The highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot, Her husband sought wildly, but found her not.--THE MISTLETOE BOUGH.

When Lyon Berners and his faithful servant returned to the Haunted Chapel, after having comfortably disposed of their horses for the rest of the night, the interior was still so dark that they did not at first discover the absence of Sybil, especially as the covering lay heaped upon the mattress so like a sleeping form, that even in a less murky darkness it might have been mistaken for her.

As it was now very cold, Mr. Berners, who had found a tinder-box and a coil of wax tapers among his other effects in the wagon, struck a light, with the intention of kindling a fire.

Joe brought some broken sticks and dry brushwood from the far corner where Lyon Berners had piled it up just before the flight from the chapel, and between the master and man they soon kindled a cheerful blaze that lighted up every nook and crevice of the old interior.

Then Mr. Berners turned toward the mattress to see how his wife might be sleeping.

"Why, she is not here! She has waked up and walked out," he exclaimed, in some surprise and annoyance, but not in the least alarm, for he naturally supposed that she had only left the chapel for a few minutes, and would soon return.

"Hi! whar de debbil she took herself off to, all alone, dis onlawful time o' de night?" cried Joe, in dismay.

"Oh, not far! She will soon be back again," answered Mr. Berners cheerfully. And then he took one of the blankets from the mattress and folded it up for a seat, and sat down upon it near the fire, and stretched his benumbed hands over the blaze. Joe followed his example, stretching out his hands also, and staring across the fire at his master--staring at such a rate that Mr. Berners, feeling somewhat inconvenienced, sharply demanded:

"What the deuce do you mean by that, Joe?"

"I want to go and sarch for my mistess. I don't feel satisfied into my own mind about her."

"Why, what are you afraid of, man?"

"_Ghostesses._"

"Absurd!"

"Well, now, no it an't, marster. I've knowed Miss Sybil longer'n you have. I've knowed her ever since she was born, and I don't believe as she'd go out all alone by herself in the dead of night to the lonesome church-yard--that I don't. And I's afeard as the ghostesses have spirited her away."

"Preposterous, Joe! Have you lived in an intelligent family, and in a Christian community all your life, to believe in 'ghostesses,' as you call them? Are you such a big fool as all that, at your time of life?"

"Yes, marster, I's jest sich a big fool as all that, at my time of life.

And I want to go out and sarch for my young mistess," said Joe, in the spirit of "dogged persistence," as he began to gather himself up.

"Stop, stay where you are. If one of us must go, it must be myself,"

said Mr. Berners.

"Which would be a heap the most properest proceedings, any ways,"

muttered Joe, sulkily settling himself in his seat again, in a manner that seemed to say, "And I wonder why you didn't do it before."

"She really ought to be back by this time, even if she went out but the moment before we returned; and she may have gone out before that,"

murmured Mr. Berners, with some little vague uneasiness, as he arose and b.u.t.toned his overcoat, and went into the church-yard.

The day was dawning, and the old tombstones gleamed faintly from their bushes, in the pale gray light of early morning.

"She cannot have gone far; she would not venture; she must be very near," he said to himself, and he murmured softly:

"_Sybil! Sybil!_ where are you, love?"

There was no answer, and he raised his voice a little.

"Sybil, Sybil, my darling!"

Still there was no response. His vague uneasiness became anxiety, and he called aloud:

"SYBIL! SYBIL!"

But nothing came of it, and his anxiety grew to terror, and he ran wildly about shouting her name till all the mountain rocks and glens echoed and reechoed:

"SYBIL! SYBIL!"

And now he was joined by Joe, whose faithful and affectionate heart was wrung with anxiety and distress for his beloved and missing young mistress.

"You can't find her? Oh, Marster, where is she gone? What have become of her? Oh, what shall we do?" he cried, wringing his hands in great trouble.

"We must search for her, Joe. This is very strange, and very alarming,"

said Mr. Berners, striking off into the path that led to the fountain, and shouting her name at every step.

But only the mountain echoes answered. In an agony of anxiety they beat about the woods and thickets, and climbed the rocks and went down into the glens, still shouting--always shouting her name.

Day broadened, the sun arose, and its first rays struck them as they stood upon the heights behind the chapel, looking all over the wilderness.

"In the name of Heaven, now what are we to do?" exclaimed Lyon Berners, speaking more to himself than to another.

Joe was standing, leaning upon his stick in an att.i.tude of the deepest despair. But suddenly he raised his head, and a gleam of light shot over his dark face, as he said:

"I tell you what we can do, Marster: where she's took to, we can find out at all ewents. I say where she's took to, for she never went of her own accords."

"Heaven help my poor darling! no; she never did. But how do you think you can trace her, Joe?"

"This a-way! I'll take the freshest of them horses, and ride home as fast as I can for life and death; and I'll s.n.a.t.c.h up her little dog as has been pining away ever since she left, and I'll bring it here and make it smell to the bedclothes where she lay, and then put it on the scent, to lead us the way she went."

"Eureka, Joe! The instinct of faithful affection, in man or brute, sometimes puts pure reason to the blush by its superior ac.u.men,"

exclaimed Mr. Berners.

"I don't know no more 'n the dead what you're a-talking about, Marster; but that's the way to find out where Miss Sybil was took," answered practical Joe.

"Come, then, we will go at once and look at the horses. I think, Joe, that one of your cart horses would be better to take, as they have not been so hard worked as ours," said Mr. Berners, as they ran down the steep to the thicket in the rear of the chapel, where they had left their horses.

In a very few minutes Joe had selected and saddled his horse, and stood ready to start.

"I needn't tell you to be prudent, Joe, and to drop no hint of your errand," said Mr. Berners.

"Well, no, you needn't take that there trouble, Ma.r.s.e Lyon, 'cause you'd be a-cautioning of Joe, as is cautious enough a'ready. Good-morning, Ma.r.s.e Lyon. I'll be at Black Hall afore the fam'ly is well out of bed, and I'll be back here with the little dog afore you have time to get unpatient," said Joe, climbing into his saddle and riding away.

Mr. Berners returned to the chapel, where he found the fire smouldering out, but everything else in the same condition in which he had left it when he went in pursuit of Sybil.

Far too restless to keep still, he walked up and down the length of the chapel, until he was fairly tired out. Then he went to the front door and sat down, keeping his eyes upon the entrance of the little thicket path, by which he knew that Joe must return. And although he knew it was much too early to expect his messenger back, yet he still impatiently watched that path.

Presently the sound of approaching hors.e.m.e.n struck upon his listening ear. They were coming up the path through the thicket, and presently they emerged from it--not two or three, but couple after couple, until the old churchyard was filled with sheriff's officers and militia-men.