Cruel as the grave
"Come, come! bear up, that you may sustain _her_!" said Captain
Pendleton. "And now listen: Your flight, as I told you, was not
suspected up to the time I left Black Hall. It will not be discovered
probably until late this evening, when it will be too late for the
authorities to take any immediate measures of pursuit. We have,
therefore, this afternoon and to-night to perfect our plans. Only you
need to bring steady nerves and a clear head to the task."
"What do you suggest, Pendleton?"
"First of all, that during this night, which is ours, all necessary
conveniences be brought here to support your life for a few days, for
you must not leave this safe refuge immediately--to do so would be to
fall into the hands of the law."
"I see that," sighed Mr. Berners.
"I, then, with the help of this faithful Joe, will bring to you here
to-night such things as you and Mrs. Berners will actually need, for the
few days that you must remain. As to all your affairs at the Hall, I
counsel you to give me a written authority to act for you in your
absence. I have brought writing materials for the purpose; and when you
have written it, I will myself take it and drop it secretly into the
post-office at Blackville, so that it may reach me regularly through the
mail, and help to mislead everybody to whom I shall show it, into the
idea that you have gone away through Blackville. Will you write it now?"
inquired Captain Pendleton, drawing from his pocket a rolled
writing-case, containing all that was requisite for the work.
"A thousand thanks, Pendleton. I do not see how in the name of Heaven we
could have managed without you," replied Berners, as he took the case,
unrolled it on his knee, and proceeded to write the required "power of
attorney."
"And now," said the Captain, when he received the document, "now we must
be getting back. The sun is quite low, and we have much to do. Come,
Joe, are you ready?"
"Yes, Massa Capping; ready and waitin' on you too. I ought to be at the
mill now, 'fore the miller shuts it up."
Captain Pendleton then shook hands with Mr. Berners, and Joe pulled his
front lock of wool by way of a deferential adieu, and both left the spot
and disappeared in the thicket.
But it was not until the last sound of their retreating steps, crashing
through the dried bushes, had died away, that Lyon Berners turned and
went into the church.
As he entered, a singular phenomenon, almost enough to confirm the
reputation of the place as "haunted ground," met his view.
All in one instant his eyes took in these things: First, Sybil covered
over with the dark riding skirt, and still sleeping by the smouldering
fire; but sleeping uneasily, and muttering in her sleep. Secondly, the
four prints of the western windows laid in sunshine on the floor.
Thirdly, a _shadow_ that slipped swiftly athwart this sunshine, and
disappeared as if it had sunk into the floor on the right of the altar.
And in the same moment Sybil, with a half-suppressed shriek, started up,
and stared wildly around, exclaiming:
"Oh! what is this? Where am I? Who was she?" Lyon Berners hastened to
his wife, saying soothingly:
"Sybil, wake up, darling; you have been dreaming."
"But what does all this mean? Where are we? What strange place is this?"
she cried, throwing back her long dark hair, and shading her eyes with
her hands, as she gazed around.
"Dearest wife, take time to compose yourself, and you will remember all.
A sudden and terrible catastrophe has driven us from our home. You have
had a heavy sleep since that, and you find it difficult to awake to the
truth," said Lyon Berners tenderly, as he sat down by her side, and
sought to soothe her.
"Oh! I know now! I remember all now! my fatal fancy ball! Rosa
Blondelle's mysterious murder! Our sudden flight! All! O! Heavens, all!"
cried Sybil, dropping her face upon her hands.
Lyon Berners put his arm around her, and drew her to his bosom. But he
did not speak; he thought it better to leave her to collect herself in
silence.
After a few moments, she looked up again, and looked all around the
church, and then gazed into her husband's eyes, and inquired:
"But Lyon, who was _she_? and where has she gone?"
"Who was who, dear Sybil? I don't understand," answered Mr. Berners, in
surprise.
"That gipsy-like girl in the red cloak; who was bending over me, and
staring into my face, just as you came in?"
"There was no such girl near you, or even in the church, my dear," said
Mr. Berners.
"But indeed there was; she started away just as I woke up."
"My dearest Sybil, you have been dreaming."
"Indeed no; I saw her as plainly as I see you now: a girl in a red
cloak, with such an elfin face I shall never forget it; such small
piercing black eyes; such black eyebrows, depressed towards the nose,
and raised high towards the temples, giving such an eldritch,
mischievous, even dangerous expression to the whole dark countenance;
and such wild black hair streaming around her shoulders."
"A very vivid dream you have had, dear wife, and that is all."
"I tell you no! she was bending over me; looking at me; and she fled
away just as I woke up."
"My darling, I will convince you out of your own mouth. She ran away,
you say, just as you woke up; therefore you did not see her after you
were awake, but only while you slept, in your dreams. Besides, dear, I
was here when you woke up, and I saw no one near you, or even in the
building," persisted Lyon Berners--though at that moment he did recall
to mind _the shadow_ that he had seen slip past all the sunshine on the
floor, and disappear as if it had sunk under the slabs on the right side
of the altar.
"Lyon," said Sybil, solemnly, "I do not like to contradict you, but as I
hope to be saved, I saw that girl, not in a dream, but in reality; and
since you do not know anything about her, I begin to think the
apparition mysterious and alarming. Let me tell you all about it."
