Drifting along the stream of testimony that rolled in front of the
jury-box, an eager and excited public had with scarcely a dissenting
voice arrived at the conclusion, that the verdict was narrowed to the
limits of only two possibilities. It was confidently expected that the
jury would either acquit unconditionally, or fail to agree; thus
prolonging suspense, by a mistrial. It was six o'clock when, the
jurors, bearing the andiron, handkerchief, pipe, and a diagram of the
bedroom at "Elm Bluff", were led away to their final deliberation; yet
so well assured was the mass of spectators, that they would promptly
return to render a favorable verdict, that despite the inclemency of
the weather, there was no perceptible diminution of the anxious crowd
of men and women.
The night had settled prematurely down, black and stormy; and though
the fury of the gale seemed at one time to have spent itself, the wind
veered to the implacable east, and instead of fitful gusts, a steady
roaring blast freighted with rain smote the darkness. The officer
conducted his prisoner across the dim corridor, and opened the door of
the small anteroom, which frequent occupancy had rendered gloomily
familiar.
"I wish I could make you more comfortable, and it is a shame to shut
you up in such an ice-box. I will throw my overcoat on the floor, and
you can wrap your feet up in it. Yes, you must take it. I shall keep
warm at the stove in the Sheriff's room. The Judge will not wait later
than ten o'clock, then I'll take you back to Mrs. Singleton. It seems
you prefer to remain here alone."
"Yes, entirely alone."
"You are positive, you won't try a little hot punch, or a glass of
wine?"
"Thank you, but I wish only to be alone."
"Don't be too down-hearted. You will never be convicted under that
indictment, at least not by this jury, for I have a suspicion that
there is one man among them, who will stand out until the stars fall,
and I will tell you why. I happened to be looking at him, when your
Christmas card was shown by Mr. Dunbar. The moment he saw it, he
started, stretched out his hand, and as he looked at it, I saw him
choke up, and pass his hand over his eyes. Soon after Christmas, that
man lost his only child, a girl five years old, who had scarlet fever.
To divert her mind, they gave her a Christmas card to play with, that
some friend had sent to her mother. She had it in her hand when she
died, in convulsions, and it was put in her coffin and buried with her.
My wife helped to nurse and shroud her, and she told me it was the card
shown in court; it was your card. The law can't cut out the
heartstrings of the jury, and I don't believe that man would lift his
hand against your life, any sooner than he would strike the face of his
dead child."
He locked the door, and Beryl found herself at last alone, in the
dreary little den where a single gas burner served only to show the
surrounding cheerlessness. The furniture comprised a wooden bench along
the wall, two chairs, and a table in the middle of the floor; and on
the dusty panes of the grated window, a ray of ruddy light from a lamp
post in the street beneath, broke through the leaden lances of the
rain, and struggled for admission.
The neurotic pharmacopoeia contains nothing so potent as despair to
steady quivering nerves, and steel to superhuman endurance. For Beryl,
the pendulum of suspense had ceased to swing, because the spring of
hope had snapped; and the complete surrender, the mute acceptance of
the worst possible to come, had left her numb, impervious to dread. As
one by one the discovered facts spelled unmistakably the name of her
brother, allowing no margin to doubt his guilt, the necessity of
atonement absorbed every other consideration; and the desire to avert
his punishment extinguished the last remnant of selfish anxiety. If by
suffering in his stead, she could secure to him life--the opportunities
of repentance, of expiation, of making his peace with God, of saving
his immortal soul--how insignificant seemed all else. The innate love
of life, the natural yearning for happiness, the once fervent
aspirations for fame--the indescribable longing for the fruition of
youth's high hopes, which like a Siren sang somewhere in the golden
mists of futurity--all these were now crushed beyond recognition in the
whirlwind that had wrecked her.
