At the Mercy of Tiberius

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER XIII.

  During the early stages of her convalescence, Beryl, though perfectlyrational, asked no questions, made no reference to her gloomysurroundings and maintained a calm, but mournful taciturnity, verypuzzling to Mrs. Singleton, who ascribed it at first to mentalprostration, which rendered her comparatively obtuse; but ere long, adifferent solution presented itself, and she marvelled at the silencewith which a desperate battle was fought. With returning consciousness,the prisoner had grasped the grievous burden of her fate, unflinchinglylifted and bound it upon her shoulders; and though she reeled and bentunder it, made no moan, indulged no regret, uttered no invective.

  One cold dismal day, when not a rift was visible in the leaden sky, anda slanting gray veil of sleety rain darkened the air and pelted thedumb, shivering earth, Beryl sat on the side of her cot, with her feetresting on the round of a chair, and her hands clasped at the back ofher head. Her eyes remarkably large from the bluish circles illness hadworn beneath them, were fixed in a strained, unwinking, far-away gazeupon the window, where black railing showed the outside world asthrough some grim St. Lawrence's gridiron.

  From time to time the warden's wife glanced from her sewing toward themotionless figure, reluctant to obtrude upon her revery, yet equallyloath to leave her a prey to melancholy musing. After a while, she sawthe black lashes quiver, and fall upon the waxen cheeks, then, as shewatched, great tears glittered, rolled slowly, dripped softly, butthere was no sigh, no sound of sobs. Leaning closer, she laid her armacross the girl's knee.

  "What is it, dearie? Tell me."

  There was no immediate reply; when Beryl spoke, her voice was calm, lowand measured, as in one where all the springs of youth, hope, andenergy are irreparably broken.

  "Every Gethsemane has its strengthening Angels. The agony of the Gardenbrought them to Christ. I thank God, mine did not fail me. If they hadnot come, I think I could never have borne this last misery that earthcan inflict upon me. My mother is dead."

  "Why distress yourself with sad forebodings? Weakness makes youdespondent, but you must try to hope for the best; and I dare say in afew days, you will have good news from your mother."

  "I shook hands with Hope, and in her place sits the only companion whowill abide with me during the darkness that is coming on--Patience,pale-browed, meek-eyed, sad-lipped Patience. If I can only keep my holdupon her skirts, till the end. To me, no good news can ever come. Aslong 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. Iknow my mother is dead; I have seen her."

  "Wake up, child. Your brain is weak yet and full of queer deliriousvisions, and when you doze, realities and dreams are all jumbledtogether. You have a deal too much sense to harbor any crazy spiritualcrankiness. Take your wine, and lie down. You have sat up too long, andtired yourself."

  "No. I have wanted to tell you for several days, because you have beenso good, and I have heard you praying here at night that God would bemerciful to me; but I waited until I had strength to be calm. I havelain here day after day, and night after night, face to face withdesolation 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--theworst is over. When you consent to fate, and stretch out your arms tomeet death, there is no more terror, only waiting, weary waiting. I amnot superstitious, and unfortunately I am not one of the victims ofdementia, whose spectral woes are born of disordered brains. I am sadlysane; 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 andease came suddenly upon me. I swung in some soft tender arms, close tothe gates of Release, and the iron bars melted away, and my soul wasborne toward the wonderful light; but suddenly a shock, a strangethrill 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 littlelonger,' My mother wept, and said, 'My good little girl. So faithful,so true. I died in peace, trusting your promise. For my sake can youendure 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 Gateof Release, turned his back upon me. I had almost escaped; I was closeto the other world, and I was conscious. I saw my mother's spirit; itwas no delirious fancy. I know that she is dead. Even in the world ofthe released, she grieves over the awful consequences of my obedienceto her wishes. Mortal agony of body and soul brings us so near to theborderland, that we have glimpses; and those we love, lean across theboundary line and compassionate us. So my Gethsemane called down theone strengthening Angel of all the heavenly hosts, who had most powerto comfort my heart, and gird me for my fate, my father, my noblefather. 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 thedull patter of the rain, and the persistent purring of a kitten curledup on the cot were audible. Mrs. Singleton finished the buttonhole inDick's apron, and threaded her needle.

  "If it comforts you at all to believe that, I have no right to sayanything."

  "You think, however, that I am the victim of some hallucination?"

  "Not even that. I think you had a very vivid dream, and beingexhausted, you mistook a feverish vision for a real apparition. I can'tbelieve your mother is dead, because if such were the case, Dyce wouldhave returned at once, and told us."

  "Dyce has a kind heart, and shrinks from bringing me the sad news; forshe knows my cup was already full. I know that my mother is dead. Timewill show you that I make no mistake. The veil was lifted, and I sawbeyond."

  "Maybe so; may be not. I am stubborn in my opinions, and I never couldthink it possible for flesh to commune with spirits. Don't let us talkabout anything that disturbs you, until you regain your strength. Whywill you not try a little of this port wine? Miss Gordon brought ityesterday, and insisted I should give it to you, three times a day. Itis very old and mellow. Look at things practically. God kept you alivefor some wise purpose, and since you are obliged to face trouble, is itnot better to arm yourself with all the physical vigor possible? Drinkthis, 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. Theirengagement is no secret, and he is a lucky man; for she is as good asshe is pretty, and as sweet as she is rich. She has shown such a tenderinterest in you, and manifests so much sympathy, that I am sure shewill influence him in your favor, and I feel so encouraged about yourfuture."

