WHAT THE LETTER CONTAINED.
Do you blame me, friend, for weakness?
'Twas the strength of passion slew me.--E. B. BROWNING.
With an exclamation of dismay Sheridan raised his friend, and helped him
to an arm-chair, and sat him back in a reclining position on it.
And at the same instant hurrying steps were heard approaching, and some
of the servants who had been loitering in the hall, startled by the
noise of the cry and the fall, rushed into the room to see what the
matter could be.
Lyon Berners had not quite lost his consciousness, and the entrance of
the men at once restored his senses.
His first act was to point to the letter which had fallen from his hand
to the floor, and say:
"Pick it up and give it to me, and send these people away--quickly,
Sheridan, if you please."
The young lawyer immediately went after the intruders, exclaiming,
"Come, come, old Joe, Tom, Bill; what do you mean by rushing in upon us
in this way when we are having a good humored rough and tumble wrestling
match among ourselves? Be off with you, you barbarians!"
And so with affected mirth, which really deluded the simple darkies, he
turned them out of the drawing-room, and locked the door.
Then he went back to Mr. Berners and inquired:
"Now what is it, if I may ask?"
"She is safe! My dear Sybil is safe!--safe beyond all pursuit; beyond
all possibility of recapture!" exclaimed Mr. Berners, triumphantly.
"Thank Heaven, with all my heart! But how, and where?" inquired
Sheridan, excitedly.
"She was rescued by Raphael! She is on mid-ocean now, in a British ship,
under the protection of the British flag, God bless it!"
"Amen! But tell me all about it, or let me read the letter."
"Stop! I must call Pendleton and Beatrix. Those two true friends must
hear my secret and share our joy," said Mr. Berners, rising and going to
the door.
But there was no need to call, for he had scarcely turned the lock
before he heard the light steps of Miss Pendleton approaching.
"What is the matter? Lyon, you are happy or crazy! Which is it? I am
sure something delightful must have happened to make you look so! What
is it?" demanded Beatrix, as she slided into a seat.
Before Mr. Berners could answer, the door once more opened, and Captain
Pendleton entered.
"What is up?" was his first question, on seeing the excited countenances
of his friends.
"We have good news. But--where is Miss Sheridan?" inquired Mr Berners,
suddenly remembering his youngest guest.
"Oh, Minnie is curling her hair in my room. Her ringlets were so blown
by the wind that it was necessary to dress it over again. She wouldn't
let me wait for her," explained Beatrix.
"It is just as well," added Mr. Sheridan. "Minnie is a good girl, but
she is little more than a child; and though I could answer for her
honesty, I couldn't for her discretion."
"Then," said Lyon Berners very gravely, "then let what I am about to
read to you remain an inviolable secret between us four."
"Certainly," answered Sheridan.
"Shall we swear it?" inquired Pendleton.
"Yes! yes! if necessary. But, oh! do go on! It is something about
Sybil," impatiently exclaimed Beatrix.
"Yes, it is something about Sybil. You need not swear to be secret on
this subject. You have given me your words, and that is sufficient.
Indeed, I feel sure that without any request on my part or promise on
yours, you would still have been secret, for you would still have seen
the necessity of secrecy. Now I will read you the letter, which will
explain itself," said Mr. Berners, as he unfolded his mysterious
epistle, and read:
"BRITISH MERCHANTMAN DELIVERANCE, }
"At Sea, Lat. 35 deg. 15 m., Lon. 49 deg. 27 m.,}
_December 1st, 18--_. }
"TO LYON BERNERS, Esq.: Sir--As you and your set made such a mess of it
in trying to save Mrs. Sybil Berners from the injustice of 'justice,' I,
who am an outlaw, undertook to take her from out of all your hands.
"The instrument of my work was my dutiful son Raphael. We had intended,
with the help of our brave band, to storm the prison, and deliver the
fair prisoner by force of arms. But before we were quite ready for that
difficult enterprise, the flood came and made all easy. We had only to
hire a boat, get into it, and permit ourselves to be lifted by the rise
of the waters to the level of her cell window, beat it in, and take her
out. We did that and saved her, and also, incidentally, the infant girl
and the old maid.
