At the Mercy of Tiberius

by Augusta J. Evans

  CHAPTER IX.

  Nowhere in the vast vista of literature is there an episode moreexquisitely pathetic than that serene picture of the Grove at Colonus,sacred to the "Semnai Theai;" where the dewy freshness, the floralloveliness, the spicery, and all the warbling witchery of nature paytribute to the Avenging Goddesses.

  Twenty-two centuries have sifted their dust over the immortal figuresseated on the marble bench within the precincts consecrated to theEumenides, but in deathless tenacity, the rich aroma of Sophocles'narcissus, and the soft crocus light linger there still; while fromthickets of olive, nightingales break their hearts in song, asthrilling as the melody that smote the ears of doomed and dying Oedipus.

  So in all ages, we, born thralls of grief, lift streaming eyes, andchant elegies to stony-hearted Mother-Earth, but her starry orbs shineon, undimmed by sympathetic tears; her smiling lips show only sunshinein their changeless dimples, and her myriad fingers sweeping the keysof the Universal Organ, drown our De Profundis in the rhythmic thundersof her Jubilate. Wailing children of Time, we crouch and tug at themoss-velvet, daisy-sprinkled skirts of the mighty Mater, praying somelullaby from her to soothe our pain; but human woe frets not hersublime serenity, as deaf as desert sphinx, she fronts the future.

  Some echo of this maddening mystery sounded in the ears of the lonelywoman, who clutched the bars of her dungeon, and stared through itsiron lattice, at the peaceful, happy, outside world. At her feet layX---, divided by the silvery river, which, here rushed with arrowyswiftness under the gray stone arches of the bridge, and there widenedinto glassy lakelets, as if weary from the mad plunge over a distantrocky ledge in mid-stream, whence the dull steady roar of the "falls"thrilled the atmosphere, like the "tremolo" in a dim cathedral, wherefading daylight dies on painted apse and gilded pipes. As a chessboardthe squares of buildings were spread out, defined by wide streets,where humanity and its traffic sped, busy as ants. In a green plot, thesombre facade of the court-house surmounted by an eyeless stone statueof Justice, frowned on the frivolous throng below; and along the vergeof the common, marble fingers pointed up to the heaven of blue thatbent above "God's Acre"; while now and then, bulbous towers, andglittering steeple vanes, caught the sunshine on their polished crests.Beyond the whole, and bounding the valley filled with a billowy sea ofbluish-green pine tops, rose a wooded eminence, wearing still itsPersian robe of autumn foliage, and on its brow the colonnade andchimneys of "Elm Bluff" blotted the southern sky, like a threateningphantom.

  To-day forest, stream, earth and sky, appeared branded with one fatalword, as if the world's wide page held only "Ricordo! Ricordo!"

  Beryl shut her eyes and groaned; but the scene merely shifted to a dellunder the shadow of Carrara hills, where olives set "Ricordo" amongtheir silver leaves; and lemons painted "Ricordo" in their pale gold;and scarlet pomegranates and nodding violets, burning anemones andtender green of trailing maiden-hair ferns all blazoned "Ricordo."

  The fierce tide of wrath, that indignation and her keen sense ofoutraged innocence had poured like molten lead through her throbbingarteries, was oozing sluggishly, congealing under the awful spell ofthat one word "Ricordo." Hitherto, the shame of the suspicion, thedegradation of the imprisonment had caught and empaled her thoughts;but by degrees, these became dwarfed by the growing shadow of apossibly ignominious death, which spread its sable pinions along therosy dawn of her womanhood, and devoured the glorious sun of her highhopes. The freezing gloom was creeping nearer, and to-day she couldexpect no succor, save by one avenue.

  Islam believes that only the cimeter edge of Al Sirat divides Paradisefrom perdition. Beryl realized that in her peril, she trod an equallynarrow snare, over yawning ruin, holding by a single thread of hopethat handkerchief. Weak natures shiver and procrastinate, shunningconfirmation of their dread; but to this woman had come a franticlonging to see, to grasp, to embrace the worst. She was in a deathgrapple with appalling fate, and that handkerchief would decide theissue.

  Physical exhaustion was following close upon the mental agony that hadstretched her on the rack, for so many days and nights. To sit stillwas impossible, yet in her wandering up and down the narrow room, shereeled, and sometimes staggered against the wall, dizzy from weakness,to which she would not succumb.

