A beam of comfort, like the moon through clouds,Gilds the black horror and directs their way.—Dryden.
It was yet early morning, and Lyon Berners still lay on his comfortable bed in the spacious front chamber, at Pendleton Hall. The window shutters were open, admitting a fine view of the wooded mountains, not yet wholly divested of their gay autumn hues. A fine wood fire blazed in the broad fireplace. A nice breakfast stood on a little stand by the bed-side. A good-humored, motherly looking negro woman presided over the little meal, while Captain Pendleton stood by the invalid, trying to persuade him to take nourishment.
"But I have no inclination, dear friend," pleaded Mr. Berners, as he reached out his pale hand, took a morsel of bread from the plate, and put it to his lips.
"You must eat without inclination, then, Berners. It is your duty to live," remarked Captain Pendleton.
"But, in the name of Heaven, what have I left to live for?" groaned the bereaved husband.
"For a future of usefulness, if not of happiness; for afuture of duty, if not of domestic joys," replied the captain, earnestly.
Footsteps were heard upon the stairs without, but no one heeded them.
"'Duty,' 'usefulness!'" bitterly echoed Lyon Berners. "I might indeed have lived and labored for them, and for my country and my kind, if—if—Oh, Sybil! Sybil! Oh, Sybil! Sybil! My young, sweet wife!" He broke off, and groaned with the insufferable, tearless agony of a strong man's grief.
"Here she is, marster!Bress de Lord, here she is, and Nelly too! Nelly found her!" frantically exclaimed Joe, bursting open the chamber door, while Sybil flew past him and threw herself with a sob of delight into the arms of her husband. His brain reeled with the sudden, overwhelming joy, as he clasped his wife to his heart.
"Good Heaven, man! why did you not prepare your master for this?" was the first question Captain Pendleton thought of asking the negro.
Joe stared, and found nothing to answer. He did not understand preparation.
Nelly jumped upon the bed, and insisted upon being recognized; but nobody noticed her. Noble humanity is singularly ungrateful to their four-footed friends.
Lyon Berners, forgetful of everybody and everything else in the world, was gazing fondly, wonderingly into his wife's beautiful pale face.Hisface was like marble.
"My own, my own," he murmured. "By what miracle have you been preserved?"
Sybil could not answer; she could only sob for joy at this reunion, forgetful, poor child, of the awful danger in which she still stood.
Captain Pendleton remembered it. He first looked around to take note of who was in the room. There were Mr. and Mrs. Berners, himself, Joe, and the colored womanMargy—onlyonenew witness, if there were no others outside who might have seen the entrance of Sybil.
He went and locked the door, that no one else should enter the chamber. And then he called Joe apart to the distant window.
"You very reckless fellow! tell me who besides ourselves have seen Mrs. Berners enter this house."
"Not a singly soul, marster, outen dis room. We walk all de way from de Haunted Chapel, and didn't meet nobody we knowed. Miss Sybil she keep de shawl over her head. Dem as did meet us couldn't a told who she was or even if she was white or brack. When we got home here, I jes opens de door like I always do, and Miss Sybil she follow me in, likewise Nelly. Nobody seed us, likewise we seed nobody, 'cept it was Jerome, as was jest a passin' outen de back door wid a breakfast tray in his hands; but he didn't see us, acause his back was to us, which that fellow is always too lazy to look over his own shoulder, no matter what may be behind him," said Joe, contemptuously.
"That is true; but lucky on this occasion. Then you are certain that no one out of this room knows of Mrs. Berner's presence in the house?"
"Sartain sure, marster!" answered Joe, in the most emphatic manner.
"Then I must warn you not to hint—mind, Joe—not so much as tohintthe fact to any living soul," said the captain, solemnly.
"Hi, Marse Capping! who you think is a 'fernal fool? Not dis Joe," answered the negro, indignantly.
"Mind, then, that's all," repeated the captain, who then dismissed Joe, and beckoned the motherly looking colored woman to come to him.
"Margy," he whispered, "do you understand the horrible danger in which Mrs. Berners stands?"
"Oh, my good Lord, Marse Clement, don't I understand it? My blood runs cold and hot by turns every time I look at her and think of it," muttered the woman, with a dismayed look.
"I am glad you feel and appreciate this peril. It is said that no secret is safe that is known to three persons. This secret is known to five: Mr. and Mrs. Berners, Joe, you, and myself! I think I can rely on the secresy of all," said Captain Pendleton, with a meaning look.
"You can rely onmine, Marse Clement! I'd suffer my tongue to be tored out by the roots afore ever I'd breathe a word about her being here," said the woman.
"Quite right! Now we must see about concealing her for a few days, until we can ship her off to some foreign country."
"To be sure, marster; but are you certain that no one down stairs saw her when she came in?"
"Quite certain," answered the captain.
Meanwhile Sybil sat down on the chair at the side of Lyon's bed, and with her hand clasped in his, began to tell the story of her abduction and captivity among the robbers.
Lyon Berners, seeing his host now at leisure, beckoned him to approach and hear the strange story.
Sybil told it briefly to her wondering audience.
"And if they had not carried me off, I should not now be at liberty," she concluded.
That this was true, they all agreed.
