Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth If charnel-houses and our graves must send Those that we bury back, our monuments Shall be the maws of kites.—Shakespeare.

“Well?” exclaimed Mr. Berners, eagerly.

“Well, the flight is now discovered beyond all doubt. Search-warrants have been issued. My house is to be searched among the rest,” replied Captain Pendleton.

“What else?”

“Arrangements are being made for the funeral of the dead woman. They will bury her the day after to-morrow in the church-yard at Blackville.”

“And what else?”

“Nothing, but that I would not permit Joe to accompany me to-night. More precaution is now necessary to insure your safety.”

“And that is all?”

“Yes.”

“Then come in and see Sybil.”

They went in together, where Mrs. Berners greeted Captain Pendleton with her usual courtesy, and then immediately repeated her anxious questions.

“Has the murderer been discovered? May we go home?”

“Not yet, dear Madam!” answered Pendleton to both questions, as he sat down by the fire.

“I have something to tell you, Pendleton, and to ask your advice about,” began Lyon Berners. And he related the mysterious vision that had thrice crossed their path.

“Oh! it is a form of flesh and blood! We don’t believe in apparitions at this age of the world! But this indeed must be looked to! If you have seen her here three times, of course she has seen you,” said Captain Pendleton in much anxiety.

“Most certainly she knows of our presence here, if she knows nothing else about us,” replied Mr. Berners.

“Then it is useless to attempt to conceal yourselves from her. She must be laid hold of, talked with, and won or bribed to keep our secret—to help us if possible. We must find out whether she will serve our purpose. If she will, it will be all quite right, and you may remain here until it is safe to depart; but if she will not, it will be all entirely wrong, and you must leave this place at all hazards,” concluded Captain Pendleton.

“Yes, it is very well for you to talk of intercepting her, but you had just as well try to intercept a shadow as it glides past you,” put in Sybil, with a wise nod.

“The attempt shall be made, at all events,” determined Mr. Berners.

Sybil was in the act of putting the supper—not on the table, for table there was none in the chapel—but on the cloth spread upon the flagstones, when Captain Pendleton, to give a lighter turn to their talk, said:

“You may put a plate for me also, Mrs. Berners! I have not yet supped, and I’m glad I have got here in time to join you.”

“I am glad too! We are getting quite comfortably to housekeeping here, Captain. And Lyon has set his traps, and we shall soon have game to offer you when you come to visit us,” replied Sybil quickly, responding to his gayety.

“If I had only a gun, and could venture to use it, it would be a great relief, and we should be very well supplied,” smiled Lyon.

“Yes! if you had a gun, and should venture to use it, you would soon bring a posse comitatus down upon you; We will have no reverberations of that sort, if you please, Lyon,” recommended the Captain.And then they all sat down around the table-cloth, and Sybil poured out and served the coffee.

Now, whether they were very thirsty, or whether the coffee was unusually good, or whether both these causes combined to tempt them to excess, is not known; but it is certain that the two gentlemen were intemperate in their abuse of this fragrant beverage; which proves that people can be intemperate in other drinks, as well as in alcoholic liquors. This coffee also got into their heads. Their spirits rose; they grew gay, talkative, inspired, brilliant. Even Sybil, who took but one cup of coffee, caught the infection, and laughed and talked and enjoyed herself as if she were at a picnic, instead of being in hiding for her life or liberty.

In a word, some strange exhilaration, some wonderful intoxication pervaded the little party; but the most marvellous symptom of their case was, that they talked no nonsense—that while, under their adverse and perilous circumstances, such gayety was unnatural and irrational, yet their minds were clear and their utterances brilliant. And this abnormal exaltation of intellect and elevation of spirit continued for several hours, long into the night.

Then the great reaction came. First Sybil grew very quiet, though not in the least degree sad; then Lyon Berners evinced a disposition rather to listen than to talk; and finally Captain Pendleton arose, and saying that this had been one of the strangest and pleasantest evenings he had ever passed in his, life, took leave of his friends and departed.

