THE VICTIMS.
And each will mourn his own, (she saith,)
But sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than that young wife.--JEAN INGLELOW.
The Great Black Valley Flood, as it came to be called, had occurred on
Hallow Eve.
Before Christmas Eve many of its ravages had been repaired.
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 circumstance 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 passed 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
superstition 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 passage:
"_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.
There were no more Christmas presents exchanged. No one there, except
Beatrix, had thought of giving one; though hers had been graceful and
appropriate.
After breakfast they went to church at Blackville. They were drawn
thither in the roomiest carriage, by a pair of the strongest horses,
with Joe on the box; for they expected to pick up the Sheridans after
the morning service, and to bring them to Black Hall to dinner.
The distance between Black Hall and Blackville was considerable, and the
road was rough, and so it was rather late when our party reached the
church.
The congregation were already in their seats, and the pastor was in his
pulpit; so there was no opportunity for our friends to meet until after
the benediction was pronounced.
Then, as the people were all leaving the church, Mr. Berners sought out
young Sheridan and his little niece, and after paying them the
compliments of the season, invited them to take seats in his carriage to
Black Hall.
They accepted his offer with thanks, and allowed him to conduct them to
the coach, in which the Pendletons were already seated.
There was a merry meeting between the young people, notwithstanding the
sadness of some reminiscences.
Youth cannot for ever be sorrowful.
Joe put whip to his horses, and started them at a brisk trot over the
snow-clad roads, and under the brilliant sky of that clear December day.
They reached Black Hall in good time.
The splendid Christmas fires were blazing on every hearth in the house.
Beatrix Pendleton took Minnie Sheridan to her own bed-chamber, that
they might there lay off their bonnets and shawls and prepare for
dinner.
Captain Pendleton went off alone to his room, and Mr. Berners was just
about to conduct young Sheridan to some spare bed-chamber, where he
could brush his hair, when the barrister laid his hand upon his host's
shoulder, and stopped him, saying:
"No; stay here. I have something which I must show you while we are
quite alone."
And he shut the doors, and then drew his companion away to the furthest
window, out of earshot of any chance eavesdropper.
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Berners, much mystified.
"I do not know; something very important I fancy. But read this first,"
said the barrister, placing an open letter in his friend's hand.
Lyon Berners in great curiosity examined it. It was addressed to ----
Sheridan, Esq., Counsellor at Law, Blackville.
It contained these lines:
"Take the enclosed letter to Mr. Lyon Berners on Christmas-day,
when you find him quite alone. If this should reach you before
Christmas, keep it carefully until that day; then deliver it to
its address with secrecy and discretion."
"In the name of Heaven, what is this? Where is the letter? When did you
get it?" demanded Lyon Berners, in astonishment.
"It seems to be a mystery. I got the letter only this morning, else in
spite of the injunction I should have delivered it to you before. Here
it is now," said young Sheridan, placing the mysterious epistle in the
hands of his friend.
Lyon Berners examined it in haste and excitement.
It was superscribed:
"To Lyon Berners, Esq., Black Hall. To the care of ---- Sheridan, Esq.
To be delivered secretly on Christmas-day."
Mr. Berners tore off the envelope, when he came to another one, on which
was written:
A Christmas gift for Mr. Berners.
This also he hastily tore off. Then he ran his eyes rapidly over the
contents of the letter, and with a great cry--a cry of joy
unspeakable--he threw up his arms and sank to the floor.
He who had never been conquered by fear or sorrow or despair, was now
utterly vanquished by joy!