Now Sybil had to hear the particulars of the explosion, and the names of its victims. She shuddered as Captain Pendleton went over the list.
"One feels the less compassion, however, when one considers that this was a case of the 'engineer hoist with his own petard.'"
"Don't you think, Marse Clement, as Mrs. Bernerswould be the better for a bit of breakfast?" inquired Aunt Margy.
"Certainly. And here is Berners, touched nothing yet. And everything allowed to grow cold in our excitement and forgetfulness," said Captain Pendleton, anxiously examining into the condition of the tray.
"Oh, never you mind, Marse Clem, I can go down and fetch up some hot breakfast, and another cup and sasser, and then may be the master and missis will take a bit of breakfast here together," put in Margy, as she lifted the tray to take it from the room.
"Be careful to let no word drop concerning our new visitor," said Captain Pendleton, as he cautiously locked the door after the woman.
While she was gone on this errand, Sybil told her friends further details of her life among the mountain robbers; among other matters, she related the story of Gentiliska Dubarry, at which her hearers were much surprised.
"I think it is easy to see through this matter," said Lyon Berners, after a pause; "this robber chief—this Captain Inconnu—this Satan of the band must be, or rather must have been the husband of Rosa Blondelle, and most probably her assassin. The motive for all his crimes seems clear enough. He could never have been a gentleman. He must always have been an adventurer—a criminal adventurer. He married the beautiful young Scotch widow for her money, and having spent it all, and discovered another heiress in this poor vagrant girl, he put Rosa out of the way, that he might be free to marry another fortune.
"No devil is so bad, however, but that there is a speck of good about him somewhere; and this adventurer, gambler, smuggler, robber, murderer was unwilling that an innocent woman should suffer for his crime; therefore he had you abducted to prevent you from falling into the hands of the law."
"I do not know," said Sybil; "but I think that in having me carried off, he yielded to the threats or persuasions of Gentiliska, who certainly seemed to know enough of the matter to give her great power over him. Indeed she hinted as much to me. And she certainly knew of his presence at my mask ball."
"The daring impudence, the reckless effrontery of that man!" exclaimed Captain Pendleton, in astonishment and disgust.
"You said, dear Sybil, that he came in the character of Death?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"Yes," replied his wife, with a shudder.
"Ah, then I do not wonder at that poor woman's great—instinctive horror—of that mask! I remember now that, every time he approached her, she shivered as with an ague fit. And yet she could not have suspected his identity," said Mr. Berners.
Next Sybil spoke of the discovery of the Pendleton plate and jewels in the possession of the robbers.
"I am glad of that, at all events, Clement, since it gives you a sure clue to the recovery of your stolen goods," suggested Mr. Berners.
"A clue that I shall not now follow, as to do so might seriously compromise the safety of Mrs. Berners. Our first care must be for her," answered Captain Pendleton.
"Always thoughtful, always magnanimous, dear friend," warmly exclaimed Lyon Berners, while Sybil eloquently looked her gratitude.
At that moment there was heard a low tap at the door, and a low voice saying:
"It's only me, Marse Clem, with the breakfast things."
The captain stepped to the door, unlocked it, and admitted Margy with the breakfast tray, and then carefully locked it again.
As the woman drew nearer to Sybil, she began to starein astonishment at the India shawl that lady wore around her shoulders.
"You know it, do you, Margy? Well, yes, you are right. It is the celebrated Pendleton shawl that the captain's great-grandfather brought away from the palace of the Rajah, at the siege of some unpronounceable place in Hindostan," smiled Sybil.
"That's it," laughed her host. "My great-grandfather, a captain in the British army,stoleit from the Rajah, and Mr. Inconnu, a captain of banditti, took it from us!"
But Margy was much too dignified to relish such jokes at the expense of her master's family, even from her master's lips. She put the tray upon the stand and arranged the breakfast, all in stately silence.
Captain Pendleton, with old-fashioned hospitality, pressed his guests to their repast; and so Lyon Berners being propped up with pillows, and Sybil sitting in the easy-chair, with the stand placed between them, ate their breakfast together; not forgetting to feed little Nelly, who was certainly the most famished of the party.
When the breakfast was over, Margy went out with the tray, followed by Joe.
Mr. and Mrs. Berners being left alone with their host, the captain began to devise means first for her temporary concealment in the house, and afterwards for her successful removal to a seaport.
"I confess, Mrs. Berners," began the captain, "that when I saw you enter this room I was as much alarmed for your safety as astonished at your appearance. But since your servant has told me, and you have confirmed his story, that no one recognized you, either on the road or in the house, until you reached this room, my anxieties are allayed. The prevalent belief that you perished in the explosion at the Haunted Chapel has caused all pursuit of you to be abandoned for the present. And so long as we cankeep you out of the sight of others than the few who have already seen you, you will be perfectly secure."
"Yes; but we must not trust to this security," interrupted Mr. Berners; "we must rather avail ourselves of this lull in the excitement, this cessation of all pursuit, to get as fast and far away from this place as possible.
"Oh, yes! yes! dear Lyon!" eagerly exclaimed Sybil, "let us get as fast and as far away from this place as we can. Let us get to Europe, or anywhere where we can have rest and peace. Oh! Heaven only knows how I long for rest and peace!"