Sybil was very sleepy, and as soon as their guest was gone she asked Lyon to help her with the mattress: that she was so drowsy she could scarcely move. He begged her to sit still, for that he himself would do all that was necessary. And with much good-will, but also much awkwardness, he spread the couch, and then went to tell Sybil it was ready. But he found her with her head upon her knees, apparently fast asleep. He lifted her gently in his arms, and carried her and laid her on the mattress. And then, feeling overcome with drowsiness, he threw himself down beside her, and fell into a profound sleep.

But Sybil, as she afterwards told, did not sleep so deeply. It seemed, indeed, less sleep than stupor that overcame her. She was conscious when her husband raised her up in his arms and laid her on the bed; but she was too utterly oppressed with stupor and weariness to lift her eyes to look, or open her lips to speak, or, even after he had laid her down, to move a limb from the position into which it fell.

So she lay like one dead, except in being clearly conscious of all that was going on around her. She knew when Lyon laid down, and when he went to sleep. And still she lay in that heavy state, which was at once a profound repose and a clear consciousness, for perhaps an hour longer, when suddenly the stillness of the scene was stirred by a sound so slight that it could only have been heard by one whose senses were, like hers at that time, preternaturally acute. The sound was of the slow, cautious turning of a door upon its hinges!

Without moving hand or foot, she just languidly lifted her eyelids, and looked around upon the dim darkness.

There was a faint glow from the smouldering fire on the flagstone floor, and there was a faint light from the starlit night coming through the windows. By the aid of these she saw, as in a dream, the door of the vault wide open!

In her profound state of conscious repose there was no fear of danger, and no wish to move. So, still as in a dream, she witnessed what followed.

First a dark, shrouded figure issued from the vault, and turned around and bent down towards it, as if speaking to some one within. But no word was heard. Then the figure backed a pace, drawing up from the steps of the vault what seemed to be a long narrow box. As this box came up, it was followed by another dark, shrouded figure, who supported its other end. And as the two mysterious apparitions now stood beside the altar, Sybil saw that the box that they held between them was a coffin!

Nor was that all. While they moved a little down the side wall, they were followed by two other strange figures, issuing from the vault in the same order, and bearing between them, in the same manner, a second coffin; and as they, in their turn, filed down the side wall, they also were followed by still two others coming up out of the vault, and bringing with them a third coffin!

And then a ghastly procession formed against the side wall. Three long shadowy coffins borne by six dark shrouded figures, filed past the gothic windows, and disappeared through the open chapel door.

Sybil clearly saw all this, as in a nightmare from which she could not escape; she still lay motionless, speechless, and helpless, until she quite lost consciousness in a profound and dreamless sleep. So deep and heavy was this sleep, that she had no sense of existence for many hours. When at length she did awake, it seemed almost to a new life, so utterly, for a time, was all that had recently past forgotten. But as she arose and looked around, and collected her faculties, and remembered her position, she was astonished to see by the shining of the sun into the western windows, that it was late in the afternoon, and that they had slept nearly all day, for her husband was still sleeping heavily.

Then she remembered the horrible vision of the night, and she looked anxiously towards the door of the vault. It seemed fast as ever. She got up and went to look at it. It was fast, the bars firmly bedded in the solid masonry, as they had been before.

What then had been the vision? She shuddered to think of it. Her first impulse was now to arouse her husband and tell him what had happened. But her tenderness for him pleaded with her to forbear.“He sleeps well, poor Lyon! let him sleep,” she said, and she threw a shawl around her shoulders, and went out of the chapel to get a breath of the fresh morning air.

She had to pass among the gray old gravestones lying deep in the bright-colored dew-spangled brushwood. As she picked her way past them, she suddenly stopped and screamed.

Captain Pendleton was lying prostrate, like a dead man at the foot of an old tree!

With a strong effort of the will, she controlled herself sufficiently to enable her to approach and examine him. He was not dead, as she had at first supposed; but he was in a very death-like sleep.

