"Surely, sir, it is late; but we will do the best we can for you," said the landlady, hurrying away.

Mr. Berners stooped to whisper to his wife.

"Sybil, darling, I hail this woman's faith as a good omen. Keep up your courage, and--remain in that shady corner until I come back. I am going out to the stable to see that our horses are properly attended to."

And then Lyon left the room.

By the time he returned a table was set in that parlor, and a good supper spread for the travellers.

When it was over, the landlady showed them to a couple of communicating rooms up stairs, where they pa.s.sed a very comfortable night.

At daybreak the next morning they arose and breakfasted, and resumed their journey.

Lyon Berners again consulted his map of the State and his pocket compa.s.s, and laid out his road. It lay for all that day up and down, in and out, among the wildest pa.s.ses of the Allegheny Mountains. At noon they stopped for an hour, to rest and refresh themselves and their horses, and then again went forward. At night they reached another hamlet at the foot of the mountain range. They put up at this hamlet, which was called Dunville, and which boasted one tavern kept by an old Revolutionary pensioner called Purley.

Here also Lyon Berners gave his name as Howe, and here again he and his wife were destined to be told all about the murder.

"You see, sir, a little below us there, on the other side of the mountain, they do say as the murder was done by the woman's husband, as she had run away from; but they are a set of poor ignorant folks out there! Now it stand to reason, sir, it couldn't have been done by him, and it must have been done by some member of that band of burglars that they say is lurking somewhere there-a-way by Black Hall."

"Band of burglars!" echoed Farmer Howe, in astonishment. And he was almost about to betray himself by saying that there could be no such band there, when he recollected his position, and held his tongue.

Farmer Howe and his daughter spent a refreshing night at old Purley's tavern at Dunville, and at daybreak next morning, after a very early breakfast, they resumed their journey.

And again, as usual, Lyon Berners consulted his map and his compa.s.s. He now found that his most direct route lay through a thick forest, between two mountain ridges.

They travelled all the morning, and as usual stopped at noon for rest and food for themselves and their four-footed friends. In the afternoon they set forth again, and travelled until they reached Iceville, a considerable village situated high upon one of the table-lands of the Blue Ridge. In this town there were three taverns. Farmer Howe and his daughter put up at the most humble of the trio. And here too the talk of the hour was the homicide at Black Hall.

"They say about here that it was one of the lady's admirers who killed her in a fit of desperation from love and jealousy; for the lady was well beknown to be a great coquette," said one village authority to another, in the presence of Farmer Howe.

When our travellers found themselves alone that night, in one of the two small adjoining rooms that had been a.s.signed to them, Lyon Berners turned to Sybil, and said;

"You see, my dear Sybil, how it is: 'A prophet hath honor except in his own city.' No one out of the Black Valley thinks of accusing you."

"All the world might accuse me, so that my own old friends and neighbors would justify me," said Sybil, sadly.

They pa.s.sed another night in peace, and the next morning, at daybreak as usual, they breakfasted, and then set out on their fourth and last day's journey.

Again the map and the pocket compa.s.s was called into requisition, and Mr. Berners laid out their route for the day.

Their way lay all that forenoon through the beautifully undulating, heavily wooded, and well-watered country lying east of the Blue Ridge.

As before, they broke their journey by an hour's repose at noon, and then re-commenced it. And at twelve, midnight, they arrived safely at Norfolk.

CHAPTER x.x.x

FLIGHT AND PURSUIT.

Oh, death were welcome!--COLERIDGE.

On reaching Norfolk, Lyon Berners drove at once to an obscure tavern down by the wharves, and near the market. Here he found good stabling for his horses and wagon, and decent accommodation for himself and wife.

"Come to market, I reckon, father?" suggested the landlord, taking the stump of an old pipe from his mouth for the purpose.

"Yes," answered Lyon Berners, as "farmer Howe," taking off his broad-brimmed hat, handing it to Sybil, and then sinking slowly and heavily into a chair, like a very weary old man.

"Your daughter, I reckon, farmer?" continued the landlord, pointing to Sybil with the stem of his pipe.

"My only girl," answered Lyon Berners, evasively.

"And no boys?" inquired the landlord.

"No boys," replied Lyon.

"That's a pity; on a farm too. But you must try to get a good husband for the girl, and that will be all one as a boy of your own! Never had any children but this, farmer, or did you have the misfortune to lose 'em?"

"I never had but this one girl," answered Lyon Berners still evasively.

"Then you must be very fond of that girl, I reckon."

"She is all the world to me," said Lyon, truly.

"Then he ought to be all the world to you, honey."

"And so I am," said Lyon, answering for Sybil, whom he could not yet trust to act a part; though he saw, the instant he glanced at her, that he might have done so; for Sybil, as soon as she saw attention drawn to herself, began to turn her head down upon one shoulder and simper shyly like an awkward rustic.

"You must excuse _me_ for asking so many questions, farmer; but when I see a father and daughter together, like you and your girl, I think of myself, for I have an only daughter of my own. All the rest of my children--and I had a whole pa.s.sel of boys and girls--are with their dear mother in heaven. So you see, farmer, I am a widower, with one gal like yourself--for I reckon, from what you said, you are a widower?"

"My girl's mother has been dead many years," answered Lyon, with a drawl and a sigh.

"Pappy, I'm so hungry and so sleepy I don't know what to do," said Sybil, in a low, fretful tone, frowning and pouting.

"Yes, yes, honey; I reckon you are sure enough. So landlord, if you have got a couple of little rooms joining onto each other, I wish you'd let us have 'em. And we'd like a bit of supper besides," said Lyon Berners, with a sigh and a grunt.

"To be sure. I'll go and call my girl directly, and she'll walk up to your rooms while I have the supper got ready. Where would you like to have it? down here, or in your room?" inquired the landlord.

"In your room, Pappy. I hate a place like this a-smellin' of liquor and inyuns and things, and men coming in and out," said Sybil, digging her elbow into her "Pappy's" ribs, and turning up her nose at the little tavern sitting-room.

"Well, then, honey, we'll have it up there. Up there, landlord, if it won't be putting of you to too much trouble."

"Oh, not at all, farmer; it's all one to me. Now I'll go and call Rachel."

And the inquisitive and communicative host went out, and soon returned with a young woman of about Sybil's own age.

"This is my daughter, my Rachel, as I was telling you about, farmer.