"You are both right. I shall not oppose your going; but shall rather speed your departure, just as soon as Berners shall be able to travel. But in the meantime we must contrive some place of safe concealment for you in the house," said the captain, as he arose and opened an inner door leading to a small adjoining chamber. "Could you live in there for a few days, Mrs. Berners?" he inquired, in some uneasiness.
"Live in there! Why, that is a palace chamber compared to what I have been lately accustomed to!" exclaimed Sybil, gratefully.
"Well, then it is all right. That room is unoccupied and has no outlet except through this. That shall be your private withdrawing room when the doctor, or any one else who is not in our secret, happens to come into this room. At all other times you may safely take the freedom of both chambers," said the captain cheerfully.
"A thousand thanks inwords; for, ah! in allelseI am bankrupt, and can never repay your goodness, unless Heaven should show me some singular favor to enable me to do it," said Sybil, fervently.
And Lyon Berners joined warmly in her expressions of gratitude.
"If you, either of you, knew how much gratification itgives me to serve you, you would not think it necessary to say a single word more on the subject!" exclaimed Clement Pendleton, flushing.
"And now tell me about my dear, bonny Beatrix. Surelyshemay see me! I hope she is quite well," said Sybil.
"Trix is always well. She is now at Staunton. She is one of your most devoted friends, Mrs. Berners, and she will regret not to have been home to receive you. But as for myself, great as my faith is in my sister, I hardly know whether I am glad or sorry for her absence on this occasion. Certainly the fewer witnesses there are to your presence here, the better. Beatrix would die before she would knowingly betray you; but she might do it unconsciously, in which case she would never forgive herself," gravely replied Captain Pendleton.
"Well, I am sorry not to see her. But at any rate, after I have gone I wish you to send her this shawl, with my love, by some safe messenger," Sybil requested, smiling sadly.
"I will be sure to do so. She will be glad to get the old heirloom, which she has been bewailing ever since it was lost; and she will also be well pleased to owe its restitution to you," replied the Captain; and then, surmising that his guests might like to be left alone for an hour or two, he arose and retired from the room, cautioning Sybil to turn the key to prevent the intrusion of any one who was not to be let into the dangerous secret of her presence in the house.
Three precious hours of each other's exclusive company the young people enjoyed, and then Captain Pendleton tapped at the door to announce the approach of the village doctor. Sybil unlocked the door, and hastily retreated into her withdrawing room, where she remained during the doctor's visit.
As soon as the physician departed, Aunt Margy came in with fresh water, clean towels, and everything else that was necessary to make the inner chamber comfortable and pleasant for the occupation of Mrs. Berners.
When the early dinner was ready, Sybil took hers with her husband at his bed-side.
And from that time, as long as they remained at Captain Pendleton's house, they ate their meals together.
Twelve tranquil days they passed at Pendleton Park. Their secret was well kept, at least during their stay at the house.
On the thirteenth day, Mr. Berners being sufficiently recovered to bear the journey, the fugitive pair prepared for their new flight.
Upon this occasion their disguise was admirably well arranged. They were got up as mulattoes. Their faces, necks, and hands were carefully colored with fine brown umber; Sybil's black tresses were cut short and crimped; Lyon's auburn hair and beard were also crimped, and dyed black; Sybil was dressed in a suit of Margy's Sunday clothes, and Lyon in a holiday suit of Joe's.
Serious as the circumstances were, the lady and gentleman could not forbear laughing as they looked into each other's faces.
"When we introduced mask balls into this quiet country place, we had no idea how long the masquerading would last, so far as we were concerned, had we, dear?" inquired Lyon Berners.
Sybil smiled and shook her head.
They were armed with a pass such as colored people were required to have from their masters to show to the authorities before they could be permitted to travel.
Our fugitives were not now going to Norfolk, where their story and their persons were too well known; but to Baltimore, where they were perfect strangers. So their pass was to this effect:
Pendleton Park, }Near Blackville, Dec. 15th, 18—.}
"To all whom it may concern: This is to certify that my man Cæsar, with his wife Dinah, are permitted to go from this place to Baltimore to return between this date and the first of next March.
"Clement Pendleton."
This was designed to protect the supposed darkies until they should reach the Monumental City, where they were to take the first opportunity of throwing off their disguises and embarking under another name in the first outward bound ship for a foreign port.
Provided with this protection, and with a well-filled old knapsack that "Cæsar" slung over his shoulders, and with a well-stuffed old carpet bag that "Dinah" carried in her hand, the fugitive couple took a long last leave of their friend, and entered the farm wagon, by which Joe was to drive them to the hamlet of Upton, to meet the night coach for Baltimore.
The night was very dark; they could scarcely see each other's faces, much less the road before them.
"Marster," said Joe, in his extreme anxiety, "I hopes you'll pardon the liberty, sir; but has you thought to take money enough for you and the missis?"
"Plenty, Joe! Pendleton, Heaven bless him, has seen to all that," smiled Mr. Berners.
"And, Marster, sir, I hopes as you've made some 'rangements as how we may hear from you when you gets over yonder."
"Certainly, Joe. A correspondence that will be both sure and secret has been contrived between the captain and myself."
"And, Missis," said Joe, turning weepingly towards his lady, "when you're over yonder, don't forget poor Joe; but send for him as soon as ever you can."
