In one of the "outhouses" which constituted the servants' quarters, in
that which common parlance denominated the "back-yard" at "Elm Bluff,"
an old negro woman sat smoking a pipe.
The room which she had occupied for more than forty years, presented a
singular melange of incongruous odds and ends, the flotsam of a long
term of service, where the rewards, if intrinsically incommensurate,
were none the less invaluable, to the proud recipient. The floor was
covered by a faded carpet, once the pride of the great drawing-room,
but the velvet pile had disappeared beneath the arched insteps and high
heels of lovely belles and haughty beaux, and the scarlet feathers and
peacock plumes that originally glowed on the brilliant buff ground,
were no longer distinguishable.
An old-fashioned piece of furniture, coeval with diamond shoe-buckles,
ruffled shirts and queues, a brass bound mahogany chiffonier, with
brass handles and tall brass feet representing cat claws, stood in one
corner; and across the top was stretched a rusty purple velvet strip,
bordered with tarnished gilt gimp and fringe, a fragment of the cover
which belonged to the harp on which General Darrington's grandmother
had played.
The square bedstead was a marvel in size and massiveness, and the heavy
mahogany posts nearly black with age, and carved like the twisted
strands of a rope, supported a tester lined with turkey-red pleatings,
held in the centre by the talons of a gilt spread-eagle. So tall was
the bed, that three steps were required to ascend it, and the space
thus left between the mahogany and the floor, was hidden by a valance
of white dimity, garnished with wide cotton fringe. Over this spacious
place of repose, a patchwork quilt of the "rising sun" pattern
displayed its gaudy rays, resembling some sprawling octopus, rather
than the face of Phoebus.
The contents of a wide mantel board flounced with fringed dimity,
(venerable prototype of macrame and Arrasene lambrequins), would have
filled with covetousness the soul of the bric-a-brac devotee; and
graced the counters of Sypher.
There were burnished brass candle-sticks, with extinguishers in the
shape of prancing griffins, and snuffers of the same metal, fashioned
after the similitude of some strange and presumably extinct saurian;
and a Dresden china shepherdess, whose shattered crook had long since
disappeared, peeped coquettishly through the engraved crystal of a tall
candle shade at the bloated features of a mandarin, on a tea-pot with a
cracked spout--that some Darrington, stung by the gad-fly of travel,
had brought to the homestead from Nanking. A rich blue glass vase
poised on the back of a bronze swan, which had lost one wing and part
of its bill in the combat with time, hinted at the rainbow splendors of
its native Prague, and bewailed the captivity that degraded its
ultra-marine depths into a receptacle for cut tobacco.
The walls, ceiled with curled pine planks, were covered with a motley
array of pasted and tacked pictures; some engraved, many colored, and
ranging in comprehensiveness of designs, from Bible scenes cut from
magazines, to "riots" in illustrated papers; and even the garish glory
of circus and theatre posters.
In one corner stood an oak spinning-wheel, more than centenarian in
age, fallen into hopeless desuetude, but gay with the strings of
scarlet pepper pods hung up to dry, and twined among its silent spokes.
On a trivet provided with lizard feet that threatened to crawl away,
rested a copper kettle bereft of its top, once the idol of three
generations of Darringtons, to whom it had liberally dispensed "hot
water tea," in the blessed dead and embalmed era of nursery rule and
parental power; now eschewed with its despised use, and packed to the
brim with medicinal "yarbs," bone-set, horse mint, life everlasting,
and snake-root.
In front of the fire which roared and crackled in the cavernous
chimney, "Mam' Dyce" rocked slowly, enjoying her clay pipe, and
meditatively gazing up at an engraved portrait of "Our First
President," suspended on the wall. It was appropriately framed in
black, and where the cord that held it was twined around a hook, a bow
and streamers of very brown and rusty crape fluttered, when a draught
entered the apartment.
