"Heaven grant that all may soon!" prayed Sybil.

"They will be sure to, Miss—I mean Madam."

"Bob tell me: how was it that we were found out?"

"Well, you see, Miss—Ma'am—when you were at Dunville, where you was said to have staid all night, there was a fellow there who had a habit for which he ought to be hung—of looking through the key-holes and watching ladies when they thought themselves unseen. And this fellow saw you take off your red wig."

"And so discovered and denounced me?"

"No, he didn't, Ma'am; he didn't even suspect who you was. He took you for a circus woman. And as for reporting what he had seen to anybody in that house, it would have been as much as his life was worth. Old Colonel Purley—he's a uncle of our bailiff—old Colonel Purley would have peeled the skin offen his body, if he had a-known he had done such a mean thing in his tavern."

"Then how—"

"I'll tell you, Ma'am. It was this way. That fellow which, his name was Batkin, was on his way to Blackville. And all along the road he kept telling the yarn about the beautiful black-haired young lady he had seen, and who had disfigured herself by wearing of a red wig; and of course he raised suspicions there. And when he was questioned farther, he described the wagon and horses, and the man and the woman, so accurately that the authorities thought it worth while to take the description down; and old Purley has it in his pocket along with the warrant. And then, as I told you, the bailiffs all resigned rather than go after you; and old Purley had to be appointed. And I applied, and got appointed too, only to help you!"

"Heaven reward you for the kind thought! But, Bob, there were some of the old set found who were willing to take me; for they went to Annapolis after me, armed with warrant for my arrest."

"Yes; them two: Smith and Jones! Sink 'em! I've swore a oath to thrash 'em both within an inch of their lives the first time I set eyes on them! Well, they didn't find you, Satan burn 'em! that's one comfort."

"How was it that you found us?"

"Oh, Miss Sybil—Mrs. Berners, I should say—we did it easy when we once had got the clue. We went first to Dunville to inquire after the gray-bearded man and his red-headed daughter, and we learned the road you had taken, and followed you from stage to stage until we got to Norfolk. There we inquired in the neighborhood of the market, and found where you had put up. Then, at the 'Farmers' Hotel,' we were told, you had left for home that afternoon. Of course we knew that was a ruse. We knew that if you had left, it was for the deck of some outward bound ship. So we inquired, and found out that the Enterprise was to sail in the morning. And we staid at this house all night, and boarded the ship this morning as you saw."

"Oh, Bob! if you could have delayed for a half hour, the ship would have sailed, and I should have been free!" sighed Sybil.

"I did all I could to make a delay. I put laudanum in his coffee last night. I was afraid to put in too much for fear of killing him, so I suppose I didn't put in enough, for he laid wide awake all night."

"Ah, yes! that would be the effect of an under-dose of laudanum."

"Well then, Ma'am, I put back our watches a whole hour. But, bless you, he didn't go by the watches, he went by the sun; and as soon as it was light he was up, and he sent me down to order an early breakfast. And then I got a chance to put laudanum in his coffee again, and this time I overdid it and put in too much, for he tasted something wrong, and he said it was vile stuff, and he wouldn't drink it! No, Miss—Ma'am, I didn't neglect no means to let you get clean off. But you see it was no go this time; and I had to help old Purley to arrest you. I'm glad you didn't know me, hows'ever. And I would advise you not to know me at all whenever old Purley is about. Keep dark, Miss Sybil, and I'll find a way to get you off. I haven't been hiding and seeking and hunting among the red-skins these eight years for nothing. Hish-sh! Here they come," whispered Bob Munson, creeping away to the other end of the room, and putting himself on guard.

The elder officer unlocked the door, and entered, followed by Mr. Berners. He announced that the wagon was at the door, and that they were ready to start on the return journey. And then Purley gave his arm to Sybil, and led her to the wagon, and placed her on the back seat, while Mr. Berners and Bob Munson lingered behind, the former to gather up Sybil's little personal effects, and the latter to settle the hotel bill. But there was no opportunity, among the crowd of guests and servants, for Munson to make his friendly intentions known to Mr. Berners by any other means than a significant look and a pressure of the hand, which Lyon Berners could not more than half understand. He felt, however, that in his younger officer he and his unhappy wife had a friend. They went out together, followed closely by the hostler, who wanted his own fee; but both Mr. Berners and Bob Munson were too much annoyed by his presence to feel like rewarding his attendance.

Lyon Berners mounted to the seat beside his wife, and Bob Munson to that beside Purley, who held the reins. And in this manner they set out on their return journey.

They crossed the ferry without attracting particular attention.



CHAPTER XXXII.

A DESPERATE VENTURE

I have set my life upon a cast. And I will stand the hazard of the die.—SHAKESPEARE.

It was yet so early in the morning that they drove ten miles out to a small village on the road before they thought of breakfast. There Mr. Berners reminded the officer in charge that Sybil had not yet broken her fast. Whereupon Purley drew up before the one little tavern of the place, alighted, and assisted his charge to alight, and then keeping fast hold of her arm, led her into the house, and ordered breakfast.

While the meal was being got ready he kept his party of four well together in the sitting-room where they waited. And as soon as breakfast was over, they all reentered the wagon and resumed their journey. They travelled twenty miles before stopping to dine at a lonely roadside tavern, where again Purley watched his charge with such vigilance that she had no opportunity to speak privately either to her husband or their friend. Still she hoped this opportunity would be afforded when they should stop for the night. After an hour's rest they went on again, travelling with moderate haste all the afternoon. They made fifteen more miles before sunset, and then, having driven forty-five miles that day, and finding their horses very tired, they determined to put up for the night at a small hamlet, whose comfortable little hotel promised rest and refreshment.

