"'Bit of bright ribbonTo bind up your bonny black hair!'"
laughed the captain, tossing the gay remnant to the girl, who caught it up and immediately twisted it in coquettishly among her ebon locks.
It occupied the band for nearly an hour to open andexamine all the letters. When they had done so, and had taken everything that was valuable out of them, they gathered the whole refuse mass of papers together, and ruthlessly committed them to the flames.
Then they divided the money among themselves, the captain and his men having each an equal, instead of a graduated share.
"And now," said Captain Inconnu, "we will bid each other good-night, and try to get some rest. Princess, take our guest up-stairs to the large room immediately over this. She, you, and the other women will occupy that room to-night. Hecate has had my orders to that effect, and I hope you will find that she has made the place as comfortable as circumstances will permit."
And so saying, he stuck a stump of a tallow candle in a scooped-out turnip and handed it to Gentiliska, and motioned her to conduct their guest from the room.
Sybil very willingly left the company of the robbers, and followed her hostess to the chamber above.
It was a large bare room, warmed and lighted by a fine wood fire, and furnished only with a few pallets made of dried leaves, with blankets thrown over them.
The old crone called Hecate and the pale girl nicknamed Proserpine stood basking before the blaze of the fire.
Sybil felt pleased to know that she might sleep in peace that night, protected by the presence of other women.
"This is the new lady's bed, this best one in the corner here by the fire," old Hecate explained, pointing to a pallet that, in addition to its dried leaves and warm blankets, was graced with clean sheets and pillow-cases.
Sybil thanked the old woman for her favor; and being very weary, took off her upper garments and laid down to rest, committed herself to the kind care of Heaven, and soon sank into a deep sleep, that lasted until morning.
I might call himSomething divine, for nothing naturalI ever saw so noble.—Shakespeare.
When she woke up, the sun was streaming in at the unshaded windows, and by its blaze of light she saw that two of the women had left the room, and left no one with her except Gentiliska.
The girl was up, and was making what shift she could to wash her face with the aid of a tin basin, a stone ewer, and a crash towel, all of which, for want of a wash-stand, were placed upon the bare floor.
When she had finished washing, she carefully emptied the contents of the basin out of the window, and refilled it again with fresh water for Sybil. Then, happening to turn around, she discovered that her guest was awake.
"You rested well," she said, with a smile.
"Yes, for I was worn out. This is the first night in four that I have laid down, and the second night in eight," answered Sybil.
"My gracious goodness! How could you stand it? You cannot be rested yet. You had better lie a bed longer."
"No, I would rather get up," said Sybil, rising.
As on a former occasion, the girl attended the lady at her rude toilet, rendering the assistance of a dressing maid.
Just before they left the room, Gentiliska, chancing to look out of the window, uttered an exclamation of surprise and delight.
"What is it?" inquired Sybil.
"The captain's son! Oh! a beautiful boy, Mrs. Berners! An angel among devils! He has been gone so long! Andnow he has unexpectedly come back again. Look, Mrs. Berners! Oh! how I do wish somebody would deliver this boy from this band! would save this pure young soul alive!" exclaimed Gentiliska, with more feeling than Sybil had ever seen her display.
Following the glance of the girl's eye, the lady looked from the window.
Prepared as she had been by Gentiliska's praise to behold a boy of rare beauty, she was really startled by the angelic loveliness of the lad before her.
The charm was not alone in the soft bright golden hair that shone like a halo around the fair, open forehead, nor in the straight brown eye-brows, nor the clear blue eyes, nor the sweet serious mouth, nor in the delicate blooming complexion; it was also in the expression of earnest candor and trusting love that beamed from every feature of that beautiful face.
"Yes, indeed; he looks like a seraph. What is his name?" inquired Sybil, in a burst of admiration.
"It is Raphael."
"'Raphael!' an appropriate name. So might have looked the child-artist Raphael, in his brightest days on earth. So may seem the love-angel Raphael, to those who see him in their dreams," said Sybil, gazing, as if spell-bound, on the beauty of the boy.
"There, he has passed in. Now let us go down to breakfast, where we shall meet the little darling again. But look here! let me give you one warning; take no notice of that child in his father's presence. Captain Inconnu is intensely jealous of his beautiful boy, and visits that black passion upon the poor lad's head," said Gentiliska, as they went below.
"Jealous of a boy of fourteen? (and the lad cannot be more;) what a wretch!" cried Sybil, in honest indignation, as she followed her conductress down stairs.
Breakfast was served in the back parlor, in the same rude style as the supper of the night before had been.
