CHAPTER I.

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AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS

A NOVEL

By

AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON

Author of "A Speckled Bird," "Infelice," "Vashti," "Beulah," "St.

Elmo," etc.

Fate steals along with silent tread,

Found oftenest in what least we dread;

Frowns in the storm with angry brow,

But in the sunshine strikes the blow.

--COWPER.

IN MEMORY OF MY MOTHER, WHO HAS ENTERED INTO REST.

JTABLE 10 35 1

AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS

CHAPTER I.

"You are obstinate and ungrateful. You would rather see me suffer and

die, than bend your stubborn pride in the effort to obtain relief for

me. You will not try to save me."

The thin, hysterically unsteady voice ended in a sob, and the frail

wasted form of the speaker leaned forward, as if the issue of life or

death hung upon an answer.

The tower clock of a neighboring church began to strike the hour of

noon, and not until the echo of the last stroke had died away, was

there a reply to the appeal.

"Mother, try to be just to me. My pride is for you, not for myself. I

shrink from seeing my mother crawl to the feet of a man, who has

disowned and spurned her; I cannot consent that she should humbly beg

for rights, so unnaturally withheld. Every instinct of my nature

revolts from the step you require of me, and I feel as if you held a

hot iron in your hand, waiting to brand me."

"Your proud sensitiveness runs in a strange groove, and it seems you

would prefer to see me a pauper in a Hospital, rather than go to your

grandfather and ask for help. Beryl, time presses, and if I die for

want of aid, you will be responsible; when it is too late, you will

reproach yourself. If I only knew where and how to reach my dear boy, I

should not importune you. Bertie would not refuse obedience to say

wishes."

The silence which followed was so prolonged that a mouse crept from its

covert in some corner of the comfortless garret room, and nibbled at

the fragments of bread scattered on the table.

Beryl stood at the dormer window, holding aside the faded blue cotton

curtain, and the mid-day glare falling upon her, showed every curve of

her tall full form; every line in the calm, pale Sibylline face. The

large steel gray eyes were shaded by drooping lids, heavily fringed

with black lashes, but when raised in a steady gaze the pupils appeared

abnormally dilated; and the delicately traced black brows that

overarched them, contrasted conspicuously with the wealth of deep

auburn hair darkened by mahogany tints, which rolled back in shining

waves from her blue veined temples. While moulding the figure and

features upon a scale almost heroic, nature had jealously guarded the

symmetry of her work, and in addition to the perfect proportion of the

statuesque outlines, had bestowed upon the firm white flesh a gleaming

smoothness, suggestive of fine grained marble highly polished. Majesty

of mien implies much, which the comparatively short period of eighteen

years rarely confers, yet majestic most properly describes this girl,

whose archetype Veleda read runic myths to the Bructeri in the twilight

of history.

Beryl crossed the room, and with her hands folded tightly together,

came to the low bed, on which lay the wreck of a once beautiful woman,

and stood for a moment silent and pre-occupied. With a sudden gesture

of surrender, she stooped her noble head, as if assuming a yoke, and

drew one long deep breath. Did some prophetic intuition show her at

that instant the Phicean Hill and its dread tenant, which sooner or

later we must all confront?

"Dear mother, I submit. Obedience to your commands certainly ought not

to lead me astray; yet I feel that I stand at the cross-roads, longing

to turn and flee from the way whither your finger points. I have no

hope of accomplishing any good, and nothing but humiliation can result

from the experiment; but I will go. Sometimes I believe; that fate

maliciously hunts up the things we most bitterly abhor, and one by one

sets them down before us--labelled Duty. When do you wish me to start?"

"To-night, at nine o'clock. In the letter which you will take to

father, I have told him our destitution; and that the money spent for

your railway ticket has been obtained by the sacrifice of the diamonds

and pearls, that were set around my mother's picture; that cameo, which

he had cut in Rome and framed in Paris. Beryl so much depends on the

impression you make upon him, that you must guard your manner against

haughtiness. Try to be patient, my daughter, and if he should seem

harsh, do not resent his words. He is old now, and proud and bitter,

but he once had a tender love for me. I was his idol, and when my child

pleads, he will relent."