Obese in form, and glossy black in complexion, "Mam' Dyce" retained in
old age the scrupulous neatness which had characterized her youth, when
promoted to the post of seamstress and ladies' maid, she had ruled the
servants' realm at "Elm Bluff" with a sway as autocratic as that of
Catherine over the Muscovites. Her black calico dress, donned as
mourning for her master, was relieved by a white apron tied about the
ample waist; a snowy handkerchief was crossed over the vast bosom, and
a checked white and black turban skilfully wound in intricate folds
around her gray head, terminated in a peculiar knot, which was the
pride of her toilet. A beautiful spotted pointer dog with ears like
brown satin, was lying asleep near the fire, but suddenly he lifted his
head, rose, stretched himself and went to the door. A moment later it
opened, and the whilom major-domo, Abednego, came in; put his stick in
one corner, hung his hat on a wooden peg, and approached the fireplace.
"Well, ole man; you know I tole you so."
"You wimmen would ruther say that, than eat pound cake. Supposin' you
did tell me, what's the upshot?"
"That gimlet-eyed weasel is snuffing round you and me; but we won't
turn out to be spring chickens, ready picked."
"Which is to signify that Miss Angerline smells a mouse? Don't talk
parables, Dyce. What's she done now?"
"She is hankering after that hankchiff. 'Pears to me, if she only went
on four legs 'sted of two, she would sell high for a bloodhound."
"Great Nebuckadanzer! How did she find out?"
"Don't ax me; ax the witches what she has in cahoot. I always tole you,
she had the eyes of a cunjor, and she has sarched it out. Says she saw
you when you found it; which ain't true. Eavesdrapping is her trade;
she was fotch up on it, and her ears fit a key-hole, like a bung plugs
a barrel. She has eavesdrapped that hankchiff chat of our'n somehow.
Wuss than that, Bedney, she sot thar this evening and faced me down,
that I was hiding something else; that I picked up something on the
floor and hid it in my bosom, after the crowner's inquess. Sez I:
'Well, Miss Angerline, you had better sarch me and be done with it, if
you are the judge, and the jury, and the crowner, and the law, and have
got the job to run this case.' Sez she, a-squinting them venomous eyes
of her'n, till they looked like knitting needles red hot: 'I leave the
sarching to be done by the cunstable--when you are 'rested and
handcuffed for 'betting of murder.' Then my dander riz. Sez I, 'Crack
your whip and go ahead! You know how, seeing you is the offspring of a
Yankee overseer, what my marster, Gin'l Darrington, had 'rested for
beating one of our wimen, on our 'Bend' plantation. You and your pa is
as much alike, as two shrivelled cow peas out'en one pod. Fetch your
cunstable, and help yourselves.'"
Dyce rose, knocked the ashes out of her pipe, and stood like a dusky
image of an Ethiopian Bellona.
"Drat your servigerous tongue! Now the fat's in the fire, to be sho!
Ever since I tuck you for better for wuss, I have been trying to larn
you 'screshun! and I might as well 'a wasted my time picking a banjo
for a dead jackass tu dance by; for you have got no more 'screshun than
old Eve had, in confabulating with the old adversary! Why couldn't you
temperlize? Sassing that white 'oman, is a aggervating mistake."
Under ordinary circumstances, Bedney and Dyce prided themselves on the
purity of their diction, and they usually abstained from plantation
dialect; but when embarrassed, frightened or excited, they invariably
relapsed into the lingo of the "Quarters."
"Hush! What's that? A screech owull! Bedney, turn your pocket."
With marvellous swiftness she plunged her hand into her dress pocket,
and turned it wrong side out, scattering the contents--thimble, thread,
two "scalybarks," and some "ground peas" over the floor. Then stooping,
she slipped off one shoe, turned it upside down, and hung it thus on a
horseshoe fastened to the mantel board.
"Just lem'me know when you have appinted to hold your sarching, and I
will make it convenient to have bizness consarning that bunch of horgs
and cattle, I am raising on shares in the 'Bend' plantation: and you
can have your sarching frolic," said Bedney, too angry to heed the
superstitious rites.
