CHAPTER XXXIII.
A Persian proverb tells us: "A stone that is fit for the wall is notleft in the way." Strong artistic aspirations will plough through aridsands, leap across bottomless chasms, toil over bristling obstacles,climb bald, freezing crags to reach that shining plateau, where "beautypitches her tents", and the Ideal beckons. Favorable environment is thesteaming atmosphere that fosters, forces and develops germs which mightnot survive the struggle against adverse influences, in uncongenialhabitat; but nature moulds some types that attain perfection throughperpetual elementary warfare which hardens the fibre, and strengthensthe hold; as in those invincible algx towering in the stormy straits ofTierra del Fuego, swept from Antartic homes toward theequator,--defying the fierce flail of surf that pulverizes rock, "Breedis stronger than pasture; and no matter how savage a stepmother thecircumstances of life may prove, the inherited psychological strainwill sometimes dominate, and triumph." According to the Talmud: "Amyrtle, even in a desert, remains a myrtle".
From her tenth year, Beryl had begun to build her castle in the Spainof Art; daubed its walls with wonderful frescoes, filled its echoingcorridors with heroic men and lovely women of the classic ages; andthrough its mullioned windows looked into an enchanted land, clothedwith that witching "light that never was on sea or land". When all elseon earth was sombre and dun-hued, sunlight and moonlight still gildedthose magical towers. In darkest nights, through hissing rain andhurtling hail, she caught the glitter of its starry vanes smilingthrough murkiness, and above the wail and sob of the storms that hadswept over the waste places of her youth, she heard the divine melodieswhich the immortal harper, Hope, played always in the marvellous palaceof the Muses.
In early girlhood she had followed her father into the solemn mysteriesof Greek Tragedy; and in that vast white temple dedicated to theinexorable Fates, where predestined victims moved like marble images totheir immolation, her own plastic nature had been moulded in unisonwith the classic cult. Among the throng of Attic types, an immortalstatue of filial devotion and sisterly love had attracted herirresistibly, and to Antigone she rendered the homage of a boundlessadmiration, an unwavering fealty.
Intellectually, humanity cleaves to idolatry; and each of us worshipsin the Pantheon, where our favorite divinities in literature crowd theniches. To become a skilful artist, and paint the portrait of Antigone,vas the ambition that had shaped and colored Beryl's young dreams, longere she suspected that a mournful parallelism in fate would consign herto a living tomb more intolerable than that devised by Theban Creon.
Our grandest pictures, statues, poems, are not the canvas, the marble,the bronze, and the gilded vellum, that the world handles, criticises,weighs, buys and sells, accepts with praise, or rejects with anathema.Invisible and inviolate, imagination, keeps our best, our ideals,locked in the cerebrum cells of "gray matter", which we are pleased tocall our workshop.
What art gallery, what library can rival the sublime and beautifulimages that crowd the creased and folded labyrinth of the human brain;as far beyond the ken and analysis of the biologist's microscope, assome remote nebulae shining in blue gulfs of interstellar space, thatno telescopic Jense can ever discover, even as a faint blur of silverymist upon the black velvet vault that suns and planets spangle?
In some degree, Beryl's artistic dream had been realized; and the studyof years slowly flowered into a large painting, which representedAntigone standing beside the heap of dust, strewn reverently tosepulchre the form dimly outlined at her feet. The sullen red sunset ofa tempestuous day flared from the horizon, across a desolate plain;showed the city walls in the background, the hungry vultures poisedhigh above the dead, the marauding dogs crouched in the wind-sweptsand, watching their banquet, decreed by the king. The dust had beenscattered from a black vase that bore on its front, in a circularmedallion, the lurid head of grinning Hecate; and the last rite toappease the unquiet manes was performed by the uplifted right arm thatpoured libations from a burnished brass urn, held aloft over the pallof earth that denned the figure beneath. The left hand was stretched,not heavenward, but shieldingly over the mound, and in the beautiful,stern face bent a little downward in invocation of the infernal gods,one read sublime self-surrender, grief for Oedipus, regret for Hasmon,farewell to life,--mingled with exultant consciousness that asuccessful sacrifice had been accomplished for Polynices, and that thespirit of the brother rested in peace.