Mrs. Brentano laid her thin hot fingers on her daughter's hands,

drawing her down to the edge of the bed; and Beryl saw she was

quivering with nervous excitement.

"Compose yourself, mother, or you will be so ill that I cannot leave

you. Dr. Grantlin impressed upon us, the necessity of keeping your

nervous system quiet. Take your medicine now, and try to sleep until I

come back from Stephen & Endicott's."

"Do not go to-day."

"I must. Those porcelain types were promised for a certain day, and

they should be packed in time for the afternoon express going to

Boston."

"Beryl."

"Well, mother?"

"Come nearer to me. Give me your hand. My heart is so oppressed by

dread, that I want you to promise me something, which I fancy will

lighten my burden. Life is very uncertain, and if I should die, what

would become of my Bertie? Oh, my boy! my darling, my first born! He is

so impulsive, so headstrong; and no one but his mother could ever

excuse or forgive his waywardness. Although younger, you are in some

respects, the strongest; and I want your promise that you will always

be patient and tender with him, and that you will shield him from evil,

as I have tried to do. His conscience of course, is not sensitive like

yours--because you know, a boy's moral nature is totally different from

a girl's; and like most of his sex, Bertie has no religious instincts

bending him always in the right direction. Women generally have to

supply conscientious scruples for men, and you can take care of your

brother, if you will. You are unusually brave and strong, Beryl, and

when I am gone, you must stand between him and trouble. My good little

girl, will you?"

The large luminous eyes that rested upon the flushed face of the

invalid, filled with a mist of yearning compassionate tenderness, and

taking her mother's hands, Beryl laid the palms together, then stooping

nearer, kissed her softly.

"I think I have never lacked love for Bertie, though I may not always

have given expression to my feelings. If at times I have deplored his

reckless waywardness, and expostulated with him, genuine affection

prompted me; but I promise you now, that I will do all a sister

possibly can for a brother. Trust me, mother; and rest in the assurance

that his welfare shall be more to me than my own; that should the

necessity arise, I will stand between him and trouble. Banish all

depressing forebodings. When you are strong and well, and when I paint

my great picture, we will buy a pretty cottage among the lilacs and

roses, where birds sing all day long, where cattle pasture in clover

nooks; and then Bertie, your darling, shall never leave you again."

"I do trust you, for your promise means more than oath and vows from

other people, and if occasion demand, I know you will guard my Bertie,

my high-strung, passionate, beautiful boy! Your pretty cottage? Ah,

child! when shall we dwell in Spain?"

"Some day, some day; only be hopeful, and let me find you better when I

return. Sleep, and dream of our pretty cottage. I must hurry away with

my pictures, for this is pay day."

Tying the strings of her hat under one ear, and covering her face with

a blue veil, Beryl took a pasteboard box from a table, on which lay

brushes and paints, and leaving the door a-jar, went down the narrow

stairs.

At the window of a small hall on the next floor, a woman sat before her

sewing-machine, bending so close to her work that she did not see the

tall form, which paused before her, until a hand was laid on the steel

plate.

"Mrs. Emmet, will you please be so good as to go up after a while, and

see if mother needs anything?"

"Certainly, Miss, if I am here, but I have some sewing to carry home

this afternoon."

"I shall not be absent more than two hours. To-night I am going South,

to attend to some business; and mother tells me you have promised to

wait upon her, and allow your daughter Maggie to sleep on a pallet by

her bed, while I am gone. I cannot tell you how grateful I shall be for

any kindness you may show her, and I wish you would send the baby often

to her room, as he is so sweet and cunning, and his merry ways amuse

her."

"Yes, I will do all I can. We poor folks who have none of this world's

goods, ought to be rich at least in sympathy and pity for each other's

suffering, for it is about all we have to share. Don't you worry and

fret, for I will see your ma has what she needs. I was mothered by the

best woman God ever made, and since she died, every sick mother I see

has a sort of claim on my heart."

Pausing an instant to adjust the tucker of her machine, Mrs. Emmet

looked up, and involuntarily the women shook hands, as if sealing a

compact.

