Holding in leash the painful emotions that struggled for utterance,
Beryl was unconscious of the lapse of time, and when her averted eyes
returned reluctantly to her grandfather's face, he was slowly tearing
into shreds the tear-stained letter, freighted with passionate prayers
for pardon, and for succor. Rolling the strips into a ball, he threw it
into the waste-paper basket under the table; then filled a glass with
sherry, drank it, and dropped his head wearily on his hand. Five leaden
minutes crawled away, and a long, heavy sigh quivered through Gen'l
Darrington's gaunt frame. Seizing the decanter, he poured the contents
into two glasses, and as he raised one to his lips, held the other
toward his visitor.
"You must be weary from your journey; let me insist that you drink some
sherry."
"Thank you, I neither wish nor require it."
"I find your name is Beryl. Sit down here, and answer a few questions."
He drew a chair near his own.
She shook her head:
"If you will excuse me, I prefer to stand."
In turning, so as to confront her fully, his elbow struck from the
table, a bronze paper-weight which rolled just beyond his reach.
Instinctively she stooped to pick it up, and in restoring it, her
fingers touched his. Leaning suddenly forward he grasped her wrists ere
she was aware of his intention, and drew her in front of him.
"Pardon me; but I want a good look at you."
His keen merciless eyes searched every feature, and he deliberately
lifted and examined the exquisitely shaped strong, white hands, the
dainty nails, and delicately rounded wrists with their violet tracery
of veins. It cost her an effort, to abstain from wrenching herself
free; but her mother's caution: "So much depends on the impression you
make upon father," girded her to submit to his critical inspection.
A grim smile crossed his face, as he watched her.
"Blood often doubles, like a fox; sometimes 'crops back,' but never
lies. You can't play out your role of pauper; and you don't look a
probable outcome of destitution and hard work. Your hands would fit
much better in a metope of the Elgin Marbles, than in a wash-tub, or a
bake-oven."
Drawing away quickly, she put them behind her, and felt her palms
tingle.
"It is expected I should believe that for some time past, you have
provided for your own, and your mother's wants. In what way?"
"By coloring photographs; by furnishing designs for Christmas and
Easter cards, and occasionally (not often), by selling drawings used
for decorating china, and wallpaper. At one time, I had regular pay for
singing in a choir, but diphtheria injured my throat, and when I partly
recovered my voice, the situation had been given to another person."
"I am informed also that before long, you intend to astonish the world
with a wonderful picture, which shall distance such laggards as Troyon,
Dore, and Ary Scheffer?"
She was looking, not at him, but out through the glass door, at the
glowing western sky, where distant pine trees printed their
silhouettes. Now her gaze came back to his face, and he noted a faint
quiver in her full throat.
"If God will mercifully spare my mother to me, my loftiest and holiest
ambition shall be to distance the wolfish cares and woes that have
hunted her, ever since she became a widow. Any and all honest labor
that can contribute to her comfort, will be welcome and sweet to me."
"The laws of heredity must be occult and complex. The offspring of a
rebellious and disobedient child, is certainly entitled to no filial
instincts; and some day the strain will tell, and you will overwhelm
your mother with ingratitude, black as that which she showed me."
"When I do, may God eternally forsake me!"
A brief silence ensued, and the old man drummed on the table, with the
fingers of his right hand.
"Who educated you?"
"My dear father."
"It seems there are two of you. Where is your brother?"
"At present, I do not know exactly where he is, but I think in the far
West; possibly in Montana--probably in Canada."
"How does he earn his bread? By daubing, or fiddling?"
"Since he earns it honestly, that is his own affair. We have not heard
from him for some months."
"I thought so! He inherits the worthless vagabond strain of--"
"He is his mother's idol, and she glories in his resemblance to you,
sir; and to your father; hence his name--Robert L. Darrington."
"Then she must have one handsome child! I am not surprised that he is
the favorite."
"Bertie certainly is her darling, and he is very handsome; not in the
very least degree like me."
For the first time, their eyes met in a friendly glance, and a covert
smile stirred the General's lips; but as he put out his hand toward
her, she moved a step beyond his reach.
"Beryl, you consider me a dreadful, cruel old tyrant?"
She made no reply.
"Answer me."
"You are my mother's father; and that word--father, means so much to
me, that it shall shield even you, from the shadow of disrespect."
