An icy sweat of terror bathed Sybil’s form. She tried to cry out, and did utter a low half-stifled scream. But the cold fingers of the ghastly creature closed tightly upon hers, and a thin, hollow voice murmured:
The reed-like murmur ended in a terrific shriek. There was a silent movement, and Sybil felt the clammy form snatched up from her side and borne away in the darkness.
And then the spell that had bound her faculties was unloosed, and she uttered scream after scream as she shook and awakened her husband.
“In the name of Heaven, Sybil, what now?” he exclaimed, as he started up into a sitting posture.
“Oh, Lyon! for the love of mercy, get up! Get a light! I shall go mad in this horrible place!” she cried in a perfect frenzy of terror.
“Calm yourself, Sybil. There is nothing to fear. I am here with you. I will strike a light,” answered Lyon Berners quietly, as he got up and groped about in the darkness for the tinder-box.
Striking a light in those days was not the quick and easy matter that it is now. When the tinder-box was at length found, the flint and steel had to be struck together until a spark was elicited to set fire to the tinder. So it was full five minutes from the time Lyon was awakened, to the moment that he lit the candle and looked upon the pale and horror-stricken face of his wife.
“Now then, Sybil, what is it?” he inquired.
“Oh, what is it! This place is full of devils!” she cried, shaking as with an ague fit.
“My dear wife!” he said, in surprise and concern to see her shudder so fearfully, to hear her speak so wildly.
“It is, I tell you, full of devils, Lyon!” she repeated with chattering teeth.
There chanced to be a little wine in their stores. He went and poured some into a glass and brought it to her, made her drink it.
“Oh, no, no, no! no dream, no vision, nothing of that sort. It was too dark to see anything, you know; but oh! it was something so ghastly and horrible that I shall never, never get over it!” she exclaimed, while shudder after shudder shook her frame.
“Tell me,” he said soothingly.
“Oh, it was a damp girl!” she cried.
“A damp girl!” he echoed in amazement and alarm; for he almost feared his dear wife was going crazy.
“Oh yes, a damp girl! A clay-cold, clammy, corpse-like form of a girl!”
“Where? when? what about her?”
“Oh, I woke up and felt her lying by my side! so close that she chilled and oppressed me! I put out my hand, and she caught it in her deathly fingers! I screamed, but she spoke to me! She was about to tell me something, when she was suddenly snatched up and torn away!”
“My dear Sybil, this was nightmare again!”
“Oh, no, no, no! I have had nightmare, and know what it is! It is not like this! All this was real, as real as you and I! This place is full of devils!”
“My darling wife, have you lost your senses?”
“Oh, no; but I shall lose them if I stay in this demon-haunted place a day longer!”
“Thank Heaven! we will not have to stay here a day longer. We leave, this coming evening. And see! the morning is dawning, Sybil; and with the coming of the light, all these shadows of darkness and phantoms of fear will flee away,” said Lyon with a smile.
“Oh, you don’t believe me. You never do believe me. But oh! let me tell you all about this ghastly thing, and then perhaps you will see that it is real,” said Sybil.
He still believed in his soul that she had been the victim of incubus, but he would not vex her by persisting in saying so. He only repeated that the morning was at hand, when all the terrors of the night would be dispersed; and added that they would not have to pass another night in the “demon-peopled place,” as this would be the very last day of their stay.
As soon as it was light enough, they dressed themselves, and set about their simple daily work. He made the fire, and brought the water; and she cleared up their housekeeping corner, and prepared the breakfast.
When the sun arose and streamed in at the east windows, lighting up every nook about the interior of the old chapel, they saw that everything remained in the same condition in which they had left it when they had gone to rest on the evening previous.
Lyon Berners felt more than ever convinced that his dear Sybil had been the victim of repeated nightmares; that all the seemingly supernatural phenomena of the Haunted Chapel had been only the creation of her own morbid imagination; that nothing connected with the mystery had been real, with the exception of the appearance of the girl in the red cloak, whom Mr. Berners decided to be an ordinary human habituÉ of the place.
But the idea of this visitor made him only the more anxious for Sybil’s sake, to get away.
This last day of their sojourn in the Haunted Chapel was passed by the refugees in great impatience, but without any event worth recording.
With the night came their untiring friend Captain Pendleton, attended by Joe, who bore upon his broad back a large pack containing the disguises.
