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CRUEL AS THE GRAVE
A NOVEL.
BY MRS. EMMA D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH.
AUTHOR OF "SELF-MADE," "ISHMAEL," "SELF-RAISED," "FAIR PLAY," "VIVIA,"
"MISSING BRIDE," "A BEAUTIFUL FIEND," "CHANGED BRIDES," "RETRIBUTION,"
"HOW HE WON HER," "A NOBLE LORD," "BRIDE'S FATE," "FALLEN PRIDE,"
"LADY OF THE ISLE," "THE MAIDEN WIDOW," "ALLWORTH ABBEY,"
"GYPSY'S PROPHECY," "LOST HEIRESS," "WIDOW'S SON," "INDIA,"
"THREE BEAUTIES," "BRIDE OF LLEWELLYN," "BRIDAL EVE,"
"DISCARDED DAUGHTER," "FATAL SECRET," "TWO SISTERS,"
"CURSE OF CLIFTON," "TRIED FOR HER LIFE,"
"PHANTOM WEDDING," "LOVE'S LABOR WON,"
"FORTUNE SEEKER," "FATAL MARRIAGE,"
"MOTHER-IN-LAW," "CHRISTMAS GUEST,"
"FAMILY DOOM," "WIFE'S VICTORY."
"He to whom
I gave my heart, with all its wealth of love,
Forsakes me for another."--MEDEA.
"And we saw Medea burning
At her nature's-planted stake."--BROWNING.
NEW YORK:
THE F. M. LUPTON PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Nos. 72-76 Walker Street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1888,
By T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS.
Cruel as the Grave.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
Chapter Page
I.--THE BERNERS OF THE BURNING HEARTS 21
II.--JOHN LYON HOWE 26
III.--SYBIL BERNERS 32
IV.--THE BEAUTIFUL STRANGER 45
V.--THE LANDLORD'S STORY 48
VI.--ROSA BLONDELLE 59
VII.--DOWN IN THE DARK VALE 71
VIII.--BLACK HALL 76
IX.--THE GUEST-CHAMBERS 84
X.--THE JEALOUS BRIDE 91
XI.--LOVE AND JEALOUSY 104
XII.--"CRUEL AS THE GRAVE" 112
XIII.--MORE THAN THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 126
XIV.--THE FIRST FATAL HALLOW EVE 132
XV.--THE MASQUERADE BALL 142
XVI.--ON THE WATCH 147
XVII.--DRIVEN TO DESPERATION 154
XVIII.--LYING IN WAIT 175
XIX.--SWOOPING DOWN 188
XX.--THE SEARCH 191
XXI.--SYBIL'S FLIGHT 198
XXII.--THE HAUNTED CHAPEL 207
XXIII.--THE SOLITUDE IS INVADED 218
XXIV.--THE VERDICT AND THE VISITOR 225
XXV.--THE FALL OF THE DUBARRYS 238
XXVI.--THE SPECTRE 250
XXVII.--FEARFUL WAITING 264
XXVIII.--A GHASTLY PROCESSION 273
XXIX.--GHOSTLY AND MYSTERIOUS 292
XXX.--FLIGHT AND PURSUIT 306
XXXI.--THE ARREST 324
XXXII.--A DESPERATE VENTURE 334
XXXIII.--A FATAL CRISIS 344
XXXIV.--THE PURSUIT 354
XXXV.--THE FUGITIVES 363
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CRUEL AS THE GRAVE
CHAPTER I.
THE BERNERS OF THE BURNING HEARTS.
"Their love was like the lava flood
That burns in Etna's breast of flame."
Near the end of a dark autumn-day, not many years ago, a young couple,
returning from their bridal tour arrived by steamer at the old city of
Norfolk; and, taking a hack, drove directly to the best inn.
They were attended by the gentleman's valet and the lady's maid, and
encumbered besides with a great amount of baggage, so that altogether
their appearance was so promising that the landlord of the "Anchor" came
forward in person to receive them and bow them into the best parlor.
The gentleman registered himself and his party as Mr. and Mrs. Lyon
Berners, of Black Hall, Virginia, and two servants.
"We shall need a private parlor and chamber communicating for our own
use, and a couple of bedrooms for our servants," said Mr. Berners, as he
handed his hat and cane to the bowing waiter.
"They shall be prepared immediately," answered the polite landlord.
"We shall remain here only for the night, and go on in the morning, and
should like to have two inside and two outside places secured in the
Staunton stage-coach for to-morrow."
"I will send and take them at once, sir."
"Thanks. We should also like tea got ready as soon as possible in our
private parlor."
"Certainly, sir. What would you like for tea?"
"Oh, anything you please, so that it is nice and neatly served," said
Mr. Berners, with a slightly impatient wave of his hand as if he would
have been rid of his obsequious host.
"Ah-ha! anything I please! It is easy to see what ails him. He lives
upon love just now; but he'll care more about his bill of fare a few
weeks hence," chuckled the landlord, as he left the public parlor to
execute his guest's orders.
The bridegroom was no sooner left alone with his bride than he seated
her in the easiest arm-chair, and began with affectionate zeal to untie
her bonnet-strings and unclasp her mantle.
"You make my maid a useless appendage, dear Lyon," said the little lady,
smiling up in his eyes.
