At the Mercy of Tiberius Page 2

  CHAPTER II.

  "I do not want a carriage. If the distance is only a mile and a half, Ican easily walk. After leaving town is there a straight road?"

  "Straight as the crow flies, when you have passed the factory, andcemetery, and turned to the left. There is a little Branch running atthe foot of the hill, and just across it, you will see the whitepalings, and the big gate with stone pillars, and two tremendous brassdogs on top, showing their teeth and ready to spring. There's nomistaking the place, because it is the only one left in the countrythat looks like the good old times before the war; and the Yankeeswould not have spared it, had it not been such comfortable bombproofheadquarters for their officers. It's our show place now, and GeneralDarrington keeps it up in better style, than any other estate I know."

  "Thank you. I will find it."

  Beryl walked away in the direction indicated, and the agent of therailway station, leaning against the door of the baggage room, lookedwith curious scrutiny after her.

  "I should like to know who she is. No ordinary person, that is clear.Such a grand figure and walk, and such a steady look in her big solemneyes, as if she saw straight through a person, clothes, flesh and all.Wonder what her business can be with the old general?"

  From early childhood Beryl had listened so intently to her mother'sglowing descriptions of the beauty and elegance of her old home "ElmBluff," that she soon began to identify the land-marks along the road,alter passing the cemetery, where so many generations of Darringtonsslept in one corner, enclosed by a lofty iron railing; exclusive indeath as in life; jealously guarded and locked from contact with thesurrounding dwellers in "God's Acre."

  The October day had begun quite cool and crisp, with a hint of frost inits dewy sparkle, but as though vanquished Summer had suddenly facedabout, and charged furiously to cover her retreat, the south wind cameheavily laden with hot vapor from equatorial oceanic caldrons; and nowthe afternoon sun, glowing in a cloudless sky, shed a yellowish glarethat burned and tingled like the breath of a furnace; while along thehorizon, a dim dull haze seemed blotting out the boundary of earth andsky.

  A portion of the primeval pine forest having been preserved, the treeshad attained gigantic height, thrusting their plumy heads heavenward,as their lower limbs died; and year after year the mellow brown carpetof reddish straw deepened, forming a soft safe nidus for the seeds thatsprang up and now gratefully embroidered it with masses of golden rod,starry white asters, and tall, feathery spikes of some velvety purplebloom, which looked royal by the side of a cluster of belated eveningprimroses.

  Pausing on the small but pretty rustic bridge, Beryl leaned against theinterlacing cedar boughs twisted into a balustrade, and looked down atthe winding stream, where the clear water showed amber hues, fleckedwith glinting foam bubbles, as it lapped and gurgled, eddied and sang,over its bed of yellow gravel. Unacquainted with "piney-woods'branches," she was charmed by the novel golden brown wavelets thatfrothed against the pillars of the bridge, and curled caressingly aboutthe broad emerald fronds of luxuriant ferns, which hung Narcissus-likeover their own graceful quivering images. Profound quiet brooded in thewarm, hazy air, burdened with balsamic odors; but once a pine burr fullof rich nutty mast crashed down through dead twigs, bruising the satinpetals of a primrose; and ever and anon the oboe notes of that shy,deep throated hermit of ravines--the russet, speckled-breastedlark--thrilled through the woods, like antiphonal echoes in some vast,cool, columned cloister.

  The perfect tranquillity of the scene soothed the travel-weary woman,as though nestling so close to the great heart of nature, had stilledthe fierce throbbing, and banished the gloomy forebodings of her own;and she walked on, through the iron gate, where the bronze mastiffsglared warningly from their granite pedestal--on into the largeundulating park, which stretched away to meet the line of primitivepines. There was no straight avenue, but a broad smooth carriage roadcurved gently up a hillside, and on both margins of the graveled way,ancient elm trees stood at regular intervals, throwing their boughsacross, to unite in lifting the superb groined arches, whose finetracery of sinuous lines were here and there concealed by clusteringmistletoe--and gray lichen masses--and ornamented with bosses of velvetmoss; while the venerable columnar trunks were now and then wreathedwith poison-oak vines, where red trumpet flowers insolently blareddefiance to the waxen pearls of encroaching mistletoe.

  On the other side, the grounds were studded with native growth, asthough protective forestry statutes had crossed the ocean with thecolonists, and on this billowy sea of varied foliage Autumn had set herilluminated autograph, in the vivid scarlet of sumach and black gum,the delicate lemon of wild cherry--the deep ochre all sprinkled andsplashed with intense crimson, of the giant oaks--the orange glow ofancestral hickory--and the golden glory of maples, on which the hecticfever of the dying year kindled gleams of fiery red;--over all, agorgeous blazonry of riotous color, toned down by the silver grayshadows of mossy tree-trunks, and the rich, dark, restful green ofpolished magnolias.

