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
From the adjoining room came the slow monotonous clicking of the
telegraph wires, as messages passed to other stations, and only the
switch watchman was visible, sitting on an inverted tub, and playing
snatches from "Mascotte" and "Olivette" upon a harmonicon.
Heat seemed radiating from the brick pavement outside, from the inner
walls of the waiting-room; and Beryl, finding the atmosphere almost
stifling, went out under the stars. Up and down she paced, until weary
of the dusty thoroughfare, she turned into the street which, earlier in
the day, had conducted her toward the suburbs. She knew that a full
moon had climbed above the horizon, and some malign Morgana lured her
on, with visions of cool pine glades paved with silver mosaics, and
balmy with breath of balsam; where through vast forest naves echoed the
melodious monody chanted by the reddish gold wavelets of the "branch."
In the eastern sky the florid face of a hunter's moon looked down, from
the level line of a leaden cloud, which striped the star emblazoned
shield of night, like a bar sinister; and the white lustre of her rays
was dimmed to a lurid dulness solemn and presageful.
As Beryl crossed the common near the station, and entered the pillared
aisles of the pines, the air was less oppressive, but a dun haze seemed
on every side to curtain the horizon, and the stars looked bleared and
tired in the breathless vault above her. A man driving two cows toward
town, stared at her; then a wagon drawn by four horses rattled along,
bearing homeward a gay picnic party of young people, who made the woods
ring with the echoes of "Hold the Fort." The grandeur of towering
pines, the mysterious dimness of illimitable arcades, and the peculiar
resinous odor that stole like lingering ghosts of myrrh, frankincense
and onycha through the vaulted solitude of a deserted hoary sanctuary,
all these phases of primeval Southern forests combined to weave a spell
that the stranger could not resist.
After a while, fearful of straying too far, the weary woman threw her
shawl on the brown straw, and sat down quite near the road. She leaned
her bare head against the trunk of a pine, listened to the katydids
gossiping in a distant oak that shaded the "branch," to the quavering
strident song of a locust; and she intended, after resting for a few
moments, to return to the station-house; but unexpected drowsiness
overpowered her. Suddenly aroused from a sound sleep, she heard the
clatter of galloping hoofs, and as she sprang up, the horse, startled
by her movement, shied and reared within a few feet of the spot where
she stood. The moon shone full on the glossy black animal, and upon his
powerful rider, and Beryl recognized the massive head, swarthy face and
keen eyes of the attorney, Lennox Dunbar. He leaned forward and said,
as he patted the erect ears of his horse:
"Madam, you seem a stranger. Have you lost your way?"
"No, sir."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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