"Well, tell me, dear, if to do so will do you any good," said Mr.
Berners indulgently, but incredulously.
"Listen, then. I was in a _dead sleep_, oh, such a deep dead sleep,
that I seemed to be away down in the bottom of some deep cave, when I
felt a heavy breathing or panting over my face, and was conscious of
somebody leaning over me, and looking at me. I tried to wake, but could
not, I could not lift myself up out of that deep dark cave of sleep. But
at last I felt a hand near my throat, trying to unfasten this golden
locket that contains your miniature. Then I struggled, and succeeded in
throwing off the spell and waking up. As soon as I opened my eyes I saw
the wild eldritch face, with its keen bright black eyes and queer
eyebrows, and snake-like black locks, running down over the red cloak.
The instant I saw this, I cried out, and the girl fled, and you hurried
up. Now call that a dream if you can, for I tell you I saw that figure
start up and run away from me as plainly as I saw you come up. One event
was as real as the other," concluded Sybil.
Lyon Berners did not at once reply, for he thought again of the flitting
_shadow_ he had seen cross the sunshine, and disappear as if it had sunk
into the flagstones on the right side of the altar. And he mentally
admitted the bare possibility that some intruder had entered the church
and looked upon Sybil in her sleep, and fled at her awakening. But fled
whither? The windows were very high, the wall was smooth beneath them;
no one could have climbed to them, for there was no foothold or handhold
to assist one in the ascent, and there was but the one door by which he
himself had entered, at the same moment the strange visitor was said to
have fled, and he was quite sure that no one had passed him. Besides,
the shadow that he had seen vanished beside the altar, at the upper end
of the church. Lyon Berners knew not what to think of all that he had
seen and heard within the last quarter of an hour. But one thing was
quite certain, that it was absolutely necessary to Sybil's safety to
ascertain whether any stranger had really entered the church, or even
come upon the premises.
"Well," inquired Sybil, seeing that he still remained silent, "what do
you think now, Lyon?"
"I think," he answered promptly, "that I will search the church."
"There is not a hiding-place for anything bigger than a rat or a bird,"
said his wife, glancing around upon the bare walls, floor, and ceiling.
Nevertheless Lyon Berners walked up to the side of the altar where he
had seen the shadow disappear. Sybil followed close behind him. He
examined the altar all around. It was built of stonework like the
church; that was the reason it had stood so long. But he experienced a
great surprise when he looked at the side where the shadow had vanished;
for there he found a small iron-grated door, through which he dimly
discerned the head of a flight of stone steps, the continuation of which
was lost in the darkness below. Glancing over the top of the door, he
read, in iron letters, the inscription:
"DUBARRY. 1650."
"What is it, dear Lyon?" inquired Sybil, anxiously looking over his
shoulder.
"Good Heaven! It is the family vault of the wicked old Dubarrys, who
once owned all the land hereabouts, except the Black Valley Manor, and
who built this chapel for their sins; for of them it might not be said
with truth, that 'all their sons were true, and all their daughters
pure,' but just exactly the reverse. However, they are well forgotten
now!"
"And this is their family vault?"
"Yes; but I had almost forgotten its existence here."
"Lyon, can my mysterious visitor have hidden herself in that vault?"
"I can search it, at any rate," answered Mr. Berners, wrenching away at
the grated door.
But it resisted all his efforts, as if its iron bars had been bedded in
the solid masonry.
"No," he answered; "your visitor, if you had one, could not possibly
have entered here. See how fast the door is."
"Lyon," whispered Sybil, in a deep and solemn voice, "Lyon, could she
possibly have come out from there?"
"Nonsense, dear! Are you thinking of ghosts?"
"This is the 'Haunted Chapel,' you know," whispered Sybil.
"Bosh, my dear; you are not silly enough to believe that!"
"But my strange visitor?"
"You had no visitor, dear Sybil; you had a dream, and your dream had
every feature of nightmare in it--the deep, death-like, yet
half-conscious and much disturbed sleep; the sense of heavy oppression;
the apparition hanging over you; the inability to awake; even the
grappling at your throat, and the swift disappearance of the vision
immediately upon your full awakening--all well-known features of
incubus," replied Mr. Berners. But again he thought of the shadow he had
seen; now, however, only to dismiss the subject as an optical illusion.
Sybil sighed deeply.
"It is hard," she said, "that you won't trust to my senses in this
affair."
"Sweet wife, I would rather convince you how completely your senses have
deceived you. Your imagination has been excited while your nerves were
depressed. You have heard the legend of the Haunted Chapel, and while
sleeping within it you conjured up the heroine of the story in your
dream where she immediately took the form of incubus."
"I!--the legend! What are you talking of, Lyon? I have heard the church
called the Haunted Chapel indeed, but I never even knew that there was
any story connected with it," exclaimed Sybil, in surprise.
"Really? Never heard the legend of 'Dubarry's Fall'?" inquired Mr.
Berners, with equal surprise.
"Never, upon my word."
"Well, it is an old tradition; forgotten like the family with whom it
was connected. I heard it in my childhood; but it had slipped my memory
until your graphic description of the gipsy girl in the red cloak