possible for her, than for Moses, when he
climbed Nebo to die; and alone with her God, the brave soul wrestled.
Wearily she leaned against the window bars, twining her hot fingers
around them, pressing her forehead to the cold barrier; and everywhere
"Ricordo" stabbed her eyes like glowing steel.

The door opened, some words were uttered in an undertone, then the bolt
clicked in its socket, and Mr. Dunbar approached the window.
Mechanically Beryl glanced over her shoulder, and a shiver crept across
her.

"I believe you know me. Dunbar is my name."

He stood at her side, and they looked into each other's eyes, and
measured lances. Could this worn, pallid woman, be the same person who
in the fresh vigor of her youthful beauty, had 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 since he saw it last. Human faces are Nature's highest type
of etchings, and mental anguish bites deeper than Dutch mordant;
heart-ache is the keen needle that traces finest lines.

"Yes, I know you only too well. You are Tiberius."

Her luminous deep eyes held his at bay, and despite his habitual,
haughty equipoise, her crisp tone of measureless aversion stung him.

"Sarcasm is an ill-selected arbiter between you and me; and your fate
for all time, your future weal or woe is rather a costly shuttlecock to
be tossed to and fro in a game of words. I do not come to bandy
phrases, and in view of your imminent peril, I cannot quite understand
your irony."

"Understand me? You never will. Did the bloodthirsty soul of Tiberius
comprehend the stainless innocence of the victims he crushed for
pastime on the rocks below Villa Jovis? There is but one arbiter for
your hatred, the hang-man, to whom you would so gladly hurry me.
Hunting a woman to the gallows is fit sport for men of your type."

Unable to withdraw his gaze from the magnetism of hers, he frowned and
bit his lip. Was she feigning madness, or under the terrible nervous
strain, did her mind wander?

"Your language is so enigmatical, that I am forced to conclude you
resort to this method of defence. The exigencies of professional duty
compel me to 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 entails keen sorrow upon those who are forced to
execute her decrees,