Cruel as the grave
All the ladies and all the servants had gone away. No one remained in it
but Sybil and Miss Tabby, watching the dead.
Sybil sat near the head of the body, and Miss Tabby near the feet.
At the sight of his doomed young wife, Lyon Berners senses reeled again.
"She is so inexperienced in all the ways of the world, so ignorant of
the ways of the law! Oh, does she know--does she even dream of the awful
position, the deadly danger in which she stands? No; she is unconscious
of all peril. She evidently believes that the explanation she gave us
here, and which satisfies her friends, will convince all others. Oh,
Sybil! Sybil! an hour ago so safe in your domestic sanctity, and
now--now momentarily exposed to--Heaven! I cannot bear it!" he groaned,
as he struggled for self-command and went towards her.
She was sitting with her hands clasped, as in prayer, and her eyes, full
of the deepest regret and pity, fixed upon the face of the dead. There
was sorrow, sympathy, awe--anything but fear or distrust in her
countenance. At the approach of her husband, she turned and whispered
gravely:
"She was my rival where I could least bear rivalry; and I thought she
had been a successful one. I do not think so now; and now I have no
feeling towards her but one of the deepest compassion. Oh, Lyon, we must
adopt her poor child, and rear it for our own. Oh! who has done this
deed? Some one whose aim was robbery, no doubt. Has any trace been
discovered of the murderer?" she inquired.
"None, Sybil," he answered, with difficulty.
"Oh, Lyon, such awful thoughts have visited me since I have sat here and
forced myself to look upon this sight! For I see in it that which I
might have done, had my madness become frenzy; but even then, not as
this was done. Oh, no, no, no! May God forgive me and change my heart,
for I have been standing on the edge of an abyss!"
Mr. Berners could not speak. He was suffocating with the feeling that
she now stood upon the brink of ruin yawning to receive her.
"Heaven help you, Sybil!" was the silent prayer of his spirit as he
gazed on his unconscious wife.
Miss Tabby, who sat whimpering at the feet of the dead, now spoke up:
"I think," she said, wiping the tear-drop from the end of her nose, "I
_do_ think as we ought not to leave it a-lying here, cramped up onto
this sofy, where we can't stretch it straight. We ought to have it taken
to her room and laid out on her bed, decent and in order."
"It is true; but oh, in a shock like this, how much is forgotten!" said
Mr. Berners. Then turning to old Judge Basham, who had sank into an
easy-chair to rest, but seemed to consider himself still on the bench,
since he assumed so much authority, Lyon inquired, "Do you see any
objection to the body being removed to a bedroom before the coroner's
arrival?"
"Certainly not. This is not the scene of the murder. You had best take
it back to the bed on which she received her death," answered the old
Judge.
"Friends," said Mr. Berners, turning to the gentlemen, who had all
solemnly and silently seated themselves as at a funeral, "will one of
you assist me in this?"
Captain Pendleton, who had just reentered the room, came promptly up.
"By the way, did you send for the coroner, sir?" demanded the old Judge,
intercepting him.
"Yes, sir, I did," curtly answered the Captain.
"Then I shall sit here until his arrival," observed the Judge settling
himself for a nap in his easy-chair.
"That old fellow is in his dotage!" growled Captain Pendleton to
himself, as he tenderly lifted the head and shoulders of all that
remained of poor Rosa Blondelle. But at the touch of her cold form, the
sight of her still face, tears of pity sprang into the young soldier's
eyes. Rosa had been a fine woman, and her body was now no light weight.
It took the united strength of Captain Pendleton and Mr. Berners to bear
it properly from the parlor to the chamber, where they laid it on the
bed, and left it to the care of Sybil and Miss Tabby, who had followed
them.
Mr. Berners then pulled the Captain into an empty room and whispered
hoarsely:
"Did I understand you to tell the Judge that you had sent a messenger
for the coroner?"
"Yes; but mind, I sent an old man on an old mule. It will be many hours
before he reaches Blackville; many more before the coroner gets here.
Good Heaven! Berners, I _had_ to do that! Don't you see the awful danger
of your innocent wife?" exclaimed Captain Pendleton, in an agitated
voice.
"_Don't_ I see it? I am not mad, or blind. But you, in the face of this
overwhelming evidence--you believe her to be innocent?" demanded Lyon
Berners, in a tone of agonized entreaty.
"I _know_ her to be innocent! I have known her from her infancy. She
might have flown at a rival, and torn her to pieces, in a frenzy of
passion; but she could never have struck a secret blow," answered
Captain Pendleton, emphatically.
"Thanks! Oh, thanks for your faith in her!" exclaimed Lyon Berners,
earnestly.
"But now! _Do_ you not see what is to be done? She must be got out of
the house before the coroner or any officer of justice arrives," said
Captain Pendleton, earnestly.
"Oh, this is so sudden and terrible! It is an avalanche--an earthquake!
It crushes me. It deprives me of reason!" groaned Lyon Berners, sinking
into a chair, and covering his face with his hands.
"Lyon, my friend, arouse yourself! Rise above this agony of despair, if
you would save your imperilled wife! She must fly from this house within
an hour, and you must accompany her," urged Captain Pendleton.
"I know it! I know it! But oh, Heaven! the anguish of my heart! the
chaos of my thoughts! Pendleton, think for me; act for me; tell me what
to do!" cried the strong man, utterly overwhelmed and powerless.