"We put out the woman at the foot of the Quarries, having first bound
her by an oath to secrecy as to the means of her rescue and the safety
of Sybil Berners--an oath, by the way, of which you hereby have the
authority to release her, should you see fit to do so.
"We placed the child at nurse with a woman by the name of Fugitt, who is
the wife of the overseer at Colonel Poindexter's plantation, not far
from Blackville. The nurse knows nothing of the child, except that she
was paid a hundred dollars down for taking care of it, and asking no
questions.
"We took the mother to the old ruined wind-mill, where we had a snug
room or two. There she was skilfully nursed by our old housekeeper
through the dangerous fever that followed her confinement and her
exposure. After her recovery and her full restoration to reason, we,
avoiding every reference either to her long imprisonment or maternity,
both of which events she had forgotten in the delirium of her illness,
we took her away to Norfolk, where we went on board the British merchant
ship 'Deliverance.' I write this letter from the sea, about half-way
across the Atlantic, and I wait to send it by some homeward-bound ship.
"_December 9th._--The man on the look-out reports a sail in sight,
heading this way. If she should prove to be an American-bound ship, her
name ought to be 'The Surprise,' for when I send this letter by her she
will take you a very great surprise.
"If this should reach you in season, pray accept it as a Christmas gift.
"Mrs. Berners is still improving, though not yet well or strong enough
to accommodate herself to the motion of the ship sufficiently to enable
her to write to you. Nor will she send any confidential message through
me. She will not even see or speak to me. She keeps her state-room,
attended by my wife.
"She still resents her rescue, which she calls her abduction, and she
feels grief and indignation at being taken away from you, rather than
joy or gratitude at being saved from death. But then it is true that she
thinks she was only rescued from drowning in the flood. She does not
know that she was saved from a still more horrible fate.
"The mild insanity which appeared several months ago, and disappeared at
the birth of her child, and which then shielded her from all realization
of the horrors of her late position, still saves her from all knowledge
of what it was. Although now perfectly sane, she is entirely ignorant
that she was ever put on trial for her life, or condemned to death, or
sent to prison.
"Nor would I enlighten her on that subject lest the fate of the
sleep-walker should be hers--who, having safely walked over the parapet
of a bridge above an awful chasm, fell dead with horror the next morning
at beholding the peril he had escaped. I would advise you to maintain
the same inviolable secrecy on that subject. She does not know the
dangers she has passed, and she need never know them.
"They have spoken the ship, and I will go up and see what she is.
"_Later._--She is not the "Surprise," as she ought to have been. She is
the "Sally Ann," of Baltimore, homeward bound, with a cargo of silks.
She will lay alongside for half an hour to exchange letters and some
provisions.
"A few words more. Don't forget where I told you, you might find your
child, and then go and accuse me of stealing it.
"Remember that you have my authority for releasing the old woman from
her oath, that she may give you every detail of the rescue. But I
counsel you, that as soon as you shall have heard all that she has got
to tell you, you will seal up her lips with another oath even more
binding than the first.
"The continued existence of Sybil Berners should be kept a profound
secret from all others, except those few devoted friends who will follow
her into exile; and it should be kept so, for this reason; that
sometime, sooner or late, there will be an extradition treaty between
all civilized nations, for the delivering up of fugitives from justice,
which impending treaty may or may not have a retrospective action.
Therefore it is better that Mrs. Berners should be supposed to have
perished in the flood, and that the secret of her rescue and continued
life should be carefully kept from all, except those already mentioned.
"A last word. The only way in which my wife can keep her quiet, is by
promising that you will follow her immediately. Come as soon as you can.
I am weary of my charge. Why I ever undertook it, is my secret. We will
await you in Liverpool. A letter addressed to 'Raphael,' through the
general post-office in that city, will find us.
"And now I must seal up, wishing you a merry Christmas. From your
UNKNOWN FRIEND."
"Thank Heaven!" fervently exclaimed Beatrix Pendleton.
"Amen," earnestly responded her brother.