She arose to her feet, and clasped her forehead with both hands while she tried to think. What could these things mean? The unnatural exhilaration of their little party on the previous evening; the powerful reaction that prostrated them all in heavy stupor or dreamless sleep, that had lasted some fifteen hours; the ghastly procession she had seen issue from the open door of the old vault, and march slowly down the east wall of the church, past all the gothic windows, and disappear through the front door; the spell that had so deeply bound her own faculties, that she had neither the power nor the will to call out; their visitor overtaken by sleep while on his way to mount his horse, and now lying prostrate among the gravestones? What could all these things mean?

She could not imagine.

However much she might have wished to spare her husband’s rest up to this moment, she felt that she must arouse him now. She hurried back into the church, and went up to the little couch and looked at Lyon.

He was moving restlessly, and muttering sadly in his sleep. And now she felt less reluctance to wake him from his troubled dream. She shook him gently, and called him.He opened his eyes, gazed at her, arose up in a sitting posture, and stared around for a moment, and then seeing his wife, exclaimed:

“Oh! is it you, Sybil? What is this? the chapel seems to be turned around.” And he gazed again at the western windows, where the sun was shining, and which he mistook for the eastern, supposing the time to be morning.

“The chapel has not turned around, Lyon; but the sun has. It is late in the afternoon, and that is the declining and not the rising sun that you see.”

“Good gracious, Sybil! Have I slept so late as this? Why did you let me?”

“Because I slept myself; we all slept; even to Captain Pendleton, who must have been overpowered by sleep on his way to his horse; for I have just found him lying among the gravestones.”

“What? Who? Pendleton asleep among the gravestones? Say that again. I don’t understand.”

Sybil briefly repeated her statement.

Lyon started up, shook himself as if to arouse all his faculties, and then went and douched his head and face with cold water, and finally, as he dried them, he turned to Sybil and said:

“What is all this that you tell me? Where is Pendleton? Come and show me.”

Sybil led the way to the spot where their friend lay in his heavy sleep.

“Good Heaven! He must have fallen down, or sunk down here, within three minutes of leaving the church!” exclaimed Lyon Berners, gazing on the sleeper.

“Something must have happened to us all, dear Lyon. Do you remember how unreasonably gay we all were at supper last evening? We, too, who had every reason to be very grave and even sad? And do you remember the reaction? When we all grew so drowsy that we could hardly keep our eyes open? And then there was something else, which I will tell you of by and by. And now we have all slept fifteen or sixteen hours. Something strange has happened to us, Lyon,” said Sybil, slowly.

“Something has, indeed. But now we must arouse Pendleton. Good Heaven! he may have caught his death by sleeping out all night,” exclaimed Mr. Berners, as he stooped down and shook the sleeper.

But it was not without difficulty that Lyon succeeded in arousing Captain Pendleton, who, when he was fairly upon his feet, reeled like a drunken man.

“Pendleton, Pendleton, wake up! What, man! what has happened to you?” exclaimed Lyon, trying to steady the other upon his feet.

“Too late for roll-call. Bad example to the rank and file,” murmured the Captain, with some remnant of a camp-dream lingering in his mind.

Mr. Berners shook him roughly, while Sybil dipped up a double handful of water from a little spring at their feet, and threw it up into his face.

This fairly aroused him.

“Whew-ew! Phiz! What’s that for? What the demon’s all this? What’s the matter?” he exclaimed, sneezing, coughing, and sputtering through the water that Sybil had flung into his face.

“What’s all this?” exclaimed Lyon Berners, echoing his question. “It is that we are all robbed and murdered, and carried into captivity, for all I know,” he added, smiling, as he could not fail to do, at the droll figure cut by his friend.

“How the deuce came I here?” demanded Pendleton, glaring around with his mouth and eyes wide open. “Is this enchantment?”

“Something very like it, Pendleton. But come, man, this is no laughing matter. It is very serious. Therefore rouse yourself and collect your faculties. You will need them all, I assure you,” gravely replied Lyon Berners.“But—how in thunder, came I here?” again demanded the Captain, shivering and staring around him.

“We can not tell. My wife found you here about half an hour ago. You are supposed to have been overcome by drowsiness, while on your way to your horse, and to have sunk down here and slept from that time to this—some sixteen hours.”