Dyce made a warning gesture, and listened intently.
"I am a-thinking you will be chief cook and bottle-washer at that
sarching, for the appintment is at hand. Don't you hear Pilot baying
the cunstable?"
She sank into her rocking-chair, picked up a gray yarn sock, and began
to knit unconcernedly; but in a significant tone, she added, nodding
her head:
"Hold your own hand, Bedney; don't be pestered about mine. I'll hoe my
row; you 'tend to yourn."
Then she leaned back, plying her knitting needles, and began to chant:
"Who will be the leader when the Bridegroom comes?"
Hearing the knock on the door, her voice swelled louder, and Bedney,
the picture of perplexity, stood filling his pipe, when the bolt was
turned, and a gentleman holding a whip and wearing a long overcoat
entered the room.
"Good evening, Bedney. Are you and Dyce holding a camp meeting all by
yourselves? I hallooed at the gate till your dog threatened to devour
me, and I had to scare him off with my buggy whip."
"Why, how'dy, Mars Alfred? I am mighty glad to see you! Seems like old
times, to shake hands with you in my cabin. Lem'me take off your
overcoat, sir, and gim'me your hat, and make yourself comfortable, here
by the jam of the chimbly."
"No, Bedney, I can't spare the time, and I only want a little business
matter settled before I get back to town to my office. Thank you, Dyce,
this is an old-time rocker sure enough. It is a regular 'Sleepy
Hollow.'"
Mr. Churchill pushed back his hat, and held his gloved hand toward the
fire.
"Bedney, I want to see that handkerchief you found in your master's
room, the day after he was murdered."
"What hankchuf, Marse Alfred? I done tole everything I know, to the
Crowner's inquess."
"I dare say you did; but something was found afterward. I want to see
it."
"Who has been villifying of me? You have knowed me ever since you was
knee-high to a duck, and I--."
"Nobody has vilified you, but Miss Dobbs saw you examining something,
which she says you pushed up your coat sleeve. She thinks it was a
handkerchief, but it may have been valuables. Now it is my duty, as
District Solicitor, to discover and prosecute the person who killed
your master, and you ought to render me every possible assistance. Any
unwillingness to give your testimony, or surrender the articles found,
will cast suspicion on you, and I should be sorry to have you arrested."
"Fore Gord, Marse Alfred, I--"
"Own up, husband. You did find a hankchef. You see, Marse Alfred, we
helped to raise that poor young gal's mother; and Bedney and me was
'votedly attached to our young Mistiss, Miss Ellie, and we thought ole
Marster was too hard on her, when she run off with the furrin fiddler;
so when this awful 'fliction fell upon us and everybody was cusing Miss
Ellie's child of killing her own grandpa, we couldn't believe no such
onlikely yarn, and Bedney and me has done swore our vow, we will stand
by that poor young creetur, for her ma's sake; for our young mistiss
was good to us, and our heart strings was 'rapped round her. We does
not intend, if we can help it, to lend a hand in jailing Miss Ellie's
child, and so, after the Crowner had 'liceted all the facts as he said,
and the verdict was made up, Bedney and me didn't feel no crampings in
our conscience, about holding our tongues. Another reason why we wanted
to lay low in this hiere bizness, was that we didn't hanker after
sitting on the anxious seats of witnesses in the court-house; and being
called ongodly thieves, and perjured liars, and turned wrong side out
by the lie-yers, and told our livers was white, and our hearts blacker
than our skins. Marse Alfred, Bedney and me are scared of that court;
what you call the law, cuts curous contarabims sometimes, and when the
broad axe of jestice hits, there is no telling whar the chips will fly;
it's wuss than hull-gull, or pitching heads and tails. You are a
lie-yer, Marse Alfred, and you know how it is yourself; and I beg your
pardon, sir, for slighting the perfession; but when I was a little gal,
I got my scare of lie-yers, and it has stuck to me like a kuckleburrow.
