Is it true that in abstract valuation, "the bird in hand, is worth two
in the bush?"
We stand beneath a loaded apricot tree, and would give all the bushel
within reach, for one crimson satin globe pendent on the extreme tip of
the most inaccessible bough; and the largest, luscious, richest colored
orange always glows defiantly, high up, close to the body of the tree,
hedged away from our eager grasp by its impenetrable chevaux de frise
of bristling thorns. The wonderful water lily we covet is smiling on
its green cushion of leaves just beyond the danger line, where death
lurks; the rhododendron flame that burned brightest amid surrounding
floral fires, and lured us, springs from the crevice of some beetling
precipice, waving a challenge over fatal chasms that bar possession;
and with fretful dissatisfaction we repine, because the colors of the
feathered captives in our gilt cages are so dull, so faded in
comparison with their brothers, flashing wings of scarlet, and breasts
of vivid blue high in the sunlight of God's free air.
The gold and silver dust that powder velvet butterflies, tarnish at a
touch, stain the fingers that clutch them; and the dewy bloom on purple
and amber grape clusters, never survives the handling of the vintager.
Leaning back in the revolving chair in front of his office desk, Mr.
Dunbar slowly tore into strips a number of notes and letters, and
suffered the fragments to fall into a waste basket somewhat faded, yet
much too elegant to harmonize with its surroundings.
When Leo quilted the lining of ruby silk and knotted the ribbons that
tied it to the wicker lace work, love pelted her cheek with roses, and
happy hope sang so loud in her ear, that she could not have divined the
cruel fact that she was preparing the dainty coffin, destined to
receive the mutilated remains of a betrothal, that typified supreme
earthly happiness to her. One by one dropped the shreds of Leo's last
message from Palermo, like torn crumpled petals of a once beloved and
sacred flower; and the faint, delicate perfume that clung to the
fragments, was one which Mr. Dunbar recognized as characteristic of the
library at the "Lilacs". The contents of the farewell note had in no
degree surprised him; for though fully persuaded that her heart was
irrevocably pledged to the past, he was equally sure that only the
ardor he scorned to feign, would avail to melt the wall of ice her
outraged pride had built between them. There were times when he
deplored bitterly the loss of her companionship; at others he exulted
in the consciousness of perfect freedom to indulge an overmastering
love, amenable to no chastisement by violated loyalty. He had
scrupulously endeavored, by careful employment of forms of deference,
to spare his betrothed as far as possible, the stinging humiliation and
anguish which every woman suffers, when the man whom she loves shows
her that she fills only a subordinate and insignificant place in his
affection; and yet, while her nobler nature commanded his homage, and
the brilliancy of the alliance seems to jeer at his blind fatuity, his
heart throbbed and yearned with an intolerable longing for one upon
whom the world had set the seal of an ineradicable disgrace.
Nature and education had made him a coldly calculating man, jealous of
his honor, but immersed in schemes for his own aggrandizement, and
superbly invulnerable to the blandishments of sentimentality; hence his
amazement, when the deep and engrossing love of his life burned away
that selfishness which was citadel of his affections. Because his
infatuation had cost him so much, that was alluring alike to vanity,
pride, and ambition, a fierce hunger for revenge possessed him; and
herein differs the nature of the love of men and women; the one can
sacrifice itself for the happiness of the beloved; the other will
crucify its darling to appease jealous pangs in view of happiness it
can neither inspire nor share.
"Good morning, Churchill. Come in. Glad to see you. Sit down."
"When did you get back, Lennox?"
"Last night."
"Well, what luck?"
"A rather leaky promise. Kneading slag or cold pig iron into Bessemer
steel would be about as easy as pounding the law of evidence into the
Governor's brains. I emphasized the moral weight of the petition, by
calling his attention to the signatures of the judge, jury, prosecuting
counsel and especially of Prince, who presumably has most to forgive.