"You will go soon, Lyon?" eagerly inquired Beatrix.
"Soon? I would start instantly if I could. But there is no coach that
leaves for Baltimore or Norfolk until the day after to-morrow. To-day I
will give orders to my servants to pack up. To-morrow I will ride over
to Fugitt's to inquire after my child, which for its own sake must still
be left in their care, I suppose. And the day after I will leave in the
early coach for Baltimore. There I shall certainly be able to meet a
clipper bound for Liverpool," answered Mr. Berners, speaking very
rapidly.
"And in the mean time?" anxiously inquired Captain Pendleton.
"In the meantime, that is, to-day, I must give my friend Sheridan here a
power of attorney to manage this estate during my absence. For you--you
hold to your purpose of visiting Europe, Pendleton?"
"Oh, yes; and if you could wait a week, while I make the necessary
arrangements, Beatrix and myself might accompany you; but that is too
much to ask of you under the circumstances," smiled Clement Pendleton.
"I should be so rejoiced to have you both go with me, especially as the
voyage is going to be a tedious one at this season of the year; but how
can I delay a day while my poor Sybil, an exile among strangers, waits
for me?"
"Oh, of course you could not possibly do it. But we will follow you
soon, Berners, rely upon that."
Lyon Berners pressed his friend's hand in silence, and then went to meet
Minnie Sheridan, who had glided shyly and silently into the room.
She must have heard the latter part of the conversation, but without
apparently understanding it; for she came forward blushing and smiling,
as usual, and took her seat beside Beatrix Pendleton.
The conversation concerning Sybil ceased then. Some one started the
subject of the Christmas sermon, and they talked of that until dinner
was announced.
It was a much happier feast than Lyon Berners had ventured to hope for.
They sat long at table. After they withdrew to the drawing-room, Mr.
Berners sat the two Pendletons and the two Sheridans down to a rubber of
whist, and then excused himself to them, and went out in search of Miss
Tabitha Winterose.
He found that faithful creature in the housekeeper's room, sitting at a
little table, drinking tea and dropping tears.
"What is the matter, Miss Tabby?" he inquired cheerfully.
"What is the matter!" she repeated, reproachfully. "Is it what is the
matter you ask me, Mr. Berners; _you_? An't this Christmas-day the first
Christmas-day since ever she was born, as she hasn't passed here? And to
see how you all went on at dinner, eating and drinking and laughing and
talking as if _she_ wasn't lost and gone!"
"Now, Miss Tabby, you know well enough that Mrs. Berners is quite safe."
Miss Tabby started, spilt her tea, nearly dropped her cup, and--gazed at
him in consternation.
"I know that you know she is safe," repeated Mr. Berners.
"I don't know nothink of the sort! How should I? And neither do you. How
should you indeed, when even I don't?" said Miss Tabby, defiantly.
"Now, my good soul, you were present when Mrs. Berners was taken through
the window of the flooded prison on to the boat," said Mr. Berners.
Miss Tabby stared at him aghast.
"How--how--how do you know that?" she gasped and faltered.
"My good creature, because the man who rescued her and her child and
you, has written and told me how he did it, and all about it."
Miss Tabby's mouth and eyes opened wider than ever.
"And is she--is she safe?" she inquired.
"Yes, she is safe, on her way to a foreign country, where I shall follow
her."
"Well, my good gracious me alive; how uncommon strange things do turn
out! Well, I never did hear the like to that! Well, thanks be to
goodness!" ejaculated the poor woman fervently, clasping her hands.
"Now, Miss Tabby, this letter-writer tells me that he bound you by an
oath never to divulge the secret of Sybil's rescue; but, mark you, that
he gives me the authority to release you from that oath, so that you may
give me all the particulars of that event," said Mr. Berners, and then
he waited for her to speak. But she kept a resolute silence.
"Come, Miss Tabby, tell me all about it," continued Mr. Berners, seating
himself to listen to the story.
"I an't got nothing to tell you any more than I have told you already,"
answered the woman doggedly.
"Why, you never told me anything!" exclaimed Lyon Berners, impatiently.