"Oh! very dutiful indeed, but dead as the days when daughters obeyed,
and honored their fathers! Beggarly foreign professors wiped all that
out of the minds of wealthy girls at boarding schools--just as they
changed their backwoods pronunciation of French and Italian. Don't
evade my question."
"I did not come here, sir, to bandy words; and I ended my mission by
delivering the letter intrusted to me."
"You regard me as a vindictive old bear?"
"I had heard much of the Darringtons; I imagined a great deal more; but
now, like the Queen of Sheba, I must testify--'Behold, the half was not
told me.'"
He threw back his lion-like head, and laughed.
"That will do. Shake hands, child."
"No, thank you."
"And you will not sit down?"
"Frankly, I prefer not. I long to get away."
"You shall certainly be gratified, but there are a few things which I
intend you shall hear. Of course you know that your mother was my only
child, and an heiress; but you are ignorant probably of the fact that
when she returned to boarding school for the last session, she was
engaged in marriage to the son of my best friend--a man in every
respect desirable, and thoroughly acceptable to me."
"So my mother told me."
"Indeed? She should blush to remember it. While she wore his engagement
ring, she forgot her promise to him, her duty to me, her lineage, her
birth, her position--and was inveigled by a low adventurer who--"
"Who was my own precious father--poor, but noble, and worthy of any
princess! Unless you can refer to him respectfully, name him not at
all, in his child's presence."
She suddenly towered over him, like some threatening fate, and her
uplifted arm trembled from the intensity of her indignation.
"At least--you are loyal to your tribe!"
"I am, to my heart's core. You could pay me no higher compliment."
"Ellice wrote that she had bestowed her affections on--on--the 'exiled
scion of a noble house,' who paid his board bill by teaching languages
and music in the school; and who very naturally preferred to marry a
rich fool, who would pay them for him. I answered her letter, which was
addressed to her own mother--then quite ill at home--and I told her
precisely what she might expect, if she persisted in her insane folly.
As soon as my wife convalesced sufficiently to render my departure
advisable, I started to bring my daughter home; but she ran away, a few
hours before my arrival, and while, hoping to rescue Ellice, I was in
pursuit of the precious pair, my wife relapsed and died--the victim of
excitement brought on by her child's disgrace. I came back here to a
desolate, silent house;--bereft of wife and daughter; and in the grave
of her mother, I buried every atom of love and tenderness I ever
entertained for Ellice. When the sun is suddenly blotted out at noon,
and the world turns black--black, we grope to and fro aimlessly; but
after awhile, we accommodate ourselves to the darkness;--and so, I
became a different man--very hard, and I dare say very bitter. The
world soon learned that I would tolerate no illusion to my disgrace,
and people respected my family cancer, and prudently refrained from
offering me nostrums to cure it. My wife had a handsome estate of her
own right, and every cent of her fortune I collected, and sent with her
jewelry to Ellice. Did you know this?"
"I have heard only of the jewels."
"As I supposed, the money was squandered before you could recollect."
"I know that we were reduced to poverty, by the failure of some banking
house in Paris. I was old enough when it occurred, to remember ever
afterward, the dismay and distress it caused. My father no doubt placed
my mother's money there for safety."
"I wrote one long, final letter when I sent the checks for the money,
and I told Ellice I wished never to see, never to hear from her again.
I told her also, I had only one wish concerning her, and that was, that
I might be able to forget her so completely, that if we should meet in
the Last Judgment, I could not possibly know her. I assured her she
need expect nothing at my death; as I had taken good care that my
estate should not fall into the clutches of--her--'exiled scion of a
noble house.' Now do you consider that she has any claim on me?"
"You must not ask me to sit in judgment on my parents."
"You shall decide a question of business facts. I provided liberally
for her once; can you expect me to do so again? Has she any right to
demand it?"
"Having defied your parental wishes, she may have forfeited a
daughter's claim; but as a heart-broken sufferer, you cannot deny her
the melancholy privilege of praying for your help, on her death-bed."
The proud clear voice trembled, and Beryl covered her face with her
hands.