"Indeed I will, Joe," promised Sybil.
"And, missis! please don't let little Nelly forget me, neither. I love that little thing like a child!"
"Nelly will not forget you, Joe."
And the little dog, that Sybil had insisted on taking with her, even at the risk of its being recognized as hers, now jumped up from her place at her mistress' feet, and ran and licked Joe's face, as if to assure him of her continued love.
At which, for the first time, Joe burst out crying, and sobbed hard.
"Come, my man, prove your devotion to your mistress by deeds, not tears! Drive fast, or we will miss the coach," Lyon Berners advised.
Joe wiped his eyes with the cuff of his coat, and whipped up his horses, and they rattled over the rocky road for an hour or more before they reached the little hamlet, where they were to wait for the coach. It was very late, and all Upton was asleep, with the exception of the hostlers at the stable, where the coach stopped to change horses. Here Joe drew up his wagon, but his passengers retained their seats while waiting for the coming of the stage-coach. They had not waited more than five minutes, when they heard the guard's warning horn blow, and the huge vehicle rumble down the street, and pull up before the stable door.
Very quickly the tired horses, were taken out and led away to rest, and the fresh ones brought forth.
Meanwhile Lyon Berners alighted, and spoke to the agent, to take places for himself and his wife.
"Show your pass, my man! show your pass! We can't take you without a pass. How do we know but you are running away?" objected the agent.
Lyon Berners smiled bitterly to think how near the man had inadvertently approached the truth. He handed up the pass, which the agent carefully examinedbeforehe returned it, saying:
"Yes, that's all right; but you and the girl will have to get up on top, there. We can't have any darkies inside, you know. And in fact, if we could, there's no room, you see; the inside is full."
"Cæsar" helped "Dinah" up on the top of the coach, and then climbed after her. Joe handed up the little dog; and was about to take a dangerously affecting leave of his beloved master and mistress, when luckily the coachman cracked his whip and the horses started.
Joe watched it out of sight, and then got into his seat on the wagon, and drove back to Pendleton Park, the most disconsolate darkey under the sun.
Meanwhile the flying pair pursued their journey, almost happy, because at length they were together.
Soon after sunrise the next morning the stage reached the station at which it was to breakfast. Not wishing to subject their disguise to the too prying eyes of strangers in broad daylight, they took the provisions that they had brought along, and went apart in the woods to eat them, after which they resumed their places on the top of the coach, in time for its starting.
At noon, when the coach stopped to dine, they went apart again to satisfy their hunger.
It was not until night, when they reached an obscure road-side inn, that they dared to enter a house or ask for a cup of tea. Being "darkies," they were sent to the kitchen, where they were regaled with a very hot pot of the beverage that "cheers but not inebriates."
Here also, as they had to change coaches, they were required to show their pass before they could be permitted to take their uncomfortable seats on the top of the vehicle to continue their journey.
They travelled both by day and night, never giving themselves any rest. The policy of the first day was continued to the end of their journey. They always took theirmeals apart from other people during the broad daylight, denying themselves the comfort of a cup of tea or coffee until night, when, in some dimly lighted country kitchen, they could safely indulge in that refreshment.
At the end of the third day they arrived at Baltimore.
It was just nightfall when they reached the inn where the stage stopped. They alighted, with knapsack, carpet bag, and dog, and found themselves on the sidewalk of a crowded street.
"This way," whispered Lyon Berners to his wife, as he turned into a by-street. "Sybil," he continued, when they felt themselves comparatively alone in the less thronged thoroughfare—"Sybil, if we are to drop our disguises here, we must do so before we enter any inn, because we should have no opportunity afterwards, without detection."
And relieving her of the carpet bag and carrying that as well as the knapsack, he led her by a long walk to the woods on the outskirts of the city, where, by the side of a clear stream, they washed the dye from their faces and hands, and then changed their upper garments. Their knapsack contained every requisite for a decent toilet; and so, in something less than half an hour, they had transformed themselves back again from plain, respectable darkies, to plain, respectable whites; and "Cæsar" and "Dinah" became in their next phase, the Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Martin. The only thing that could not be changed was the color of Lyon's hair, which, having been dyed black, must remain black until time and growth should restore its natural color.
As the Reverend Mr. and Mrs. Martin, they walked back to the city. At the first hack stand "Mr. Martin" called a carriage, placed "Mrs. Martin," with her pet dog, knapsack, and carpet bag in it, entered and took a seat by her side, and told the hackman to drive to the best hotel.
"For it is our policy now to go boldly to the best," he said, as he took Sybil's hands, cold from her outdoor toilet, into his and tried to warm them.
They were driven to the "Calvert House," where Mr. Berners registered their names as the Reverend Isaiah Martin and wife; and where they were received with the respect due to the cloth, and shown to a handsome room on the first floor, which was cheerfully lighted by a chandelier, and warmed by a bright coal fire in the grate.
Here poor Sybil enjoyed the first real repose she had seen since the commencement of her flight. Here Lyon ordered a comfortable and even luxurious supper; and the fugitive pair supped together in peace and safety.