  A shadowy smile crossed the girl's wan face,

  "Invest no hope in my future; for escape is as impossible for me, asfor that innocent victim foreordained to entangle his horns in thethicket on Mount Moriah. He could have fled from the sacrificial fire,and from Abraham's uplifted knife, back to dewy green pasturespoppy-starred, back to some cool dell where Syrian oleanders flushedthe shade, as easily as I can defy these walls, loosen the chain offate, elude my awful doom."

  "It is because you are not yet yourself, that you take such adespairing view of matters. After a while, things will look verydifferent, and you are too plucky to surrender your life without abrave fight. A great change has come over Mr. Dunbar, and there is notelling what he cannot do, when he sets to work. If ever a lawyer'sheart has been gnawed by remorse, it is his. He and Miss Gordontogether can pull you out of the bog, and I believe they will."

  "Mr. Dunbar's professional reputation is more precious in his sightthan 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, butGod consents; so I make no struggle, for behind fate stands God--and myfather."

  Wearily she leaned back on her pillows, and turned her face to thewall. Mrs. Singleton drew the blankets over her, folded her own shawlabout the shoulders, and smoothing away the hair, kissed her on thetemple; then stole into the adjoin
ing room, where her children slept.

  Before the fire that leaped and crackled in the wide chimney, andleaning forward to rest her turbaned head against the mantelpiece,while she spread her hands toward the blaze, stood a much muffledfigure.

  "Dyce!"

  Mrs. Singleton had left the door ajar, and the old woman turned andpointed to it, laying one finger on her lips; but the warning came toolate.

  "Hush! I don't want her to know I am here. Your husband told me she wassitting up, and in her right mind, but too weak to stand any moretrouble. I wish I could run away, and never see her again, for when Igo in there, I feel like I was carrying a knife to cut the heart out ofa fawn, what the hounds had barely left life in. I can't bear thethought of having to tell her--"

  Dyce covered her face with her shawl, to stifle her sobs, and her largeframe 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 intoone beside her.

  "Do you know exactly what time she died?"

  "Yes--I had it all put down in black and white. She died on Tuesdaynight, 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 thathour that Beryl lay in the stupor of the crisis, from which she awokeperfectly conscious, and recalled the dream that the sick girl held asa 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 issuingfrom the next room; the harsh sound of something scraping the barefloor.

  "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 mybrains had been put in a pot and biled. The Lord knows His bizness, ofcourse; yes, of course He knows the best to do; but 'pears to me, Hismercy hid its face behind His wrath, when He saw fit to let that poorinnercent young creetur in there get well, after her ma was laid in thegrave. It will be a harder heart than mine what can stand by, and tellher 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 pusheda chair before her, until she reached the door, and now stood graspingit, swaying to and fro, as she endeavored to steady herself. One handheld at her throat the black shawl, whose loosened folds fell like amourning mantle to her feet, the other clutched the door, against theedge 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 canhurt me now. I cannot suffer any more, because I am bruised and beatento 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 shehad been a child, she bore her back to her small bleak room, laid hersoftly on her cot, then knelt down, and burst into a fit of passionatecrying.

  As if to shut out some torturing vision, Beryl clasped her hands overher 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 atall. When I got to New York, and found the Doctor's house, he was notat 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 Igive him your note, he looked dreadful cut up, and tole me Miss Elliehad all the care and 'tention in the world, but nothin' couldn't saveher. 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 toharrify your heart. The Doctor comforted her all he could, and tole herbizness of importance had done kept you South. Miss Ellie axed how longshe could live; he said only a few hours. She begged him to prop herup, 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 mereand fell back speechless. He pat the piece of paper in a invellop andsealed 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. Thatwas about four o'clock in the evening of Tuesday. She had a sort ofspasm, and went to sleep. At two o'clock, she woke up in Heaven. Hesaid he felt so sorry for you--dear lamb! He wouldn't let them burryher where most was hurried that died in the hospital. He had her laidaway 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, andeverything was done as you would have wanted it; and he cut off some ofthe beautiful hair--and--"

  Dyce smothered her sobs in the bedclothes, but Beryl lay like a stoneimage.

