At the Mercy of Tiberius

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  White and still, lay the world of the far Northwest, wrapped in peaceas profound as that which reigned in primeval ages; when ancestralNahuas, dragging their sleds across frozen Behring Straits, or castamid other drift of the Japanese current upon the strange new Pacificshore, climbed the mountains, and fell on their faces before the sun,whose worshippers have sacrificed in all hemispheres.

  If civilization be the analogue of geologic accretion, how tortuous isthe trend and dip of the ethnological strata, how abrupt theoverlapping of myths. How many aeons divided the totem coyote from theshe-wolf of Romulus and Remus? Which is the primitive and parent flame,the sacred fire of Pueblo Estufas, of Greek Prytaneum, of Roman Vesta,of Persian Atish-khudahs? If the Laurentian system be the oldestupheaval of land, and its "dawn animal" the first evolution of lifethat left fossil footprints, where are all the missing links inethnology, which would save science that rejects Genesis--the paradoxof peopling the oldest known continent by immigration from thoseincalculably younger?

  Winter had lagged, loath to set his snow shoes upon the lingering,diaphanous train of Indian Summer, but December was inexorable, and thelivery of ice glittered everywhere in the mid-day sun.

  Along a well-worn bridle trail, now slippery as glass, winding aroundthe base of crags, through narrow gorges that almost overarched,leaving a mere skylight of intense blue to mark the way, moved a partyof four persons in single file, slowly ascending a steep spiral. Inadvance, mounted on a black pony, was a cowled monk, whose long, thinprofile suggested that of Savonarola; and just behind him rode aCanadian half-breed guide, with the copperish red of aboriginal Americaon his high cheek bones, and the warm glow of sunny France in his keenblack eyes. Guiding his horse with the left hand, his right led thedappled mustang belonging to the third figure; a tall,broad-shouldered man wearing an overcoat that reached to his knees, whowalked with his hand on the bridle bit of a white mule, whereon sat awoman, wrapped in silver fox furs from throat to feet. A cap or hood ofthe same soft, warm material was worn over her head, where a roll ofdark auburn hair coiled at the back; and around her white templesclustered rings and tendrils of the glossy bronze locks thatcontrasted so singularly with the black arch of the brows, and thefringe that darkened the luminous gray eyes.

  One month had elapsed since the Umilta Sisters of the "Anchorage",following Sister Ruth, walked in the star-lit dawn of a November day,to a neighboring church, and watched Doctor Grantlin lead down theaisle, a pale, trembling woman whose hand he placed in that of the man,waiting in front of the altar. The Sisterhood had listened to thesolemn words of the marriage service, the interchange of vows, and thebenediction, while priestly hands were laid tapon two bowed heads.

  When the rising sun greeted the husband and wife, they were speedingwestward, on the first stage of their long journey.

  To-day, the quest would end; and into Beryl's face had crept thewistful yearning that was a reflection of that strange blending ofpatience and longing, which made her so beautiful in her husband'seyes; so strong in faith, so serene in waiting resignation. Suddenlythe monk drew rein, threw up his drooping head, and listened. Clear andsweet as the silvery chime of bells ringing in happy dreams, floatedthrough the crystal air the sound of the Angelus; and fainter andfainter fell the echoes, dying in immeasurable distance. Low bent theshaven head, and through brown, fingers stole the consecrated beads,while with closed eyes the prayers were uttered; and in the pause, theguide made the sign of the cross, and Mr. Dunbar instinctively took offhis hat.

  "Six hours' steady climbing is a severe tax. Are you very tired?" hewhispered, laying his arm around Beryl's waist, and lifting hisbrilliant eyes eloquent with an infinite tenderness.

  With one hand on his shoulder as he stood beside her, she leaned downuntil her lips touched the black hair tossed back from his forehead.

  "After waiting so many terrible years, what are a few more hours ofsuspense? Since I have you, can I ever again feel tired?"

  Behind them lay a dark undulating line, where oak and cedar had madetheir last stand on the upward march; nearer, the spectral ranks ofstunted firs showed the outposts of forest advance; and a few feet fromthe narrow path, a perpendicular cliff formed one wall of a deep canon,where a glittering ribbon of water hurried to leap into the Pacific,ere pursuing Winter arrested and bound it with icy manacles to itsstony bed. To the north dazzling white peaks cut strange solemn shapes,like silver cameos on a ground of indigo sky; and overhead, burnishedlines of snow geese printed their glittering triangles on the palerblue of the zenith, as the winged host dipped southward.

