As a glassy summer sea suddenly quivers, heaves, billows under the
strong steady pressure of a rising gale, so that human mass surged and
broke in waves of audible emotion, when Beryl's voice ceased; for the
grace and beauty of a sorrowing woman hold a spell more potent than
volumes of forensic eloquence, of juridic casuistry, of rhetorical
pyrotechnics, and at its touch, the latent floods of pity gushed;
people sprang to their feet, and somewhere in the wide auditory a woman
sobbed. Habitues of a celebrated Salon des Etrangers recall the
tradition of a Hungarian nobleman who, apparently calm, nonchalant,
debonair, gambled desperately; "while his right hand, resting easily
inside the breast of his coat, clutched and lacerated his flesh till
his nails dripped with blood." With emotions somewhat analogous, Mr.
Dunbar sat as participant in this judicial rouge et noir, where the
stakes were a human life, and the skeleton hand of death was already
outstretched. Listening to the calm, mournful voice which alone had
power to stir and thrill his pulses, he could not endure the pain of
watching the exquisite face that haunted him day and night; and when he
computed the chances of her conviction, a maddening perception of her
danger made his brain reel.
To all of us comes a supreme hour, when realizing the adamantine
limitations of human power, the "thus far, no farther" of relentless
physiological, psychological and ethical statutes under which humanity
lives, moves, has its being--our desperate souls break through the
meshes of that pantheistic idolatry which kneels only to "Natural
Laws"; and spring as suppliants to Him, who made Law possible. We take
our portion of happiness and prosperity, and while it lasts we wander
far, far away in the seductive land of philosophical speculation, and
revel in the freedom and irresponsibility of Agnosticism; and lo! when
adversity smites, and bankruptcy is upon us, we toss the husks of the
"Unknowable and Unthinkable" behind us, and flee as the Prodigal who
knew his father, to that God whom (in trouble) we surely know.
Certainly Lennox Dunbar was as far removed from religious tendencies as
conformity to the canons of conventional morality and the habits of an
honorable gentleman in good society would permit; yet to-day, in the
intensity of his dread, lest the "consummate flower" of his heart's
dearest hope should be laid low in the dust, he involuntarily invoked
the aid of a long-forgotten God; and through his set teeth a prayer
struggled up to the throne of that divine mercy, which in sunshine we
do not see, but which as the soul's eternal lighthouse gleams, glows,
beckons in the blackest night of human anguish. In boyhood, desiring to
please his invalid and slowly dying mother, he had purchased and hung
up opposite her bed, an illuminated copy of her favorite text; and now,
by some subtle transmutation in the conservation of spiritual energy,
each golden letter of that Bible text seemed emblazoned on the dusty
wall of the court-room: "God is our refuge and strength, a very present
help in trouble."
When a stern reprimand from the Judge had quelled all audible
expression of the compassionate sympathy that flowed at the prisoner's
story--as the flood at Horeb responded to Moses' touch--there was a
brief silence.
Mr. Dunbar rose, crossed the intervening space and stood with his hand
on the back of Beryl's chair; then moved on closer to the jury box.
"May it please your Honor, and Gentlemen of the Jury: Sometimes
mistakes are crimes, and he who through unpardonable rashness commits
them, should not escape 'unwhipped of justice'. When a man in the
discharge of that which he deemed a duty, becomes aware that
unintentionally he has perpetrated a great wrong, can he parley with
pride, or dally, because the haunting ghost of consistency waves him
back from the path of a humiliating reparation? Error is easy,
confession galling; and stepping down from the censor's seat to share
the mortification of the pillory, is at all times a peculiarly painful
reverse; hence, powerful indeed must be the conviction which impels a
man who prided himself on his legal astuteness, to come boldly into
this sacred confessional of truth and justice and plead for absolution
from a stupendous mistake. Two years ago, I became Gen'l Darrington's
attorney, and when his tragic death occurred in October last, my
professional relations, as well as life-long friendship, incited me to
the prompt apprehension of the person who had murdered him. After a
careful and apparently exhaustive examination of the authenticated
facts, I was convinced that they pointed only in one direction; and in
that belief, I demanded and procured the arrest of the prisoner. For
her imprisonment, her presence here to-day, her awful peril, I hold
myself responsible; and now, gentlemen of the jury, I ask you as men
having hearts of flesh, and all the honorable instincts of manhood,
which alone could constitute you worthy umpires in this issue of life
or death, do you, can you wonder that regret sits at my ear, chanting
mournful dirges, and remorse like a harpy fastens her talons in my
soul, when I tell you, that I have committed a blunder so frightful,
that it borders on a crime as heinous as that for which my victim
stands arraigned? Wise was the spirit of a traditional statute, which
decreed that the author of a false accusation should pay the penalty
designed for the accused; and just indeed would be the retribution,
that imposed on me the suffering I have entailed on her.
