At the Mercy of Tiberius

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  If it be true that the universal Law of Labor, physical or mental,emanated from the Creator as a penal statute, for disobedience whichforfeited Eden, how merciful and how marvellous is the delicacy of anadjustment, whereby all growth of body, mind and soul being conditionedby work, humanity converts punishment into benediction; escapesdegeneration, attains development solely in accordance with theprovisions of the primeval curse, man's heritage of labor? Amid thewreck of sacerdotal systems, the destruction of national gods, theperiodical tidal waves of scepticism, the gospel of work maintainstriumphantly its legions of evangels; its apostolic succession directfrom Adam; its myriad temples always alight with altar fires, alwaysvocal with the sublime hymn swelling from millions of consecratedthroats.

  The one infallible tonic for weakened souls, the one supreme balm forbruised hearts is the divinely distilled chrism of labor.

  Absorbed in the round of duties that employed her hands and thoughts,and necessitated dedication of every waking hour, Beryl found moresolace than she had dared to hope; and the artistic fancies which shehad supposed extinguished, spread their frail gossamer wings andfluttered shyly into the serene sunshine that had broken rpon herfrozen life. The distinctively ornamental character of many of theindustrial pursuits at the "Anchorage", demanded originality andvariety of designs, and as this department had been assigned to her,she entered with increasing zest the tempting field of congenialemployment; yet day by day, bending over her tasks, she never lostsight of the chain that clanked at her wrist, that bound her to ahideous past, to a murky, lowering and menacing future.

  Weeks slipped away, months rolled on; Autumn overtook her. Winter snowsand sleet blanched the heavenly blue of the dimpling lake, and notidings reached her from the wanderer, for whom she prayed. Theadvertisement had elicited no reply, and though it had long ceased toappear, she daily searched the personal column of the "Herald", with avague expectation of some response. If her brother still lived, was theworld so wide, that she could never trace his erring passage throughit? Would no instinct of natural affection prompt him to seek news ofthe mother who had idolized him? After a while she must renew thequest, but for the present, safety demanded her seclusion; and sinceonly Doctor Grantlin knew the place of her retreat, she felt securefrom discovery.

  One Spring day, when warm South winds had kissed open the spicy lips oflilacs, and yellowed the terrace with crocus flakes, Beryl dismissedher class of pupils in drawing and painting, and was engaged in dustingthe plaster casts, and arranging the palettes and pencils left indisorder. The door opened, and a pretty, young German Sister looked in.

  "Sister Ruth have need of you to do some errands; and you must go onthe street; so you will get your bonnet and veil. Is it that you willbe there soon?"

  "I will come at once, Sister Elsbeth."

  For several days Sister Ruth had been confined to her room byinflammatory rheumatism, and when Beryl entered, the invalid presentedthe appearance of a mummy swathed in red flannel.

  "I am sorry to disturb you, and equally sorry that I feel obliged toexact a reluctant service, because I know you dislike to visit thebusiness part of the city, and there I must send you. This note fromMrs. Vanderdonk will explain the nature of the business, which I canintrust to no one except yourself; and you will see that the commissionadmits of no delay. Here is your car fare. Go first to No. 100 LucreAvenue, talk fully with Mrs. Vanderdonk, and then ride down to Jardon &Jackson's and get all the material you think will be required. You willobserve, she lays great stress on the superfine quality of the plush.Order the bill delivered with the goods; and if anything be required inyour department, you had better leave the list with Kling & Turner."

  Three squares south of the "Anchorage" ran a line of street cars whichcarried her away to the heart of the city; and at the expiration of anhour and a half, Beryl had executed the commission, and was walkinghomeward, watching for a car which would expedite her return. Dreadingidentification, she went rarely into the great thoroughfare; and nowfelt doubly shielded from observation by the Quaker-shaped drab bonnetand veil that covered her white cap. As she was passing the entrance ofa dancing academy, a throng of boys and girls poured out, filling thesidewalk, and creating a temporary blockade, through which a gentlemanladen with several packages, elbowed his way. A moment later, Beryl'sfoot struck some obstacle, and looking down she saw a large portfoliolying on the pavement. It was a handsome morocco case, with theinitials "G. McI.", stamped in gilt upon the cover, which was tied withwell-worn strings. She held it up, looked around, even turned back,thinking that the owner might have returned to search for it; but thegentleman who had hurried through the crowd was no longer visible, andin the distance she fancied she saw a similar figure cross the street,and spring upon a car rolling in the opposite direction.