One Christmas eve jest before ole Marster got married, he had a egg-nog
party; and a lot of gentlemen was standing 'round the table in the
dining-room. One of 'em was ole Mr. Dunbar, Marse Lennox' father, and
he axed ole Marster if he had saved that game rooster for him, as he
promised, Marster told him he was very sorry, but some rogue had done
gone and burnt some sulphur the week before in his henhouse, and bagged
that 'dentical rooster. Presently Mr. Dunbar axed if Marster would let
him have one of the blue hen's roosters, if he would catch the rogue
for him before midnight. Of course Marster said he would. Mr. Dunbar
(Marse Lennox' pa), he was practicing law then, had a pot full of smut
on the bottom, turned upside down on the dining-room flo', and he and
Marster went out to the hen-'ouse and got a dominicker rooster and
shoved him under the pot. Then they rung the bell, and called every
darkey on the place into the dining-room, and made us stand in a line.
I was a little gal then, only so high, but I followed my daddy in the
house, and I never shall disremember that night, 'cause it broke up our
home preachment. Mr. Dunbar made a speech, and the upshot of it was,
that every darkey was to walk past the pot and rub his finger in the
smut; and he swore a solemn oath, that when the pusson that stole that
fine game rooster, touched the pot, the dominicker rooster would crow.
As Marster called our names, we every one marched out and rubbed the
pot, and when all of us had tried, the rooster hadn't crowed. Mr.
Dunbar said there was some mistake somewhere, and he made us step up
and show hands, and make prints on his hankcher; and lo, and behold!
one darkey had not touched the pot; his forefinger was clean; so Mr.
Dunbar says, 'Luke, here is your thief?' and shore 'nuff, it was our
preacher, and he owned up. I never forgot that trick, and from that day
'till now, I have been more scared of a lie-yer, than I am of a mad
dog. They is the only perfession that the Bible is agin, for you know
they jawed our Lord hisself, and he said, 'Woe! woe! to you lie-yers.'
Now, Marse Alfred, if you have made up your mind you are gwine to have
that hankcher, it will be bound to come; for if it was tied to a
millstone and drapped in the sea, you lie-yers would float it into
court; so Bedney, jest perduce what you found."
"That is right, Dyce; I am glad your opinion of my profession has
forced you to such a sensible conclusion. Come, Bedney, no balking now."
Perplexed by Dyce's tactics, Bedney stood irresolute, with his
half-filled pipe slipping from his fingers; and he stared at his wife
for a few seconds, hoping that some cue would be furnished.
"Bedney, there's no use in being cantankerous. If you won't perduce it,
I will."
Plunging her hand into the blue glass bowl, she pushed aside the
tobacco, and extracted a key; then crossed the room, lifted the valance
of the patriarchal bed, and dragged out a small, old-fashioned hair
trunk, ornamented with stars and diamonds of brass tack heads. Drawing
it across the floor, she sat down near Mr. Churchill, and bending over,
unlocked and opened it. After removing many articles of clothing, and
sundry heirlooms, she lifted from the bottom a bundle, which she laid
on her lap, and edging her chair closer to the Solicitor, proceeded to
unfold the contents. The outside covering was a richly embroidered
Canton crape shawl, originally white, now yellow as old ivory; but when
this was unwrapped, there appeared only an ordinary sized brown gourd,
with a long and singularly curved handle, as crooked as a ram's horn.
Bending one of her knitting needles into a hook, Dyce deftly inserted
it in the neck, where it joined the bowl, and after manoeuvring a few
seconds, laid down the needle, and with the aid of her thumb and
forefinger slowly drew out a long roll, tightly wrapped with thread.
Unwinding it, she shook the roll, and a small, gray object, about two
inches long, dropped into her lap. Mr. Churchill sat leaning a little
forward, as if intent on Dyce's movements, but his elbow rested on the
arm of the rocking chair, and holding his hand up to screen his face
from the blaze of the fire, he was closely watching Bedney. When Dyce
shook out and held up a faded, dingy blue silk handkerchief, the lawyer
noted a sudden twinkle in the old man's eyes, but no other feature
moved, and he stooped to take a coal of fire from the hearth.
