If it be true that the universal Law of Labor, physical or mental,
emanated from the Creator as a penal statute, for disobedience which
forfeited Eden, how merciful and how marvellous is the delicacy of an
adjustment, whereby all growth of body, mind and soul being conditioned
by work, humanity converts punishment into benediction; escapes
degeneration, attains development solely in accordance with the
provisions of the primeval curse, man's heritage of labor? Amid the
wreck of sacerdotal systems, the destruction of national gods, the
periodical tidal waves of scepticism, the gospel of work maintains
triumphantly its legions of evangels; its apostolic succession direct
from Adam; its myriad temples always alight with altar fires, always
vocal with the sublime hymn swelling from millions of consecrated
throats.
The one infallible tonic for weakened souls, the one supreme balm for
bruised hearts is the divinely distilled chrism of labor.
Absorbed in the round of duties that employed her hands and thoughts,
and necessitated dedication of every waking hour, Beryl found more
solace than she had dared to hope; and the artistic fancies which she
had supposed extinguished, spread their frail gossamer wings and
fluttered shyly into the serene sunshine that had broken rpon her
frozen life. The distinctively ornamental character of many of the
industrial pursuits at the "Anchorage", demanded originality and
variety of designs, and as this department had been assigned to her,
she entered with increasing zest the tempting field of congenial
employment; yet day by day, bending over her tasks, she never lost
sight of the chain that clanked at her wrist, that bound her to a
hideous past, to a murky, lowering and menacing future.
Weeks slipped away, months rolled on; Autumn overtook her. Winter snows
and sleet blanched the heavenly blue of the dimpling lake, and no
tidings reached her from the wanderer, for whom she prayed. The
advertisement had elicited no reply, and though it had long ceased to
appear, she daily searched the personal column of the "Herald", with a
vague expectation of some response. If her brother still lived, was the
world so wide, that she could never trace his erring passage through
it? Would no instinct of natural affection prompt him to seek news of
the mother who had idolized him? After a while she must renew the
quest, but for the present, safety demanded her seclusion; and since
only Doctor Grantlin knew the place of her retreat, she felt secure
from discovery.
One Spring day, when warm South winds had kissed open the spicy lips of
lilacs, and yellowed the terrace with crocus flakes, Beryl dismissed
her class of pupils in drawing and painting, and was engaged in dusting
the plaster casts, and arranging the palettes and pencils left in
disorder. The door opened, and a pretty, young German Sister looked in.
"Sister Ruth have need of you to do some errands; and you must go on
the street; so you will get your bonnet and veil. Is it that you will
be there soon?"
"I will come at once, Sister Elsbeth."
For several days Sister Ruth had been confined to her room by
inflammatory rheumatism, and when Beryl entered, the invalid presented
the appearance of a mummy swathed in red flannel.
"I am sorry to disturb you, and equally sorry that I feel obliged to
exact a reluctant service, because I know you dislike to visit the
business part of the city, and there I must send you. This note from
Mrs. Vanderdonk will explain the nature of the business, which I can
intrust to no one except yourself; and you will see that the commission
admits of no delay. Here is your car fare. Go first to No. 100 Lucre
Avenue, talk fully with Mrs. Vanderdonk, and then ride down to Jardon &
Jackson's and get all the material you think will be required. You will
observe, she lays great stress on the superfine quality of the plush.
Order the bill delivered with the goods; and if anything be required in
your department, you had better leave the list with Kling & Turner."
Three squares south of the "Anchorage" ran a line of street cars which
carried her away to the heart of the city; and at the expiration of an
hour and a half, Beryl had executed the commission, and was walking
homeward, watching for a car which would expedite her return. Dreading
identification, she went rarely into the great thoroughfare; and now
felt doubly shielded from observation by the Quaker-shaped drab bonnet
and veil that covered her white cap. As she was passing the entrance of
a dancing academy, a throng of boys and girls poured out, filling the
sidewalk, and creating a temporary blockade, through which a gentleman
laden with several packages, elbowed his way. A moment later, Beryl's
foot struck some obstacle, and looking down she saw a large portfolio
lying on the pavement. It was a handsome morocco case, with the
initials "G. McI.", stamped in gilt upon the cover, which was tied with
well-worn strings. She held it up, looked around, even turned back,
thinking that the owner might have returned to search for it; but the
gentleman who had hurried through the crowd was no longer visible, and
in the distance she fancied she saw a similar figure cross the street,
and spring upon a car rolling in the opposite direction.