Her father slept under silvery olives in a Tuscan dell, her mother
within hearing of the waves that broke on the Atlantic shore; and if
the wanderer could be purified by penitential tears, what mattered the
shattering of the family circle on earth, when in the eternal Beyond,
it would be indissolubly reformed? Over the black gulf that yawned in
her young, pure life, the wings of her Christian faith bore her
steadily, unwaveringly to the heavenly rest, that she knew remained for
the people of God; and so, she seemed to have shaken hands with the
things of time and earth, and to stand on the border land, girded for
departure. To meet her beloved dead, with the blessed announcement that
Bertie must join them after a while, because she had ransomed his
precious soul; and that the family would be complete under the heavenly
roof, was recompense so rich, that the fangs of disgrace, of physical
and mental torture were effectually extracted. By day and by night the
ladder of prayer lifted her soul into that serene realm, where the
fountains of balm are never drained; and into her face stole the
reflection of that peace which only communion with the Christian's God
can bring to those whom grief has claimed for its own.
To-night, as she listened to the Coronach chanted by the gale, and the
dismal accompaniment of the pelting rain, she realized how utterly
isolated was her position, and kneeling on the bare floor, crossed her
arms on the table, bowed her bead upon them, and prayed for patience
and strength. The ordeal had been fiery, but the end was at hand, and
release must be near.
She heard quick steps in the corridor, and the key was turned in the
lock. Had the jury so promptly decided to destroy her? For an instant
only, she shut her eyes; and when she opened them, Mr. Dunbar was
leaning over her, folding closely about her shoulders some heavy wrap,
whose soft fur collar his fingers buttoned around her throat. She had
not known that she was cold, until the delicious sensation of warmth
crept like a caressing touch over her chilled limbs. She did not stir,
and neither spoke; but after a moment he turned toward the door; then
she rose.
"There is something I wish to say, and this is my last opportunity, as
after to-night we shall not meet again. During the past four months I
have said harsh, bitter things to you, and have unjustly judged you. In
grateful recognition of all that you have so faithfully essayed to
accomplish in my behalf, I ask you now to forget everything but my
gratitude for your effort to save me; and I offer my hand to you, as
the one friend who sacrificed even his manly pride, and endured
humiliation in order to redress my wrongs. I thank you very sincerely,
Mr. Dunbar."
He took her outstretched hand, pressed it against his cheek, his eyes,
held it to his lips; then a half smothered groan escaped him, and
afraid to trust himself, he went quickly out.
Believing that she stood on the confines of another world, she had
possessed her soul in patience, waiting for the consummation of the
sacrifice; yet at the crisis of her fate, that singular,
incomprehensible influence, long resisted, drew her thoughts to him,
whom she regarded as the chosen puppet of destiny to hurry her into an
untimely grave. She had fought the battle with him, under fearful odds;
conscious of sedition in the heart that defied him, warily clutching
with one hand the throat of rebellion in her citadel, while with the
other, she parried assault.
Keeping lonely vigil, amid the strewn wreck of life and hope, she had
waved away one persistent thought, that lit up the blackness with a
sudden glory, that came with the face of an angel of light, and babbled
with the silvery tongue of sorcery. As far as her future was concerned,
this world had practically come to a premature end; but above the roar
of ruin, and out of the yawning graves of slaughtered possibilities,
rose and rang the challenge: If she had never come South, if she could
have been allowed the chance of happiness that seemed every woman's
birthright, if she had met and known Mr. Dunbar, before he was pledged
to another; what then? If she were once more the Beryl of old, and he
were free? If? What necromancy so wonderful, as the potentiality of if?
Weighed in that popular balance--appearances--how stood the poor
friendless prisoner, loaded with suspicion, tarnished with obloquy, on
the verge of an ignominious death; in comparison with the fair, proud
heiress, dowered with blue blood, powerful in patrician influence, rich
in all that made her the envy of her social world?