"There is the hankchuf that Bedney found. But mebbe you don't know what
this is, that I wrapped up in it, to bring us good luck?"
She spread the handkerchief over his knee, and held up the small gray
furry object, which had fallen from its folds.
"Rabbit's foot? Let me see; yes, that is the genuine left hind foot. I
know all about it, because when my regiment was ordered to the front,
my old colored Mammy--Ma'm Judy--who nursed me, sewed one just like
that, inside the lining of my coat skirt. But, Dyce, that rabbit's foot
was not worth a button; for the very first battle I was in, a cannon
ball killed my horse under me, and carried away my coat tail--rabbit's
foot and all. Don't pin your faith to left hind feet, they are fatal
frauds. You are positive, this is the handkerchief Bedney found? It
smells of asafoetida and camphor, and looks like it had recently been
tied around somebody's sore throat."
"Marse Alfred, I will swear on a stack of Bibles high as the 'Piscopal
church steeple, that Bedney Darrington gim'me that same blue hankcher,
and he said he found it. I wasn't with him when he found it, but I
hardly think he would 'a stole a' old rag like that. I have perduced
it! now if you want to sarch behind it, you must tackle Bedney."
She resumed her knitting and her lips closed like the spring of a steel
trap.
"Dyce, I haven't heard the rooster crow yet. Somebody has fought shy of
the pot. See here, I am in earnest now, and I will give you both a
friendly word of warning. Your actions are so suspicious, that unless
you produce the real article you found, I shall be obliged to send you
to jail, and try you for the murder. How do I know that you and Bedney
are not the guilty parties, instead of General Darrington's
granddaughter? This soiled rag will impose neither upon me, nor upon
the court, and I give you five minutes to put into my possession the
real genuine handkerchief. I shall know it when I see it, because it is
white, with red spots on the border."
"Paddle your own 'dug out,' Bedney, and show your s'creshun. If Marse
Alfred wants to set the red-eyed hounds of the Law on an innocent
'oman, let him blow his horn."
She knitted assiduously, and looked composedly at her husband, whose
lower jaw had suddenly fallen, while his eyelids blinked nervously, as
though attacked by St. Vitus' dance.
"Only five minutes, Bedney."
Mr. Churchill took out his watch, and held it open.
"You see, Marse Alfred, I--"
"I don't see anything but an infernal fraud you two have planned. Only
three minutes more. There is a constable waiting at the gate, and if he
can not persuade you to--"
"Bedney, step and fetch him in, and let Marse Alfred see the sarching
job done up all right."
"No, I don't hunt foxes that way. Instead of searching this cabin, we
will just march you both instanter out of these comfortable quarters,
and let you try how soft the beds are, at the 'State boarding-house.'
You will sleep cold on iron bunks, and miss your feathers and your
crazy quilts. Time's up."
He closed his watch, with a snap, and rose as he returned it to his
pocket.
"Hold on, Marse Alfred! My head ain't hard enough to run it plum into a
wolf's jaws. I ain't 'sponsible for nobody's acts but my own, and if
Dyce have committed a pius fraud, in this here hank'cher bizness, to
screen Miss Ellie's child, why, you see yourself, I had no hand in it.
I did find that blue 'rag,' as you seen fit to call it, but it was nigh
on to twenty years ago, when I pulled it out of the breast pocket of a
dead Yankee officer, we found lying across a cannon, what my old
Marster's regiment captured at the battle of Manassas. I gin it to my
wife as a screw-veneer o' the war and she have treasured it accordin'.
