FLIGHT AND PURSUIT.
Oh, death were welcome!--COLERIDGE.
On reaching Norfolk, Lyon Berners drove at once to an obscure tavern
down by the wharves, and near the market. Here he found good stabling
for his horses and wagon, and decent accommodation for himself and wife.
"Come to market, I reckon, father?" suggested the landlord, taking the
stump of an old pipe from his mouth for the purpose.
"Yes," answered Lyon Berners, as "farmer Howe," taking off his
broad-brimmed hat, handing it to Sybil, and then sinking slowly and
heavily into a chair, like a very weary old man.
"Your daughter, I reckon, farmer?" continued the landlord, pointing to
Sybil with the stem of his pipe.
"My only girl," answered Lyon Berners, evasively.
"And no boys?" inquired the landlord.
"No boys," replied Lyon.
"That's a pity; on a farm too. But you must try to get a good husband
for the girl, and that will be all one as a boy of your own! Never had
any children but this, farmer, or did you have the misfortune to lose
'em?"
"I never had but this one girl," answered Lyon Berners still evasively.
"Then you must be very fond of that girl, I reckon."
"She is all the world to me," said Lyon, truly.
"Then he ought to be all the world to you, honey."
"And so I am," said Lyon, answering for Sybil, whom he could not yet
trust to act a part; though he saw, the instant he glanced at her, that
he might have done so; for Sybil, as soon as she saw attention drawn to
herself, began to turn her head down upon one shoulder and simper shyly
like an awkward rustic.
"You must excuse _me_ for asking so many questions, farmer; but when I
see a father and daughter together, like you and your girl, I think of
myself, for I have an only daughter of my own. All the rest of my
children--and I had a whole passel of boys and girls--are with their
dear mother in heaven. So you see, farmer, I am a widower, with one gal
like yourself--for I reckon, from what you said, you are a widower?"
"My girl's mother has been dead many years," answered Lyon, with a drawl
and a sigh.
"Pappy, I'm so hungry and so sleepy I don't know what to do," said
Sybil, in a low, fretful tone, frowning and pouting.
"Yes, yes, honey; I reckon you are sure enough. So landlord, if you have
got a couple of little rooms joining onto each other, I wish you'd let
us have 'em. And we'd like a bit of supper besides," said Lyon Berners,
with a sigh and a grunt.
"To be sure. I'll go and call my girl directly, and she'll walk up to
your rooms while I have the supper got ready. Where would you like to
have it? down here, or in your room?" inquired the landlord.
"In your room, Pappy. I hate a place like this a-smellin' of liquor and
inyuns and things, and men coming in and out," said Sybil, digging her
elbow into her "Pappy's" ribs, and turning up her nose at the little
tavern sitting-room.
"Well, then, honey, we'll have it up there. Up there, landlord, if it
won't be putting of you to too much trouble."
"Oh, not at all, farmer; it's all one to me. Now I'll go and call
Rachel."
And the inquisitive and communicative host went out, and soon returned
with a young woman of about Sybil's own age.
"This is my daughter, my Rachel, as I was telling you about, farmer.
Rachel, honey, you just go long of the farmer and his daughter and show
them where they've got to sleep, that's a good girl. Put 'em in the two
little rooms over the bar, you know."
"Yes, father. Come, sir; come, miss," said the landlord's daughter,
leading the way from the smoky parlor.
Lyon and Sybil followed her. Lyon walking slowly like a weary old man,
and pausing at the head of the stairs, as if to recover his wind.
"Pappy, you look tired to death," said Sybil, in a rough sympathetic
voice.
"Ay, ay; it is weary work for an old man to get up-stairs," grunted Lyon.
"The stairs are very steep, but here you are," said the landlord's
daughter, opening the door leading into two little communicating rooms.
She entered, followed by Sybil and Lyon. She set the candle down on the
top of the old chest of drawers, and turned around. And then the
travellers noticed, for the first time, how beautiful the daughter of
their host was.