As Sybil and Gentiliska entered the room, the captain left a group of men among whom he had been standing, came forward, bade the lady good-morning, took her hand and led her to a seat—not at the table, but at the table-cloth, which, lacking a board, was laid as on the evening previous, upon the bare floor. The captain seated himself beside his guest, and the other members of the band took their places at the meal.
Sybil noticed that young Raphael was among them. But Captain Inconnu vouchsafed neither word nor glance to his son, and no other one presumed to present him to the lady guest.
Yet at that breakfast Sybil made a most innocent conquest. The boy, who had seen very few young girls in his life, and had never seen so beautiful a woman as Sybil, at first sight fell purely in love with her, for the sake of whose sweet face he felt he could die a thousand deaths, without ever even dreaming of such a reward as to be permitted to kiss her hand!
What woman does not know at once when a life has been silently laid at her feet? Sybil surely knew and felt that this fair boy's heart and soul were hers for life or death. "He loved her with that love which was his doom."
And what beautiful woman of twenty years old, is not careless and cruel in her dealings with her boy worshipper of fourteen? She may perceive, but she never appreciates the pure devotion.
Sybil, the most magnanimous among women, was perfectly incapable of any other selfish act, under any other circumstances; but yet she coolly resolved to improve her power over this fair boy, and to use his devotion for her own purpose of escaping from the band and delivering herself up to the authorities—never once thinking of the pain and peril she would bring upon her young votary.
But she was very cautious in her conduct towards him. She kept in mind the warning that had been given her by Gentiliska, and took care to bestow neither word nor look upon the lad, while in the company of Captain Inconnu.
When breakfast was over, all the band dispersed about their various business, with the exception of Raphael, who, with pencil and portfolio, strolled about the forsaken grounds, or sat down on fragments of rock to sketch picturesque points in the scenery, and Captain Inconnu, who intercepted Sybil as she was going to her room and requested a few moments' private conversation with her.
Sybil thought it the best policy to grant the Captain's request. So she permitted him to lead her into the unfurnished front parlor, where for the want of a chair or a sofa, he put her in the low window seat.
"I had the honor of telling you yesterday, madam, that if you should be pleased to do so, we would talk further, to-day, upon the subject of your return to the world," began the rather too courteous captain.
Sybil bowed in silence.
"I am here now, at your orders, for that purpose."
Again Sybil bent her head in acknowledgment of this politeness.
"And first I would inquire," said the captain, with a singular smile, "whether, after having slept upon the question, as I advised you to do, you are still in the same mind?"
"Not exactly," replied Sybil, truthfully but evasively; for though she was still firmly resolved to give herself up to justice, she had changed her plan of proceeding.
"Ah!" commented the captain, with an expression that proved how much he had mistaken the lady's meaning—"ah! I thought a night's repose and a morning's cool reflection would bring you to a more rational consideration of the question."
Sybil answered his smile, but left him in his error, and presently said to him:
"Captain, I have a question to ask you."
"Proceed, madam! I am entirely at your commands," said the captain with a bow.
"Supposing that I had remained in the same mind that I was in yesterday, and that I still persisted in my purpose of leaving your band, and giving myself up to take my trial, would you have assisted me, or would you have hindered me?"
"Mrs. Berners, your purpose was a suicidal one! Your question means simply this: If you were bent upon self-destruction, would I help you or hinder you in your determination? Of course there can be but one answer to such a question. I should employ every power of my mind and body to prevent you from destroying yourself."
That was all Sybil wanted to know. She felt now that her only hope was in the boy.
Smilingly she arose and excused herself to the captain, who soon after left the room.
But not until she knew that he had mounted his horse and ridden away from the house, did Mrs. Berners begin to put her plan in practice.
She was playing a desperate game, and she knew it. The heaviest stake was that fair boy's fate.
She knew that the robber captain would never permit her to take what he chose to term the "suicidal" step of delivering herself up to justice. She therefore knew that she must act without his knowledge, as well as without his help.
But she did not know her present locality, or even its bearings in relation to the county seat, Blackville; and therefore, before she could set out to seek that place, she must enlist the sympathies and services of some one who would be able to guide her to that town.
There was no one to be found for such a purpose butRaphael, the captain's son, and her own adorer. Regardless of all consequences to him, since it was to save her own honor, she resolved to enlist the boy.
And to effect her purpose, she felt that she must begin at once. So she walked out upon the neglected and briar-grown grounds, and strolled around until, "accidentally on purpose," she came upon the boy as he sat sketching. He started up, confused and blushing, and stood with downcast eyes, before the goddess of his secret idolatry.