“Good—! I remember taking leave of you both, after our lively supper of last evening, and starting for the thicket, and giving way just here to an irresistible feeling of drowsiness, and sinking down with the dreamy idea that I would not go to sleep, but would soon arise and pursue my journey. And I have lain here all night!” he exclaimed in astonishment.

“Yes, and all day!” added Lyon, solemnly.

“How is it that I was not awakened before?” demanded the Captain, with an injured look.

“Because we ourselves were in the same condition. It is not more than fifteen minutes since my wife awakened me.”

“In the name of heaven, then, what has befallen us all?” demanded the Captain in amazement.

“That is what we must try to find out. You must help us. I have been thinking rapidly while standing here, and the result is, that I judge we have all been drugged with opium; but whether by accident or with design, or if with design, by whom, or with what purpose, I cannot even imagine; though I do vaguely connect the fact with the mysterious visitant of the chapel,” replied Mr. Berners.

While he spoke they all turned their steps towards the chapel. And with his concluding words, they entered it in company.

The “housekeeping corner” of the chapel was in a state of confusion very much at variance with the young housekeeper’s fastidiously tidy habits.

The supper dishes lay upon the table-cloth on the floor, where they had been uncared for by the drugged and drowsy pair. And the little bed remained unmade, as it had been left by them when they ran out to look after Captain Pendleton.

Sybil saw all this at a glance, and with a flush; and forgetting for a moment everything else, she bade her husband and his guest stop where they were until she had put her “house” in order.

In this limited manner of domestic economy, it took Sybil but ten minutes to make the bed and wash the dishes. And, meanwhile, Lyon Berners made up the fire, and Clement Pendleton brought a pail of fresh water from the fountain.

Sybil began to prepare the breakfast, but none of the party felt like eating it.

“And that is another sign of opium! We have no appetite,” observed Lyon Berners, as they sat down around the table-cloth; and instead of discussing the viands before them, they discussed the events of the preceding day and night.

Lyon Berners remembered that Sybil and himself had spent nearly the whole of the preceding afternoon in rambling through the woods; and he suggested as the only solution of the mystery that, during their absence some one had entered the chapel, and put opium in their food and drink.

“‘Some one;’ but whom?” inquired Captain Pendleton, incredulously.

“Most probably the girl whom we have seen here,” answered Mr. Berners.

“But for what purpose do you think she drugged your drink?”

“To throw us into a deep sleep for many hours, which would enable her to come and go, to and from the chapel, undiscovered and unmolested.”“But why should she wish to come back and forth to such a dreary, empty old place as this?”

“Ah! that I cannot tell; at that point conjecture is utterly baffled,” answered Lyon.

“Yes; because conjecture has been pursuing a phantom—a phantom that vanishes upon being nearly approached. I cannot accept your theory of the mystery, Berners; and what is worse, I cannot substitute one of my own,” said Captain Pendleton, shaking his head.

“And now I have something to reveal,” said Sybil, solemnly.

“Another morning dream?” inquired Lyon, while Pendleton looked up with interest.

“No; a reality—a ghastly, horrible reality,” she answered.

And while both looked at her with strange, deep interest and curiosity, she related her sepulchral experiences of the night. When with pale cheeks and shuddering frame she described the six dark, shrouded forms that had come up out of the vault, bearing long shadowy coffins, which they carried in a slow procession down along the east wall, past the Gothic windows and out at the front door, her two listeners looked at her, and then at each other, in amazement and incredulity.

“It was an opium dream,” said Mr. Berners, in a positive manner.

“It would be useless, dear Lyon, for me to tell you that I was rather wider awake then than I am now, yet I really was,” said Sybil, with equal assurance.

“And yet you did not lift hand or voice to call my attention to what was going on.”

“I did not wish to do it; my will seemed palsied. I could only gaze at the awful procession and think how ghastly it was, and thinking so, I sank into a dreamless sleep, and knew no more until I woke up this afternoon.”“Meanwhile let us go and look at the door of the vault. You say the door was wide open?” inquired Captain Pendleton.

“Of course it was wide open: that is, wide open last night when those horrible forms came up out of the vault; but this morning it was fast enough,” answered Sybil.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Berners.