  Half a dozen fine Cotswold ewes browsed on the grass, and the smallbell worn by a staid dowager tinkled musically, as she threw up herhead and watched suspiciously the figure moving under the elm arches.Beneath the far reaching branches of a patriarchal cedar, a small herdof Jersey calves had grouped themselves, as if posing for Landseer orRosa Bonheur; and one pretty fawn-colored weanling ran across the swardto meet the stranger, bleating a welcome and looking up, withunmistakable curiosity in its velvety, long-lashed eyes.

  As the avenue gradually climbed the ascent, the outlines of the housebecame visible; a stately, typical southern mansion, like hundreds,which formerly opened hospitably their broad mahogany doors, and which,alas! are becoming traditional to this generation--obsolete as thebrave chivalric, warm-hearted, open-handed, noble-souled, refinedsouthern gentlemen who built and owned them. No Mansard roof here, nopseudo "Queen Anne" hybrid, with lowering, top-heavy projections likescowling eyebrows over squinting eyes; neither mongrel Renaissance, norfeeble, sickly, imitation Elizabethan facades, and Tudor towers; noneof the queer, composite, freakish impertinences of architectural style,which now-a-day do duty as the adventurous vanguard, the aestheticvedettes "making straight the way," for the coming cohorts of Culture.

  The house at "Elm Bluff" was built of brick, overcast with stuccopainted in imitation of gray granite, and its foundation was only fourfeet high, resting upon a broad terrace of brickwork; the latterbounded by a graceful wooden balustrade, with pedestals for vases, oneither side of the two stone steps leading down from the terrace to thecarriage drive. The central halls, in both stories, divided the spaceequally into four rooms on each side, and along the wide front, ran alofty piazza supporting the roof, with white smooth round pillars;while the upper broad square windows, cedar-framed, and deeplyembrasured, looked down on the floor of the piazza, where so manygenerations of Darringtons had trundled hoops in childhood--andpromenaded as lovers in the silvery moonlight, listening to the ringdoves cooing above them, from the columbary of the stucco capitals.This spacious colonnade extended around the northern and eastern sideof the house, but the western end had formerly been enclosed as aconservatory--which having been abolished, was finally succeeded by acomparatively modern iron veranda, with steps leading down to theterrace. In front of the building, between the elm avenue and theflower-bordered terrace, stood a row of very old poplar trees, tall astheir forefathers in Lombardy, and to an iron staple driven into one ofthese, a handsome black horse was now fastened.

  Standing with one foot on the terrace step, close to the marble vaseswhere heliotropes swung their dainty lilac chalices against hershoulder, and the scarlet geraniums stared unabashed, Beryl's gazewandered from the lovely park and ancient trees, to the unbroken facadeof the gray old house; and as, in painful contrast she recalled thebare bleak garret room, where a beloved invalid held want and death atbay, a sudden mist clouded her vision, and almost audibly she murmured:"My poor mother! Now, I can realize the bitterness of your suffering;now I u
nderstand the intensity of your yearning to come back; theterrible home-sickness, which only Heaven can cure."

  What is presentiment? The swaying of the veil of futurity, under thestraining hands of our guardian angels? Is it the faint shadow, thesolemn rustle of their hovering wings, as like mother birds they spreadprotecting plumes between blind fledglings, and descending ruin? Willtheosophy ever explain and augment prescience?

  "It may be-- The thoughts that visit us, we know not whence, Sudden as inspiration, are the whispers Of disembodied spirits, speaking to us As friends, who wait outside a prison wall, Through the barred windows speak to those within."

  With difficulty Beryl resisted an inexplicable impulse to turn andflee; but the drawn sword of duty pointed ahead.

  Striking her hands together, as if thereby crushing her reluctance toenter, she waited a moment, with closed eyes, while her lips moved insilent prayer; then ascending the terrace, she crossed the stonepavement, walked up the stops and slowly advanced to the threshold. Thedark mahogany door was so glossy, that she dimly saw her own image onits polished panels, as she lifted and let fall the heavy silverknocker, in the middle of an oval silver plate, around the edges ofwhich were raised the square letters of the name "Darrington." Theclanging sound startled a peacock, strutting among the verbena beds,and his shrill scream was answered by the deep hoarse bark of someinvisible dog; then the heavy door swung open, and a gray-headed negroman, who wore a white linen apron over his black clothes, and held awaiter in one hand, stood before her.

