“And you are in a sepulchral one. Both effects of the opium, I suppose.”
While they talked the sun went down.
Captain Pendleton remained with his friends until the twilight deepened into darkness; and then, promising to return the next night, and wondering where he should find his horse, or how he should get home, he took leave and departed.
The strange life of the refugees in the Haunted Chapel seriously interfered with their hitherto regular and healthful habits. They had slept nearly all day, when they should have been awake. And now they intended to watch all night, partly because it was impossible for them to sleep any more then, and partly because they wished to stop their mysterious visitant, in the event of her reappearance.
But the girl in the red cloak came not that night, no, nor even the next day; nor did any other mysterious visitor or unusual event disturb their repose, or excite their curiosity.
Late that night their faithful friend returned, according to his promise. He told them that he had found his poor horse still in the thicket where he had left him, with water and grass in his reach. That he had got home in safety,where his absence had not excited any anxiety, because his sister had supposed him to be at Black Hall.
He then described the funeral of Rosa Blondelle, which had taken place that day, and which had been attended not only by all the county gentry, who had gathered to show their respect and sympathy for the dead, but also by crowds of all sorts of people, who came in curiosity to the scene.
And then, taking advantage of a few minutes during which Sybil was engaged in her housekeeping corner of the chapel, he told Mr. Berners that the search-warrants having failed to find the fugitives, a rumor had been spread that they had certainly left the neighborhood on the morning of the murder, and that they had been seen at Alexandria, by a gentleman who had just come from that city.
“This story,” added Captain Pendleton, “is so confidently reported and believed, that an officer with a warrant has been this day dispatched to Annapolis.”
“Oh! good Heaven! How zealously her old neighbors do hunt my poor guiltless Sybil,” groaned Mr. Berners.
“Take courage! This rumor, together with the journey of the officer to Annapolis, opens a way for your immediate escape. So I propose that you prepare to leave this place to-morrow night, and take a bee line to Norfolk. There you must take the first outward bound ship for Europe, and remain abroad until you can with safety return home.”
At this moment Sybil came up.
Without mentioning to her the existence of the warrants which were out against her, and which was the only part of Captain Pendleton’s communication that it was expedient to conceal from her, Lyon Berners, with a smile of encouragement, told her that they were to leave the Haunted Chapel the next night, to go to Norfolk.
“And we cannot even yet go home?” sighed Sybil.
“No, dear wife; it would scarcely yet be prudent to do so. But we can go to Europe, and travel over the Continent,and see the wonders of the Old World, leaving our friend here with a power of attorney to manage our estate and collect our revenues, and remit us money as we require it. We can stay abroad and enjoy ourselves until such time as justice shall be done, and we can return to our home, not only with safety, but in triumph,” replied Lyon Berners, cheerfully.
Sybil too caught the infection of his cheerful manner, whether that were real or assumed, and she too brightened up.
The friends then discussed the details of the projected flight.
“In the first place,” began Captain Pendleton, “you must both be so well disguised as to seem the opposite of yourself in rank, age, and personal appearance. You, Lyon, must shave off your auburn beard, and cut close your auburn hair, and you must put on a gray wig and a gray beard—those worn by your old Peter, in his character of Polonius at your mask ball, will, with a little trimming, serve your purpose. Then you must wear a pair of spectacles and a broad-brimmed hat and an old man’s loose fitting, shabby travelling suit. I can procure both the spectacles and the clothes from the wardrobe of my deceased father. Mrs. Berners, too, should cut her hair short, and wear a red wig and a plain dress. The wig you wore as Harold the Saxon will suit very well, with a little arrangement. Then I can procure the dress from my sister. You must travel as a poor old farmer, and your wife must go as your red-headed illiterate daughter. You are both excellent actors, and can sustain your parts very well.”
“Dear me!” said Sybil, half crying, half smiling; “I have been warned that it is never well to begin any enterprise of which one does not know the end. And I’m sure when I undertook to give a mask ball and take a character in it, I had not the slightest idea that the masqueradewould last longer than a night, or that I should have to continue to act a character.”
“Never mind, darling; it is but for a season. Go on, Pendleton. You seem to have settled everything in your own mind for us. Let us hear the rest of your plan,” said Mr. Berners.
“It is this,” continued the Captain. “I will bring these disguises to you to-morrow night. I will also have a covered cart, loaded with turnips, potatoes, apples, and so forth; I will have this cart driven by your faithful Joe down to the Blackville ferry-boat, in which of course he can cross the river with his load of produce unsuspected and unquestioned.”
“Or even if some inquisitive gossip should ask him where he might be going, Joe would be ready with his safe answer. He can beat us in baffling inquiry,” put in Sybil.
“Like all his race,” laughed Lyon.
“The chance you have mentioned is provided for. Joe is instructed to answer any haphazard questioner, that he is bringing the load to me, which will be the truth.”
“But proceed, dear Pendleton. Develop your whole plan,” urged Mr. Berners.
“Well, then, once safe on this side of the river, Joe will drive the cart to some convenient spot, to which I myself will guide you.”
“Ah, how much trouble you take for us, Pendleton!” sighed Lyon.
“Not at all. As far as I am concerned, it is a piquant adventure. Try to look at it in that light. Well, to our subject. When you reach the cart you can put your wife inside, and then mount the driver’s seat, and start upon your journey like a plain old farmer going to market to sell his produce. As you will have but the one pair of horses for the whole journey, you will see the necessity of making very short stages, in order to enable them to complete it.”
“Certainly.”
“And now listen! Because you must make these short stages and frequent stoppages, and because you must avoid the most travelled roads, it will be necessary for you to take a map of the State, and follow the most direct route to Norfolk.”
“Which is not the turnpike road used by the mail stagecoaches, for that diverges frequently five or ten miles to the right or left of the line, to take in the populous villages,” put in Lyon Berners.
“Yes; I see you comprehended me! Well, I should farther advise you, when you reach Norfolk, to put up at some obscure inn near the wharves, and to embark in the very first ship that sails for Europe, even if it should set sail within an hour after your arrival.”
“You may rest assured that we shall not loiter in Norfolk,” said Mr. Berners.
“As for the draught horses and cart, if you have time, you can sell them. If not, you can leave them at the livery stable, and on the day of sailing post me a letter containing an order to receive them.”
“You think of everything, dear Pendleton.”
“I can’t think of anything else just now,” replied Captain Pendleton.
“Well, then, we will have some supper,” said Sybil rising to prepare it.
