CHAPTER x.x.xV.

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 pa.s.s 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 compa.s.s," 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 compa.s.s."

"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 pa.s.s. 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 sh.o.r.es 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 sh.o.r.es 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 s.e.x.

"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 G.o.d!"

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, Ma.r.s.e 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, Ma.r.s.e 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."