  The monk moved on, and after a while his companions perceived that theway descended rapidly until they reached the face of a rock that rosestraight and smooth as a wall of human masonry, and apparently barredfurther progress. Taking from his bosom the twisted section of apolished horn, only a finger's length, the cowled figure raised it tohis lips, and blew three whistles, that ended in a rising inflectionwhich waked all the wolfish pack of mountain echoes into fitfulbarking. Two moments later, an answering signal seemed to issue fromthe invisible jaws of Hades; a wild, quivering sepulchral cry, as of amonster half throttled. Twenty feet beyond the spot where the party hadhalted, a steep descent led them to a shelving canon, once the bed of abroad mountain torrent, whose course some seismic upheaval had divertedto other channels. Following for a few yards the sinuous stony way,worn here and there into smooth circular cavities like miniature wells,by the eddying of the ancient current and the grinding of pebbles, thetravellers turned a sharp angle, and found themselves at the mouth ofTartarus.

  The force of the stream had originally cut a low arch in its egress,which human needs and ingenuity had broadened, heightened and closed byheavy iron bars, slipped into stone slots. Behind this gatewayglimmered a faint light that brightened into a red star; and soon, afigure clad in the long, black monastic gown, and bearing a huge torchof blazing pitch pine, emerged from the bowels of the earth. There wasthe rattle of a chain, the creak of a pulley, and the bars were lowered.

  So vividly did the scene recall that black, stormy night in February,when Mr. Dunbar had seen the lantern of the gaoler flash through thepenitentiary gates closing on the young convict, that he drew hisbreath now through clinched teeth, and quickly laid his hand upon thatof his wife, which grasped the bridle resting upon the neck of hermule. Silently the procession filed in, and with little delay the torchbearer replaced the bars, advanced to the head of the column, and withlong, swift strides led the way down a wide tunnel. Between the monksno salutation was exchanged; and only the ringing tramp of the horses'feet on the stone pavement, jarred the profound stillness. The luridglare of the torch danced on the rocky vault, and the shadows projectedby men and beasts were gigantic and grotesque. Very soon a graytwilight stole to meet them; an arch of light like a window openinginto heaven brightened, glared, and the party emerged into a courtyardthat seemed an entrance to some vast amphitheatre.

  Opposite the mouth of the tunnel, and distant perhaps two hundredyards, lay an oval lake, bordered on the right by a valley runningsoutheast, while its northern shore rose abruptly in a parapet of rock,that patient cloistered workmen had cut into broad terraces; and uponwhich opened rows of cells excavated from the mountain side, andresembling magnified swallow nests, or a huge petrified honeycombsliced vertically.

  A legend so hoary, that "the memory of man runneth not to thecontrary", had assigned the outlines of this stone cutting to that dimdawn of primeval tribal life, which left its later traces in the WatchTower of the Mancos, the Casa del Eco, and the "niche stairway of theHovenweep".

  In the slow deposition of the human strata, cliff dwellers disappearedbeneath predatory, nomadic modern savages, who, hunting and fishing inthis lonely fastness, had increased its natural fortifications, andmade it an impregnable depot of supplies, until Hudson Bay trapperswrenched it from their grasp, and appropriated it as a peltry magazine.To the dynasty of traders had succeeded the spiritual rule of a Jesu
itMission; then miners kindled camp fires in the deserted excavations, asthey probed the mountain for ores; and more recently the noiseless feetof a band of holy celibates belonging to an austere Order, went up anddown the face of the cliff, with cross and bell and incense exorcisinghaunting aboriginal spectres; while holy water sprinkled the uncanny,dismal precincts of a circular room hollowed behind and beneath allother apartments, the monumental, sacred Estufa.

  At a signal from the monk who had escorted them, Mr. Dunbar liftedBeryl from her saddle, and hand in hand they followed him across thecourtyard, mounted a flight of steps cut in the rock, and passed into alow, dim room, where the ceiling was crossed in squares by heavy, redcedar beams. The floor was paved with diamond-shaped slabs of purpleslate, the whitewashed wall adorned with colored lithographs of thePassion; and above the cavernous chimney arch, where cedar logs blazed,ran the inscription: "Otiositas inimica est animae."