Rachel's face was of the purest type of beauty, combining the physical,
intellectual, and spiritual. Her form was of medium height and perfect
grace; her head was finely shaped, and covered with dark brown hair,
parted in the middle and carried over the temples, and arranged in a
knot behind; her forehead broad and full; her eyebrows were gently
arched, her eyes dark luminous gray, with drooping lids and long
fringes; her nose small and straight, her lips full, small, and plump,
and her chin was round and well set. There were some flaws in this
otherwise perfect beauty and grace of form and face; for her complexion
was very pale, her expression pensive, and her walk slightly limping.
While Sybil was observing her with both admiration and pity, and
wondering whether she did not suffer from some hereditary malady that
had carried off her mother and all her sisters and brothers, Rachel
spoke:
"I think you have everything here that you require; but if you should
need anything else, please call, and I will come and attend to your
wants."
"Thanks!" answered Sybil, sweetly, forgetting her assumed character, and
beginning to speak in her natural voice, for it seemed so difficult to
act a part in the presence of this girl.
But Lyon set his coarse boot upon Sybil's foot, and pressed it as a
warning, and then answered for both, saying:
"Thank y', honey, but I don't reckon we'll want anything but our supper,
and the old man said how he'd send that up here himself."
"Then I will leave you. Good night. I hope you will have a good sleep,"
answered Rachel, bending her head.
"What a fine face that girl has," said Lyon Berners, as she withdrew.
"Yes; and what a sweet voice!" answered Sybil.
"But she is very pale, and she limps as she walks; did you notice?"
"Yes; I suppose she has ill health--probably the same malady that
carried off her mother, and all her sisters and brothers."
"Very likely."
"Consumption?" suggested Sybil.
"Scrofula," sententiously replied Lyon.
"Oh, what a pity!" said Sybil, when their conversation was cut short by
the entrance of the landlord, bringing a waiter with the plain supper
service and a folded table-cloth, and followed by a young man bearing
another waiter piled up with materials for a supper more substantial
than delicate.
The little table was quickly set, and the meal arranged and then the
landlord, after asking if anything more was wanted, and being told there
was not, left the room, followed by his attendant.
Lyon and Sybil made a good supper, and then, as there were no bells in
that primitive house of entertainment, he put his head out of the door
and called for some one to come and take away the service.
When the waiter had cleared the table, and the travellers were again
left alone, Lyon said to Sybil:
"I must leave you here, dear, while I go down to the water-side and
inquire what ships are about to sail for Europe. You will not be afraid
to stay here by yourself?"
"Oh, no indeed! this is not the Haunted Chapel, thank Heaven!" answered
his wife.
"Nor Rachel, the damp girl," added Lyon.
"No, poor child; but she may very soon become one," sighed Sybil.
And Lyon put on his broad-brimmed hat and went out.
Sybil locked the door, took off her red wig, and her coarse outer
garment, and took from her travelling bag a soft woolen wrapper and a
pair of slippers and put them on, and sat down before the fire to make
herself comfortable. At first the sense of relief and rest and warmth
was enough to satisfy her; but after an hour's waiting in idleness, the
time hung heavily on her hands, and she grew homesick and lonesome. She
thought of the well-stocked library of Black Hall; of her bright
drawing-room, her birds, her flowers, her piano, her easel, her
embroidery frame, her Skie terrier, her tortoise shell cat and kittens,
her fond and faithful servant, the many grand rooms in the old hall; the
negroes' cabins, the ancient trees, the river, the cascade, the
mountains--the thousand means of occupation, amusement, and interest,
within and around her patrimonial home, the ten thousand ties of
association and affection that bound her to her old place, and she
realized her exile as she had never done before. Her spirit grew very
desolate, and her heart very heavy.
But Sybil really was not a woman to give way to any weakness without an
effort. She got up and tried to engage herself by examining the two
little rooms that were to be her dwelling place for a day or a week, as
chance might direct.
There was not much to interest her. The furniture was poor and old, but
neat and clean, as anything under the care of pale Rachel was sure to
be. Then Sybil looked about to try to find some stray pamphlet or book,
that she might read. But she found nothing but a treatise on tanning and
an old almanac until, happening to look behind the glass on the chest of
drawers in the inner room, she discovered a small volume which she took
to be the New Testament. She drew it from its hiding-place and sat down
to read it. But when she opened the book, she found it to
be--"Celebrated Criminal Trials."