"Acknowledging the error into which undue haste betrayed me, yet
confident that divine justice, to whom I have sworn allegiance, has
recalled me from a false path to one that I can now tread with absolute
certainty of success, I come to-day into this, her sacred temple, lay
my hand on her inviolate altar, and claiming the approval of her
officiating high-priest, his Honor, appeal to you, gentlemen of the
jury, to give me your hearty co-operation in my effort to repair a foul
wrong, by vindicating innocence.
"Professors of ophthalmology in a diagnosis of optical diseases, tell
us of a symptom of infirmity which they call pseudoblepsis, or 'false
sight.' Legal vision exhibits, now and then, a corresponding phase of
unconscious perversion of sight, whereby objects are perceived that do
not exist, and objects present become transformed, distorted; and such
an instance of exaggerated metamorphosia is presented to-day, in the
perverted vision of the prosecution. In the incipiency of this case,
prior to, and during the preliminary examination held in October last,
I appeared in conjunction with Mr. Wolverton, as assistant counsel in
the prosecution, represented by the Honorable Mr. Churchill, District
Solicitor; the object of said prosecution being the conviction of the
prisoner, who was held as guilty of Gen'l Darrington's death.
Subsequent reflection and search necessitated an abandonment of views
that could alone justify such a position; and after consultation with
my colleagues I withdrew; not from the prosecution of the real
criminal, to the discovery and conviction of whom I shall dedicate
every energy of my nature, but from the pursuit of one most unjustly
accused. Anomalous as is my attitude, the dictates of conscience,
reason, heart, force me into it; and because I am the implacable
prosecutor of Gen'l Darrington's murderer, _I_ COME TO PLEAD IN DEFENSE
OF THE PRISONER, whom I hold guiltless of the crime, innocent of the
charge in the indictment. In the supreme hour of her isolation, she has
invoked only one witness; and may that witness, the God above us, the
God of justice, the God of innocence, grant me the inspiration, and
nerve my arm to snatch her from peril, and triumphantly vindicate the
purity of her noble heart and life."
Remembering the important evidence which he had furnished to the
prosecution, only a few hours previous, when on the witness stand,
people looked at one another questioningly; doubting the testimony of
their own senses; and VOX POPULI was not inaptly expressed by the
whispered ejaculation of Bedney to Dyce.
"Judgment day must be breaking! Mars Lennox is done turned a double
summersett, and lit plum over on t'other side! It's about ekal to a
spavinned, ring-boned, hamstrung, hobbled horse clearin' a ten-rail
fence! He jumps so beautiful, I am afeered he won't stay whar he lit!"
Comprehending all that this public recantation had cost a proud man,
jealous of his reputation for professional tact and skill, as well as
for individual acumen, Beryl began to realize the depth and fervor of
the love that prompted it; and the merciless ordeal to which he would
subject her. Inflicting upon himself the smarting sting of the keenest
possible humiliation, could she hope that in the attainment of his aim
he would spare her? If she threw herself even now upon his mercy, would
he grant to her that which he had denied himself?
Dreading the consequences of even a moment's delay, she rose, and a hot
flush crimsoned her cheeks, as she looked up at the Judge.
"Is it my privilege to decide who shall defend me? Have I now the right
to accept or reject proffered aid?"
"The law grants you that privilege; secures you that right."
"Then I decline the services of the counsel who offers to plead in my
defence. I wish no human voice raised in my behalf, and having made my
statement in my own defence, I commit my cause to the hands of my God."
For a moment her eyes dwelt upon the lawyer's, and as she resumed her
seat, she saw the spark in their blue depths leap into a flame.
Advancing a few steps, his handsome face aglow, his voice rang like a
bugle call:
"May it please your Honor: Anomalous conditions sanction, necessitate
most anomalous procedure, where the goal sought is simple truth and
justice; and since the prisoner prefers to rest her cause, I come to
this bar as Amicus Curiae, and appeal for permission to plead in behalf
of my clients, truth and justice, who hold me in perpetual retainment.
In prosecution of the real criminal, in order to unravel the curiously
knitted web, and bring the culprit to summary punishment, I ask you,
gentlemen of the jury, to ponder dispassionately the theory I have now
the honor to submit to your scrutiny.
"The prisoner, whom I regard as the victim of my culpable haste and
deplorably distorted vision, is as innocent of Gen'l Darrington's
murder as you or I; but I charge, that while having no complicity in
that awful deed, she is nevertheless perfectly aware of the name of the
person who committed it. Not particeps crimmis, neither consenting to,
aiding, abetting nor even acquainted with the fact of the crime, until
accused of its perpetration; yet at this moment in possession of the
only clue which will enable justice to seize the murderer. Conscious of
her innocence, she braves peril that would chill the blood of men, and
extort almost any secret; and shall I tell you the reason? Shall I give
you the key to an enigma which she knows means death?