"Please take your seat again, and I will sit beside you," said Sybil, in a gentle tone.
Raphael was a very perfect little gentleman, and so he bowed and remained uncovered and standing, until Sybil took her seat. Then, with another bow, he placed himself beside her.
"You have been sketching. Will you permit me to look at your sketches?" inquired the lady.
With a deferential bend of the head, the boy placed his specimens in her hand.
They were really very fine, and Sybil could praise them with sincerity as well as with excess.
"You are an enthusiast in art," she said.
"Until to-day," replied Raphael, with a meaning glance. "Until to-day, my one sole aspiration in life was to become an artist-painter!"
"And why until to-day? How has to-day changed your purpose?" softly inquired Sybil.
The boy dropped his eyes, blushed, and shivered, and at length replied:
"Because to-day I have a loftier aspiration!"
"A loftier aspiration than for excellence in art there cannot be," said Sybil, gravely.
The lad could not and did not contradict her. But she understood as well as if he had explained, that his "loftier aspiration" was to serve and to please herself.
She carefully examined his sketches, and praised his natural genius. And he listened to her commendations in breathless delight.
At length he ventured to ask her:
"Do you, madam, who so much appreciate my poor attempts, do you also sketch from nature?"
"Ah, no," answered Sybil, with a heavy sigh; "since my captivity here, I have lost all interest in my own work! My only aspiration is for freedom!"
Raphael looked up at the lady, amazement now taking the place of the deep deference of his expression.
"You seem surprised," said Sybil, with a smile.
"I am very much astonished," replied the lad. And his eloquent and ever-changing countenance said, as plainly as if he had spoken, "I knew the captain was an evil man, but I did not know that he was a base one."
"Were you not aware that I am a captive of this band?" next inquired Sybil.
"No, madam; I thought that you had been rescued by our men from the officers of the law. I thought that you were in refuge with us, from a false and fatal charge."
"Your thoughts were partly correct. I was rescued from the bailiffs by Captain Inconnu's band. And I do suffer under a false charge. But, Raphael, what think you? Do you not think that a false charge should be bravely met, answered, and put down? Would not you, if you were falsely charged with any criminal act, bravely go forward to answer it in your innocence, rather than run away from it as if you were guilty?"
"Oh, indeed I would!" answered the youth, earnestly.
"I knew it. Your face assures me that you would neither commit a dishonorable act, nor rest one moment under a dishonoring charge."
The lad thrilled and glowed under the lovely lady's praise, and felt that he must do all he could to merit it. Hecould find no words good enough to reply to her, but he lifted his cap and bowed deeply.
"You understand me, Raphael! But I will confide still further in you. I will tell you that when that terrible tragedy was enacted at Black Hall, and I was so deeply compromised by circumstances in the crime, I wished to stay and face out the false charge; but I yielded to the persuasions of those who loved me more than life, and sometimes I think more than honor! And I fled with my husband. Since that first flight, Raphael, I have led the hiding and hunted life of an outlaw and a criminal! Raphael, my cheeks burn when I think of it! Raphael, I am a Berners! I can live this life no longer! Come what will of it, I wish to give myself up to justice! Better to die a martyr's death than live an outlaw's life!"
"Oh, madam—!"
It was all the boy could bring out in words. But he clasped his hands, and gazed on her with an infinite compassion, deference, and devotion in his clear, candid, earnest blue eyes.
Sybil felt that she had gone a step too far in talking of her "martyr's death" to this sensitive young soul. So she hastened to add:
"But I have no fear of such a fatal consummation. The charge against me is so preposterous that, on being fairly met, it must disappear. And now, my young friend, I must tell you that I do thank Captain Inconnu and his men for rescuing me from the bailiffs, since it prevented me from suffering the ignominy of being forced to go to trial, and will give me the opportunity of going by my own free will. But I donotthank them for detaining, me here to the detriment of my honor, when I wish to secure that honor by frankly giving myself up to justice. I am sure you comprehend me, Raphael?"
"I do, madam; but still I cannot conceive why the captain should oppose your wish to go to trial."
"It is enough that he does oppose it," replied Sybil, who could not tell this lad that his father, being the real criminal, was unwilling that she should suffer for his crime.
"You are certain, madam, that he would do so?" inquired the boy dubiously.
"I am quite certain; for I put the question to him this morning."
"Lady, what would you like to do first?"
"To escape from this place, go to Blackville, give myself up to the judge, and demand to be cleared from this foul charge by a public trial."
"But are you sure that such a trial would result in your complete vindication, and restoration to your home and happiness?"
"As sure as innocence can be of acquittal!"