The soul of the artist seemed to look triumphantly through the solemn,purplish blue eyes of the young martyr, and Beryl knew that her ownheart beat under the pamted folds of the diploidion; that she hadepitomized in a symbolic picture, the history of her own joyless youth.
The canvas had been framed and hung at the art exhibition of the new"Museum", opened in September; and only the "U" traced in one cornerbeneath an anchor, indicated that it was the work of the UmiltaSisters' "Anchorage".
The public peered, puzzled, shook its sapient head, shrugged itsauthoritative shoulders, and sundry criticisms crept into the journals;but the prophet was judged in "his own country"; and home work,according to universal canons, rarely finds favor among home awardingcommittees, whose dulness its uncomprehended excellence affronts.
One censured vehemently the masonry of the city wall; another deploredpathetically the "defective foreshortening of a dog's shoulders"; thepicture "lacked depth of tone"; the "coloring was too bizarre", the"tints too neutral".
Like chemicals tested in a laboratory, or like Pharaoh's lean kine,each objection devoured the preceding one; and unanimity of blameassaulted only one salient point on the entire canvas: the red sandalsof the Greek girl--upon which outraged good taste fell with pitilessfury.
Undismayed, Beryl withdrew her picture, erased the ciphers in thecorner, and shipped it to New York to Doctor Grantlin, who had recentlyreturned from Europe; requesting him to place it at a picture dealer'son Broadway, and to withhold the name of its birth-place.
Two weeks later, a popular journal published an elaborate descriptionof "A painting supposed to have been obtained abroad by a New Yorkcollector, who merited congratulation upon possession of a masterpiece,which recalled the marvellous technique of Gerome, the atmosphere ofJules Breton, the rich, mellow coloring, and especially the scrupulousfidelity of archaic detail, which characterized Alma Tadema; and wasconspicuously manifest in the red shoes so distinctively typical ofTheban women".
Mr. Kendall caused this article to be copied into the leading newspaperof his own city; and the first mail, thereafter, carried to New York anoffer of eight hundred dollars for the painting, from the President ofthe "Museum" Directors, who had been so shocked by the unknownsignificance of the "red shoes". After a few days, it was generallyknown, but mentioned with bated breath, that the "Antigone" had beenbought by a wealthy Philadelphian, who paid for it two thousanddollars, and hung it in his gallery, where Fortunys, Madrazos, andDiazs ornamented the walls.
Why should journeying abroad to render "Caesar's things" to foreignCaesars, demand such total bankruptcy that we must needs repudiate thejust debts of home creditors, whose chimneys smoke just beyond thefence that divides us? De mortuis nil nisi bonum is a traditional andsacred duty to departed workers; but does it exhaust human charity, orrequire contemptuous crusade against equally honest, living toilers?Are antiquity and foreign birthplace imperatively essential factors inthe award of praise for even faithful and noble work? We lament thecaustic moroseness of embittered Schopenhauer, brooding savagely overhis failure to secure contemporaneous recognition; yet after all, didhe malign his race, or his age, when, in answer to the inquiry where hedesired to be buried, he scornfully exclaimed: "No matter where;posterity will find me."
It was on the 26th of October, a week subsequent to the receipt of theletter which contained the check sent in payment for the picture, thatBeryl sat down on the stone sill of her oriel window, to rest in theseclusion of her room, after the labors of the day.