The memorial of the inspectors, warden and physician was appended, and
constituted a eulogy upon the behavior and character of the prisoner;
especially the heroic service rendered by her during the recent fatal
epidemic. Human nature is an infernally vexing bundle of paradoxes, and
when a man throws his conscience in your teeth, what then? The argument
from which I hoped most, proved a Greek horse, and well-nigh wrought
ruin. When I dwelt upon the fact that the prisoner had voluntarily
conveyed to Prince all right and title to the fortune, which was
supposed to have tempted her to commit the crime, he bristled like a
Skye terrier, and grandiloquently assured me he valued his 'prerogative
as something too sacred to be prostituted to nepotism!' Prince being
his cousin, a readiness to exercise Executive clemency by pardoning the
prisoner, might be construed into a species of bargain and sale; and
his Excellency could not condone a crime merely because the culprit had
relinquished a fortune to his relative. Braying an ordinary fool in a
mortar is an unpromising job; but an extraordinary official
leatherhead, PLUS thin-skinned conscience, and religious scruples,
requires the upper and nether mill stone. You know, Churchill, it is
tough work to straighten a crooked ramrod."
"I see; a case of moral curvature of the spine. When he was inaugurated
last December, I chanced to be at the Capital, and heard two old
codgers from the piney woods felicitating the State upon having a
Governor, 'Fit to tie to; honest as the day is long, and walks so
straight, he is powerful swaybacked.' Dunbar, did he refuse outright?"
"He holds the matter in abeyance for maturer deliberation; but promises
that, unless he sees cogent reasons to the contrary, he may grant a
pardon when eighteen months of the sentence have expired. That will be
the last week in August, and almost two years since she was thrown into
prison. I should have made application to his predecessor, Glenbeigh,
had I not been so confident of overtaking the man who killed Gen'l
Darrington; but the clue that promised so much merely led me astray. I
went with the detective down into the mines, and found the man, who
certainly had a hideous facial deformity, but he was gray as a badger,
and moreover proved an ALIBI, having been sick with small-pox in the
county pest-house on the night of the murder. It is a tedious hunt, but
I will not be balked of my game. I will collar that wretch some day,
and meantime I will get the pardon."
"I hope so; for I shall never feel easy until that poor girl is set
free. The more I hear of her deportment and character, especially of
the religious influence she seems to be exerting through some Bible
readings she holds among the female convicts, the more painfully am I
oppressed with the conviction that we all committed a sad blunder, and
narrowly escaped hanging an innocent woman."
"Speak for yourself. I disclaim complicity in the disgraceful wrong of
the conviction."
"Well, I confess I would rather stand in your place than mine;
especially since my wife's brother Garland was called in as consulting
physician, last month at the penitentiary. He has so stirred her
sympathies for the woman whom he pronounces a paragon of all the
virtues and graces, that I begin to fidget now at the sound of the
prisoner's name, and can hardly look my wife straight in the face. When
I go up to court next week, I will call on the Governor, and add a
personal appeal to the one I have already signed. According to the
evidence, she is guilty; but when justice is vindicated, one can afford
to listen to the dictates of pity. Now, Dunbar, let me congratulate you
on your recent good luck. We hear wonderful accounts of your new
fortune."
"Rumor always magnifies such matters; still it is true that I have
inherited a handsome estate." "Does your sister share equally?"
"A very liberal legacy was left to her, but you are aware that I was
named for my mother's brother, Randall Lennox, and he has for many
years regarded me as his heir; hence, gave me the bulk of the property."
"It is rather strange that he never married. I recall him as a very
distinguished looking man."
"He had a love affair very early in life, while at college, with the
daughter of his Greek professor. Surreptitiously he took her to drive
one afternoon, and the horse became frightened, ran away and killed the
girl. He was a peculiar man, and seems never to have swerved from his
allegiance to her memory."
"I hope it is not true that the conditions of the will require you to
remove from X---and settle in New Orleans? We can't afford to lose you
from our bar."
