At the Mercy of Tiberius

picture of the Grove at Colonus, sacred to the "Semnai Theai;" where the dewy freshness, the floral l

e Eumenides, but in deathless tenacity, the rich aroma of Sophocles' narcissus, and the soft crocus light linger there still; while fro

ne in their changeless dimples, and her myriad fingers sweeping the keys of the Universal Organ, drown our De Profundis in the rhythmic thunders of her Jubilate. Wailing children of Time, we crouch and tug a

roar of the "falls" thrilled the atmosphere, like the "tremolo" in a dim cathedral, where fading daylight dies on painted apse and gilded pipes. As a chessboard the squares of buildings were spread out, defined by wide streets, where humanity and its traffic sped, busy as ants. In a green plot, the sombre facade of the court-house surmounted by an eyeless stone statue of Justice, frowned on the frivolous throng below; and along the verge of the common, marble

ed branded with one fatal word, as if the wo

lives set "Ricordo" among their silver leaves; and lemons painted "Ricordo" in their pale gold; and scarlet pomegr

d "Ricordo." Hitherto, the shame of the suspicion, the degradation of the imprisonment had caught and empaled her thoughts; but by degrees, these became dwarfed by the growing shadow of a possibly ignominious death,

awning ruin, holding by a single thread of hope that handkerchief. Weak natures shiver and procrastinate, shunning confirmation of their dread; but to this woman

many days and nights. To sit still was impossible, yet in her wandering up and down the narrow room, sh

od, the brave soul wrestled. Wearily she leaned against the window bars, twining her hot fingers around th

lt clicked in its socket, and Mr. Dunbar approached the window. Mecha

know me. Dunb

ad suggested to him on the steps of "Elm Bluff," an image of Hygeia? Here insouciante girlhood was dead as Manetho's dynasties, and years seemed to have passed over this auburn head

only too well.

despite his habitual, haughty equipoise, her

weal or woe is rather a costly shuttlecock to be tossed to and fro in a game of words. I do not

victims he crushed for pastime on the rocks below Villa Jovis? There is but one arbiter for your hatred, the h

he frowned and bit his lip. Was she feigning madness, or

assume toward you an attitude, as painfully embarrassing to me as it is threatening to you. Because the stern and bitter law of justice sometimes en

officer of a harpy screaming for the blood of the innocent. How dare you commit your crimes, raise your red hands, in the sacred name of j

ng eyes, his grew restless, as panoplied in

race my profession and my manhood. For your sake, rather than my own, I should like

d, with an imperious

of his circling wings, and if mice, dumb in a cat's claws, surmise the exact value of the preliminary caresses, the graceful antics, the fatal fondling of the velvet paw, so we, the pre

sing sound, and a dark flush

entleman, I came he

dged question. If there must be an ante mortem examination, we will wait, if you please, for the legal dissection when I am s

burning its way to the secret chambers of his selfish heart, melting the dross that ambition and greed had slowly cemented, and dropping one deathless spark into a deep adytum, of the existence of which he had never even drea

my pardon for what you consider an unwarrantable 'intrusion.' Wil

d his adopted son Prince? Yes. Oh, Tiberius! Your rosy apple

villain, who pretending kindness, plots treachery?

and the fine lines of his

closer to the window,

welcome; but you are a defenceless and unfortunate woman, and my hands are tied. I desire to help you; you repulse me and insult my

d her, and she looked searchingly at him, wonder

ful world of the art she loved! Then some strange awful curse that had lain in wait, ambushed among the flowers I gathered that last day of my dead existence, fell upon me-I saw you! No wonder I shivered, when you met me. I saw you. Then my sun sickened and went out, and my hopes crumbled, and my youth shrivelled and perished forever; and the wide world is a rayless dungeon, and the girl Beryl is buried so deep, that the Angels of the Resurrection will never find her!-and I?-I am only a withered, disgraced woman, hurled into a den; trampled, branded; with a soul devoured by despairing bitterness, with a broken heart, a brain on fire! If you had drawn a knife across my throat, or sent a bullet through my temples, my spirit might have rested in the Beyond, and I could have forgiven that

a consummate actress, or had he made a frightful mistake, and goaded an innocent girl to the verge of frenzy? Some occult influence seemed clouding his hitherto i

nt vindication. I would give a good deal to know that your hands are as pure as they look, and innocent of theft and murder. Tell me-tell me the truth. I will save you, I will give you back all tha

seemed to probe the recesses of her soul. If she answe

d. I am innocent-innocent-innocent as any baby only a week old, lying dead in its little coffin. Innocent-but defiled, disgraced; i

s of steel; but as he watched and listened, he trembled, and the girl's eyes dilated, spa

t induced me to come here to-day. Only one circumstance stands between the Grand Ju

tched. Along the border ran graceful arabesques, swelling into scallops and dotted with stars, embroidered in some rich red thread; and in one corner, enclosed in a wreath of exquisitely designed fuchsias, the large, elaborately ornate capitals

down upon the ferny cliff, where sitting by her father's side, she had drawn this design, spreading the linen on the back of her father's worn copy of Theocritus? If she lived a thousand years, would it be possible to forget the thin, almost t

untarnished every tint and outline of that blessed day, when she and her

ed air, and in sinister prescience trace this tangling w

ps made their pattering print, and left it to harden on the stone

he brainle

t that whic

ences that swell the sum of what we are pleased to call the nobly independent life of the "free-agent" Man? In the mat

on the black waves of despair. In her reeling brain kaleidoscopic images danced; her father's face, the lateen sail of fishing boats rocking on blue billows, white oxen browsing amid purple iris clus

he fatal handkerchief, and shook the man, as if he had been an infant. Her eyes ful

mockery of fools! There is no heaven for the pure, because there is no

art, and with a groan that would not be repressed, he covered his eyes to shut out the vision of the despairing woman, whose doom seemed sealed. Her right hand which unconsciously

uit of professional success left an acrid flavor; the pungent dead sea ashes sifted freely. He set his heel on the embroi

nd resistance had come to an end. Surrender was printed on every feature. The wild fury of the passionate struggle that convulsed her, had spent itself; and as after a violent wintry tempest th

d her auburn head fell forward on the up-lifted arm. Thinking that she had fainted, Mr. Dunbar stooped and raised her face, holding it in his palms. The eyes met his, unflinching but m

ou have the only clue you needed. You have n

up the han

your hand

and was pressing upon her hear

betray you. Saturated with chloroform you laid it over your grandfather's face

told the truth first and last, and always. I have no confession to make. I am as innocent as you are. Innocent!

eaning. The passionless tone was that of one, standing where the river of death flowed clos

me this is not your handkerch

ief, but I am innoce

e to believe your con

ked at him. A strange drowsiness dim

thing from y

ed to be found on your grandfather's pillow?

hed the violet circle suffering had worn under her eyes. Like a lily too heavy for its stem, the glossy head fell upon her breast. Her hot fingers thr

hat is the matt

muttered with a sigh, like a chil

chief-Tiber

strength; and when the battle ended, though the will was unfaltering, physical exhaust