“I know what that ‘oh!’ means, Lyon. But I hope before we leave this chapel that you will find out that I can distinguish a dream from a dreadful reality,” observed his wife.

Meanwhile they had reached the iron door of the vault. It was fast. Pendleton took hold of the iron bars and tried to shake it; but the bars were bedded in solid stone, and the door was immovable. Then he looked through the grating down into the depths below, but he only saw the top of the staircase, the bottom of which disappeared in the darkness.

“My dear Mrs. Berners,” he then said, turning to Sybil, “I do not like to differ with a lady in a matter of her ‘own experience’; but as we are in search of the truth, and the truth happens to be of the most vital importance to our safety, I feel constrained to assure you that this door, from its very appearance, assures us that it can not have been opened within half a century, and that consequently your ‘own experience’ of the last night cannot have been a reality, but must have been a dream.”

“I wish you could dream such a one, and then you would know something about it,” answered Sybil.

“I think you will have to come to my theory about the opium,” put in Mr. Berners, “especially as I have pursued my ‘phantom’ one stage farther in her flight, and am able to assign a possible motive for her secret visits to the chapel.”

“Ah! do that, and we will think about agreeing with your views. Now then the motive,” exclaimed Pendleton.“A lover.”

“Oh!”

“Yes, a lover. She comes here to meet him; and not liking eye-witnesses to the courtship, she drugged us,” said Mr. Berners, triumphantly.

“That is the most violent and far-fetched theory of the mystery. Nothing but our desperate need of an elucidation could excuse its being put forward,” said Captain Pendleton, drily. Then he spoke more earnestly: “Berners, whatever may be the true explanation of all that we have experienced here, one thing seems certain: that your retreat here is known to at least one person, who may or may not be inimical to your interests. Now my advice to you is still the same. Stop this girl the first time you see her again, and compel her to give an account of herself. Conceal your names and stations from her, if possible, and in any case bribe her to silence upon the subject of your abode here. If it were prudent, I should counsel you to leave this chapel for some other place of concealment; but really there seems now more danger in moving than in keeping still. So I reiterate my advice, that you shall enlist this strange girl in your interests.”

“But before cooking your hare, you must catch it,” said Sybil. “We may see this visitant a dozen times more, but we will never be able to stop her. She appears and vanishes! Is seen and gone in an instant! But, Captain Pendleton, I will tell you what I wish you to do for me.”

“I will do anything in the world that you wish, except believe in ghosts.”

“Then you will bring me a crowbar, or whatever the tool or tools may be with which strong doors may be forced. I want that grated iron door forced open, that we may go down into that vault and see what it holds.”

“Good Heavens Mrs. Berners!” he exclaimed, striking a theatrical attitude.

“I want to see what is in it; and I will,” persisted Sybil.

“Bring the tools when you come again, Pendleton, and we will open the door, and examine the vault,” added Mr. Berners.

“Ugh! you will find it full of coffins and skeletons—

“You are in a poetical mood, Pendleton.”

“And you are in a sepulchral one. Both effects of the opium, I suppose.”

While they talked the sun went down.

Captain Pendleton remained with his friends until the twilight deepened into darkness; and then, promising to return the next night, and wondering where he should find his horse, or how he should get home, he took leave and departed.

The strange life of the refugees in the Haunted Chapel seriously interfered with their hitherto regular and healthful habits. They had slept nearly all day, when they should have been awake. And now they intended to watch all night, partly because it was impossible for them to sleep any more then, and partly because they wished to stop their mysterious visitant, in the event of her reappearance.

But the girl in the red cloak came not that night, no, nor even the next day; nor did any other mysterious visitor or unusual event disturb their repose, or excite their curiosity.

Late that night their faithful friend returned, according to his promise. He told them that he had found his poor horse still in the thicket where he had left him, with water and grass in his reach. That he had got home in safety, where his absence had not excited any anxiety, because his sister had supposed him to be at Black Hall.

He then described the funeral of Rosa Blondelle, which had taken place that day, and which had been attended not only by all the county gentry, who had gathered to show their respect and sympathy for the dead, but also by crowds of all sorts of people, who came in curiosity to the scene.