"Gentlemen of the jury, is there any sacrifice so tremendous, any
anguish so keen, any shame so dreadful, any fate so overwhelmingly
terrible as to transcend the endurance, or crush the power of a woman's
love? Under this invincible inspiration, when danger threatens her
idol, she knows no self; disgrace, death affright her not; she extends
her arms to arrest every approach, offers her own breast as a shield
against darts, bullets, sword thrusts, and counts it a privilege to lay
down life in defence of that idol. O! loyalty supreme, sublime,
immortal! thy name is woman's love.
"All along the march of humanity, where centuries have trailed their
dust, traditions gleam like monuments to attest the victory of this
immemorial potency, female fidelity; and when we of the nineteenth
century seek the noblest, grandest type of merely human
self-abnegation, that laid down a pure and happy life, to prolong that
of a beloved object, we look back to the lovely image of that fair
Greek woman, who, when the parents of the man she loved refused to give
their lives to save their son, summoned death to accept her as a
willing victim; and deeming it a privilege, went down triumphantly into
the grave. Sustained, exalted by this most powerful passion that can
animate and possess a human soul, the prisoner stands a pure,
voluntary, self-devoted victim; defying the terrors of the law,
consenting to condemnation--surrendering to an ignominious death, in
order to save the life of the man she loves.
"Grand and beautiful as is the spectacle of her calm mournful heroism,
I ask you, as men capable of appreciating her noble self-immolation,
can you permit the consummation of this sacrifice? Will you, dare you,
selected, appointed, dedicated by solemn oaths to administer justice,
prove so recreant to your holy trust as to aid, abet, become
accessories to, and responsible for the murder of the prisoner by
accepting a stainless victim, to appease that violated law which only
the blood of the guilty can ever satisfy?
"In order to avert so foul a blot on the escutcheon of our State
judiciary, in order to protect innocence from being slaughtered, and
supremely in order to track and bring to summary punishment the
criminal who robbed and murdered Gen'l Darrington, I now desire, and
request, that your Honor will permit me to cross-examine the prisoner
on the statement she has offered in defence."
"In making that request, counsel must be aware that it is one of the
statutory provisions of safety to the accused, whom the law holds
innocent until proved guilty, that no coercion can be employed to
extort answers. It is, however, the desire of the court, and certainly
must accrue to the benefit of the prisoner, that she should take the
witness stand in her own defence."
For a moment there was neither sound nor motion.
"Will the prisoner answer such questions as in the opinion of the court
are designed solely to establish her innocence? If so, she will take
the stand."
With a sudden passionate movement at variance with her demeanor
throughout the trial, she threw up her clasped hands, gazed at them,
then pressed them ring downward as a seal upon her lips; and after an
instant, answered slowly:
"Now and henceforth, I decline to answer any and all questions. I am
innocent, entirely innocent. The burden of proof rests upon my
accusers."
As Mr. Dunbar watched her, noted the scarlet spots burning on her
cheeks, the strange expression of her eyes that glowed with unnatural
lustre, a scowl darkened his face; a cruel smile curved his lips, and
made his teeth gleam. Was it worth while to save her against her will;
to preserve the heart he coveted, for the vile miscreant to whom she
had irrevocably given it? With an upward movement of his noble head,
like the impatient toss of a horse intolerant of curb, he stepped back
close to the girl, and stood with his hand on the back of her chair.
"In view of this palpable evasion of justice through obstinate non
responsion, will it please the Court to overrule the prisoner's
objection?"
Several moments elapsed before Judge Parkman replied, and he gnawed the
end of his grizzled mustache, debating the consequences of dishonoring
precedent--that fetich of the Bench.
"The Court cannot so rule. The prisoner has decided upon the line of
defence, as is her inalienable right; and since she persistently
assumes that responsibility, the Court must sustain her decision."
The expression of infinite and intense relief that stole over the
girl's countenance, was, noted by both judge and jury, as she sank back
wearily in her chair, like one lifted from some rack of torture.
Resting thus, her shoulder pressed against the hand that lay on the top
of the chair, but he did not move a finger; and some magnetic influence
drew her gaze to meet his. He felt the tremor that crept over her,
understood the mute appeal, the prayer for forbearance that made her
mournful gray eyes so eloquent, and a sinister smile distorted his
handsome mouth.
"The spirit and intent of the law, the usages of criminal practice,
above all, hoary precedent, before which we bow, each and all sanction
your Honor's ruling; and yet despite everything, the end I sought is
already attained. Is not the refusal of the prisoner proof positive,
'confirmation strong as proofs of Holy Writ' of the truth of my theory?