“I declare, I never in all my life supped out so frequently as I have done since you two have been housekeeping in this old Haunted Chapel! And by the way, talking of that, have you seen any more apparitions? any more spectral gipsy girls? or shrouded forms? or shadowy coffins? or open vaults? eh, Mrs. Berners?” laughingly inquired Captain Pendleton.
“No, nothing unusual has disturbed us, either last night or to-day. But now, talking of open vaults, have youbrought the crowbar to force the door, sir?” said Sybil, turning sharply to the Captain.
“Yes, dear Mrs. Berners; since I promised to bring it, I felt bound to do so; though I hope you will not really have it put to use.”
“Just as soon as supper is over, I will have that door forced open. I will see what that mysterious vault holds,” said Sybil, firmly.
And she almost kept her word.
As soon as they had finished the evening meal, she arose and called upon the gentlemen to go with her and force the door of the vault.
And they went and inserted the crowbar between the grating and the stonework, and wrenched with all their united strength; but their efforts availed nothing, even to move the door.
They gave over their exertions to recover their breath, and when they had got it they began again with renewed vigor; but with no better success. Again they stopped to breathe, and again they re-commenced the task with all their might; but after working as hard as they could for fifteen minutes longer, they again ceased from sheer exhaustion, leaving the door as fast as they had found it.
“It is of no use to try longer, Sybil. We cannot force it,” said Mr. Berners.
“I see that you cannot. The vault keeps its secrets well,” she answered, solemnly.
And then they returned to their seats near the fire, and sat and talked over the projected journey until it was time for Captain Pendleton to go.
When the husband and wife were left alone, they felt themselves tired enough to go to rest, with a prospect of getting a good night’s sleep.
“This is the last night that we shall spend in this place, dear Sybil,” said Lyon Berners, as he put the smouldering brands together to keep the fire up till morning.
Sybil replied with a deep yawn.
And in a few minutes they laid down to rest, and in a very few more they fell asleep.
How long they had slept Sybil had no means of knowing, when she was awakened by an impression that some cold damp creature had laid down on the front of the mattress close beside her. She opened her eyes and strained them around in a vague dread, but the inside of the chapel was dark as pitch. The fire had gone entirely out; she could not even see the outlines of the Gothic windows; all was black as Tartarus. But still—oh, horror!—she felt the cold damp form pressing close beside her.
A speechless, breathless awe possessed her. She could not scream, but she cautiously put out her hand to make sure whether she was dreaming, when—horror upon horror!—it touched a clammy face!
Still she did not cry out, for some potent spell seemed to bind her which at once tied her tongue and moved her hand; for that hand passed down over the slender form and straight limbs, and then up again, until it reached the still bosom, when—climax of horror!—it was caught and clasped in the clay-cold hand of the—WHAT?
CHAPTER XXIX.GHOSTLY AND MYSTERIOUS
On horror’s headHorrors accumulate.—Thompson.
An icy sweat of terror bathed Sybil’s form. She tried to cry out, and did utter a low half-stifled scream. But the cold fingers of the ghastly creature closed tightly upon hers, and a thin, hollow voice murmured:
“Hush; don’t you make a noise; don’t be frightened. I can’t hurt you. I’m chilled almost to death. And you were so warm. I crept to your side to tell you something. You are in hiding here, and so—Ah-h-h!”
The reed-like murmur ended in a terrific shriek. There was a silent movement, and Sybil felt the clammy form snatched up from her side and borne away in the darkness.
And then the spell that had bound her faculties was unloosed, and she uttered scream after scream as she shook and awakened her husband.
“In the name of Heaven, Sybil, what now?” he exclaimed, as he started up into a sitting posture.
“Oh, Lyon! for the love of mercy, get up! Get a light! I shall go mad in this horrible place!” she cried in a perfect frenzy of terror.
“Calm yourself, Sybil. There is nothing to fear. I am here with you. I will strike a light,” answered Lyon Berners quietly, as he got up and groped about in the darkness for the tinder-box.
Striking a light in those days was not the quick and easy matter that it is now. When the tinder-box was at length found, the flint and steel had to be struck together until a spark was elicited to set fire to the tinder. So it was full five minutes from the time Lyon was awakened, to the moment that he lit the candle and looked upon the pale and horror-stricken face of his wife.
“Now then, Sybil, what is it?” he inquired.
“Oh, what is it! This place is full of devils!” she cried, shaking as with an ague fit.
“My dear wife!” he said, in surprise and concern to see her shudder so fearfully, to hear her speak so wildly.
“Itis, I tell you, full of devils, Lyon!” she repeated with chattering teeth.
There chanced to be a little wine in their stores. He went and poured some into a glass and brought it to her, made her drink it.
“Now then, tell me what has thrown you into this state? What has happened to terrify you so much? another dream, vision, apparition? what?” he inquired, as he took from her hand the empty glass.
“Oh, no, no, no! no dream, no vision, nothing of that sort. It was too dark to see anything, you know; but oh! it was something so ghastly and horrible that I shall never, never get over it!” she exclaimed, while shudder after shudder shook her frame.
“Tell me,” he said soothingly.
“Oh, it was a damp girl!” she cried.
“A damp girl!” he echoed in amazement and alarm; for he almost feared his dear wife was going crazy.
“Oh yes, a damp girl! A clay-cold, clammy, corpse-like form of a girl!”
“Where? when? what about her?”
“Oh, I woke up and felt her lying by my side! so close that she chilled and oppressed me! I put out my hand, and she caught it in her deathly fingers! I screamed, but she spoke to me! She was about to tell me something, when she was suddenly snatched up and torn away!”
“My dear Sybil, this was nightmare again!”
“Oh, no, no, no! I have had nightmare, and know what it is! It is not like this! All this was real, as real as you and I! This place is full of devils!”
“My darling wife, have you lost your senses?”
“Oh, no; but I shall lose them if I stay in this demon-haunted place a day longer!”
“Thank Heaven! we will not have to stay here a day longer. We leave, this coming evening. And see! the morning is dawning, Sybil; and with the coming of the light, all these shadows of darkness and phantoms of fear will flee away,” said Lyon with a smile.
“Oh, you don’t believe me. You never do believe me. But oh! let me tell you all about this ghastly thing, and then perhaps you will see that it is real,” said Sybil.
And still in much agitation of spirits, she told him all the particulars of her strange visitation.
He still believed in his soul that she had been the victim of incubus, but he would not vex her by persisting in saying so. He only repeated that the morning was at hand, when all the terrors of the night would be dispersed; and added that they would not have to pass another night in the “demon-peopled place,” as this would be the very last day of their stay.