The boy suddenly got up and knelt at her feet.
"Lady, what would you have me to do? Command me, for life or for death."
"Thanks, dear young friend, you are a true knight."
"But what would you have me to do?"
"Help me to escape from this place, escort me to Blackville, and attend me to the judge's house."
"I will do so! When shall we start?"
"Let me see—how far is Blackville from this place?"
"About five miles."
"And how is the road?"
"As bad as a road can be."
"Could we reach the village on foot?"
"Better on foot than in a carriage, or on horseback; because the foot way is shorter. By the road it is five miles; by a foot-path that I know, which is almost a bee-line, it is not more than half that distance."
"We will go on foot, then," said Sybil, rising.
"When?" inquired the lad, following her example.
"Now. We will set out at once! No one notices ourposition now. If we were to return to the house, we might be observed and watched."
"I am ready," said the boy, closing his portfolio, and hiding it under a flat piece of rock, where he thought it would be equally safe from trespassers and from the elements.
"Let us go," said Sybil.
"This way then, madam," replied the lad, leading the way to the woods.
"I have another reason for haste," Sybil explained as they went on. "I know that the court is now in session at Blackville, and that the judge has rooms at the hotel. I know also that the court takes a recess at one o'clock. It is now eleven; if we make moderate haste, we can reach the village in time to find the judge and secure an immediate interview. Do you not think so?"
"Oh yes, madam, certainly."
"Does this path become more difficult as we descend?" inquired Sybil, as they threaded their way along an obscure, disused foot-path, leading down the narrow thickly wooded valley.
"Oh, no, madam, not more difficult, but much less so. It is a very, very gradual descent down to the outlet of the valley. By the way, did you ever observe, Mrs. Berners, how much all these long, narrow, tortuous vales between the spurs of the mountains, and leading down to the great valley, resemble the beds of water-courses emptying into some great river?" inquired the boy artist, looking with interest into the face of his companion.
"Oh yes, and many geologists declare them to have been really such," replied Sybil.
In such discourse as this, they beguiled the hour and a half that they spent in walking down this hidden valley to its opening near the ferry-house, on the Black river, opposite to Blackville.
Here, while waiting for the boat, which was on the other side, Sybil drew her thick black veil closely over her face, and whispered to her companion:
"I would not, upon any account, be recognized until I get before the judge. So I will keep my face covered, and my lips closed. You must make all the necessary inquiries, and do all the talking."
"I will do anything on earth to serve you, lady," replied the lad, lifting his hat.
"And now here it comes," whispered Sybil, as the ferry-boat touched the shore.
He handed her in, and placed her on a comfortable seat.
After that Sybil never removed her veil or opened her lips. But the boy talked a little with the ferry-man until they reached the opposite shore.
They landed, and went immediately up to the hotel.
"Is Judge Ruthven in?" inquired the lad.
"Yes, sir," answered the waiter.
"Is he disengaged?"
"I will see, sir. He has just finished luncheon," answered the man.
"Tell him that a lady wishes to speak to him on important business," said the boy.
The waiter left the room, and after an absence of five minutes returned to say that the judge would see the lady, and that he, the waiter, would show her up.
"This may be my last hour of freedom in this world!" murmured Sybil to herself, as, preceded by the waiter and attended by her escort, she went up stairs.
The door of a private parlor was thrown open, and Sybil Berners entered and stood before her judge.
A just judge; by the craft of the law,Ne'er seduced from its purpose.—Southey.
The room was a private parlor, furnished something like a lawyer's office.
In an ample cushioned chair, beside a large desk laden with books and papers, sat a venerable old gentleman of a portly form, fine features, fresh complexion, and long silvery white hair. He was dressed in jet black cloth and snow-white linen. His whole appearance expressed great power, benevolence, and equanimity.
This was Judge Joseph Ruthven, the learned jurist and eminent philanthropist, who had succeeded the lately deceased judge, on the bench of the criminal court.
He arose, with a suave and stately courtesy, to receive his lady visitor.
As the waiter withdrew and closed the door, Sybil approached the judge, and lifted her veil.
"Sybil, my child! Mrs. Berners!" he said, suppressing with his habitual self-control, the exclamations of astonishment that arose to his lips.
He had been the life-long intimate friend of her father. He had known her from her birth, and in her childhood he had held her on his knee a hundred times. It was horrible to see her there before him, and toforeseewhat must follow. Who can blame him, if at that moment he wished her thousands of miles away from him, with the ocean rolling between them?