  The human clot had dissolved, the juvenile assembly had drifted away;and as no one appeared to claim the lost article, she signalled to thedriver of the car passing just then, entered and took a seat in onecorner. The only passengers were two nurses with bands of little ones,seeking fresh air in a neighboring park; and slipping the book underher veil, Beryl began to examine its contents. A glance showed her thatit belonged to some artist, and was filled with sketches neatlynumbered and dated; while between the leaves lay specimens of ferns andlichens carefully pressed.

  The studies were varied, and in all stages of advancement; here two elkheads and a buffalo; there a gaunt coyote crouching in the chaparral; acluster of giant oaks; far off, a waving line of mountain peaks; acanon with vultures sailing high above it; cow boys, and a shorelesssea of prairie, with no shadows except those cast by filmy cloudsdrifting against the sun. Slowly turning the leaves, which showedeverywhere a master's skilful hand, Beryl found two sheets of papertied together with a strand of silk; and between them lay a fold oftissue paper, to preserve some delicate lines. She untied the knot, andcarefully lifted the tissue, looking at the sketch.

  A faint, inarticulate cry escaped her, and she sank back an instant inthe corner of the seat; but the chatter of the nurses, and thewhimpering wail of one dissatisfied baby mercifully drowned the sound.The car, the trees on the Street, the belfry of a church seemedspinning in some witch's dance, and an icy wind swept over and chilledher. She threw aside her veil, stooped, and her lips whitened.

  What was there in the figure of a kneeling monk, to drive the blood incold waves to her throbbing heart? The sketch represented the head andshoulders of a man, whose cowl had fallen back, exposing the outlinesand moulding of a face and throat absolutely flawless in beauty, yetdarkened by the reflection of some overpowering and irremediable woe.The features were youthful as St. Sebastian's; the expression that ofone prematurely aged by severe and unremitting mental conflict; butneither shaven crown, nor cowl availed to disguise Bertie Brentano, andas his sister's eyes gazed at the sketch, it wavered, swam, vanished ina mist of tears.

  In one corner of the sheet a man's hand had written "Brother Luke",August the 10th. Had relenting fate, or a merciful prayer-answering-Godplaced in her hand the long sought clue? When Beryl recovered from theshock of recognition, and looked around, she found the car empty; anddiscovered that she had been carried several squares beyond the streetwhere she intended to get out and walk.

  Carefully replacing the tissue paper and silk thread, she tied theleathern straps of the portfolio, and left the car, holding thesketches close to her heart as she hurried homeward. When she turned acorner and caught sight of the bronze anchor over the door, sheinvoluntarily slackened her pace, and at the same moment a policemancrossed the street, stood in front of her, and touched his cap. Thesight of his uniform thrilled her with a premonition of danger.

  "Pardon me, Sister, but something has been lost on the street."

  "A portfolio? I have found it."

  "It is very valuable to the owner."

  "I intend having it advertised in to-morrow's paper."

  "The person to whom it belongs, wishes to leave the city; to-nig
ht,hence his haste in trying to recover it."

  "I picked it up in front of Heilwiggs' Dancing Academy. How did youknow who had found it?"

  "The owner discovered he had dropped it, soon after he boarded a car,where Captain Tunstall of our force happened to be, and he at oncetelegraphed to all the stations to be on the look out. A boot-blackwhose stand is near Heilwiggs', reported that he saw one of the 'GrayWomen' pick up something, and get on an upbound car. Our station wastelephoned to interview the 'Anchorage', so you see we are prompt. Iwas just going over to ring the bell, and make inquiries."

  "Who lost the book?"

  "A man named McIlvane, an Englishman I think, who is obliged to hurryon to-night, in order to catch some New York steamer where his passageis engaged."

  "You are sure he is a foreigner?" asked Beryl, who was feverishlyrevolving the possibility that the sketch belonged to some detective,and was intended for identification of the picture on the glass door atX----.

  "You can't be sure of anything that is only lip deep, but that was theaccount telephoned to us. There is a reward of twenty dollars if thebook is delivered by eight P.M.; after that time, ten dollars, anddirections left by which to forward it to London. He said it wasworthless to anybody else, but contained a lot of pictures he valued."