It was a long walk to the building whither Beryl directed her steps,

and as she passed through the rear entrance of a large and fashionable

photograph establishment, she was surprised to find that it was

half-past two o'clock.

The Superintendent of the department, from whom she received her work,

was a man of middle-age, of rather stern and forbidding aspect; and as

she approached his desk, he pointed to the clock on the mantel-piece.

"Barely time to submit those types for inspection, and have them packed

for the express going East. They are birthday gifts, and birthdays have

an awkward habit of arriving rigidly on time."

He unrolled the tissue paper, and with a magnifying glass, carefully

examined the pictures; then took from an envelope in the box, two short

pieces of hair, which he compared with the painted heads before him.

"Beautifully done. The lace on that child's dress would bear even a

stronger lens than my glass. Here Patterson, take this box, and letter

to Mr. Endicott, and if satisfactory, carry them to the packing

counter. Shipping address is in the letter. Hurry up, my lad. Sit down,

Miss Brentano."

"Thank you, I am not tired. Mr. Mansfield, have you any good news for

me?"

"You mean those etchings; or the designs for the Christmas cards? Have

not heard a word, pro or con. Guess no news is good news; for I notice

'rejected' work generally travels fast, to roost at home."

"I thought the awards were made last week, and that to-day you could

tell me the result."

"The awards have been made, I presume, but who owns the lucky cards is

the secret that has not yet transpired. You young people have no

respect for red tape, and methodical business routine. You want to

clap spurs on fate, and make her lower her own last record? 'Bide awee.

Bide awee'."

"Winning this prize means so much to me, that I confess I find it very

hard to be patient. Success would save me from a painful and expensive

journey, upon which I must start to-night; and therefore I hoped so

earnestly that I might receive good tidings to-day. I am obliged to go

South on an errand, which will necessitate an absence of several days,

and if you should have any news for me, keep it until I call again. If

unfavorable it would depress my mother, and therefore I prefer you

should not write, as of course she will open any letters addressed to

me. Please save all the work you can for me, and I will come here as

soon as I get back home."

"Very well. Any message, Patterson?"

"Mr. Endicott said, 'All right; first-rate;' and ordered them shipped."

"Here is your money, Miss Brentano. Better call as early as you can, as

I guess there will be a lot of photographs ready in a few days. Good

afternoon."

"Thank you. Good-bye, sir."

From the handful of small change, she selected some pennies which she

slipped inside of her glove, and dropping the remainder into her

pocket, left the building, and walked on toward Union Square. Absorbed

in grave reflections, and oppressed by some vague foreboding of

impending ill, dim, intangible and unlocalized--she moved slowly along

the crowded sidewalk--unconscious of the curious glances directed

toward her superb form, and stately graceful carriage, which more than

one person turned and looked back to admire, wondering when she had

stepped down from some sacred Panathenaic Frieze.

Near Madison Square, she paused before the window of a florist's, and

raising her veil, gazed longingly at the glowing mass of blossoms,

which Nineteenth Century skill and wealth in defiance of isothermal

lines, and climatic limitations force into perfection, in, and out of

season. The violet eyes and crocus fingers of Spring smiled and

quivered, at sight of the crimson rose heart, and flaming paeony cheeks

of royal Summer; and creamy and purple chrysanthemums that quill their

laces over the russet robes of Autumn, here stared in indignant

amazement, at the premature presumption of snowy regal camellias,

audaciously advancing to crown the icy brows of Winter. All latitudes,

all seasons have become bound vassals to the great God Gold; and his

necromancy furnishes with equal facility the dewy wreaths of orange

flowers that perfume the filmy veils of December brides--and the blue

bells of spicy hyacinths which ring "Rest" over the lily pillows, set

as tribute on the graves of babies, who wilt under August suns.

From early childhood, an ardent love of beauty had characterized this

girl, whose covetous gaze wandered from a gorgeous scarlet and gold

orchid nodding in dreams of its habitat, in some vanilla scented

Brazilian jungle, to a bed of vivid green moss, where skilful hands had

grouped great drooping sprays of waxen begonias, coral, faint pink, and

ivory, all powdered with gold dust like that which gilds the heart of

water-lilies.