After the usual greetings, and while Sybil, with a
“The false rumor is as rife as false rumors usually are. Every one reports with confidence, and every one else believes with assurance, that you are both in Annapolis, and will certainly be found by the officers within a few days. This is good, as it will lead off all pursuit from your road to Norfolk.”
Lyon Berners nodded in reply. And Sybil came up to make some preparations for supper.
“Well, Mrs. Berners,” spoke the Captain, gayly, “any more supernatural phenomena?”
“Oh, I wish you had not asked that question!” exclaimed Lyon Berners, while Sybil grew deadly pale, and shivered from head to foot.
“Why, what’s the matter now?” demanded the Captain, lifting his eyebrows in surprise.
“Oh, the damp girl!” exclaimed Sybil, shuddering.
“The damp girl!” echoed the Captain, in growing wonder.
Lyon Berners shrugged his shoulders, while Sybil, in agitated tones, recounted her strange visitation of the night before.
“As clearly defined a case of incubus as ever I heard in my life,” was the prompt decision of Captain Pendleton.
Sybil grew angry.
“I only wish,” she sharply answered, “that you would once experience the like, for then you could know that it could not be nightmare.”
“Then, my dear Mrs. Berners, if this was not incubus, what do you suppose it to have been?”
“A real visitation; but whether a natural or supernatural one, of course I can not tell,” she answered.
Sybil got the supper ready, and they all sat down to
After supper the final preparations for their departure were made.
Sybil felt all the reluctance of a beauty to part with her splendid black hair. But on trying the experiment, she found that she could effectually conceal it, without cutting it off. She combed it straight back from her forehead, and let it hang down her shoulders under her sack. Then she covered her head and neck with the flowing red locks of Harold’s wig.
Lyon cut close his auburn hair, shaved off his moustache, and donned a gray wig and a gray beard, without the slightest remorse.
A very few minutes sufficed to complete their disguise, and they stood forth—Lyon and Sybil transformed into a gray old farmer and a shock-headed country girl.
“And now, about these housekeeping articles that we must leave here? They are of very little value in themselves; but they may be found, and if so, may lead to our discovery,” suggested Mr. Berners, uneasily.
“Never you mind them, Master. I’ll ondertake to get them away, onbeknowst to any body, sar,” promised Joe.
“And I will see that this is done,” added Captain Pendleton in a low voice, for he did not wish to wound poor Joe’s sensitive self-love.
“And now, my dear Sybil, are you sure you have got all that you need in your bag?” inquired Mr. Berners.
“All that I shall need until we get to Norfolk, Lyon. There, indeed, we must get a supply of necessary clothing,” she answered.
“That of course. And by the way, have you the money and jewels safe?”
“All secure.”
“Oh Lyon! I brought this for you, and I had better
“But my dear Pendleton—”
“Oh, nonsense! take them. I can reimburse myself from the revenues of Black Hall. Am I not to have the freedom of that fine estate?”
“Very true,” answered Mr. Berners, pocketing the money.
“And now, are we ready?” inquired the Captain.
“Quite,” answered Mr. and Mrs. Berners at once.
“Then let us start at once,” advised the Captain, setting the example by taking up Sybil’s large travelling bag.
Lyon Berners carried his portmanteau on one arm, while he gave his other to his wife.
Joe loaded himself with a great basket filled with provisions for the journey.
And together they all set forth from the Haunted Chapel. It was a clear, cold, starlight night. The gravestones in the old church-yard glimmered gray among the brushwood, as the fugitives picked their way through it.
When they reached the narrow path leading through the thicket, they had to walk in single file until they emerged from the wood and found themselves upon the old road running along the river bank. Here the wagon with a pair of draught horses was waiting them.
Their luggage was put in on top of bags of potatoes, turnips, etc., with which the back part of the wagon was loaded. Then Captain Pendleton assisted Sybil to mount to a seat made by a low-backed chair with a woolen counterpane thrown over it. Lyon Berners got up into the driver’s place. All being now ready for the start, Captain Pendleton and Joe come up to the side of the wagon to bid farewell to the travellers.
“Heaven bless you, Pendleton, for your faithful friendship
“Amen, and Amen! We shall never forget, and never cease to thank and bless you, dear friend,” added Sybil, with tears in her eyes, as she gave him her hand.
“May the Lord grant you a safe journey and a quick return,” said Clement Pendleton, as he pressed the lady’s hand and relinquished it.
