Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth They may not set a foot within their fields, They may not pull a sapling from their hills, They may not enter their fair mansion house.—Howitt.

Lyon and Sybil had ridden on through the darkness, over that wild country road. Their horses had had a very hard day’s work in the wagon harness, and had not recovered from their fatigue. They were still very tired, and all unaccustomed to the saddle. The road was also very rough, and the night very dark. Their progress was therefore difficult and slow.

Unconscious of being followed and overheard, they talked freely of their plans. Their prospects of final escape were not now nearly so hopeful as they had been on their two former attempts. They were now undisguised, and unprovided for the journey, except with money and a change of clothing. For necessary food they would have to stop at houses, and thus incur some degree of danger. All this they discussed as their horses slowly toiled along the rugged road up hill and down, through woods and fields, until they came near that mountain pass that they had been dimly seeing before them all night long and that looked like a grey cleft in a black wall.

“It must be near morning now. But I have not a very clear idea where we are. I shall be glad when it is light if it is only to consult my map and compass,” said Lyon, uneasily.

“I never was on this side of the mountain before, but it does seem to me that that must be a spur of the Black Ridge which we see before us,” suggested Sybil.

“I was thinking the very same thing,” added Lyon. “But if that is so, we must have wandered far out of our way.”

“And hush! Don’t you hear something?” inquired Sybil, when they had ridden a little farther on.

“No; what is it?”

“Listen! I want to know if you recognize it,” she said.

“I hear a faint, distant roaring, as of a water-fall,” he answered, stopping his horse to hear the better.

“It is our Black Torrent!” exclaimed Sybil.

“Good Heaven! Then we have wandered out of our way with a vengeance. However, there is no help for it now! We must go on, or stop here until it is light enough to consult the compass.”

“And at any rate, Lyon, no one will think of looking for us so near home,” she added.

“That is true,” he admitted.

And they rode on slowly, looking about as well as they could through the darkness, for a convenient place on which to dismount from the jaded steeds.

Their path now lay through that deep mountain pass. Steep precipices arose on either side. They picked their way slowly and carefully through it, until they entered a crooked path leading down the side of a thickly wooded hill. Here they rode on, a little more at their ease, until they reached the bottom of the hill and the edge of the wood, and came out upon an old forsaken road, running along the shores of a deep and rapid river, with another mountain range behind.

“Well, Heaven bless us! here we are!” exclaimed Lyon Berners, reining up his horse and looking around himself in a ludicrous state of mind, made up of surprise, dismay, and resignation.

“Yes; on the shores of the Black River, at the head of our own Black Valley,” chimed in Sybil, in a tone of voice in which there was more of satisfaction than of disappointment. Poor Sybil was sentimental and illogical, like all her sex.

“But at a point at which, I may venture to say, that even you, its owner, never reached before,” added Lyon, as he touched up his horse and led the way up the road, still looking about as well as he could through the darkness, for a place in which to stop and rest their horses.

Suddenly, as they rode slowly onward, they heard approaching them from the opposite direction the sound of a wagon and horse, accompanied by a human voice, singing:

“Yes, bress de Lord! so dey will. And all departed friends will meet, and meet to part no more! Glory!” rang out the voice of the singer, who seemed to be working himself up into enthusiasm.

“It is only some negro with his team,” said Lyon Berners, to soothe the spirits of Sybil, which always took the alarm at the approach of any stranger.

“Yes; but what an hour for a negro, or for any one else but fugitives like ourselves, to be out,” said Sybil, doubtingly.

“Oh, he is making an early start for market perhaps. It must be near morning.”

sang the unseen singer, making the mountain caves and glens ring with his melody.

“Yes; bress Marster! there WILL be Glories and Hallelujahs all through heaven,” he added; “for—

“And me and my young missis there will meet! And meet to part no more! Glory!” added the singer, with a sudden shout.

“Lyon, that’s our Joe!” exclaimed Sybil, in joyful surprise.

The cart and horses now loomed dimly through the darkness, being almost upon them.

“Joe!” called out Sybil, in a gleeful voice—“Joe!”

“Who dar?” answered the man, in affright.