"There are no restrictions in my Uncle Lennox's will; the legacy was
unconditional; but the obligation of complying with his urgent desire
to have me live in New Orleans will probably induce me to make that my
future home. For several years he has associated me with him in the
conduct of some important suits; and I understand now, that his motive
was to introduce me gradually to a new field of professional labor. Not
the least valuable of my new possessions is his superb law library,
probably the finest in the South. Of course my business will keep me
here, for the present, and I have matured no plans."
"Did you reach New Orleans before his death?"
"No, I was in Dakota, and missed a letter designed to acquaint me with
his illness. While in Washington on my return, arguing a case before
the Supreme Court, a telegram was forwarded from the office here, and I
hurried off by the first train, but arrived about ten hours too late.
Another grudge I have to settle with that bloody thief, when I unearth
him."
"After all, Dunbar, you are a deucedly lucky fellow,--and--Hello!
historic Hebrew! Bedney, have you seen a ghost?"
"Yes--Mars Alfred--two of 'em."
Spent with fatigue, panting, with an ashen pallor on his leathery,
wrinkled face, the old negro ran in to the office, and leaned heavily
against the oak table.
"What is the matter? Positively, you are turning a grayish white. What
is the secret of the bleaching? Police after you? Or does the Sheriff
want you?"
"Mars Alfred, this ain't no fitten time to crack your on'-Gawdly jokes,
for I am scared all but into fits. I started in a brisk walk, but every
step I got more and more afeered to look behind, and I struk a fox
trot, and now my wind is clean gone."
"What is the trouble? What are you running from?"
"'Fore Gawd, Mars Alfred, sperrits! Sperrits, sir."
"Do you mean that you want a dram to steady your nerves?"
"I'm that frustrated I couldn't say what I want; but I didn't signify
bottle and jimmyjohn liquor, I mean sperrits, sir, ghosts what walk,
and make the hair rise like wire all over your head. The ole house is
hanted shore 'nuff; and I can't stay there. Lem'me tell you, Lord! Mars
Alfred, don't laugh! It's the Gawd's truth, ole Marster's sperrit is
fighting up yonder in his room with the man what killed him. I seen
him, in the broad daylight, and I have cum for you and Mars Lennox to
git there, jest as quick as you kin, so you kin see it fur yourselves.
I know you won't believe it till you see it; nuther should I, but it's
there. The sperrits have cum back, to show my young mistiss' child
never killed her grandpa."
Mr. Dunbar rose quickly, handed a glass of water to the old man, and
then placed a chair for him.
"Tell me at once what you saw."
"Ole Marster standin' in the flo' close to the vault, with his arm up
so--and the handi'on in his own hand--"
"How dare you come here, with this cock-and-bull story? You are either
drunk or in your dotage. Your master has been in his grave for eighteen
months, and--"
"Oh! to be shore I know'd what you'd say. Cuss me for an idjut; but I
swar, Mars Lennox, I am that scared I dasn't to tell you no lie. The
proof of the pudden is jest chawin' the bag, an' I want you both to git
a carridge quick, and take me up home; and if you don't see what I tell
you is thar, you may kick me from the front door clean down to the big
gate. The grave is busted wide open, and the dead walks, for I seen
him; and I'll sho' him to you. Come on, I want you to see for yourself."
"You imbecile old nincompoop! Go home, and tell Dyce to give you some
catnip tea, and tie you to a chair," laughed Mr. Churchill.
"You'll laugh t'other side of your mouth, Mars Alfred, when you see
that awful sight up yonder. Ole Marster has come back, to clare the
name of his grandchile, for he and his murderer is a wrastling, and it
ain't no 'oman, it's a man! A tall, pretty man, with beard on his face."
Mr. Dunbar struck a bell at his side, and a clerk came promptly from
the rear room.
"Nesbitt, step over to the livery stable, and order a carriage sent up
at once." Turning to Bedney he continued:
"I suppose the gist of all your yarn-spinning is, that you have found a
stranger prowling about the place. How did you discover him?"