“And I sez Amen to that! Oh, Marser! Oh, Missus! come back to your poor old Joe soon! His heart will snap into ten thousand flinders, if you don’t!” sobbed the poor negro, as he shook hands with his young master and mistress.
Then with a mutual “God be with you,” the four friends parted.
Captain Pendleton, sighing, and Joe, weeping, bent their steps up the banks of the river towards the fording place, where they would have to cross to find their horses on the other side.
Lyon Berners cracked his long wagoner’s whip, and started on the road leading away from the river towards the east.
It was yet early in the autumn night, and but for the cause of the journey, the young pair would have enjoyed it very much.
“It is a very pleasant evening for the season,” said Lyon, cheerfully looking up at the clear, blue-black, star-spangled sky.
“Yes, indeed,” answered Sybil briskly.
“Are you quite comfortable, darling?”
“Very! Captain Pendleton, dear Captain Pendleton, arranged my seat so nicely. It is so soft and easy. I could go to sleep here, if I were sleepy.”
“You may have to sleep there, dear. We must travel all night, in order to get a good distance from this neighborhood before morning.”
“Not at all. My work to-night will not be more than many men frequently undertake for mere amusement.”
“And the horses?”
“Strong draught horses like these can work eight or ten hours at a stretch, if they are well fed and rested between times.”
“Oh! I’m so glad I have got away from the Haunted Chapel and the ghosts!” suddenly exclaimed Sybil.
“And especially from the ‘damp girl,’” laughed Lyon Berners.
“Oh, don’t mention her!” shuddered Sybil.
They were now entering one of those frequent mountain passes that diversified their road, and the care of driving required all Lyon’s attention.
They travelled all night as nearly in a direct line towards the far distant city as the nature of the ground would permit. At daylight they found themselves in the midst of a deep forest, some twenty miles east of Blackville. Here, as the road was naturally broad and the trees tall and sparse, and especially as a clear stream of water ran along on one side, the travellers decided to stop and rest, and refresh themselves and their horses until noon.
Lyon Berners got out and, followed by Sybil, went a little way into the woods, where they found a small opening and a spring of clear water.
Here Lyon gathered brushwood and made a fire, while Sybil returned to the wagon and brought back a basket of provisions. Among them was a bottle of coffee already made, and which she turned into a small tin coffee-pot, and set on the fire to be warmed.
And while Lyon went back to the wagon to attend to the wants of his horses, Sybil spread a very good breakfast of coffee, bread, and ham, upon the ground near the fire.
Lyon consulted his map and his pocket compass, and found that directly in their line lay the small village of Oakville, nestled in an unfrequented pass of the mountains.
“We can reach the place at about ten o’clock this evening, and there we can get a regular supper and good sleep,” he said to his wife.
And they travelled all the remainder of that day, and at about half-past nine they arrived at Oakville. The village was off the public road, and consisted only of a sleepy old tavern, to which the neighboring farmers came to drink, smoke, and gossip; a post-office, to which the mail was brought once a week by a boy on horseback; and a blacksmith shop, patronized by the sparse population of the immediate neighborhood.
Up before the stable of this old tavern Lyon Berners drove his wagon; and here he alighted, handed out Sybil, and led her over to the house and into the public parlor.
A fat and lazy-looking hostess came to look at them.
“I want accommodations for myself, my girl here, and my horses and wagon, which I left in the stable yard,” said Mr. Berners, speaking coarsely, with two lumps of liquorice in his mouth, which he had taken to disguise his voice.
“And what might your name be, farmer?” inquired the landlady.
“My name’s Howe,” answered Lyon, truly, giving his own patronymic, now his middle name.
“Well, farmer, I reckon we can accommodate you. Going to market?”
“Yes, we’re on our way to market.”
“You come from far?”
“From the other side of the mountain.”
Sybil’s heart gave a bound, and then sank like lead in her bosom, at hearing this allusion. Lyon also felt an increased uneasiness. Luckily they were sitting with their backs to the light, so that the gossiping landlady could not read the expression of their faces, which indeed she was too much absorbed in her subject to attempt to do. So she went straight on without stopping to take breath:
“Not that I mistrust you now, sir, which I see exactly what you are; and which likewise your having of your darter with you is a rickymindation; for men don’t go about a taking of their darters with them when they are up to robbery and murder, do they now, sir?”