  "I do not want the reward, but before I surrender the portfolio, I mustsee the owner."

  "Why?"

  "For reasons that concern only myself. He can come here, and claim hisproperty; or I will take it to him, and restore it, after he hasanswered some questions. You are quite welcome to the reward, which Iam sure you merit because of your promptness and circumspection. Willyou notify him that he can obtain his book by calling at the'Anchorage'?"

  "Our instructions are, to deliver the book at Room 213, Hotel Lucullus.It is now four o'clock."

  "I will not surrender the book to you; but I will accompany you to thehotel, and deliver it to the owner in your presence. Let us lose notime."

  "Very well. Sister, I'll keep a little behind, and jump on the firstred star car that passes down. Look out for me on the platform, andI'll stop the car for you."

  "Thank you," said Beryl, wondering whether the sanctity of her garbexacted this mark of deference, or whether the instinctive chivalry ofAmerican manhood prompted him to spare her the appearance of policesurveillance.

  Keeping her in sight, he loitered until they found themselves on thesame car, where the officer, apparently engrossed by his cigarette,retained his stand on the rear platform. In front of the hotel twoomnibuses were discharging their human freight, and in the confusion,Beryl and her escort passed unobserved into the building. He motionedher into one of the reception rooms on the second floor, and made hisway to the office.

  Drawing her quaint bonnet as far over her face as possible, andstraightening her veil, Beryl sat down on a sofa and tried to quiet thebeating of her pulses, the nervous tremor that shook her. She hadventured shyly out of her covert, and like all other hunted creatures,trembled at her own daring in making capture feasible. Memory renderedher vaguely apprehensive; bitter experience quickened her suspicions.

  Was she running straight into some fatal trap, ingeniously baited withher brother's portrait? Would the Sheriff in X----, would Mr. Dunbarhimself, recognize her in her gray disguise? She walked to a mirror setin the wall, and stared at her own image, put up one hand and pushedout of sight every ring of hair that showed beneath the white capfrill; then reassured, resumed her seat. How long the waiting seemed.

  Somebody's pet Skye terrier, blanketed with scarlet satin embroideredwith a monogram in gilt, had defied the bienseance of fashionablecanine and feline etiquette, by flying at somebody's sedate, snowyMaltese cat, whose collar of silver bells jangled out of tune, as thecombatants rolled on the velvet carpet, swept like a cyclone throughthe reception room, fled up the corridor. Two pretty children, gay asparoquets, in their cardinal plush cloaks, ran to the piano and began afurious tattoo, while their nurse gossiped with the bell boy.

  With her hands locked around the portfolio, Beryl sat watching thedoor; and at last the policeman appeared at the threshold, where hepaused an instant, then vanished.

  A gentleman apparently forty years of age came in, and approached her.He was short in stature, florid, slightly bald; wore mutton chopwhiskers, and a traveling suit of gray tweed broadly checked.

  Beryl rose, the stranger bowed.

  "Ah, you have my sketch book! Madam, I am eternally your debtor.Intrinsically worthless, perhaps; yet there are reasons which make itinestimably valuable to me."

  "I picked it up from the pavement, and though I opened and examined it,you will find the contents intact. Will you look through it?"

  "Oh! I dare say it is all right. No one cares for unfinished sketches,and these are mere studies."

  He untied the thongs, turned over a dozen or more papers, then closedthe lid, and put his hand in his pocket.

  "I offered a reward to--"

  "I wish no fee, sir; but the policeman has taken some trouble in thematter, and without his aid I should probably not have been able torestore it. Pay him what you promised, or may deem proper; and thenpermit me to ask for some information, which I think you can give me."

  She beckoned to the officer who looked in just then; and when the moneyhad been counted into his hand, the latter lifted his cap.

  "Sister, shall I see you safe on the car?"

  "Thank you, no. I can find my way home. I teach drawing at the'Anchorage', and desire to ask a few questions of this gentleman, who Iam sure is an artist."

  When the policeman had left them, Beryl took the portfolio and openedit, while the owner watched her curiously, striving to penetrate thesilver gray folds of her veil.

  "May I ask whether you expect to leave America immediately?"

  "I expect to sail on the steamer for Liverpool next Saturday."

  "Have you relatives in this country?"

