As he entered, a singular phenomenon, almost enough to confirm the reputation of the place as "haunted ground," met his view.

All in one instant his eyes took in these things: First, Sybil covered over with the dark riding skirt, and still sleeping by the smouldering fire; but sleeping uneasily, and muttering in her sleep. Secondly, the four prints of the western windows laid in sunshine on the floor.

Thirdly, a _shadow_ that slipped swiftly athwart this sunshine, and disappeared as if it had sunk into the floor on the right of the altar.

And in the same moment Sybil, with a half-suppressed shriek, started up, and stared wildly around, exclaiming:

"Oh! what is this? Where am I? Who was she?" Lyon Berners hastened to his wife, saying soothingly:

"Sybil, wake up, darling; you have been dreaming."

"But what does all this mean? Where are we? What strange place is this?"

she cried, throwing back her long dark hair, and shading her eyes with her hands, as she gazed around.

"Dearest wife, take time to compose yourself, and you will remember all.

A sudden and terrible catastrophe has driven us from our home. You have had a heavy sleep since that, and you find it difficult to awake to the truth," said Lyon Berners tenderly, as he sat down by her side, and sought to soothe her.

"Oh! I know now! I remember all now! my fatal fancy ball! Rosa Blondelle's mysterious murder! Our sudden flight! All! O! Heavens, all!"

cried Sybil, dropping her face upon her hands.

Lyon Berners put his arm around her, and drew her to his bosom. But he did not speak; he thought it better to leave her to collect herself in silence.

After a few moments, she looked up again, and looked all around the church, and then gazed into her husband's eyes, and inquired:

"But Lyon, who was _she_? and where has she gone?"

"Who was who, dear Sybil? I don't understand," answered Mr. Berners, in surprise.

"That gipsy-like girl in the red cloak; who was bending over me, and staring into my face, just as you came in?"

"There was no such girl near you, or even in the church, my dear," said Mr. Berners.

"But indeed there was; she started away just as I woke up."

"My dearest Sybil, you have been dreaming."

"Indeed no; I saw her as plainly as I see you now: a girl in a red cloak, with such an elfin face I shall never forget it; such small piercing black eyes; such black eyebrows, depressed towards the nose, and raised high towards the temples, giving such an eldritch, mischievous, even dangerous expression to the whole dark countenance; and such wild black hair streaming around her shoulders."

"A very vivid dream you have had, dear wife, and that is all."

"I tell you no! she was bending over me; looking at me; and she fled away just as I woke up."

"My darling, I will convince you out of your own mouth. She ran away, you say, just as you woke up; therefore you did not see her after you were awake, but only while you slept, in your dreams. Besides, dear, I was here when you woke up, and I saw no one near you, or even in the building," persisted Lyon Berners--though at that moment he did recall to mind _the shadow_ that he had seen slip past all the sunshine on the floor, and disappear as if it had sunk under the slabs on the right side of the altar.

"Lyon," said Sybil, solemnly, "I do not like to contradict you, but as I hope to be saved, I saw that girl, not in a dream, but in reality; and since you do not know anything about her, I begin to think the apparition mysterious and alarming. Let me tell you all about it."

"Well, tell me, dear, if to do so will do you any good," said Mr.

Berners indulgently, but incredulously.

"Listen, then. I was in a _dead sleep_, oh, such a deep dead sleep, that I seemed to be away down in the bottom of some deep cave, when I felt a heavy breathing or panting over my face, and was conscious of somebody leaning over me, and looking at me. I tried to wake, but could not, I could not lift myself up out of that deep dark cave of sleep. But at last I felt a hand near my throat, trying to unfasten this golden locket that contains your miniature. Then I struggled, and succeeded in throwing off the spell and waking up. As soon as I opened my eyes I saw the wild eldritch face, with its keen bright black eyes and queer eyebrows, and snake-like black locks, running down over the red cloak.

