still pledged to Leo!Security for her brother, and unswerving loyalty to the absent womanwho had befriended her in the darkest hours of the accusation, wereobjects difficult to accomplish simultaneously; yet at every hazard shewould struggle on. Because she had learned to love so well this man,who was the promised husband of another, conscience made her mercilessto her own disloyalty.
Mr. Dunbar laid on the bench a small package sealed in yellow paper.
"Knowing that your detention here has necessarily forfeited all theindustrial engagements by which you maintained yourself, before youcame South, I have been requested to ask your acceptance of this purse,which contains sufficient money to defray your expenses until youresume your art labors. It is an offering from your twelve jurors."
"No--no. I could never touch it. Tell them for me that I am notvindictive. I know they did the best they could for me, in view of theevidence. Tell them I am grateful for their offer, but I cannot acceptit. I--"
"You imagine I am one of the generous contributors? Be easy; I have notoffered you a cent. I am merely the bearer of the gift, or rather theattempt at restitution. Your refusal will grieve them, and add to thepangs of regret that very justly afflict them at present."
"I have some money which Doctor Grantlin collected for my Christmascard. He retained only a portion of the amount, and sent me theremainder. Mr. Singleton keeps it for me, and it is all that I neednow."
"The purse contains also a ticket to New York, as it has been supposedthat you would desire to return there at once."
"Take all back, with my earnest thanks. I prefer to owe X--only theremembrance of the great kindness which some few have shown me. Theofficers here have been uniformly considerate and courteous to me; Mr.and Mrs. Singleton will ever be very dear to me for numberless kinddeeds; and Sister Serena was a staff of strength during that frightfulblack week of the trial."
She paused, and her voice betrayed something of the tumult at herheart, as while a sudden wave of scarlet overflowed her cheeks, sherose and held out both hands.
"Mr. Dunbar, if I have seemed unappreciative of your great exertions inmy behalf, it is merely because there are some matters which I cannever explain in this world. One thing I ask you to believe when I amgone. I will never, so long as I live, cease to remember the debt I oweyou. I am and shall be inexpressibly grateful to you, and whenever Ithink of my terrible sojourn here, be sure I shall recall tenderly--oh!how tenderly! the two friends who trusted and believed in my innocence,when all the world denounced me; the two who generously clung to mewhen public opinion branded me as an outcast--you two--my best friends,you and Miss Gordon. It makes me proud and happy to know in this hourof my vindication, that in her, and in your good opinion, I needednone. Out of your united lives, let me pass as a fleeting gray shadow."
"Out of my life you can never pass. Into it you have broughtdisappointment, humiliation, and a keenness of suffering such as Inever imagined I was capable of enduring; and some recompense I willhave. You hope to plunge into the vortex of a great city, where you canelude observation and obliterate all traces. Do not cherish the ghostof such a delusion. Go where you may, but I give you fair warning, youcannot escape me; and the day you meet that guilty vagabond, you betrayhim to the scouts of justice."
He held her hands in a close, warm clasp, and a flush crossed his brow,as he looked down into her quivering face where a smile which he couldnot interpret, seemed only a challenge.
"Would a generous man, worthy of Miss Gordon, harass and persecute avery unhappy and unfortunate woman, who asks at his hands only to beforgotten completely, to be left in peace?"
"I lay no claim to generosity, and, where you are concerned, I amsupremely selfish. Miss Gordon has no need of your championship; she isquite equal to redressing her own wrongs, when the necessity presentsitself. You are struggling to free your hands, so be it. I have a closecarriage at the gate, and to make assurance doubly sure, I have come totake you to 'Elm Bluff'; to show you the face, and ask you to identifyit. Understand me, I will harass you with no questions; nor will Iintrude upon you there. I have ordered the grounds cleared, have postedpolice to prevent the possibility of any occurrence unpleasant to you;and all I ask is, that alone, you will examine this witness, producedso strangely for your justification. I shall wait for you in the rosegarden, and if you can come down from that gallery and tell me that theface is unknown to you, that the man photographed in the act ofstealing, is a stranger, is not the man you love so well that you boreworse than death to save him from punishment, then I will give up thequest; and you may flee unwatched to the ends of the earth."
"Never again will I see that place which has blasted every hope thatlife held for me."
"Not even to clear away aspersion from his beloved name?"
"I pray God, his beloved and sacred name may never be associated with acrime so awful."
"You will not go to see the face? Remember, I shall ask you neither yeanor nay. I shall need only to look once into your eyes, after you haveseen the Gorgon. Beryl, my white rose! Are you ashamed to show me youridol's face?"
"I will never go to 'Elm Bluff'."
"It is no longer necessary. You know already the features printedthere, and your avoidance stamps them with infamy. How can your loftysoul, your pure heart, tolerate a creature so craven, so vile?"
"We love not always whom we would, or should, were choice permitted us;and to whom I have given my heart, my whole deep heart, you shall neverlearn."
The mournful smile that lent such wistful loveliness to her flushedface, seemed to him merely a renewed defiance.
"I bide my time, knowing it will surely come. You are free, but becareful. Once when you lay upon the brink of the grave, unconscious, Iknelt at your side and took you in my arms; laid your head on my heart,felt your cheek touch mine. Then and there I made a covenant with mysoul; and no other man's arms shall ever enfold you. Ah, my Rosa Alba!I could dig your grave with my own hands, sooner than see that thiefclaim you. I am a proud man, and you have dragged me through the sloughof humiliation, but to-day, as I bid you good-bye, I realize how onefelt, who looking at the bust of him she loved supremely, said with herlast breath: 'Voila mon univers, mon espoir, et mes dieux!' How soon wemeet again depends solely on your future course. You know theconditions; and I promise you I will not swerve one iota."
He took her hand, drew it across his cheek, laid it on his lips; and amoment later walked away, with the faded flowers folded close in hispalm.