And then, taking advantage of a few minutes during which Sybil was engaged in her housekeeping corner of the chapel, he told Mr. Berners that the search-warrants having failed to find the fugitives, a rumor had been spread that they had certainly left the neighborhood on the morning of the murder, and that they had been seen at Alexandria, by a gentleman who had just come from that city.

“This story,” added Captain Pendleton, “is so confidently reported and believed, that an officer with a warrant has been this day dispatched to Annapolis.”

“Oh! good Heaven! How zealously her old neighbors do hunt my poor guiltless Sybil,” groaned Mr. Berners.

“Take courage! This rumor, together with the journey of the officer to Annapolis, opens a way for your immediate escape. So I propose that you prepare to leave this place to-morrow night, and take a bee line to Norfolk. There you must take the first outward bound ship for Europe, and remain abroad until you can with safety return home.”

At this moment Sybil came up.

Without mentioning to her the existence of the warrants which were out against her, and which was the only part of Captain Pendleton’s communication that it was expedient to conceal from her, Lyon Berners, with a smile of encouragement, told her that they were to leave the Haunted Chapel the next night, to go to Norfolk.

“And we cannot even yet go home?” sighed Sybil.

“No, dear wife; it would scarcely yet be prudent to do so. But we can go to Europe, and travel over the Continent, and see the wonders of the Old World, leaving our friend here with a power of attorney to manage our estate and collect our revenues, and remit us money as we require it. We can stay abroad and enjoy ourselves until such time as justice shall be done, and we can return to our home, not only with safety, but in triumph,” replied Lyon Berners, cheerfully.

Sybil too caught the infection of his cheerful manner, whether that were real or assumed, and she too brightened up.

The friends then discussed the details of the projected flight.

“In the first place,” began Captain Pendleton, “you must both be so well disguised as to seem the opposite of yourself in rank, age, and personal appearance. You, Lyon, must shave off your auburn beard, and cut close your auburn hair, and you must put on a gray wig and a gray beard—those worn by your old Peter, in his character of Polonius at your mask ball, will, with a little trimming, serve your purpose. Then you must wear a pair of spectacles and a broad-brimmed hat and an old man’s loose fitting, shabby travelling suit. I can procure both the spectacles and the clothes from the wardrobe of my deceased father. Mrs. Berners, too, should cut her hair short, and wear a red wig and a plain dress. The wig you wore as Harold the Saxon will suit very well, with a little arrangement. Then I can procure the dress from my sister. You must travel as a poor old farmer, and your wife must go as your red-headed illiterate daughter. You are both excellent actors, and can sustain your parts very well.”

“Dear me!” said Sybil, half crying, half smiling; “I have been warned that it is never well to begin any enterprise of which one does not know the end. And I’m sure when I undertook to give a mask ball and take a character in it, I had not the slightest idea that the masquerade would last longer than a night, or that I should have to continue to act a character.”

“Never mind, darling; it is but for a season. Go on, Pendleton. You seem to have settled everything in your own mind for us. Let us hear the rest of your plan,” said Mr. Berners.

“It is this,” continued the Captain. “I will bring these disguises to you to-morrow night. I will also have a covered cart, loaded with turnips, potatoes, apples, and so forth; I will have this cart driven by your faithful Joe down to the Blackville ferry-boat, in which of course he can cross the river with his load of produce unsuspected and unquestioned.”

“Or even if some inquisitive gossip should ask him where he might be going, Joe would be ready with his safe answer. He can beat us in baffling inquiry,” put in Sybil.

“Like all his race,” laughed Lyon.

“The chance you have mentioned is provided for. Joe is instructed to answer any haphazard questioner, that he is bringing the load to me, which will be the truth.”

“But proceed, dear Pendleton. Develop your whole plan,” urged Mr. Berners.

“Well, then, once safe on this side of the river, Joe will drive the cart to some convenient spot, to which I myself will guide you.”

“Ah, how much trouble you take for us, Pendleton!” sighed Lyon.