The human clot had dissolved, the juvenile assembly had drifted away;
and as no one appeared to claim the lost article, she signalled to the
driver of the car passing just then, entered and took a seat in one
corner. The only passengers were two nurses with bands of little ones,
seeking fresh air in a neighboring park; and slipping the book under
her veil, Beryl began to examine its contents. A glance showed her that
it belonged to some artist, and was filled with sketches neatly
numbered and dated; while between the leaves lay specimens of ferns and
lichens carefully pressed.
The studies were varied, and in all stages of advancement; here two elk
heads and a buffalo; there a gaunt coyote crouching in the chaparral; a
cluster of giant oaks; far off, a waving line of mountain peaks; a
canon with vultures sailing high above it; cow boys, and a shoreless
sea of prairie, with no shadows except those cast by filmy clouds
drifting against the sun. Slowly turning the leaves, which showed
everywhere a master's skilful hand, Beryl found two sheets of paper
tied together with a strand of silk; and between them lay a fold of
tissue paper, to preserve some delicate lines. She untied the knot, and
carefully lifted the tissue, looking at the sketch.
A faint, inarticulate cry escaped her, and she sank back an instant in
the corner of the seat; but the chatter of the nurses, and the
whimpering wail of one dissatisfied baby mercifully drowned the sound.
The car, the trees on the Street, the belfry of a church seemed
spinning in some witch's dance, and an icy wind swept over and chilled
her. She threw aside her veil, stooped, and her lips whitened.
What was there in the figure of a kneeling monk, to drive the blood in
cold waves to her throbbing heart? The sketch represented the head and
shoulders of a man, whose cowl had fallen back, exposing the outlines
and moulding of a face and throat absolutely flawless in beauty, yet
darkened by the reflection of some overpowering and irremediable woe.
The features were youthful as St. Sebastian's; the expression that of
one prematurely aged by severe and unremitting mental conflict; but
neither shaven crown, nor cowl availed to disguise Bertie Brentano, and
as his sister's eyes gazed at the sketch, it wavered, swam, vanished in
a mist of tears.
In one corner of the sheet a man's hand had written "Brother Luke",
August the 10th. Had relenting fate, or a merciful prayer-answering-God
placed in her hand the long sought clue? When Beryl recovered from the
shock of recognition, and looked around, she found the car empty; and
discovered that she had been carried several squares beyond the street
where she intended to get out and walk.
Carefully replacing the tissue paper and silk thread, she tied the
leathern straps of the portfolio, and left the car, holding the
sketches close to her heart as she hurried homeward. When she turned a
corner and caught sight of the bronze anchor over the door, she
involuntarily slackened her pace, and at the same moment a policeman
crossed the street, stood in front of her, and touched his cap. The
sight of his uniform thrilled her with a premonition of danger.
"Pardon me, Sister, but something has been lost on the street."
"A portfolio? I have found it."
"It is very valuable to the owner."
"I intend having it advertised in to-morrow's paper."
"The person to whom it belongs, wishes to leave the city; to-night,
hence his haste in trying to recover it."
"I picked it up in front of Heilwiggs' Dancing Academy. How did you
know who had found it?"
"The owner discovered he had dropped it, soon after he boarded a car,
where Captain Tunstall of our force happened to be, and he at once
telegraphed to all the stations to be on the look out. A boot-black
whose stand is near Heilwiggs', reported that he saw one of the 'Gray
Women' pick up something, and get on an upbound car. Our station was
telephoned to interview the 'Anchorage', so you see we are prompt. I
was just going over to ring the bell, and make inquiries."
"Who lost the book?"
"A man named McIlvane, an Englishman I think, who is obliged to hurry
on to-night, in order to catch some New York steamer where his passage
is engaged."
"You are sure he is a foreigner?" asked Beryl, who was feverishly
revolving the possibility that the sketch belonged to some detective,
and was intended for identification of the picture on the glass door at
X----.
"You can't be sure of anything that is only lip deep, but that was the
account telephoned to us. There is a reward of twenty dollars if the
book is delivered by eight P.M.; after that time, ten dollars, and
directions left by which to forward it to London. He said it was
worthless to anybody else, but contained a lot of pictures he valued."