You are a married man yourself, Marse Alfred, and you are obleedged to
know that wedlock is such a tight partnership, that it is an awfully
resky thing for a man to so much as bat his eyes, or squint 'em, toward
the west, when the wife of his bosom has set her'n to the east. I have
always 'lowed Dyce her head, 'pecially in jokes like that one she was
playing on you just now, 'cause St. John the Baptist said a man must
forsake father and mother and cleave unto his wife; but conjugular
harness is one thing, and the law is another, and I don't hanker after
forsaking my pine-knot fire, and feather bed, to cleave unto jail bars,
and handcuffs. I see you are tired of Dyce's jokes, and you mean
bizzness; and I don't intend to consume no more of your valuable
solicitous time. Dyce, fetch me that plank bottom cher to stand on."
"Fetch it yourself. Paddling your own canoe, means headin' for the mill
dam."
Bedney hastened to procure the designated chair, which he mounted in
front of the mantel piece, and thence reaching up to the portrait of
President Lincoln, took it carefully down from the hook. With the blade
of his pocket-knife, he loosened some tacks which secured the thin pine
slats at the back of the picture, and removed them. He took everything
from the frame, and blank dismay seized him, when the desired object
was nowhere visible.
"Marse Alfred, I swear I tacked that hank'cher in the back of this here
portrait, between the pasteboard and the brown paper, only yestiddy;
and 'fore Gord! I haint seen it since."
Grasping his wife's shoulder, he shook her, until her tall turban
quivered and bent over like the Tower of Pisa, and Mr. Churchill saw
that in his unfeigned terror, drops of perspiration broke out on his
wrinkled forehead.
"Have you turned idjut, that you want us both to be devoured by the
roarin' lion of the Law? My mammy named me Bedney, not Dani-yell, and
she had oughter, for Gord knows, you have kept me in a fiery furnace
ever since I tuck you for better for wurser, mostly wurser. I want that
hank'cher, and you'd better believe--I want it quick. I found it, and
I'm gwine to give it up; and you have got no right to jeppardy my life,
if you are fool enough to resk your own stiff neck. Gim'me that
hank'cher! Fantods is played out. I would ruther play leap frog over a
buzz-saw than--than--pester and rile Marse Alfred, and have the
cunstable clawing my collar."
"You poor, pitiful, rascally, cowardly creetur! Whar's that oath you
done swore, to help 'fend Miss Ellie's child? And you a deacon, high in
the church! If I had found that hank'cher, I would hide it, till
Gabriel's horn blows; and I would go to jail or to Jericho; and before
I would give testimony agin my dear young Mistiss's poor friendless
gal, I would chaw my tongue into sassage meat. That's the diffunce
between a palavering man full of 'screshun, and a 'oman who means what
she says; and will stand by her word, if it rains fire and brimstone.
Betrayin' and denying the innercent, has been men's work, ever since
the time of Judas and Peter. Now, Marse Alfred, Bedney did tack the
hank'cher inside the portrait of President Linkum, 'cause we thought
that was the saftest place, but I knowed the house would be sarched, so
I jest hid it in a better place. Since he ain't showed no more backbone
than a saucer of blue-mange, I shall have to give it up; but if I had
found it, you would never set your two eyes on it, while my head is
warm."
She stooped, lifted the wide hem of her black calico skirt, and
proceeded to pick out the stitches which held it securely. When she had
ripped the thread about a quarter of a yard, she raised the edge of the
unusually deep hem, and drew out a white handkerchief with a colored
border.
Bedney snatched it from her, and handed it to the Solicitor, who leaned
close to the fire, and carefully examined it. As he held it up by the
corners, his face became very grave and stern, and he sighed.
"This is evidently a lady's handkerchief, and is so important in the
case, that I shall keep it until the trial is over. Bedney, come to my
office by nine o'clock to-morrow, as the Grand Jury may ask you some
questions. Good bye, Dyce, shake hands; for I honor your loyalty to
your poor young mistress, and her unfortunate child. You remind me of
my own old mammy. Dear good soul, she was as true as steel."
As Mr. Churchill left the house, Bedney accompanied him to the gate.