Although it was late when the table was cleared, Lyon felt that no time was to be lost before he should make inquiries about the outward bound ships. So having ordered the morning and evening papers to be brought to their room, he first examined the shipping advertisements, and finding that the "Energy," Captain Strong, was to sail for Havre on the next day but one, taking passengers as well as freight, he put on his hat, and leaving Sybil to amuse herself with the newspapers during his absence, he left the hotel to see the shipping agent.
A strange sense of peace and safety had fallen upon Sybil, and she sat there before her cheerful fire reading the news of the day, and occasionally contrasting her situation now, in the finest room of a large and crowded hotel, with her position but a few days before in the Robbers' Cave. The time passed pleasantly enough until the return of Mr. Berners.
He entered very cheerfully, telling her that he had engaged a cabin passage in the "Energy," which would sail on the day after to-morrow, and that they must be on board the next afternoon.
Sybil was delighted to hear this. Visions of perfect freedom, and of foreign travel with her beloved Lyon, flitted before her imagination.
They talked over their plans for the next day, and then retired to bed, and slept well until the next morning.
They arose and breakfasted early. The morning was fine and clear, and they wrapped themselves in their outer garments, and started with the intention of going out to purchase a couple of trunks and other necessaries for their long voyage.
Lyon was cheerful; Sybil was even gay; both were full of bright anticipations for the future. For were they not flying toward freedom?
They had reached the great lower halls of the hotel, when they were stopped by a sound of altercation in the office, which was on their right hand as they went out.
"I tell you," said the clerk of the house, in an angry voice, "that there is no one of that name here!"
"And I tell you thereis! And there she is now! I'd know her among ten thousand!" exclaimed a harsh, rude-looking man, who the next instant came out of the office and confronted Sybil, saying roughly:
"I know you, madam! You're my prisoner, Madam Berners! And you'll not dome, I reckon, as you did Purley! I'm Jones! And 'tan't one murder you've got to answer for now, but half a dozen!"
And without a word of warning, he snapped a pair of handcuffs upon the lady's delicate wrists.
"Villain!" thundered Sybil's husband, as with a sweep of his strong arm he felled the ruffian to the floor.
It was but a word and a blow, "and the blow came first."
He caught his half-fainting wife to his bosom, and strove to free her from those insulting bracelets; but he could not wrench them off without wounding and bruising her tender flesh.
Meanwhile the fallen officer sprung to his feet, and called upon all good citizens to help him execute his warrant.
A crowd collected then. A riot ensued. Lyon Berners, holding his poor young wife to his bosom, vainly, madly, desperately defended her against all comers, dealing franticblows with his single right arm on all sides. Of course, for the time being, he was insane.
"Knock him down! Brain him! but don't hurt the woman," shouted some one in the crowd. And some other one, armed with a heavy iron poker, dealt him a crashing blow upon the bare head. And Sybil's brave defender relaxed his protecting hold upon her form, fell broken, bleeding, perhaps dying at her feet.
A piercing scream broke from her lips. She stooped to raise her husband, but was at that instant seized by the officer, and forced from the spot.
"Shame! shame!" cried a bystander. "Take the handcuffs off the poor woman, and let her look at her husband."
"Poor woman indeed!" exclaimed Jones, the officer, "she's the biggest devil alive! Do you know what she's done? Not only murdered a beautiful lady; but blown up a church and killed half a dozen men!"
A shudder shook the crowd. Could this be true? A score of questions was put to Bailiff Jones. But he would not stop to answer any one of them. Calling his coadjutor Smith to help him, they each took an arm of Sybil and forced her from the scene.
Faint, speechless, powerless under this sudden and awful accumulation of misery, the wretched young wife was torn from her dying husband and thrust into a stage-coach, guarded by three other bailiffs, and immediately started on her return journey.
Resistance was useless, lamentations were in vain. She sat dumb with a despair never before exceeded, scarcely ever before equalled in the case of any sufferer under the sun.
There were no other passengers but the sheriff's officers and their one prisoner.
Of the first part of this terrible homeward journey there is but little to tell. They stopped at the appointed hours and stations to breakfast, dine, and sup, and to water andchange the horses, but never to sleep. They travelled day and night; and as no other passenger joined them, it was probable that the sheriff's officers had engaged all the seats for themselves and their important charge.
During that whole horrible journey the hapless young wife neither ate, drank, slumbered, nor spoke; all the faculties of mind and body, all the functions of nature, seemed to be suspended.
It was on the night of the third day, and they were in the last stage of the journey.
They were going slowly down that terrible mountain pass, leading to the village of Blackville. The road was even unusually difficult and dangerous, and the night was very dark, so that the coachman was driving slowly and carefully, when suddenly the bits of the leaders were seized and the coach stopped.
In some alarm the bailiffs thrust their heads out of the side windows to the right and left, to see what the obstacle might be.
To their horror and amazement they found it surrounded by half a score of highwaymen, armed to the teeth.
"The sound of hoof, the flash of steel,The robbers round her coming."
"The road robbers, by all that's devilish!" gasped Jones, falling back in his seat.
"Good gracious!" cried Smith.
And all the brave "bum-baillies" who had so gallantly bullied and brow-beaten Sybil and her sole defender, dropped panic-stricken, paralyzed by terror.
"Get out of this, you vermin!" ordered a stern voice at one of the windows.
"Ye—ye—yes, gentlemen," faltered Jones.