"Then we will ignore outraged ties of blood, and treat on the ground of
mere humanity? Let me conclude, for it is sickening and loathsome to a
man of my age, to see his long silent household graves yawn, and give
up uncalled--their sheeted dead. For some years the money sent, was a
quietus, and I was left in peace. I was lonely; it was, hard work to
forget, because I could never forgive; and the more desolate the gray
ruin, the more nature yearns to cover it close with vines and flowers;
so after a time, I married a gentle, pure hearted woman, who made the
best of what was left of me. We had no children, but she had one son of
a former marriage, who proved a noble trustworthy boy; and by degrees
he crept into my heart, and raked together the cinders of my dead
affections, and kindled a feeble flame that warmed my shivering old
age. When I felt assured that I was not thawing another serpent to
sting me for my pains, I adopted Thorton Prince, and with the aid of a
Legislative enactment, changed his name to Prince Darrington. Only a
few months elapsed, before his mother, of whom I was very fond, died of
consumption and my boy and I comforted each other. Then I made my
second and last will, and took every possible precaution to secure my
estate of every description to him. He is my sole heir, and I intend
that at my death he shall receive every cent I possess. Did you know
this?"
"I did, because your last endorsement on a letter of my mother's
returned unopened to her, informed her of the fact."
"Why? Because in violation of my wishes she had persisted in writing,
and soon began to importune me for money. Then I made her understand
that even at my death, she would receive no aid; and since that
endorsement, I have returned or destroyed her letters unread. My Will
is so strong--has been drawn so carefully--that no contest can touch
it; and it will stand forever between your mother and my property."
As he uttered these words, he elevated his voice, which had a ring of
savage triumph in its harsh excited tones. Just then, a muffled sound
attracted his attention, and seizing his gold-headed cane, he limped
with evident pain to the threshold of the adjoining room.
"Bedney."
Receiving no reply, he closed the door with a violence that jarred the
whole room; and came slowly back to the table, where he stood leaning
heavily on his stick.
"At least we will have no eavesdropping at this resurrection of my
dead. That Ellice is now a miserable woman, I have no doubt; for truly:
'Quien se casa por amores, ha de vivir con dolores.' Of course you
understand Spanish?"
"No, sir; but no matter; I take it for granted that you intend some
thrust at my mother, and I have heard quite enough."
"Don't know Spanish? Why I fancied your--your 'exiled scion of a noble
house'--taught all the languages under the sun; including that used by
the serpent in beguiling Eve! Well, the wise old adage means: 'Who
marries for love, lives with sorrow.' Ellice made her choice, and she
shall abide by it; and you--being unluckily her daughter--will share
the punishment. If 'fathers WILL eat sour grapes, the children's teeth
MUST be set on edge.' I repudiate all claims on my parental treasury,
save such as I have given to my son Prince. To every other draft I am
bankrupt; but merely as a gentleman, I will now for the last time,
respond to the petition of a sick woman, whose child is so loyal as to
arouse my compassion. Ellice has asked for one hundred dollars. You
shall have it. But first, tell me why she did not go to the hospital,
and submit to the operation which she says will cure her?"
"Because I could not be with her there, and I will never be separated
from her. The aneurism has grown so alarmingly, that I became
desperate, and having no one to aid us, I reluctantly obeyed my
mother's requirement that I should come here. I could not summon my
brother, because I have no idea where a letter would reach him; and
with no friend--but the God of the friendless--I am before you. There
is one thing I ought to tell you; I have terrible forebodings of the
result of the operation, from which the Doctor encourages her to hope
so much. She will not be able to take anesthetics, at least not
chloroform, because she has a weak heart, and--"
"Yes--a very weak heart! It was never strong enough to hold her to her
duty."
"If you could see her now, I think even your vindictive hatred would be
sufficiently gratified. So wasted, so broken!--and with such a
ceaseless craving for a kind word from you. One night last week pain
made her restless, and I heard her sob. When I tried to relieve the
suffering, she cried bitterly: 'It is not my poor body alone--it is the
gnawing hunger to see father once more. He loved me so fondly once and
if I could crawl to his feet, and clasp his knees in my arms, I could
at least die in peace. I am starving for just one sight of him--one
touch.' My poor darling mother! My beautiful, bruised, broken flower."
Through the glittering mist of unshed tears, her eyes shone, like
silver lamps; and for a moment Gen'l Darrington covered his face with
one hand.