  "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 theward Miss Ellie was in, and I got all her clothes, and packed 'em in abox and brought 'em home. She told me pretty much what the doctor hadsaid, only she was shore your ma spoke jest before she died, and calledtwice--'Ignace! Ignace!' She said she was beautiful as a angel and herhair was a wonder to all who saw her, it was so long and so lovely. Shetole me the doctor hissef put a big bunch of white carnations andtuberoses in her hand, after they put her in the coffin, and she lookedlike a queen. The doctor wrote you a letter 'splainin' everything, andsent it to the postmaster here. He seemed dreadfull grieved and'stonished when I tole him how I had left you, and said if he couldhelp you, he would be very glad to do it. I tole him we would pay hisbill, as soon as this here trial bizness was over; and he answered:'Tut--tut; bill indeed! That poor unfortunate girl need never worryover any bill of mine. I did all I could for her mother, but the bestof us fail sometimes. Tell that poor child to come and see me, as soonas she gets out of the clutches of those fire-eating devils downSouth.' Honey, I couldn't be satisfied without seeing for myself, wherethey 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 manin a uniform showed me Doctor Grantlin's lot. Oh, my lamb! That was thefirst and only comfort I had, when I stood in front of that grandlovely marble potico--with great angels kneeling on the four corners,and knew my dear young mistiss was resting in such a beautiful place. Ifelt so proud that ole mistiss' chile was among the best people,sleeping with flowers in her hands, in that white marble house! Iwanted to be shore there warn't no mistake, and the keeper of thegraveyard tole me a lady had been put 'temporary' in the vault, fourdays before. I had bought a bunch of violets from a flower shop, but Icould not get nearer than the door, where some brass rods was stretchedlike a kind of a net; so I laid my little bunch down on the marblesteps, close as I could push it agin the rod; and though I couldn't seemy dear young mistiss, maybe--up in heaven--she will know her poor olemammy 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, Dycetook 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 itwould be very precious to you, but he felt shore he could trust me tobring it safe. Now, honey, I know you want to be by yourself, when youread 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'tstan' no more misery jest now, sech as this."

 
For some moments, Beryl lay motionless, then the intolerable agonyclutched her throat with an aching sense of suffocation, and she satup, with nerveless hands lying on the package in her lap. She wasprepared for, expectant of the worst, but the details added keenerstings to suffering that had benumbed her. At last, with a shudderingsigh, she broke the seal, and took from folds of tissue paper, a longthick tress of the beautiful black hair. Shaking it out of its satincoil, she held it up, then wrapped it smoothly over her hand, and laidit caressingly against her cheek.

  Prison walls melted away; she stood again in the New York attic, andcombed, and brushed, and braided those raven locks, and saw the wanface of the beloved invalid, and the jasmine and violets she had pinnedat her throat.

  What had become of the proud, high-spirited ambitious girl, who laughedat adverse fortune, and forgot poverty in lofty aspirations? How longago it seemed, since she kissed the dear faded cheek, and knelt for hermother's farewell benediction. Was it the same world? Was she the sameBeryl; was the eternal and unchanging God over all, as of yore? She hadshattered and ruined the sparkling crystal goblet of her young life,scattering in the dust the golden wine of happy hope, in the effort toserve and comfort that loved sufferer, who, languishing on a hospitalcot, had died among strangers; had been shrouded by hirelings. That anyother hand than hers had touched her sacred dead, seemed a profanation;and at the thought of the last rites rendered, the loyal child shiveredas though some polluting grasp had been laid upon herself. Out of theenvelope rolled a broad hoop of reddish gold, her mother's weddingring; and in zigzag lines across a sheet of paper was written the lastmessage:

  "My dear, good little girl, so faithful, so true, my legacy of love isyour mother's blessing. You must be comforted to know I am dying inpeace, 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 notfor her; the sacred souvenir was left for the hand that had so oftenstabbed the idolatrous heart, now stilled forever.

  In all ages the ninety and nine that go not astray, never feel thecaressing touch which the yearning Shepherd lays on the obstinatewanderer, who would not pasture in peace; and from the immemorial dawnof inchoate civilization, prodigals have possessed the open sesame toparental hearts that seemed barred against the more dutiful. By whatperverted organon of ethics has it come to pass in sociology, that thebadge of favoritism is rarely the guerdon of merit?

  To the orphaned, forsaken, disgraced captive, sitting amid the sombreruins of her life, drinking the bitter lees of the fatal cup a mother'shand had forced to her reluctant lips, there seemed nothing strange inthe injustice meted out; for had not the second place in maternal lovealways 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 inthe 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 yourlittle girl, as a strengthening amulet. The sight of it will hold mefirm, will girdle my soul with fortitude, as it girdles my finger; willset a yet holier seal to the compact whereby I pledged my life, thatyou might die in peace. If, in the last hour, you had known all myperil, all that my promise entails, would you have released me? Wouldyou have died content knowing that your idol was guarded and safe,behind the cold shield of your little girl's polluted body? The bloodin my veins flowed from yours; I slept on your heart, I was the lastbaby whose lips fed at your bosom. Mother! Mother, if you had knownall, could you have seen the load of guilt and shame and woe laid onyour innocent child, and bought the life of your first-born, by thesacrifice of a scapegoat? Dear mother, my mother, would you shelterhim, and leave your baby to die?"

  Slipping the ring on her finger, she kissed it twice. The hot flood oftears overflowed, and she fell on her knees beside the cot, claspingher hands above her bowed head.

  "Alone in my desolation! Oh, father! keep close to my soul, and praythat I may have strength to bear my burden, even to the end. My God! MyGod! sustain me now. Help me to be patient, and when the sacrifice isfinished, accept it for Christ's sake, and grant that the soul of mybrother may be ransomed, because I die for his sins."