It was the anniversary of her ill-starred visit to X----, andmelancholy memories
had greeted her at dawn, clung to her skirts,chanted their dismal refrain, and renewed the pain which time had insome degree dulled. Four years ago she had felt her mother's feverishlips on hers, in a parting kiss, and four years ago to-day the sun ofher girlhood had passed suddenly into total eclipse. Since then, movingin a semi-twilight, suffering had prematurely aged her, and she hadschooled herself to expect no star, save that of duty, to burn alongher lonely path. To-day, she thought of the pride her picture wouldhave aroused in her devoted father; of the comforts the money wouldhave purchased for her invalid mother; of the pleasure, success as anartist would have brought to her own ambitious soul, if only it had notcome so many years too late. What crown could fame bring to one,dwelling always in the chill shadow of a terrible shame? The glory ofnoble renown could never gild a name that had answered at the convicts'roll call; a name which, at any moment, Bertie's arrest might drag backto the disgrace of established felony.
Of all mocking fiends, the arch torturer is that hand which draws asidethe black curtain of grim actuality, and shows us the wonderful realmof "might have been", where lost hopes blossom eternally, and thewitchery of hallowed illusions is never dispelled.
Wearily Beryl closed her eyes, as though the white lids availed to shutout visions, tantalizing as the dream of bubbling springs, andpalm-fringed isles of dewy verdure, to the delirious traveller dying ofthirst, in the furnace blasts of mid-desert.
If she had defied her mother's wishes, and refused to go to X--? Howdifferent the world would seem to her; but, what was a world worth,that had never known Mr. Dunbar?
Over burning ploughshares she had walked to meet one destined to stirto its depths the slumbering sea of her tenderest love; and to foregothe pain, would she relinquish the recompense?
During the months that elapsed after Leo's visit to the "Anchorage",Beryl had surrendered her heart to the great happiness of dwelling,unrebuked by conscience, upon the precious assurance that the love ofthe man whom she had so persistently defied and shunned, wasirrevocably hers. The sharpest pain that can horrow womanhood, springsfrom the contemplation of the superior right of another to the objectof her affection; and though honor coerces submission to the justclaims of a rival, renunciation of the beloved entails pangs that noanaesthetic has power to quiet.
After the long struggle to aid Miss Gordon's accepted lover in keepinghis vows of loyalty, the discovery of his freedom, and the belief thatBishop Douglass had supplanted him in the affection of her generousbenefactress, had brought to Beryl an exquisite release; sweet as thespicy breath of the tropics wafted suddenly to some stranded, frozenArctic voyager. Heroic and patient, keeping her numb face steadfastlyturned to the pole star of duty, where the compass of consciencepointed--was the floe ice on which she had been wrecked, driftingslowly, imperceptibly, yet surely down to the purple warmth of the GulfStream, dotted with swelling sails of rescue? Like oceanic streamsmeeting, running side by side, freighted with cold for the equatorialcaldrons, with heat for the poles, are not the divinely appointedcurrents of mercy and of affliction, God's agents of compensation, toequalize the destinies of humanity?
We rail at Fate as triple monsters; but sometimes it happens, that theveil of inscrutability floats aside, for an instant, and we catch aglimpse of the radiant smile of an infinite love.
Hope had set in Beryl's sky, but a tender afterglow held off the comingnight, when she thought of the face that had bent so yearningly aboveher, of the passionate voice and the thrilling touch that were now hermost precious memories. The pearl which Miss Gordon had cast away asworthless, the discarded convict might surely, without sin, claim asher own for ever. To-day an intense longing to see him once more, tohear from his lips praise of her "Antigone", disturbed the tranquillitythat was spreading its robes of minever over a stony path; but she putaside the temptation.
To the Sisterhood of the "Anchorage" she had given one-half theproceeds of the picture sale; and the remainder would enable her atlast to renew the search for her unhappy brother. So vague were thetopographical lines furnished by the English tourist, that prosecutingher quest in the remote wilderness of mountains, which wore their crownof snow, seemed a reckless waste of hope, time and money; nevertheless,she must make the attempt. She knew that a gigantic railway system wascrawling like an anaconda under rocky ranges, over foaming rivers,stretching its sinuous steel trail from Bay of Chaleur to Georgia Gulf;with termini that saw the sun rise from the Atlantic Ocean, and watchedits setting in the red glory of the far Pacific; and perhaps steamshovels, and iron tight-ropes might furnish her facilities on her longjourney.