"I have come, your honor, to give myself up to justice, trusting that justice indeed may be meted out to me," said Sybil, as she sank trembling into the chair that he placed for her. He was scarcely less agitated than herself.
"I am guiltless of the crime with which I stand charged; and I can no longer bear the hiding and hunted life of a criminal! I now freely offer myself for trial, come what will of it! It is better to die a guiltless death than to live an outlawed life!" Sybil repeated, her flesh trembling, but her spirit firm.
Still the judge did not speak, but gazed on her with infinite compassion.
"It is a painful office, I know, Judge Ruthven," said Sybil, her eyes filling and her lip quivering, "a painful office, to consign your old friend's child to a prison, and a more trying duty may follow; but there is no help for it, you know."
"My poor child! my poor child!".
These words almost unconsciously escaped the lips of the judge, as he laid his hand upon her head.
"You are sorry for me," said Sybil.
"From the bottom of my heart."
"And you believe me guiltless? Oh, if you can say that, you will give me so much strength and comfort," she pleaded.
How could he answer her? What could he say to her? He would have given much to be able to reply that he fully believed her to be guiltless.
But, though he had known her intimately, from her infancy up, and saw her standing there looking him frankly and honestly in the face and declaring her innocence, and challenging a trial, and pleading for his trust in her, he could not tell whether she were guilty or innocent.
He could not forget the fierce passions and fearful deeds of her race; nor hide from his judgment the probability that this girl, inheriting the fiery temper of her fathers, and driven to desperation by jealousy, might, in a moment of frenzy, have slain her rival. Thus poor Sybil was aninstance of that natural law by which children suffer for the sins of their fathers.
While the Judge dropped his venerable head upon his chest in sorrowful thought, Sybil waited for his answer; and the longer it was withheld, the more impatient she became to have it.
"You surely do not believe me guilty, then?" she pleaded, clasping her hands and trying to catch and meet his eyes as he raised his head.
"My child, whatever I may or may not believe, I must express no opinion here, or to you," he answered, evasively.
"Oh! I suppose not; for you are to be my judge and preside at my trial, and so it would never do for you to give an opinion," said Sybil with a sad smile, as, woman-like, she jumped to this conclusion.
The judge committed himself by no direct reply to her words, but said:
"I trust in Heaven, my child, that all will be well!"
"But, Judge Ruthven, although you may not be able to express an opinion as to my innocence or guilt, yet I earnestly wish that you may hold one—that you may believe me innocent; and so—please look into my eyes!"
The old man, who had been rather shunning her glance, now raised his head and met the honest gaze that was seeking his.
"Judge Ruthven," she re-commenced, "although the men and women of my line have been cursed with fierce and cruel tempers, and have some of them done ruthless and fearful deeds, yet not one of them was ever debased with a false and lying tongue, not one of them ever stooped to deny his or her deed to avert the worst consequences that might befall. And, Judge Ruthven, if in my rage I had slain my rival, if I had been bad enough to do that deed, I should have been brave enough to avow it! I havenever stained my hands with blood, and never sullied my lips with falsehood, and so, when I tell you that I am guiltless of the death of Rosa Blondelle, Judge Ruthven, I call upon you to believe me!"
Her eyes were fixed on his, and through them poured her spirit's strength and purity and truth, inspiring his soul with full faith in her.
He arose from his seat, his fine old face tremulous, yet beaming with emotion.
"Give me your hands, my child! Idobelieve you—I believe you!" he fervently exclaimed, taking and pressing her hands.
"Thank Heaven! Now I can bear the rest!" earnestly answered Sybil, bending her head. "And now, Judge Ruthven! do your duty! The quicker it is done and over, the better for us both!"
"Patience, patience, my child! I have now to return at once into the court to preside at a trial now in progress. In the mean while do you remain here. The necessary forms shall be gone through. I will send you counsel. You must be committed for trial; but you will immediately apply through your counsel to be admitted to bail. Remain here until you hear from me. All will be right for the present, and Heaven grant that all may be well in the end!"
"Admitted to bail! Not have to go to prison! Oh, thank you! thank you! But I thought cases like mine were not bailable."
"That is somewhat at the discretion of the court. The fact that you have voluntarily come forward to give yourself up to trial, pleads loudly in your favor."
"And I may go home! Go home perhaps even to-night! Oh! home! home! home! Oh! how blessed to be able to go home! Oh, thank you! thank you! thank you!" cried Sybil, bursting into tears of joy.