  Human help was no more possible for her, than for Moses, when heclimbed Nebo to die; and alone with her God, the brave soul wrestled.Wearily she leaned against the window bars, twining her hot fingersaround them, pressing her forehead to the cold barrier; and everywhere"Ricordo" stabbed her eyes like glowing steel.

  The door opened, some words were uttered in an undertone, then the boltclicked in its socket, and Mr. Dunbar approached the window.Mechanically Beryl glanced over her shoulder, and a shiver crept acrossher.

  "I believe you know me. Dunbar is my name."

  He stood at her side, and they looked into each other's eyes, andmeasured lances. Could this worn, pallid woman, be the same person whoin the fresh vigor of her youthful beauty, had suggested to him on thesteps of "Elm Bluff," an image of Hygeia? Here insouciante girlhood wasdead as Manetho's dynasties, and years seemed to have passed over thisauburn head since he saw it last. Human faces are Nature's highest typeof etchings, and mental anguish bites deeper than Dutch mordant;heart-ache is the keen needle that traces finest lines.

  "Yes, I know you only too well. You are Tiberius."

  Her luminous deep eyes held his at bay, and despite his habitual,haughty equipoise, her crisp tone of measureless aversion stung him.

  "Sarcasm is an ill-selected arbiter between you and me; and your fatefor all time, your future weal or woe is rather a costly shuttlecock tobe tossed to and fro in a game of words. I do not come to bandyphrases, and in view of your imminent peril, I cannot quite understandyour irony."

  "Understand me? You never will. Did the bloodthirsty soul of Tiberiuscomprehend the stainless innocence of the victims he crushed forpastime on the rocks below Villa Jovis? There is but one arbiter foryour hatred, the hang-man, to whom you would so gladly hurry me.Hunting a woman to the gallows is fit sport for men of your type."

  Unable to withdraw his gaze from the magnetism of hers, he frowned andbit his lip. Was she feigning madness, or under the terrible nervousstrain, did her mind wander?

  "Your language is so enigmatical, that I am forced to conclude youresort to this method of defence. The exigencies of professional dutycompel me to assume toward you an attitude, as painfully embarrassingto me as it is threatening to you. Because the stern and bitter law ofjustice sometimes entails keen sorrow upon those who are forced toexecute her decrees, is it any less obligatory upon the appointedofficers to obey the solemn behests?"

  "Justice! Into what a frightful mockery have such as you degraded herworship! No wonder justice fled to the stars. You are the appointedofficer of a harpy screaming for the blood of the innocent. How dareyou commit your crimes, raise your red hands, in the sacred name ofjustice? Call yourself the priest of a frantic vengeance, for whom somevictim must be provided; and libel no more the attribute of Jehovah."

  Scorn curled her lips, and beneath her glowing eyes, his grew restless,as panoplied in conscious innocence she seemed to defy attack.

  "You evidently credit me with motives of personal animosity, whichwould alike disgrace my profession and my manhood. For your sake,rather than my own, I should like to remove this erroneous impressionfrom your mind. If you could only understand--"

  She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture of disdain.

  "Save your sophistries; they are wasted here. Why multiply cobwebs? Iunderstand you. If doves have a sixth sense that warns them before theyhear the hawk's cry, or discern the shadow of his circling wings, andif mice, dumb in a cat's claws, surmise the exact value of thepreliminary caresses, the graceful antics, the fatal fondling of thevelvet paw, so we, the prey of legal 'Justice' know instinctively whatthe swinging of censers, and the chanting of her high priest mean, whenhe draws near us. I understand you. You intend to hang me if you can.
"

  He drew his breath with a hissing sound, and a dark flush Stained hisbroad smooth brow.

  "On my honor as a gentleman, I came here to-day solely to--"

  "Solely to assure yourself of some doubtful link you must weld intoyour chain; solely to plunge the scalpel of some double-edged question.If there must be an ante mortem examination, we will wait, if youplease, for the legal dissection when I am stretched before thejury-box. Until then, you have no right to intrude upon the misery youhave brought on an innocent woman."

