At the Mercy of Tiberius Part 4

"Since he earns it honestly, that is his own affair. We have not heard from him for some months."

"I thought so! He inherits the worthless vagabond strain of--"

"He is his mother's idol, and she glories in his resemblance to you, sir; and to your father; hence his name--Robert L. Darrington."

"Then she must have one handsome child! I am not surprised that he is the favorite."

"Bertie certainly is her darling, and he is very handsome; not in the very least degree like me."

For the first time, their eyes met in a friendly glance, and a covert smile stirred the General's lips; but as he put out his hand toward her, she moved a step beyond his reach.

"Beryl, you consider me a dreadful, cruel old tyrant?"

She made no reply.

"Answer me."

"You are my mother's father; and that word--father, means so much to me, that it shall s.h.i.+eld even you, from the shadow of disrespect."

"Oh! very dutiful indeed, but dead as the days when daughters obeyed, and honored their fathers! Beggarly foreign professors wiped all that out of the minds of wealthy girls at boarding schools--just as they changed their backwoods p.r.o.nunciation of French and Italian. Don't evade my question."

"I did not come here, sir, to bandy words; and I ended my mission by delivering the letter intrusted to me."

"You regard me as a vindictive old bear?"

"I had heard much of the Darringtons; I imagined a great deal more; but now, like the Queen of Sheba, I must testify--'Behold, the half was not told me.'"

He threw back his lion-like head, and laughed.

"That will do. Shake hands, child."

"No, thank you."

"And you will not sit down?"

"Frankly, I prefer not. I long to get away."

"You shall certainly be gratified, but there are a few things which I intend you shall hear. Of course you know that your mother was my only child, and an heiress; but you are ignorant probably of the fact that when she returned to boarding school for the last session, she was engaged in marriage to the son of my best friend--a man in every respect desirable, and thoroughly acceptable to me."

"So my mother told me."

"Indeed? She should blush to remember it. While she wore his engagement ring, she forgot her promise to him, her duty to me, her lineage, her birth, her position--and was inveigled by a low adventurer who--"

"Who was my own precious father--poor, but n.o.ble, and worthy of any princess! Unless you can refer to him respectfully, name him not at all, in his child's presence."

She suddenly towered over him, like some threatening fate, and her uplifted arm trembled from the intensity of her indignation.

"At least--you are loyal to your tribe!"

"I am, to my heart's core. You could pay me no higher compliment."

"Ellice wrote that she had bestowed her affections on--on--the 'exiled scion of a n.o.ble house,' who paid his board bill by teaching languages and music in the school; and who very naturally preferred to marry a rich fool, who would pay them for him. I answered her letter, which was addressed to her own mother--then quite ill at home--and I told her precisely what she might expect, if she persisted in her insane folly.

As soon as my wife convalesced sufficiently to render my departure advisable, I started to bring my daughter home; but she ran away, a few hours before my arrival, and while, hoping to rescue Ellice, I was in pursuit of the precious pair, my wife relapsed and died--the victim of excitement brought on by her child's disgrace. I came back here to a desolate, silent house;--bereft of wife and daughter; and in the grave of her mother, I buried every atom of love and tenderness I ever entertained for Ellice. When the sun is suddenly blotted out at noon, and the world turns black--black, we grope to and fro aimlessly; but after awhile, we accommodate ourselves to the darkness;--and so, I became a different man--very hard, and I dare say very bitter. The world soon learned that I would tolerate no illusion to my disgrace, and people respected my family cancer, and prudently refrained from offering me nostrums to cure it. My wife had a handsome estate of her own right, and every cent of her fortune I collected, and sent with her jewelry to Ellice. Did you know this?"

"I have heard only of the jewels."

"As I supposed, the money was squandered before you could recollect."

"I know that we were reduced to poverty, by the failure of some banking house in Paris. I was old enough when it occurred, to remember ever afterward, the dismay and distress it caused. My father no doubt placed my mother's money there for safety."

"I wrote one long, final letter when I sent the checks for the money, and I told Ellice I wished never to see, never to hear from her again.

I told her also, I had only one wish concerning her, and that was, that I might be able to forget her so completely, that if we should meet in the Last Judgment, I could not possibly know her. I a.s.sured her she need expect nothing at my death; as I had taken good care that my estate should not fall into the clutches of--her--'exiled scion of a n.o.ble house.' Now do you consider that she has any claim on me?"

"You must not ask me to sit in judgment on my parents."

"You shall decide a question of business facts. I provided liberally for her once; can you expect me to do so again? Has she any right to demand it?"

"Having defied your parental wishes, she may have forfeited a daughter's claim; but as a heart-broken sufferer, you cannot deny her the melancholy privilege of praying for your help, on her death-bed."