“It is I! Sybil, Joe!”

“Oh, my good gracious Lord in heaven! it’s her spirit as is calling me, and she must be dead!” gasped the man, in a quavering voice.By this time the two horses were beside the cart, upon the seat of which the driver sat in an extremity of terror.

“Joe, don’t be alarmed! It is Mrs. Berners herself who speaks to you, and I am with her,” said Mr. Berners, soothingly.

“Oh, Marse Lyon! Is it ralely and truly her herself and you yourself?” inquired the man, very doubtingly.

“Really and truly Sybil and myself, Joe.”

“Oh! Lord! how you did scare me!”

“Compose yourself, Joe, and tell me what you are doing here at this time of the morning.”

“Oh, Marse Lyon, sir, I came arter the housekeeping truck as you left here, which I couldn’t get a chance to fetch it before, ’cause I was afraid o’ ’citin’ ’spicion.”

“And have you the things in that cart?”

“Yes, Marse.”

“Then hold on for a moment, and spread the mattress on the bottom of the cart for your young mistress to lie down upon and rest, while you and I have a little talk.”

Joe promptly obeyed this order; and when the rude bed was ready, Lyon lifted Sybil from her seat and laid her upon it. The tired horses were then relieved from their saddles and turned loose for a while. And then Mr. Berners and Joe sat down by the roadside to consult.

“And first I want you to tell me, Joe, whether our sojourn at the Haunted Chapel ever was found out,” said Mr. Berners.

“Lor, no, sir! it never were even suspicioned! quite contrary wise, indeed.”

“How so?”

“Why, it was ’ported ’round as you was bofe at Marster Capping Pendulum’s all the time, which when himself was taxed with it, he never let on as you wasn’t there; quite contrary wise, as I said afore.”

“But how now?”“Well, he up and ’fied ’em all, and said his house was his cassil, which he would shelter any one he pleased, and specially a noble and injured lady.”

“High heart! I thank him!” exclaimed Mr. Berners.

“Which ’fiance you see, sir, confarmed everybody in the faith that you was bofe hid in his house, so artfully as even the sarch-warranters as went there couldn’t find you. And so, sir, nobody, from first to last, has once said ‘Haunted Chapel.’”

“Joe, how far are we from the Haunted Chapel?”

“Not more ’n a mile, sir, from the little path that leads up to it.”

“Well, I think we had better go there again and rest to-day, and resume our journey to-night. There can be no safer place.”

“No whar in all the world, sir.”

“Then we will go at once. Throw the saddles into the cart, at your mistress’ feet, so as not to crowd her. I will then drive the cart, and you may lead the two riding horses after us,” said Mr. Berners, going at once to the side of the rude vehicle where Sybil lay in so deep a sleep that she did not wake, even when he mounted the seat and started the springless cart jolting along the rough road.

Joe led the saddle horses close behind, and so they went on.

“Joe,” said Mr. Berners, “I hope that all things go on well at home.”

“As well as can be, sir, marser and missus being away. Capping Pendulum, he shows his powerful ’torney, and tends to the ’state. And Missus Winterose and her darters minds the house. Only they’s in constant terrors all along o’ that band o’ bugglers.”

“Band of burglars, Joe?”

“Yes, sir, and highway robbers as well.”“Indeed! Joe, I have twice lately heard this band spoken of. Does such a one really exist?”

“Well, sir, it do. The neighborhood never was so mislested with robbers since a neighborhood it has been. Why, sir, Mr. Morgan’s new store, at Blackville was broke open and robbed of about twelve hundred dollars’ worth of goods in one night.”

“And none of it recovered!”

“No, sir. And, sir, Capping Pendulum’s own house was entered and robbed of jewelry and plate to the tune of about two thousand dollars.”

“I am very sorry for that! And no clue to the robbers?”

“Not the leastest in the world, sir! And no later’n last night, Judge Beresford was riding home from the village, where he had been at the tavern, playing cards with a lot of gentlemen, and had won a deal of money, which he had about him, when, in the middle of the long woods below his own house, he was stopped by two men; one who seized his bridle, and one who pinted a pistol at his head, and gave him his choice of his money or his life. The Judge he choose his life, and handed over his winnins.”

