At the Mercy of TiberiusEvans, Augusta J. (Augusta Jane)
History
At the Mercy of Tiberius
Evans, Augusta J. (Augusta Jane)
Rome -- History -- Tiberius, 14-37 -- Fiction
Here Mr. Dunbar held up a fragment of a long white em elope such as
usually contain legal documents, on which in large letters was written
"LAST WILL"--and underscored with red ink. Then he lifted a pipe, for
the inspection of the witness, who identified it as the one he had
found.
As he turned it slowly, the Court and the multitude saw only a
meerschaum with a large bowl representing a death's head, to which was
attached a short mouth-piece of twisted amber.
The golden gates of hope clashed suddenly, and over them flashed a
drawn sword, as Beryl looked at the familiar pipe, which her baby
fingers had so often strained to grasp. How well she knew the ghastly
ivory features, the sunken eyeless sockets--of that veritable death's
head? How vividly came back the day, when asleep in her father's arms,
a spark from that grinning skull had fallen on her cheek, and she awoke
to find that fond father bending in remorseful tenderness over her?
Years ago, she had reverently packed the pipe away, with other articles
belonging to the dead, and ignorant that her mother had given it to
Bertie, she deemed it safe in that sacred repository. Now, like the
face of Medusa it glared at her, and that which her father's lips had
sanctified, became the polluted medium of a retributive curse upon his
devoted child. So the Diabolus ex machina, the evil genius of each
human life decrees that the most cruel cureless pangs are inflicted by
the instruments we love best.
Watching for some sign of recognition, Mr. Dunbar's heart was fired
with jealous rage, as he marked the swift change of the prisoner's
countenance; the vanishing of the gleam of hope, the gloomy desperation
that succeeded. The beautiful black brows met in a spasm of pain over
eyes that stared at an abyss of ruin; her lips whitened, she wrung her
hands unconsciously; and then, as if numb with horror, she leaned back
in her chair, and her chin sank until it touched the black ribbon at
her throat. When after a while she rallied, and forced herself to
listen, a pleasant-faced young man was on the witness stand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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