"If you could realize how bitterly galling to my own pride and self
respect is this appeal to a man who hates and spurns all whom I love, I
think, sir, that even you would pity me so heartily, that your hardened
heart would melt into one last farewell message of forgiveness to your
unfortunate daughter. I would rather carry her one word of love than
all your fortune."
"No--I come of a flinty race. We never forgive insults; never condone
wrongs; and expecting loyalty in our own blood, we cannot live long
enough to pardon its treachery. Once, I made an idol of my beautiful,
graceful, high-bred girl; but she stabbed my pride, dragged my name
through the gutters, broke her doting mother's heart; and now, I tell
you, she is as dead to me as if she had lain twenty-three years in her
grave. I have only one message. Tell her she is reaping the tares her
own hand sowed. I know her no more as child of mine, and my son fills
her place so completely, I do not even miss her. That is the best I can
say. No doubt I am hard, but at least I am honest; and I will not feign
what I cannot feel."
He limped across the floor, to a recess on one side of the chimney,
where a square vault with an iron door had been built into the wall.
Leaning on his cane, he took from his pocket a bunch of keys, fitted
one into the lock, and pushing the bolt, the door slid back into a
groove, instead of opening on hinges. He lifted a black tin box from
the depths of the vault, carried it to the table, sat down, and opened
it. Near the top, were numerous papers tied into packages with red
tape, and two large envelopes carefully sealed with dark-green wax. In
removing the bundles, to find something beneath them, these envelopes
were laid on the table; and as one was either accidentally or
intentionally turned, Beryl saw the endorsement written in bold black
letters, and heavily underscored in red ink: "Last Will and Testament
of Robert Luke Darrington." Untying a small chamois bag, the owner
counted out five twenty-dollar gold pieces, closed the bag, and
replaced it in the box.
"Hold out your hand. Your mother asked fur one hundred dollars. Here is
the exact amount. Henceforth, leave me in peace. I am an old man, and I
advise you to 'let sleeping dogs lie.'"
If he had laid a red-hot iron on her palm, it would scarcely have been
more scorching than the touch of his gold, and only the vision of a wan
and woeful face in that far off cheerless attic room, restrained her
impulse to throw it at his feet.
An almost intolerable humiliation dyed her pale cheeks a deep purplish
crimson, and she proudly drew herself to her utmost height.
"Because I cannot now help myself, I accept the money--not as a gift,
but as a loan for my mother's benefit; and so help me God! I will not
owe it to you one moment longer than by hard labor I can earn and
return it. Goodbye, Gen'l Darrington."
She turned toward the closed door leading to the library, but raising
his cane, he held it out, to intercept her.
"Wait a moment. There is one thing more."
He took from the tin box an oblong package, wrapped in letter paper,
yellowed by age, and carefully sealed with red wax. As he held it up,
she read thereon: "My last folly." He tore off the paper, lifted an old
fashioned morocco case, and attempted to open it, but the catch was
obstinate, or rusty, and several ineffectual efforts were made, ere he
succeeded in moving the spring. The once white velvet cushion, had
darkened and turned very yellow, but time had robbed in no degree, the
lustre of the magnificent sapphires coiled there; and the blue fires
leaped out, as if rejoicing in the privilege of displaying their
splendor. "This set of stones was intended as a gift to your mother,
when she was graduated at boarding-school. The time fixed for the close
of the session was only one month later than the day on which she
eloped with that foreign fraud, who should never have been allowed in
the school. My wife had promised that if your mother won the honor of
valedictorian, she should have the handsomest present ever worn at a
commencement. These costly sapphires were my poor wife's choice. Poor
Helena! how often she admired them!" His voice faltered, and he bit his
under lip to still its quiver.
Was there some necromancy in the azure flames, that suddenly revealed
the beloved face of the wife of his youth, and the lovely vision of
their only child? His eagle eyes were dim with tears, and his hand
shook; but, as if ashamed of the weakness, he closed the jewel case
with a snap, and held it out.
"Here--take them. I had intended to give them as a bridal present to my
son's wife, when he marries to suit me--as he certainly will; but
somehow, such a disposal seems hard on my dear Helena's wishes, and for
her sake, I don't feel quite easy about leaving them to Prince's bride.
Your mother never saw them, never knew of their existence. They are
very valuable, and the amount they will bring must relieve all present
necessities. Tell Ellice the sight of the case disturbs me, like a
thorn in the flesh, so I send them away, to rid myself of an annoyance.