"Compose yourself, my child. It is very possible that you may sleep at home to-night, and many nights. But there are certain legal forms that must be observed. I will see that they are properly attended to, and with as little distress to you as may be consistent with their due observance. The case that is now going on will close this afternoon, I think. But I will still keep the court open to as late an hour as possible, to wait for the application of your counsel for bail. Remain here in peace until I send for you," said the judge kindly, pressing the hand of Sybil as he withdrew.
As soon as Judge Ruthven had left the room, Sybil turned triumphantly towards her young escort, who, since his entrance, had remained modestly standing near the door, and she said:
"Dear Raphael! did you hear that? I am to go home and rest in peace until my trial comes on! Oh, Raphael, what joy! And, dear boy, take notice! I did well to come here and give myself up! and this blessed prospect of going home is the fruits of that well-doing! Mind, Raphael, always be sure todowell, and you will also be sure tofarewell!" she concluded, mindful to give her young companion a lesson in morality.
"Oh, madam! I am so glad of this, for your sake!" said the boy, earnestly.
"Thank you, Raphael! And I do not forget that I owe very much of this satisfaction to you. But for your help, I could not have escaped from the band, or found my way through the mountain passes to this place. But now, my boy, you have been long away from your companions. Your absence may be noticed, and may bring you into trouble. So with my best thanks, dear boy, I will bid you good-bye, and send you home," said Sybil, holding out her hand.
But the lad did not take it.
"'Home?'" he echoed sadly, "'home?' Ah, lady, whatis my home? A robber's den! No, madam, I will never go back to the band! Here in the village I may get work as an errand boy, or on some farmer's field as a laborer; but even if I do not, though I should perish, I will never go back to the band!"
"Say you so, my boy? Then you shall even go home with me, and be my little brother; and my husband—Ah! my dear Lyon, how do you fare now?—my husband shall be your guardian, and send you to some good school of art where your fine talent may be cultivated," said Sybil, earnestly, again offering her hand.
He took it and raised it to his brow, and said:
"You should be a queen, lady!—a queen, to do your royal will towards all whom you wish to elevate. How can I thank you?"
"By accepting, in simplicity of heart, all that I and all that my noble husband will do for you. For Mr. Berners will also be very quick to recognize and prompt to reward your services to me."
Poor Sybil! in the generous exultation of her soul, she almost lost sight of the sorrows and dangers that still encompassed and threatened her.
She, in her young matronly pride and dignity, feeling ever so much older and wiser than her juvenile worshipper, took upon herself to give him much good counsel as to his conduct through life, and was still engaged in this way when two gentlemen opened the door and entered the room. They were both old acquaintances of Mrs. Berners. The first was a Mr. Fortescue, an elderly man, and a wealthy planter of the neighborhood, now holding the office of high sheriff of the county. The other was a Mr. Sheridan, a brilliant young barrister, often associated with Mr. Berners in the same lawsuit. Both these gentlemen had been frequent guests at Black Hall, both in the time of her father and of her husband.
Mr. Fortescue took off his cap, and bowed to his sometime hostess, as he said:
"Mrs. Berners, if I have come in person to serve this warrant, you will, I am sure, understand that I have assumed an unpleasant duty purely for your sake, to save you unnecessary pain."
"I comprehend and thank you, sir," answered Sybil.
"And you will at once accompany me to the magistrate's office."
"Yes, I am ready; let us go," said Sybil, rising.
"And here is Mr. Sheridan, offering himself as your counsel until you can procure better," said the high sheriff, presenting the young lawyer.
"I shall not be likely to find better, I am sure. I shall be very glad to retain Mr. Sheridan," said Sybil, frankly offering her hand to the young man.
"It is not a pleasant visit, Mrs. Berners, this one to Mr. Hawkin's office; but it will only be a preliminary examination, and I will do what I can to make it a brief one," explained Mr. Sheridan, as he offered his arm to his client to conduct her from the room.
Sybil drew her veil over her face, and leaning on the arm of her counsel, was about to follow the sheriff, who had gone before, when she happened to think of her devoted young worshipper, who was standing disconsolately near the judge's desk.
"Stay here until I return, dear Raphael," she said, with a pleasant smile, and then passed from the room.
They took her to an office under the hotel, where the sitting magistrate was ready to hear the case.
A few witnesses were there—persons who had been present at the mask ball, and had observed the marked attentions of Lyon Berners to Rosa Blondelle, and the jealous rage of Sybil, and who had afterwards been drawn to the scene of the tragedy by the cries of the victim, andhad arrived in time to hear the fatal charge of the dying woman, as well as to behold her death.
When Sybil saw these people, she shivered and turned pale—not with fear of their testimony, for she had nerved herself to meet that, but with the sudden recollection of the appalling circumstances under which she had last met them, and which their appearance now called up in all its first horror.
The magistrate's clerk now handed Sybil a chair. She then raised her veil, bowed to Squire Hawkins, and took her seat.
The proceedings were commenced.
The witnesses for the prosecution were one after the other duly sworn and examined; and they deposed to the fatally condemning circumstances attending the murder of Rosa Blondelle as they are already known to the reader.
This examination occupied about an hour. At its close the magistrate turned to the accused lady, and inquired what she had to say in defence.
Sybil arose, and answered by giving the explanation that she had already made, on the night of the murder.
The magistrate heard her through, but then instructed her that her unsupported assertion was no evidence, and would not be received as such, and called upon her to produce her witnesses.
Sybil was about to answer that she had no witnesses to produce, when a look from her counsel arrested her speech.
He respectfully took her hand, replaced her in her seat, and then standing up, he said:
"My client has given a true explanation of the facts that have led so many persons to a false conclusion. But all further defence, we reserve for a higher tribunal."
And having said this, he sat down. He knew that no amount of defence would now save Sybil from being committed for trial, and his object was therefore to shorten this ordeal.
The magistrate then directed his clerk to make out the mittimus. When the instrument was ready, he signed it and looked around for some officer to execute it.
"I will take charge of the warrant and the lady," said the high sheriff, interposing.
"You, Mr. Fortescue!" exclaimed the magistrate, in surprise at the condescension of the high sheriff.
"Yes, I," coolly answered the latter.
"But Mr. Magistrate, we are prepared to offer bail," put in Sybil's counsel.
"Not a bailable case, Mr. Sheridan, as you, being a lawyer, should be very well aware. No case in which the prisoner is arrested upon the charge of a capital crime can be bailed."
"I believe you speak of a rule. I speak of an exception. This lady was not arrested. She came forward, in the consciousness of innocence, and gave herself up, fairly challenging a trial! It is not likely, therefore, that she would run away, if released upon bail."
"Quibbles, sir! quibbles! I know of no exceptions to this rule! Mr. Sheriff, remove the prisoner."
Mr. Fortescue drew Sybil's arm within his own, and whispered to her:
"I will take you back to the Judge's room, where we will remain while Sheridan goes before the Court and puts in an application for bail."
Sybil drew her veil again before her face as she was led from the magistrate's office back to the Judge's room, where she found her young escort, still anxiously awaiting her.
"It is all right, Raphael," she said, "or rather it will be all right very soon! Will it not, Mr. Fortescue?"
"I trust and believe so, madam."
"The magistrate insisted that my case was not a bailable one, and indeed I knew that much myself; but the Judge said that he would admit me to bail, and he can do so, can he not?" anxiously inquired Sybil.
"The magistrate told you the truth; and besides, he had no power to act in the matter of releasing you on bail; but your case is a very exceptional one, Mrs. Berners, and the judge has very great discretionary powers, which I am sure he will stretch to the utmost in your behalf."
"I hope without risk to his own position."
The high sheriff smiled.
"Judge Ruthven," he said, "is the most distinguished jurist, as well as the most honored judge and the most popular man that ever presided in our courts. His proceedings become precedents. He can venture to do a great deal. He can afford to risk much!"
While they talked thus together, Mr. Sheridan reëntered the room, with a very cheerful expression on his countenance.
"All will be well," he said, brightly. "Mr. Sheriff, I bear you the Judge's order to bring your charge into court. Mrs. Berners, you will meet some friends there, and will, with them, enter into a recognizance for your appearance at court when called to trial."
Sybil promptly arose and gave her hand to Mr. Fortescue, who drew it within his arm and led her out of the room, and then from the hotel to the court-house.
The court-room was, comparatively speaking, empty. The crowd that had collected to hear a trial for forgery, which was just ended in the acquittal of the prisoner, had dispersed at its close; and no one remained but the presiding judge, the officers of the court, a few lawyers and a group of gentlemen.
As Sybil was led up the aisle, between the rows of benches usually occupied by spectators, one of the gentlemen turned around, and to her joy and amazement, revealed the countenance of Lyon Berners. If the dead had risen before her, Sybil could scarcely have been more astounded. He, from whose bleeding and insensible body, shehad been torn away, scarcely five days before, now stood before her, ill, pale, faint, but living. His head was bound up with a white linen bandage as, leaning on the arm of Captain Pendleton, he came to meet her.
"Oh, my dear Sybil!"
"My dearest Lyon!"
These were the words with which they greeted each other.