“I should judge not, though I am not familiar enough with the habits of such gentry to give a decided opinion,” said farmer Howe.
“You’ll excuse me, sir; but I’m a lone widow living here, and not used to seeing much of anybody but my old neighbors, which come occasionally to enjoy of themselves; and I do mistrust most strangers—though not you, sir, with your darter, as I said before—but most other strangers, because they do say hereabouts that it was a stranger to the place, a red-headed man, as put up at the inn at Blackville that night, and never was seen afterwards, as did that murder at Black Hall.”
“Ah! do they say that? I thought they laid it on a lady,” observed farmer Howe.
“La, sir! the idee of a lady doing such a thing! and a rale high-born lady of quality like Mrs. Burns, or whatever her name was, and doing of it to one she had took in for charity too; ’tan’t likely, sir.”
“Oh, yes; I know they did, and that the poor lady had to ran away and go to Annapolis. But that was that Blackville set, that an’t got no sense; but as for us, over this side, we believe it was that red-headed stranger as did it.”
“There’s no doubt of it in the world,” said farmer Howe, recklessly, feeling that he was expected to say something.
And at this moment he looked towards Sybil, and saw that she could not endure the subject of discussion for one moment longer, so he turned to the landlady, and said:
“We have travelled some distance, and feel very tired and hungry. Would you oblige us with supper as soon as possible? We do not need much, only let it be nice and warm.”
“Surely, sir, it is late; but we will do the best we can for you,” said the landlady, hurrying away.
Mr. Berners stooped to whisper to his wife.
“Sybil, darling, I hail this woman’s faith as a good omen. Keep up your courage, and—remain in that shady corner until I come back. I am going out to the stable to see that our horses are properly attended to.”
And then Lyon left the room.
By the time he returned a table was set in that parlor, and a good supper spread for the travellers.
When it was over, the landlady showed them to a couple of communicating rooms up stairs, where they passed a very comfortable night.
At daybreak the next morning they arose and breakfasted, and resumed their journey.
Lyon Berners again consulted his map of the State and his pocket compass, and laid out his road. It lay for all that day up and down, in and out, among the wildest passes
Here also Lyon Berners gave his name as Howe, and here again he and his wife were destined to be told all about the murder.
“You see, sir, a little below us there, on the other side of the mountain, they do say as the murder was done by the woman’s husband, as she had run away from; but they are a set of poor ignorant folks out there! Now it stand to reason, sir, it couldn’t have been done by him, and it must have been done by some member of that band of burglars that they say is lurking somewhere there-a-way by Black Hall.”
“Band of burglars!” echoed Farmer Howe, in astonishment. And he was almost about to betray himself by saying that there could be no such band there, when he recollected his position, and held his tongue.
Farmer Howe and his daughter spent a refreshing night at old Purley’s tavern at Dunville, and at daybreak next morning, after a very early breakfast, they resumed their journey.
And again, as usual, Lyon Berners consulted his map and his compass. He now found that his most direct route lay through a thick forest, between two mountain ridges.
They travelled all the morning, and as usual stopped at noon for rest and food for themselves and their four-footed friends. In the afternoon they set forth again, and travelled until they reached Iceville, a considerable village situated high upon one of the table-lands of the Blue Ridge. In this town there were three taverns. Farmer
“They say about here that it was one of the lady’s admirers who killed her in a fit of desperation from love and jealousy; for the lady was well beknown to be a great coquette,” said one village authority to another, in the presence of Farmer Howe.
When our travellers found themselves alone that night, in one of the two small adjoining rooms that had been assigned to them, Lyon Berners turned to Sybil, and said;
“You see, my dear Sybil, how it is: ‘A prophet hath honor except in his own city.’ No one out of the Black Valley thinks of accusing you.”
“All the world might accuse me, so that my own old friends and neighbors would justify me,” said Sybil, sadly.
They passed another night in peace, and the next morning, at daybreak as usual, they breakfasted, and then set out on their fourth and last day’s journey.
Again the map and the pocket compass was called into requisition, and Mr. Berners laid out their route for the day.
Their way lay all that forenoon through the beautifully undulating, heavily wooded, and well-watered country lying east of the Blue Ridge.
As before, they broke their journey by an hour’s repose at noon, and then re-commenced it. And at twelve, midnight, they arrived safely at Norfolk.