As soon as it was light enough, they dressed themselves, and set about their simple daily work. He made the fire, and brought the water; and she cleared up their housekeeping corner, and prepared the breakfast.
When the sun arose and streamed in at the east windows, lighting up every nook about the interior of the old chapel, they saw that everything remained in the same condition in which they had left it when they had gone to rest on the evening previous.
Lyon Berners felt more than ever convinced that his dear Sybil had been the victim of repeated nightmares; that all the seemingly supernatural phenomena of the Haunted Chapel had been only the creation of her own morbid imagination; that nothing connected with the mystery had been real, with the exception of the appearance of the girl in the red cloak, whom Mr. Berners decided to be an ordinary human habitué of the place.
But the idea of this visitor made him only the more anxious for Sybil’s sake, to get away.
This last day of their sojourn in the Haunted Chapel was passed by the refugees in great impatience, but without any event worth recording.
With the night came their untiring friend Captain Pendleton, attended by Joe, who bore upon his broad back a large pack containing the disguises.
After the usual greetings, and while Sybil, with awoman’s curiosity, was examining the contents of the pack which Joe opened and displayed before her, Pendleton found an opportunity of whispering to Lyon Berners:
“The false rumor is as rife as false rumors usually are. Every one reports with confidence, and every one else believes with assurance, that you are both in Annapolis, and will certainly be found by the officers within a few days. This is good, as it will lead off all pursuit from your road to Norfolk.”
Lyon Berners nodded in reply. And Sybil came up to make some preparations for supper.
“Well, Mrs. Berners,” spoke the Captain, gayly, “any more supernatural phenomena?”
“Oh, I wish you had not asked that question!” exclaimed Lyon Berners, while Sybil grew deadly pale, and shivered from head to foot.
“Why, what’s the matter now?” demanded the Captain, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, the damp girl!” exclaimed Sybil, shuddering.
“The damp girl!” echoed the Captain, in growing wonder.
Lyon Berners shrugged his shoulders, while Sybil, in agitated tones, recounted her strange visitation of the night before.
“As clearly defined a case of incubus as ever I heard in my life,” was the prompt decision of Captain Pendleton.
Sybil grew angry.
“I only wish,” she sharply answered, “that you would once experience the like, for then you could know that it could not be nightmare.”
“Then, my dear Mrs. Berners, if this was not incubus, what do you suppose it to have been?”
“Arealvisitation; but whether a natural or supernatural one, of course I can not tell,” she answered.
Sybil got the supper ready, and they all sat down topartake of that meal together, for the last time in the Haunted Chapel.
After supper the final preparations for their departure were made.
Sybil felt all the reluctance of a beauty to part with her splendid black hair. But on trying the experiment, she found that she could effectually conceal it, without cutting it off. She combed it straight back from her forehead, and let it hang down her shoulders under her sack. Then she covered her head and neck with the flowing red locks of Harold’s wig.
Lyon cut close his auburn hair, shaved off his moustache, and donned a gray wig and a gray beard, without the slightest remorse.
A very few minutes sufficed to complete their disguise, and they stood forth—Lyon and Sybil transformed into a gray old farmer and a shock-headed country girl.
“And now, about these housekeeping articles that we must leave here? They are of very little value in themselves; but theymaybe found, and if so, may lead to our discovery,” suggested Mr. Berners, uneasily.
“Never you mindthem, Master. I’ll ondertake to get them away, onbeknowst to any body, sar,” promised Joe.
“And I will see that this is done,” added Captain Pendleton in a low voice, for he did not wish to wound poor Joe’s sensitive self-love.
“And now, my dear Sybil, are you sure you have got all that you need in your bag?” inquired Mr. Berners.
“All that I shall need until we get to Norfolk, Lyon. There, indeed, we must get a supply of necessary clothing,” she answered.
“That of course. And by the way, have you the money and jewels safe?”
“All secure.”
“Oh Lyon! I brought this for you, and I had bettergive it to you at once, lest I should forget it,” put in Captain Pendleton, passing over to Mr. Berners a large roll of gold coins.
“But my dear Pendleton—”
“Oh, nonsense! take them. I can reimburse myself from the revenues of Black Hall. Am I not to have the freedom of that fine estate?”
“Very true,” answered Mr. Berners, pocketing the money.
“And now, are we ready?” inquired the Captain.
“Quite,” answered Mr. and Mrs. Berners at once.
“Then let us start at once,” advised the Captain, setting the example by taking up Sybil’s large travelling bag.
Lyon Berners carried his portmanteau on one arm, while he gave his other to his wife.
Joe loaded himself with a great basket filled with provisions for the journey.
And together they all set forth from the Haunted Chapel. It was a clear, cold, starlight night. The gravestones in the old church-yard glimmered gray among the brushwood, as the fugitives picked their way through it.
When they reached the narrow path leading through the thicket, they had to walk in single file until they emerged from the wood and found themselves upon the old road running along the river bank. Here the wagon with a pair of draught horses was waiting them.
Their luggage was put in on top of bags of potatoes, turnips, etc., with which the back part of the wagon was loaded. Then Captain Pendleton assisted Sybil to mount to a seat made by a low-backed chair with a woolen counterpane thrown over it. Lyon Berners got up into the driver’s place. All being now ready for the start, Captain Pendleton and Joe come up to the side of the wagon to bid farewell to the travellers.
“Heaven bless you, Pendleton, for your faithful friendshipand zealous labors in our behalf,” said Mr. Berners, warmly shaking the Captain’s hand.
“Amen, and Amen! We shall never forget, and never cease to thank and bless you, dear friend,” added Sybil, with tears in her eyes, as she gave him her hand.
“May the Lord grant you a safe journey and a quick return,” said Clement Pendleton, as he pressed the lady’s hand and relinquished it.
“And I sez Amen to that! Oh, Marser! Oh, Missus! come back to your poor old Joe soon! His heart will snap into ten thousand flinders, if you don’t!” sobbed the poor negro, as he shook hands with his young master and mistress.
Then with a mutual “God be with you,” the four friends parted.
Captain Pendleton, sighing, and Joe, weeping, bent their steps up the banks of the river towards the fording place, where they would have to cross to find their horses on the other side.
Lyon Berners cracked his long wagoner’s whip, and started on the road leading away from the river towards the east.
It was yet early in the autumn night, and but for the cause of the journey, the young pair would have enjoyed it very much.