She must not thank me; they come from her--dead mother."
"A knowledge of their history would give her infinitely more pain than
the proceeds of their sale could bring comfort. I would not stab her
aching heart for twenty times the value of the jewels."
"Then sell them, or do as you like. It matters not what becomes of
them, if I am spared in future all reminders of the past. Put them in
your pocket. What? The case is too large? Where is your trunk--your
baggage?"
"I have none, except my basket and shawl."
She picked them up from the carpet near the library door, and dropped
the case into her basket.
"You are a brave, and a loyal woman, and you appear to deserve far
better parents than fell to your lot. Before you go, let me offer you a
glass of wine, and a biscuit."
"Thank you--no. I could not possibly accept it."
"Well, we shall never meet again. Good-bye. Shake hands."
"I will very gladly do so if you will only give me just one gentle,
forgiving kind word to comfort mother."
He set his teeth, and shook his head.
"Good-bye, Gen'l Darrington. When you lie down to die, I hope God will
be more merciful to your poor soul, than you have shown yourself to
your suffering child."
He bowed profoundly.
Her hand was on the knob of the door, when he pointed to the western
veranda.
"You are going back to town? Then, if you please, be so good as to pass
out through that rear entrance, and close the glass door after you. A
side path leads to the lawn; and I prefer that you should not meet the
servants, who pry and tattle."
When she stood on the veranda, and turned to close the wide arched
glass door, whence the inside red silk curtain had been looped back,
her last view of the gaunt, tall figure within, showed him leaning on
his stick, with the tin box held in his left hand, and the dying
sunlight shining on his silver hair and furrowed face.
Along the serpentine path which was bordered with masses of brilliant
chrysanthemums, Beryl walked rapidly, feeling almost stifled by the
pressure of contending emotions. Recollecting that these spice censers
of Autumn were her mother's favorite flowers, she stooped and broke
several lovely clusters of orange and garnet color, hoping that a
lingering breath of perfume from the home of her girlhood, might afford
at least a melancholy pleasure to the distant invalid.
Advancing into the elm avenue, she heard a voice calling, and looking
back, saw the old negro man, Bedney, waving his white apron and running
toward her; but at that moment his steps were arrested by the sudden,
loud and rapid ringing of a bell. He paused, listened, wavered; then
threw up his hands, and hurried back to the house, whence issued the
impatient summons.
The sun had gone down in the green sea of far-off pine tops, but the
western sky glowed like some vast altar of topaz, whereon zodiacal
fires had kindled the rays of vivid rose, that sprang into the zenith
and cooled their flush in the pale blue of the upper air. Under the
elms, swift southern twilight was already filling the arches with
purple gloom, and when the heavy iron gate closed with a sullen clang
behind her, Beryl drew a long deep breath of relief. On the sultry
atmosphere broke the gurgling andante music of the "branch," as it
eddied among the nodding ferns, and darted under the bridge; and the
weary, thirsty woman knelt on the mossy margin, dipped up the amber
water in her palms, drank, and bathed her burning face which still
tingled painfully.
Having learned from the station agent, who had already sold her a
return ticket, that the north bound railway train, by which she desired
to travel home, would not depart until 7.15, she was beguiled by the
brilliance of the sky into the belief that she had ample time, to
comply with her mother's farewell request. Mrs. Brentano had tied with
a scrap of ribbon the bouquet of flowers, bought by her daughter on the
afternoon of her journey south, and asked her to lay them on her
mother's grave.
Anxious to accomplish this sacred mission Beryl took the faded blossoms
from her basket, added a cluster of chrysanthemums, a frond of fern
from the "branch" border, and hurried on to the cemetery. When she
reached the entrance, the gate was locked, but unwilling to return
without having gratified her mother's wish, she climbed into a
spreading cedar close by the low brick wall, and swung herself easily
down inside the enclosure.
Some time was lost in finding the Darrington lot, but at last she stood
before a tall iron railing, that bristled with lance-like points,
between the dust, of her ancestors and herself. In one corner rose a
beautiful monument, bearing on its front, in gilt letters, the
inscription "Helena Tracy, wife of R. L. Darrington."