"I do not want the reward, but before I surrender the portfolio, I must
see the owner."
"Why?"
"For reasons that concern only myself. He can come here, and claim his
property; or I will take it to him, and restore it, after he has
answered some questions. You are quite welcome to the reward, which I
am sure you merit because of your promptness and circumspection. Will
you notify him that he can obtain his book by calling at the
'Anchorage'?"
"Our instructions are, to deliver the book at Room 213, Hotel Lucullus.
It is now four o'clock."
"I will not surrender the book to you; but I will accompany you to the
hotel, and deliver it to the owner in your presence. Let us lose no
time."
"Very well. Sister, I'll keep a little behind, and jump on the first
red star car that passes down. Look out for me on the platform, and
I'll stop the car for you."
"Thank you," said Beryl, wondering whether the sanctity of her garb
exacted this mark of deference, or whether the instinctive chivalry of
American manhood prompted him to spare her the appearance of police
surveillance.
Keeping her in sight, he loitered until they found themselves on the
same car, where the officer, apparently engrossed by his cigarette,
retained his stand on the rear platform. In front of the hotel two
omnibuses were discharging their human freight, and in the confusion,
Beryl and her escort passed unobserved into the building. He motioned
her into one of the reception rooms on the second floor, and made his
way to the office.
Drawing her quaint bonnet as far over her face as possible, and
straightening her veil, Beryl sat down on a sofa and tried to quiet the
beating of her pulses, the nervous tremor that shook her. She had
ventured shyly out of her covert, and like all other hunted creatures,
trembled at her own daring in making capture feasible. Memory rendered
her vaguely apprehensive; bitter experience quickened her suspicions.
Was she running straight into some fatal trap, ingeniously baited with
her brother's portrait? Would the Sheriff in X----, would Mr. Dunbar
himself, recognize her in her gray disguise? She walked to a mirror set
in the wall, and stared at her own image, put up one hand and pushed
out of sight every ring of hair that showed beneath the white cap
frill; then reassured, resumed her seat. How long the waiting seemed.
Somebody's pet Skye terrier, blanketed with scarlet satin embroidered
with a monogram in gilt, had defied the bienseance of fashionable
canine and feline etiquette, by flying at somebody's sedate, snowy
Maltese cat, whose collar of silver bells jangled out of tune, as the
combatants rolled on the velvet carpet, swept like a cyclone through
the reception room, fled up the corridor. Two pretty children, gay as
paroquets, in their cardinal plush cloaks, ran to the piano and began a
furious tattoo, while their nurse gossiped with the bell boy.
With her hands locked around the portfolio, Beryl sat watching the
door; and at last the policeman appeared at the threshold, where he
paused an instant, then vanished.
A gentleman apparently forty years of age came in, and approached her.
He was short in stature, florid, slightly bald; wore mutton chop
whiskers, and a traveling suit of gray tweed broadly checked.
Beryl rose, the stranger bowed.
"Ah, you have my sketch book! Madam, I am eternally your debtor.
Intrinsically worthless, perhaps; yet there are reasons which make it
inestimably valuable to me."
"I picked it up from the pavement, and though I opened and examined it,
you will find the contents intact. Will you look through it?"
"Oh! I dare say it is all right. No one cares for unfinished sketches,
and these are mere studies."
He untied the thongs, turned over a dozen or more papers, then closed
the lid, and put his hand in his pocket.
"I offered a reward to--"
"I wish no fee, sir; but the policeman has taken some trouble in the
matter, and without his aid I should probably not have been able to
restore it. Pay him what you promised, or may deem proper; and then
permit me to ask for some information, which I think you can give me."
She beckoned to the officer who looked in just then; and when the money
had been counted into his hand, the latter lifted his cap.
"Sister, shall I see you safe on the car?"
"Thank you, no. I can find my way home. I teach drawing at the
'Anchorage', and desire to ask a few questions of this gentleman, who I
am sure is an artist."
When the policeman had left them, Beryl took the portfolio and opened
it, while the owner watched her curiously, striving to penetrate the
silver gray folds of her veil.
"May I ask whether you expect to leave America immediately?"
"I expect to sail on the steamer for Liverpool next Saturday."
"Have you relatives in this country?"