Such treasures were reserved for the family of Dives; and counting her

pennies, Beryl entered the store, where instantaneously the blended

breath of heliotrope, tube-rose and mignonette wafted her across the

ocean, to a white-walled fishing village on the Cornice, whose gray

rocks were kissed by the blue lips of the Mediterranean.

"What is the price of that cluster of Niphetos buds?"

"One dollar."

"And that Auratum--with a few rose geranium leaves added?"

"Seventy-five cents. You see it is wonderfully large, and the gold

bands are so very deep."

She put one hand in her pocket and fingered a silver coin, but poverty

is a grim, tyrannous stepmother to tender aestheticism, and prudential

considerations prevailed.

"Give me twenty-five cents worth of those pale blue double violets,

with a sprig of lemon verbena, and a fringe of geranium leaves."

She laid the money on the counter, and while the florist selected and

bound the blossoms into a bunch, she arrested his finishing touch.

"Wait a moment. How much more for one Grand Duke jasmine in the centre?"

"Ten cents, Miss."

She added the dime to the pennies she could ill afford to spare from

her small hoard, and said: "Will you be so kind as to sprinkle it? I

wish it kept fresh, for a sick lady."

Dusky shadows were gathering in the gloomy hall of the old tenement

house, when Beryl opened the door of the comfortless attic room, where

for many months she had struggled bravely to shield her mother from the

wolf, that more than once snarled across the threshold.

Mrs. Brentano was sitting in a low chair, with her elbows on her knees,

her face hidden in her palms; and in her lap lay paper and pencil,

while a sealed letter had fallen on the ground beside her. At the sound

of the opening door, she lifted her head, and tears dripped upon the

paper. In her faded flannel dressing-gown, with tresses of black hair

straggling across her shoulders, she presented a picture of helpless

mental and physical woe, which painted itself indelibly on the panels

of her daughter's heart.

"Why did you not wait until I came home? The exertion of getting up

always fatigues you."

"You staid so long--and I am so uncomfortable in that wretchedly hard

bed. What detained you?"

"I went to see the Doctor, because I am unwilling to start away,

without having asked his advice; and he has prescribed some new

medicine which you will find in this bottle. The directions are marked

on the label. Now I will put things in order, and try my hands on that

refractory bed."

"What did the Doctor say about me?"

"Nothing new; but he is confident that you can be cured in time, if we

will only be patient and obedient. He promised to see you in the

morning."

She stripped the bed of its covering, shook bolster and pillows; turned

over the mattress, and beat it vigorously; then put on fresh sheets,

and adjusted the whole comfortably.

"Now mother, turn your head, and let me comb and brush and braid all

this glossy black satin, to keep it from tangling while I am away. What

a pity you did not dower your daughter with part of it, instead of this

tawny mane of mine, which is a constant affront to my fastidious

artistic instincts. Please keep still a moment."

She unwrapped the tissue paper that covered her flowers, and holding

her hands behind her, stepped in front of the invalid.

"Dear mother, shut your eyes. There--! of what does that remind you?

The pergola--with great amber grape clusters--and white stars of

jasmine shining through the leaves? All the fragrance of Italy sleeps

in the thurible of this Grand-Duke."

"How delicious! Ah, my extravagant child! we cannot afford such

luxuries now. The perfume recalls so vividly the time when Bertie--"

A sob cut short the sentence. Beryl pinned the flowers at her mother's

throat, kissed her cheek, and kneeling before her, crossed her arms on

the invalid's lap, resting there the noble head, with its burnished

crown of reddish bronze braids.

"Mother dear, humor my childish whim. In defiance of my wishes and

judgment, and solely in obedience to your command, I am leaving you for

the first time, on a bitterly painful and humiliating mission.

To-night, let me be indeed your little girl once more. My heart brings

me to your knees, to say my prayers as of yore, and now while I pray,

lay your dear pretty hands on my head. It will seem like a parting

benediction; a veritable Nunc dimmitas."