At once it seemed to have a fearful interest for her, and this interest
was terribly augmented when, on further examination, she discovered that
a portion of the work was devoted to the "Fatal Errors of Circumstantial
Evidence."
To this part of the book she turned at once, and her attention soon
became absorbed in its subject. Here she read the cases of Jonathan
Bradford, Henry Jennings, and many others tried for murder, convicted
under an overwhelming weight of circumstantial evidence, executed, and
long afterwards discovered to be entirely innocent of the crimes for
which they had been put to death. Sybil read on hour after hour. And as
this evening, while sitting in solitude and idleness and thinking of her
home and all its charms, she had first realized the bitterness of her
exile, so now, in reading these instances of the fatal effects of
circumstantial evidence upon guiltless parties, she also first realized
the horrors of her own position.
She closed the book and fell upon her knees, and weeping, prayed for
pardon of those fierce outbursts of hereditary passion, that had so
often tempted her to deeds of violence, and that now subjected her to
the dread charge of crime. Yes, she prayed for forgiveness of this sin
and deliverance from this sinfulness, even before she ventured to pray
for a safe issue out of all her troubles.
Relieved, as every one feels who approaches our Father in simplicity and
faith, she arose from her knees, and sat down again before the fire to
wait for the return of her husband.
He came at length, looking really tired now, but speaking cheerfully as
he entered the room.
"I have been gone from you a long time, dear Sybil, but I could not help
it. I had to go to Portsmouth in search of our ship," he said, as he put
his hat on the floor, and sat down at the fire.
"Then you found a ship?" she inquired, with so much more than usual
anxiety in her expression, that he looked up in painful surprise as he
replied to her question.
"Yes, dear; I have found a ship that will suit us. It is the
'Enterprise,' Captain Wright, bound for Liverpool within a few days."
"Oh! I wish it were to-morrow," sighed Sybil.
"Why, love, what is the matter?" tenderly inquired her husband, taking
her hand, and looking into her face.
"_That_ is the matter," replied Sybil, with a shudder, as she took the
volume she had been reading from the chimney piece and put it in his
hands.
It was a work with which Lyon Berners, as a law student, had been very
familiar.
"Why, where did you get this?" he inquired in a tone of annoyance, for
he felt at once what its effect upon Sybil's mind must be.
"Oh, I found it behind the looking-glass in the other room."
"Left by some traveller, I suppose. I am sorry, Sybil, that you have
chanced upon this work; but you must not let its subject influence you
to despondency."
"Oh, Lyon! how can I help it? I was so strong and cheerful in my sense
of innocence, I had no idea how guiltless people could be convicted and
executed as criminals."
"My darling Sybil, all these cases that you have read were tried in the
last century, a period of judicial barbarism. Courts of justice are more
enlightened and humane now, in our times. They do not sacrifice sacred
life upon slight grounds. Come, take courage! be cheerful! trust in God,
and all will be well."
"I do trust in the Lord, and I know all will be well; but oh! I wish it
were to-morrow that ship is to sail?" answered Sybil.
"It will sail very soon, dear. And now we had better go to rest, and try
to get some sleep. In my character of market farmer, I have to be up
very early in the morning to attend to my business, you know," said Lyon
with a smile.
Sybil acquiesced, and the fugitive couple retired for the night.
Bodily fatigue so much overcame mental anxiety, that they slept
profoundly, and continued to sleep until near daylight, when they were
both aroused by a loud knocking at the door.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, who is that?" gasped Sybil, starting up in
affright, for every knock now, scared her with the thought of sheriff's
officers armed with a warrant for her arrest, and excited a whole train
of prospective horrors.
"Hush, darling, hush; it is only one of the men about the place waking
me up, according to orders, to be in time for the market. We must keep
up our assumed characters, my dear Sybil," said Mr. Berners, as the
knocking was repeated, accompanied by the calls of,
"Farmer! farmer!"
"Aye, aye! I hear you. You needn't batter down the doors. I'm a-going to
get up, though it's very early, and I an't as young as I used to be
twenty years ago, nyther," grumbled the "farmer," as with many a grunt
and sigh, as of an old and weary man, he got up and began to dress
himself.
