"Heaven bless you, Pendleton, for your faithful friendship and zealous labors in our behalf," said Mr. Berners, warmly shaking the Captain's hand.

"Amen, and Amen! We shall never forget, and never cease to thank and bless you, dear friend," added Sybil, with tears in her eyes, as she gave him her hand.

"May the Lord grant you a safe journey and a quick return," said Clement Pendleton, as he pressed the lady's hand and relinquished it.

"And I sez Amen to that! Oh, Ma.r.s.er! Oh, Missus! come back to your poor old Joe soon! His heart will snap into ten thousand flinders, if you don't!" sobbed the poor negro, as he shook hands with his young master and mistress.

Then with a mutual "G.o.d be with you," the four friends parted.

Captain Pendleton, sighing, and Joe, weeping, bent their steps up the banks of the river towards the fording place, where they would have to cross to find their horses on the other side.

Lyon Berners cracked his long wagoner's whip, and started on the road leading away from the river towards the east.

It was yet early in the autumn night, and but for the cause of the journey, the young pair would have enjoyed it very much.

"It is a very pleasant evening for the season," said Lyon, cheerfully looking up at the clear, blue-black, star-spangled sky.

"Yes, indeed," answered Sybil briskly.

"Are you quite comfortable, darling?"

"Very! Captain Pendleton, dear Captain Pendleton, arranged my seat so nicely. It is so soft and easy. I could go to sleep here, if I were sleepy."

"You may have to sleep there, dear. We must travel all night, in order to get a good distance from this neighborhood before morning."

"I can bear that very well, as comfortably as I am placed. But you, dear Lyon, you who are driving, you will be tired to death."

"Not at all. My work to-night will not be more than many men frequently undertake for mere amus.e.m.e.nt."

"And the horses?"

"Strong draught horses like these can work eight or ten hours at a stretch, if they are well fed and rested between times."

"Oh! I'm so glad I have got away from the Haunted Chapel and the ghosts!" suddenly exclaimed Sybil.

"And especially from the 'damp girl,'" laughed Lyon Berners.

"Oh, don't mention her!" shuddered Sybil.

They were now entering one of those frequent mountain pa.s.ses that diversified their road, and the care of driving required all Lyon's attention.

They travelled all night as nearly in a direct line towards the far distant city as the nature of the ground would permit. At daylight they found themselves in the midst of a deep forest, some twenty miles east of Blackville. Here, as the road was naturally broad and the trees tall and spa.r.s.e, and especially as a clear stream of water ran along on one side, the travellers decided to stop and rest, and refresh themselves and their horses until noon.

Lyon Berners got out and, followed by Sybil, went a little way into the woods, where they found a small opening and a spring of clear water.

Here Lyon gathered brushwood and made a fire, while Sybil returned to the wagon and brought back a basket of provisions. Among them was a bottle of coffee already made, and which she turned into a small tin coffee-pot, and set on the fire to be warmed.

And while Lyon went back to the wagon to attend to the wants of his horses, Sybil spread a very good breakfast of coffee, bread, and ham, upon the ground near the fire.

When they had given their horses time enough to rest they resumed their journey, still travelling towards the east.

Lyon consulted his map and his pocket compa.s.s, and found that directly in their line lay the small village of Oakville, nestled in an unfrequented pa.s.s of the mountains.

"We can reach the place at about ten o'clock this evening, and there we can get a regular supper and good sleep," he said to his wife.

And they travelled all the remainder of that day, and at about half-past nine they arrived at Oakville. The village was off the public road, and consisted only of a sleepy old tavern, to which the neighboring farmers came to drink, smoke, and gossip; a post-office, to which the mail was brought once a week by a boy on horseback; and a blacksmith shop, patronized by the spa.r.s.e population of the immediate neighborhood.

Up before the stable of this old tavern Lyon Berners drove his wagon; and here he alighted, handed out Sybil, and led her over to the house and into the public parlor.

A fat and lazy-looking hostess came to look at them.

"I want accommodations for myself, my girl here, and my horses and wagon, which I left in the stable yard," said Mr. Berners, speaking coa.r.s.ely, with two lumps of liquorice in his mouth, which he had taken to disguise his voice.

"And what might your name be, farmer?" inquired the landlady.

"My name's Howe," answered Lyon, truly, giving his own patronymic, now his middle name.

"Well, farmer, I reckon we can accommodate you. Going to market?"

"Yes, we're on our way to market."

"You come from far?"

"From the other side of the mountain."

"Well, I reckon we can accommodate you. You must excuse me asking you so many questions; but the truth is you're a perfect stranger to me, and it is very late for you to come here, you know; which I wouldn't think so much of that nyther, only since that horrid murder at Black Hall I have mistrusted every stranger I see."

Sybil's heart gave a bound, and then sank like lead in her bosom, at hearing this allusion. Lyon also felt an increased uneasiness. Luckily they were sitting with their backs to the light, so that the gossiping landlady could not read the expression of their faces, which indeed she was too much absorbed in her subject to attempt to do. So she went straight on without stopping to take breath:

"Not that I mistrust you now, sir, which I see exactly what you are; and which likewise your having of your darter with you is a rickymindation; for men don't go about a taking of their darters with them when they are up to robbery and murder, do they now, sir?"

"I should judge not, though I am not familiar enough with the habits of such gentry to give a decided opinion," said farmer Howe.

"You'll excuse me, sir; but I'm a lone widow living here, and not used to seeing much of anybody but my old neighbors, which come occasionally to enjoy of themselves; and I do mistrust most strangers--though not you, sir, with your darter, as I said before--but most other strangers, because they _do_ say hereabouts that it was a stranger to the place, a red-headed man, as put up at the inn at Blackville that night, and never was seen afterwards, as did that murder at Black Hall."

"Ah! do they say that? I thought they laid it on a lady," observed farmer Howe.

"La, sir! the idee of a lady doing such a thing! and a rale high-born lady of quality like Mrs. Burns, or whatever her name was, and doing of it to one she had took in for charity too; 'tan't likely, sir."

"But you know, I suppose, that they did accuse a lady?"

"Oh, yes; I know they did, and that the poor lady had to ran away and go to Annapolis. But that was that Blackville set, that an't got no sense; but as for us, over this side, _we_ believe it was that red-headed stranger as did it."

"There's no doubt of it in the world," said farmer Howe, recklessly, feeling that he was expected to say something.

And at this moment he looked towards Sybil, and saw that she could not endure the subject of discussion for one moment longer, so he turned to the landlady, and said:

"We have travelled some distance, and feel very tired and hungry. Would you oblige us with supper as soon as possible? We do not need much, only let it be nice and warm."