"Ta—take, all we have, but spa—spa—spare our lives!" pleaded Smith.
"Well, well, get out of this, you miserable cowards! Empty your pockets, and you shall be safe! It would be crueler than infanticide to slay such miserably helpless wretches!" laughed the same voice, which poor Sybil, as in a dream, recognized as belonging to Captain "Inconnu."
The trembling bailiffs descended from the coach and gave up their pocket-books and watches, and then submitted to be tied to trees.
The coachman and the guard yielded to the same necessity.
The horses were taken from the coach and appropriated to the use of the victors.
And lastly, Sybil, who was rendered by despair indifferent to her fate, was lifted from her seat by the strong arms of Moloch, who held her a moment in suspense, while he turned to his chief and inquired:
"Where now, Captain?"
"To the rendezvous! And look that you treat the lady with due deference!"
"Never you fear, Captain! I'm sober to-night!" answered the giant, as he threw the half-fainting form of the lady across his shoulders and strode up a narrowfoot-pathleading through the mountain pass.
Indifferent to fate, to life, to all things, Sybil felt herself borne along in the firm embrace of her rude abductor. As in a dream she heard his voice speaking to her:
"Now don't you be afeard, darlint! We an't none on us agwine to hurt a hair o' your head, or to let anybody else do it! Bless your purty face, if we didn't carry you off you'd spend this night and many more on 'em in the county jail!and end by losing your liberty and your life for that which you never did! But you's safe now! And don't you go to mistrusting on us 'pon account o' that night! Why, Lord love ye! we was all drunk as dukes that night, else we never would a mislested you! Lord! if you'd seen the lots of liquor we'd took aboard, you wouldn't wonder at nothing! But we's sober now! And so you's safe! Where's your little dog? Lord bless my life and soul how that little creetur did take hold o' my throat, to be sure! Where is she?"
Sybil could not answer. Indeed, though she heard the voice, she scarcely comprehended the question.
"What! you won't speak to me, eh? Well, that's natural too, but precious hard, seeing as I risked my life to save your'n; and mean you so well into the bargain," continued the ruffian, as he strode onward to a place where several horses were tied.
He selected the strongest of the group, mounted and lifted the helpless form of the lady into a seat before him, and set off at full speed, clattering through the rugged mountain pass with a recklessness of life and limb, that at another time would have frightened his companion half out of her senses.
But now, in her despair of life, there was even a hope in this mad career—the hope of a sudden death.
But the gigantic ruffian knew himself, his horse, and his road, and so he carried his victim through that fearful pass in perfect safety.
They reached a deep, narrow, secluded valley, in the midst of which stood an old red sandstone house, closely surrounded by trees, and only dimly to be seen in the clouded night sky.
Here the robber rider slackened his pace.
The deep silence that prevailed, the thick growth of leafless weeds and briars through which their horse had towade, all showed that this house had been long uninhabited and the grounds long uncultivated.
Yet there was some one on guard; for when Moloch rode up to the door and dismounted, and holding Sybil tightly clasped in his left arm, rapped three times three, with his right hand, the door was cautiously opened by a decrepit old man, who held a lighted taper in his withered fingers.
"Ho, Pluto! who is here?" inquired Moloch, striding into the hall, and bearing Sybil in his arms.
"No one, sir, but the girls and the woman; and they have just come," answered the old man.
"No one but the girls and the woman! and they have just come! And no fire made, and no supper ready? And this h—ll of an old house colder and damper than the cavern! Won't the captain be leaping mad, that's all! Come, bestir yourself, bestir yourself, and make a fire first of all. This lady is as cold as death! Where is Iska?"
"In this room, sir," answered the old man, pushing open an old worm-eaten door that admitted them into a large old-fashioned oak-pannelled parlor, with a wide fireplace and a high corner cupboard, but without other furniture.
On the hearth knelt Gentiliska, trying to coax a little smouldering fire of green wood into a blaze.
"What the d—l is the use of puffing away at that? You'd just as well try to set fire to a wet sponge," impatiently exclaimed Moloch.
And he went to one of the windows, wrenched off a dry mouldering shutter, broke it to pieces with his bare hand, and piled it in among the green logs. Then from his pocket he took a flask of whiskey, poured a portion of it on the weak, red embers, and in an instant had the whole mass of fuel in a roaring blaze.
Meanwhile Sybil, unable to stand, had sunk down upon the floor, where she remained only until Gentiliska saw her by the blaze of the fire.
"You are as cold as ice!" said the kind-hearted girl taking Sybil's hands in her own, and trying to warm them. "Come to the fire," she continued, assisting the lady to rise, and drawing her towards the chimney. "Sit here," she added, arranging her own red cloak as a seat.
"Thanks," murmured Sybil. "Thanks—you are very good to me."
"Moloch, she is nearly dead! Have you got any wine? If you have, give it to me!" was the next request of the girl.
The giant lumbered off to a heap of miscellaneous luggage that lay in one corner, and from it he rooted out a black bottle, which he brought and put in the hands of the girl, saying:
"There! ha, ha, ha! there's some of her own old port! We made a raid upon Black Hall buttery last night, on purpose to provide for her."
"All right. Now a tin saucepan, and some sugar and spice, old Moloch! and also, if possible, a cup or tumbler," said Gentiliska.