"Sybil," he whispered to his wife before leaving the room, "I shall have
to take my breakfast at a stall in the market-house, and I shall not be
back until the market is out, which will be about twelve o'clock. You
can have your breakfast brought up here. And mind, my darling, don't
forget to put on your wig, and keep up your character."
"I shall be very careful, dear Lyon," she answered, as he kissed and
left her.
Lyon Berners went down stairs, where he found the landlord, who was an
"early bird," waiting for him.
"Morning, farmer. What is it that you've brought to market, anyways?"
he said, greeting his guest.
"Mostly garden truck," answered Lyon.
"No poultry, eggs, nor butter?"
"No."
"'Cause, if you had, I might deal with you myself."
"Well, you see, landlord, them kind of produce is ill convenient to
bring a long ways in a wagon. And I came from a good ways down the
country," explained Lyon, as he took his long leathern whip from the
corner where he had left it, and went out to look after his team.
He found it all right, and he mounted the seat and drove to the market
space, and took a stand, and began to offer his produce as zealously as
any farmer on the ground--taking care, in the mean time, to wear his
spectacles and broad-brimmed hat, and to keep up his character in voice
and manner; and, as the morning advanced, he began to drive a brisk
business.
Meantime Sybil, left alone in her poor room at the little inn, arose
and locked the door after Lyon, to prevent intrusion before she should
effect her disguise, and when she had thus insured her privacy, she
began to dress.
As soon as she had transformed herself, she opened the door and called
for Rachel.
The landlord's daughter entered, giving her guest good-morning, and
kindly inquiring how she had slept.
"I slept like a top! But I'm not well this morning neither. So I'd just
like to have my victuals sent up here," answered Sybil.
"Very well; what would you like?"
"Fried fish, and pork-steaks, and bri'led chickings, and grilled bacon,
and--let me see! Have you any oysters?"
"Yes, very fine ones."
"Well, then, I'll take some stewed oysters too, and some poached eggs,
and preserved quinces, and fried potatoes, and corn pone, and hot rolls,
and buckwheat cakes, and cold bread and butter, and some coffee, and
buttermilk and sweet milk. And that's all, I believe; for, you see, I
an't well, and I haven't come to my stomach yet; but if I can think of
anything else, I will let you know.
"Is your father going to eat his breakfast with you?"
"Who? pappy? No; he's gone to market, and will get his victuals at the
eating stall. Wouldn't it be good fun to keep a eating stall in a
market?"
"I don't think so."
"Well, never mind whether you do, or not. Hurry up with my victuals."
"Yes; but I'm afraid we haven't got all the things you want; but I will
bring you up what we have," said the girl, who had opened her eyes
widely at the bill of fare ordered by her sickly guest.
"Well, go do it then, and don't stop to talk," said Sybil, shortly.
Rachel went out, and in due time returned with a waiter containing
Sybil's breakfast.
"Why, there an't half--no, not a quarter of the things I told you to
fetch me," said Sybil, turning up her nose at the waiter that Rachel
placed upon the table.
"I have brought you some of everything that we have cooked. I should be
glad if I could bring you all you wish," replied Rachel.
"Then I s'pose I must be half-starved in this poor place. And me so
weakly, too! I'll tell pappy as soon as ever he comes. I want to go
home--I do. We've got as much as ever we can eat at home," grumbled
Sybil, doing her best to act her part, and perhaps overdoing it.
But Rachel was not suspicious. She again apologized for not being able
to fill her guest's order in its utmost extent, and she remained in the
room and waited on Sybil until the breakfast was finished, and then she
took away the service, wondering how little her guest had eaten, after
having ordered such a vast amount of food.
Again Rachel came back to the room, and made everything tidy in each
chamber, and then finally left her guest alone.
Sybil walked about and took up and put down every small object that lay
about her humble apartments, and then looked out of each window upon the
narrow crowded and noisy street below; and finally, she took the volume
of "Celebrated Criminal Trials" that had a terrible attraction for her,
in her present circumstances, and she sat down and read until her
husband's return.
Lyon Berners drove his empty wagon into the stable yard, at noon. He had
sold out all his produce, and pretended to be in great glee at his
success. The landlord congratulated him, and some chance loungers in the
bar-room suggested that, under such circumstances, it would be the right
thing for him to treat the company. Lyon thought so too; and in his
character of farmer, he ordered pipes and glasses all around. And then
he made his escape, and went up stairs to see Sybil.