Winter would soon overtake her, and in the inhospitable region whereher brother had been surprised at his prayers, how could a lonely womantravel without protection? Doubt, apprehension flitted as ill-bodingbirds of night, flapping dusky wings to hide the signal beacon, whichlove and duty swung to and fro; yet the yearning to see her brother'sface again, dwarfed all barriers, and she trusted God's guidance.
On a chair near her, lay, on this afternoon, a map which for many daysshe had been studying; and opening it once more, she ran a finger alongthe dotted lines, mentally debating whether it would be best to go byrail to Ottawa, by water to Sault St. Marie, whence the new railwaycould be easily reached, or whether the most direct route would be viaSt. Paul to Winnepeg. When she left the "Anchorage", her destinationmust remain a secret; hence she could ask no counsel. In view ofapproaching cold weather, economy of time seemed imperative; and sheresolved to buy a railway ticket to Fargo, where she could eludesuspicion, should the threatened invisible detective "shadow" her; andwhence another Pacific highway offered egress to western wilds. Withthis definite conclusion she closed the map, and a moment later, someone knocked at her door.
"Come in."
She went forward, and met Sister Katrina, a robust dame of forty years,blond as Gerda; with the "light of the glowworm's tails" in hergolden-lashed violet eyes, and the "ruby spots of the cowslip's leaves"on her full, frank lips.
"Will you sit a while with me? There is still a half hour, before yourevening work begins in the carving shop. Come in."
"I am sorry I have not time now, to indulge myself in such luxury as achat with you always proves. I came to beg the loan of your India inkcopy of the marble screens at Agra; which I have an idea would be veryeffective done in cherry, for the panels under the new bookcases we aredesigning for the library."
"The copy is up stairs in the studio; but I shall be glad to get it foryou."
"No; with your permission I can help myself, and I am going up therenow, for some red chalk. I know exactly where to find the picture,because I was examining it two days ago. What think you of my idea?"
"I am afraid you will find cherry too dark. A lighter wood, I think,would be better adapted to the exceeding delicacy of the design."
"Wait till I cut out a sample scroll, and we will talk it over. SisterRuth asked me to hand to you this paper, which contains a verycomplimentary notice of your lovely picture. I read it as I came up,and congratulate you on all the fine things said. You scarcely know howproud we feel of our Sister's work. Thanks for the use of the drawing."
She smiled, nodded and closed the door; and when her bright cheerycountenance vanished, it seemed as though a film of cloud had driftedacross the sun.
Beryl went back to a low chair in front of the window, and opened thepaper, which chanced to be the New York "Herald." Unfolding it to huntthe designated article, her glance fell accidentally upon the personalcolumn. Her heart leaped, then almost ceased beating, as she read:
"Important. Bertie will meet Gigina in the Museum at Niagara Falls,Canada side, any day during the last week in October."
Two years and a half had almost gone by since she inserted theadvertisement, to which this was evidently a reply. Long ago she hadceased to expect any tidings through this channel; but the seed sown infaith, watered by tears, and guarded by continual prayer had stirred tolife; blossomed in the sunshine of God's pitying smile, and after wearywaiti
ng, the ripe fruit fell at her feet. How fair and smooth, rosy andfragrant it appeared to her famishing heart? How opportune the guidinghand that pointed her way, when cross roads baffled her. Two dayslater, she would have been journeying away from the coveted goal. Nowthe tide of battle was turning. Had the stars rolled back on theircourses to rescue Sisera?
How long the happy woman sat there, exulting in the mellowness of theperfect fruit of patience, she never knew.