The instant I saw this, I cried out, and the girl fled, and you hurried up. Now call that a dream if you can, for I tell you I saw that figure start up and run away from me as plainly as I saw you come up. One event was as real as the other," concluded Sybil.

Lyon Berners did not at once reply, for he thought again of the flitting _shadow_ he had seen cross the sunshine, and disappear as if it had sunk into the flagstones on the right side of the altar. And he mentally admitted the bare possibility that some intruder had entered the church and looked upon Sybil in her sleep, and fled at her awakening. But fled whither? The windows were very high, the wall was smooth beneath them; no one could have climbed to them, for there was no foothold or handhold to a.s.sist one in the ascent, and there was but the one door by which he himself had entered, at the same moment the strange visitor was said to have fled, and he was quite sure that no one had pa.s.sed him. Besides, the shadow that he had seen vanished beside the altar, at the upper end of the church. Lyon Berners knew not what to think of all that he had seen and heard within the last quarter of an hour. But one thing was quite certain, that it was absolutely necessary to Sybil's safety to ascertain whether any stranger had really entered the church, or even come upon the premises.

"Well," inquired Sybil, seeing that he still remained silent, "what do you think now, Lyon?"

"I think," he answered promptly, "that I will search the church."

"There is not a hiding-place for anything bigger than a rat or a bird,"

said his wife, glancing around upon the bare walls, floor, and ceiling.

Nevertheless Lyon Berners walked up to the side of the altar where he had seen the shadow disappear. Sybil followed close behind him. He examined the altar all around. It was built of stonework like the church; that was the reason it had stood so long. But he experienced a great surprise when he looked at the side where the shadow had vanished; for there he found a small iron-grated door, through which he dimly discerned the head of a flight of stone steps, the continuation of which was lost in the darkness below. Glancing over the top of the door, he read, in iron letters, the inscription:

"DUBARRY. 1650."

"What is it, dear Lyon?" inquired Sybil, anxiously looking over his shoulder.

"Good Heaven! It is the family vault of the wicked old Dubarrys, who once owned all the land hereabouts, except the Black Valley Manor, and who built this chapel for their sins; for of them it might not be said with truth, that 'all their sons were true, and all their daughters pure,' but just exactly the reverse. However, they are well forgotten now!"

"And this is their family vault?"

"Yes; but I had almost forgotten its existence here."

"Lyon, can my mysterious visitor have hidden herself in that vault?"

"I can search it, at any rate," answered Mr. Berners, wrenching away at the grated door.

But it resisted all his efforts, as if its iron bars had been bedded in the solid masonry.

"No," he answered; "your visitor, if you had one, could not possibly have entered here. See how fast the door is."

"Lyon," whispered Sybil, in a deep and solemn voice, "Lyon, could she possibly have come out from there?"

"Nonsense, dear! Are you thinking of ghosts?"

"This is the 'Haunted Chapel,' you know," whispered Sybil.

"Bosh, my dear; you are not silly enough to believe that!"

"But my strange visitor?"

"You had no visitor, dear Sybil; you had a dream, and your dream had every feature of nightmare in it--the deep, death-like, yet half-conscious and much disturbed sleep; the sense of heavy oppression; the apparition hanging over you; the inability to awake; even the grappling at your throat, and the swift disappearance of the vision immediately upon your full awakening--all well-known features of incubus," replied Mr. Berners. But again he thought of the shadow he had seen; now, however, only to dismiss the subject as an optical illusion.

Sybil sighed deeply.

"It is hard," she said, "that you won't trust to my senses in this affair."

"Sweet wife, I would rather convince you how completely your senses have deceived you. Your imagination has been excited while your nerves were depressed. You have heard the legend of the Haunted Chapel, and while sleeping within it you conjured up the heroine of the story in your dream where she immediately took the form of incubus."

"I!--the legend! What are you talking of, Lyon? I have heard the church called the Haunted Chapel indeed, but I never even knew that there was any story connected with it," exclaimed Sybil, in surprise.