  "I wish to see Mr. Darrington."

  "I reckon you mean Gin'l Darrington, don't you? Mr. Darrington, MarsePrince Darrington, is in Yurope."

  "I mean Mr. Luke Darrington, the owner of this place."

  "Jess so; Gin'l Luke Darrington. Well, you can't see him."

  "Why not? I must see him, and I shall stay here until I do."

  "'Cause he is busy with his lie-yer, fixin' of some papers; and when hetells me not to let nobody else in I'de ruther set down in a yallerjacket's nest than to turn the door knob, after he done shut it. Betterleave your name and call ag'in."

  "No, I will wait until he is at leisure. I presume my sitting on thesteps here will not be a violation of your orders."

  "To be shore not. But them steps are harder than the stool ofrepentance, and you had better walk in the drawing-room, and restyourself. There's pictures, and lots and piles of things there, you canpass away the time looking at."

  He waved his waiter toward a long, dim apartment, on the left side ofthe hall.

  "Thank you, I prefer to sit here."

  She seated herself on the top of the stone steps, and taking off herstraw hat, fanned her heated brow, where the rich waving hair clung indamp masses.

  "What name, miss, must I give, when the lie-yer finishes his bizness?"

  "Say that a stranger wishes to see him about an important matter."

  "Its mighty uncertain how long he will tarry; for lie-yers live bytalking; turning of words upside down, and wrong side outards, andreading words backards, and whitewashing black things, and smutting ofwhite ones. Marse Lennox Dunbar (he is our lie-yer now, since his patook paralsis) he is a powerful wrastler with justice. They do say downyonder, at the court house, that when he gets done with a witness, andturns him aloose, the poor creetur is so flustrated in his mind, thathe don't know his own name, on when he was born, or where he was born,or whether he was ever born at all."

  Curiosity to discover the nature of the stranger's errand hadstimulated the old man's garrulity, but receiving no reply, he finallyretreated, leaving the front door open. By the aid of a disfiguringscar on his furrowed cheek, Beryl recognized him as the brave,faithful, family coachman, Abednego, (abbreviated to "Bedney")--who hadonce saved his mother's life at the risk of his own. Mrs. Brentano hadoften related to her children, an episode in her childhood, when havinggone to play with her dolls in the loft of the stable, she fell asleepon the hay; and two hours later, Bedney remembering that he had heardher singing there to her dolls, rushed into the burning building,groped through the stifling smoke of the loft, and seizing the sleepingchild, threw her out upon a pile of straw. When he attempted to jumpafter her, a falling rafter struck him to the earth, and left anhonorable scar in attestation of his heroism.

  Had she yielded to the promptings of her heart, the stranger wouldgladly have shaken hands with him, and thanked him, in the name ofthose early years, when her mother's childish feet made music on thewide mahogany railed stairs, that wound from the lower hall to the oneabove; but the fear of being denied an audience, deterred her fromdisclosing her name.

  Educated in the belief that the utterance of the abhorred name ofBrentano, within the precincts of "Elm Bluff," would produce an effectvery similar to the ringing of some Tamil Pariah's bell, before thedoor of a Brahman temple, Beryl wisely kept silent; and soon forgot herforebodings, in the contemplation of the supreme loveliness of theprospect before her.

  The elevation was sufficient to command an extended view of thesurrounding country, and of the river, which crossed by the railroadbridge north of the town, curved sharply to the east, whence she couldtrace its course as it gradually wound southward, and disappearedbehind the house; where at the foot of a steep bluff, a pretty boat andbath house nestled under ancient willow trees. At her feet the foliageof the park stretched like some brilliant carpet, before whose gorgeoustints, ustads of Karman would have stood in despair; and beyond thesea-green, undulating line of pine forest she saw the steeple of achurch, with its gilt vane burning in the sunshine, and the red brickdome of the ante bellum court house.

  Time seemed to have fallen asleep on that hot, still afternoon, andBeryl was roused from her reverie by the sound of hearty laughter inthe apartment opposite the drawing-room--followed by the tones of aman's voice.

  "Thank you, General. That is my destination this afternoon, and I shallcertainly expect you to dance at my wedding."

  Quick, firm steps rang on the oil-cloth-covered floor of the hall, andBeryl rose and turned toward the door.