Day died slowly; the vivid crimson and dazzling gold that fired theWest were reflected in the tranquil bosom of the lake, faded into thetender pale rose of the sacred lotus, into the exquisite tints thatgild the outer petals of a daffodil, the heart of buttercups; andthen, robed in faintest violet powdered with silvery dust, the vastpinions of Crepuscule spread over sky and water, fanning into fullflame the glittering sparks of planets and constellations that lightedthe chariot course of the coming moon.
Across the sleeping lake hurried a north wind, on its long journey toblow open the snowy camellias folded close in the heart of the South,and under his winged sandals the waters crimped, rippled, swelled intowavelets that played their minor adagio in nature's nocturn, as theirfoam fingers fell on the pebbles that fringed the beach. From the deckof a schooner anchored off shore, floated the deep voice of a mansinging Schubert's "Ave Maria"; and far, far away over the weird wasteof waters, where a buoy marked a sunken wreck, its red beacon burnedlike the eye of Polyphemus, crouching in darkness, watching tosurprise Galatea.
The penetrating chill of the night air aroused Beryl from her profoundtrance; and lighting the gas over her dressing table, she re-read themagical words that had transformed her narrow world. This was Mondaythe 26th, and next Saturday was the limit of the proposed interview.One day must suffice for necessary preparation, and starting by earlymorning express on Wednesday, she would arrive in time to keep thetryst that involved so much. She cut out the notice that was merely asentence in the page of social hieroglyphics, where no key fitted morethan one paragraph, and forgetting the criticism on her picture, shewent swiftly down stairs.
The members of the Sisterhood were at supper, and she waited at therefectory door for an opportunity to meet the matron.
On the platform raised in the centre of the long room, sat the readerfor the day, Sister Agatha; a plump, florid young woman, with brightblack eyes, and a voice sweet and strong as the flute stop of an organ.The selection that evening had been from "Agate Windows" and "IceMorsels", and the closing words were:
"Alpine flowers are warmed by snow; the summer beauty of our hills, andthe autumn fertility of our valleys, have been caused by the coldembrace of the glacier; and so, by the chill of trial and sorrow, arethe outlines of Christian character moulded and beautified. And we, whorecognize the loving kindness as well as the power of God in what mayseem the harsher and more forbidding agencies of nature, ought not tobe weary and faint in our minds, if over our own warm human life, thesame kind pitying Hand should sometimes cause His snow ofdisappointment to fall like wool, and cast forth His ice of adversitylike morsels; knowing that even by these unlikely means, shallultimately be given to us also, as to nature, the beauty of Sharon, andthe peace of Carmel!"
Somewhere in the apartment, a bell tapped. All rose, and each head inthe gray ranks bowed, while "thanks" were offered; then amid a subduedmurmur of conversation, the Sisterhood filed out, gathered in groups,separated for various duties.
"Sister Ruth, may I see you alone?" asked Beryl, touching her arm inthe hall.
"This is the night for the examination of accounts, of last week'sexpenses, and I shall be busy with Sister Elena, our book-keeper;moreover, I promised to look over the linen closet of the Infirmary,with Sister Consuelo, whose demands are like those of the daughter ofthe horse-leech. Is your business urgent?"
"Yes; but I will not detain you more than ten minutes."
"Very well, come to my cabinet."
The place designated was a pigeon box in size, and adjoined thereception room on the first floor. Two desks packed with papers, threechairs and a picture of Elijah and the ravens, constituted thefurniture. The matron brightened the light, seated herself and lookedat her companion.
"Well. What can I do for you? Why, Sister? Something has happened; yourface is all aglow, your eyes are great stars."
"Yes; a heavy burden I have long borne is slipping from my heart, andafter the pressure it rebounds. I have told you that my stay here wascontingent on events which I could not control; that at any moment Imight consider it incumbent upon me to go away into the world;therefore, I could bind myself by no compact to remain permanently inthe 'Anchorage'. The time has come; the drum taps, I must march away."