  Noiselessly as the wings of a huge bat, a leathern screen was foldedback from the corner of the room, and a venerable man advanced from thegloom.

  A fringe of white hair surrounded his head like a laurel chaplet in oldstatues, and the heavy, straight brows that almost met across the nose,hung as snowflakes over the intensely black eyes as glowing as lampsset in the sockets of an ivory image. Scholarly and magnetic asAbelard, with a certain innate proud poise of the head and shoulders,that ill accorded with the Carlo-Borromeo expression of seraphicserenity and meekness, set like a seal on the large square mouth, helooked a veritable type of the ecclesiastical cenobites who, since thedays of Pachomius at Tabennae, have made their hearts altars of theTriple Vows, and girdled the globe with a cable of scholasticmysticism. The pale, shrunken hand he laid on the black serge thatcovered his breast, was delicate as a woman's, and checkered withknotted lines where the blood crept feebly.

  Bowing low, he spoke in a carefully modulated voice, deep and resonantas a bass viol:

  "Welcome to such hospitality as our poverty permits. A cipher telegramforwarded from the nearest station, sixty miles hence, prepared us toexpect a newly-married woman searching for a man, known to the secularworld as Robert Luke Brentano. You claim to be his nearest bloodrelative?"

  "I am his sister. How is he?"

  "Alive, but sinking fast; sustained beyond all human calculation by thehope of seeing you. You have not come one moment too soon. The man youseek is only a lay brother here. The rules of our Order forbid theadmission of women to the cloister, but in articulo mortis! can I denyhim now the confession he wishes to offer you? Our holy ordinances havedone their divine work; the last rites of the Church have soothed andconsecrated the heart of Brother Luke, and an hour ago, extreme unctionwas administered. Follow me."

  "He knows that I am coming?" asked Beryl, raising her white,tear-drenched face from her husband's shoulder.

  "He knows; and holds death back to see you. His self-imposed penancemakes him steadfastly refuse the comparative comfort of our meagreinfirmary, and it is his wish to die, where he has spent so many nightsin penitential prayer. For several days, the paralysis of years hasbeen gradually loosening its fetters, and this morning, the distressingand ghastly distortion of one side of his face almost disappeared.Though his voice is well nigh gone, it returns fitfully, and hisstrength seems supernatural. Fearing that you might not arrive in time,I have written down his last confession, and here commit it to you."

  He placed a roll of paper in her hand, and drawing his cowl over hishead, led them up an easy stairway cut in the stone, to a secondterrace four feet wide, that projected as a roof beyond the lower tierof cells.

  A hundred feet below lay the lakelet, shining as a mirror; to thesoutheast stretched a valley bounded by buttes crowned with cedar, andin the undulating field, locked from fierce winds, cattle and goatssunned themselves, where in summer time grain waved, fruit ripened, andbees hummed.

  From the parapet of a low wall facing west, rose a round tower heavilybuttressed, where swung the bell; and through an open arch in the side,under the uplifted cross, the eye swept on and on, over a world ofsnowy peaks, dark canons, mountain minarets girding the northernhorizon; and far, far away a scintillating thread of white fire markedwhere the Pacific smiled behind the fiords that channelled therock-ribbed coast.

  In that still, cold and brilliant atmosphere, how dazzling the snowblink, how sharp the outline of projected shadows, how close thebending heavens seemed; but to the yearning soul of Beryl, the silent,solemn sublimity of the mighty panorama made no appeal.

  Through slowly dripping tears she saw only the spectral flitting of hermother's sad face, as in their last interview she had committed thesoul of the son to the guardianship of the daughter.

  The monk paused, and pointed to the third cell from the spot where hestood.

  "It is but a step farther. Yonder, where the skull is set over theentrance."

  "I will wait here," said Mr. Dunbar, relinquishing with a tightpressure, his wife's cold hand.

  "No, come. Are we not one?"

  She hurried along the terrace, and reached the low open doorwayfronting the South, where the sunshine streamed in like God's smile offorgiveness.

  On the stone floor was a straw pallet covered with coarse brownblankets, whereon, half propped by one elbow, with head against thegray rocky wall, lay the emaciated wreck of a man, whose pallid facemight have been mistaken for that of a corpse, but for the superhumansplendor of the wide, deep brown eyes.

  Beryl sprang into the cave-like recess, and fell on her knees. Shesnatched him to her heart, laid his head on her shoulder.