Still Purley kept close to his charge. They all had supper in a private sitting-room. And when that meal was over and the hour for retirement arrived, Purley himself accompanied Mr. and Mrs. Berners to their bedroom to see that it was secure. It was a front chamber, on the upper floor, with two front windows overlooking the village street, and but one door, which opened upon the passage.

"That is all safe," said Purley, casting a glance around. "So I may leave you two alone here together, where no doubt, you are glad enough to be. But I'm sorry to say I must turn the key on you; not that I have any right to lock you up, sir, without your consent; but of course you will consent to that, for the sake of staying with your wife."

"Of course I will; and thank you for the privilege," answered Mr. Berners.

"All right then. Good-night to you both," said Purley, closing and locking the door, and withdrawing the key.

And then he took a farther precaution for the security of his charge, by ordering a mattress to be brought and laid down before that chamber door. And there he and his companion stretched themselves to rest like a pair of watch dogs.

As soon as Sybil found herself alone with her husband, she beckoned him to that end of the room which was farthest from the door, and when he was close beside her she whispered in the lowest tone:

"Did you observe anything peculiar in the manner of that younger bailiff?"

"I observed that he tried to attract my particular attention whenever we happened to be unnoticed for a moment. But as we were so very closely watched I had no opportunity of asking, or he of telling, what he meant," said Lyon Berners.

"Then I will tell you all about it. When Mr. Purley went away with you, and left that young man guarding me, the first thing he did was to make himself known to me, and to place himself at my service even to the death!"

"Who was he?"

"Robert Munson; a boy that I was so fortunate as to be kind to in his childhood and mine. Afterwards he was a private soldier in Captain Pendleton's company, and served under him for eight years, fighting the Indians on the frontier. At Captain Pendleton's suggestion, and with his own hearty free will, he volunteered for this service of pursuing me, only that he might more effectually try to free me."

"Sybil, what are you saying? Have we a friend in one of our captors?" exclaimed Lyon, in astonishment.

"Yes; a friend who will serve us to the death! Listen, dear Lyon, and I will tell you all about it," answered Sybil.

And she commenced, and related all the circumstances of her acquaintance with Robert Munson; of his motives for entering upon his present avocation, and of his discovery of himself to her in the hotel at Portsmouth.

"Now may heaven grant that some day I may have an opportunity of rewarding that good fellow for his willing service, whether it ever avail us or not," said Lyon Berners, earnestly.

"But dear Lyon, we must be very careful not to betray by any word or look that we have any acquaintance, much less understanding, with Munson, for to do so would be to ruin our only chance of escape," said Sybil.

"Of course! of course! I understand that perfectly well!"

"But watch your opportunity, and when you feel it to be perfectly safe, communicate with Robert Munson.

"I understand, dear Sybil, and I shall be very prudent and very vigilant," answered Mr. Berners.

And then they retired to rest.

Very early the next morning they were aroused by their keeper who never left his post at their door until he saw them come out of their room. And then he drew Mrs. Berner's arm within his own and led her down to breakfast.

After breakfast they resumed their journey.

This first day and night on the road was a type of all that followed. The bailiff Purley never lost sight of his charge except at night, and then he first assured himself that her room was a secure prison, from which it would be impossible for her to escape; and then, to make assurance doubly sure, he always locked the door on the outside, put the key into his pocket, and stretched himself on a mattress across the threshold.

There was no opportunity afforded to Sybil, Lyon and their new friend to speak together in private; and as day followed day and night succeeded night in this hopeless manner, their spirits fell from despondency even to despair.

But as it is said to be darkest just before dawn, and that when things are at their worst they are sure to mend, so it proved in their case.

On the evening of the fourth day of their tedious journey, they stopped to sup and sleep at a lonely farm-house, where for "a consideration," the poor farmer consented, whenever he got the chance, to entertain travellers.

Here their wagon and horses were comfortably stabled, and themselves were lodged and feasted.

Here, as usual after supper, Mr. Purley accompanied his charge to her bedroom, which, to his perplexity, he found to have two doors; the one opening upon the upper hall, and the other communicating with an adjoining vacant chamber.

After some consideration, he solved the difficulty of guarding his prisoner by saying to his assistant:

"Well, Munson, all that can be done is this: one of us will have to sleep across one door, and the other across the other. And as I hav'n't slept in a room for three nights, I reckon I'll take the vacant room, and you may take the hall. But mind, don't forget to draw the key out of the door when you lock it, and put it into your pocket. And mind also, to be sure to pull your mattress quite up to the door and lay directly across it, so that if the lock should be picked, no one can pass without going right over your own body; and, last of all, mind to sleep only with one eye open, or all the other precautions will be of no use at all."

"I will be very careful, sir," answered young Bailiff Munson, touching his hat to his superior officer in military style.

"And now, as your legs are younger than mine, I wish you would run down stairs and ask the farmer to send me up a mug of that home-brewed bitter beer he was talking about."

"Yes, sir," answered the young bailiff starting off with alacrity, while the elder remained on guard at the door of his charge.

In five minutes or less time, Munson returned with a quart measure of the "home-brewed," which he handed to Purley.

"Souls and bodies! but it is bitter, sure enough! I have heard of bitter beer, but this beats all for bitterness that ever I tasted! However, the bitterer the better, I suppose; and this is really refreshing," said Purley, as he drained the mug, and handed it empty to a negro boy, who had just brought in and laid down the mattress upon which Munson was to sleep.

Munson smiled to himself.

Then Purley reiterated all his cautions for the careful guarding of his charge, and at length bade his comrade good-night, and retired to the vacant chamber, to guard the door on that side.

Munson drew his mattress across the hall-door as he had been directed to do, and laid himself down in all his clothes—not to sleep, but to listen and watch until the house should grow quiet; for on this night he was resolved to effect the deliverance of Sybil, or perish in the attempt.