"And you are so glad to leave us?" said the matron, gazing in wonder atthe radiant face, usually so impassive and cold with its locked lips,and grave, sad, downcast eyes.
"No, glad only in the occasion that calls me; regretting that dutyseparates me temporarily from the Sisterhood, who so mercifully openedtheir arms, when I had no spot in all the wide world where I could laymy head, but the sod on my mother's grave. This blessed haven is forthose whose first duty in life summons them nowhere beyond its walls.If conscience bade you leave these peaceful and hallowed halls, forwork far more difficult, would you hesitate to obey? It is safer andless arduous to keep step with the main army; but some must perish onpicket duty, and is the choice ours, when an order details us?"
"Who signed your order?"
Sister Ruth took off her spectacles, and bent closer, with a keennessof scrutiny, that was unflatteringly suspicious.
"My dear mother."
"I understood that you had been an orphan for years?"
"Yes, for four wretched, lonely and terrible years; but no tomb is deepenough to shut in the voice that uttered our mother's last wishes; andall time cannot hush the sound of the command, cannot hide the belovedhand that pointed to the path she asked us to follow. When my motherkissed me good-bye, she blessed me, because of a promise I gave her;and Heaven means to me the place where I can look into her saintedface, and tell her 'Hold me close to your tender heart, for oh! I haveindeed kept my word. Your little girl obeyed your last command.'" Hervoice trembled, and she passed one hand over her eyes for an instant.
"Sister Ruth, the opportunity has arrived, and I go to execute the lastclause of a sacred order. When I shall have finished my mission, Ishall want to come back home. Oh! you see? I call it home. For whereelse can I ever have a home, till I join my father and mother? If Ishould come back and ask you to take me for the remainder of my life,as a sister worker, will you let me die with the 'anchor' on my breast?I shall be as worthy of your confidence then, as I am now."
"Where are you going?"
"I hoped that you would not ask me, because I cannot tell you now. Willyou not trust me?"
"Your extremely cautious reticence makes it difficult; and I havealways known that some distressing mystery brought you here."
"Confidence that defies suspicious appearances is precious indeed; butconfidence that crumbles like Jericho's walls at the blast of Joshua'strumpets, is as worthless a sham as a cable whose strands part at thefirst taut strain. Sister Ruth, there are reasons why I go away alone,to an unknown destination; and I am about to tax your trust yet moreseverely, when I tell you that I need the disguise of the 'Umilta'uniform. I ask your permission to wear it during my absence."
The matron shook her head.
"Surely, Sister Ruth, you cannot think it possible that I should bringdiscredit upon this dear gray flannel, which I hold as sacred aspriestly vestments?"
She laid her cheek against her own shoulder, with a caressing motion,and passed her fingers softly across her sleeve.
"My young sister, to some extent I am responsible for those who wearthe 'Umilta' gray. If I allowed you to carry our badge under suchpeculiar circumstances beyond the limits of my supervision, I shouldhazard too much; should deserve the severity of the censure I mostcertainly should receive, if any disaster brought reproach
upon ourspotless record as an institution. It was not designed as a disguise inwhich to masquerade for unknown purposes."
Beryl put up both hands, pressing her pretty white cap close to herears; and her lips trembled, as was their wont, when she was wounded.
"Do not discrown me. My father's Beryl will never sully your purerecord; and it would be as impossible for me to disgrace your uniform,as defile my mother's shroud. Grant me the protection of thisconsecrated garb."
"No. The 'Anchorage' must remain as heretofore, like Caesar's wife."
"Although I have lived here so long, how little you know me."
"Very true, my Sister; therefore, as custodian of the interests of ourlittle community, I must not put them in jeopardy. When do you expectto take your departure?"
"Wednesday, at 6 A.M., on the express for New York."
"Have you received letters?"
