Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth 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!”

“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.