“It is a very pleasant evening for the season,” said Lyon, cheerfully looking up at the clear, blue-black, star-spangled sky.
“Yes, indeed,” answered Sybil briskly.
“Are you quite comfortable, darling?”
“Very! Captain Pendleton, dear Captain Pendleton, arranged my seat so nicely. It is so soft and easy. I could go to sleep here, if I were sleepy.”
“You may have to sleep there, dear. We must travel all night, in order to get a good distance from this neighborhood before morning.”
“I can bear that very well, as comfortably as I am placed. But you, dear Lyon, you who are driving, you will be tired to death.”
“Not at all. My work to-night will not be more than many men frequently undertake for mere amusement.”
“And the horses?”
“Strong draught horses like these can work eight or ten hours at a stretch, if they are well fed and rested between times.”
“Oh! I’m so glad I have got away from the Haunted Chapel and the ghosts!” suddenly exclaimed Sybil.
“And especially from the ‘damp girl,’” laughed Lyon Berners.
“Oh, don’t mention her!” shuddered Sybil.
They were now entering one of those frequent mountain passes that diversified their road, and the care of driving required all Lyon’s attention.
They travelled all night as nearly in a direct line towards the far distant city as the nature of the ground would permit. At daylight they found themselves in the midst of a deep forest, some twenty miles east of Blackville. Here, as the road was naturally broad and the trees tall and sparse, and especially as a clear stream of water ran along on one side, the travellers decided to stop and rest, and refresh themselves and their horses until noon.
Lyon Berners got out and, followed by Sybil, went a little way into the woods, where they found a small opening and a spring of clear water.
Here Lyon gathered brushwood and made a fire, while Sybil returned to the wagon and brought back a basket of provisions. Among them was a bottle of coffee already made, and which she turned into a small tin coffee-pot, and set on the fire to be warmed.
And while Lyon went back to the wagon to attend to the wants of his horses, Sybil spread a very good breakfast of coffee, bread, and ham, upon the ground near the fire.
When they had given their horses time enough to rest they resumed their journey, still travelling towards the east.
Lyon consulted his map and his pocket compass, and found that directly in their line lay the small village of Oakville, nestled in an unfrequented pass of the mountains.
“We can reach the place at about ten o’clock this evening, and there we can get a regular supper and good sleep,” he said to his wife.
And they travelled all the remainder of that day, and at about half-past nine they arrived at Oakville. The village was off the public road, and consisted only of a sleepy old tavern, to which the neighboring farmers came to drink, smoke, and gossip; a post-office, to which the mail was brought once a week by a boy on horseback; and a blacksmith shop, patronized by the sparse population of the immediate neighborhood.
Up before the stable of this old tavern Lyon Berners drove his wagon; and here he alighted, handed out Sybil, and led her over to the house and into the public parlor.
A fat and lazy-looking hostess came to look at them.
“I want accommodations for myself, my girl here, and my horses and wagon, which I left in the stable yard,” said Mr. Berners, speaking coarsely, with two lumps of liquorice in his mouth, which he had taken to disguise his voice.
“And what might your name be, farmer?” inquired the landlady.
“My name’s Howe,” answered Lyon, truly, giving his own patronymic, now his middle name.
“Well, farmer, I reckon we can accommodate you. Going to market?”
“Yes, we’re on our way to market.”
“You come from far?”
“From the other side of the mountain.”
“Well, I reckon we can accommodate you. You must excuse me asking you so many questions; but the truth is you’re a perfect stranger to me, and it is very late for you to come here, you know; which I wouldn’t think so much of that nyther, only since that horrid murder at Black Hall I have mistrusted every stranger I see.”
Sybil’s heart gave a bound, and then sank like lead in her bosom, at hearing this allusion. Lyon also felt an increased uneasiness. Luckily they were sitting with their backs to the light, so that the gossiping landlady could not read the expression of their faces, which indeed she was too much absorbed in her subject to attempt to do. So she went straight on without stopping to take breath:
“Not that I mistrust you now, sir, which I see exactly what you are; and which likewise your having of your darter with you is a rickymindation; for men don’t go about a taking of their darters with them when they are up to robbery and murder, do they now, sir?”
“I should judge not, though I am not familiar enough with the habits of such gentry to give a decided opinion,” said farmer Howe.
“You’ll excuse me, sir; but I’m a lone widow living here, and not used to seeing much of anybody but my old neighbors, which come occasionally to enjoy of themselves; and I do mistrust most strangers—though not you, sir, with your darter, as I said before—but most other strangers, because theydosay hereabouts that it was a stranger to the place, a red-headed man, as put up at the inn at Blackville that night, and never was seen afterwards, as did that murder at Black Hall.”
“Ah! do they say that? I thought they laid it on a lady,” observed farmer Howe.
“La, sir! the idee of a lady doing such a thing! and a rale high-born lady of quality like Mrs. Burns, or whatever her name was, and doing of it to one she had took in for charity too; ’tan’t likely, sir.”
“But you know, I suppose, that they did accuse a lady?”
“Oh, yes; I know they did, and that the poor lady had to ran away and go to Annapolis. But that was that Blackville set, that an’t got no sense; but as for us, over this side,webelieve it was that red-headed stranger as did it.”
“There’s no doubt of it in the world,” said farmer Howe, recklessly, feeling that he was expected to say something.
And at this moment he looked towards Sybil, and saw that she could not endure the subject of discussion for one moment longer, so he turned to the landlady, and said:
“We have travelled some distance, and feel very tired and hungry. Would you oblige us with supper as soon as possible? We do not need much, only let it be nice and warm.”
“Surely, sir, it is late; but we will do the best we can for you,” said the landlady, hurrying away.
Mr. Berners stooped to whisper to his wife.
“Sybil, darling, I hail this woman’s faith as a good omen. Keep up your courage, and—remain in that shady corner until I come back. I am going out to the stable to see that our horses are properly attended to.”
And then Lyon left the room.
By the time he returned a table was set in that parlor, and a good supper spread for the travellers.
When it was over, the landlady showed them to a couple of communicating rooms up stairs, where they passed a very comfortable night.
At daybreak the next morning they arose and breakfasted, and resumed their journey.
Lyon Berners again consulted his map of the State and his pocket compass, and laid out his road. It lay for all that day up and down, in and out, among the wildest passesof the Allegheny Mountains. At noon they stopped for an hour, to rest and refresh themselves and their horses, and then again went forward. At night they reached another hamlet at the foot of the mountain range. They put up at this hamlet, which was called Dunville, and which boasted one tavern kept by an old Revolutionary pensioner called Purley.