With jealous dread she seeks to lock the clue in her faithful heart,
courting even the coffin, that would keep it safe through all the
storms of time. Impregnable in her citadel of silence, with the cohorts
of Codes to protect her from escalade and assault, will the guardians
of justice have obeyed her solemn commands when they permit the
prisoner to light the funeral pyre where she elects to throw herself--a
vicarious sacrifice for another's sins? For a nature so exalted, the
Providence who endowed it has decreed a nobler fate; and by His help,
and that of your twelve consciences, I purpose to save her from a
species of suicide, and to consign to the hangman the real criminal.
The evidence now submitted, will be furnished by the testimony of
witnesses who, at my request, have been kept without the hearing of the
Court."
He left Beryl's chair, and once more approached the jury,
"Isam Hornbuckle."
A negro man, apparently sixty years old, limped into the witness stand,
and having been sworn, stood leaning on his stick, staring uneasily
about him.
"What is your name?"
"Isam Clay Hornbuckle."
"Where do you live?"
"Nigh the forks of the road, close to 'Possum Ridge."
"How far from town?"
"By short cuts I make it about ten miles; but the gang what works the
road, calls it twelve."
"Have you a farm there?"
"Yes'ir. A pretty tolerable farm; a cornfield and potato patch and
gyarden, and parsture for my horgs and oxin, and a slipe of woods for
my pine knots."
"What is your business?"
"Tryin' to make a livin', and it keeps me bizzy, for lans is poor, and
seasons is most ginerally agin crops."
"How long have you been farming?"
"Only sence I got mashed up more 'an a year ago on the railroad."
"In what capacity did you serve when working on the road?"
"I was fireman under ingeneer Walker on the lokymotive 'Gin'l
Borygyard,' what most ginerally hauled Freight No. 2. The ingines goes
now by numbers, but we ole hands called our'n always 'Borygyard'."
"You were crippled in a collision between two freight trains?"
"Yes'ir; but t'other train was the cause of the--"
"Never mind the cause of the accident. You moved out to 'Possum Ridge;
can you remember exactly when you were last in town?"
"To be shore! I know exactly, 'cause it was the day my ole 'oman's
step-father's granny's funeral sarmont was preached; and that was on a
Thursday, twenty-sixth of October, an' I come up to 'tend it."
"Is it not customary to preach the funeral sermons on Sunday?"
"Most generally, Boss, it are; but you see Bre'r Green, what was to
preach the ole 'oman's sarmont, had a big baptizin' for two Sundays
han' runnin', and he was gwine to Boston for a spell, on the next
comin' Saddy, so bein' as our time belonks to us now, we was free to
'pint a week day."
"You are positive it was the twenty-sixth?"
"Oh, yes'ir; plum postiv. The day was norated from all the baptiss
churches, so as the kinfolks could gether from fur and nigh."
"At what hour on Thursday was the funeral sermon preached?"
"Four o'clock sharp."
"Where did you stay while in town?"
"With my son Ducaleyon who keeps a barber-shop on Main Street."
"When did you return home?"
"I started before day, Friday mornin', as soon as the rain hilt up."
"At what hour, do you think?"
"The town clock was a strikin' two, jes as I passed the express office,
at the station."
"Now, Isam, tell the Court whom you saw, and what happened; and be very
careful in all you say, remembering you are on your oath."
"I was atoting a bundle so--slung on to a stick, and it gaided my
shoulder, 'cause amongst a whole passel of plunder I had bought, ther
was a bag of shot inside, what had slewed 'round oft the balance, and I
sot down, close to a lamp-post nigh the station, to shift the heft of
the shot bag. Whilst I were a squatting, tying up my bundle, I heered
all of a suddent--somebody runnin', brip--brap--! and up kern a man
from round the corner of the stationhouse, a runnin' full tilt; and he
would a run over me, but I grabbed my bundle and riz up. Sez I: 'Hello!
what's to pay?' He was most out of breath, but sez he: 'Is the train in
yet?' Sez I: 'There ain't no train till daylight, 'cepting it be the
through freight.' Then he axed me: 'When is that due?' and I tole him:
'Pretty soon, I reckon, but it don't stop here; it only slows up at the
water tank, whar it blows for the Bridge.' Sez he: 'How fur is that
bridge?' Sez I: 'Only a short piece down the track, after you pass the
tank.' He tuck a long breath, and kinder whistled, and with that he
turned and heeled it down the middle of the track. I thought it mighty
curus, and my mind misgive me thar was somethin' crooked; but I always
pintedly dodges; 'lie-lows to ketch meddlers,' and I went on my way.
When I got nigh the next corner whar I had to turn to cross the river,
I looked back and I seen a 'oman standin' on the track, in front of the
station-house; but I parsed on, and soon kem to the bridge (not the
railroad bridge), Boss. I had got on the top of the hill to the left of
the Pentenchry, when I hearn ole 'Bory' blow. You see I knowed the
runnin' of the kyars, 'cause that through freight was my ole
stormpin-ground, and I love the sound of that ingine's whistle more 'an
I do my gran'childun's hymn chunes. She blowed long and vicious like,
and I seen her sparks fly, as she lit out through town; and then I
footed it home."
