Cruel as the grave
"No, no, I cannot swallow a morsel. My throat is parched and
constricted," she answered.
"If I only had a little coffee for you," said Lyon.
"If we only had liberty to go home again," sighed Sybil, "then we
should have all things. But there; indeed I will not backslide into weak
complaints again," she added, compunctuously.
"Modify your grief, dear Sybil, but do not attempt entirely to suppress
it. Nature is not to be so restrained," said Lyon Berners, kindly.
There was silence between them for a little while, during which Sybil
still sat down upon the flagstones, with her elbows resting on her
knees, and her head bowed upon the palms of her hands; and Lyon stood up
near her with an attitude and expression of grave and sad reflection and
self-control.
At length Sybil spoke:
"Oh, Lyon! who could have murdered that poor woman, and brought us into
such a horrible position?"
"My theory of the tragedy is this, dear Sybil: that some robber, during
the confusion of the fancy ball, found an opportunity of entering and
concealing himself in Mrs. Blondelle's room; that his first purpose
might have been simple robbery, but that, being discovered by Mrs.
Blondelle, and being alarmed lest her shrieks should bring the house
upon him and occasion his capture, he impulsively sought to stop her
cries by death; and then that, hearing your swift approach down the
stairs leading into her room, he made his escape through the window."
"But then the windows were all found, as they had been left, fastened,"
objected Sybil.
"But, dearest, you must remember that these windows, having spring
bolts, may be fastened by being pushed to from the outside. It is quite
possible for a robber, escaping through them, to close them in this
manner to conceal his flight."
"That must have been the case in this instance. Everybody must see now
that that was the manner in which the miscreant escaped. Oh, Lyon! I
think we were wrong to have left home."
"No, dear Sybil, we were not. Our only hope is in the discovery of the
real murderer, and that may be a work of time; meanwhile we wish to be
free, even at the price of being called fugitives from justice."
"Lyon, that poor child! If we ever go home again, we must adopt and
educate him."
"We will do so, Sybil."
"For, oh! Lyon, although I am entirely innocent of that most heinous
crime, and entirely incapable of it, yet, when I remember how my rage
burned against that poor woman only an hour before her death, I feel--I
feel as if I were half guilty of it! as if--Heaven pardon me!--I might,
in some moment of madness, have been wholly guilty of it! Lyon, I
shudder at myself!" cried Sybil, growing very pale.
"You should thank Heaven that you have been saved from such mortal sin,
dear wife, and also pray Heaven always to save you from your own fierce
passions," said Mr. Berners, very gravely.
"I have breathed that thanksgiving and that prayer with every breath I
have drawn. And I will continue to do so. But, oh! Lyon, all my
passions, all my sufferings grew out of my great love for you."
"I can well believe it, dear wife. And I myself have not been free from
blame; though in reality your jealousy was very causeless, Sybil."
"I know that now," said Sybil, sadly.
"And now, dearest, I would like to make 'a clean breast of it,' as the
sinners say, and tell you all--the whole 'head and front of my
offending' with that poor dead woman," said Mr. Berners, seating himself
on the floor beside his wife.
Sybil did not repel his offered confidence, for though her jealousy had
died a violent death, she was still very much interested in hearing his
confession.
Then Lyon Berners told her everything, up to the very last moment when
she had surprised them in the first and last kiss that had ever passed
between them.
"But in all, and through all, my heart, dear wife, was loyal in its love
to you," he concluded.
"I know that, dearest Lyon--I know that well," replied Sybil.
And with that tenderness towards the faults of the dead, which all
magnanimous natures share, she forbore to say, or even to think, how
utterly unprincipled had been the course of Rosa Blondelle from the
first to the last of their acquaintance with that vain and frivolous
coquette.
Sybil was now almost sinking with weariness. Lyon perceived her
condition, and said:
"Remain here, dear Sybil, while I go and try to collect some boughs and
leaves to make you a couch. The sun must have dried up the moisture by
this time."
And he went out and soon returned with his arms full of boughs, which he
spread upon the flagstones. Then he took off his own overcoat and
covered them with it.
"Now, dear Sybil," he said, "if you will divest yourself of your long
riding skirt, you may turn that into a blanket to cover with, and so
sleep quite comfortably."
With a grave smile Sybil followed his advice, and then she laid herself
down on the rude couch he had spread for her. No sooner had her head
touched it, than she sank into that deep sleep of prostration which is
more like a swoon than a slumber.
Lyon Berners covered her carefully with the long riding skirt, and stood
watching her for some minutes. But she neither spoke nor stirred;
indeed, she scarcely breathed.
Then, after still more carefully tucking the covering around her, he
left her, and walked out to explore the surroundings of the chapel.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE SOLITUDE IS INVADED.
Oh, might we here
In solitude live savage, in some glade
Obscured, where highest woods impenetrable
To star, or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad
And brown as evening; cover us, ye pines
Ye cedars with innumerable boughs
Hide us where we may ne'er be seen again.--BYRON.