“I’m not sorry for him! A man who gains money in that way deserves to lose it. But I am astounded at all that you have told me.”

“Yes, sir! and the old ladies in charge of Black Hall is more ’stounded than you are, sir; being ’stounded to that degree that they sleep with the dogs in the room; long of ’em.”

“This should be seen to. There should be a vigilance committee. But here we are at the path, Joe, and my wife is still in a deep sleep; and I do not wish to wake her; nor can we drive the cart through the thicket. Hold! I’ll tell you what we can do. We can take the mattress by its four corners, and carry her on it to the chapel. If we are careful, we need not even wake her,” said Mr. Berners, as he stopped the cart and got down from his seat.

Joe tied the two saddle horses to one of the trees, and came around to the cart to help his master.

Between them they cautiously lifted the mattress, and bore it along towards the opening of the path.

On first being moved, Sybil sighed once and turned over and then she fell into a still deeper sleep, from which she did not again awake even when they bore her into the dreadful Haunted Chapel, and laid her down, still on the mattress, in the old place, to the right of the altar.

“Poor child! She was so tired, so worn out in body and mind, that she could scarcely sit her horse. Yet she never once complained, nor should I have even surmised the extent of her prostration, were it not for this coma-like sleep. She will not wake now. We may safely leave her alone while we go back and bring our saddle horses here, for we must bring them in order to hide them to-day and use them to-night. And you, Joe, after you have helped me to bring the horses through the thicket, must go to Blackville and buy food and bring it to us to-night before we resume our journey.”

“Yes, sir; and meantimes, there is some crackers and cheese and sweetmeats, and likewise a bottle of port wine, in the cart, as you left in the chapel when you went away.”

“Oh, indeed! that will be a godsend, Joe! We must bring that back to the chapel with us when we come,” said Mr. Berners, as with his servant he bent his steps back to the thicket path.

Sybil, left alone in the interior of the haunted chapel, slept on soundly for some little time. She had not really been quite unconscious of her removal thither. She had half waked on being taken from the cart, but had immediately fallen asleep again; though she was still vaguely conscious of being borne along to some place of safety and repose, and that her devoted husband and her faithful servant were her bearers—vaguely conscious also of being laid down upon some level place of perfect rest, with a roof above her head; but beyond this she knew nothing, cared nothing, being too utterly prostrated in mind and body to rouse herself to any utterances, or even to save herself from sinking to sleep.

How long she had slept she never could tell, when at length she was suddenly and fearfully aroused—aroused to a degree of wakefulness that neither the noisy jolting over the rocky road, nor the painful dragging through the thorny thicket had been able to effect.

And yet it was but by a touch—the touch of an ice-cold little hand passing lightly over her face.

She started up in a panic and glared around. All seemed black as pitch, and at first she could see nothing; but as she strained her eyes, she dimly discerned the shapes of the gothic windows, with the dark night sky and the ghostly trees beyond; and she recognized the Haunted Chapel!

They had brought her here while she was sleeping; and now, “in the dead waste and middle of the night,” she had waked up, alone in this demon-peopled place.

She tried to cry out in her fear; but her voice died in her throat, and she sank back upon her mattress and closed her eyes, lest some shape of horror should blast them.

Then again she felt hands at work about her person. They were creeping under her shoulders and under her limbs; they were lifting her from her mattress. Her eyes flared open in wild affright, and she saw two black shrouded forms, the one at her head the other at her feet.

She tried to cry out in her agony of terror; but again her voice died away in her bosom, and all her powers seemed palsied. They raised her up and bore her on—great heaven! whither?To the open door of the vault, from whose haunted depths a spectral light gleamed!

They bore her down the dreadful steps, and laid her on the deadly floor!

The iron door clanged loudly to, resounding through the dismal arches.

“We have her now!” muttered a hoarse voice. A hollow laugh responded.

And Sybil swooned with horror!

Sybil’s further adventures will be related in the sequel to this work, to be immediately published, under the title of “Tried For Her Life.”

THE END