  "Bertie! My darling! my darling!--"

  He tried to raise one arm to her neck, but it fell back. She lifted it,held it close, and face to face with her lips on his, she broke intopassionate sobbing, rocking herself to and fro, in the tempest of grief.

  "Give me, give--me--air--" He struggled for breath, which her tightclasp denied him; and for some minutes he panted, while Mr. Dunbarfanned him with his hat. Then the heaving chest grew more quiet, andafter a moment, his eyes lighted with a happy smile as they fastened onBeryl's face, bent over him.

  "Gigina, sweet, faithful sister, it is almost heaven to see you oncemore. God is good, even to me."

  "If I could have found you sooner! All these dreadful years I havelived at God's feet--with one prayer: let me help my Bertie, let me seemy brother's face," moaned Beryl, pressing her lips to the clammy,fleshless hand she held against her throat.

  "I was too unworthy. I dreaded your pure eyes, and mother's, as I wouldan accusing angel's. I did not know, then, that mother was already oneof the Beatified. I know now, that neither life nor death, nor sin norshame, nor the brand of disgrace can change mother's love; for I seeher to-day, smiling at the door, beckoning me to follow where the sunshines forever. My sainted mother."

  "Her last breath was a blessing for you. See, Bertie! this was herwedding ring. Her final message was, 'Give this to my darling!' Becomforted, dear Bertie, she loved you even to the end--supremely. Youwere her idol in death as in life. Our father's ring was the mostsacred relic she owned, and she left it to you."

  She attempted to place the gold band on one of his fingers, but heclosed that hand, and the dark eyes so like his mother's, were for aninstant dimmed by tears.

  "Keep it; no sin of theft soils your hands. You can wear it without ablush. You never robbed an old man of his gold. That was my crime, I ama thief."

  "Our God sees you have repented bitterly; and He has pardoned your sinsfor His dear Son's sake. Tell me, Bertie, have you made your eternalsalvation sure? Are you, in your soul, at peace with God?"

  "At perfect peace. I want to die, because now I am no longer afraid tomeet Him, who forgives even thieves. Gigi, wait a little--"

  He seemed to make a desperate effort to rally his strength, and thethin, fine nostril flared, in the battle for breath.

  "There has been a terrible mistake, and they made you suffer for whatthey imagined happened. When I found I had only a few months to live, Iwrote t
o Father Beckx, whom I had known in Montreal, and asked him totell mother where I was. I never knew till he went to X---and wrote usabout the trial, that you were suspected and punished for a crime thatwas never committed. I thought you and mother were safe in New York,all those years, and I knew that you would be sure to take care of her.I have it all written down--and I can't tell you now--but I want tolook straight into your dear eyes--my brave sister, my lovingsister--and let you learn first from me--the reward you have won--yourBertie is not a murderer. I did take the money from the vault which waswide open, when first I saw it. I did steal and destroy the will, whichI thought unjustly robbed us all of our right to the Darrington estate,but that was my sole offence. I am a thief, before God and man, butthere is no more stain of blood on my hands than on yours. GeneralDarrington was not murdered. He died by the hand of God alone--"

  A bluish shadow settled around his parted lips, and he panted.

  Mr. Dunbar raised him, fanned him, rested his head more comfortablyagainst his sister's shoulder; and again he looked intently into hereyes, as though his soul, plumed for departure, must right itself inthe presence of hers, before the final flight.

  "He struck me with the andiron, and broke my wrist here--then before Iever touched him--as he raised it to assault me the second time--therecame an awful blinding glare--the world was wrapped in a blue fire--andGod struck us both down. When I became conscious, my senses were allstunned, but after a while I knew I was lying on the floor, with a coldhand resting like lead on my face. I got up; the figure didn't move,and I supposed that like myself he was stunned by the shock. As Ipassed a mirror on my way to the window--I saw myself--for the lamp wasburning bright. God had branded me a thief. Do you seehere--drawn--paralyzed, oh, Gina! All these years I have worn the darkstreak, and one eye was blind, one ear stone deaf. I was a walkingshadow of my own sin; horrible to look upon--and I fled to avoid thegaze of my race. Somewhere, in Illinois I think, I heard two men on atrain speak of a large reward offered for the recovery of Gen'lDarrington's will, which had been stolen by one of his heirs, whom thepolice were hunting. I was branded--and on my breast here was printedthe face of the dead man--for he had torn my shirt open as he seized mewith one hand, and struck me with the other. I hid in mines, crossedthe plains, secreted myself in a bee ranche. Then the Canadian railroadwas partly built, and I joined the grading party and worked--until thecurse of my sin was more than I could bear. I heard of the holyBrothers here, made my last journey, confessed my theft, and entered onmy penance. Gina, General Darrington was killed instantly by thelightning."