"You think the train was on time?"
"Bound to be; she never was cotched behind time, not while I stuffed
her with coal and lightwood knots. She was plum punctchul."
"Was the lamp lighted where you tied your bundle?"
"Yes'ir, burnin' bright."
"Tell the Court the appearance of the man whom you talked with."
Mr. Dunbar was watching the beautiful face so dear to him, and saw the
prisoner lean forward, her lips parted, all her soul in the wide,
glowing eyes fastened on the countenance of the witness.
"He was very tall and wiry, and 'peared like a young man what had
parstured 'mongst wild oats. He seemed cut out for a gintleman, but run
to seed too quick and turned out nigh kin to a dead beat. One-half of
him was hanssum, 'minded me mightly of that stone head with kurly hair
what sets over the sody fountin in the drug store, on Main Street. Oh,
yes'ir, one side was too pretty for a man; but t'other! Fo' Gawd!
t'other made your teeth ache, and sot you cross-eyed to look at it. He
toted a awful brand to be shore."
"What do you mean by one side? Explain yourself carefully now."
"I dun'no as I can 'splain, 'cause I ain't never seed nothing like it
afore. One 'zact half of him, from his hair to his shirt collar was
white and pretty, like I tell you, but t'other side of his face was
black as tar, and his kurly hair was gone, and the whiskers on that
side--and his eye was drapped down kinder so, and that side of his
mouth sorter hung, like it was unpinned, this way. Mebbee he was born
so, mebbee not; but he looked like he had jes broke loose from the
conjur, and caryd his mark."
For one fleeting moment, the gates of heaven seemed thrown wide, and
the glory of the Kingdom of Peace streamed down upon the aching heart
of the desolate woman. She could recognize no dreaded resemblance in
the photograph drawn by the witness; and judge, jury and counsel who
scrutinized her during the recital of the testimony, were puzzled by
the smile of joy that suddenly flashed over her features, like ilie
radiance of a lamp lifted close to some marble face, dim with shadows.
"Do you think his face indicated that he had been engaged in a
difficulty, in a fight? Was there any sign of blood, or anything that
looked as if he had been bruised and wounded by some heavy blow?"
"Naw, sir. Didn't seem like sech bruises as comes of fightin'. 'Peared
to me he was somehow branded like, and the mark he toted was onnatral."
"If he had wished to disguise himself by blackening one side of his
face, would he not have presented a similar appearance?"
"Naw, sir, not by no manner of means. No minstrel tricks fotch him to
the pass he was at. The hand of the Lord must have laid too heavy on
him; no mortal wounds leave sech terrifyin' prints."
"How was he dressed?"
"Dunno. My eyes never drapped below that curus face of his'n."
"Was he bareheaded?"
"Bar headed as when he come into the world."
"He talked like a man in desperate haste, who was running to escape
pursuit?"
"He shorely did."
"Did you mention to any person what you have told here to-day?"
"I tole my ole 'oman, and she said she reckoned it was a buth mark what
the man carryd; but when I seen him I thunk he was cunjured."
"When you heard that Gen'l Darrington had been murdered, did you think
of this man and his singular behavior that night?"
"I never hearn of the murder till Christmas, 'cause I went down to
Elbert County arter a yoke of steers what a man owed me, and thar I
tuck sick and kep my bed for weeks. When I got home, and hearn the talk
about the murder, I didn't know it was the same night what I seen the
branded man."
"Tell the Court how your testimony was secured."
"It was norated in all our churches that a 'ward was offered for a lame
cullud pusson of my 'scription, and Deacon Nathan he cum down and axed
me what mischief I'de been a doin', that I was wanted to answer fur. He
read me the 'vertisement, and pussuaded me to go with him to your
office, and you tuck me to Mr. Churchill."
Mr. Dunbar bowed to the District Solicitor, who rose and cross-examined.
"Can you read?"
"Naw, sir."
"Where is your son Deucalion?"
"Two days after I left town he want with a 'Love and Charity'
scurschion up north, and he liked it so well in Baltymore, he staid
thar."
"When Deacon Nathan brought you up to town, did you know for what
purpose Mr. Dunbar wanted you?"
"Naw, sir."
"Was it not rather strange that none of your friends recognized the
description of you, published in the paper?"
"Seems some of 'em did, but felt kind of jub'rus 'bout pinting me out,
for human natur is prone to crooked ways, and they never hearn I
perfessed sanctification."
"Who told you the prisoner had heard your conversation with the man you
met that night?"
"Did she hear it? Then you are the first pusson to tell me."
"How long was it, after you saw the man, before you heard the whistle
of the freight train?"
"As nigh as I kin rickolect about a half a hour, but not quite."