When he returned, the door was locked. In vain he demanded admittance;
in vain tried the windows; every entrance was securely barred, and
though he heard Dyce moving about within, she deigned no answer to his
earnest pleadings, his vehement expostulations, or his fierce threats
of summary vengeance. The remainder of that night was spent by Pilot
and his irate master in the great hay bin of the "Elm Bluff" stables.
When the sun rose next morning, Bedney rushed wrathful as Achilles, to
resent his wrongs. The door of his house stood open; a fire glowed on
the well swept hearth, where a pot of boiling coffee and a plate of
biscuit welcomed him; but Dyce was nowhere visible, and a vigorous
search soon convinced him she had left home on some pressing errand.
Two hours later, Mrs. Singleton opened the door of the small room
adjoining her own bedchamber, to which she had insisted upon removing
the prisoner.
Beryl stood leaning against the barred window, and did not even turn
her head.
"Here is a negro woman, begging to see you for a few moments. She says
she is an old family servant of General Darrington's."
Standing with her back toward the door, the prisoner put out one hand
with a repellent gesture:
"I have surely suffered enough from General Darrington and his friends;
and I will see nobody connected with that fatal place, which has been a
curse to me."
"Just as you please; but old Auntie here, says she nursed your mother,
and on that account wants to see you."
Without waiting for permission, Dyce darted past the warden's wife,
into the room, and almost before Beryl was aware of her presence, stood
beside her.
"Are you Miss Ellie's daughter?"
Listlessly the girl turned and looked at her, and Dyce threw her arms
around her slender waist, and falling on her knees hid her face in
Beryl's dress, sobbing passionately. In the violence of her emotion,
she rocked back and forth, swaying like a reed in some fierce blast the
tall form, to whom she clung.
"Oh, my lovely! my lovely! To think you should be shut up here! To see
Miss Ellie's baby jailed, among the off-scourings of the earth! Oh, you
beautiful white deer! tracked and tore to pieces by wolves, and hounds,
and jackalls! Oh, honey! Just look straight at me, like you was facing
your accusers before the bar of God, and tell me you didn't kill your
grandpa. Tell me you never dipped your pretty hands in ole Marster's
blood."
Tears were streaming down Dyce's cheeks.
"If you knew my mother, how can you think it possible her child could
commit an awful crime?"
"Oh, God knows--I don't know what to think! 'Peers to me the world is
turned upside down. You see, honey, you are half and half; and while I
am perfectly shore of Miss Ellie's half of you, 'cause I can always
swear to our side, the Darrington in you, I can't testify about your
pa's side; he was a--a--"
"He was as much a gentleman, as my mother was a lady; and I would
rather be his daughter, than call a king my father."
"I believe you! There ain't no drop of scrub blood in you, as I can
see, and if you ain't thoroughbred, 'pearances are deceitful. I loved
your ma; I loved the very ground her little feet trod on. I fed her out
of my own plate many a time, 'cause she thought her Mammy's vittils was
sweeter than what Mistiss 'lowed her to have; and she have slept in my
bosom, and these arms have carried her, and hugged her, and--and--oh,
Lord God A'mighty! it most kills me to see you, her own little baby
here! In this awful, cussed den of thieves and villi-yans! Oh, honey!
for God's sake, just gin me some 'surance you are as pure as you look;
just tell me your soul is a lily, like your face."
Beryl stooped, put her hand on the turbaned head, and bending it back,
so as to look down into the swimming eyes, answered:
"If I had died when I was a month old, my baby soul would not have
faced God any more innocent of crime then, than I am to-day. I had no
more to do with taking General Darrington's money and his life, than
the archangels in Heaven."
"Bless God! Now I am satisfied. Now I see my way clare. But it sets my
blood afire to see you here; it's a burning shame to put my dear young
Mistiss' child in this beasts' cage. I can't help thinking of that poor
beautiful white deer, what Marster found crippled, down at our 'Bend'
Plantation, that some vagabond had shot. Marster fotch it up home, and
of all the pitifulist sights!"