Meanwhile Mr. and Mrs. Berners had retired to their chamber—not to rest, but to wait for events; for on this night a sure presentiment informed them that Robert Munson, on guard there at their outer door, would be sure to use his opportunities for attempting a rescue. So they quietly cooeperated with what they divined to be his intentions.

First Sybil went and hung a towel over the knob of the lock, so as to darken the key-hole of the door guarded by Purley. Then she slipped the bolt, saying:

"He may guard us if he must, but he shall neither look in upon us, nor intrude upon us, if I can help it."

And then, instead of undressing for bed, they did the opposite thing, and quietly dressed for an escape. And lastly, they concealed their money and jewels about their persons, and threw a few of the most necessary articles for their journey into one travelling bag, and then sat down to listen and watch on the inside, as their friend was listening and watching on the outside.

Then they heard Purley arranging and re-arranging his bed against his door, and tumbling down upon it, like a man utterly overcome by fatigue and drowsiness; after which all was silent, until the stertorous breathing of the bailiff assured them of the depth of his sleep. After that, not a sound was heard in the house. Lyon looked at his watch. It was but nine o'clock, though the whole house was at rest. In these remote country places, people go to roost with the fowls, or very soon after.

Still for another hour of silent, breathless suspense they waited; and then they heard a faint tapping on the door that was guarded by Munson.

Mr. Berners went up, and tapped gently in response.

"Hist!" breathed the voice from without, through the key-hole.

"Well!" murmured Lyon, through the same channel.

"Take some of the melted tallow on the top of your candle, and grease the key-hole as well as you can, and then I will come in and talk to you, if you will let me."

"Thanks; yes."

And Mr. Berners did as he was requested to do, and Munson slipped his key into the lubricated key-hole, and silently unlocked the door.

"Oh, our deliverer!" fervently exclaimed Sybil, as he softly entered the room and closed the door behind him, holding up his finger in warning to them to be silent.

"And now sit close for a few minutes, while I tell you what I have done and am going to do," said Munson, drawing a stool and sitting himself upon it, before Mr. and Mrs. Berners.

"Go on," muttered Lyon, fervently pressing the hand of his friend.

"Oh, yes, go on, dear Bob!" eagerly whispered Sybil.

"First I put nearly half an ounce of laudanum in old Purley's bitter beer, which made him think it so uncommon prime and bitter, that he drank the whole quart."

"Good heaven! Munson, you have killed the man!" said Lyon, in dismay.

"No, I have only doubled the dose I gave him before, which took no effect on him, so this will only put him to sleep for twelve hours or so. Lord, listen how he snores! A thunderstorm wouldn't wake him."

"Well?"

"Next, as soon as he was asleep, I went into his room in my stocking-feet, and closed all the solid wooden shutters, to make him believe it is still night when he does awake and feel drowsy, as he will be sure to feel, so that he shall go to sleep again, and sleep until evening, and that will give you nearly twenty-four hours start of him."

"Right! Quite right," said Mr. Berners.

"Well, well; but go on, dear Bob," impatiently murmured Sybil.

"I locked his door on the outside, and took away the key, to make the farmer or any of the family, if they should go into his room to see why he slept so long, think that he had locked himself in. For the rest I shall stay here and pretend to sleep very late myself. In fact I shall sleep until they wake me up, and then I shall be very angry, and tell them they had better not play that game on Mr. Purley, as he would be in a fury if his rest should be broken. And so I will guard these two rooms from intrusion, and your escape from being discovered, as long as I possibly can."

"But when it shall be discovered, my poor fellow, will you not get yourself into trouble?" inquired Lyon.

"Even if I should, what will my trouble be to this lady's? But at worst I shall only be cussed by old Purley, and turned out of my place by the sheriff; and as I'm used to being cussed, and don't like my place, it don't matter."

"And in any case, you shall be well rewarded, dear Bob. Not that such a service as you are about to render us can ever be adequately rewarded; but, as far as—"

"Oh, dear Madam, don't speak of reward! I owe you a debt of gratitude, which I am glad to pay. I have told you what I have done, and what I shall do, to relieve you of anxiety; and now we had better quietly leave the house. Are you ready?" inquired Munson.

"We have been quite ready for these two hours, in anticipation of your help."

"Come, then; but come very silently, though there is not the slightest danger, either, of our being heard. The farmer is a beer swiller, and sleeps heavily, and his women folks all sleep up in the garret. I saw them all go up myself; they passed with their candle, as I lay on the pallet," whispered Munson, as he quietly led the way out into the hall and softly closed and locked the door, and withdrew the key.

"It is just as well to do this, to guard against the chance of any one opening the door while I am gone," he added, as he softly preceded the party down the stairs.

He silently opened the front door, and they passed out into the free air.

A watch-dog that lay upon the mat outside got up and wagged his tail, and laid down again, as if to express his willingness that any inmate might leave the house who wished to do so, though no stranger should enter it except over his dead body.

"Sensible dog!" said Munson, as with more precaution he closed and locked the outer door, and took that key also with him.

"You must not attempt to escape with your wagon; but must ride your horses, which will be much more efficacious both for swiftness and for their ability to go through places where you could not take a wagon," said Munson, as they walked across the farm-yard.

But when they drew near the stable, they were set upon by a couple of watch-dogs, who, barking furiously, barred their farther progress.

"There is no other way!" exclaimed Munson, and drawing a double barrelled pistol from his pocket, he shot one dog dead, while the other ran howling away.

Then with some difficulty they forced the door, and while Lyon remained on the outside with Sybil, young Munson entered the stable and led out their two horses.

"Here are several bridles, and here is one side-saddle, which will suit Mrs. Berners, if you have no scruple about borrowing them," suggested Munson.

"I should have no scruple about borrowing anything from anybody to aid my wife's escape. Besides, there is my wagon more than double the value of the things that we require; I will leave that in pledge," said Mr. Berners.