"Yes, I did too! I told you as how the last time I seen Miss Sybil's
face, or the baby's face, was when they was both a layin' side by side
on the bed just before the water rushed into the broken winder; and how
I myself was picked up not far from where the prison was," said Miss
Tabby, stubbornly.
"Which was all a prevarication, Tabby, though to the letter true. Come.
You can tell me more than that."
"No, sir; I told you that _then_, and I can't tell you no more _now_."
"But I know you can. See! this letter releases you from your oath of
silence."
"No letter can't release me from no oath, sir, which I took upon the
Bible," persisted Miss Tabby.
"Was there ever such fanaticism!" exclaimed Lyon Berners, impatiently.
"I don't know what sort of a schism fanaticism is, sir, but I know I
an't left so far to my own devices as to be let to fall into _any_
schisms, so long as I prays faithfully into the litany every Sunday to
be delivered from _all_ schisms."
"Heaven and earth, woman! That has nothing to do with it. Here is a man
writing to release you from an oath you took to _him_ to keep secrecy on
a certain event, of which it is expedient now for you to speak. He frees
you from your oath, I tell you."
"Which he can't do, sir, begging of his parding and yours. If so be I
_took_ an oath, which I don't acknowledge as I _did_ take," said Miss
Tabby, cautiously, "_he_ can't free me from it no more 'n no one else.
And if so be you could put me on the rack like a heathen and torter me
to death, I would die a marture to the faith rayther than break my
oath," snivelled Miss Tabby.
"Who the demon wants to put you on the rack, you intolerable old idiot?"
exclaimed Lyon Berners, driven past his patience by her obstinacy. "Will
you, or will you not, tell me all the particulars of Sybil's rescue?"
"No, sir, I will not, because I cannot without breaking of my oath,"
persisted Miss Tabby, with a constancy which compelled respect for her
honesty, if it inspired contempt for her judgment.
"Well, I hope also that you will never mention the matter to any one
else," said Mr. Berners, one little comfort mingling with his
disappointment.
"That I never will, sir; but will suffer my tongue to be tored out by
the roots first. If I have strength to withstand _you_, sir, don't you
think as I shall have strength to withstand others?"
"I think it quite likely. Well, Miss Tabby, _I_ know you understand me,
whether you will divulge anything to me or not, and so I shall soon give
you certain instructions as freely as if there were an outspoken
confidence between us," said Mr. Berners, rising to leave the room.
"That you may do, sir, with full faith in me," answered Miss Tabby.
And then Mr. Berners left her, and returned to his guests.
Mr. Berners and his guests passed that Christmas evening, not in playing
Christmas games, but in transacting important business.
The three gentlemen excused themselves to the two ladies, and leaving
them to practice a new duet together on the piano, withdrew to the
library, where documents were drawn up giving lawyer Sheridan full
powers to manage the estate in the absence of its proprietors.
When these were duly signed, sealed, and delivered, and all the details
of the agency and of the voyage had been thoroughly discussed, they
returned to the drawing-room.
It was now late, and the guests arose to take leave, but at Mr. Berners'
earnest invitation, they consented to remain, not only for the night,
but for the two days that their host would be at home.
The next morning, after an early breakfast, Mr. Berners mounted his
horse and rode over to the plantation where his child had been placed to
nurse. He was determined, as a matter of prudence, not to divulge to the
nurse the parentage of the child. He knew that to do so would start a
furor of gossip and speculation that would be both unpleasant and
inconvenient.
On reaching the plantation, he rode up to the gate of the substantial
stone cottage belonging to the overseer, alighted, tied his horse to a
post, and went up to the house door and knocked.
A rosy-cheeked girl of about twelve years of age opened the door.
"Is Mrs. Fugitt in?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir," replied the girl, stretching wide the door to admit the
visitor.
Mr. Berners stepped into a very clean and comfortable room, where a
woman sat with one young babe at her breast and another in the cradle
beside her.
She took her foot from the rocker of the cradle and arose with the babe
still in her arms to meet the stranger.