  "None. I am merely a tourist, seeking glimpses of the best of this vastcontinent of yours."

  "Did you make these sketches?"

  "I did, from time to time; in fact, mine has been a sketching tour, andthis book is one of several I have filled in America."

  With trembling fingers she untied the silk, lifted the sketch, and saidin a voice which, despite her efforts, quivered:

  "I hope, sir, you will not consider me unwarrantably inquisitive, if Iask, where did you see this face?"

  "Ah! My monk of the mountains? That is 'Brother Luke'; looks like oneof Il Frate's wonderful heads, does he not? I saw him--let me see?Egad! Just exactly where it was, that is the rub! It was far west,beyond Assiniboia; somewhere in Alberta I am sure."

  "Was it on British soil, or in the United States?"

  "Certainly in British territory; and on one of the excursions I madefrom Calgary. I think it was while hunting in the mountains betweenAlberta and British Columbia. Let me see the sketch. Yes--10th ofAugust; I was in that region until 1st of September."

  Beryl drew a deep breath of intense relief, as she reflected thatforeign territory might bar pursuit; and leaning forward, she askedhesitatingly:

  "Have you any objection to telling me the circumstances under which yousaw him; the situation in which you found him?"

  "None whatever; but may I ask if you know him? Is my sketch so good aportrait?"

  "It is wonderfully like one I knew years ago; and of whom I desire toreceive tidings. My friend is a handsome man about twenty-four years ofage."

  "I was camping out with a hunting party, and one day while they wereaway gunning, I went to sketch a bit of fir wood clinging to the sideof a rocky gorge. The day was hot, and I sat down to rest in the shadowof a stone ledge, that jutted over the cove where a spring bubbled fromthe crag, and made a ribbon of water. Here is the place, on this sheet.Over there, are the fir trees. Very soon I heard a rich voice chantinga solemn strain from Palestrinas' Miserere; the very music I hadlistened to in the Sistine Chapel, a few months before; and peepingfrom my sheltered noo
k, I saw a man clad in monkish garb stoop to drinkfrom the spring. He sat a while, with his arms clasped around hisknees, and his profile was so perfect I seized my pencil and drew theoutlines; but before I completed it, he suddenly fell upon his knees,and the intense anguish, remorse, contrition--what not--so changed thecountenance, that while he prayed, I made rapidly a new sketch. Thenthe most extraordinary thing happened. He rose, and turning fullytoward me, I saw that one-half of his face was nobly regular,classically perfect; while the other side was hideously distorted,deformed. Absolutely he was 'Hyperion and Satyr' combined--with one setof features between them. I suppose my astonishment caused me to uttersome exclamation, for he glanced up the cliff, saw me, turned and fled.I shouted and ran, but could not overtake him, and when I reached theopen space, I saw a figure speeding away on a white mustang pony, andknew from the fluttering of the black skirts that it was the same man.My sketch shows the right side of his face, the other was drawn downalmost beyond the lineaments of humanity. Beg pardon, madam, but wouldyou be so good as to tell me whether this freak of nature wascongenital, or the result of some frightful accident?"

  Beryl had shut her eyes, and her lips were compressed to stifle themoan that struggled in her throat. When she spoke, the strangerdetected a change in her voice.

  "The person whose countenance was recalled by your sketch, wasafflicted by no physical blemish, when last I saw him."

  "His appearance was so singular, that I made sundry inquiries abouthim, but only one person seemed ever to have encountered him; and thatwas a half-breed Indian driver, belonging to our party. He told me,'Brother Luke' belonged to a band of monks living somewhere beyond themountains; and that he sometimes crossed, searching for stray cattle.That is the history of my sketch, and since I am indebted to you forits recovery, I regret for your sake that it is so meagre."

  "It was last August that you made the sketch?"

  "Last August. And now may I ask, to whom my thanks are due?"

  "I am merely an humble member of a sisterhood of working women, and myname could possess no interest for you. I owe you an apology fortrespassing upon your time, and prying into the mysteries of yourportfolio; but the beauty of your sketch, and its startling resemblanceto one in whom I have long felt an interest, must plead my pardon. I amgrateful, sir, for your courtesy, and will detain you no longer."

  He bowed profoundly; she bent her head, and walked quickly away,keeping her face lowered, dreading observation.