"Was it raining at all when you saw the woman standing on the track?"
"Naw, sir. The trees was dripping steady, but the moon was shining."
"Do you know anything about the statement made by the prisoner?"
"Naw, sir."
"Fritz Helmetag."
As Isam withdrew, a middle-aged man took the stand, and in answer to
Mr. Dunbar's questions deposed: "That he was 'bridge tender' on the
railroad, and lived in a cottage not far from the water tank. On the
night of the twenty-sixth of October, he was sitting up with a sick
wife, and remembered that being feverish, she asked for some fresh
water. He went out to draw some from the well, and saw a man standing
not far from the bridge. The moon was behind a row of trees, but he
noticed the man was bareheaded, and when he called to know what he
wanted, he walked back toward the tank. Five minutes later the freight
train blew, and after it had crossed the bridge, he went back to his
cottage. The man was standing close to the safety signal, a white light
fastened to an iron stanchion at south end of the bridge, and seemed to
be reading something. Next day, when he (witness) went as usual to
examine the piers and under portions of the bridge, he had found the
pipe, now in Mr. Dunbar's possession. Tramps so often rested on the
bridge, and on the shelving bank of the river beneath it, that he
attached no importance to the circumstance; but felt confident the pipe
was left by the man whom he had seen, as it was not there the previous
afternoon; and he put it in a pigeon-hole of his desk, thinking the
owner might return to claim it. On the same day, he had left X--to
carry his wife to her mother, who lived in Pennsylvania, and was absent
for several weeks. Had never associated the pipe with the murder, but
after talking with Mr. Dunbar, who had found the half of an envelope
near the south end of the bridge, he had surrendered it to him. Did not
see the man's face distinctly. He looked tall and thin."
Here Mr. Dunbar held up a fragment of a long white em elope such as
usually contain legal documents, on which in large letters was written
"LAST WILL"--and underscored with red ink. Then he lifted a pipe, for
the inspection of the witness, who identified it as the one he had
found.
As he turned it slowly, the Court and the multitude saw only a
meerschaum with a large bowl representing a death's head, to which was
attached a short mouth-piece of twisted amber.
The golden gates of hope clashed suddenly, and over them flashed a
drawn sword, as Beryl looked at the familiar pipe, which her baby
fingers had so often strained to grasp. How well she knew the ghastly
ivory features, the sunken eyeless sockets--of that veritable death's
head? How vividly came back the day, when asleep in her father's arms,
a spark from that grinning skull had fallen on her cheek, and she awoke
to find that fond father bending in remorseful tenderness over her?
Years ago, she had reverently packed the pipe away, with other articles
belonging to the dead, and ignorant that her mother had given it to
Bertie, she deemed it safe in that sacred repository. Now, like the
face of Medusa it glared at her, and that which her father's lips had
sanctified, became the polluted medium of a retributive curse upon his
devoted child. So the Diabolus ex machina, the evil genius of each
human life decrees that the most cruel cureless pangs are inflicted by
the instruments we love best.
Watching for some sign of recognition, Mr. Dunbar's heart was fired
with jealous rage, as he marked the swift change of the prisoner's
countenance; the vanishing of the gleam of hope, the gloomy desperation
that succeeded. The beautiful black brows met in a spasm of pain over
eyes that stared at an abyss of ruin; her lips whitened, she wrung her
hands unconsciously; and then, as if numb with horror, she leaned back
in her chair, and her chin sank until it touched the black ribbon at
her throat. When after a while she rallied, and forced herself to
listen, a pleasant-faced young man was on the witness stand.
"My name is Edgar Jennings, and I live at T----, in Pennsylvania. I am
ticket agent at that point, of----railway. One day, about the last of
October (I think it was on Monday), I was sitting in my office when a
man came in, and asked if I could sell him a ticket to St. Paul. I told
him I only had tickets as far as Chicago, via Cincinnati. He bought one
to Cincinnati and asked how soon he could go on. I told him the train
from the east was due in a few minutes. When he paid for his ticket he
gave me a twenty-dollar gold piece, and his hand shook so, he dropped
another piece of the same value on the floor. His appearance was so
remarkable I noticed him particularly. He was a man about my age, very
tall and finely made, but one half of his face was black, or rather
very dark blue, and he wore a handkerchief bandage-fashion across it.