"Lem'me tell you, as fur as I can, how I cum to see ole Marster. Mr.
Prince gin orders that the house should be opened and arred reglar, and
he pintedly enjined us to have that room well cleaned and put in order.
We had all pintedly gin it a wide berth, and kep' ourselves on t'other
side of the house, 'cause all such places is harryfying; but this
morning, I thought I would open the outside blind door on the west
gallery, and look in through the glass door. I know'd Mr. Prince had
stirred round considerable in there, the day before he left, but I
didn't know he had drapped the curting what was looped back the last
time I was inside. So I went up the steps and clared away a rose vine
what was hanging low down from the i'on pillar of the piazzar, and
almost screening the door, and I walked up, I did, and looked in. Lord
Gawd Amighty! The red curting was down on the inside, and I seen
through it, I swar to Gawd I did, sir! I seen clar spang through into
that room, and thar stood Marster in his night clothes, jest so--and
thar stood that murdering vil'yan close to him, holding the tin box
so--and Marster with the handi'on jest daring him to cum on--and--and
oh! I am glad to know my Marster was game to the last, died game! Never
show'd no white feather while thar was breath in his body. Mars Lennox,
I jest drapped on my knees, and I trimbled, and my teeth chattered, and
I felt the hair as it riz straight up. I was afeer'd to stay, and I was
afeer'd to move; but I shet my eyes and crawled back'ards easy to the
aidge of the steps, and then run as fast as I could. I wanted Dyce to
see, too, but the poor cretur is so crippled she can't walk, and as she
weighs two hundred and twenty pounds, I couldn't tote her; so I tole
her what I seen, and she sent me straight to find Mars Alfred fust, and
you next. I run to Mars Alfred's office, and he was out, so I kep' on
here. I know'd you lie'yers was barking up the wrong tree, and
wrongfully pussecutin' that poor young gal; and now the very sperrits
have riz up to testify fur her. If you two can face ole Marster's
ghost, and tell him you know better than he did who killed him, you've
got better pluck and backbone than I give you credit fur."
"What did you eat last night, Bedney? Baked possum, and fried
chitterlings? Evidently you have had a heavy nightmare."
Mr. Churchill drew a match across the heel of his boot, and lighted a
cigar; looking quizzically at the old man, who was wiping the
perspiration from his face.
"There's the carridg, I hear the wheels. Mars Lennox and Mars Alfred,
there is one thing I insists on havin'. The law is all lop-sided from
fust to last in this here case, and I want it squoze into shape, till
t'other side swells out a little. I want the Crowner to go up yonder
now, and hold another inquess. He's done sot all wrong on the body, and
now let him set on the sperrit if he kin. I'm in plum earnest. The
Crowner swore that poor young gal knocked Marster in the head with the
handi'on; and yonder stands Marster, ready to brain that man--with that
handi'on hilt tight in his own right hand. Now what I wants to know is,
WHAR is the 'delectible corpus' what you lieyers argufied over?"
"You doting old humbug! If you decoy us on a wild goose chase I shall
feel like cutting one of your ears off!"
"Slit 'em both and welcome, Mars Alfred, if you don't find I'm telling
you the Gawd's truth. I feel all tore up, root and branch, and if folks
could be scared to death, I should be stretched out this minute on the
west piazzar. I had my doubts about ghosts and sperrits, and I lost my
religion when I cotch our preacher brandin' one of my dappled
crumple-horned hefers with his i'on; but Bedney Darrington is a changed
pusson. Come en, let's see which of you will dar to laugh up yonder."
"Are you really bent on humoring this insane or idiotic vagary?" asked
Mr. Churchill, as he saw his companion take his hat and prepare to
follow the negro, who had left the room.
"His terror is genuine, and his superstitious tale is probably the
outer shell of some kernel of fact that may possibly be valuable. In
cases of circumstantial evidence, you and I know the importance of
looking carefully into the merest trifles. Come with me; you can spare
an hour."