  They stood so near each other, that he could count the fierce throbbingof the artery in her round snowy throat, and see the shadow of her longlashes; and again some electric current flashed from her feverishlybright eyes, burning its way to the secret chambers of his selfishheart, melting the dross that ambition and greed had slowly cemented,and dropping one deathless spark into a deep adytum, of the existenceof which he had never even dreamed. Unconsciously he leaned toward her,but she pressed back against the iron bars, and drew her dress aside asif shunning a leper. There was no petulance in the motion, but itssignificance pricked him, like a dagger point.

  "It was the hope of finding you an innocent woman, that must plead mypardon for what you consider an unwarrantable 'intrusion.' Will youbelieve me, if I swear to you, that I have come as a friend?"

  "As a friend to me? No. As a friend to General Darrington and hisadopted son Prince? Yes. Oh, Tiberius! Your rosy apples are flavoredlike those your forefather offered Agrippina."

  "Do you regard me as an unscrupulous, calculating villain, whopretending kindness, plots treachery? Do you deliberately offer me thiswanton insult?"

  His swart face reddened, and the fine lines of his handsome mouthhardened.

  She shrank a few inches closer to the window, and compressed her lips.

  "If you were a man, I should swiftly resent the affront you have thrustupon me, and suitable redress would be peculiarly sweet and welcome;but you are a defenceless and unfortunate woman, and my hands are tied.I desire to help you; you repulse me and insult my manhood. I will domy painful duty, because it is sternly and inexorably my duty; but, Iwish to God, I had never set my eyes on you."

  The sudden passionate ring in his voice surprised her, and she lookedsearchingly at him, wondering into what pitfall it was intended to lureher.

  "If you had never set your eyes on me? Ah, would to God I had died tenthousand times before I encountered their evil spell! If you had neverset your eyes on me? I should be now, a happy, hopeful girl, with lifebeckoning me like the rosy Syrian plains that smiled on thedesert-weary. The world looked so bright to me that day, when first Ismelled the sweet resinous pines, and dreamed of my work, and all theglory of the victory, I knew that I should win over poverty and want. Iwas so poor in worldly goods, but oh!--Croesus could not have bought myproud hopes! So rich, so overflowing with high hope! As I think of myfeelings that day, among the primroses and pine cones, it seems ahundred years ago, and I recall the image of a girl long dead; such aproud girl; so happy in the beautiful world of the art she loved! Thensome strange awful curse that had lain in wait, ambushed among theflowers I gathered that last day of my dead existence, fell upon me--Isaw you! No wonder I shivered, when you met me. I saw you. Then my sunsickened and went out, and my hopes crumbled, and my youth shrivelledand perished forever; and the wide world is a rayless dungeon, and thegirl Beryl is buried so deep, that the Angels of the Resurrection willnever find her!--and I?--I am only a withered, disgraced woman, hurledinto a den; trampled, branded; with a soul devoured by despairingbitterness, with a broken heart, a brain on fire! If you had drawn aknife across my throat, or sent a bullet through my temples, my spiritmight have rested in the Beyond, and I could have forgiven that whichhastened me to heaven; but you strangled my hopes, and mutilated myyouth, and dishonored my father's name!--You robbed me of my stainlesscharacter, and cast me among outlaws and fiends!--Worse yet, oh!blackest of all your crimes!--you have almost throttled my faith inChrist. You have torn away my hold upon the eternal God! You are thecurse of my life. You wish you had never set your eyes on me? Takecourage, finish your work; the best of me is utterly dead already, andwhen you have taken my blood, and laid my polluted body in a convict'sshallow grave, your enmity will be satiated. Then I, at least, I shallbe free from my hideous curse. If there be any comfort left me, itlurks in the knowledge that when you succeed in convicting me, the sameworld will no longer hold us both."

  Was it the fever of disease, or incipient madness that blazed in hereyes, flamed on her cheeks, and lent such thrilling cadence to her pureclear voice? Was she a consummate actress, or had he made a frightfulmistake, and goaded an innocent girl to the verge of frenzy? Someoccult influence seemed clouding his hitherto infallible perceptions,melting his heart, paralyzing his will. He walked up and down thefloor, with his hands clasped behind him, then came close to theprisoner.