"Mrs. Fugitt?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"Yes, sir, that's my name. Will you sit down? Betsy Ann, hand the
gentleman a chair."
The little girl brought forward a country made chip-bottom chair, and
with a bow, the visitor seated himself.
The woman also sat down, and waited in some little curiosity to find out
the object of the stranger's visit.
"You have a young child at nurse?" he said.
"Yes, sir; this one that I have upon my lap. That one in the cradle is
my own."
"Are you strong enough to nurse two children?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"Betsy Ann," said the woman, turning to the little girl, "call your
sister Nancy 'Lizabeth in here."
The child went into a back kitchen, and returned with another child the
counterpart of herself.
"There, now! You two stand right up there before the gentleman."
The children joined hands, and stood before Mr. Berners for inspection.
"There, now, sir! You look at them."
"They are very well worth looking at; a pair of stout, rosy, healthy,
happy lasses, I'm sure," said Mr. Berners, smiling at them, and feeling
in his pocket for some loose coins.
"Well, sir, them's my twins. I nussed 'em both myself without any help
from a bottle--either a bottle for _them_, sir, or a bottle for
_myself_," said the mother, proudly.
"They do you much credit, certainly," said Mr. Berners, who had now
found two half-eagles.
"Well, sir, they never had a day's sickness in their lives. I showed 'em
to you, sir, to prove as I could nuss two children successful."
"I'm convinced of it."
"One of 'em is named Elizabeth Ann, and the other Ann Elizabeth. The
same name because they're twins, sir, only put backwards and forwards
like, so as to tell one gal's name from t'other's. And I call 'em Betsy
Ann and Nancy 'Lizabeth on week-days and work days; and I call 'em
Elizabeth Ann and Ann Elizabeth on Sundays and company days."
"Quite right," said Mr. Berners, smiling.
"And now, gals, you may go," said the mother.
"Here, my dears! Here is somethings to buy you a Christmas gift each,"
said Mr. Berners, slipping the gold coins into the hands of the
children.
"There! thank the gentleman, and then run out and peel the potatoes and
turnips. And be sure you don't lose your pennies," said the woman, who
had no idea that the children's gifts had been half-eagles.
The well-trained little girls obeyed their mother in every particular.
And as soon as they had left the room, Mr. Berners turned to the woman
and inquired:
"Are those fine children your only ones?"
"I never had any but them until about three months ago, when that boy in
the cradle came to put a surprise on me. Look at him, sir! An't he a
hearty little chap for a three monther?"
"Indeed he is!" acknowledged Mr. Berners, as he turned down the coverlet
and gazed at the fat, rosy babe. "And now," he continued, as he replaced
the cover, "will you let me look at your nurse-child? I--I am its
guardian, and responsible for the expense of its rearing."
"So I judged, sir, when I first saw you. The gentleman that brought the
child to me, and gave me a hundred dollars with it, told me how, in
about a couple of months, the guardian of the child would come to make
further arrangements. And you're him, sir?"
"I am he," gravely replied Lyon Berners, as he gazed fondly down on the
face of his sleeping babe, and traced in the delicate features and silky
black hair and faintly drawn black eye-brows the lineaments of its
mother.
"Well, sir, I can tell you, for your satisfaction, that the child is in
good hands."
"I have no doubt of it. And," he continued, after some hesitation, "I
can tell you, for _your_ satisfaction, that the child is all right. She
was born in lawful wedlock."
"I'm glad to hear that, for the child's sake, sir; though if what you
tell me is true, as I suppose it is, I don't see why the parents can't
own their child."
"There are good and sufficient reasons which may be made known to you at
some future time," replied Mr. Berners.
"Humph! then I s'pose it's a case of a _secret_ marriage, that can't be
acknowledged yet a while, upon account of offending rich parents, and
being cut off from their property or something. I have heard of such
things before now. Well, sir, I don't want to intrude on your secrets,
and I know how to keep a still tongue in my head. And as for the baby,
sir, _she_ has made her own way into my heart, and whatever her parents
have been and done, I shall love and nuss her as if she was my own."