Here also Lyon Berners gave his name as Howe, and here again he and his wife were destined to be told all about the murder.
“You see, sir, a little below us there, on the other side of the mountain, they do say as the murder was done by the woman’s husband, as she had run away from; but they are a set of poor ignorant folks out there! Now it stand to reason, sir, it couldn’t have been done by him, and it must have been done by some member of that band of burglars that they say is lurking somewhere there-a-way by Black Hall.”
“Band of burglars!” echoed Farmer Howe, in astonishment. And he was almost about to betray himself by saying that there could be no such band there, when he recollected his position, and held his tongue.
Farmer Howe and his daughter spent a refreshing night at old Purley’s tavern at Dunville, and at daybreak next morning, after a very early breakfast, they resumed their journey.
And again, as usual, Lyon Berners consulted his map and his compass. He now found that his most direct route lay through a thick forest, between two mountain ridges.
They travelled all the morning, and as usual stopped at noon for rest and food for themselves and their four-footed friends. In the afternoon they set forth again, and travelled until they reached Iceville, a considerable village situated high upon one of the table-lands of the Blue Ridge. In this town there were three taverns. FarmerHowe and his daughter put up at the most humble of the trio. And here too the talk of the hour was the homicide at Black Hall.
“They say about here that it was one of the lady’s admirers who killed her in a fit of desperation from love and jealousy; for the lady was well beknown to be a great coquette,” said one village authority to another, in the presence of Farmer Howe.
When our travellers found themselves alone that night, in one of the two small adjoining rooms that had been assigned to them, Lyon Berners turned to Sybil, and said;
“You see, my dear Sybil, how it is: ‘A prophet hath honor except in his own city.’ No one out of the Black Valley thinks of accusing you.”
“All the world might accuse me, so that my own old friends and neighbors would justify me,” said Sybil, sadly.
They passed another night in peace, and the next morning, at daybreak as usual, they breakfasted, and then set out on their fourth and last day’s journey.
Again the map and the pocket compass was called into requisition, and Mr. Berners laid out their route for the day.
Their way lay all that forenoon through the beautifully undulating, heavily wooded, and well-watered country lying east of the Blue Ridge.
As before, they broke their journey by an hour’s repose at noon, and then re-commenced it. And at twelve, midnight, they arrived safely at Norfolk.
CHAPTER XXX.FLIGHT AND PURSUIT.
Oh, death were welcome!—Coleridge.
On reaching Norfolk, Lyon Berners drove at once to an obscure tavern down by the wharves, and near the market. Here he found good stabling for his horses and wagon, and decent accommodation for himself and wife.
“Come to market, I reckon, father?” suggested the landlord, taking the stump of an old pipe from his mouth for the purpose.
“Yes,” answered Lyon Berners, as “farmer Howe,” taking off his broad-brimmed hat, handing it to Sybil, and then sinking slowly and heavily into a chair, like a very weary old man.
“Your daughter, I reckon, farmer?” continued the landlord, pointing to Sybil with the stem of his pipe.
“My only girl,” answered Lyon Berners, evasively.
“And no boys?” inquired the landlord.
“No boys,” replied Lyon.
“That’s a pity; on a farm too. But you must try to get a good husband for the girl, and that will be all one as a boy of your own! Never had any children but this, farmer, or did you have the misfortune to lose ’em?”
“I never had but this one girl,” answered Lyon Berners still evasively.
“Then you must be very fond of that girl, I reckon.”
“She is all the world to me,” said Lyon, truly.
“Then he ought to be all the world to you, honey.”
“And so I am,” said Lyon, answering for Sybil, whom he could not yet trust to act a part; though he saw, the instant he glanced at her, that he might have done so; for Sybil, as soon as she saw attention drawn to herself, beganto turn her head down upon one shoulder and simper shyly like an awkward rustic.
“You must excusemefor asking so many questions, farmer; but when I see a father and daughter together, like you and your girl, I think of myself, for I have an only daughter of my own. All the rest of my children—and I had a whole passel of boys and girls—are with their dear mother in heaven. So you see, farmer, I am a widower, with one gal like yourself—for I reckon, from what you said, you are a widower?”
“My girl’s mother has been dead many years,” answered Lyon, with a drawl and a sigh.
“Pappy, I’m so hungry and so sleepy I don’t know what to do,” said Sybil, in a low, fretful tone, frowning and pouting.
“Yes, yes, honey; I reckon you are sure enough. So landlord, if you have got a couple of little rooms joining onto each other, I wish you’d let us have ’em. And we’d like a bit of supper besides,” said Lyon Berners, with a sigh and a grunt.
“To be sure. I’ll go and call my girl directly, and she’ll walk up to your rooms while I have the supper got ready. Where would you like to have it? down here, or in your room?” inquired the landlord.
“In your room, Pappy. I hate a place like this a-smellin’ of liquor and inyuns and things, and men coming in and out,” said Sybil, digging her elbow into her “Pappy’s” ribs, and turning up her nose at the little tavern sitting-room.
“Well, then, honey, we’ll have it up there. Up there, landlord, if it won’t be putting of you to too much trouble.”
“Oh, not at all, farmer; it’s all one to me. Now I’ll go and call Rachel.”
And the inquisitive and communicative host went out, and soon returned with a young woman of about Sybil’s own age.
“This is my daughter, my Rachel, as I was telling you about, farmer. Rachel, honey, you just go long of the farmer and his daughter and show them where they’ve got to sleep, that’s a good girl. Put ’em in the two little rooms over the bar, you know.”
“Yes, father. Come, sir; come, miss,” said the landlord’s daughter, leading the way from the smoky parlor.
Lyon and Sybil followed her. Lyon walking slowly like a weary old man, and pausing at the head of the stairs, as if to recover his wind.
“Pappy, you look tired to death,” said Sybil, in a rough sympathetic voice.
“Ay, ay; it is weary work for an old man to get up-stairs,” grunted Lyon.
“The stairs are very steep, but here you are,” said the landlord’s daughter, opening the door leading into two little communicating rooms.
She entered, followed by Sybil and Lyon. She set the candle down on the top of the old chest of drawers, and turned around. And then the travellers noticed, for the first time, how beautiful the daughter of their host was.