"Just so," assented Munson.

And all this time he had been arranging the side-saddle and bridle upon Sybil's horse. As soon as it was ready Mr. Berners came around to lift his wife into her seat.

"One moment, dear Lyon," said Sybil, pausing to adjust her dress.

While she did so, Munson again spoke to Mr. Berners.

"You have your pocket compass?"

"Yes."

"Then I advise you to use it as soon as it is light, to direct your course. And do not go toward the east, for old Purley will pursue you in that direction, under the impression that you will try to reach another seaport town, and get off in a ship. But make for the interior, for the West, and get away as fast and as far as you can. Be careful to keep as much as possible in the woods, even though your progress should be slower through them than it would be in the open country. And now excuse my presuming to give you so much counsel; but you know I have been upon the war path, out among the red-skins, and am up to hunting and flying."

"I thank you—we both thank you from the depths of our souls. And we pray that the day may come when we shall be able to prove our gratitude," said Lyon, earnestly.

"Never mind that! But put madam into her seat. She is ready now; and, indeed, the sooner you are off the better," answered Munson.

Mr. Berners advanced towards Sybil, when the whole party was stopped by a terrible event.

"No you don't, you infernal villain! I have caught you, have I? Stand!" exclaimed a voice of thunder, and the stout farmer stood before them, at the head of all his negroes, and with a loaded musket in his hand!

Like lightning young Munson threw himself before Sybil, drew a pistol from his breast, and levelled it straight at the heart of their opponent, exclaiming:

"Out of the way, you devil! and let her pass. Out of the way this instant, or, by my life, I will kill you! I will! I will kill you, and hang for her sake!"

The man raised his musket, and aimed it at the head of him whose hand pointed the pistol to his own heart. And thus, like two duellists, they stood fatally eyeing each other!



CHAPTER XXXIII.

A FATAL CRISIS.

Each at the life Levelled his deadly aim; their fatal hands No second stroke intended.—MILTON.

"Hold! on your lives!" exclaimed Lyon Berners, rushing between the opponents, and with swift hands striking up the pistol of Robert Munson, and turning aside the musket of Farmer Nye. "Would you shed each other's blood so recklessly? Here is some mistake. Farmer, whom did you take us for?"

"Who did I take you for, is it? For that cornsarned band of robbers as have been mislesting the country for miles round this month past."

"Robbers?"

"Yes, robbers! as has been tarryfying the whole country side ever since Hollow Eve!"

"I never heard of them."

"May be you didn't, but I took you for them all the same."

"And aimed your musket at that lady! And might have shot her dead, had not this brave man thrown himself before her, with a loaded pistol in his hand, levelled at your heart."

"How did I know it was a lady? How could I see in this dim light? I took her for one of you, and I took you all for robbers," said the farmer, sulkily.

"Well, you see who we are now?"

"Yes; I see as you are my new lodgers. Though why you should be out here at the stables after your beasts at this hour of the night, and wake me up with a row; or should take my darter's side-saddle, and kill my watch-dog, blame you, I don't see!" growled the farmer.

"Come, walk aside with me for a few minutes, and I will show you why," said Mr. Berners, soothingly laying his hand on the farmer's shoulder.

"Hands off, if you please! No! I don't think as I will walk aside with you. You might do me a mischief."

"Bosh! you are armed, and I am unarmed. How can I harm you? Come, and I will tell you something to your advantage," coaxed Mr. Berners.

Partly urged by curiosity and partly by interest, Farmer Nye reluctantly consented to follow where Mr. Berners led him. When they had passed out of hearing of the negroes Mr. Berners stopped, and turned to his host, and said:

"You know who we are?"

"I know you are my new lodgers—that's all I know about you."

"Yet you must have observed something out of the common about our party?"

"Yes; I took notice as you and your wife must have been dreadful 'fraid of being robbed and murdered on your journey, when you kept two men to travel with you, and guard you all day long, and sleep outside of your doors like watch-dogs all night long. Which me and my darter made it out between us as you must have lots of money with you to make you so cautious. And which, if we had known you was going to be so mistrustful of us, we'd have seen you farther before we'd have took you in."

"And so that is the way in which you accounted for matters and things that you couldn't understand?"

"To be sure it was; and very natural too."

"Shall I tell him the whole truth?" inquired Lyon Berners of himself. "I will sound him first," he concluded. Then speaking up, he said:

"Well, you cannot blame people for being cautious, after that horrible murder at Black Hall."

"That's so too," admitted the farmer.

"And yet," added Mr. Berners, "they do say that it was no robber that did that murder, but the lady of the house who did it."

"The lady of the house!" indignantly echoed the farmer, to Lyon's great astonishment. "Don't you go to say that; for if you do, devil burn me if I don't knock you down with the butt end of my gun!"

"I do not say it. I only tell you what other people say."

"They lie! the hounds! And I wish I could meet any of them venomous backbiters face to face. Satan fly away with me if I wouldn't tear their false tongues out of their throats, and throw them to the dogs! You don't mean to say you believe she did it?" fiercely demanded Sybil's rough champion.

"No; Heaven knows I do not! I believe her to be as guiltless as an angel."

"I'm glad to hear you say that! I don't want to pitch into an unarmed man, but I should a' been strongly tempted to 'a done it if you'd said anything else."

"You know this injured lady, then?"

"Yes; I have knowed her ever since she was a little gal. Not as ever I met her face to face in my life, but I know her as every poor man and poor child and poor brute in the whole country knows her: as the kindest, gentlest, tenderest-hearted lady in the whole world—she who has been known to take the fur cloak off her own back, and lay it over the form of a sick beggar, while she went home in the cold to send her warm blankets. Yes, and known to have done scores of deeds as good and self-sacrificing as that. She do the thing they accuse her of! Why, sir, she no more did it than I, or you, or your own sweet wife did it! And Satan burn me! when I hear of any man accusing her of it, if I don't feel just like knocking his dull brains out, and taking the consequences—that I do!" swore the farmer.