"No, Sister. Doctor Grantlin is the only person who writes to me, andas his letters are always addressed to your care, I receive them fromyour hands."
"How long do you propose to stay in New York?"
"I am not going to New York, and I know not how long I may be detained;but I desire to return without needless delay."
"Then you want your money."
"Give me to-morrow five hundred dollars, and keep the remainder until Icome, or until you hear from me. Please say that I have gone on ajourney to fulfil a pledge made years ago; and try not to show theSisters that you have no confidence in me. That--would rob myhome-coming of half its pleasure. If any unforeseen accident shouldkeep me away, should cut short a life which has overflowed with greatsorrow, then retain the money and the pictures I leave behind; andbelieve that I died, as I have lived, not unworthy of all thy kindnessand true charity this dear sacred 'Anchorage' has shown to me. SisterElena is impatient; I hear her walking up and down the floor. While Iam absent, Sister Katrina, and especially Sister Anice, can take myplace in the Art School; and all my orders were finished last week,except the mirror for Mrs. St. Clair. She wished it framed in scarletbignonias, and as the painting is more than half done, Sister Anice caneasily complete it. I will not detain you longer. Good-night, SisterRuth."
No sleep visited Beryl, and as she lay at two o'clock, watching theshimmer of the moonlight reflected from the tossing waves upon thepanes of her wide window, where the tangled mesh of quivering rayscoiled, uncoiled, glided hither and yon like golden serpents, she heardthe click of the key, and the turning of the knob in a door, whichopened from the alcove into an adjoining room. That apartment wasreserved as a guest chamber; had been unoccupied for months; andpuzzled by the sound, Beryl sat up in her bed and listened. The bluefolds of the drapery hanging over the alcove arch, were drawn aside,and Sister Ruth, wrapped in a trailing dressing-gown, held up a smalllamp and peered cautiously around.
"What is the matter, Sister?"
"Did I frighten you? I came this way rather than knock at the otherdoor, because Sister Frances is on watch to-night; and though she is adear good soul, she is afflicted with an undue share of the femininefrailty, curiosity, and I prefer that no one should canvass myunseasonable visit to you. Do not get up."
She put the brass lamp on a chair, and sat down on the edge of the bed.
"Our conversation has disquieted me, and I cannot sleep. Long ago, formy own sake, I made a rule by which to govern my judgment of my fellowbeings; and it amounts to this: where I cannot be sure of evil inothers, I give them the benefit of the doubt, and sincerely endeavor tothink the best. I have watched you very closely. There is much that Icannot understand; much that it appears strange you should hesitate toexplain; yet in these years I have had no cause to question yourtruthfulness, and that is the basis of all human worth. We profess tolive here as one family, as sisters, holding each other in love,charity and trust; yet in searching myself to-night, I fear I have goneastray. I have pondered and prayed over this matter, and my heartyearns toward you. I feel as I fancy a mother might, who had toohastily slapped the face of her child; and, my sister, I have come tosay, forgive me, if I too harshly refused your request, if I woundedyou."
She held out her hand, but Beryl did not see it; she had covered herface, and unable to speak she leaned forward and laid her head on thematron's lap. Gently the thin fingers stroked the shining hair, untilthey were drawn down and pressed to the girl's lips.
"Again, I asked myself, whether my decision had not been inspired by anoverweening pride in the public estimation of our home; rather than byan unselfish regard for the welfare and peace of mind of one of itsmembers? What will the world think of us, must be subordinated to, whatis the best for my young sister, whose cross it is my duty to lighten?I cannot bear to give you up; and I shall, I will trust you. Wear the'gray' armor, and remember, if any blot stain it, you will bringdisgrace upon a holy cause; you will be the first to stain the Umiltauniform; and I shall be blamed, for reposing confidence in one whobetrayed us to public scorn. My Sister Beryl, I give you 'the gray'.God grant it may shelter you from harm, and bring you home to fill myplace with honor, when I have passed into the eternal Anchorage."
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