Nothing could be more lonely and desolate than this place. It was
abandoned to Nature and Nature's wild children. Of the birds that
perched so near his hand; of the squirrels that peeped at him from their
holes under the gravestones, he might have said with Alexander Selkirk
on Juan Fernandez,
"Their tameness is shocking to me."
There was a great consolation to be derived from these circumstances,
however; for they proved how completely deserted by human beings, and
how perfectly safe for the refugees, was this old "Haunted Chapel."
Too deeply troubled in mind to take any repose of body; Lyon Berners
continued to ramble about among the gravestones, which were now so worn
with age that no vestige of their original inscriptions remained to
gratify the curiosity of a chance inspector.
Above him was the glorious autumn sky, now hazy with the golden mist of
Indian summer. Around him lay a vast wilderness of hill and dell covered
with luxuriant forests, now gorgeous with the glowing autumn colors of
their foliage.
But his thoughts were not with this magnificent landscape. They
wandered to the past days of peace and joy before the coming of the
coquette had "made confusion" with the wedded pair. They wandered to the
future, trying to penetrate the gloom and horror of its shadows. They
flew to Black Hall, picturing the people, prevising the possibilities
there.
How he longed for, yet dreaded the arrival of Captain Pendleton! Would
there be danger in his coming through the open daylight? What news would
he bring?
The verdict of the coroners jury? Against whom must this verdict be
given? Lyon Berners shuddered away from answering this question. But it
was also possible that before this the murderer might have been
discovered and arrested. Should this surmise prove to be a fact, oh,
what relief from anguish, what a happy return home for Sybil! If not--if
the verdict should be rendered against _her_,--nothing but flight and
exile remained to them.
While Lyon Berners wandered up and down like a restless ghost among the
gravestones, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of a
crackling tread breaking through the bushes. He turned quickly,
expecting to see Captain Pendleton, but he saw his own servant instead.
"Joe!" he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise.
"Marser!" responded the man, in a voice of grief.
"You come from Captain Pendleton? What message does he send? How is it
at the house? Has the coroner come? And oh! has any clue been found to
the murderer?" anxiously inquired Mr. Berners.
"No, marser, no clue an't been found to no murderer. But the house up
there is full of crowners and constables, as if it was the county court
house, and Cappin Pendulum managing everything."
"He sent you to me?"
"No, marser, nor likewise knowed I come."
"Joe! _who_ has sent you here?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"No one hasn't, marser," answered Joe, dashing the tears from his eyes,
and then proceeding to unstrap a large hamper that he carried upon his
shoulders.
"No one! Then how came you here?" demanded Mr. Berners, uneasily.
Now, instead of answering his master's question, Joe sat down upon his
hamper, and wept aloud.
"What is the matter with you?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"You axed me how I comed here," sobbed Joe, "just as if I could keep
away when she and you was here in trouble, and a-wanting some one to
look arter you."
"But how did you know we were here?" anxiously questioned Mr. Berners.
"I wa'n't a listening at key-holes, nor likewise a-eaves-dropping, which
I considers beneath a gentleman to do; but I was a-looking to the back
shutters, to see as they was all safe arter the fright we got, and I
hearn somebody a-talking, which I was sure was more bugglers; so I made
free to wait and hear what they said."
"It was Captain Pendleton and myself, I suppose," said Mr. Berners, much
annoyed.
"Jes so, sir; it wer Capping Pendulum and yourself, which it hurt me to
the heart as you should have trusted into Capping Pendulum and not into
me--a old and valleyed servant of the family."
"And so, Joe, you overheard the whole matter?"
"Which I did, sir, and shocked I was to think as any false charges
should cause my dear young missus to run away from home in the
night-time, like a fusible slave. And hurt I was to think you didn't
trust into me instead of into he."
"Well, Joe, it appears to me that you were resolved to take our trust,
if we did not give it to you. What brought you here this morning?"
"Coffee, sir," gravely answered Joe, getting up off the hamper and
beginning to untie its fastenings.
"_What?_" demanded Mr. Berners, gathering his brows into a frown.
"COFFEE!" reiterated Joe, as he took from the hamper a small silver
coffee-pot, a pair of cups and saucers, spoons, plates, and knives and
forks, a bottle of cream, and several small packets containing all that
was needful for breakfast.
"Joe! this was very kind and thoughtful of you; but was it quite safe
for you to come here with a hamper on your back in open day?" inquired
Mr. Berners.
"Lord bless you, sir! safe as safe! I took by-paths, and didn't see a
creetur, not one! Why, lord, sir, you had better a-trusted into me from
the beginning, than into Capping Pendulum. Bress your soul, marser,
there an't that white man going, nor yet that red injun, that can aiqual
a colored gentleman into hiding and seeking!"
"I can well believe that."
"Why, marser!--but you don't 'member that time I got mad long o' old
Marse Bertram Berners, 'bout blaming of me for the sorrell horse falling
lame; and I run away?"
"No."
"Well, I was gone three months, and not five miles from home all that
time! And all the constables looking arter me for law and order; and all
the poor white trash, hunting of me for the reward; and not one of 'em
all ever struck upon my trail, and me so nigh home all the while!"