"I will trust him," said Lyon Berners to himself.

—"And to think that men who call themselves law officers, not to say Christians, should hunt that lovely lady through the country as if she was some wild beast or highway robber! I wish one of them hunters was to come my way. I'm blowed to flinders if I wouldn't set my whole pack of dogs on 'em till they would be torn to pieces. I'd give 'em hunting! But excuse me, Mr.—Mr.—What's-your-name; I've gone away from the pint, which I always do fly off at a tangent and lose my bearings whenever I hear that lady accused. Now, sir, what had you to tell me to my advantage?" inquired the farmer, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his heated face.

"I will tell him all," said Lyon Berners to himself; and then he spoke up:

"First, good friend, let me assure you that you have not wandered a hair's breadth from the point at issue between us."

"Oh yes, I have; for I have been raving about Mrs. Berners; but I couldn't help it."

"Mrs. Berners is the lady who is with me," said Mr. Berners.

Farmer Nye jumped three feet from the ground and came down again like a man that was shot, and then stood with open mouth and eyes staring at the speaker.

"I am her husband, and the men who are guarding us are the officers who have her in custody."

"WHAT? Say that again!" uttered the farmer, panting for breath.

Mr. Berners repeated all that he had said, adding:

"I had got her away from this neighborhood, and on shipboard. And she was rejoicing in her supposed safety and freedom, for the ship was within a half hour of sailing, when these officers came on board with a warrant and arrested her."

"THEY DID! Wait till I get my niggers together. The boys will want no better fun than to tar and feather them devils, and set them afire and turn 'em loose. And blame me if I don't give the best feather-bed in my house to the service. Come along," exclaimed the farmer, starting off to commence the work.

"Stop!" said Lyon Berners, laying his hand soothingly upon the shoulder of the excited man. "Above all, you wish to serve my unhappy wife, do you not!"

"Yes! with my 'life, and fortune, and sacred honor' as the Declaration of Independence says."

"Then you can not serve her by any violence done to the officers, who are only doing their duty."

"Doing their duty! Duty! That's a matter of opinion! I consider I should be doing of my duty if I was to order my niggers to take 'em out and tar and feather 'em. Yes, and set 'em afire afterwards—burn 'em!"

"Yes; but that would be doing a great injustice to them, and also a great injury to Mrs. Berners. If you really wish to serve my dear wife, you can do so by helping her to escape."

"I'll help her to escape, with all my heart and soul! And with all my heart and soul I'll shoot down anybody that dares to start from here in pursuit of her!" emphatically declared the farmer.

"That is not necessary. You can cover our retreat by more peaceable means. And now I must advise you that both these officers have used us with the greatest kindness and consideration, concealing our identity and shielding us from the curiosity and intrusion of strangers, whenever they could do so, as is proved by your own experience, for you had no suspicion as to who we might be."

"No, that I hadn't! And a good thing I hadn't too! for if I'd a known that lady had a been kept a prisoner here in my house, I'd a pitched her jailers neck and heels out o' the windows, and then set the dogs on 'em!"

"But that would have been very unjust to them, and injurious to the lady you wish to befriend. And especially it would have been the very greatest injustice to the younger officer, who has been our partisan from the first."

"Eh! what? One of them jailers your partisan?"

"Yes; let me explain," said Mr. Berners. And he commenced and detailed all the circumstances of their acquaintance and relations with Robert Munson.

"And so, out of gratitude for the kindness this lady showed him in his childhood, he got himself put on this service o' purpose to watch his opportunity of reskying her."

"Just so."

"Well, he's an honest fellow, that he is!" said the farmer, approvingly.

"Now, Mr. Nye, all you have to do, if you wish to help us, is just to let us go free. When we are gone, keep the house quiet, and let the elder officer sleep as long as possible, for the longer he sleeps the farther we shall get away from pursuit."

"I'll lock him up and keep him prisoner for a month, if necessary."

"But it is not necessary. A day's start is all that we shall need, and that, I think, you can secure to us, by simply letting the man sleep as long as he will. And furthermore, I may ask you to be cautious and not to betray our friend Robert Munson's agency in our escape."

"I'll protect Robert Munson with my life."

"A thousand thanks! And now, as we understand each other, let us go on to my wife, who is anxiously waiting the issue of this interview," said Lyon Berners, turning and leading the way towards the stables.

"Now, squire, you may rely upon me, and rest easy in your mind. You sha'n't be followed in less than twenty-four hours," said the farmer, as they went along.

"Again I thank you from my heart. And now I have something else to say to you," began Lyon Berners

Then he paused, as finding a real difficulty in saying what he wished; for the truth is, that when Mr. Berners had called Mr. Nye aside for a private interview, he had intended to offer him a heavy bribe to connive at the escape of Sybil.

Now, however, he found the farmer not exactly the sort of man to affront with the proffer of a bribe, or even scarcely of a reward; and yet he was a poor man who evidently needed money, and would probably always need it; for Farmer Nye, as has been shown in his championship of Sybil, was a man of impetuous emotions, hasty judgments, and reckless actions, and was always sure to be in troubles, social, domestic, and pecuniary.

So Mr. Berners, while wishing to reward his services, felt a difficulty as to the manner of doing so.

At length, however, he continued:

"Mr. Nye, I said at the beginning of our talk, that I could tell you something to your advantage."

"Well, and, bless my soul alive, haven't you done it? I wonder if I could hear of anything more to my advantage than the chance of helping to resky that lady as I have felt for so much?" warmly inquired the farmer.