Thrusting her hand through a space in the railing, Beryl dropped her
mother's withered Arkja tribute on the marble slab. Her dress was
caught by a sharp point of iron, and while endeavoring to disengage it,
she heard the shrill whistle of the R. R. engine. Tearing the skirt
away, she ran to the wall, climbed over, after some delay, and finding
herself once more in the open road, darted on as fast as possible
through the dusk, heedless of appearances, fearful only of missing the
train. How the houses multiplied, and what interminable lengths the
squares seemed, as she neared the brick warehouse and office of the
station! The lamps at the street corners beckoned her on, and when
panting for breath she rushed around the side of the tall building that
fronted the railway, there was no train in sight.
Two or three coal cars stood on a siding, near a detached engine, where
one man was lighting the lamp before the reflector of the headlight,
and another, who whistled merrily, burnished the brass and copper
platings. In the door of the ticket office the agent lounged, puffed
his cigar, and fanned himself with his hat.
"What time is it?" cried Beryl.
"Seven-forty-five."
"Oh! do not tell me I have missed the train."
"You certainly have. I told you it left at 7:15 sharp. It was ten
minutes behind time on account of hot boxes, but rolled out just twenty
minutes ago. Did you get lost hunting 'Elm Bluff,' and miss your train
on that account?"
"No, I had no difficulty in finding the place, but having no watch, I
was forced to guess at the time. Only twenty minutes too late!"
"Did you see the old war-horse?"
Beryl did not answer, and after a moment the agent added:
"That is Gen'l Darrington's nick-name all over this section."
"When will the next train leave here?"
"Not until 3:05 A.M."
Beryl sat down on the edge of a baggage truck, and pondered the
situation. She knew that her mother, who had carefully studied the
railway schedule, was with feverish anxiety expecting her return by the
train, now many miles away; and she feared that any unexplained
detention would have an injurious effect on the sick woman's shattered
nerves.
Although she could ill afford the expense, she resolved to allay all
apprehension, by the costly sedative of a telegram.
Only a wall separated the ticket office from that of the "telegraph,"
and approaching the operator, Beryl asked for a blank form, on which
she wrote her mother's address, and the following message:
"Complete success required delay. All will be satisfactory. Expect me
Saturday. B. B."
When she had paid the operator, there remained in her purse, exclusive
of the gold coins received that afternoon, only thirty-eight cents.
Where could she spend the next seven hours? Interpreting the perplexed
expression of her face, the agent, who had curiously noted her
movements, said courteously:
"There is a hotel a few blocks off, where you can rest until train
time."
"I prefer to remain here."
"We generally lock up this office about half-past eight, and re-open at
half-past two, which gives passengers ample accommodation for the 3:05
train."
"Would you violate regulations by leaving the waiting-room open
to-night?"
"Not exactly; as of course we are obliged to keep open for delayed
trains; but it will be lonesome waiting, for no one stays here, except
the Night Train Despatcher, and the switch watchman. Still if it will
oblige you, miss, I will not lock up, and you can doze away the time by
spreading your shawl on two chairs. I am going to supper now, and shall
turn down the lights. One burner will be sufficient."
"Thank you very much. Where can I find some water?"
"In the cooler in the ladies' dressing-room. It is most unaccountably
hot tonight, and I never knew anything like it in October. There must
be a cyclone brewing somewhere not far off."
He lifted his hat, as he passed her, and disappeared; and the tired
girl seated herself near a window and stirred the dense, impure air by
fanning herself with her straw hat. Gradually the few stragglers
loitering about the station wandered away; the engineer stepped upon
the locomotive; a piercing whistle broke suddenly on the silence
settling down over the whilom busy precincts, and as the rhythmic
measure of the engine bell rang farewell chimes, a pyramid of sparks
leaped high, and the mighty mechanism fled down the track, hunting its
own echoes. The man in charge of the express office came out, looked up
and down the street; yawned, lighted his pipe, and after locking the
office, wended his way homeward.
From the adjoining room came the slow monotonous clicking of the
telegraph wires, as messages passed to other stations, and only the
switch watchman was visible, sitting on an inverted tub, and playing
snatches from "Mascotte" and "Olivette" upon a harmonicon.