Leaving the carriage at the front entrance of the deserted and stately
old house, the attorneys crossed the terrace and walked around to the
western veranda, preceded by Bedney, who paused at the steps, and waved
them to ascend.
"Go up and see for yourselves. I am nigh as I want to git."
The stone floor was strewn with branches of rose vine, and the pruning
shears lay open upon them, just as they had fallen from the old man's
hand. The sun had passed several degrees below the meridian, and the
shadows of the twisted iron columns were aslant eastward, but the glare
of light shone on the plate-glass door, which was rounded into an arch
at top, and extended within four inches of the surface of the floor,
where it fitted into the wooden frame. It was one wide sheet, unbroken
into panes, and on the outside dust had collected, and a family of
spiders had colonized in the lower corner, spinning their gray lace
quite across the base. It was evident that the Venetian blinds had long
been closed, and recently opened, as a line of dust and dried drift
leaves attested; and behind the glass hung the dull red, plush curtain,
almost to the floor.
Both gentlemen pressed forward, and looked in; but saw nothing.
"Hang your head kinder sideways, down so, and look up, Mars Lennox."
Mr. Dunbar changed his position, and after an instant, started back.
"Do you see it, Churchill? No hallucination; it is as plain as print,
just like the negative of a photograph."
"Bless my soul! It beats the Chinese jugglers! What a curious thing!"
"Stand back a little; you obstruct the light. Now, how clearly it comes
out."
Printed apparently on the plush background, like the images in a
camera, were the distinctly outlined and almost life-size figures of
two men. Clad in a long gown, with loose sleeves, Gen'l Darrington
stood near the hearth, brandishing the brass unicorn in one hand, the
other thrown out and clinched; the face rather more than profile,
scarcely three-quarters, was wonderfully distinct, and the hair much
dishevelled. In front was the second portrait, that of a tall, slender
young man who appeared to have suddenly wheeled around from the open
vault, turning his countenance fully to view; while he threw up a dark,
square object to ward off the impending blow. A soft wool hat pushed
back, showed the curling hair about his temples, and the remarkable
regularity of his handsome features; while even the plaid pattern of
his short coat was clearly discernible.
As the attorneys came closer, or stepped back from the door, the images
seemed to vary in distinctness, and viewed from two angles they became
invisible.
Mr. Churchill stared blankly; Mr. Dunbar's gaze was riveted on the face
of the burglar, and he took his underlip between his teeth, as was his
habit in suppressing emotion.
"Of course there is some infernal trick about this; but how do you
account for it? It is beyond Bedney's sleight of hand," said the
District Solicitor.
"I think I understand how it came here. Bedney, go around and open the
library door leading into this room, and loop back the curtain for a
moment."
"No, sir, Mars Lennox. Forty railroad ingines couldn't pull me in there
alive. I wouldn't dar tamper with ole Marster's ghost; not for all the
money in the bank. Go yourself; I doesn't budge on no sech bizness as
prying and spying amongst the sperrits. It would fling me into a fit."
"You miserable coward. Is the house open? Where is the key of this
room?"
"Hanging on the horseshoe under my chimbly board. I'll fetch it and
unlock the front door, so you kin git in, and hold your inquess inside."
"Will you go, Churchill, or shall I?"
"What is your idea?"
"To ascertain whether the images are on the glass, as I believe, and if
they can be seen without the background. Stand just here--and watch.
When I pull back the curtain, tell me the effect."
Some moments later, the red folds shook, swayed aside, the curtain was
pushed out of sight on its brass rod. The interior of the apartment
came into view, the articles of furniture, the face and figure of Mr.
Dunbar.
"Is it still there; do you see it?" shouted the latter.
"No. It vanished with the curtain. Drop it back. There! I see it. Now
loop it. Gone again. Must be on the curtain," shouted the Solicitor,
peering through the glass at his colleague.
Mr. Dunbar turned a key on the inside, pushed back a bolt, and threw
open the door, which swung outward on the veranda. Then he carefully
let fall the plush curtain once more.