In the dazzling zenith of temporal prosperity, Leo Gordon considered
the heart of her betrothed her most precious possession; the one jewel
which she would gladly have given all else to preserve; and yet, fate
tore it from her grasp, and laid it at the feet, nay thrust it into the
white hand of the woman who must die for a fiendish crime. A latter-day
seer tells us, that in all realms, "Between laws there is no analogy,
there is Continuity"; then in the universe of ethical sociology, who
shall trace the illimitable ramifications of the Law of Compensation?
Up and down, back and forth, slowly, wearily walked the prisoner; and
when the town clock struck eight, she mechanically counted each stroke.
As in drowning men, the landmarks of a lifetime rise, huddle, almost
press upon the glazing eyes, so the phantasmagoria of Beryl's past,
seemed projected in strange luminousness upon the pall of the present,
like profiles in silvery flame cast on a black curtain.
Holding her father's hand, she walked in the Odenwald; sitting beside
her mother on a carpet of purple vetches, she stemmed strawberries in a
garden near Pistoja; clinging to Bertie's jacket, she followed him
across dimpling sands to dip her feet in the blue Mediterranean waves,
that broke in laughter, showing teeth of foam, where dying sunsets
reddened all the beach. Through sunny arcades, flushed with
pomegranate, glowing with orange, silvered with lemon blossoms, came
the tinkling music of contadini bells, the bleating of kids, the
twittering of happy birds, the distant chime of an Angelus; all the
subtle harmony, the fragmentary melody that flickers through an
Impromptu of Chopin or Schubert. She saw the simulacrum of her former
self, the proud, happy Beryl of old, singing from the score of the
"Messiah", in the organ loft of a marble church; she heard the rich
tenor voice of her handsome brother, as he trilled a barcarole one
night, crossing the Atlantic; she smelled the tuberoses at Mentone, the
faint breath of lilies her father had loved so well, and then, blotting
all else, there rose clear as some line of Morghen's, that attic room;
the invalid's bed, the low chair beside it, the wasted figure, the
suffering, fever-flushed face of the beloved mother, as she saw her
last, with the Grand Duke jasmine fastened at her throat.
The door was thrown open, and the officer beckoned her to follow him.
Back into the crowded court-room, where people pressed even into the
window sills for standing room, where Judge and counsel sat gravely
expectant; where the stillness of death had suddenly fallen. The
officer conducted her to the bar, then drew back, and Mr. Dunbar came
and stood at her side; resting his hand on the back of her chair.
In that solemn hush, the measured tramp of the jury advancing, and
filing into their box, had the mournful, measured beat as of pall
bearers, keeping step to a dismal dirge; and when the foreman laid upon
the table the fatal brass unicorn, the muffled sound seemed ominous as
the grating of a coffin lowered upon the cross bars of a gaping grave.
As the roll was called, each man rose, and answered in a low but
distinct tone. Then the clerk of the court asked:
"Gentlemen of the jury, have you agreed upon your verdict?"
"We have," replied the foreman.
"What say you! Guilty, or not guilty?"
Beryl had risen, and the gaslight shining full upon her pale, Phidian
face, showed no trace of trepidation. Only the pathetic patience of a
sublime surrender was visible on her frozen features. The eyes
preternaturally large and luminous were raised far above the sea of
heads, and their strained gaze might almost have been fixed upon the
unveiled face of the God she trusted. Her hands were folded over her
mother's ring, her noble head thrown proudly back.
"We the jury, in the case of the State against Beryl Brentano, find
defendant not guilty as charged in the indictment; but guilty of
manslaughter in the first degree; and we do earnestly commend her to
the mercy of the Court."
The girl staggered slightly, as if recoiling from a blow, and Mr.
Dunbar caught her arm, steadied her. The long pent tide of popular
feeling broke its barriers, and the gates of Pandemonium seemed to
swing open. Women sobbed; men groaned. In vain the Judge thundered
"Silence", "Order!" and not until an officer advanced to obey the
command, to clear the court-room, was there any perceptible lull, in
the storm of indignation.