The giant went back to the pile in the corner, and after a little search brought forth all the articles required by the girl.
"Now, good Moloch, go and do for old Hecate what you have done for me. Make her a fire, that she may have supper ready for the captain when he comes," coaxed Gentiliska.
"Just so, Princess," agreed the robber, who immediately confiscated another shutter, and carried it off into the adjoining back room to kindle the kitchen fire.
"You were wrong to leave us! You got into trouble immediately! You would have been in worse by this time, if we had not rescued you! Don't you know, when the laws are down on you, your only safety is with the outlaws?" inquired Gentiliska, as soon as she found herself alone with her guest.
"I don't know. I don't care. It is all one to me now. I only wish to die. If it were not a sin, I would die by suicide," answered Sybil with the dreary calmness of despair.
"'Die by suicide!' Die by a fiddlestick's end! You to talk so! And you not twenty years old yet! Bosh! cut the law that persecutes you and come with us merry outlaws who protect you. And whatever you do, don't run away from us again! You got us into awful trouble and danger and loss when you ran away the last time; did you know it?"
"No," sighed Sybil, wearily.
"Well, then, you did; and I'll tell you how it all happened: the secret of your abode at Pendleton Park was known to too many people. It couldn't possibly be kept forever by all. It is a wonder that it was kept so long, by any. They kept it only until they thought you were safe from pursuit and arrest. Then some of Captain Pendleton's people—it is not known whom—let it leak out until it got to the ears of the authorities, who set inquiries on foot; and then the whole thing was discovered, and as usual misinterpreted and misrepresented. You got the credit of voluntarily consorting with us, and of purposely blowing up the old Haunted Chapel. And the new warrants that were issued for your arrest charged you with that crime also."
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Sybil, forgetting all her indifference; "what will they not heap upon my head next? I will not rest under this imputation! I will not."
"Neither would I, if I were you—that is, if I could help it," said the girl, sarcastically.
But Sybil sat with her thin hands clasped tightly together, her deathly white face rigid as marble, and her large, dilated eyes staring into the fire heedless of the strange girl's irony.
"But now I must tell you how all this hurt us. In the first place, when your flight from the cavern was discovered, we felt sorry only on your account, because you ran into imminent danger of arrest. We had no idea then that your arrest would lead to the discovery of our retreat; but it did. Whenourdetectives brought in the news of the warrants that were out against you, they also warned us that the authorities had the clue to our caverns, and that there was no time to be lost in making our escape."
With her hands still closely clasped together, with her pallid features still set as in death, and with her staring eyes still fixed upon the fire, Sybil sat, heedless of all that she heard.
The girl continued her story.
"We let no time be lost. We gathered up the most valuable and portable of our effects, and that same night evacuated our cavern and dispersed our band; taking care to appoint a distant place of rendezvous. Satan watched the road, riding frequently to the way-side inns to try to discover the coach by which you would be brought back. He was at Upton this evening, when the stage stopped to change horses. He recognized you, and immediately mounted, put spurs to his fast horse and rode as for life and death to the rendezvous of his band, and got them into their saddles to intercept the stage-coach. He also gave orders that we should come on to this deserted house, which he had discovered in the course of his rides, and which he supposes will be a safe retreat for the present. That is all I have to tell you, and I reckon you know all the rest," concluded Gentiliska.
But still Sybil sat in the same attitude of deep despair, regardless of all that was said to her.
While Gentiliska's tongue was running, her hands were also busy. She had prepared a cordial of spiced and sweetened port wine, and had set it in a saucepan over the fire toheat. And now she poured it out into a silver mug and handed it to Sybil, saying:
"Come, drink: this will warm and strengthen you. You look like death, but you must not die yet. You must drink, and live."
"Yes, I must live!" said Sybil. "I must live to throw off this horrible imputation from the fame of my father's daughter."
And she took the goblet and drank the cordial.
And soon a new expression passed into her face; the fixed despair rose into a settled determination, a firm, active resolution.
"You look as if you were going to do something. What is it?" inquired Gentiliska.
"I am going to give myself up! I am guiltless, and I will not longer act the part of a guilty person!" said Sybil, firmly.
"Your misfortunes have turned your head. You are as mad as a March hare!" exclaimed Gentiliska, in consternation.
"No, I am not mad. On the contrary, it seems to me that I havebeenmad, or I never could have borne the fugitive life that I have been leading for the last two months! I will bear it no longer. I will give myself up to trial, come what will of it. I would even rather die a guiltless death than lead an outlaw's life! I will give myself up!"
"After all the pains we have taken, and risks we have run, to rescue you?" exclaimed Gentiliska, in dismay.
"Yes, after all that! And yet I thank you all the same. I thank you all, that you have set me at liberty, and by so doing have given me the opportunity of voluntarily delivering myself up."
"Just as if Captain Inconnu would let you do it. I tell you he has his own reasons for saving your life," angrily retorted the girl.
"And I have my reasons for risking my life upon the bare chance of rescuing my good name," said Sybil, firmly; "and your captain would scarcely detain me here as a captive, against my will," she added, smiling strangely.
"Well, may be he would, and may be he wouldn't! but here he comes, and you can ask him," said the girl, as the galloping of a horse's feet was heard in the front yard.