Heat seemed radiating from the brick pavement outside, from the inner
walls of the waiting-room; and Beryl, finding the atmosphere almost
stifling, went out under the stars. Up and down she paced, until weary
of the dusty thoroughfare, she turned into the street which, earlier in
the day, had conducted her toward the suburbs. She knew that a full
moon had climbed above the horizon, and some malign Morgana lured her
on, with visions of cool pine glades paved with silver mosaics, and
balmy with breath of balsam; where through vast forest naves echoed the
melodious monody chanted by the reddish gold wavelets of the "branch."
In the eastern sky the florid face of a hunter's moon looked down, from
the level line of a leaden cloud, which striped the star emblazoned
shield of night, like a bar sinister; and the white lustre of her rays
was dimmed to a lurid dulness solemn and presageful.
As Beryl crossed the common near the station, and entered the pillared
aisles of the pines, the air was less oppressive, but a dun haze seemed
on every side to curtain the horizon, and the stars looked bleared and
tired in the breathless vault above her. A man driving two cows toward
town, stared at her; then a wagon drawn by four horses rattled along,
bearing homeward a gay picnic party of young people, who made the woods
ring with the echoes of "Hold the Fort." The grandeur of towering
pines, the mysterious dimness of illimitable arcades, and the peculiar
resinous odor that stole like lingering ghosts of myrrh, frankincense
and onycha through the vaulted solitude of a deserted hoary sanctuary,
all these phases of primeval Southern forests combined to weave a spell
that the stranger could not resist.
After a while, fearful of straying too far, the weary woman threw her
shawl on the brown straw, and sat down quite near the road. She leaned
her bare head against the trunk of a pine, listened to the katydids
gossiping in a distant oak that shaded the "branch," to the quavering
strident song of a locust; and she intended, after resting for a few
moments, to return to the station-house; but unexpected drowsiness
overpowered her. Suddenly aroused from a sound sleep, she heard the
clatter of galloping hoofs, and as she sprang up, the horse, startled
by her movement, shied and reared within a few feet of the spot where
she stood. The moon shone full on the glossy black animal, and upon his
powerful rider, and Beryl recognized the massive head, swarthy face and
keen eyes of the attorney, Lennox Dunbar. He leaned forward and said,
as he patted the erect ears of his horse:
"Madam, you seem a stranger. Have you lost your way?"
"No, sir."
"Pardon me; but having seen you this afternoon at 'Elm Bluff,' I
thought it possible you had missed the road."
Standing so straight and tall, with the sheen of the moon on her
faultless features, he thought she looked the incarnation of some
prescient Norn, fit for the well of Urda.
She made no reply; and he touched his hat, and rode rapidly away in the
direction of the town, carrying an indelible impression of the
mysterious picture under the pines.
The sky had changed; the face of the moon had cleared, but tatters and
scuds of smoke-colored cloud fled northward, as if scourged by a stormy
current too high to stir the sultry stagnation of the lower atmospheric
stratum. From its vaporous lair somewhere in the cypress and palm
jungles of the Mexican Gulf borders, the tempest had risen, and before
its breath the shreds of cloud flew like avant couriers of disaster.
Already the lurid glare of incessant sheet lightning fought with the
moon for supremacy, and from a leaden wall along the southeastern sky,
came the long reverberating growl of thunder, that told where the
electric batteries had opened fire. A vague foreboding, which for
several days had haunted Beryl's mind, now pressed so heavily upon her,
that she hurried back to the station, which was near the edge of the
town; and more than once she started nervously at sight of grotesque
shadows cast by the trees across the sandy road.
The streets were deserted, and lights gleamed only in upper windows of
apartments, where sick sufferers tossed, or tender mothers sang soft
lullabys to restless babies crooning in their cribs. Now and then a
sudden gust of wind shook the yellow berries from the china trees, that
bordered the pavements, and very soon the moonshine faded, then flashed
fitfully, and finally vanished, as the blackening cloud swept over the
face of earth and sky. The watchman dozed on his post of observation; a
porter slept on a baggage truck under the awning, and as Beryl peeped
into the telegraph office, she heard the snoring of the operator, whose
head rested upon the table close to the silent instrument. She listened
to the ticking of a clock in the ticket office, but could not see its
face; wondered how late it was, and how long she had been absent.
Feeling very lonely and restless she closed the door, and sat down in
the deserted waiting-room, glad of the companionship of a
tortoise-shell cat which was curled up on a chair next her own.