"None. I am merely a tourist, seeking glimpses of the best of this vast
continent of yours."
"Did you make these sketches?"
"I did, from time to time; in fact, mine has been a sketching tour, and
this book is one of several I have filled in America."
With trembling fingers she untied the silk, lifted the sketch, and said
in a voice which, despite her efforts, quivered:
"I hope, sir, you will not consider me unwarrantably inquisitive, if I
ask, where did you see this face?"
"Ah! My monk of the mountains? That is 'Brother Luke'; looks like one
of Il Frate's wonderful heads, does he not? I saw him--let me see?
Egad! Just exactly where it was, that is the rub! It was far west,
beyond Assiniboia; somewhere in Alberta I am sure."
"Was it on British soil, or in the United States?"
"Certainly in British territory; and on one of the excursions I made
from Calgary. I think it was while hunting in the mountains between
Alberta and British Columbia. Let me see the sketch. Yes--10th of
August; I was in that region until 1st of September."
Beryl drew a deep breath of intense relief, as she reflected that
foreign territory might bar pursuit; and leaning forward, she asked
hesitatingly:
"Have you any objection to telling me the circumstances under which you
saw him; the situation in which you found him?"
"None whatever; but may I ask if you know him? Is my sketch so good a
portrait?"
"It is wonderfully like one I knew years ago; and of whom I desire to
receive tidings. My friend is a handsome man about twenty-four years of
age."
"I was camping out with a hunting party, and one day while they were
away gunning, I went to sketch a bit of fir wood clinging to the side
of a rocky gorge. The day was hot, and I sat down to rest in the shadow
of a stone ledge, that jutted over the cove where a spring bubbled from
the crag, and made a ribbon of water. Here is the place, on this sheet.
Over there, are the fir trees. Very soon I heard a rich voice chanting
a solemn strain from Palestrinas' Miserere; the very music I had
listened to in the Sistine Chapel, a few months before; and peeping
from my sheltered nook, I saw a man clad in monkish garb stoop to drink
from the spring. He sat a while, with his arms clasped around his
knees, and his profile was so perfect I seized my pencil and drew the
outlines; but before I completed it, he suddenly fell upon his knees,
and the intense anguish, remorse, contrition--what not--so changed the
countenance, that while he prayed, I made rapidly a new sketch. Then
the most extraordinary thing happened. He rose, and turning fully
toward me, I saw that one-half of his face was nobly regular,
classically perfect; while the other side was hideously distorted,
deformed. Absolutely he was 'Hyperion and Satyr' combined--with one set
of features between them. I suppose my astonishment caused me to utter
some exclamation, for he glanced up the cliff, saw me, turned and fled.
I shouted and ran, but could not overtake him, and when I reached the
open space, I saw a figure speeding away on a white mustang pony, and
knew from the fluttering of the black skirts that it was the same man.
My sketch shows the right side of his face, the other was drawn down
almost beyond the lineaments of humanity. Beg pardon, madam, but would
you be so good as to tell me whether this freak of nature was
congenital, or the result of some frightful accident?"
Beryl had shut her eyes, and her lips were compressed to stifle the
moan that struggled in her throat. When she spoke, the stranger
detected a change in her voice.
"The person whose countenance was recalled by your sketch, was
afflicted by no physical blemish, when last I saw him."
"His appearance was so singular, that I made sundry inquiries about
him, but only one person seemed ever to have encountered him; and that
was a half-breed Indian driver, belonging to our party. He told me,
'Brother Luke' belonged to a band of monks living somewhere beyond the
mountains; and that he sometimes crossed, searching for stray cattle.
That is the history of my sketch, and since I am indebted to you for
its recovery, I regret for your sake that it is so meagre."
"It was last August that you made the sketch?"
"Last August. And now may I ask, to whom my thanks are due?"
"I am merely an humble member of a sisterhood of working women, and my
name could possess no interest for you. I owe you an apology for
trespassing upon your time, and prying into the mysteries of your
portfolio; but the beauty of your sketch, and its startling resemblance
to one in whom I have long felt an interest, must plead my pardon. I am
grateful, sir, for your courtesy, and will detain you no longer."
He bowed profoundly; she bent her head, and walked quickly away,
keeping her face lowered, dreading observation.
For the first time since her trial and conviction, a sensation of
perfect tranquillity shed rest upon her anxious and foreboding heart.