Rachel’s face was of the purest type of beauty, combining the physical, intellectual, and spiritual. Her form was of medium height and perfect grace; her head was finely shaped, and covered with dark brown hair, parted in the middle and carried over the temples, and arranged in a knot behind; her forehead broad and full; her eyebrows were gently arched, her eyes dark luminous gray, with drooping lids and long fringes; her nose small and straight, her lips full, small, and plump, and her chin was round and well set. There were some flaws in this otherwise perfect beauty and grace of form and face; for her complexion was very pale, her expression pensive, and her walk slightly limping.
While Sybil was observing her with both admiration and pity, and wondering whether she did not suffer from somehereditary malady that had carried off her mother and all her sisters and brothers, Rachel spoke:
“I think you have everything here that you require; but if you should need anything else, please call, and I will come and attend to your wants.”
“Thanks!” answered Sybil, sweetly, forgetting her assumed character, and beginning to speak in her natural voice, for it seemed so difficult to act a part in the presence of this girl.
But Lyon set his coarse boot upon Sybil’s foot, and pressed it as a warning, and then answered for both, saying:
“Thank y’, honey, but I don’t reckon we’ll want anything but our supper, and the old man said how he’d send that up here himself.”
“Then I will leave you. Good night. I hope you will have a good sleep,” answered Rachel, bending her head.
“What a fine face that girl has,” said Lyon Berners, as she withdrew.
“Yes; and what a sweet voice!” answered Sybil.
“But she is very pale, and she limps as she walks; did you notice?”
“Yes; I suppose she has ill health—probably the same malady that carried off her mother, and all her sisters and brothers.”
“Very likely.”
“Consumption?” suggested Sybil.
“Scrofula,” sententiously replied Lyon.
“Oh, what a pity!” said Sybil, when their conversation was cut short by the entrance of the landlord, bringing a waiter with the plain supper service and a folded table-cloth, and followed by a young man bearing another waiter piled up with materials for a supper more substantial than delicate.
The little table was quickly set, and the meal arrangedand then the landlord, after asking if anything more was wanted, and being told there was not, left the room, followed by his attendant.
Lyon and Sybil made a good supper, and then, as there were no bells in that primitive house of entertainment, he put his head out of the door and called for some one to come and take away the service.
When the waiter had cleared the table, and the travellers were again left alone, Lyon said to Sybil:
“I must leave you here, dear, while I go down to the water-side and inquire what ships are about to sail for Europe. You will not be afraid to stay here by yourself?”
“Oh, no indeed! this is not the Haunted Chapel, thank Heaven!” answered his wife.
“Nor Rachel, the damp girl,” added Lyon.
“No, poor child; but she may very soon become one,” sighed Sybil.
And Lyon put on his broad-brimmed hat and went out.
Sybil locked the door, took off her red wig, and her coarse outer garment, and took from her travelling bag a soft woolen wrapper and a pair of slippers and put them on, and sat down before the fire to make herself comfortable. At first the sense of relief and rest and warmth was enough to satisfy her; but after an hour’s waiting in idleness, the time hung heavily on her hands, and she grew homesick and lonesome. She thought of the well-stocked library of Black Hall; of her bright drawing-room, her birds, her flowers, her piano, her easel, her embroidery frame, her Skie terrier, her tortoise shell cat and kittens, her fond and faithful servant, the many grand rooms in the old hall; the negroes’ cabins, the ancient trees, the river, the cascade, the mountains—the thousand means of occupation, amusement, and interest, within and around her patrimonial home, the ten thousand ties of association and affection that bound her to her old place, and she realized herexile as she had never done before. Her spirit grew very desolate, and her heart very heavy.
But Sybil really was not a woman to give way to any weakness without an effort. She got up and tried to engage herself by examining the two little rooms that were to be her dwelling place for a day or a week, as chance might direct.
There was not much to interest her. The furniture was poor and old, but neat and clean, as anything under the care of pale Rachel was sure to be. Then Sybil looked about to try to find some stray pamphlet or book, that she might read. But she found nothing but a treatise on tanning and an old almanac until, happening to look behind the glass on the chest of drawers in the inner room, she discovered a small volume which she took to be the New Testament. She drew it from its hiding-place and sat down to read it. But when she opened the book, she found it to be—“Celebrated Criminal Trials.”
At once it seemed to have a fearful interest for her, and this interest was terribly augmented when, on further examination, she discovered that a portion of the work was devoted to the “Fatal Errors of Circumstantial Evidence.”
To this part of the book she turned at once, and her attention soon became absorbed in its subject. Here she read the cases of Jonathan Bradford, Henry Jennings, and many others tried for murder, convicted under an overwhelming weight of circumstantial evidence, executed, and long afterwards discovered to be entirely innocent of the crimes for which they had been put to death. Sybil read on hour after hour. And as this evening, while sitting in solitude and idleness and thinking of her home and all its charms, she had first realized the bitterness of her exile, so now, in reading these instances of the fatal effects of circumstantial evidence upon guiltless parties, she also first realized the horrors of her own position.
She closed the book and fell upon her knees, and weeping, prayed for pardon of those fierce outbursts of hereditary passion, that had so often tempted her to deeds of violence, and that now subjected her to the dread charge of crime. Yes, she prayed for forgiveness of this sin and deliverance from this sinfulness, even before she ventured to pray for a safe issue out of all her troubles.
Relieved, as every one feels who approaches our Father in simplicity and faith, she arose from her knees, and sat down again before the fire to wait for the return of her husband.
He came at length, looking really tired now, but speaking cheerfully as he entered the room.
“I have been gone from you a long time, dear Sybil, but I could not help it. I had to go to Portsmouth in search of our ship,” he said, as he put his hat on the floor, and sat down at the fire.
“Then you found a ship?” she inquired, with so much more than usual anxiety in her expression, that he looked up in painful surprise as he replied to her question.
“Yes, dear; I have found a ship that will suit us. It is the ‘Enterprise,’ Captain Wright, bound for Liverpool within a few days.”
“Oh! I wish it were to-morrow,” sighed Sybil.
“Why, love, what is the matter?” tenderly inquired her husband, taking her hand, and looking into her face.
“Thatis the matter,” replied Sybil, with a shudder, as she took the volume she had been reading from the chimney piece and put it in his hands.
It was a work with which Lyon Berners, as a law student, had been very familiar.
“Why, where did you get this?” he inquired in a tone of annoyance, for he felt at once what its effect upon Sybil’s mind must be.
“Oh, I found it behind the looking-glass in the other room.”
“Left by some traveller, I suppose. I am sorry, Sybil, that you have chanced upon this work; but you must not let its subject influence you to despondency.”