  As the burden Beryl had long borne slipped suddenly from her heart, thejoy of release from blood-stain was so unexpected, so intense, that herface blanched to a deadly pallor, and the glad eyes she lifted to herhusband's shone as those of an angel.

  "Bertie--Bertie--" Words failed her. She could only kiss the wastedcold hands that were innocent of bloodshed.

  After some moments, the dying man said almost in a whisper:

  "I never knew you were punished for my sin, until it was too late tosave you, but God's witness cleared your pure name. The lightning thatscorched me, printed its testimony to set you free. My sister--mysister--God will surely recompense your faithful--" The voice died in aquivering gurgle.

  "I have my reward, dear Bertie. Oh, how much more than I deserve! Ihave you in my arms, innocent of murder, thank God! thank God! I havethe blessed absurance that your pardoned soul goes to meet mother's inEternal Peace; and to secure that, I would have willingly died anignominious death. It was through the fiery flames of prison, and trialand convict shame, that God led me to the most precious crown any womanever wore, my husband's confidence and love. Only behind dungeon barscould I have won my husband's heart, which holds for me the whole wideworld of earthly peace and hope. For your sin, you have suffered. Itsconsequences to others from the destruction of the will, have beenaverted by the prompt transfer of all the property which Gen'lDarrington left, to his chosen heir Prince. Pecuniarily no one wasinjured by your act. Dear Bertie--Bertie, are you listening?"

  He smiled but made no answer, and his eyes had a strained and exultantexpression. After a long silence, he cried huskily:

  "The curse is taken away--out of my blinded eye I see--Agnus Dei quitollis peccata mundi--"

  A slight spasm shook him, and feeling his cheek grow colder, Berylthrew off the fur cloak, and folded it closely around the wasted bodywhich leaned heavily against her. The sunny short rings of hair clungto his sunken, blue veined temples, where cold drops gathered; and agray seal was set about the wan lips that writhed in the fight forbreath.

  "Bertie, kiss me--tell me you are not afraid."

  She fancied he nestled his face closer, but the wide eyes were fixed onthe golden light that was fading fast across the narrow doorway.

  Pressing her quivering lips to his, she sobbed:

  "Tell mother, her little girl was faithful--"

  Another spasm shook the form, and after a little while, the eyesclosed; the panting ceased, and the tired breath was drawn in long,shuddering sighs.

  Mr. Dunbar beckoned to the cowled form who, rosary in hand, paced theterrace, and the two laid the dying man back on his pallet of straw.

  Fainter grew the slow breath, and the voice of the monk rolled throughthe silence, like the tremolo swell of an organ:

  "Delicta juventutis, et ignorantias ejus, quoesumus, ne memineris,Domine; sed secundum magnam misericordiam tuam memor esto illius ingloria claritatis tuoe."

  On the stone floor Beryl knelt, with her brother's icy hand claspedagainst her cheek, and as she watched, the twitching of the musclesceased, the lips so long distorted, took on their old curves of beauty.A marble pallor blanched the dark stain of the branded cheek, and theBertie of innocent youth came slowly out of the long eclipse.

  Death, God's most tender angel, laid her divine lips upon the scars ofsin, that vanished at her touch; drew her white fingers across thelines and shadows of suffering time, and leaving the halo of eternalpeace upon the frozen features, gave back to Beryl her beautiful Bertieof old.

  The sun was setting; and far away the ice domes and minarets ofimmemorial mountains took on the burnished similitude of the NewJerusalem, which only the exiled saw from lonely Patmos.

  Lennox Dunbar lifted his wife from the form of the sleeper, whoseransomed soul had entered early into Rest; and folded her tenderly tothe heart that henceforth was her refuge from all earthly woes.

  At midnight, the brooding silence of the snow-hooded solitude wasbroken by the tolling of the monastery bell; and while all the mountainechoes responded to the slow knell for the departed soul, there rosefrom the chapel under the cliffs, the solemn chant of the monks fortheir dead:

  "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis."

  "Give them eternal rest, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine uponthem."

  THE END.