Bertie was safe from capture, on foreign soil; and the testimony of the
traveller that he prayed in the solitude of the wilderness, brought her
the comforting assurance, that the fires of remorse had begun the
purification of his sinful soul from the crime that had blackened so
many lives. Trained in his early youth at a Jesuit College, his
sympathies had ever been with the priesthood to whom his tutors
belonged; and his sister readily understood how swiftly he fled to
their penitential, expiatory system, when the blood of his grandfather
had stained his hands, and the scouts of the law hunted him to desert
wilds.
Vain of the personal beauty that had always distinguished him, she
comprehended the keenness of the humiliation, which would goad him to
screen in a cloister, the facial mutilation, that punished him more
excruciatingly than hair shirt, or flagellation. Beyond the reach of
extradition (as she fondly hoped), inviolate beneath the cowl of some
Order which, in protecting his body, essayed also to cleanse,
regenerate and sanctify his imperilled soul, could she not now dismiss
the tormenting apprehension that sleeping or waking had persistently
dogged her, since the day when she saw the fuchsias on the
handkerchief, and the mother-of-pearl grapes on the sleeve button, in
the penitentiary cell?
In a crisis of dire extremity, overborne by adversity, terrified by the
realization of human helplessness, we fly to God, and barter by promise
all our future, for the boon of temporary succor.
How different, how holy the mood that brings us in tearful gratitude to
dedicate our lives to His service, when having abandoned all hope, His
healing hand lifts us out of long agony into unexpected rest?
When an ignominious death stared this woman in the face, she had cried
to her God: "Though You slay me, yet will I trust You!" and to-night
she bowed her head in prayer, thankful that the uplifted hand held no
longer a dagger, but had fallen tenderly in benediction.
Far away in the heart of the city, the clock in its granite tower was
striking two; yet Beryl knelt at her oriel window, with her arms
crossed on the wide sill, and her eyes fixed upon the shimmering sea,
where a soft south wind ruffled it into ridges of silver, beneath a
full May moon. Beyond those silent waters, hidden in some lonely,
snow-girt eyry, where perhaps the muffled thunder of the Pacific
responded to the midnight chants of his oratory, dwelt Bertie; and to
touch his hand once more, to hear from his own lips that he had made
his peace with God, to kiss him good-bye seemed all that was left for
accomplishment.
Poor and unknown, she lacked apparently every means requisite for this
attainment; but faith, patience, and courage were hers. Daily work for
daily wage was the present duty; and in God's good time she would find
her brother. How, or when, so expensive and difficult a quest could be
successfully prosecuted, disquieted her not; she had learned to labor
and to trust; she remembered: "Their strength is to sit still."
The symphony of her life was set in minors, yet subtle and perfect was
the harmony that dwelt therein; and because she had sternly shut love
out of her lonely heart, she kept votive lights burning ceaselessly on
the cold altar of duty. The solitary red rose of happiness that might
have brightened and perfumed her thorny path, she had cut off, ere the
bud expanded, and offered it as a loyal tribute to broaden the garland
that crowned Miss Gordon. At the mandate of conscience, she had
unmurmuringly surrendered this precious blossom, but memory was
tantalizingly tenacious; and in sorrowful hours of sore temptation, the
brave, pure soul came swiftly to the rescue of famishing heart: "What?
Is it so hard for us to keep the Ten Commandments? Do we covet our
neighbor's lover?"
In the garden of earthly existence, some are ordained to bloom as human
plantae tristes, shedding their delicate aroma like the
"Pretty-by-nights", only when the glory of the day is done, and
twilight shadows coax open their pure hearts.
To-night she seemed cradled in the arms of peace, soothed by an
unfaltering trust that whispered:
"Would I could wish my wishes all to rest;
And know to wish the wish, that were the best."
While her lips moved in a prayer for Bertie, she fell asleep; like a
child at ease, after long paroxysms of pain. When she awoke, the lilacs
were swinging their purple thuribles filled with dew, in honor of the
new day; a silvery mist, tinged here and there with the pale pink hue
of an almond blossom, wavered and curled over the quiet lake, and a
robin red-breast, winging his way from the orange and jasmine boughs of
the far sweet South, rested on the ivied wall, and poured out his happy
heart in a salutatory to the rising sun.