Turning to the Judge, Mr. Dunbar said:
"In behalf of the prisoner, I most respectfully beg that the Court will
end her suspense; and render her return to this bar unnecessary by
promptly pronouncing sentence."
"Is it the wish of the prisoner, that sentence should not be delayed?"
"She wishes to know her fate."
She had uttered no sound, but the lashes trembled, fell over the tired,
aching, strained eyes; and lifting her locked hands she bowed her chin
upon them.
Some moments elapsed, before Judge Parkman spoke; then his voice was
low and solemn.
"Beryl Brentano, you have been indicted for the deliberate and
premeditated murder of your grandfather, Robert Luke Darrington. Twelve
men, selected for their intelligence and impartiality, have patiently
and attentively listened to the evidence in this case, and have under
oath endeavored to discover the truth of this charge. You have had the
benefit of a fair trial, by unbiased judges, and finally, the jury in
the conscientious discharge of their duty, have convicted you of
manslaughter in the first degree, and commended you to the mercy of the
Court. In consideration of your youth, of the peculiar circumstances
surrounding you, and especially, in deference to the wishes and
recommendation of the jury--whose verdict, the Court approves, I
therefore pronounce upon you the lightest penalty which the law affixes
to the crime of manslaughter, of which you stand convicted; which
sentence is--that you be taken hence to the State Penitentiary, and
there be kept securely, for the term of five years."
With a swift movement, Mr. Dunbar drew the crape veil over her face,
put her arm through his, and led her into the corridor. Hurriedly he
exchanged some words in an undertone with the two officers, who
accompanied him to the rear entrance of the court-house; and then, in
answer to a shrill whistle, a close carriage drawn by two horses drew
up to the door, followed by the dismal equipage set apart for the
transportation of prisoners. The deputy sheriff stepped forward, trying
to shield the girl from the driving rain, and assisted her into the
carriage. Mr. Dunbar sprang in and seated himself opposite. The officer
closed the door, ordered the coachman to drive on, and then entering
the gloomy black box, followed closely, keeping always in sight of the
vehicle in advance.
The clock striking ten, sounded through the muffling storm a knell as
mournful as some tolling bell, while into that wild, moaning Friday
night, went the desolate woman, wearing henceforth the brand of
Cain--remanded to the convict's home.
She had thrown back her veil to ease the stifling sensation in her
throat, and Mr. Dunbar could see now and then, as they dashed past a
street lamp, that she sat upright, still as stone.
At last she said, in a tone peculiarly calm, like that of one talking
in sleep:
"What did it mean--that verdict?"
"That you went back to 'Elm Bluff' with no intention of attacking Gen'l
Darrington."
"That I went there deliberately to steal, and then to avoid detection,
killed him? That was the verdict of the jury?"
She waited a moment.
"Answer me. That was the meaning? That was the most merciful verdict
they could give to the world?"
Only the hissing sound of the rain upon the glass pane of the carriage,
made reply.
They had reached the bridge, when a hysterical laugh startled the man,
who leaned back on the front seat, with his arms crossed tightly over a
heart throbbing with almost unendurable pain.
"To steal, to rob, to plunder. Branded for all time a thief, a rogue, a
murderess. I!--I--"
A passionate wail told the strain was broken: "I, my father's darling,
my father's Beryl! Hurled into a living tomb, herded with convicts,
with the vilest outcasts that disgrace the earth--this is worse than a
thousand deaths! It would have been so merciful to crush out the life
they mangled; but to doom me to the slow torture of this loathsome
grave, where death brings no release! To die is so easy, so blessed;
but to live--a convicted felon! O, my God! my God! Hast Thou indeed
forsaken me?"
In the appalling realization of her fate, she rocked to and fro for a
moment only, fiercely shaken by the horror of a future never before
contemplated. Then the proud soul stifled its shuddering sigh, lifted
its burden of shame, silently struggled up its awful Via Crucis. Mute
and still, she leaned back in the corner of the carriage.