"You have a generous and noble nature to look upon it in that light."

"No, I haven't; but I'm a man, I reckon, and not a beast nor a devil, and that's all about it."

"Well, farmer, I confess that when I first spoke to you, I thought of offering you a heavy bribe to allow us to go free, and that was what I meant when I said I had something to propose to your advantage."

"Then I'm glad you didn't do it—that's all."

"I am glad too, for now I know your magnanimous heart would have led you to serve us without reward, and even at great loss."

"Yes, that it would," naively assented the farmer.

"And even so we accept and shall ever be grateful for your services," added Lyon Berners, gravely. And all the while he was slily examining the contents of his pocketbook. At length he drew a five hundred dollar note from the compartment in which he knew he kept notes of that denomination, and he slipped it into a blank envelope, and held it ready in his hand.

In another moment they were at the stable door, before which Sybil stood, leaning on the bowed neck of her own horse, while Robert Munson held the other horse.

Before Lyon Berners could speak, Farmer Nye impetuously pushed past him, and rushed up to Sybil, pulled off his hat and put out his hand, exclaiming:

"Give me your hand, lady. I beg your pardon ten thousand times over for all I said and did to affront you, not knowing who you was. But now, lady, here is a man who don't believe you to be innocent, because he knows that you are so, and who will fight for you as long as he has got a whole bone left in his body, and shed his blood for you as long as he has got a drop left in his veins."

Overcome by this ardent testimonial to her innocence, Sybil burst into tears, and took the rough hand that had been held out to her, and wept over it, and pressed it warmly to her lips, and then to her heart.

"Yes, that I will. I'll die before a hair of your head shall be hurt," exclaimed the farmer, utterly overwhelmed and blubbering.

Meanwhile Lyon Berners was explaining to Robert Munson that they had found a friend and helper in Farmer Nye; but advising Munson to try to infuse enough of discretion into the impetuous mind of Nye to modify his reckless actions.

"And now, dear boy," added Mr. Berners, "I will not speak to you of reward for this great service; but this I will say, that henceforth you shall be to me as a younger brother, and I shall take charge of your future fortunes even as though you were the son of my mother."

"You are too generous, sir; and indeed I want no recompense whatever," answered Robert Munson, sincerely.

Then Mr. Berners went over to his wife and lifted her into her saddle; and when he had settled her comfortably in her seat, he mounted his own horse, and once more called Robert Munson to him.

"Good-bye, and God bless you, Robert," he said, warmly shaking hands with the young man.

"And you too, sir! and you too, sir!" feelingly responded Munson.

And then Sybil called him.

"Good-bye, dear Bob. I will remember you and love you as long as I live for this," she said.

"And so will I you, ma'am," he answered, and turned away to hide his tears.

Lastly Lyon Berners rode up to where Farmer Nye stood apart.

"Farewell, Farmer Nye! And may you indeed fare as well as your great heart deserves all your life," said Lyon.

"The same to you and your dear wife, sir, with all my soul in the prayer!" responded the farmer.

"And here, Mr. Nye, is a testimonial—I mean a memorandum—that is to say, something I wish you to take for my sake."

"A keepsake, sir?"

"If you choose to consider it so, yes."

"What might it be sir?" inquired the farmer, receiving from Mr. Berners the small envelope containing the large note.

"It might be a lock of my wife's hair, or it might be my miniature; but whatever it is, hold it tight, and do not look at it until you get back to the house."

"All right, sir; but you have raised my curiosity," replied the farmer, as he carefully deposited his unsuspected little fortune into the pocket of his waistcoat.

"Now direct me as to how I shall find the best and most private road westward," said Lyon, gathering the reins in his hands.

"You are facing east now. Ride straight on for about a hundred yards, till you come to the cross-roads, then take the road to your left, and follow it for about an eighth of a mile until you come to another road still on your left; take that and follow it as far as you please, for it leads straight west."

"Thank you again and again! We shall do very well now. Good-bye, all; and God bless you forever!" exclaimed Lyon Berners, waiving his hat in adieus to the friends he was leaving behind.

Then, the husband and wife rode forth in the night together.

Before we follow them, we will see how it fared with the faithful friends who had risked so much in their service.



CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE PURSUIT.

Horse! horse! * * * * and chase!—MARNION.

Farmer Nye and Robert Munson remained standing with their heads uncovered, looking after the fugitives until the sound of their horses' hoofs died away in the distance, and then they turned towards each other and impulsively grasped each the other's hand, and shook hands as comrades.

Next Farmer Nye turned to the negroes who were squatting about the stable-yard, wondering, no doubt, at all they had seen and heard; and he told them to disperse to their quarters, and keep still tongues in their heads, if they wished to keep their heads on their shoulders.

"And now we'll go back to the house and get a drop of home-brewed, and go to bed," said the farmer, starting off at a brisk trot, and beckoning his young companion to follow him.

"I mean to manage so as Old Purley shall be made to believe as the prisoner escaped through his door," said Munson, as he came up.

"That'll be bully!" said the farmer.

They went back to the house, consulted the tall old-fashioned clock in the corner of the hall, found it was just eleven, and they took their drop of "home-brewed," and went to rest.

Robert Munson, with design, threw himself down upon the mattress outside the carefully locked door of the chamber, from which he had helped his prisoners to escape. And being very much fatigued, he fell asleep, and slept long and late.

The first persons up in the house were the farmer's daughter Kitty, and her old maiden aunt Molly.

They came down from their attic chambers and walked on tiptoes past the sleeping Munson, so as not to wake him. They went down stairs and had breakfast got ready, but had to wait very long before either the farmer or the young man appeared. When they did come down, however, and apologized for their tardiness, the women inquired for the other guests, and were told that they must not be disturbed.

The day passed slowly.