  "If I have unjustly suspected and persecuted you, may God forgive me!If I have wronged you by suspicion and accusation of a crime which youdid not commit, then my atonement shall be your triumphant vindication.I would give a good deal to know that your hands are as pure as theylook, and innocent of theft and murder. Tell me--tell me the truth. Iwill save you, I will give you back all that you have lost, and tenfoldmore. For God's sake, for your own sake, and for mine, I entreat you totell me the truth. Did you go back to 'Elm Bluff' that night, after Imet you in the pine woods?"

  His dark face was close to hers, and his keen blue eyes seemed to probethe recesses of her soul. If she answered, would the steel springs ofsome trap close upon her?

  "I did not go back to 'Elm Bluff.' My hands, my heart, my soul are asfree from crime as they were when God sent them into the world. I aminnocent--innocent--innocent as any baby only a week old, lying dead inits little coffin. Innocent--but defiled, disgraced; innocent as theLord Jesus was of the sins for which He died; but you can not save whatyou have destroyed. You have ruined my life."

  He was a strong man, cold, collected, priding himself upon his superbphysique, his nerves of steel; but as he watched and listened, hetrembled, and the girl's eyes dilated, sparkled through the suddenmoisture that so strangely and unexpectedly gathered in his own.

  "Then you must prove the truth of your solemn words; and it was thisfaint hope that induced me to come here to-day. Only one circumstancestands between the Grand Jury and your indictment for murder; and timepresses. Now tell me, do you know this?"

  He took from his coat pocket a small parcel wrapped in paper, and toreoff the covering. Beryl stood faint and dizzy, resting against thewindow, but erect, on guard and defiant. He shook out and held up asquare of fine linen, daintily hem-stitched. Along the border rangraceful arabesques, swelling into scallops and dotted with stars,embroidered in some rich red thread; and in one corner, enclosed in awreath of exquisitely designed fuchsias, the large, elaborately ornatecapitals "B. B." were worked in fadeless scarlet scrolls to match thewreath. Above the drooping flowers, poised the red wings of adescending butterfly. Artistic instincts had outlined, and deftdelicate touches filled in, with the glowing embroidery.

  Did she know it? Could she ever forget that serene May day when the airwas liquid gold, and the Mediterranean molten sapphire, wreathed withpearls, as the wavelets crested; when the rosy oleanders and silveryflakes of orange blossoms floated down upon the ferny cliff, wheresitting by her father's side, she had drawn this design, spreading thelinen on the back of her father's worn copy of Theocritus? If she liveda thousand years, would it be possible to forget the thin, almosttransparent white hand, with its blue veins swollen like cords, whichhad gently taken the pencil from her fingers, and retouched and roundedthe sweep of the curves; the dear wasted hand that she had stooped andkissed, as it corrected her work?

  As on the golden background of a cherished Byzantine picture, memoryheld untarnished every tint and outline of that blessed day, when sheand her father had looked for the last time on the sunny sea they lovedso well.

  Did fell fat
e hover, even then, in that sparkling perfumed air, and insinister prescience trace this tangling web of threads, with grimintent to snare her unwary feet?

  Savants tell us, that ages ago, in the dim dawn, primeval rain dropsmade their pattering print, and left it to harden on the stone pages,awaiting decipherment by human eyes and human brains, not yet

  "Born of the brainless Nature, Who knew not that which she bore."

  Is there an analogous iron chain linking the merest trifles, thefrivolous accidents, the apparently worthless coincidences that swellthe sum of what we are pleased to call the nobly independent life ofthe "free-agent" Man? In the matrix of time, do human tears and humanblood-drops leave their record, to be conned when Nemesis holds herlast assize?

  As the handkerchief swayed in the lawyer's grasp, Beryl saw the red "B.B." like a bloody brand. At that instant she felt that the death clutchfastened upon her throat; that fate had cast her adrift, on the blackwaves of despair. In her reeling brain kaleidoscopic images danced; herfather's face, the lateen sail of fishing boats rocking on bluebillows, white oxen browsing amid purple iris clusters; she heard hermother's voice, her brother's gay laugh; she smelled the prussic acidfragrance of the vivid oleanders, then over all, like tongues ofdevouring flames, flickered "Ricordo." "B. B."

  In the frenzy of her desperation she sprang forward, seized the armsthat held up the fatal handkerchief, and shook the man, as if he hadbeen an infant. Her eyes full of horror, were fixed on the scrap oflinen, and a frantic cry rang from her lips.

