Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth ’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 naÏvely. “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 you liable to arrest—nay, certain to be arrested and imprisoned upon the charge of murder! Oh, my dear, most innocent wife! my free, wild, high-spirited Sybil! even the sense of innocence could not save you from imprisonment, or support you during its degrading tortures! You could not bear—I could not bear for you, such loss of liberty and honor for one hour—even if nothing worse should follow! But, Sybil, worse may, worse must follow! Yes, the very worst! Your only safety is in flight—instant flight! And oh! Heaven! how the time is speeding away!” exclaimed the husband, beside himself with distress.

During the latter part of his speech the wife had started to her feet, and now she stood staring at him, amazed, incredulous, yet firm and brave.

“Rouse yourself to the occasion, Sybil! Oh! for my sake, for Heaven’s sake, collect your faculties and prepare for flight,” he passionately urged.

“I am innocent, and yet I must fly like the guilty! Lyon, for your sake, and only for yours, I will do it,” she answered gravely, and sadly.

“We must not call assistance, nor stop to compliment each other. Pack quickly up what you will most need for yourself, in a travelling bag, and I will do the same for myself,” explained Lyon Berners, suiting the action to the word by shoving into his valise some valuable papers, money, razors, a few articles of clothing, etc.

Sybil showed more promptitude and presence of mind than might have been expected of her. She quickly collected her costly jewels and ready money, a change of under clothing, combs, and brushes, and packed them in a small travelling bag.

“We go on horseback,” quickly explained Lyon Berners, as he locked his valise.

Swiftly and silently Sybil threw off her masquerading dress, that she had unconsciously worn until now, and dropped it on the floor, where it lay glowing like a smouldering bonfire. She then put on a water-proof riding habit, and announced herself ready.

“Come, then,” said Lyon Berners, taking up both bags, and beckoning her to follow him silently.

They slipped down the dark stairs and through the deserted halls, and reached the back door, where, under the shelter of a large hemlock-tree, Captain Pendleton held the horses. It was dark as pitch, and drizzling rain. They could see nothing, they could only know the whereabouts of their “friend in need,” and their horses, by hearing Captain Pendleton’s voice speaking through the mist in cautious tones, and whispering:

“Lock the door after you, Berners, so as to secure us from intrusion from within. And then stop there under the porch until I come and talk to you.”

Mr. Berners did as he was requested to do, and then stood waiting for his friend, who soon came up.

“You have got all you will need on your journey, have you not?” inquired the Captain.

Mr. Berners replied by telling his friend exactly what he had brought.“All that is very well, but people require to eat and drink once in a while. So I have put some sandwiches, and a bottle of wine from the supper-table, into your saddle-bags. And now, in the hurry, have you decided upon your route?”

“Yes; we shall endeavor to reach the nearest seaport, Norfolk probably, and embark for some foreign country, no matter what, for in no place but in a foreign country can my unhappy wife hope for safety,” mournfully replied Lyon Berners.

“Endeavor to reach Norfolk! That will never succeed. You will be sure to be overtaken and brought back before you go a score of miles on that road,” declared Captain Pendleton, shaking his head.

“Then, in the name of Heaven, what will do?” demanded Mr. Berners, in a tone of desperation.

“You must find a place of concealment, and then take time to disguise yourself and your wife, so that neither of you can be recognized, before you venture upon the road to Norfolk. You see, Lyon, you are the better lawyer, but I am the better strategist! I graduated among the warpaths and the ambushes of the Redskins on the frontier.”

“But where shall I find such a place of concealment?”

“I have thought of that.”

“You think of everything.”

“Ah! it is easy to show presence of mind in other people’s confusion! Almost as easy at it is to bear other people’s troubles!” said the Captain, attempting a jest, only to raise his friend’s drooping spirits. “But now to the point, for we must be quick. You know the ‘Haunted Chapel?’”

“The old ruined church in the cleft on the other side of the Black Mountain?”

“Yes; that is the place. Its deep solitude and total abandonment, with its ghostly reputation, will be sure to secure your safety. Go there; conceal yourselves and your horses as well as you can. In the course of to-morrow, or to-morrow night, I will come to you with such news and such help as I may be able to bring.”

“Thank you. Oh, thank you. But what are words? You are a man of deeds. Your presence of mind has saved us both!” said Lyon Berners earnestly.

“And now to horse,” said Captain Pendleton, taking Mrs. Berners under his guidance, while Mr. Berners brought on the valise and travelling bag.