“Not at all. As far as I am concerned, it is a piquant adventure. Try to look at it in that light. Well, to our subject. When you reach the cart you can put your wife inside, and then mount the driver’s seat, and start upon your journey like a plain old farmer going to market to sell his produce. As you will have but the one pair of horses for the whole journey, you will see the necessity of making very short stages, in order to enable them to complete it.”“Certainly.”

“And now listen! Because you must make these short stages and frequent stoppages, and because you must avoid the most travelled roads, it will be necessary for you to take a map of the State, and follow the most direct route to Norfolk.”

“Which is not the turnpike road used by the mail stagecoaches, for that diverges frequently five or ten miles to the right or left of the line, to take in the populous villages,” put in Lyon Berners.

“Yes; I see you comprehended me! Well, I should farther advise you, when you reach Norfolk, to put up at some obscure inn near the wharves, and to embark in the very first ship that sails for Europe, even if it should set sail within an hour after your arrival.”

“You may rest assured that we shall not loiter in Norfolk,” said Mr. Berners.

“As for the draught horses and cart, if you have time, you can sell them. If not, you can leave them at the livery stable, and on the day of sailing post me a letter containing an order to receive them.”

“You think of everything, dear Pendleton.”

“I can’t think of anything else just now,” replied Captain Pendleton.

“Well, then, we will have some supper,” said Sybil rising to prepare it.

“I declare, I never in all my life supped out so frequently as I have done since you two have been housekeeping in this old Haunted Chapel! And by the way, talking of that, have you seen any more apparitions? any more spectral gipsy girls? or shrouded forms? or shadowy coffins? or open vaults? eh, Mrs. Berners?” laughingly inquired Captain Pendleton.

“No, nothing unusual has disturbed us, either last night or to-day. But now, talking of open vaults, have you brought the crowbar to force the door, sir?” said Sybil, turning sharply to the Captain.

“Yes, dear Mrs. Berners; since I promised to bring it, I felt bound to do so; though I hope you will not really have it put to use.”

“Just as soon as supper is over, I will have that door forced open. I will see what that mysterious vault holds,” said Sybil, firmly.

And she almost kept her word.

As soon as they had finished the evening meal, she arose and called upon the gentlemen to go with her and force the door of the vault.

And they went and inserted the crowbar between the grating and the stonework, and wrenched with all their united strength; but their efforts availed nothing, even to move the door.

They gave over their exertions to recover their breath, and when they had got it they began again with renewed vigor; but with no better success. Again they stopped to breathe, and again they re-commenced the task with all their might; but after working as hard as they could for fifteen minutes longer, they again ceased from sheer exhaustion, leaving the door as fast as they had found it.

“It is of no use to try longer, Sybil. We cannot force it,” said Mr. Berners.

“I see that you cannot. The vault keeps its secrets well,” she answered, solemnly.

And then they returned to their seats near the fire, and sat and talked over the projected journey until it was time for Captain Pendleton to go.

When the husband and wife were left alone, they felt themselves tired enough to go to rest, with a prospect of getting a good night’s sleep.

“This is the last night that we shall spend in this place, dear Sybil,” said Lyon Berners, as he put the smouldering brands together to keep the fire up till morning.Sybil replied with a deep yawn.

And in a few minutes they laid down to rest, and in a very few more they fell asleep.

How long they had slept Sybil had no means of knowing, when she was awakened by an impression that some cold damp creature had laid down on the front of the mattress close beside her. She opened her eyes and strained them around in a vague dread, but the inside of the chapel was dark as pitch. The fire had gone entirely out; she could not even see the outlines of the Gothic windows; all was black as Tartarus. But still—oh, horror!—she felt the cold damp form pressing close beside her.

A speechless, breathless awe possessed her. She could not scream, but she cautiously put out her hand to make sure whether she was dreaming, when—horror upon horror!—it touched a clammy face!

Still she did not cry out, for some potent spell seemed to bind her which at once tied her tongue and moved her hand; for that hand passed down over the slender form and straight limbs, and then up again, until it reached the still bosom, when—climax of horror!—it was caught and clasped in the clay-cold hand of the—WHAT?