"Because I like to do everything for you myself, sweet Sybil; because I
am jealous of every hand that touches your dear person, except my own,"
he murmured tenderly as he removed her bonnet, and with all his
worshipping soul glowing through his eyes, gazed upon her beautiful and
beaming face.
"You love me so much, dear Lyon! You love me so much! Yet not too much
either! for oh! if you should ever cease to love me, or even if you were
ever to love me _less_,--I--I dare not think what I should do!" she
muttered in a long, deep, shuddering tone.
"Sweet Sybil," he breathed, drawing her to his bosom and pressing warm
kisses on her crimson lips--"sweetest Sybil, it is not possible for the
human heart to love _more_ than I do, but I can never love you less!"
"I do believe you, dearest Lyon! With all my heart I do!--Yet--yet--"
"Yet what, sweet love?"
She lifted her face from his bosom and gazing intently in his eyes,
said:
"Yet, Lyon, if you knew the prayer that I never fail to put up, day and
night! What do you think it is for, dear Lyon?"
"I know; it is for Heaven's blessing to rest upon our wedded lives."
"Yes, my prayer is for that always, of course! but that is not what I
mean now! That is not the stronger, stronger prayer which I offer up
from the deeps of my spirit in almost an agony of supplication!"
"And what is that prayer, so awful in its earnestness, dear love?"
"Oh, Lyon! it is _that you may never love me less than now, or if you
should, that I may never live to know it_," she breathed with an
intensity of suppressed emotion that drew all the glowing color from her
crimson cheeks and lips and left them pale as marble.
"Why, you beautiful mad creature! You are a true daughter of your house!
A Berners of the burning heart! A Berners of the boiling blood! A
Berners of whom it has been said, that it is almost as fatal to be
loved, as to be hated, by one of them! Dear Sybil! never doubt my love;
never be jealous of me, if you would not destroy us both," he earnestly
implored.
"I do not doubt you, dearest Lyon; I am not jealous of you! What cause,
indeed, have I to be so? But--but----"
"But what, my darling?"
"--Ever since I have been in this house, a darkness and coldness and
weight has fallen upon my spirits, that I cannot shake off--a burden, as
of some impending calamity! And as there is no calamity that can
possibly affect me so much as the lessening of your love, I naturally
think most of that," she answered, with a heavy sigh.
"Dear love! this depression is only reaction! fatigue! the effect of
this damp, dull, dreary room! We will change all this!" said Lyon
Berners, cheerfully, as he pulled the bell-cord and rang a peal that
presently brought the waiter to his presence.
"Are our rooms ready?" shortly demanded Mr. Berners.
"Just this moment ready, sir," answered the man, with a bow.
"Gather up these articles, then, and show us to our rooms," said Mr.
Berners, pointing to a collection of outer garments and travelling bags
that occupied a centre-table.
With another bow the man loaded himself with the personal effects of the
guests and led the way up-stairs.
Mr. Berners, drawing his wife's arm through his own, followed the waiter
to a cheerful little private parlor, where the bright red carpet on the
floor, the bright red curtains at the windows, the bright red covers of
the chairs and sofas, the glowing coal fire in the grate, and above all
the neatly spread tea table, with its snowy damask table-cloth, and its
service of pure French china, invited the hungry and weary travellers to
refreshment and repose.
Through a pair of partly drawn sliding doors a vista was opened to a
clean and quiet chamber, furnished to match the parlor, with the same
bright-red carpet, window curtains, and chair covers, but also with a
white-draperied tent-bedstead, with bed-pillows and coverings white and
soft as swan's down. In the glow of the coal fire in the inner room sat
and waited a pretty mulatto girl, Delia, or Dilly, the dressing maid of
Mrs. Berners.
On seeing her mistress enter the parlor, Dilly quickly arose and met
her, and handed a chair and relieved the waiter of his burden of
portable personal property, which she hastened to carry into the chamber
to put away.
"Bring in the tea immediately and send my own man Hannibal here to
attend us," said the guest to the waiter, who promptly left the room to
execute the orders.
"Come, my darling! Take this easy-chair in the corner and make yourself
comfortable! Here is a scene to inspire the saddest heart with
cheerfulness," said the bridegroom cordially, as he drew forward the
easy arm-chair and led his bride to it.
She sank into the soft seat and smiled her satisfaction.
In a few moments the waiters of the inn entered and arranged a delicious
little repast upon the table and then withdrew, leaving Hannibal, the
faithful servant of the bridegroom, to attend his master and mistress at
their tea.
The young pair sat down to the table. And in that quiet and cheerful
scene of enjoyment, the young bride recovered her spirits. The transient
shadow that had for a moment darkened the splendor of her joy, even as a
passing cloud for an instant obscures the glory of the sun, had
vanished, leaving her all smiles and gayety.
To say that these wedded lovers were very happy, would scarcely express
the delirium of pure joy in which they had dreamed away their days and
nights for the last few weeks--joy that both were too young and untried
to know could not last for ever, could not indeed even last long--joy so
elevated in its insanity as almost to tempt some thunderbolt of
malignant fate to fall upon it with destroying force, even as the highly
rarefied air sometimes draws on the whirlwind and the storm.
But then the story of their loves was rare and strange, and almost
justified the intensity of their mutual devotion, and that story is
briefly this: