One precious pearl, in sorrow's cup,Unmelted at the bottom lay.To shine again when, all drunk up,The bitterness should pass away.—Moore.
But if Sybil in the chaos of her mind, had lost all memory of her two protégés,theyhad not for a moment forgotten her.
Raphael, who was perfectly well aware of Sybil's situation, was breaking his heart at Black Hall. And every morning when little Cro' was set up in his high chair beside Mrs. Berners' vacant place at the head of the breakfast table, he would ask piteously:
"If 'Sybil-mamma,' was coming home to-day?" And every morning he would be answered, evasively:
"May be, to-day or to-morrow."
The day succeeding his promise to his wife, Mr. Berners informed Miss Tabby that he should take her to the prison to see Sybil, and requested her to get ready at once to go. And at the same time he sent a message to Joe to put the horses to the carriage and prepare to drive them.
Miss Tabby, at the prospect of meeting Sybil, whom she had not seen for some months, burst into a fit of loud hysterical sobbing and crying, and could not be comforted.
Mr. Berners had patience with her, and let the storm take its course, knowing that it would be followed by a calm that would best prepare the poor creature to meet her lady.
When Miss Tabby was composed enough to listen to him, Mr. Berners very impressively said to her:
"You must remember Mrs. Berner's mental derangement, that renders her utterly unconscious of her imprisonment, and unconcerned about her future, and you must be very cautious neither to betray any emotion at the sight of her, nor to make any allusion to the murder or the trial, or to any person or event connected with either; for she has forgotten all about it."
"That is a wonderful blessing indeed, and I would bite my tongue off sooner than say anything to disturb her," said Miss Tabby, with a few subsiding sobs.
The same admonition which he had administered to Miss Tabby was also emphatically impressed upon the mind of Joe. And the old man was even more ready and able to understand and act upon it than the old maid had been.
When Raphael and little Cro' found out that Mr. Berners was going to take Miss Tabby to see Mrs. Berners, they both pleaded to go with him also.
But this could not in either case be permitted.
To Raphael Mr. Berners explained the case of his wife, and sent the boy away more sorrowful, if possible, than before.
To little Cro' he gave his gold pencil and his new blank note-book from his pocket, that the child might amuse himself with drawing "pictures," and he promised to take him to see "Sybil-mamma" at some future day.
It was yet early in the forenoon when the carriage fromBlack Hall rolled through the prison gates, and drew up before the great door of the building.
Miss Tabby groaned and sighed heavily as she followed Mr. Berners into the gloomy hall.
They were met by one of the turnkeys, who informed Mr. Berners that Mrs. Berners and Miss Pendleton were taking the air in the walled garden behind the building.
Preceded by the turnkey and followed by Miss Tabby, Lyon Berners went through the hall out at the grated back door, and through the walled back yard, and through another heavy gate into the strongly enclosed and well-shaded garden, where he found his wife and her friend sitting under the trees.
This was so much better than anything Miss Tabby had expected to see, that her depressed spirits rose at once as she hurried after Mr. Berners to meet Sybil, who, with Beatrix, had arisen to receive him.
Mr. Berners had scarcely time to embrace his wife and shake hands with Miss Pendleton, before Miss Tabby rushed past him, caught Sybil in her arms, and forgetting all Mr. Berners' cautions and her own promises, fell to sobbing and crying over her foster-child, and exclaiming:
"Oh, my lamb! my baby! my darling! And is it here I find you, my darling! my baby! my lamb!" etc., etc., etc.
"Why, you foolish old Tabby, what are you howling for now? Haven't you got over your habit of crying for every thing yet, you over-grown old infant?" asked Sybil, laughing, as she extricated herself from the clinging embrace, and sat down.
"I know I'm an old fool," whimpered Miss Tabby, as she wiped her eyes, and leaning up against the bole of the tree.
"To be sure you are! Everybody knows that! But you are a dear, good old Tabby, for all; and I am delighted to see you. And now aren't you going to speak to Miss Pendleton?"
"Oh, yes! how do you do, Miss Beatrix? inquired the old woman, as she courtesied and offered her hand to Miss Pendleton.
"I am well and glad to see you, Miss Tabby," answered the young lady, cordially.
"And oh, Miss Beatrix, I do pray the Lord to bless you every night and morning of my life! For surely you do deserve blessings for staying with Miss Sybil in this here awful—"
An admonitory pressure of Miss Tabby's shoe by Mr. Berner's boot arrested her speech for an instant, and then modified it:
"In this here commodious and sillubrious watering place!" she added, with a knowing nod towards Mr. Berners, which happily escaped Sybil's notice.
Sybil had many questions to ask about Black Hall and its inmates, and its surroundings; but first she asked the general question:
"How are all at home, Miss Tabby?"
"Oh, all are well, my dear child!" answered the old woman, "as well as can be, considering your—Oh, there I go again!" she exclaimed, suddenly breaking off in alarm.
"All are well, you say, Miss Tabby?" inquired Sybil.
"Oh yes, honey, all well, the servants and the cattle and the pets and all the other animyles, and Raphael and little Cromartie—Oh, my goodness! there I go again, worse than ever."
"Who? Raph—Cro'?" began Sybil, passing her hand in perplexity to and fro across her brow. "Who are they? Did I dream of them, or read of them somewhere? Raph—Cro'. Oh, dear me, my head is so queer! Did I read or dream?"
"No, my dear," exclaimed Miss Tabby, hastening to retrieve her error. "You did not read, nor likewise dreamof any sich. They's peacocks, honey; nothing but peacocks, as was bought to ornament the lawn, you know."
"Oh yes, I know! peacocks!" said Sybil with a smile, readily adopting the explanation that had been made to her. "But I dreamt a strange dream about those peacocks. I dreamt—Oh, I can't remember what I dreamt!" she continued, contracting her brows with an expression of pain and perplexity.
"Never mind, my darling, what it was. Dreams are profitless subjects to employ the mind upon," said Beatrix Pendleton, taking Sybil's hand, and lifting her up. "Now come with me. I have something pleasanter to talk about," she added, as she drew Sybil down one of the shaded garden walks.
There was one subject among others upon which Sybil was quite sane; her own approaching maternity. Beatrix knew this, as she led her to a distant garden seat, and made her sit down upon it, while she said:
"Now, darling, that Miss Tabby is here, had we not better commission her to buy some flannels and lawns and laces for the wardrobe of the coming child? She can bring them when she comes next time. And you and I can amuse ourselves with making them up."
"Oh yes, yes, indeed! That will be delightful. How strange I never thought of that before! Why, I do believe I would have let the little stranger arrive without an article to put on it, if you hadn't reminded me—and I a married woman, who ought to know better, and you only a girl, who ought to know nothing! Well, I do declare!" exclaimed Sybil, turning and staring at her companion.
"Never mind, darling; it is only because you have been ill, and I have been well, that you have forgotten this necessary provision, while I have remembered it," said Beatrix soothingly.
"Well, I won't forget it again!" exclaimed Sybil, starting up and running towards her husband, and followed by Miss Pendleton.
"Lyon!" she said, breathlessly. "How much money have you got about you?"
"I don't know, dear. You can have it all, if you wish, be it little or much; for it is all your own, Sybil," replied Lyon Berners, putting his purse in her hands.
"Oh, no, I don't want that; but you must give Tabby as much money as she may require, to make some purchases for me."
"Yes, certainly," said Mr. Berners, taking back his pocket-book.
"Me! me make purchases for you, my lamb? La! whatever can you want in this awful—There I go again!" exclaimed Miss Tabby in dismay.
"You have too much curiosity, you good old soul. But here, come with me, and I will tell you what to buy for me—after you have instructed me as to what I shall want," said Sybil, laughing archly, as she led the way to a rude arbor at a short distance.
"Now, Tabby, what I want you to buy for me, is everything in the world that is needed for a bran, spic and span new baby!"
"La! Miss Sybil; whose baby?" inquired the astonished housekeeper, with her mouth and eyes wide open.
"Tabby, don't be a goose!"
"But, Miss Sybil, I don't know what you mean!"
"Tabby, I'm not 'Miss Sybil' to begin with! I'm Mrs. Berners, and have been married more than a year, and you know it, you stupid old Tabby!"
"But, Miss Sybil, or ratherwise Mrs. Berners, if I must be so ceremonious with my own nurse-child, what has that to do with what you've been a-asking of me to buy?"
"Nothing at all," answered Sybil, half-provoked and half-amused at the dullness of the old housekeeper. "Nothingwhatever. But you must go out and buy everything that is required for the wardrobe of a young child; and you must find out whatisnecessary, for I myself haven't the slightest idea of what that is."
The housekeeper looked at the lady for a moment, in questioning doubt and fear, and then, as the truth slowly penetrated her mind, she broke forth suddenly with:
"Oh, my good gracious! Miss Sybil, honey! you don't mean it, do you?"
"Yes, I do, Tabby; and I thank heaven every day for the coming blessing," said the young wife, fervently.
"But oh, Miss Sybil, in such a place as this—There I go again!" exclaimed the housekeeper, breaking off in a panic, and then adding, "I an't fit to come to see you; no that I an't. I'm always a forgetting, especially when you talk so sensible!"
"What's the matter with you Tabby? Are you crazy? you never thought I was going to stayherefor such an event, did you? In a public resort like this? Tabby, I'm shocked at you! No! I shall be home at Black Hall to receive the little stranger, Tabby," said Sybil, making the longest and most connected speech she had made since her reason had become impaired.
"Ah, Lord! ah, my Lord!" cried the old woman, on the verge of hysterics again.
"Now, Tabby, don't begin to whimper! You whimper over everything though, I know. You whimpered when I was born, and when I was christened, and when I was married; and now you whimper when I am going to be crowned with the crown of maternity. Oh, you old rebel!" cried Sybil, contradicting all her sarcastic words by caressing her old friend.
"No, I don't mean to! but if you knowed! Oh! if you knowed!" exclaimed Miss Tabby, suppressing and swallowing her sobs.
"Now, then, let us go back to Lyon. Lyon will give you what money you may need for the purchases; and I beg that you will make them as soon as possible, and bring them to me here," said Sybil, as she arose and walked back to the spot where she had left her husband and her friend.
After a little general conversation, in which Sybil sometimes joined naturally, and from which she also sometimes wandered off at random, Mr. Berners proposed to call in Joe to pay his respects to his mistress.
Sybil sprang at the proposal, and Joe was duly summoned from his seat on the box of the carriage before the door.
He came into the garden hat in hand, and bowed gravely before his unfortunate mistress.
And when she asked him many questions about that department of the domestic economy of Black Hall that fell under his own supervision, he answered all her questions satisfactorily, without ever once falling into the unlucky blunders that had marred Miss Tabby's communications.
"Your favorite mare, Diana is in prime order, ma'am, and will be so whenever you come home again to take your rides in the valley. And your coach horses Castor and Pollux, ma'am, couldn't be in better trim. I shall take pride in driving of you to church behind them, ma'am, the first Sunday after you come home, which we all at Black Hall hopes, as the waters of this here cilibrated spring may soon restore your health, and send you back to us strong and happy," said Joe, at the conclusion of a very long address.
"Thanks, Joe! I know that you are very sincere and earnest in your good wishes. Many thanks! But, dear old soul, how came you to be so lame?"
Joe was taken by surprise, and stood aghast. He knew of course that his mistress was slightly insane; but he was utterly unprepared for such a lapse of memory as this. He looked at his master in distress and perplexity.
"Oh!" answered Lyon Berners for his man, "Joe was thrown from his horse, and had his ankle sprained."
"Poor Joe! You must be very careful until it gets quite well," said Sybil, compassionately.
And soon after this her visitors, master and servants, took their leave.
But thou wilt burst primeval sleep,And thou wilt live my babe to weep;The tenant of a dark abode,Thy tears must flow as mine have flowed.—Byron.
Summer ripened into autumn. Sybil and her faithful friend employed the golden days of September and October in the graceful and pleasing feminine work of making up garments for the expected little stranger.
But meanwhile, outside the prison walls, a cloud, black as night, was gathering over the young prisoner's doomed head.
The rumor got abroad that the Governor meant to follow up the long respite with a full pardon.
His course in this matter was canvassed and commented upon severely in every bar-room, grocery, street corner, political meeting, and elsewhere.
The press took up the matter, and vindictively reprobated the course of the Governor, putting his conduct upon the motives of partiality for the aristocracy.
Had the murderess been a woman of the people, it said, her life would have paid the forfeit of her crime.
But she was a lady of the county aristocracy, a daughter of the house of Berners; and however notoriously that house had been cursed with demoniac passions, and howeverdeeply dyed with crime, its daughter, however guilty, was not to be held amenable to the laws!
Was such outrageous worship of the aristocracy by partial judges and venal governors to be endured in a country of freemen?
No! the voice of the people would be heard through their organ, a free press! and if not listened to, then it would be heard in thunder at the polls in the coming autumn elections!
Such was the spirit of the people and the press in regard to Sybil.
It was strange how the people and the press clamored for the sacrifice of Sybil Berners' life—the "female fiend," as they did not hesitate to call her, "daughter of demons," "the last of a race of devils, who should have been exterminated long before," they declared.
It was because they honestly ascribed to her a nature she did not possess, and imputed to her a crime she had not committed, thus making her innocently suffer for the sins of her forefathers.
Of course there were honorable exceptions to this general and unmerited reprobation of a guiltless young creature, but these exceptions were mostly among Sybil's own set, and were too few to have any force against the overwhelming weight of public sentiment.
And it was the general belief that, if the Governor should outrage public opinion by pardoning Sybil Berners, he would be politically ruined. Sybil Berners could not be permitted to live. She must die before the Governor could be re-elected by the people. And the election was coming on in the ensuing November.
Would he purchase success by the sacrifice of this young sufferer's life?
Ah! her best friends, asking themselves this question, were forced to answer, "Yes!"
This state of affairs had a most depressing effect upon Sybil's husband, especially as he had sustained a great loss in the departure of her zealous advocate, Ishmael Worth.
The young lawyer, soon after he had brought down Sybil's respite from the Governor, had been called away on business of the utmost importance, and had eventually sailed for Europe. He had gone, however, with the most confident expectations of her liberation.
How these expectations were destined to be defeated, it was now plain to see.
It required all Mr. Berners' powers of self-control to wear a calm demeanor in the presence of his unsuspicious wife. He had carefully kept from the cell every copy of a news-*paper that contained any allusion to the condemned prisoner and her circumstances, and he did this to keep Beatrix, as well as Sybil, ignorant of the impending doom; for he wished Beatrix to preserve in Sybil's presence the cheerful countenance that she never could wear if she should discover the thunder-cloud of destruction that lowered darker and heavier, day by day, over the head of her doomed companion.
But Sybil herself was losing her good spirits. The autumn had set in very early; and though now it was but October, the weather was too cool and often also too damp to make it prudent for the poor prisoner to spend so many hours in the prison garden as she had lately been permitted to do. She sat much in her cell, sad, silent, and brooding.
"What is the matter with you, my darling?" inquired Beatrix Pendleton one day, when they sat together in the cell, Beatrix sewing diligently on an infant's robe, and Sybil, with her neglected needle-work lying on her lap, and her head bowed upon her hand, "What is the matter with you, Sybil?"
"Oh, Beatrix, I don't know. But this autumn weather, it saddens me. Oh, more than that—worse than that, ithorrifiesme so much! It seems associated with—I know not what of anguish and despair. And I want to leave this desolate and gloomy place. It is so lonely, now that all the visitors have gone but ourselves. How can you bear it, Beatrix?"
"Very well, dear, so long as I have your company," answered Miss Pendleton, wondering that Sybil should miss the throng of visitors that had existed only in her own imagination.
"But I am homesick, Beatrix. Oh, Beatrix! I am so—so—homesick!" said Sybil, plaintively.
"Never mind, dear. Try to be patient. It would not do for you to undertake the journey now, you know," said Miss Pendleton, soothingly.
"Oh, but, Beatrix, I did so want to be athometo welcome my first dear child! There was never a Berners born out of Black Hall since the building was first erected," she pleaded.
"Never mind, dear. Everything now must give way to your health, you know. We could notendangeryour health, by taking you over all these rough roads to Black Hall just now," said Miss Pendleton, gently.
"Ah, well! I will try to content myself to stay here in this gloomy place. But, oh! Beatrix, after all, I may die, and never see my home again. My dear home! Oh, if I should die here, Beatrix, I should be sure to haunt my home!"
"But you will not die. You must put away such gloomy fancies!"
As Miss Pendleton spoke, the cell door was opened, and the warden appeared bearing in the tray containing the supper service for the two ladies. It was not usual for the warden to wait on them in person; and so, to Miss Pendleton's silent look of inquiry, he answered:
"You must excuse my daughter for this once, ma'am, asshe has gone to a merry-making in the village—this, you know, being Hallow Eve."
"Hallow Eve!" echoed an awful voice.
Both the warden and the young lady started, and turned around to see whence the unearthly sound came.
They beheld Sybil fallen back in her chair, pallid, ghastly, and convulsed.
Beatrix seized her vial of sal volatile and flew to the relief of her friend.
"What is it, dear Sybil? can you tell me?" she anxiously inquired, as she held the vial to the nostrils of her friend.
"Hallow Eve! Hallow Eve!" she repeated in a terrible tone.
"Well, dear, what of that? That is nothing."
"Oh yes, yes, it is horrible! it is horrible!"
"Hush, hush, dear! try to be composed."
"Black night! fire! blood! Oh, what a terror!"
"It was only a dream, dear. It is over now, and you are awake. Look up!"
"Oh, no! no dream, Beatrix! an awful, an overwhelming reality!" exclaimed the awakened sufferer. Then suddenly, with a shriek, she threw her hands to her head and fell into spasms.
"For heaven's sake run and fetch a doctor," exclaimed Beatrix, in the utmost distress, appealing to the terrified warden.
He immediately hurried from the room to procure the necessary medical attendance.
Beatrix ran after him, calling loudly:
"Send for her husband and her old nurse from Black Hall, also. I know it is after hours, but I believe she is dying."
The warden nodded assent, and hurried away, leaving Miss Pendleton in attendance upon the agonized woman,who recovered from one convulsion only to fall into another and severer one.
It was midnight, and a sorrowful and anxious group were gathered in Sybil's cell. She lay upon her bed, writhing with agony, and upon the very verge of death.
Near her stood her old family physician Dr. Hart, her old nurse Mrs. Winterose, and her faithful attendant Miss Tabby.
In the lobby, outside the cell door, sat her husband, with his face buried in his hands, wrestling in prayer with heaven.
What was he praying for? That his idolized young wife should be spared in this mortal peril? No, no, and a thousand times no! With all his heart and soul he prayed that she might die—that she might die e'er that dread warrant, which had arrived from Richmond only that morning, and which fixed her execution for an early day, could be carried out!
This agony of prayer was interrupted. The doctor came out of the cell, and whispered:
"It is over. She is the mother of a little girl."
There was no expression of parental joy or thankfulness on the father's part. Only the breathless question:
"And she? Can she survive?"
"Then hurtles forth the wind with sudden burst,And hurls the whole precipitated cloudsDown in a torrent. On the sleeping valeDescends infernal force, and with strong gustTurns from the bottom the discolored streamsThrough the black night that broods immense around,Lashed into foam, the fierce contending fallsSwift o'er a thousand rearing rocks do race."
"Can she survive?" repeated Lyon Berners, perceiving that the physician hesitated to reply. "If she must die, do not fear to tell me so. I, who love her best, would say, 'Thank God!' Can she survive?"
"Mr. Berners, I do not know. Her situation is very critical. She has had convulsions. She is now prostrated and comatose," gravely answered the doctor.
"Then there is good hope that the Angel of Death may take her home now?"
"There is strong hope, since you choose to call it hope instead of fear."
"Ah! Doctor Hart, you know—you know—"
"That death in some cases might be a blessing—that death in this case certainly would. Yes, I know. And yet it is my bounden duty to do what I can to save life, so I must return to my patient," said the physician, laying his hand upon the latch of the door.
"When may I see my wife?" inquired Lyon Berners.
"Now, if you please; but she will not know you," said the doctor, shaking his head.
"I shall know her, however," muttered Mr. Berners to himself, as he raised his hat and followed the doctor into the cell, leaving Beatrix alone in the hall.
It was near midnight, and Miss Pendleton having been very properly turned out of the sick-room, and having beenthen forgotten, even by herself, had no place on which to lay her head.
When Mr. Berners, following the doctor, entered the cell, he found it but dimly lighted by one of the wax candles with which his care had supplied his wife.
In one corner sat Miss Tabby, whimpering, with more reason than she had ever before whimpered in her life, over the new-born baby that lay in her lap.
Near by stood old Mrs. Winterose, busy with her patient.
That patient lay, white as a lily, on her bed.
"How is she?" inquired the doctor, approaching.
"Why, just the same—no motion, no sense, hardly any breath," answered the nurse.
"Sybil, my darling! Sybil!" murmured her heart-broken husband, bending low over her still and pallid face.
She rolled her head from side to side, as if half-awakened by some familiar sound, and then lay still again.
"Sybil! my dearest wife! Sybil!" again murmured Lyon Berners, laying his hand on her brow.
She opened her eyes wide, looked around, and then gazed at her husband's face as if it had been only a part of the wall.
"Sybil, my dear, my only love! Sybil!" he repeated, trying to meet and fix her gaze.
But her eyes glanced off and wandered around the room, and finally closed again.
"I told you she would not know you," sighed the doctor.
"So best, so best, perhaps. Heaven grant that she may know nothing until her eyes shall open in that bright and blessed land, where
'The wicked cease from troubling,And the weary are at rest!'"
said Lyon Berners, bowing his head.
But he remained standing by the bedside, and gazing atthe pale, still face of his wife, until at length Miss Tabby came up to him, with the babe in her arms, and whimpered forth:
"Oh, Mr. Lyon, won't you look at your little daughter just once? Won't you say something to her? Won't you give her your blessing? Nobody has said a word to her yet; nobody has welcomed her; nobody has blessed her! Oh! my good Lord in heaven! to be born in prison, and not to get one word of welcome from anybody, even from her own father!"
And here Miss Tabby, overcome by her feelings, sobbed aloud; for which weakness I for one don't blame her.
"Give me the child," said Mr. Berners, taking the babe from the yielding arms of the nurse. "Poor little unfortunate!" he continued, as he uncovered and gazed on her face. "May the Lord bless you, for I, wretch that I am, have no power to bless."
At this moment Mrs. Winterose came up, and addressing the doctor, said:
"Sir, I have done all I can do in this extremity. Tabby is fully equal to anything that may happen now. But as for me, sir, Imustleave."
"Leave? What are you thinking of, woman?" demanded the doctor, almost angrily.
"Sir, I left my poor old husband at the very point of death! I would not have left him, for any other cause on earth but this. And now I must go back to him, or he may be dead before I get there."
"Good Heaven, my dear woman, but this is dreadful!"
"I know it is, sir. But I couldn't help it. My child here ill and in prison, and I called to help her in her extremity, and my husband on his death-bed. Well, sir, I couldn't help my poor old man much, because he was so low he didn't know one face from another, and I could help my poor imprisoned, suffering child; and so I left my dyinghusband to the care of my darter Libby, and I comes to my suffering child! But now she's over the worst of it, I must leave her in the care of Tabby, and go back to my dying husband. Please God I may find him alive!" said the poor woman, fervently clasping her hands.
"My good soul, here is indeed a most painful case of a divided duty," said the doctor, in admiration.
"Yes, sir; but the Lord fits the back to the burden," sighed Mrs. Winterose, resignedly.
"Have youtwobacks?" wickedly inquired the doctor.
"What was it, sir?" asked Mrs. Winterose, doubting her own ears.
"Nothing. But just see what a storm is coming up! You'll be caught in it if you venture out."
"Law, sir, I'm not sugar, nor likewise salt, to get melted in a little water. And I must go, sir, please, if I am ever to see my old man alive again," said the nurse resolutely, putting on her bonnet and shawl.
"But how are you going six miles through night and storm?"
"Mr. Lyon will not begrudge me the use of the carriage and horses and driver as brought me here, to take me back to my husband's death-bed, I reckon," said the old woman confidently.
"No, indeed; nor any help I can give you, dear Mrs. Winterose," said Mr. Berners, feeling himself appealed to.
"Thanky, sir; I knowed it. And this I say: When the breath is outen my poor old man's body I will come back to my child, holding it always more dutiful to attend to the living as can suffer, rather than to the dead as are at rest. And now, if you please, Mr. Lyon, to see me into the carriage, and order Joe to drive me home, I will be obleeged to you," said the old woman.
Lyon Berners gave her his arm, with as much respect as if she had been a duchess, and led her from the room.
When they reached the outer door, which the warden, in consideration of the necessity, ordered to be opened at this unusual hour, they found the rain pouring in torrents from a sky as black as pitch.
"A wild night to take the road, Mrs. Winterose," said Mr. Berners, as he hoisted a large umbrella over her head.
"I don't know as I remember a wilder one, sir, since the flood of ninety, and that was when I was a young 'oman, which wasn't yesterday. And you'll hardly remember that, sir?"
"No," answered Lyon, hurrying her into the carriage and hastily clapping to the door.
The turnkey on duty that night went with the carriage to unbar the outer gate for it to pass. Notwithstanding his large umbrella he came back drenched with rain.
"Good Lord! an't it comin' down? Another Noah's flood! Bird Creek is boiling like a pot. It is all up in a white foam! so white that you can see it through the darkness; and listen! you can hear it from here!" said the turnkey as he entered the hall, shook himself, making a rain shower around him, and proceeded to bar the entrance again.
"You won't want this door opened again to-night, will you, Doctor?" inquired the man, rather impatiently, of the physician, who had stepped to the door.
Dr. Hart hesitated, and seemed to debate with himself, and then answered:
"I must stay with my patient for another hour, and then, if there should be no change in her condition, I shall have to trouble you to let me out, Mr. Martin—since you have got no warrant to keep me here," he added, with a smile.
The man put up the last bar with a bang, and looked as if he wished he had the authority of which the doctor spoke.
Dr. Hart returned to the room of his patient whom hefound in the same comatose state, watched by Miss Tabby, who was moaning over the young babe that lay across her lap, and by Lyon Berners, who sat beside the bed holding his wife's cold hand.
"Where is Miss Pendleton? I did not see her as I came up the passage," inquired the doctor, after he had looked at his patient.
"The warden's darter came and took her away to sleep inherroom, and high time too, poor young lady, for she was about worn out," said Miss Tabby.
The doctor took a seat near the head of the bed, where he could watch the sick woman.
And all became very silent in the cell, until at length Miss Tabby spoke.
"What's that roaring? It can't be thunder this time o' year."
"It is the creek swollen by the rain. I understand that it is very high, lashed into a foam," answered the doctor.
"Oh," said Miss Tabby, indifferently; and all became again silent in the cell but for the sound of many waters heard more and more distinctly even through the heavy walls.
At length the doctor arose to go. He made a final careful examination of his quiet patient, and then, turning to her distressed husband, said:
"I must ask you to go out with me, Mr. Berners, to bring back some medicine for your wife, which I wish to put up at my office."
Lyon Berners silently arose and took up his hat. And the two gentlemen left the cell together.
The warden had gone to bed, but had left orders with the night-watch to let the visitors out when they wished to go.
Once more the heavy bars fell, and the thick doors were opened.
"Heaven and earth! what a night!" exclaimed the doctor, as he buttoned his surtout tightly across his breast, and prepared to brave the fury of the storm.
Lyon Berners, scarcely conscious of the state of the weather, followed him.
It was now dawn, and the black sky had faded to a dark gray.
The rain was pouring down as if all "the gates of heaven" had been opened for another deluge.
The river and the creek lashed to fury, were roaring and rushing onward, like devouring monsters.
"Merciful Heaven! Talk of the fury of fire, but look here!" exclaimed the doctor, glancing around. But his voice was lost in the sound of many waters.
Their road, after passing the outer gates of the prison, lay away from the banks of the creek, and down the course of the river, towards the village.
But for the darkness of that stormy dawn they might have seen a fearful sight below. The lower portion of the town was already overflowed, and the waters were still rising. Many of the people were gathered upon the house-tops, and others were out in boats, engaged in rescuing their neighbors from the flooded dwellings.
But for the horrible roaring of the torrents, they might have heard the shouts and cries of the terrified inhabitants shocked and half-frenzied by the suddenness of this overwhelming calamity.
But they heard and saw but little of this as they plunged on through the darkness, in the deluge of rain and thunder of waters. Unawares they were drawing near their fate. They came upon it gradually.
"Good Heaven! what is the matter down there?" suddenly cried the doctor, as he dimly discerned the forms of men, women, and children gathered upon the house-tops, which did not look like house-tops, but like flat-boats floating upon the dark waters.
"I say, Berners, what the deuce is the matter down there? Your eyes are younger than mine—look," anxiously insisted the doctor, peering down into the gloomy and horrible chaos.
"It is a flood. The river is over the town," replied Mr. Berners, carelessly; for he, in his grief, would not have minded if the whole of the Black Valley had been turned into a black sea.
"The river over the town! Good Heaven! And you say that as indifferently as if hundreds of human lives and millions of money were not imperilled," cried the doctor, breaking away from his companion, and running down towards the village.
A terrible, a heart-crushing sight met his eyes!
The doctor's family occupied a beautiful low-roofed villa on the opposite bank of Violet Run, a little stream of water making up from the Black River. The doctor's first thought was of his own home, of course, and he ran swiftly on, through darkness and storm, until he was suddenly brought up on the banks of the run. Here he stood aghast. The pretty rustic bridge that had spanned the run, and led to his own terraced grounds, was swept away; and the run, now swollen to the size of a raging river, roared between himself and his home.
His home!—where was it?
He strained his aching eyes through the murky gloom to look for it, and oh! horror of horrors! his terraced garden and his low-roofed villa had disappeared, and in their place what seemed a raft, with human beings on, floated about at the mercy of the flood.
With a pang of despair, he recognized it as his own house-top, with probably his wife and children clinging to it; and at the same instant the raft, or roof, was violently whirled around, and swept under by the force of the current.
With a cry of desperation, the wretched husband and father flung up his arms to leap into the boiling flood, when he was caught from behind and held fast.
"What would you do? Rush to certain destruction?" said the voice of Lyon Berners, who had just reached the spot.
"My wife! my children!" shrieked the man, dashing his hands to his head.
"Come back, or you will be swept away," said Mr. Berners, forcibly drawing him from the spot just an instant before the water rolled over it.
And still the rain poured down like another deluge, and still the waters roared and the waters rose, and dark night hung over the dawn.
The rearing river, backward pressed,Shook all her trembling banks amain,Then madly at the eygre's breastFlung up her weltering walls again.Then banks came down with ruin and rout,Then beaten foam flew round about,Then all the mighty floods were out.—Jean Ingelow.
Meanwhile the worried and angry prison guard had barred up the doors for the last time that night, to remain barred, as they said, against all comers until the usual hour of opening next day; and then they went to bed, and to sleep, little dreaming of the mighty power that would force an entrance before the light.
Left alone in the prison cell to watch her sleeping patient, Miss Tabby sat and whimpered over the baby, which she still held in her lap.
Sometimes she listened to the roaring of the river outside, and sometimes she muttered to herself after the manner of lonely old ladies.
"Oh, indeed I do wish they would come. One on 'em, at any rate! Oh, it's horrid to be left alone here in this dissolute place, with a dying 'oman, and she my own dear nurse child," she whined, wringing and twisting her fingers, and looking from the face of the sleeping babe to that of the unconscious mother.
"Oh, to think of my own dear father a-dying at a distance, and I never to see him alive no more in this world!" she burst forth, sobbing and crying.
"And oh, good Lord in heaven, what an awful night! I never did see sich a night in my life, with the rain pouring and pouring barrels full in a stream, and the river roaring around the house like a whole drove of lions!" she exclaimed, shuddering from head to foot.
"And an endless night as it is, oh, my goodness! But it must be near morning; I do think it must be near morning," she finally said, as she arose and laid the baby on the bed beside its mother, and then went to the window to look out for the dawn.
She started back with a cry of terror, and sank upon the nearest seat.
The cell, as I told you, was in the angle of the building, and had two windows—the one looking down upon Black River, and the other upon Bird Creek. Miss Tabby had peeped from that one which overlooked Bird Creek.
Day had dawned darkly and dimly, but the solitary woman saw enough to curdle her blood with horror.
The river and the creek, lashed to fury, had swollen so high that they were now merged into one body of water, and had risen nearly to the second story of the building. If Miss Tabby could have put her arm through the grated window, she might easily have reached down and dipped her hand in the rising water, for it was rising so fast that she could almost see it mount.
"Oh, my good gracious alive!" she cried, as she fell back on the chair—"it's a flood! It's a flood like that I heard mother talk about, which carried away the mills in ninety. It's a flood! it's a flood! And we shall all be drownded in this horrid cell, like blind kittens in a tub!"
And made desperate by terror, the old woman started up, and rushed to the barred and bolted door of the cell, and rapped and kicked with all her might, and threw herself against it, and called, loudly and frantically:
"Help! Murder! Murder! Help!Take us out, or we'll all be drownded in ten minutes!"
But bolts and bars resisted all her strength, and the noise of winds and waters drowned her voice. And the same cause that rendered others deaf to her frenzied cries for help, prevented her from hearing the sounds of terror and confusion that came up from the story below—the groaning and crying of men locked up in their cells; the calling and shouting of warden and watchmen, rushing from corridor to corridor to release the prisoners from their imminent peril; the clattering of feet, the mingling of voices; in short, all the discordant notes that go to make up the infernal concert of a crowd surprised and maddened by sudden and general disaster.
There was also another reason why Miss Tabby's cries for help could not be heard. Sybil Berners was the one solitary prisoner in this long and remote corridor. Her door was barred and bolted fast, and it was not deemed necessary to leave a night watch on duty near it. Thus, if they should happen to be forgotten in the general panic, they would certainly be drowned; for even if the thunder of waters, and the shouting of men, and crashing of timbers, had been less deafening and distracting, Miss Tabby's voice would still have failed to reach the ears of the distant turnkeys.
From her fruitless efforts at the barred door, she rushedin desperation to the grated window. With a fearful shriek she threw her hands to her head, and rushed away again. The surrounding waters had risen within a foot of the window sill! She filled the air of the cell with her shrieks, as she rushed madly about from wall to wall, like a frenzied screaming macaw, beating itself against the bars of its cage.
"To lie drownded here in the cell like a cat in a tub! To be drownded like a cat in a tub!" was the burden of her death song.
And through all this Sybil slept the sleep of coma.
Suddenly the young babe awoke and added its shrill and feeble pipes to the horrible uproar.
The old maid had all a mother's tenderness in her heart. In the midst of her own agony of terror she ceased to scream, and went and took the babe and cried gently over its fate, murmuring:
"Only a few hours old, and to die in this horrible den, my babe! Oh, my babe! And you not even baptized! Oh, my goodness, not even baptized! What shall I do? Oh! what shall I do? Let you die without baptism? Oh, no, no! I never did baptize a child in my life, which I know I'm all unworthy to do it! But—but, I know the church allows any one to christen a child in danger of death. And so, my baby! Oh! my poor baby!" And her voice broke down in tears as she bore the child to a table where there was a pitcher of water.
Very humbly and reverently the old maid performed the sacred ceremony that her faith taught her was essential to the child's salvation. And she gave it the first name that came into her head—"Mary."
"There! now you are ready to go, my baby! Not that—that I really think the good Lord would ever keep you, my innocent one, out of His heaven, merely because you wasn't christened! No, no, I don't believe that either!But still it's best to be on the safe side, when it's so easy as sprinkling a little water and speaking a few words!—Hush!I do believe they are coming to let us out at last!" exclaimed Miss Tabby, breaking off from her monologue, as through all the general uproar a crashing sound close at hand smote upon her ear!
She hastily laid the child upon the bed, and hurried to the door. No one was there, and the bolts and bars were fast as ever. But before she could turn around the window fell in with a tremendous clatter and bang—glass and grating ringing and shattering upon the floor.
Miss Tabby recoiled and squeezed herself against the wall in the corner. She thought the window had been beaten in by the water, and she expected the flood to follow.
But a tall man in dark clothing leaped through the opening, striking the floor with a rebound, and then stood up and gazed around the dimly lighted cell.
His eyes fell upon Sybil, as she lay in coma on the bed.
"All right, Raphael! You were correct. This is the cell, and here she is. Come!" and he called to some one without.
A second figure, younger and slighter, jumped through the open window into the cell, and stood, like the first had done, peering around through the semi-darkness.
"Haste, Raphael! You were swift-footed enough to bring her here! Try to be almost as swift-footed to bear her hence!" cried the first man, seizing the form of Sybil and wrapping it hastily in the upper quilt.
As he was doing this, something rolled over and cried.
"Hallo! Here's a baby! I never bargained for that!" exclaimed the man in astonishment.
"It isherbaby, father—the baby for whose sake the governor prolonged her life. Let me take it," pleaded the youth.
"Why the demon didn't you tell me about this before?" angrily demanded the elder, while carefully wrapping up the patient.
"I knew no more than yourself, father.Youknew, as I and everybody did, that this child was expected, and that the governor respited the mother for its sake; but I didn't know it had arrived until you spoke of it," said the youth.
"Ah! you are more quick-witted than I," laughed the man sarcastically.
"Let me take care of the babe, father," pleaded the boy.
"Why?"
"Because it must be rescued with her."
"Why, again?"
"Because she would break her heart without it."
"How do you know?"
"Oh, father, even a bird loves its birdling; and of course this tender-hearted lady loves her little one."
"She don't seem to love anything now, or even to know anything. She is as stupid and lifeless as anything I ever saw that lived and breathed. She is under the influence of opium, I should think," said the man, who had now the form of the unconscious woman well wound around with the quilt and laid over his breast and shoulder.
"Oh, no, she an't, sir! no, she an't—no sich a thing, sir! But she's been in this here comotious condition, knowing nothing nor nobody, ever since the baby arrove!" said Miss Tabby, coming from her concealment, for she saw in these two men only benevolent individuals who had come to deliver her and her lady.
"Who the demon are you?" demanded the elder, turning sharply towards her.
"I an't no demon, sir! though I am mistreated all as if I was one," whimpered Miss Tabby.
"Then who are you?"
"I'm her poor, faithful, misfortunate nurse, sir," snivelled Miss Tabby.
"Oh, you are!—Raphael, take the child into the boat! Never mind the old woman; let her drown!" said the elder man, laughing savagely.
"Oh, sir, don't you do that! Don't you leave me here to drown, sir! to die such a dismal death in this dark den!" pleaded Miss Tabby, catching hold of the man's coat-tails.
"Go to the devil!" exclaimed the stranger, trying to shake her off.
"But I an't prepared to go, sir, indeed I an't," persisted Miss Tabby, holding on.
"Go ahead, Raphael—I'm coming! And, confound you, so is the water! It will be too late in another minute!" savagely exclaimed the man, succeeding now in shaking himself free.
"Oh, sir! for pity's sake, sir, don't leave me here to drown! How can you resky the mother and child, and leave a poor lone 'oman like me to die? How can you, sir? Resky me, for your own blessed mother's sake! Oh! young gentleman, beg for me! don't leave me!" prayed Miss Tabby, turning from the elder to the younger man.
"Go on, Raphael!" shouted the man.
But the youth hesitated.
"Father," he said, "that old woman was kind to me. Save her! there is room enough in the boat."
"Oh! you darling sweet Master Raphael! Is it yourself that is there?" exclaimed Miss Tabby, delightedly. "Is it yourself indeed? Oh, tell the gentleman what a faithful servant I have been, and how my young lady loved me! and how she'd fret herself to death if I was to be drownded, all through coming to her help in her trouble to-night!" pleaded the poor creature, clasping her hands.
"Father, bring her off, for our sakes, if not for her own," said the boy, diplomatically; "for if we leave her here, and she should be saved by others, she may betray our secret."
"That is true," admitted the elder man. "So we will save the poor old wretch, but only upon conditions. Here, you old devil!" he called, turning to the woman.
"Yes, sir," said Miss Tabby, opening and clasping her hands.
"If I take you off in the boat to-night, and drop you down safe somewhere on dry land, will you promise never to tell any living soul who rescued you?"
"Yes, sir! yes, sir! and swear to it on the Bible! which there is one on the table handy, sir!" eagerly assented Miss Tabby.
"And will you also promise never to speak of our visit to this cell to-night?"
"Yes, sir! yes, sir! and swear to it!"
"And never to mention how Mrs. Berners and her child were saved?"
"Oh yes, sir!"
"Nor even that she was saved at all?"
"Oh yes, sir! and swear to it!"
"And you will never betray the secret, by word or sign?"
"No, sir!"
"But keep it to the day of your death?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Get the book, then, and take the oath. Raphael, take the child to the boat and lay it on the blankets there, and then come back and help the woman off. And, good Heaven! make haste! We must get away from here immediately. I hear footsteps along the corridor! Some one is coming! Haste! We must not allow Sybil Berners to be rescued through the door. That would be worse than being left to drown! Haste, I say!" exclaimed the man, speaking rapidly and excitedly as he caught up another quilt and cast it over Sybil's form, and hurried with her towards the open window.
There was indeed the most pressing need of haste, for more reasons than one: the rising waters were now oozing through the stone walls and covering the floor inside, while outside the flood was almost up to the window sill. In a very few moments it would overflow the place.
Raphael laid the child down where he had been told to put her, and then ran back into the cell to help Miss Tabby, who had faithfully taken the oath required of her.
The elder man laid his insensible burden in the boat, and then climbed in after her.
The last was a difficult feat, for the water was brimming to the window sill, and the boat was above it.
As the man stepped into the boat, his weight caused it to tip so much that it cast a shower into the cell.
Miss Tabby shrieked out that she was going to be drowned, although not a drop of water had touched her.
Raphael soothed her and helped her into the boat, and put her in a seat near the elder man.
"That's the thing! Now do you support this lady's head on your lap, for I shall have to row," said the man, as he transferred Sybil Berners from his own arms to Miss Tabby's, and then took up the oar.
Raphael took up the other oar, and they were rowing away from the prison walls when their attention was attracted by the sound of a dog's whining in the cell. They looked up and saw Sybil's little Skye terrier on the window sill, with her fore-paws in the water. And at the same instant little Nelly struck out, swam towards them, jumped into the boat, and nestled at her mistress' feet.
The rain had ceased, and the clouds were breaking away from the eastern horizon, where the first crimson streak heralded the rising sun.
They rowed swiftly towards the heights, which now appeared not so much like the boundaries of a valley as the hilly shores of an inland sea.
Yes, the Black Valley seemed indeed transformed into a black lake, surrounded with wooded hills, and dotted with wooded isles; but these seeming hills were really mountains, and these seeming isles were the tops of submerged trees.
They rowed to the nearest point of land and stopped the boat, where a little path led up the steep ascent.
"Do you see that path?" inquired the elder man of the old woman.
"Yes, my dear gentleman, I do," said Miss Tabby.
"Do you know where it leads?"
"Yes, my dear gentleman; it leads to a cluster of quarrymen's cottages."
"Then get out of the boat and go up there; there you will find shelter."
"But, my good sir, my sick lady?" inquired Miss Tabby, hesitating.
"Never mind her. She will be a blamed sight better taken care of by us, than she has been lately by any of you! Come, get out with you!"
"But, sir, I daren't desert my sick lady."
"I'm blest, if you don't get out of this boat in double quick time, if I don't pitch your head foremost into the water, and drown you. We have no time to stop here fooling with you till it is broad daylight," said the man, starting to his feet as if about to put his threat into instant execution.
Miss Tabby jumped up and scuttled out of the boat as fast as she could go, without even having stopped to kiss her lady "good-bye."
And this was the last Miss Tabby saw or heard of Sybil Berners for many long years.