The laborers' cottages had been rebuilt and refurnished. Other dwellings were in process of reconstruction; and the works were only temporarily suspended by the frost. The public buildings were contracted for, to be re-erected in the spring.

All the missing bodies had been recovered, and had received Christian burial, except those of Sybil Berners and her young child, neither of which had yet been found, or even heard of--a circ.u.mstance that led many to think that the mother and babe had been rescued and concealed by her friends.

And for many weeks Miss Tabby had lain prostrated in body and idiotic in mind, and thus totally unable to give any account of them.

Lyon Berners' anxiety and suspense gradually settled into deep melancholy and despondency. As a matter of duty, he managed the estate as if Sybil or her child might one day reappear to enjoy it.

It may be remembered that when Lyon Howe, the young barrister, married Sybil Berners, the wealthy heiress, by the conditions of the marriage contract he took her family name, that it might not become extinct.

As an offset to this sacrifice on his part, it was stipulated in the instrument that, in case of his wife dying before him, without leaving children, he should inherit her whole property.

This, in the present state of affairs, gave him all the power he needed in the management of the great Black Valley Manor.

He lived at Black Hall, doing his duty for duty's sake, a very lonely man.

Now that Sybil was gone, the neighbors were all disposed to be too good to him. They visited him, and invited him out. But with a just resentment he declined all visits, and all invitations, except from those devoted friends who had been faithful to his wife in the time of her trouble: Clement and Beatrix Pendleton, young Sheridan the lawyer, old Mr. Fortescue the sheriff, and Robert Munson the soldier.

Miss Tabby at length rose from her bed of illness, and, to use her mother's words, "was able to creep about the house," but in a state of mental imbecility, which is not an unusual effect of a long, low type of typhoid fever. She was obstinate too, "obstinate as a mule," her sister said. No one could get a word of satisfaction from her upon the mysterious subject of Sybil's fate. When asked by Mr. Berners how _she_ was saved, she answered:

"I was picked up by a man in a boat."

"What sort of a man?"

"An or'nary man like any other."

"Did you know who he was?"

"No."

"Where did he pick you up?"

"Not far from the prison."

"Where did he put you down?"

"Close by the quarries."

"What became of Sybil?"

"I don't know."

"When did you see her last?"

"The last time I ever set eyes on her _face_, was when she was lying on her bed in her cell, and I went and laid the baby by her; that was just before the water rushed in. I an't set eyes on _her face_ or the _baby's face_ since."

And this was literally true, for Miss Tabby had not seen their _faces_ in the boat. But those who had not the key to her meaning, could not detect the equivocation.

She was cunning enough in her foolishness to keep her oath, and to leave upon the minds of her hearers the impression that Sybil and her young child were certainly lost.

But Miss Tabby had a tender conscience as well as a soft heart and a weak head, and the keeping of this secret, which she could not divulge without breaking her oath, nor conceal without trifling with the truth, caused her so much distress, that these frequent cross-examinations invariably ended, on her part, in a fit of hysterics.

This was the state of affairs on Christmas Eve following the great flood.

It was the saddest Christmas ever pa.s.sed at Black Hall.

Mr. Berners had invited no one, not even his most intimate friends, to spend it with him.

But Captain Pendleton and Beatrix had come uninvited, for they were determined that Lyon Berners should not be left alone in his sorrow at such a time.

"We have rejoiced with you in many a Christmas holiday. Shall we not come and mourn with you now?" Beatrix gently inquired, as with her brother she entered the parlor, where Mr. Berners on this Christmas Eve was grieving alone.

He got up and welcomed his friends, and thanked them for their visit.

"I could not find it in my heart to invite any one, even you, true souls; but I am _very, very_ glad you have come; though it is another sacrifice on your parts."

"Not at all, Lyon Berners; we love you, and had rather come here and be miserable with you than be merry with anybody else," said Clement Pendleton warmly.

But Mr. Berners was resolved that his generous young friends should not be as "miserable" as they were willing to be in the merry Christmas season. So he wrote a note of invitation for two other guests, and dispatched it by Joe to Blackville that very evening.

The note was addressed to Mr. Sheridan, with a request that he would come, and bring his niece, Miss Minnie Sheridan, to meet Captain and Miss Pendleton at dinner on Christmas-day, at Black Hall.

Now this Miss Minnie Sheridan was an orphan heiress, the daughter of the young barrister's eldest brother. By the death of both her parents, she had been left to the guardianship of her young uncle, who, with his youthful niece, now boarded at the Blackville Hotel.

It was reasonably to be expected that these young people would, on Christmas-day, willingly exchange the hotel parlor and the society of strangers, for the drawing-room at Black Hall and the company of their friends.

Moreover, Mr. Berners had noticed a growing esteem between the brilliant young barrister and the beautiful Beatrix Pendleton, an esteem which he hoped and believed, for their sakes, would ripen into a warmer sentiment. Therefore he invited the Sheridans to meet the Pendletons at the Christmas dinner.

Miss Tabby had, within a few days, returned and resumed her position as housekeeper at Black Hall. Her office was something of a sinecure. She could do little more than fret at the servants. She was not strong enough yet to scold them vigorously.

On the night before Christmas it snowed, but just enough to cover the ground a few inches deep.

Christmas-day broke clear, bright, and beautiful.

Lyon Berners arose early in the morning, to be ready to greet his two friends upon their entrance into the drawing-room.

Although his heart was aching with grief for Sybil, he was resolved to wear a cheerful countenance for the sake of those two loyal souls who had been so devoted to her, and were now so constant to him. He little dreamed how great would be his reward before the day should be over.

Clement and Beatrix Pendleton did not keep him waiting long. They soon came down from their chambers, and greeted him affectionately.

"This cannot be a 'merry' Christmas to you, dear Lyon, but it may be a _good_ one. Will you accept this from me? See! with the faith or the superst.i.tion of the old Christians, I opened it at random to-day, to find your fate in some text. And this is really what my eyes first lighted on," said Beatrix Pendleton, as she placed an elegantly bound pocket Bible in the hands of Lyon Berners, and pointed to this pa.s.sage:

"_There shall be light at the evening tide._"

"Thanks, dear Beatrix! thanks for the sacred gift and happy augury!"

said Mr. Berners, as he took the book and read the lines. "'Light at the evening tide,' That, I fancy, means the evening of life. A weary time to wait, Beatrix. Ah! Clement, good-morning. I may wish _you_ a merry Christmas, at least," he added, suddenly turning to Captain Pendleton, who had followed his sister into the room.

And they shook hands and went in to breakfast.