  For the first time since her trial and conviction, a sensation ofperfect tranquillity shed rest upon her anxious and foreboding heart.Bertie was safe from capture, on foreign soil; and the testimony of thetraveller that he prayed in the solitude of the wilderness, brought herthe comforting assurance, that the fires of remorse had begun thepurification of his sinful soul from the crime that had blackened somany lives. Trained in his early youth at a Jesuit College, hissympathies had ever been with the priesthood to whom his tutorsbelonged; and his sister readily understood how swiftly he fled totheir penitential, expiatory system, when the blood of his grandfatherhad stained his hands, and the scouts of the law hunted him to desertwilds.

  Vain of the personal beauty that had always distinguished him, shecomprehended the keenness of the humiliation, which would goad him toscreen in a cloister, the facial mutilation, that punished him moreexcruciatingly than hair shirt, or flagellation. Beyond the reach ofextradition (as she fondly hoped), inviolate beneath the cowl of someOrder which, in protecting his body, essayed also to cleanse,regenerate and sanctify his imperilled soul, could she not now dismissthe tormenting apprehension that sleeping or waking had persistentlydogged her, since the day when she saw the fuchsias on thehandkerchief, and the mother-of-pearl grapes on the sleeve button, inthe penitentiary cell?

  In a crisis of dire extremity, overborne by adversity, terrified by therealization of human helplessness, we fly to God, and barter by promiseall our future, for the boon of temporary succor.

  How different, how holy the mood that brings us in tearful gratitude todedicate our lives to His service, when having abandoned all hope, Hishealing hand lifts us out of long agony into unexpected rest?

  When an ignominious death stared this woman in the face, she had criedto her God: "Though You slay me, yet will I trust You!" and to-nightshe bowed her head in prayer, thankful that the uplifted hand held nolonger a dagger, but had fallen tenderly in benediction.

  Far away in the heart of the city, the clock in its granite tower wasstriking two; yet Beryl knelt at her oriel window, with her armscrossed on the wide sill, and her eyes fixed upon the shimmering sea,where a soft south wind ruffled it into ridges of silver, beneath afull May moon. Beyond those silent waters, hidden in some lonely,snow-girt eyry, where perhaps the muffled thunder of the Pacificresponded to the midnight chants of his oratory, dwelt Bertie; and totouch his hand once more, to hear from his own lips that he had madehis peace with God, to kiss him good-bye seemed all that was left foraccomplishment.

  Poor and unknown, she lacked apparently every means requisite for thisattainment; but faith, patience, and courage were hers. Daily work fordaily wage was the present duty; and in God's good time she would findher brother. How, or when, so expensive and difficult a quest could besuccessfully prosecuted, disquieted her not; she had learned to laborand to trust; she remembered: "Their strength is to sit still."

  The symphony of her life was set in minors, yet subtle and perfect wasthe harmony that dwelt therein; and because she had sternly shut loveout of her lonely heart, she kept votive lights burning ceaselessly onthe cold altar of duty. The solitary red rose of happiness that mighthave brightened and perfumed her thorny path, she had cut off, ere thebud expanded, and offered it as a loyal tribute to broaden the garlandthat crowned Miss Gordon. At the mandate of conscience, she hadunmurmuringly surrendered this precious blossom, but memory wastantalizingly tenacious; and in sorrowful hours of sore temptation, thebrave, pure soul came swiftly to the rescue of famishing heart: "What?Is it so hard for us to keep the Ten Commandments? Do we covet ourneighbor's lover?"

  In the garden of earthly existence, some are ordained to bloom as humanplantae tristes, shedding their delicate aroma like the"Pretty-by-nights", only when the glory of the day is done, andtwilight shadows coax open their pure hearts.

  To-night she seemed cradled in the arms of peace, soothed by anunfaltering trust that whispered:

  "Would I could wish my wishes all to rest; And know to wish the wish, that were the best."

  While her lips moved in a prayer for Bertie, she fell asleep; like achild at ease, after long paroxysms of pain. When she awoke, the lilacswere swinging their purple thuribles filled with dew, in honor of thenew day; a silvery mist, tinged here and there with the pale pink hueof an almond blossom, wavered and curled over the quiet lake, and arobin red-breast, winging his way from the orange and jasmine boughs ofthe far sweet South, rested on the ivied wall, and poured out his happyheart in a salutatory to the rising sun.