"You are a good woman, Mrs. Fugitt; and now to business. I, as guardian
to that child, wish to make some definite arrangement for her support
for the next two years at least."
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know lawyer Sheridan?"
"Of course I do, sir; he drawed up the papers between the Colonel and my
old man when my old man made an engagement with the Colonel to oversee
the plantation for five years."
"Very well. This Mr. Sheridan will pay you quarterly installments of
money amounting to six hundred dollars a year for the support of the
child."
The overseer's wife was a very simple-hearted woman, so she burst out,
with her surprise:
"But that is a great deal of money, sir. More than twice too much."
"I do not think so. The child is entitled to much more, if she could use
it. At any rate, that is her allowance. And here is the first quarterly
payment in advance," said Mr. Berners, placing a roll of bank-notes on
the woman's lap.
"But, sir, I haven't used a quarter part of what the other gentleman
paid me. In truth, I only spent what I did to buy the baby's clothes, of
which she hadn't a rag but what was on her when the other gentleman put
her in my arms."
"So much the more reason I should advance you this money."
"Why? because I have got so much already, sir?"
"--Because you are so simple and honest. Few people would believe in
such simplicity and honesty, Mrs. Fugitt."
"Then Lord forgive 'em, sir."
"Amen. And now, Mrs. Fugitt, a last word, and then good-bye. If you
should ever wish to communicate with me, you may do it by inclosing a
letter to Mr. Sheridan, or sending a message by him."
"Yes, sir."
"And now let me take another look at this little one."
"But there is another thing, sir: What is her name? I asked the
gentleman, and he said he did not know, but you would tell me."
"'Her name?'" repeated Lyon Berners, as he gazed down upon the face of
the sleeping child--the prison-born child--"Her name? It is Ingemisca;
call her Ingemisca."
"Yes, sir," said the woman in a very low tone, for she was awed by the
looks and words of the speaker--"Yes, sir; but would you please to write
it on a slip of paper? It is a strange, solemn sort of a sound, and I'm
sure I never could remember it."
Lyon Berners tore a page from his tablets, wrote the name in pencil, and
handed it to her.
Then he kissed his infant daughter, breathed a silent blessing over her,
and took his leave.
He returned to Black Hall, well satisfied with the woman in whose care
he had left his child.
That afternoon he dined with his friends for the last time for many
years. That evening, with their assistance, he concluded the very last
business he had to transact, before leaving his home and country.
Beatrix Pendleton had been busy all day, looking up and packing up
Sybil's costly jewels, laces, and shawls. Valuable as they all were,
they filled but a small trunk, which Miss Pendleton assured Mr. Berners
he could easily put inside his great sea-chest without crowding out
other things.
Beatrix Pendleton and Minnie Sheridan volunteered to remain at Black
Hall for a few days after the departure of the proprietor, to see that
all things were properly set in order.
Among the last arrangements made was that by which honest Robert Munson,
the young soldier who had befriended Sybil Berners, was appointed
assistant overseer of the plantation, with the use of a cottage and
garden, and with a considerable salary.
All the arrangements for the voyage of Mr. Berners, and the management
of the manor during his absence, were completed that evening.
The next morning Mr. Berners accompanied by his friends, Captain
Pendleton and lawyer Sheridan, set out for Blackville, to meet the
stage-coach for Baltimore.
There, at the stage-office, Mr. Berners took leave of lawyer Sheridan,
but not of Captain Pendleton, who made up his mind, at the last moment,
to accompany him as far as the seaport, and to see him off on his
voyage.
After two days' journey, the friends arrived safely in Baltimore.
On consulting the shipping list, they found the fast sailing clipper
Dispatch, Captain Fleet, advertised to sail for Liverpool the same
afternoon.
Lyon Berners, with his friend, hastened to the agent to secure his
passage, which he was so fortunate as to get.
He had barely time to hurry his luggage on board before the clipper set
sail.
The very last words addressed to Mr. Berners by his friend Captain
Pendleton were these:
"Give our love to Mrs. Berners, and tell her that Beatrix and myself
will follow you soon. Heaven bless you with good luck!"