It was late in the afternoon before old Purley awoke and finding the room quite dark, and feeling himself still very drowsy, he merely turned over and went to sleep again. And still overpowered by the combined action of the laudanum and the beer-opium and hops, he slept on until a very late hour of the night, when at length he awoke; but perceiving that all was quite dark and still, he lay quietly in bed, thinking this was about the longest night he had ever spent in his life. At last he got up, and opened the blinds to see if it was near day. And perceiving by a faint light streak along the horizon that the morning was at hand, he opened the other blinds, and began to dress himself as well as he could in the semi-darkness.

By the time he had got on all his clothes, the day was a little lighter, and he went into the passage to see after the safety of his prisoner.

He found young Munson stretched upon the mattress immediately before the door.

"Quite correct," he thought; but he resolved to go up to the door to make a closer examination. First he saw that the key had been taken out of the lock.

"All right," he said to himself. "Munson has obeyed orders, and put the key in his pocket."

And then still farther to assure himself of the safety of his charge, he bent over the sleeping form of Munson and tried the lock, and found it fast.

"Quite correct! Nothing has been neglected. He is a careful officer, and shall be well reported at head-quarters," he muttered, with much satisfaction.

But to reach the lock at all, he had been obliged to bend so far over the sleeping body, that now, in trying to recover his perpendicular, he lost his balance, and fell heavily, nearly crushing and quite waking Munson, who, in struggling to throw off the burden, recognized old Purley, but pretending to mistake him for Mr. Berners, grappled him by the throat, exclaiming:

"No you don't you villain! You don't get her out of this room except over my dead body!" And he shook him furiously.

"It's me—me—me, Bob! Do-do-don't choke me to death!" gasped old Purley, as he struggled and freed his throat for an instant from the grasp of Robert's hands.

But Munson throttled and shook him more furiously than before, singing out:

"Help! murder! arson! Here's this man reskying of my prisoner!" And he shook him until his teeth rattled in his head.

"Oh, my good lord! I shall be strangled with the best of intention," sputtered the terrified and half-suffocated victim, as for an another instant he freed his throat from his assailant's clasp, and breathed again.

"Help! murder! fire!" yelled Munson, renewing the attack.

"Bob! Bob! It's me, I tell you!—Purley! Wake up and look at me! You're asleep yet! And oh, my lord! the man will murder me by mistake before I can make him know," panted the poor wretch, desperately striving to keep off the strangling hands of his assailant, and growing weak in the struggle.

And meanwhile the household, aroused by the outcry, had hurried on their clothes, and now came pouring into the passage—the women down the garret stairs, and the men up the lower back stairs.

"Now I've got you!" exclaimed Munson, triumphantly, as he knocked the feet from under Purley, and threw him down upon the floor. Then stooping to gaze at the fallen foe, he condescended at length to recognize him.

"Oh! is it you, Mr. Purley? I really thought it was Mr. Berner, reskying of his wife!" said Munson, with provoking coolness.

"Then I wish you would make surer another time, you stupid donkey! You've all but killed me!" panted the victim, wiping the perspiration from his face.

"What is the matter?"

"What's all this?"

"Is anybody hurt?"

Such were the hasty questions put by old Farmer Nye and his family, as they gathered around the scene of action.

"Yes! I'm choked and shaken nearly to death!" gasped old Purley, in a fury.

"It was done for the best," said Munson, soothingly.

"Oh, for the best, indeed! Set fire to you, would you murder an innocent man out of kindness?" fiercely demanded Parley.

"You see, he fell upon me, and woke me up. It was so dark here, with the window shutters closed, that I could not see well, so I mistook him for Mr. Berners broke loose and trying to carry off his wife," explained Robert Munson.

"Oh! well, I reckon you're not hurt much; only startled and shaken a bit! Come and take a glass of morning bitters. That will set you up again, and give you an appetite for your breakfast besides," said the farmer, kindly.

"Thank you. I'll take the bitters, if you will send them up here! I mustn't leave this floor until I see my charge out. And it's time for them to get up too!" replied Purley, rising and knocking loudly at the chamber door.

Of course there was no response.

He knocked again and again, more loudly than before, and he called to them in a high tone.

But still there was no answer.

"Good Lord, how sound they sleep! I will go around to the other door and rap there. It is near the head of their bed, and they will be sure to hear me."

And so saying, old Purley went to the adjoining chamber, where he had slept, dragged his mattress away from the door, and drew the key from his pocket, when, to his astonishment and terror, he found the door unlocked!

Without waiting an instant, from any scruples of politeness, he rushed into the room.

To his horror and amazement, he found it empty!

"They've gone! they've fled!" frantically exclaimed Purley, rushing back into the passage, where he found the other bailiff still on guard before the fast door, and the farmer waiting with the glass of bitters in his hand.

"Fled!" echoed Munson. "How can that be? This door as fast as it is?"

"Blast 'em! they've had the impudence to escape right through my door! and right over my body!" panted Purley.

"Then you can't blame me!" naively put in Munson.

"Who says I can?" angrily demanded Purley. "I can't blame anybody! And how the demon they managed to pick the lock and open the door, and climb over me, I don't know! Nor have we time to inquire!"

"Take your bitters, Mr. Purley," said the host, offering the glass.

The bailiff quaffed the offered restorative at a draught, and then said:

"Farmer, saddle a couple of horses for us, directly! We must pursue them without loss of time! They can not have got very far ahead of us in these few hours!" he added, being totally unconscious of the length of time he had slept, and the whole day he had lost.

"My—my horses will be busy all day hauling wood," replied the farmer.

"Don't care! I order you in the name of the Commonwealth of Virginia, to saddle those horses, and place them at our disposal to pursue our prisoner," said Purley, in a peremptory tone.