"Now, my friends, leave all this until you return together to Black Hall. Now we must not keep the court waiting, but proceed to business," said Mr. Sheridan, taking the hand of his client, and drawing it again through his arm, as he led her up to a table that stood before the bar and upon which was spread out a formidable looking piece of parchment heavily engrossed.
"Here is the bond by which you enter, with your husband, with Captain Pendleton and Miss Beatrix Pendleton, into a recognizance for your appearance at court when called to trial. The amount of bail is high, fifty thousand dollars! But I fancy you are good for that," said the young lawyer.
Sybil smiled gravely, and when the pen was put into her hand, signed her name.
Her signature was followed by those of Lyon Berners, Clement Pendleton, and Beatrix Pendleton.
And the bond being duly sealed and delivered, Sybil was informed that she was free to depart.
Free to depart! No more need of flying and hiding! Free to go home, to sit down in peace by her own dear fireside, to lie down and repose on her own comfortable bed! Free to depart! Free to go home! Oh, joy! Sybil, in her delight, forgot that the darkest thunder-cloud of fate still lowered in the sky, threatening to break in destruction on her head!
Disregarding all forms, she was about to go up to thebench to pour forth her thanksgivings to her old friend Judge Ruthven, when her husband laid his hand upon her shoulder and stopped her, whispering:
"Remember, dearest, that we are in court, and govern yourself. We shall see the Judge at the hotel."
So Sybil merely courtesied to the bench, and gave her hand to her husband, who pressed it warmly, and then passed it over to Mr. Sheridan, who led her from the court-room.
Lyon Berners, supported by Captain Pendleton, and Beatrix on the arm of old Mr. Fortescue followed.
And thus they all returned to the judge's room in the hotel.
"Lyon, dearest! there is my little friend and deliverer. Come here, Raphael, and get acquainted with my husband," said Sybil, as her eyes fell upon her young escort.
The boy came at her call, and she presented him to Mr. Berners, who received him with some surprise, but much condescension.
"I will tell you all about Raphael when we get back to Black Hall. In the mean time, you must take him upon trust, for he is to go home with us," said Sybil.
And before another word could be spoken, the door was thrown open, and Judge Ruthven entered.
All arose and stood up, as the venerable old man went around and shook hands with each one.
Sybil held his hands between hers, and with the tears filling her eyes, warmly thanked him for restoring her to her home; though it might be only for a season, she said, it would give her strength to bear all that might come afterwards.
"Heaven grant, my dear Sybil, that your full and perfect acquittal and vindication may come afterwards, as I entirely believe they will. Your trial may not come on at this term of the court, and if not, there will be a considerable intervalof time, during which your counsel must busy himself in hunting up evidence in your favor, and if possible tracing this mystery to its solution. Heaven bless you! There, don't weep," said the judge, shaking both her hands, and then relinquishing them.
And they all sat down and talked hopefully over the subject, until the door was again opened and the waiter appeared to announce that the carriage ordered for Mr. Berners was waiting.
"Come, dear Sybil, let us bid good-by to our friends, and go," said Lyon Berners to his wife.
And both took an affectionate and respectful leave of the judge, and were about to do the same by the Pendletons, when the Captain said:
"No; Beatrix and myself prefer to go down to the sidewalk, and take leave of you at the carriage door."
"And the only reason why we do not go all the way home with you is, because we know that you have some mutual explanations to make, and would rather be alone to-day. But to-morrow we shall go to see you, and if you will let me, I will make you a long visit," added Beatrix Pendleton.
"Oh, Beatrix, dearest! always true and brave!" exclaimed Sybil, suddenly kissing the young lady, while Lyon warmly grasped the hand of her brother.
Both the husband and wife understood and appreciated the motives of these devoted friends.
They went down stairs, attended by the Pendletons, Mr. Sheridan, and Raphael.
When the Berners with Raphael were in the carriage, Clement and Beatrix Pendleton took leave, reiterating their intention to visit Black Hall the next day.
"And I also must be with you at an early hour, Mrs. Berners; for it will be necessary to begin at once to prepare your defence. I would also like to learn, Mr. Berners,whom you intend to associate with me in counsel," said young Sheridan, as he took leave of the lady and gentleman.
"We will settle all that in the morning, Sheridan, and of course I myself must be with you in the defence," replied Lyon Berners.
And they shook hands for the last time, and the young lawyer ordered the coachman to drive on.
"The old ladies at the Hall will be prepared to receive you, Berners. I took care to dispatch a messenger to them two hours ago, to announce your coming," said Captain Pendleton, calling after them.
Lyon stretched his head out of the window, and nodded and waved his hand, as the carriage passed out of the village.