Dyce had risen, and covering her face with her white apron, she wept
for some minutes.
"Are you not the wife of Bedney, who saved my mother's life, when the
barn burned?"
"Yes, honey, I am Mam' Dyce, and if I am spared, I will try to save
your'n. That is what has brung me here. You are 'cused of the robb'ry
and the murder, and you have denied it in the court; but chile, the
lie-yers are aworking day and night fur to hang you, and little is made
of much, on your side, and much is spun out of little, on theirn. They
are more cunning than foxes, and bloodthirstier than panters, and they
no more git tired than the spiders, that spin and piece a web as fast
as you break it. Three nights ago, I got down on my knees, and I kissed
a little pink morocco slipper what your Ma wore the day when she took
her first step from my arm to her own mother's knees, and I swore a
solemn oath, if I could help free Miss Ellie's child, I would do it.
Now I want to ask you one thing. Did you lose anything that day you
come to our house, and had the talk with old Marster?"
"Nothing, but my peace and happiness."
"Are you shore you didn't drap your hank'cher?"
"Yes, I am sure I did not, because I wrapped it around some
chrysanthemums I gathered as I went away."
"Well, a lady's hank'cher was found in Marster's room, and it did smell
of chloryform. Bedney picked it up, and we said nothing and laid low,
and hid the thing; but that Godforsaken and predestinated sinner, Miss
Angeline, kept sarching and eavesdrapping, and set the lie-yers on the
scent, and they have 'strained Bedney on peril of jailing him, to
perduce it. When it got into their claws, and I thought it might belonk
to you, my teeth chattered, and I felt like the back of my frock was a
ice-warehouse. Now, honey, can you testify before God and man, that
hank'cher ain't yourn?"
"I certainly can. I had only three handkerchiefs with me when I left
home, and I have them still. Here is one, the other two lie yonder. But
that handkerchief is worth everything; because it must belong to the
vile wretch who committed the crime, and it will help to prove my
innocence. Where is it?"
"The Grand Jury is setting on it."
Here Dyce looked cautiously around, and tip-toed to the door; finding
it ajar, closed it, then stole back. Putting her lips close to Beryl's
ear, she whispered:
"Did you lose a sleeve button?"
"No. I did not wear any."
"Thank God! I feel like all the bricks in the court-house was lifted
off my heart, and flung away. I was in fear and trimbling about that
button, 'cause I picked it up, just under the aidge of the rug, where
ole Marster fell, when he got his death blow; and as sure as the coming
of the Judgment Day, it was drapped by the pusson who killed him. I was
so afeared it might belonk to you, that I have been on the anxious seat
ever since I found it; and I concluded the safest way was to bring it
here to you. I am scared to keep it at home, 'cause them yelping wolves
as wears the sheepskins of Justice, are on my tracks. I would never
give it up, if I was chopped to mince meat; but Bedney ain't got no
more than enuff backbone for half of a man, and the lie-yers
discomfrizzle him so, I could not trust him, when it comes to the
scratch. Now that button is worth a heap, and I am precious careful of
it. Look here."
She took from her pocket two large pods of red pepper, which looked
exactly alike, but the end of one had been cut out around the stem,
then neatly fitted back, and held in place by some colorless cement.
Beckoning Beryl to follow, Dyce went closer to the window, and with the
aid of her teeth drew out the stem. Into her palm rolled a circular
button of some opaque reddish-brown substance, resembling tortoise
shell, and enamelled with gilt bunches of grapes, and inlaid leaves of
mother-of-pearl. Across the top, embossed in gilt letters ran the word
"Ricordo."
The old woman lifted her open palm, and as Beryl saw the button, a
gasping, gurgling sound broke from her. She snatched it, stared at it.
Then the Gorgon head slipped through her fingers, she threw herself
against the window, shook the iron bar frantically; and one desperate
cry seemed to tear its way through her clinched teeth, over her ashy
lips:
"Oh, Mother! Mother--Mother! You are nailing me to a cross."