“Oh, Lyon! how can I help it? I was so strong and cheerful in my sense of innocence, I had no idea how guiltless people could be convicted and executed as criminals.”
“My darling Sybil, all these cases that you have read were tried in the last century, a period of judicial barbarism. Courts of justice are more enlightened and humane now, in our times. They do not sacrifice sacred life upon slight grounds. Come, take courage! be cheerful! trust in God, and all will be well.”
“I do trust in the Lord, and I know all will be well; but oh! I wish it were to-morrow that ship is to sail?” answered Sybil.
“It will sail very soon, dear. And now we had better go to rest, and try to get some sleep. In my character of market farmer, I have to be up very early in the morning to attend to my business, you know,” said Lyon with a smile.
Sybil acquiesced, and the fugitive couple retired for the night.
Bodily fatigue so much overcame mental anxiety, that they slept profoundly, and continued to sleep until near daylight, when they were both aroused by a loud knocking at the door.
“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, who is that?” gasped Sybil, starting up in affright, for every knock now, scared her with the thought of sheriff’s officers armed with a warrant for her arrest, and excited a whole train of prospective horrors.
“Hush, darling, hush; it is only one of the men about the place waking me up, according to orders, to be in time for the market. We must keep up our assumed characters, my dear Sybil,” said Mr. Berners, as the knocking was repeated, accompanied by the calls of,
“Farmer! farmer!”
“Aye, aye! I hear you. You needn’t batter down the doors. I’m a-going to get up, though it’s very early, and I an’t as young as I used to be twenty years ago, nyther,” grumbled the “farmer,” as with many a grunt and sigh, as of an old and weary man, he got up and began to dress himself.
“Sybil,” he whispered to his wife before leaving the room, “I shall have to take my breakfast at a stall in the market-house, and I shall not be back until the market is out, which will be about twelve o’clock. You can have your breakfast brought up here. And mind, my darling, don’t forget to put on your wig, and keep up your character.”
“I shall be very careful, dear Lyon,” she answered, as he kissed and left her.
Lyon Berners went down stairs, where he found the landlord, who was an “early bird,” waiting for him.
“Morning, farmer. What is it that you’ve brought to market, anyways?” he said, greeting his guest.
“Mostly garden truck,” answered Lyon.
“No poultry, eggs, nor butter?”
“No.”
“’Cause, if you had, I might deal with you myself.”
“Well, you see, landlord, them kind of produce is ill convenient to bring a long ways in a wagon. And I came from a good ways down the country,” explained Lyon, as he took his long leathern whip from the corner where he had left it, and went out to look after his team.
He found it all right, and he mounted the seat and drove to the market space, and took a stand, and began to offer his produce as zealously as any farmer on the ground—taking care, in the mean time, to wear his spectacles and broad-brimmed hat, and to keep up his character in voice and manner; and, as the morning advanced, he began to drive a brisk business.
Meantime Sybil, left alone in her poor room at the little inn, arose and locked the door after Lyon, to prevent intrusion before she should effect her disguise, and when she had thus insured her privacy, she began to dress.
As soon as she had transformed herself, she opened the door and called for Rachel.
The landlord’s daughter entered, giving her guest good-morning, and kindly inquiring how she had slept.
“I slept like a top! But I’m not well this morning neither. So I’d just like to have my victuals sent up here,” answered Sybil.
“Very well; what would you like?”
“Fried fish, and pork-steaks, and bri’led chickings, and grilled bacon, and—let me see! Have you any oysters?”
“Yes, very fine ones.”
“Well, then, I’ll take some stewed oysters too, and some poached eggs, and preserved quinces, and fried potatoes, and corn pone, and hot rolls, and buckwheat cakes, and cold bread and butter, and some coffee, and buttermilk and sweet milk. And that’s all, I believe; for, you see, I an’t well, and I haven’t come to my stomach yet; but if I can think of anything else, I will let you know.
“Is your father going to eat his breakfast with you?”
“Who? pappy? No; he’s gone to market, and will get his victuals at the eating stall. Wouldn’t it be good fun to keep a eating stall in a market?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, never mind whether you do, or not. Hurry up with my victuals.”
“Yes; but I’m afraid we haven’t got all the things you want; but I will bring you up what we have,” said the girl, who had opened her eyes widely at the bill of fare ordered by her sickly guest.
“Well, go do it then, and don’t stop to talk,” said Sybil, shortly.
Rachel went out, and in due time returned with a waiter containing Sybil’s breakfast.
“Why, there an’t half—no, not a quarter of the things I told you to fetch me,” said Sybil, turning up her nose at the waiter that Rachel placed upon the table.
“I have brought you some of everything that we have cooked. I should be glad if I could bring you all you wish,” replied Rachel.
“Then I s’pose I must be half-starved in this poor place. And me so weakly, too! I’ll tell pappy as soon as ever he comes. I want to go home—I do. We’ve got as much as ever we can eat at home,” grumbled Sybil, doing her best to act her part, and perhaps overdoing it.
But Rachel was not suspicious. She again apologized for not being able to fill her guest’s order in its utmost extent, and she remained in the room and waited on Sybil until the breakfast was finished, and then she took away the service, wondering how little her guest had eaten, after having ordered such a vast amount of food.
Again Rachel came back to the room, and made everything tidy in each chamber, and then finally left her guest alone.
Sybil walked about and took up and put down every small object that lay about her humble apartments, and then looked out of each window upon the narrow crowded and noisy street below; and finally, she took the volume of “Celebrated Criminal Trials” that had a terrible attraction for her, in her present circumstances, and she sat down and read until her husband’s return.
Lyon Berners drove his empty wagon into the stable yard, at noon. He had sold out all his produce, and pretended to be in great glee at his success. The landlord congratulated him, and some chance loungers in the bar-room suggested that, under such circumstances, it would be the right thing for him to treat the company. Lyon thoughtso too; and in his character of farmer, he ordered pipes and glasses all around. And then he made his escape, and went up stairs to see Sybil.
“Still moping over that depressing book. Put it away, Sybil, and get on your bonnet, and throw a thick veil over it, and come out with me for a walk; we have to buy something for our voyage, you know,” said Lyon, cheerfully.
Sybil with a sigh given to her fears, did as he requested her to do; and the two went down stairs together.
“Going out for a walk, I reckon, farmer?” inquired the landlord, who stood at the bar-room door with a pipe in his mouth.
“Aye, aye. You know these girls—when they find out that their pappies have made a little bit of money, there is no peace till it’s spent. My girl is taking me out shopping, to buy gimcracks and things! I’ll be glad when I get her home again,” grumbled Lyon.