Captain Pendleton placed Sybil in her saddle, whispering encouragingly,

“Be strong and hopeful. This necessary flight is a temporary evil, intended to save you from a permanent, and even perhaps a fatal wrong. Be patient, and time shall vindicate you and bring you back.”

“But oh! to leave my home, and the home of my fathers! to leave it like a criminal, when I am innocent! to leave it in haste, and not to know if I may ever return,” cried Sybil, in a voice of anguish.

“It is a fearful trial. I will not mock you by denying that it is. Yes, it is a terrible ordeal! but one, Mrs. Berners, that you have heroism enough to bear,” replied Captain Pendleton, as he bowed over her extended hand and gave her the reins.

Lyon Berners was also mounted. They were ready to start. With a mutual “God bless you,” the friends parted.

Lyon and Sybil took the dark road.

Captain Pendleton unlocked the door that had been locked by Mr. Berners, but as he pushed to open it he felt an obstruction, and instantly afterwards heard some one run away.

“A listener,” he thought, in dismay as he pursued the fugitive. But he only caught a glimpse of a figure disappearing through the front door and into the darkness without, in which it was lost.“An eavesdropper!” he exclaimed, in despair. “An eavesdropper! Who now can be assured of her safety? Oh, Sybil! you rejected my hand, and very nearly ruined my life. But this night I would die to save you,” he sighed, as he went and joined the gentlemen who were sitting up watching, or rather dozing, in the parlor, while waiting for the physician’s or the coroner’s arrival.

“Where is Mrs. Berners?” inquired the old Judge, rousing himself up.

“She retired to her chamber about an hour ago,” answered Captain Pendleton, telling the truth, but not the whole truth, as you will perceive.

“Hum, ha, yes; well, and where is her husband?”

“He followed her there,” answered the Captain, shortly.

“Ha, hum, yes, well. The coroner is long in coming,” grumbled the Judge.

“It is some distance to Blackville, sir, and the roads are rough and the night is dark,” observed the Captain.

“Well, yes, true,” agreed the old man, subsiding into his chair and into his doze.

Captain Pendleton threw himself into a seat, but had not sat long before the parlor door opened, and his sister appeared at it and called to him in a low voice.

He arose, and went to her.

“Come out into the hall here; I want to speak to you, Clement,” said Miss Pendleton.

He went out.

Then his sister inquired, in a voice full of anxious entreaty:

“Clement, where is Sybil?”

“She went to her room a little more than an hour ago,” answered the brother, giving his sister the same answer that he had given the Judge.

“Clement, I must go to her, and throw my arms around her neck and kiss her. I must not tell her in so many words that I know she is innocent, for to do that would be to affront her almost as much as if I should accuse her of being guilty; for she will rightly enough think that her innocence should not be called into question, but should be taken for granted. So I must not say a word on that subject, but I must find her and embrace her, and make her feel that I know she is innocent. Who is with her?”

“Her husband is with her, Beatrix, and so you can not of course go to her now.”

“Oh, but I am so anxious to do so. Look here, Clement. I stood there among the crowd this evening, gazing upon that bleeding and dying woman, until the sight of her ghastly form and face seemed to affect me as the Medusa’s head was said to have affected the beholder, and turn me into stone. Clement, I was so petrified that I could not move or speak, even when she appealed to us all to know whether any among us could believe her to be capable of such an act. I could not speak; I could not move. She must have thought that I too condemned her, and I cannot bear to rest under that suspicion of hers. I must go to her now, Clement.”

“Indeed you must not, Trix. Wait till she makes her appearance: that will be time enough,” answered her brother.

“Oh, this is a horrible night; I wish it were over. I cannot go to bed; nobody can. The ladies are all sitting huddled together in the dressing-room, although the fire has gone out; and the servants are all gathered in the kitchen, too panic-stricken to do anything. Oh, an awful night! I wish it were morning.”

“It will soon be daylight now, dear Beatrix. You had better go and rejoin your companions.”

And so the brother and sister separated for the night; Beatrix going to sit and shudder with the other ladies in the dressing-room, and Clement returning to the parlor to lounge and doze among the gentlemen.Only his anxiety for Sybil’s safety so much disturbed his repose, that if he did but drop into an instant’s slumber he started from it in a vague fright. So the small hours of the morning wore on and brought the dull, drizzly, wintry daylight.

Meanwhile Lyon and Sybil Berners rode on through mist and rain.