Captain Pendleton hurried into the supper-room, the scene of the late
revels, and brought from there a glass of brandy, which he forced his
friend to swallow.
"Now listen to me, Berners. Go and call your wife, take her to your
mutual room, tell her the necessity of instant flight. She is strong,
and will be equal to the occasion. Then, quickly as you can collect all
your money and jewels, and conceal them about your person. Dress
yourself, and tell her to dress in plain stout weather-proof
riding-habits. Do this at once. Meanwhile, I will go myself to the
stables, and saddle two of the swiftest horses, and bring them around to
the back door, so that no servant need to be taken into our confidence
to-night. When I meet you with the horses, I will direct you to a
temporary retreat where you will be perfectly safe for the present;
afterwards we can think of a permanent place of security. Now, then,
courage, and hurry!"
"My friend in need!" fervently exclaimed Lyon Berners, as they parted.
"I have further suggestions to make when we meet again. I have thought
of everything," Captain Pendleton called after him.
Lyon Berners went in search of Sybil, to the chamber of death, which was
now restored to order, and dimly lighted.
CHAPTER XXI.
SYBIL'S FLIGHT.
'Tis well--my soul shakes off its load of care;
'Tis only the obscure is terrible;
Imagination frames events unknown,
In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin,
And what its fears creates.--HANNAH MORE.
Upon the snow-white bed the form of Rosa Blondelle, wrapped in pure
white raiment, was laid out. Very peaceful and beautiful she looked, her
fair face, framed in its pale gold hair, wearing no sign of the violent
death by which she died.
At her head sat Sybil, looking very pale, and shedding silent tears.
At her feet sat Miss Tabby, whimpering and muttering.
Within the little nursery, beyond the chamber, the Scotch girl sat,
crying and sobbing.
Lyon Berners softly approached the bed, and whispered to Sybil.
"Dearest, come out, I wish to speak to you."
She silently arose and followed him. He was silent until they had
reached their own room.
"Sit down, Sybil," he then said, as calmly as he could force himself to
speak.
She sank into a seat and looked at him inquiringly, but fearlessly.
He stood before her unable to proceed. It was terrible to him to witness
her utter unconsciousness of her own position--more terrible still to be
obliged to arouse her from it.
She continued to regard him with curiosity, but without anxiety, waiting
silently for what he should say to her.
"Sybil," he said at length, as soon as he was able to speak--"Sybil, you
are a brave and strong spirit! You can meet a sudden calamity without
sinking under it."
"What is it?" inquired his wife, in a low tone.
"Sybil, dearest Sybil! there is no time to break the bad news to you;
brace yourself to hear it abruptly."
"Yes! tell me."
"Sybil, listen, and comprehend. The circumstances that surround this
mysterious murder are of a character to compromise you so seriously,
that you may only find safety in immediate flight."
"Me!--flight!" exclaimed Mrs. Berners, dilating her dark eyes in
amazement.
Mr. Berners groaned in the spirit, as he replied:
"Yes, Sybil, yes! Oh! my dearest, attend and understand, and be strong!
Sybil, hear. The quarrel you were known to have had with this poor
woman; the threats you used on that occasion; the dagger in your hand;
the blood oh your wrist, and above all the words of the dying woman
charging you with her death. All these form a chain of circumstantial
and even direct evidence that will drag you down--I cannot say it!"
burst forth Lyon in an accession of agony.
Sybil's dark eyes opened wider and wider in amazement, but still without
the least alarm.
"It is enough, oh, Sybil, to repeat to you that your only safety is in
instant flight," he exclaimed, dropping his face upon his hands.
"Flight!" echoed Sybil, staring at him. "Why should I take refuge in
flight? I have done nothing criminal, nor will I do anything so
ignominious as to fly from my home, Lyon," she added, proudly.
"But, Sybil--Oh, Sybil! the circumstantial evidence--."
"Why, I explained all that!" replied Mrs. Berners naively. "I told you
all how it was: that when I heard her scream, I ran to see what was the
matter and I drew the dagger from her bosom, and then the blood spirted
up and sprinkled me! It was terrible enough to see and bear that,
without having to hear and endure such a preposterous suspicion! And it
is all easy enough for any honest mind to understand my explanation."
"Oh, Sybil! Sybil! that indeed--I mean your presence at her death, with
all its concurrent circumstances might be explained away! But the dying
woman's last solemn declaration, charging you as her murderess, that was
the most direct testimony! Oh, Heaven, Sybil! Sybil! prepare for your
flight; for in that is your only hope of safety! Prepare at once, for
there is not an instant to be lost!"
"Stop!" said Sybil, suddenly and solemnly--"Lyon Berners, do _you_
believe that dying declaration to have been true?"
"No! as the Lord hears me, I do not, Sybil! I know you were incapable
of doing the deed she charged upon you! No! I am sure she spoke in the
delirium of sudden death and terror," said Lyon Berners earnestly.
"Nor will any one else who knows me, believe it! So be tranquil. I am
not guilty, nor will I run away like a guilty one. I will stay here and
tell the truth," said Sybil composedly.
"But, oh, good Heavens! telling the truth will not help you! The law
deals with _facts_, not _truths_! and judges of facts as if they were
truths. And oh! my dear Sybil! the lying facts of this case involve you
in such a net of circumstantial evidence and direct testimony as renders