The farmer was quite uncertain whether or not that was an order he was bound to obey; and besides, he was very unwilling that his horses should be taken off their work at all, and especially for the purpose of pursuing Sybil Berners. But still he felt that it would be safer for her, if not for himself, if he should yield to the demand of the sheriff's officer; he could put him on the wrong track, by counselling him to ride towards the east, while he knew that Sybil was far on her route to the west.

So without further demur, he went out to execute the order.

"And, farmer, when you have seen to that matter, I want you to gather all your men and maids into the breakfast room, that I may question them while I eat my breakfast, so as not now to lose a moment," he called after his retreating host.

All this was done as he directed. And when the family and the house servants were assembled in the breakfast room, and Purley examined and cross-examined them as to whether they had seen or heard anything of the prisoner or her husband during the night, they could all answer with perfect truth, that they had not. So old Purley got no satisfaction from them.

The bailiff hastily dispatched his breakfast, and the horses being ready, he called to his young assistant to follow him, and he went out and got into his saddle.

"Where the deuce am I to go after them, when there are so many roads to choose from?" groaned old Purley, in sore perplexity of spirit.

"Would they not be likely to make straight for the east and a seaport?" inquired farmer Nye suggestively.

"To be sure they would," exclaimed Mr. Purley. "So now, Munson, we will go right back upon the road we came last night," he added, being still in ignorance as to the lost day.

"And as the stable boy told me, they had taken the wagon horses to ride, and those horses were then fairly knocked up with fatigue, while ours are now quite fresh, we may very soon overtake them," put in Munson, artfully.

And waving their hats in adieux to the farmer and his family, they rode off at full speed in pursuit of the fugitives. But they had not ridden more than a hundred yards, and had but just reached the four cross-roads, when they were both startled by a shrill—

"Whist!"

They drew their reins, and looked around just as the head of a negro boy emerged from the bushes, exclaiming

"Hallo, Marster!"

"Who are you? What do you want?" demanded Purley.

"I'm Bill, and I don't want nothing. But I know what you want!"

"What do I want?"

"To know which way the run-a-way lady and gemplan went."

"I do know, they went this way," said Purley, pointing straight before him.

"No, they didn't neyther! they was too sharp for that, they said how you would be sure to search for 'em on that road, just as you are a doing of now; so they would take another road."

"That was likely too! Boy, do you know which road they took?"

"Yes, sirree."

"Then tell me."

"I will if you'll give me a quarter," was the moderate conditions of this treaty.

"Here, take it!" exclaimed Mr. Parley, pitching the boy the silver coin in question.

"Thanky, Marster," grinned the lad, picking up the treasure.

"Now tell me."

"Well, Marster, they went along that left han' road till they got to the next turning, and then they turned to the left ag'in and kept on that tact towards that gap in the mountain where you see the sun set in the arternoon."

"How did you know all this, boy?"

"I was out coon-hunting when I heerd them talking, and I listened and heerd all about it. And as I couldn't find any coons, I follyed arter them; and their horses was tired, as they kept on complainin' to each other. And so they went slow and I could keep up long of 'em."

"How far did you follow them?"

"Well, Marster! I couldn't help it! I follyed of 'em all night."

"And they never discovered you?"

"No, sar, they never did. I was barefooted and didn't make no noise, and keeped nigh the bushes on the roadside, and so they never found me out."

"And where did you part from them?"

"Well, Marster, I didn't part from 'em till I seed whar they stopped. And if you'll take me up behind you, I'll show you the way to the place where they are hiding. It an't fur from here, not so very fur, I mean."

"Oh! ho! that is good! So, so, my run-a-ways! I shall nab you, shall I?" exclaimed Purley in triumph, as he beckoned the negro imp to jump up behind him.

"But stop!" said Robert Munson, in an agony of terror for the safety of Sybil Berners. "Stop! What are you about to do? You are about to abduct Farmer Nye's slave!"

"Do you belong to Farmer Nye, boy? Though it don't matter a bit who you belong to. I'll take anybody I can lay hold of to guide me to the hiding-place of my prisoner—in the name of the Commonwealth of Virginia," said this new bailiff, who seemed to think that formula of words, like an absolute monarch's signet ring, was warranty for every sort of proceeding.

"But I don't belong to nobody. I's fee, and so's mammy. We an't got no master, and I an't got no daddy to lord it over me!" put in the boy.

"That's right, jump up behind," said the elder bailiff. And as soon as little Bill was safely perched up in the rear of his patron, the latter put spurs to his horse and gallopped off at full speed.

They went down the left hand, or south fork of the cross-roads, and gallopped on until they reached the branch road leading west. They turned into that road and pursued it mile after mile, through field and forest, mountain pass and valley plain, until, late in the afternoon, they reached another mountain range, and heard the roaring of a great torrent. They entered the black gap, and slowly and cautiously made their way through it. By the time they had emerged from the pass, the night was pitch dark.

"How shall we ever find our way?" inquired Purley who, fatigued and half famished, was ready to sink with exhaustion.

"Do you see that then gabble ind stickin' up through the trees?" inquired the boy.

"Yes, I see it!"

"Well, him and her is in there?"

"Are you sure?" inquired Purley, anxiously.

"Here I is, Marster! If him and her ar'n't in there, here I is in your power, and you may skin me alive!"

"All right!" exclaimed Purley, and dismounting from his horse, he advanced towards the thicket, followed by Munson and the negro boy.



CHAPTER XXXV.

THE FUGITIVES.

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:

"Brothers and sisters there will meet, Brothers and sisters there will meet, Brothers and sisters there will meet— Will meet, to part no more!"

"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."

"Oh, there will be glory— Glory! glory! glory!— Oh, there will be glory Around the throne of God!"

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—

"Saints and angels there will meet, Saints and angels there will meet, Saints and angels there will meet— Will meet, to part no more."

"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.