"Do you see it?"
"No. A blank show. I can't see into the trick. Dunbar, change places
with me and satisfy yourself."
The solicitor went inside, and Mr. Dunbar watched from the veranda a
repetition of the experiment.
"That will do, Churchill. It is all plain enough now, but you cease to
wonder at Bedney's superstitious solution. You understand it perfectly,
don't you?"
"No, I'll be hanged if I do! It is the queerest thing I ever saw."
"Do you recollect that there was a violent thunder-storm the night of
the murder?"
"Since you mention it, I certainly recall it. Go on."
"All the witnesses testified that next morning this door was closed as
usual, but the outside blinds were open, and the red curtain was looped
back."
"Yes, I remember all that."
"The images are printed on the glass, and were photographed by a flash
of lightning."
"I never heard of such a freak. Don't believe it."
"Nevertheless it is the only possible solution; and I know that several
similar instances have been recorded. It is like the negative of a
common photograph, brought out by a dark background; and do you notice
the figures are invisible at certain angles? It is very evident the
storm came up during the altercation that night, and electricity
printed the whole scene on this door; stamping the countenance of the
murderer, to help the instruments of justice. While the blinds were
closed, and the curtain was looped aside, of course this wonderful
witness could not testify; but Prince let down the folds just before
his departure, and the moment Bedney opened the blinds, there lay the
truthful record of the awful crime. Verily, the 'irony of fate!' An
overwhelming witness for the defence, only eighteen months too late, to
save a pure, beautiful life from degradation and ruin. Well may Bedney
ask, 'where is your corpus delicti?' Alfred Churchill, I wish you joy
of the verdict, you worked so hard to win."
Turning on his heel Mr. Dunbar walked the length of the veranda, and
stood gazing gloomily across the tangled mass of the neglected rose
garden, taking no cognizance of the garlands of bloom, seeing
everywhere only that lithe elegant figure and Hyperion face of the man
who reigned master of Beryl's heart.
The Solicitor leaned one shoulder against the door facing, and with his
hands in his pockets, and his brows drawn into a pucker, pondered the
new fact, and eyed the strange witness.
After a time, he approached his companion.
"If your hypothesis be correct, and it seems plausible, if science
asserts that electricity can photograph,--then certainly I am sorry,
sorry enough for all I did in the trial; yet I cannot reproach myself,
because I worked conscientiously; and the evidence was conclusive
against the girl. The circumstantial coincidences were strong enough to
have hung her. We all make mistakes, and no doubt I am responsible for
my share; but thank God! reparation can be made! I will take the night
train and see the Governor before noon to-morrow. The pardon must come
now."
"Pardon! He cannot pardon a crime of which she now stands acquitted.
The only pardon possible, she may extend to those who sacrificed her.
His Excellency need exercise no prerogative of mercy; his aid is
superfluous. Churchill, go in as soon as you can, and send out the
Sheriff, with as many of the jurors as you can get together; and ask
Judge Parkman to drive out this afternoon, and bring Stafford, the
photographer, with him. Tell Doctor Graham I want to see him here, as
he is an accomplished electrician. I will stay here and guard this door
till all X---has seen it."
Winged rumor flew through the length and breadth of the town, and
before sunset a human stream poured along the road leading to "Elm
Bluff", overflowed the green lawn under the ancient poplars, surged
across the terrace, and beat against the railing of the piazza. Men,
women, children, lawyers, doctors, newspaper reporters, all pressing
forward for a glimpse of the mysterious and weird witness, that, in the
fulness of time, had arisen to reprove the world for a grievous and
cruel wrong.
The hinges had been removed; the door was set up at a certain angle,
carefully balanced against the hanging curtain; and there the curious
crowd beheld, in a veritable vision of the dead, torn as it were from
the darkness and silence of the grave, the secret of that stormy night,
when unseen powers had solemnly covenanted in defence of trusting
innocence.