A moment passed, and then the robber chief, with three or four of his men, entered the room, bringing with them the mail bags and other booty taken from the stage-coach.
"Good-evening, Mrs. Berners! You are welcome back among your devoted slaves!" was the greeting of Captain Inconnu, as half in deference, half in mockery, he raised his cap and bowed low before the lady.
For an instant Sybil was dumb before the speaker, but she soon recovered her self-possession and said:
"I ought to thank you for your gallantry in rescuing me from the custody of those rude men; especially as the freedom you have given me affords me the opportunity of voluntarily doing that which I should not like to be forced into doing."
Captain Inconnu bowed in silence, and in some perplexity, and then he said,
"I am not sure that I understand you, madam, as to what you would do."
"I would go freely before a court of justice, instead of being forced thither," explained Sybil.
"I trust you would never commit such a suicidal act!" exclaimed the captain, in consternation.
"Yes, I would, and I will. I care nothing for my life! I have lost all that makes life worth the living! All is gone but my true honor—for its mere semblance has gone with everything else. I would preserve that true honor! I would place myself on trial, and trust in my innocence, and in the help of Providence," said Sybil, speaking with a stoical firmness wonderful to see in one so young.
Captain Inconnu, who had listened in silence, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, now lifted them to her face and replied:
"Sleep on this resolution before you act, Mrs. Berners; and to-morrow we will talk further on this subject."
"I must of necessity sleep on it before acting," said Sybil, with a dreary smile, "since nothing can be done to-night; but also I must tell you that nothing can change my resolution."
"Thus let it stand over until to-morrow," replied the captain. Then with a total change of tone and manner, he turned to Gentiliska and said:
"Now let us have supper, my little princess, and afterwards we will open the mail bags and see what they have brought us."
Gentiliska clapped her hands together, to summon the old woman of the band, who quickly made her appearance at the door.
"Supper immediately, Hecate!" said the girl.
The woman nodded and withdrew. And in a few moments she reappeared and summoned them in to the evening meal.
The supper was served in the rudest possible fashion. There was neither table nor chairs. A fine table-cloth not too clean was spread upon the floor, and on it were arranged a few plain articles of food such as could be quickly prepared.
"You will excuse our imperfect housekeeping, I hope, Mrs. Berners. The fact is we have just moved in, and have not got quite comfortably settled yet," laughed the captain as he folded his own cloak as a seat for Sybil, and led her up and placed her on it, and sat himself down by her side.
Other members of the band joined them at the meal, and Captain Inconnu and Gentiliska did the honors.
Fortunately there was nothing stronger than wine set before the men, and not much of that; and upon those who had been accustomed to strong brandy, and a great deal of it, this lighter beverage had but little effect. So, to Sybil's great relief, she perceived that they continued sober to the end of their repast.
"Come in now, and let us take a look at the contents of the mail bags! That may afford some amusement to our lady guest," said Captain Inconnu, when they all arose from the supper.
They passed into the front parlor, where the robber chief with his own hands opened the mail bags, and turning them up side down, emptied all their contents in a heap in the middle of the floor.
The robbers came and sat down around the pile, and began to seize and tear open the letters.
"Hallo, there, my men! When you open a letter with money in it, hand over the money to Gentiliska; she will gather and keep it all until we have gone entirely through this pile, and then we will divide it equitably, if not equally, among you," commanded the captain as he himself took a seat in the circle and began to assist in "distributing the mail." He also set the example of scrupulously handing over the money he found in the letters he opened, to the keeping of Gentiliska, who collected it all in a little pile on her lap.
Some of the letters he read aloud to the company for their amusement, such, for instance, as sentimental letters from city swains to their country sweethearts, begging letters from boys at college to their parents and guardians on the plantations, and dunning letters from metropolitan merchants to their provincial customers. Of these last mentioned, the captain said:
"Look sharp, boys! Here are the New Year's bills coming down! They won't be answered by return mailthis time; but they will be sent down again. After which remittances will begin to go up! We must keep a bright look-out for the up coaches about New Year's time! And we shall bag some neat thousands!"
"If we are not all bagged ourselves before that!" growled Moloch.
"Oh, raven! hush your croaking! If we should listen to it long, we would never venture upon an enterprise of spirit! Halloa, what's this? Something that concerns you, Mrs. Berners!" exclaimed the captain, breaking off his discourse with his band and turning to Sybil, who was sitting quietly apart; and he held in his hand an open letter, from which he had taken a bright ribbon.
"Something that concerns me!" echoed poor Sybil, as a wild, irrational hope that the letter might contain news of her husband flashed across the dark despair of her soul.
"Yes," answered the captain. "This letter is from Miss Beatrix Pendleton to her brother. It acknowledges the safe receipt of her valuable India shawl, and sends love and thanks toyoufor recovering it fromusand dispatching it toher. Moreover she sends kind remembrances and this gay ribbon to some old nurse of the name of Margy! Here is the letter! Would you like to read it?" he laughingly inquired, as he offered it to Sybil.
"No!" she answered, in strongly marked disapprobation; "that letter is a private one! not intended for my perusal, nor for yours!"
"No? And yet you see I read it! Here Gentilly! here is a