Gradually the storm approached, and she thought that an hour had
elapsed, when the dust-tainted smell of rain came with the rush of cold
air. There was no steady gale, but the tempest broke in frantic
spasmodic gusts, as though it had lost its reckoning, and
simultaneously assaulted all the points of the compass; while the
lightning glared almost continuously, and the roar of the thunder was
uninterrupted. Now and then a vivid zig-zag flash gored the intense
darkness with its baleful blue death-light, followed by a crash,
appalling as if the battlements of heaven had been shattered. Once the
whole air seemed ablaze, and the simultaneous shock of the detonation
was so violent, that Beryl involuntarily sank on her knees, and hid her
eyes on a chair. The rain fell in torrents, that added a solemn sullen
swell to the diapason of the thunder fugue, and by degrees a delicious
coolness crept into the cisterns of the night.
When the cloud had wept away its fury, and electric fires burned low in
the far west, a gentle shower droned on the roof, and lulled by its
cadence Beryl fell asleep, still kneeling on the floor, with her head
resting on the chair where the cat lay coiled.
In dreams, she wandered with her father and brother upon a Tuscan
hillside draped with purple fruited grape vines, and Bertie was
crushing a luscious cluster against her thirsty lips, when some noise
startled her. Wide awake, she sprang to her feet, and listened.
"There ain't no train till daylight, 'cepting it be the through
freight."
"When is that due?"
"Pretty soon; it's mighty nigh time now, but it don't stop here; it
goes on to the water tank, whar it blows for the railroad bridge."
"How far is the bridge?"
"Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the tank."
Beryl had rushed to the window, and looked out, but no one was visible.
She could scarcely mistake that peculiar voice, and was so assured of
its identity, that she ran out under the awning and looked up and down
the platform in front of the station buildings. The rain had ceased,
but drops still pattered from the tin roof, and a few stars peeped over
the ragged ravelled edge of slowly drifting clouds. By the light of a
gas lamp, she saw an old negro man limping away, who held a stick over
his shoulder, on which was slung a bundle wrapped in a red
handkerchief; and while she stood watching, he vanished in some cul de
sac. With her basket in her hand, and her shawl on her arm, she sped
down the track, looking to right and left.
"Bertie! Bertie!"
Once she fancied she discerned a form flying ahead of her, leaping from
cross tie to cross tie to avoid the water, but when she called
vehemently, only the sound of her own voice broke the silence.
Was it merely an illusion born of her vivid dream of her brother; and
while scarcely awake, had she confounded the tones of a stranger, with
those so long familiar? She could not shake off the conviction that
Bertie had really spoken only a few yards from her, and while she stood
irresolute, puzzling over the problem, the through freight train dashed
by the station and left a trail of sparks and cinders. To avoid it she
sprang on a pile of cross ties beside the track, and when the fiery
serpent wound out of sight, she reluctantly retraced her steps. How
long the night seemed! Would day never dawn again? She heard the
telegraph operator whistling at his work, and as she re-entered the
waiting-room, she saw the ticket agent standing in his office.
"What time is it?"
"Half-past two o'clock. I might as well have locked up as usual, for
after all, you did not stay here."
"Yes I did."
He eyed her suspiciously.
"I came back from supper, and brought a pitcher of cold tea, thinking
you might relish it, but you were not here. I waited nearly an hour;
then I went home."
"It was so hot, I walked about outside. What a frightful storm."
"Yes, perfectly awful. Were you exposed to the worst of it?"
"No, I was here."
He shook his head, smiled, and went into the next room, knowing that
when he returned to unlock his office she was not in the building, and
that he had seen her coming up the railway track. The bustle of
preparation soon began; the baggage wagons thundered up to the
platform, porters called to one another; passengers collected in the
waiting-room, carriages and omnibuses dashed about; then at 2:50 the
long train of north bound cars swept in. With her shawl and basket in
one hand, and the odorous bunches of chrysanthemums clasped in the
other, Beryl stepped upon the platform. She found a seat at an open
window, and made herself comfortable; placing her feet upon the basket
which contained the jewels that constituted her sole earthly fortune.
The bell rang, the train glided on, and as it passed the office door,
she saw the agent watching her, with a strangely suspicious expression.
The cars wound around a curve, and she sank back and shut her eyes,
rejoicing in the belief that her mission to "Elm Bluff," and its keen
humiliation, were forever ended.