"I could have saved you, but you would not accept deliverance. You
thwarted every effort, tied the hands that might have set you free; and
by your own premeditated course throughout the trial, deliberately
dragged this doom down upon your head. You counted the cost, and you
elected, chose of your own free will to offer yourself as a sacrifice,
to the law, for the crime of another. You are your own merciless fate,
decreeing self-immolation. You were willing to die, in order to save
that man's life; and you can certainly summon fortitude to endure five
years' deprivation of his society; sustained by the hope that having
thereby purchased his security, you may yet reap the reward your heart
demands, reunion with its worthless, degraded idol. I have watched,
weighed, studied you; searched every stray record of your fair young
life, found the clear pages all pure; and I have doubted, marvelled
that you, lily-hearted, lily-souled, lily-handed, could cast the pearl
of your love down in the mire, to be trampled by swinish feet."
The darkness of the City of Dis that seemed to brood under the wings of
the stormy night, veiled Beryl's face; and her silence goaded him
beyond the limits of prudence, which he had warily surveyed for himself.
"Day and night, I hear the maddening echo of your accusing cry, 'You
have ruined my life!' God knows, you have as effectually ruined mine.
You have your revenge--if it comfort you to know it; but I am incapable
of your sublime renunciation. I am no patient martyr; I am, instead, an
intensely selfish man. You choose to hug the ashes of desolation; I
purpose to sweep away the wreck, to rebuild on the foundation of one
hope, which all the legions in hell cannot shake. Between you and me
the battle has only begun, and nothing but your death or my victory
will end it. You have your revenge; I intend to enjoy mine. Though he
burrow as a mole, or skulk in some fastness of Alaska, I will track and
seize that cowardly miscreant, and when the law receives its guilty
victim, you shall be freed from suspicion, freed from prison, and most
precious of all boons, you shall be freed forever from the vile
contamination of his polluting touch. For the pangs you have inflicted
on me, I will have my revenge: you shall never be profaned by the name
of wife."
Up the rocky hill toiled the horses, arching their necks as they
stooped their faces to avoid the blinding rain: and soon the huge blot
of prison walls, like a crouching monster ambushed in surrounding
gloom, barred the way.
In two windows of the second story, burned lights that borrowed lurid
rays in their passage through the mist, and seemed to glow angrily,
like the red eyes of a sullen beast of prey. The carriage stopped. A
moment after, the deputy-sheriff sprang from his wagon and rang the
bell close to the great gate. Two dogs bayed hoarsely, and somewhere in
the building an answering bell sounded.
Beryl leaned forward.
"Mr. Dunbar, there is one last favor I ask at your hands. I want
my--my--I want that pipe, that was shown in court. Will you ask that it
may be given to me? Will you send it to me?"
A half strangled, scarcely audible oath was his only reply.
She put out her hand, laid it on his.
"You dare caused me so much suffering, surely you will not deny me this
only recompense I shall ever ask."
His hand closed over hers.
"If I bring it to you, will you confess who smoked it last?"
"After to-night, sir, I think it best I should never see your face
again."
The officer opened the carriage door, the warden approached, carrying a
lantern in one hand and an umbrella in the other. Mr. Dunbar stepped
from the carriage and turning, stretched out his arms, suddenly
snatched the girl for an instant close to his heart, and lifted her to
the ground.
The warden opened the gate, swinging his lantern high to light the way,
and by its flickering rays Lennox Dunbar saw the beautiful white face,
the wonderful, sad eyes, the wan lips contracted by a spasm of pain.
She turned and followed the warden; the lights wavered; the great iron
gate swung back in its groove, the bolt fell with a sullen clang; the
massive key rattled, a chain clanked, and all was darkness as she was
locked irrevocably into her living tomb.