“Well, well, she’s your onliest one, and you mustn’t be hard on her. My Rachel gets all she wants, and deserves it too. Dinner at two o’clock, sharp, farmer.”
“Aye, aye! I know. Men o’ my age never forget their dinners,” said Lyon, as he drew Sybil’s arm within his own and led her out into the streets.
They went only into the back streets, and the poor shops, and they bought only what was strictly necessary for their voyage; and having concluded their purchases, they returned to the inn in time for dinner.
Sybil was very much depressed. She could not rally from the effect the reading of that book had had upon her mind. She frequently repeated her fervent aspiration:
“Oh! that the ship would sail to-day!”
Lyon encouraged her as much as he possibly could, but he had his own private subject of anxiety. He had not of course told any one of his intention to go abroad. Every one believed that, having sold out his load, he would returnhome; but he was obliged to stay in the city until the sailing of the ship, and he wanted a fair excuse to do so.
That evening the weather changed, and the sky clouded over, and the next morning it rained, and it continued to rain for three days.
“This here will make them there roads so bad that we shan’t be able to travel for a week, even if it does clear up soon,” grumbled and growled the self-styled farmer, feeling glad all the while of an excuse to stay until the ship should sail.
“No, that you won’t,” echoed his friend the landlord, glad to retain a guest with whom he was pleased.
On the third day of the rain, the sky showing signs of clearing, Lyon Berners went over to Portsmouth to hear at what precise time the Enterprise would sail for Liverpool. When he returned he had good news for Sybil.
“The Ship will sail on Saturday! That is the day after to-morrow, dear Sybil. And we may go on board to-morrow night.”
“Oh! I am so glad!” exclaimed Sybil, clapping her hands for joy. And she began to pack up immediately.
“Moreover, I have sold my wagon and horses to a party at Portsmouth. And so we can put our luggage into it and drive off as if we were going home; but we can go down to the river instead, and take it across in the ferry-boat. Then I can have our effects put upon shipboard, and then deliver the team to its purchaser and receive the price,” added Lyon.
“Oh, but I am so delighted with the bare fact of our getting away so soon, that all things else seem of no account to me!” joyously exclaimed Sybil, going on with her packing.
The next morning Lyon went out alone to make a few more purchases for their voyage. While he was going around, he also bought all the daily papers that he couldget hold of. He returned to Sybil at an early hour of the forenoon. He found her sitting down in idleness.
“Got entirely through packing, my darling?” he inquired cheerfully.
“Oh, yes, and I have nothing on earth to do now. How long this last day will seem! At what hour may we go on board, this evening?”
“At sundown.”
“Oh, that it were now sundown! How shall we contrive to pass the time until then?”
“This will help us to pass the day, dear wife,” he answered, laying the pile of newspapers on the table between them.
Each took up a paper and began to look over it.
Lyon was deep in a political article, when a cry from Sybil startled him.
“What is the matter?” he inquired, in alarm.
She did not answer. Her face was pale as ashes, and her eyes were strained upon the paper.
“What do you see there?” again inquired her husband.
“Oh, Lyon! Lyon! we are lost! we are lost!” she cried in a voice of agony.
In great anxiety he took the paper from her hand, and read the paragraph to which she pointed. It ran thus:
“It is now certain that Sybil Berners, accused of the murder of Rosa Blondelle, is not in Annapolis, as was falsely reported; but that she has escaped in disguise, accompanied by her husband, who is also in disguise; and that both are in the city of Norfolk.”
Now it was Lyon’s turn to grow pallid with fear, not for himself, but for one dearer to him than his own life. Still he tried to control his emotions, or at least to conceal them from her. He compelled himself to answer calmly:
“Take courage, my darling! We are before them. In a few more hours we shall be on board the ship.”
Her hands were clasped tightly together; her eyes were fixed steadily upon his face; her own face was white as marble.
“Oh, Lyon! save me! Oh, my husband, save me! Youknowthat I am guiltless!” she prayed.
“Dearest wife, I will lay down my life for you, if necessary! Be comforted! See! it is now two o’clock! In two more hours we may be on shipboard!” he said.
“Let us go now! Let us go now!” she prayed, clasping her hands closely, gazing in his eyes beseechingly.
“Very well, we will go at once,” he answered; and he took up his hat and hurried down stairs.
He told the landlord that, as the weather was now good, he thought he would risk the roads, and try to make a half-day’s journey that afternoon, at least. And then, without waiting to hear the host’s expostulations, he just told him to make out the bill, and then he went to the stables to put the horses to the wagon.
In half an hour all was ready for their departure—the bill paid, the wagon at the door, and the luggage piled into it. And Sybil and Lyon took leave of their temporary acquaintances; and Lyon handed Sybil up into her seat, climbed up after her, and started the horses at a brisk trot for the ferry-boat.
They reached Portsmouth in safety. Lyon drove down at once to the wharf, engaged a rowboat, put Sybil and all their effects into it, and rowed her across the water to where the Enterprise lay at anchor.
“Now I’m safe!” exclaimed Sybil, with a sigh of infinite relief, as she stepped upon the deck.
The captain did not expect his passengers so soon, and he was busy; but he came forward and welcomed them, and showed them into the cabin, apologizing for its unready condition, consequent upon the bustle of their preparations for sailing.
Lyon left his wife in the Captain’s care, and went back to the shore to complete the sale of his wagon and horses.
He was gone for nearly two hours, and when he returned he explained his long absence by saying that, after all, the hoped-for purchaser had refused to purchase, and that he had to leave his wagon and horses at a stable in Portsmouth, and to retire to a restaurant and write a letter to Captain Pendleton, and enclose an order for him to receive the property on paying the livery.
Sybil was satisfied—nay, she was delighted. In company with Lyon she walked up and down the deck, looking so joyous that the men about the place could but remark upon it as they gossipped with each other.
The new voyagers took supper in the Captain’s cabin, and afterwards returned to the deck and remained on it until the sun set and the stars came out.
“Oh, this sense of release from danger! Oh, this delightful sense of freedom! And the heavenly starlit sky, and the beautiful water, and the delicious breeze. Oh, the world is so lovely! Oh, life and liberty is so sweet, so sweet! Oh, dear Lyon, I am so happy! And I love you so much!” she exclaimed, almost delirious with joy at her great deliverance.
It was very late before Lyon could persuade her to leave the deck.
“I am too happy to sleep,” she continually answered.
At length, however, he coaxed her to let him lead her to their state-room.