"For, oh! Lyon, although I am entirely innocent of that most heinous crime, and entirely incapable of it, yet, when I remember how my rage burned against that poor woman only an hour before her death, I feel--I feel as if I were half guilty of it! as if--Heaven pardon me!--I might, in some moment of madness, have been wholly guilty of it! Lyon, I shudder at myself!" cried Sybil, growing very pale.

"You should thank Heaven that you have been saved from such mortal sin, dear wife, and also pray Heaven always to save you from your own fierce pa.s.sions," said Mr. Berners, very gravely.

"I have breathed that thanksgiving and that prayer with every breath I have drawn. And I will continue to do so. But, oh! Lyon, all my pa.s.sions, all my sufferings grew out of my great love for you."

"I can well believe it, dear wife. And I myself have not been free from blame; though in reality your jealousy was very causeless, Sybil."

"I know that now," said Sybil, sadly.

"And now, dearest, I would like to make 'a clean breast of it,' as the sinners say, and tell you all--the whole 'head and front of my offending' with that poor dead woman," said Mr. Berners, seating himself on the floor beside his wife.

Sybil did not repel his offered confidence, for though her jealousy had died a violent death, she was still very much interested in hearing his confession.

Then Lyon Berners told her everything, up to the very last moment when she had surprised them in the first and last kiss that had ever pa.s.sed between them.

"But in all, and through all, my heart, dear wife, was loyal in its love to you," he concluded.

"I know that, dearest Lyon--I know that well," replied Sybil.

And with that tenderness towards the faults of the dead, which all magnanimous natures share, she forbore to say, or even to think, how utterly unprincipled had been the course of Rosa Blondelle from the first to the last of their acquaintance with that vain and frivolous coquette.

Sybil was now almost sinking with weariness. Lyon perceived her condition, and said:

"Remain here, dear Sybil, while I go and try to collect some boughs and leaves to make you a couch. The sun must have dried up the moisture by this time."

And he went out and soon returned with his arms full of boughs, which he spread upon the flagstones. Then he took off his own overcoat and covered them with it.

"Now, dear Sybil," he said, "if you will divest yourself of your long riding skirt, you may turn that into a blanket to cover with, and so sleep quite comfortably."

With a grave smile Sybil followed his advice, and then she laid herself down on the rude couch he had spread for her. No sooner had her head touched it, than she sank into that deep sleep of prostration which is more like a swoon than a slumber.

Lyon Berners covered her carefully with the long riding skirt, and stood watching her for some minutes. But she neither spoke nor stirred; indeed, she scarcely breathed.

Then, after still more carefully tucking the covering around her, he left her, and walked out to explore the surroundings of the chapel.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE SOLITUDE IS INVADED.

Oh, might we here In solitude live savage, in some glade Obscured, where highest woods impenetrable To star, or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad And brown as evening; cover us, ye pines Ye cedars with innumerable boughs Hide us where we may ne'er be seen again.--BYRON.

Nothing could be more lonely and desolate than this place. It was abandoned to Nature and Nature's wild children. Of the birds that perched so near his hand; of the squirrels that peeped at him from their holes under the gravestones, he might have said with Alexander Selkirk on Juan Fernandez,

"Their tameness is shocking to me."

There was a great consolation to be derived from these circ.u.mstances, however; for they proved how completely deserted by human beings, and how perfectly safe for the refugees, was this old "Haunted Chapel."

Too deeply troubled in mind to take any repose of body; Lyon Berners continued to ramble about among the gravestones, which were now so worn with age that no vestige of their original inscriptions remained to gratify the curiosity of a chance inspector.

Above him was the glorious autumn sky, now hazy with the golden mist of Indian summer. Around him lay a vast wilderness of hill and dell covered with luxuriant forests, now gorgeous with the glowing autumn colors of their foliage.

But his thoughts were not with this magnificent landscape. They wandered to the past days of peace and joy before the coming of the coquette had "made confusion" with the wedded pair. They wandered to the future, trying to penetrate the gloom and horror of its shadows. They flew to Black Hall, picturing the people, prevising the possibilities there.

How he longed for, yet dreaded the arrival of Captain Pendleton! Would there be danger in his coming through the open daylight? What news would he bring?

The verdict of the coroners jury? Against whom must this verdict be given? Lyon Berners shuddered away from answering this question. But it was also possible that before this the murderer might have been discovered and arrested. Should this surmise prove to be a fact, oh, what relief from anguish, what a happy return home for Sybil! If not--if the verdict should be rendered against _her_,--nothing but flight and exile remained to them.

While Lyon Berners wandered up and down like a restless ghost among the gravestones, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of a crackling tread breaking through the bushes. He turned quickly, expecting to see Captain Pendleton, but he saw his own servant instead.

"Joe!" he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise.

"Ma.r.s.er!" responded the man, in a voice of grief.

"You come from Captain Pendleton? What message does he send? How is it at the house? Has the coroner come? And oh! has any clue been found to the murderer?" anxiously inquired Mr. Berners.

"No, ma.r.s.er, no clue an't been found to no murderer. But the house up there is full of crowners and constables, as if it was the county court house, and Cappin Pendulum managing everything."

"He sent you to me?"

"No, ma.r.s.er, nor likewise knowed I come."

"Joe! _who_ has sent you here?" inquired Mr. Berners.

"No one hasn't, ma.r.s.er," answered Joe, dashing the tears from his eyes, and then proceeding to unstrap a large hamper that he carried upon his shoulders.

"No one! Then how came you here?" demanded Mr. Berners, uneasily.

Now, instead of answering his master's question, Joe sat down upon his hamper, and wept aloud.

"What is the matter with you?" inquired Mr. Berners.

"You axed me how I comed here," sobbed Joe, "just as if I could keep away when she and you was here in trouble, and a-wanting some one to look arter you."

"But how did you know we were here?" anxiously questioned Mr. Berners.

"I wa'n't a listening at key-holes, nor likewise a-eaves-dropping, which I considers beneath a gentleman to do; but I was a-looking to the back shutters, to see as they was all safe arter the fright we got, and I hearn somebody a-talking, which I was sure was more bugglers; so I made free to wait and hear what they said."

"It was Captain Pendleton and myself, I suppose," said Mr. Berners, much annoyed.

"Jes so, sir; it wer Capping Pendulum and yourself, which it hurt me to the heart as you should have trusted into Capping Pendulum and not into me--a old and valleyed servant of the family."

"And so, Joe, you overheard the whole matter?"