His left eye was drawn down, this way, and his mouth was one-sided. His
right eye was black, and his hair was very light brown. He wore a
close-fitting wool hat, that flapped down and his clothes were
seal-brown in color, but much worn, and evidently old. I asked him
where he lived, and he said he was a stranger going West, on a
pioneering tour. Then I asked what ailed his face, and he pulled the
handkerchief over his left eye, and said he was partly paralyzed from
an accident. Just then, the eastern train blew for T----. He said he
wanted some cigars or a pipe, as he had lost his own on the way, and
wondered if he would have time to go out and buy some. I told him no;
but that he could have a couple of cigars from my box. He thanked me,
and took two, laying down a silver dime on top of the box. He put his
hand in the inside pocket of his coat, and pulled out an empty
envelope, twisted it, lit it by the coal fire in the grate, and lighted
his cigar. The train rolled into the station; he passed out, and I saw
him jump aboard the front passenger coach. He had thrown the paper, as
he thought, into the fire, but it slipped off the grate, fell just
inside the fender, and the flame went out. There was something so very
peculiar in his looks and manner, that I thought there was some mystery
about his movements. I picked up the paper, saw the writing on it, and
locked it up in my cash drawer. He had evidently been a very handsome
man, before his 'accident', but he had a jaded, worried, wretched look.
When a detective from Baltimore interviewed me, I told him all I knew,
and gave him the paper."
Again Mr. Dunbar drew closer to the jury, held up the former fragment
of envelope, and then took from his pocket a second piece. Jagged edges
fitted into each other, and he lifted for the inspection of hundreds of
eyes, the long envelope marked and underscored:-"LAST WILL AND
TESTAMENT OF ROBERT LUKE DARRINGTON." The lower edge of the paper was
at one corner brown, scorched, somewhat burned.
"Lucullus Grantlin."
An elderly man of noble presence advanced, and Mr. Dunbar met and shook
hands with him, accompanying him almost to the stand. At sight of his
white head, and flowing silvery beard, Beryl's heart almost ceased its
pulsation. If, during her last illness her mother had acquainted him
with their family history, then indeed all was lost. It was as
impossible to reach him and implore his silence, as though the ocean
rocked between them; and how would he interpret the pleading gaze she
fixed upon his face? The imminence of the danger, vanquished every
scruple, strangled her pride. She caught Mr. Dunbar's eye, beckoned him
to approach.
When he stood before her, she put out her hand, seized one of his, and
drew him down until his black head almost touched hers. She placed her
lips close to his ear, and whispered:
"For God's sake spare the secrets of a death-bed. Be merciful to me
now; oh! I entreat you--do not drag my mother from her grave! Do not
question Doctor Grantlin."
She locked her icy hands around his, pressing it convulsively. Turning,
he laid his lips close to the silky fold of hair that had fallen
across her ear:
"If I dismiss this witness, will you tell me the truth? Will you give
me the name of the man whom I am hunting? Will you confess all to me?"
"I have no sins to confess. I have made my last statement. If you laid
my coffin at my feet, I should only say I am innocent; I would tell you
nothing more."
"Then his life is so precious, you are resolved to die, rather than
trust me?"
She dropped his hand, and leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.
When she opened them, Doctor Grantlin was speaking:
"I am on my way to Havana, with an invalid daughter, and stopped here
last night, at the request of Mr. Dunbar."
"Please state all that you know of the prisoner, and of the
circumstances which induced her to visit X----."
"I first saw the prisoner in August last, when she summoned me to see
her mother, who was suffering from an attack of fever. I discovered
that she was in a dangerous condition in consequence of an aneurism
located in the carotid artery, and when she had been relieved of
malarial fever, I told both mother and daughter that an operation was
necessary, to remove the aneurism. Soon after, I left the city for a
month, and on my return the daughter again called me in. I advised that
without delay the patient should be removed to the hospital, where a
surgeon--a specialist--could perform the operation. To this the young
lady objected, on the ground that she could not assist in nursing, if
her mother entered the hospital; and she would not consent to the
separation. She asked what amount would be required to secure at home
the services of the surgeon, a trained nurse, and the subsequent
treatment; and I told her I thought a hundred dollars would cover all
incidentals, and secure one of the most skilful surgeons in the city. I
continued from time to time to see the mother, and administered such
medicines as I deemed necessary to invigorate and tone up the patient's
system for the operation. One day in October, the young lady came to
pay me for some prescriptions, and asked if a few weeks' delay would
enhance the danger of the operation. I assured her it was important to
lose no time, and urged her to arrange matters so as to remove the
patient to the hospital as soon as possible, offering to procure her
admission. She showed great distress, and informed me that she hoped to
receive very soon a considerable sum of money, from some artistic
designs that she felt sure would secure the prize. A week later she
came again, and I gave her a prescription to allay her mother's
nervousness. Then, with much agitation, she told me that she was going
South by the night express, to seek assistance from her mother's
father, who was a man of wealth, but had disowned Mrs. Brentano on
account of her marriage. She asked for a written statement of the
patient's condition, and the absolute necessity of the operation. I
wrote it, and as she stood looking at the paper, she said:
"'Doctor do you believe in an Ahnung?' I said, 'A what?' She answered
slowly and solemnly: 'An Ahnung--a presentiment? I have a crushing
presentiment that trouble will come to me, if I leave mother; and yet
she entreats, commands me to go South. It is my duty to obey her, but
the errand is so humiliating I shrink, I dread it. I shall not be long
away, and meanwhile do please be so kind as to see her, and cheer her
up. If her father refuses to give me the one hundred dollars, I will
take her to the hospital when I return.' I walked to the door with her,
and her last words were: 'Doctor, I trust my mother to you; don't let
her suffer.' I have never seen her again, until I entered this room. I
visited Mrs. Brentano several times, but she grew worse very rapidly.