  With a cigar in one hand, hat and riding-whip in the other, theattorney stepped out on the colonnade, and pausing involuntarily, atsight of the stranger, they looked at each other. A man, perhaps, more,certainly not less than thirty years old, of powerful and impressivephysique; very tall, athletic, sinewy, without an ounce of superfluousflesh to encumber his movements, in the professional palaestra; with alarge finely modeled head, whose crisp black hair closely cut, was(contrary to the prevailing fashion) parted neither in the middle, noryet on the side, but brushed straight back from the square forehead,thereby enhancing the massiveness of its appearance.

  Something in this swart, beardless face, with its brilliantinquisitorial dark blue eyes, handsome secretive mouth veiled by nomustache--and boldly assertive chin deeply cleft in thecentre--affected Beryl very unpleasantly, as a perplexing disagreeablememory; an uncanny resemblance hovering just beyond the grasp ofidentification. A feeling of unaccountable repulsion made her shiver,and she breathed more freely, when he hewed slightly, and walked ontoward his horse. Upon the attorney her extraordinary appearanceproduced a profound impression, and in his brief scrutiny, no detail ofher face, figure, or apparel escaped his keen probing gaze.

  Glancing back as he untied his bridle rein, his unspoken comment was:"Superb woman; I wonder what brings her here? Evidently astranger--with a purpose."

  He sprang into the saddle, stooped his head to avoid the yellow poplarbranches, and disappeared under the elm arches.

  "Gin'l Darrington's compliments; and if your bizness is pressin' youwill have to see him in his bedcharmber, as he feels poorly to-day, andthe Doctor won't let him out. Follow me. You see, ole Marster remembersthe war by the game leg he got at Sharpshurg, and sometimes it lays himup."

  The old servant led Beryl through a long room, fitted up as a libraryand armory, and pausing before an open door, waved her into theadjoining apartment. One swift
glance showed her the heavy canopiedbedstead in one corner, the arch-shaped glass door leading out upon theiron veranda; and at an oblong table in the middle of the floor, thefigure of a man, who rose, taller and taller, until he seemed a giant,drawn to his full height, and resting for support on the hand that wasrested upon the table. Intensity of emotion arrested her breath, as shegazed at the silvered head, piercing black eyes, and spare wasted frampof the handsome man, who had always reigned as a brutal ogre in herimagination. The fire in his somewhat sunken eyes, seemed to biddefiance to the whiteness of the abundant hair, and of the heavymustache which drooped over his lips; and every feature in hispatrician face revealed not only a long line of blue-blooded ancestors,but the proud haughtiness which had been considered always asdistinctively characteristic of the Darringtons as their finely cutlips, thin nostrils, small feet and unusual height.

  Unprepared for the apparition that confronted him, Luke Darringtonbowed low, surveyed her intently, then pointed to a chair opposite hisown.

  "Walk in, Madam; or perhaps it may be Miss? Will you take a seat, andexcuse the feebleness that forces me to receive visits in my bed-room?"

  As he reseated himself, Beryl advanced and stood beside him, but for amoment she found it impossible to utter the words, rehearsed sofrequently during her journey; and while she hesitated, he curiouslyinspected her face and form.

  Her plain, but perfectly fitting bunting dress, was of the color,popularly dominated "navy-blue," and the linen collar and cuffs werescarcely whiter than the round throat and wrists they encircled. Theburnished auburn hair clinging in soft waves to her brow, was twistedinto a heavy coil, which the long walk had shaken down till it restedalmost on her neck; and though her heart beat furiously, the pale calmface might have been marble, save for the scarlet lines of herbeautiful mouth, and the steady glow of the dilated pupils in her greatgray eyes.

  "Pray be seated; and tell me to whom I am indebted for the pleasure ofthis visit?"

  "I am merely the bearer of a letter which will explain itself, and mypresence, in your house."

  Mechanically he took the preferred letter, and with his eyes stilllingering in admiration upon the classic outlines of her face and form,leaned back comfortably against the velvet lining of his armchair.

  "Are you some exiled goddess travelling incognito? If we lived in the'piping days of Pan' I should flatter myself that 'Ox-eyed Juno' hadhonored me with a call, as a reward for my care of her favorite bird."

  Receiving no reply he glanced at the envelope in his hand, and as heread the address--"To my dear father, Gen'l Luke Darrington"--the smileon his face changed to a dark scowl and he tossed the letter to thefloor, as if it were a red-hot coal.

  "Only one living being has the right to call me father--my son, PrinceDarrington. I have repeatedly refused to hold any communication withthe person who wrote that letter."

  Beryl stooped to pick it up, and with a caressing touch, as though itwere sentient, held it against her heart.

  "Your daughter is dying; and this is her last appeal."