  "Father! Father! There is no hereafter for you and me! Prayer is butthe mockery of fools! There is no heaven for the pure, because there isno God! No God!--to hear, to save the innocent who trusted in Him.Oh--no God!"

  Mr. Dunbar dropped the handkerchief, and as the irresistible convictionof her guilt rolled back, crushing the hope he had cherished a momentbefore, a spasm of pain seized his heart, and with a groan that wouldnot be repressed, he covered his eyes to shut out the vision of thedespairing woman, whose doom seemed sealed. Her right hand whichunconsciously clutched his left shoulder, shivered like an aspen, andhe knew that for the moment she was entirely oblivious of his presence;blind to everything but the assurance of her ruin.

  After all, he had made no mistake; his keen insight was well nighinfallible; but his triumph was costly. The luscious fruit ofprofessional success left an acrid flavor; the pungent dead sea ashessifted freely. He set his heel on the embroidered butterfly, and in hisheart cursed the hour he had first seen it. His coveted bread waspetrifying between his teeth.

  The grasp on his shoulder relaxed, the hand fell heavily. When helooked in the face of his victim, he caught his breath at the strange,inexplicable change a few minutes had wrought. Protest and resistancehad come to an end. Surrender was printed on every feature. The wildfury of the passionate struggle that convulsed her, had spent itself;and as after a violent wintry tempest the gale subsides, and the snowcompassionately shrouds the scene, burning the dead sparrows, thebruised flowers, so submission laid her cold touch on this quiveringface, and veiled and froze it.

  From afar the sound of rushing waters seemed to smite Beryl's ears, tosurge nearer, to overflow her brain. She sank suddenly to the floor,clinging with one hand to the window bar, and her auburn head fellforward on the up-lifted arm. Thinking that she had fainted, Mr.Dunbar stooped and raised her face, holding it in his palms. The eyesmet his, unflinching but mournful as those of a tormented deer whom thehunters drag from worrying hounds. She writhed, freed herself from histouch; and resting against the window sill, drew a long deep breath.

  "You have succeeded in your mission today. You have the only clue youneeded. You have no occasion to linger. Now--will you leave me?"

  He picked up the handkerchief.

  "This is your handkerchief?"

  She made no answer. A leaden hand was pressing upon her heart, herbrain, her aching eyes.

  "You have basely deceived me. You did go back that night, and you leftthis, to betray you. Saturated with chloroform you laid it over yourgrandfather's face. Load your soul with no more falsehoods. Confess thedeeds of that awful night."

  "I did not go back. I never saw 'Elm Bluff' after I met you. I know nomore of the chloroform than you do. I have told the truth first andlast, and always. I have no confession to make. I am as innocent as youare. Innocent! Innocent! You are going to hang me for a crime I did notcommit. When you do, you will murder an innocent woman."

  She spoke slowly, solemnly, and at intervals, as if she found itdifficult to express her meaning. The passionless tone was that of one,standing where the river of death flowed close to her feet, and herbeautiful face shone with the transfiguring light of conscious purity.

  "Hold up your hand, and tell me this is not your handkerchief; and Iwill yet save you."

  "It was my handkerchief, but I am innocent. Finish your work."

  "How can you expect me to believe your contradictory statements?"

  Wearily she turned her head, and looked at him. A strange drowsinessdimmed her vision, thickened her speech.

  "I expect nothing from you--but--death."

  "Will you explain how your handkerchief chanced to be found on yourgrandfather's pillow? Trust me, I am trying to believe you. Tell me."

  In his eagerness he seized her hand, clasped it tightly, bent over her.She made no reply, and the silky black lashes sank lower, lower tillthey touched the violet circle suffering had worn under her eyes. Likea lily too heavy for its stem, the glossy head fell upon her breast.Her hot fingers throbbed in his palm, and when he felt her pulse, therapid bounding tide defied his counting. Kneeling beside her, he laidthe head against his shoulder.

  "Are you ill? What is the matter? Speak to me."

  Her parched lips unclosed, and she muttered with a sigh, like a childfalling asleep after long sobbing:

  "My handkerchief--Tiberius--my--han--"

  She had fought against fearful odds, with sleepless nights and fastingdays sapping her strength; and when the battle ended, though the willwas unfaltering, physical exhaustion triumphed, and delirium mercifullytook the tortured spirit into her cradling arms.