The proud clear voice trembled, and Beryl covered her face with her hands.

"Then we will ignore outraged ties of blood, and treat on the ground of mere humanity? Let me conclude, for it is sickening and loathsome to a man of my age, to see his long silent household graves yawn, and give up uncalled--their sheeted dead. For some years the money sent, was a quietus, and I was left in peace. I was lonely; it was, hard work to forget, because I could never forgive; and the more desolate the gray ruin, the more nature yearns to cover it close with vines and flowers; so after a time, I married a gentle, pure hearted woman, who made the best of what was left of me. We had no children, but she had one son of a former marriage, who proved a n.o.ble trustworthy boy; and by degrees he crept into my heart, and raked together the cinders of my dead affections, and kindled a feeble flame that warmed my s.h.i.+vering old age. When I felt a.s.sured that I was not thawing another serpent to sting me for my pains, I adopted Thorton Prince, and with the aid of a Legislative enactment, changed his name to Prince Darrington. Only a few months elapsed, before his mother, of whom I was very fond, died of consumption and my boy and I comforted each other. Then I made my second and last will, and took every possible precaution to secure my estate of every description to him. He is my sole heir, and I intend that at my death he shall receive every cent I possess. Did you know this?"

"I did, because your last endors.e.m.e.nt on a letter of my mother's returned unopened to her, informed her of the fact."

"Why? Because in violation of my wishes she had persisted in writing, and soon began to importune me for money. Then I made her understand that even at my death, she would receive no aid; and since that endors.e.m.e.nt, I have returned or destroyed her letters unread. My Will is so strong--has been drawn so carefully--that no contest can touch it; and it will stand forever between your mother and my property."

As he uttered these words, he elevated his voice, which had a ring of savage triumph in its harsh excited tones. Just then, a m.u.f.fled sound attracted his attention, and seizing his gold-headed cane, he limped with evident pain to the threshold of the adjoining room.

"Bedney."

Receiving no reply, he closed the door with a violence that jarred the whole room; and came slowly back to the table, where he stood leaning heavily on his stick.

"At least we will have no eavesdropping at this resurrection of my dead. That Ellice is now a miserable woman, I have no doubt; for truly: 'Quien se casa por amores, ha de vivir con dolores.' Of course you understand Spanish?"

"No, sir; but no matter; I take it for granted that you intend some thrust at my mother, and I have heard quite enough."

"Don't know Spanish? Why I fancied your--your 'exiled scion of a n.o.ble house'--taught all the languages under the sun; including that used by the serpent in beguiling Eve! Well, the wise old adage means: 'Who marries for love, lives with sorrow.' Ellice made her choice, and she shall abide by it; and you--being unluckily her daughter--will share the punishment. If 'fathers WILL eat sour grapes, the children's teeth MUST be set on edge.' I repudiate all claims on my parental treasury, save such as I have given to my son Prince. To every other draft I am bankrupt; but merely as a gentleman, I will now for the last time, respond to the pet.i.tion of a sick woman, whose child is so loyal as to arouse my compa.s.sion. Ellice has asked for one hundred dollars. You shall have it. But first, tell me why she did not go to the hospital, and submit to the operation which she says will cure her?"

"Because I could not be with her there, and I will never be separated from her. The aneurism has grown so alarmingly, that I became desperate, and having no one to aid us, I reluctantly obeyed my mother's requirement that I should come here. I could not summon my brother, because I have no idea where a letter would reach him; and with no friend--but the G.o.d of the friendless--I am before you. There is one thing I ought to tell you; I have terrible forebodings of the result of the operation, from which the Doctor encourages her to hope so much. She will not be able to take anesthetics, at least not chloroform, because she has a weak heart, and--"

"Yes--a very weak heart! It was never strong enough to hold her to her duty."

"If you could see her now, I think even your vindictive hatred would be sufficiently gratified. So wasted, so broken!--and with such a ceaseless craving for a kind word from you. One night last week pain made her restless, and I heard her sob. When I tried to relieve the suffering, she cried bitterly: 'It is not my poor body alone--it is the gnawing hunger to see father once more. He loved me so fondly once and if I could crawl to his feet, and clasp his knees in my arms, I could at least die in peace. I am starving for just one sight of him--one touch.' My poor darling mother! My beautiful, bruised, broken flower."

Through the glittering mist of unshed tears, her eyes shone, like silver lamps; and for a moment Gen'l Darrington covered his face with one hand.

"If you could realize how bitterly galling to my own pride and self respect is this appeal to a man who hates and spurns all whom I love, I think, sir, that even you would pity me so heartily, that your hardened heart would melt into one last farewell message of forgiveness to your unfortunate daughter. I would rather carry her one word of love than all your fortune."