  "I have no daughter. Twenty-three years ago my daughter buried herselfin hopeless disgrace, and for her there can be no resurrection here. Ifshe dreams that I am in my dotage, and may relent, she strangelyforgets the nature of the blood she saw fit to cross with that of abeggarly foreign scrub. Go back and tell her, the old man is not yetsenile and imbecile; and that the years have only hardened his heart.Tell her, I have almost learned to forget even how she looked."

  His eyes showed a dull reddish fire, like those of some drowsy cagedtiger, suddenly stirred into wrath, and a grayish pallor--the whiteheat of the Darringtons--settled on his face.

  Twice Beryl walked the length of the room, but each time therecollection of her mother's tearful, suffering countenance, and theextremity of her need, drove her back to the chair.

  "If you knew that your daughter's life hung by a thread, would youdeliberately take a pair of shears and cut it?"

  He glared at her in silence, and leaning forward on the table, pushedroughly aside a salver, on which stood a decanter and two wine glasses.

  "I am here to tell you a solemn truth; then my responsibility ends.Your daughter's life rests literally in your hands; for unless youconsent to furnish the money to pay for a surgical operation, which mayrestore her health, she will certainly die. I am indulging in noexaggeration to extort alms. In this letter is the certificate of adistinguished physician, corroborating my statement. If you, the authorof her being, prefer to hasten her death, then your choice of an awfulrevenge must be settled between your hardened conscience and your God."

  "You are bold indeed, to beard me in my own house, and tell me to myface what no man would dare to utter."

  His voice was an angry pant, and he struck his clenched hand on thetable with a force that made the glasses jingle, and the sherry dancein the decanter.

  "Yes, you scarcely realize how much bravery this painful erranddemands; but the tender love in a woman's heart nerves her to bearfiery ordeals, that vanquish a man's courage."

  "Then you find that age has not drawn the fangs from the old crippledDarrington lion, nor clipped his claws?"

  The sneer curved his white mustache, until she saw the outline of thenarrow, bloodless underlip.

  "That king of beasts scorns to redden his fangs, or flesh his claws, inthe quivering body of his own offspring. Your metaphor is an insult tonatural instincts."

  She laid the letter once more before him, and looked down on him, withill-concealed aversion.

  "Who are you? By what right dare you intrude upon me?"

  "I am merely a sorrowful, anxious, poverty-stricken woman, whose heartaches over her mother's sufferings and vho would never have endured thehumiliation of this interview, except to deliver a letter in the hopeof prolonging my mother's life."

  "You do not mean that you are--my--"

  "I am nothing to you, sir, but the bearer of a letter from your dyingdaughter."

  "You cannot be the child of--of Ellice?"

  After the long limbo of twenty-three years, the name burst from him,and with what a host of memories its echo peopled the room, where thaterring daughter had formerly reigned queen of his heart.

  "Yes, Ellice is my dear mother's name."

  He stared at the majestic form, and at the faultless face looking soproudly down upon him, as from an inaccessible height; and she heardhim draw his breath, with a labored hissing sound.

  "But--I thought her child was a boy?"

  "I am the youngest of two children."

  "It is impossible that you are the daughter of that infernal, low-born,fiddling foreign vagabond who--"

  "Hush! The dead are sacred!"

  She threw up her hand, with an imperious gesture, not of deprecation,but of interdict; and all the stony calm in her pale face seemedshivered by a passionate gust, that made her eyes gleam like steelunder an electric flash.

  "I am the daughter of Ignace Brentano, and I love, and honor hismemory, and his name. No drop of your Darrington blood runs in myveins; I love my dear mother--but I am my father's daughter--and I wantno nobler heritage than his name. Upon you I have no shadow of claim,but I am here from dire necessity, at your mercy--a helpless,defenseless pleader in my mother's behalf--and as such, I appeal to theboasted southern chivalry, upon which you pride yourself, for immunityfrom insult while I am under your roof. Since I stood no taller thanyour knee, my mother has striven to inculcate a belief in the nobility,refinement, and chivalric deference to womanhood, inherent in southerngentlemen; and if it be not all a myth, I invoke its protection againstabuse of my father. A stranger, but a lady, every inch, I demand therespect due from a gentleman."

  For a moment they eyed each other, as gladiators awaiting the signal,then General Darrington sprang to his feet, and with a bow, stately andprofound as if made to a duchess, replied:

  "And in the name of southern chivalry, I swear you shall receive it."

  "Read your daughter's letter; give me your answer,
and let us cut shortan interview--which, if disagreeable to you, is almost unendurable tome."

  Turning away, she began to walk slowly up and down the floor; andsmothering an oath under his heavy mustache, the old man sank back inhis chair, and opened the letter.