Cruel as the grave
"Well, but you were found at last," suggested Mr. Berners.
"Who, _me_? No, _sir_! And I don't think as I should a-been found yet;
'cause it was a funny kind of life, that run-a-way life, a dodging of
the man-hunters; but you see, marser, I sort o' pined arter the
child--meaning Miss Sybil, who was then about four years old. And,
moreover, it was fotch to me by a secret friend o' mine, as the child
was likewise a pining arter me. So I up and went straight home, and
walked right up before old marse, and took off my hat and told him as
how _I_ was willin' to forgive and forget, and let by-gones be by-gones
like a Christian gentleman, if he would do the same."
"And of course your master at once accepted such magnanimous terms."
"Who, _he_? Why, Marse Lyon! he looked jes as if he'd a-knocked me down!
Only, you see, the child--meaning Miss Sybil--was a sitting on his knee,
which, soon as ever she saw me, she ran to me, and clasped me round one
leg, and tried to climb up in my arms; which I took her up at once; and
old marster, he couldn't knock me down then, if it had been to have
saved his life."
"So peace was ratified."
"Yes, Marse Lyon! which I telled you all this here nonsense jes to let
you know how good I was at hiding and seeking. And, Marse! the horses
come home all right."
"They did! I am glad of that."
"This was the way of it being all right, sir! You see I knowed, when I
heard you were going to ride to this old church, as you couldn't get the
horses through this thicket, but would have to turn them loose, to find
their way home. And I knowed how if any other eyes 'cept mine saw them,
it would set people to axing questions. So I goes out to the road, and
watches till I sees 'em coming; when I takes charge of 'em, and gets 'em
into the stable quiet, and no one the wiser."
"Well done, Joe! But tell me, my good man, are we missed yet? Has any
one inquired for us?"
"Plenty has axed arter you both, Marse! But as no one but me and Capping
Pendulum knowed where you was gone, and as I locked your door, and took
the key, most of the folks still think as how Miss Sybil has gone to
bed, overcome by the ewents of the night, and as how you is a watching
by her, and a taking care of her."
"That also is well."
"But, Marse, how is Miss Sybil, and where is she?" inquired the faithful
servant, looking about himself.
"She is very much prostrated by fatigue and excitement, and is now
sleeping in the church."
"Thanks be to the Divine Marster as she _can_ sleep," said Joe,
reverently.
"And now," he continued, as he replaced it on his head, "I will kindle a
fire and make the coffee, and may be she may wake up by the time it is
ready."
"Kindle a fire out here, Joe! Will not the smoke be seen, and lead to
our discovery?" inquired Lyon Berners, glancing at the slender column of
smoke from the fire in the church, that he himself had kindled, and now
for the first time struck with the sense of the danger of discovery to
which it might have exposed Sybil.
"Lord, Marse!" replied Joe, showing his teeth, "we are too far off from
any human being for any eye to see our smoke. And even if it wasn't so,
bless you, there are so many mists rising from the valley this morning,
that one smoke more or less wouldn't be noticed."
"That is true," admitted Mr. Berners.
Meanwhile Joe busied himself with lighting a fire. When it was burning
freely, he took the kettle and filled it from the little stream that
flowed through the church-yard.
"Now, Marse Lyon, in about ten minutes I will set you down to as good a
breakfast, almost, as you could have got at home," said Joe, as he
raised three cross-sticks over the fire, and hung the kettle over the
blaze, gipsy fashion.
While Joe was at work, Mr. Berners went into the church to look after
Sybil.
She was still sleeping the heavy sleep of utter mental and bodily
prostration. For a few minutes he stood contemplating her with an
expression of countenance full of love and pity, and then after
adjusting the covering over her, and collecting together the brands of
the expiring fire to light up again, he left the church.
On going outside, he found that Joe had spread a cloth and arranged a
rude sort of picnic breakfast upon the ground.
"The coffee is ready, Marse Lyon; but how about the Missis?" inquired
the man, as he stirred down the grounds from the top of the pot.
"She is still sleeping, and must not be disturbed," answered Mr.
Berners.
"Well, Marse Lyon, I reckon as how you can relish a cup of coffee as
well as she; so please to let me wait on you, sir."
Mr. Berners thanked Joe, and threw himself down upon the ground, and
made such a breakfast as a hungry man _can_ make, even under the most
deplorable circumstances.
"Now you know, sir, when the Missus wakes up, be it longer or shorter, I
can make fresh coffee for her in ten minutes," said Joe, cheerfully.
"But you cannot stay here very long. You'll be missed from the house,"
objected Mr. Berners.
"Please, sir, I have so well provided for all that, that I can stay till
night. Bless you, sir, I told my fellow-servants as I was going to take
some corn to the mill to be ground, and was agoin' to wait all day to
fetch it home; and so I really did take the corn, and told the miller I
should come arter it this evening, and so I shall, and take it home all
right, accordin' to my word."
"That was a very politic proceeding, Joe; but how could you account to
them for the hamper you brought away, and which must have excited
suspicion, if not inquiry?"
"Bless you, sir, I wasn't fool enough to let them see the hamper. All
they saw was the two bags of corn as I rode out of the gate with. I had
filled the hamper on the sly, and hid it in the bushes by the road,
until I went by and picked it up."