One night the ensuing week, my bell was rung at twelve o'clock, and a
woman gave me this note, which was written by the prisoner immediately
after her arrest, and which enclosed a second, addressed to her mother."
As he read aloud the concluding lines invoking the mother's prayers,
the doctor's voice trembled. He took off his spectacles, wiped them,
and resumed:
"I was shocked and distressed beyond expression, for I could no more
connect the idea of crime with that beautiful, noble souled girl, than
with my own sinless daughter; and I reproached myself then, and doubly
condemn myself now, that I did not lend her the money. All that was
possible to alleviate the suffering of that mother, I did most
faithfully. Under my personal superintendence she was made comfortable
in the hospital; and I stood by her side when Doctor--operated on the
aneurism; but her impaired constitution could not bear the strain, and
she sank rapidly. She was delirious, and never knew why her daughter
was detained; because I withheld the note. Just before the end came,
her mind cleared, and she wrote a few lines which I sent to the
prisoner. From all that I know of Miss Brentano, I feel constrained to
say, she impressed me as one of the purest, noblest and most admirable
characters I have ever met. She supported her mother and herself by her
pencil, and a more refined, sensitive woman, a more tenderly devoted
daughter I have yet to meet."
"Does your acquaintance with the family suggest any third party, who
would be interested in Gen'l Darrington's will, or become a beneficiary
by its destruction?"
"No. They seemed very isolated people; those two women lived without
any acquaintances, as far as I know, and apared proudly indifferent to
the outside world. I do not think they had any relatives, and the only
name I heard Mrs. Brentano utter in her last illness was,
'Ignace,--Ignace.' She often spoke of her'darling,' and her 'good
little girl'."
"Did you see a gentleman who visited the prisoner? Did you ever hear
she had a lover?"
"I neither saw any gentleman, nor heard she had a lover. In January, I
received a letter from the prisoner enclosing an order on S--& E--,
photographers of New York, for the amount due her, on a certain design
for a Christmas card, which had received the Boston first prize of
three hundred dollars. With the permission of the Court, I should like
to read it. There is no objection?"
"PENITENTIARY CELL, JANUARY 8TH
"In the name of my dead, whom I shall soon join--I desire to thank you,
dear Doctor Grantlin, for your kind care of my darling; and especially
for your delicate and tender regard for all that remains on earth of my
precious mother. The knowledge that she was treated with the reverence
due to a lady, that she was buried--not as a pauper, but sleeps her
last sleep under the same marble roof that shelters your dear departed
ones, is the one ray of comfort that can ever pierce the awful gloom
that has settled like a pall over me. I am to be tried soon for the
black and horrible crime I never committed; and the evidence is so
strong against me, the circumstances I cannot explain, are so accusing,
the belief of my guilt is so general in this community, that I have no
hope of acquittal; therefore I make my preparations for death. Please
collect the money for which I enclose an order, and out of it, take the
amount you spent when mother died. It will comfort me to know, that we
do not owe a stranger for the casket that shuts her away from all
grief, into the blessed Land of Peace. Keep the remainder, and when you
hear that I am dead, unjustly offered up an innocent victim to appease
justice, that must have somebody's blood in expiation, then take my
body and mother's and have us laid side by side in the Potter's field.
The law will crush my body, but it is pure and free from every crime,
and it will be worthy still to touch my mother's in a common grave. Oh,
Doctor! Does it not seem that some terrible curse has pursued me; and
that the three hundred dollars I toiled and prayed for, was kept back
ten days too late to save me? My Christmas card will at least bury us
decently--away from the world that trampled me down. Do not doubt my
innocence, and it will comfort me to feel that he who closed my
mother's eyes, believes that her unfortunate child is guiltless and
unstained. In life, and in death, ever
"Most gratefully your debtor,
"BERYL BRENTANO."
A few moments of profound silence ensued: then Doctor Grantlin handed
some article to Mr. Dunbar, and stepping down from the stand, walked
toward the prisoner.
She had covered her face with her hands, while he gave his testimony:
striving to hide the anguish that his presence revived. He placed his
hand on her shoulder, and whispered brokenly:
"My child, I know you are innocent. Would to God I could help you to
prove it to these people!"
The terrible strain gave way suddenly, her proud head was laid against
his arm, and suppressed emotion shook her, as a December storm smites
and bows some shivering weed.