"Still better, Joe! But your horse? what horse did you ride, and what
have you done with him?"
"I rode Dick, which I have tied him fast in the deep woods on the other
side of the river. I crossed over the rapids with the help of a pole,"
explained Joe.
While they were speaking, a step was heard crushing through the dried
brushwood, and in another moment Captain Pendleton, pale, sad, and
weary, stood before them.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE VERDICT AND THE VISITOR.
Can such things be,
And overcome us like a summer cloud
Without our special wonder?--Shakespeare.
"Pendleton! oh! Heaven, Pendleton! What news?" exclaimed Lyon Berners,
starting up to greet him.
"Good heaven! Berners! How is this? Another--a servant taken into your
confidence, and trusted with the secret of your retreat!" cried Captain
Pendleton in dismay.
"He is trustworthy! I will vouch for his fidelity! But oh! Pendleton!
What news? what news?" exclaimed Lyon Berners in an agony of impatience.
"The worst that you can anticipate!" cried Captain Pendleton in a voice
full of sorrow.
"Oh! my unhappy wife! The coroner's jury have found their verdict then?"
groaned Lyon.
Captain Pendleton bowed his head. He was unable to reply in words.
"And that verdict is--Oh! speak I let me hear the worst!--that verdict
is--"
"Wilful Murder!" muttered Pendleton in a hoarse and choking voice.
"Against--against--whom?" gasped Lyon Berners white as death.
"Oh Heaven! _You know!_ Do not ask me to sully her name with the words!"
cried Captain Pendleton, utterly overcome by his emotions.
"Oh, my unhappy wife! Oh, my lost Sybil!" exclaimed Lyon Berners,
reeling under the blow, half-expected though it might have been.
There was silence for a few minutes. Pendleton was the first to recover
himself. He went up to his friend, touched him on the shoulder, and
said:
"Berners, rouse yourself; the position requires the exertion of your
utmost powers of mind and body. Calm yourself, and collect all your
faculties. Come now let us sit down here and talk over the situation."
Lyon permitted the captain to draw him away to a little distance, where
they both sat down side by side, on a fallen tombstone.
"In the first place, how is your wife, and how does she sustain herself
under this overwhelming disaster?" inquired Captain Pendleton, forcing
himself to speak composedly.
"I do not think my dear innocent Sybil was able fully to appreciate the
danger of her position, even as she stood before the rendering of that
false and fatal verdict, she was so strong in her sense of innocence.
She seemed to suffer most from the lesser evils involved in her exile
from home."
"Where is she, then?"
"Sleeping heavily in the church there; sleeping very heavily, from the
united effects of mental and bodily fatigue and excitement."
"Heaven grant that she may sleep long and well. And now, Berners, to our
plans. You must know that I kept a horse saddled and tied in the woods
down by the river, and as soon as that lying verdict was rendered, I
hurried off, leaped into my saddle and galloped here. I forded the
river, and have left my horse just below here, at the entrance of this
thicket. I must soon mount and away again on your service."
"Oh, my dear Pendleton, how shall I ever repay you?"
"By keeping up a stout heart until this storm-cloud blows over, as it
must, in a few days or weeks. But now to business. How came this man Joe
here?"
Mr. Berners explained how Joe had overheard all their conversation while
they were making their arrangements, and taken pains to co-operate with
them, and had followed them here with some necessary provisions. And he,
Mr. Berners, closed with a eulogy on Joe's fidelity and discretion.
"I am very glad to hear what you tell me, for it relieves my mind of a
very great weight. I knew that there had been a listener to our
conversation, for I almost ran against him as I went into the house; but
as he made his escape before I could identify him, I was very anxious on
the subject. So you may judge what a burden is lifted from my mind by
the discovery that he was no other than honest Joe, whom Providence sent
in the way. But why he ran from me, I cannot imagine.
"He was a little jealous, a little sulky, and somewhat fearful of being
blamed, I suppose. But tell me, Pendleton, has our flight been
discovered yet?" inquired Mr. Berners, anxiously.
"No, nor even suspected; at least, not up to the time that I left Black
Hall. Mrs. Berners was supposed to be in her chamber. I warned all the
men, and requested my sister to caution all the women, against knocking
at her door."
"And I, who must have been expected to be on the spot?" asked Lyon.
"You were often asked for. Fortunately for you, there is a well-known
weakness in human nature to pretend to know all about everything that
may be inquired into. And so, every time you chanced to be inquired for
by one party, you were accounted for by another. Some said you were with
Mrs. Berners; others that you had gone to Blackville on pressing
business connected with the tragedy. And these last authorities came to
be believed; so that when I slipped away I left the people momentarily
expecting your return."
"Whom did you leave there?"
"Everybody--the coroner's jury and all the guests of the house, who had
been detained as witnesses."
"Then all our friends heard the fatal verdict?"
"All."
"Was there--a warrant issued?" gasped Lyon Berners, scarcely able to
utter the words.
"Ah, yes; the issue of the warrant was the first intimation I had of the
fatal nature of the verdict. It was put in the hands of an officer, with
orders to be on the watch and serve it as soon as Mrs. Berners should
come out of her chamber, but not to knock at the door, or molest her
while she remained in it."
Lyon Berners groaned deeply, and buried his face in his hands.