"Still moping over that depressing book. Put it away, Sybil, and get on
your bonnet, and throw a thick veil over it, and come out with me for a
walk; we have to buy something for our voyage, you know," said Lyon,
cheerfully.
Sybil with a sigh given to her fears, did as he requested her to do; and
the two went down stairs together.
"Going out for a walk, I reckon, farmer?" inquired the landlord, who
stood at the bar-room door with a pipe in his mouth.
"Aye, aye. You know these girls--when they find out that their pappies
have made a little bit of money, there is no peace till it's spent. My
girl is taking me out shopping, to buy gimcracks and things! I'll be
glad when I get her home again," grumbled Lyon.
"Well, well, she's your onliest one, and you mustn't be hard on her. My
Rachel gets all she wants, and deserves it too. Dinner at two o'clock,
sharp, farmer."
"Aye, aye! I know. Men o' my age never forget their dinners," said Lyon,
as he drew Sybil's arm within his own and led her out into the streets.
They went only into the back streets, and the poor shops, and they
bought only what was strictly necessary for their voyage; and having
concluded their purchases, they returned to the inn in time for dinner.
Sybil was very much depressed. She could not rally from the effect the
reading of that book had had upon her mind. She frequently repeated her
fervent aspiration:
"Oh! that the ship would sail to-day!"
Lyon encouraged her as much as he possibly could, but he had his own
private subject of anxiety. He had not of course told any one of his
intention to go abroad. Every one believed that, having sold out his
load, he would return home; but he was obliged to stay in the city
until the sailing of the ship, and he wanted a fair excuse to do so.
That evening the weather changed, and the sky clouded over, and the next
morning it rained, and it continued to rain for three days.
"This here will make them there roads so bad that we shan't be able to
travel for a week, even if it does clear up soon," grumbled and growled
the self-styled farmer, feeling glad all the while of an excuse to stay
until the ship should sail.
"No, that you won't," echoed his friend the landlord, glad to retain a
guest with whom he was pleased.
On the third day of the rain, the sky showing signs of clearing, Lyon
Berners went over to Portsmouth to hear at what precise time the
Enterprise would sail for Liverpool. When he returned he had good news
for Sybil.
"The Ship will sail on Saturday! That is the day after to-morrow, dear
Sybil. And we may go on board to-morrow night."
"Oh! I am so glad!" exclaimed Sybil, clapping her hands for joy. And she
began to pack up immediately.
"Moreover, I have sold my wagon and horses to a party at Portsmouth. And
so we can put our luggage into it and drive off as if we were going
home; but we can go down to the river instead, and take it across in the
ferry-boat. Then I can have our effects put upon shipboard, and then
deliver the team to its purchaser and receive the price," added Lyon.
"Oh, but I am so delighted with the bare fact of our getting away so
soon, that all things else seem of no account to me!" joyously exclaimed
Sybil, going on with her packing.
The next morning Lyon went out alone to make a few more purchases for
their voyage. While he was going around, he also bought all the daily
papers that he could get hold of. He returned to Sybil at an early hour
of the forenoon. He found her sitting down in idleness.
"Got entirely through packing, my darling?" he inquired cheerfully.
"Oh, yes, and I have nothing on earth to do now. How long this last day
will seem! At what hour may we go on board, this evening?"
"At sundown."
"Oh, that it were now sundown! How shall we contrive to pass the time
until then?"
"This will help us to pass the day, dear wife," he answered, laying the
pile of newspapers on the table between them.
Each took up a paper and began to look over it.
Lyon was deep in a political article, when a cry from Sybil startled
him.
"What is the matter?" he inquired, in alarm.
She did not answer. Her face was pale as ashes, and her eyes were
strained upon the paper.
"What do you see there?" again inquired her husband.
"Oh, Lyon! Lyon! we are lost! we are lost!" she cried in a voice of
agony.
In great anxiety he took the paper from her hand, and read the paragraph
to which she pointed. It ran thus:
"It is now certain that Sybil Berners, accused of the murder of Rosa
Blondelle, is not in Annapolis, as was falsely reported; but that she
has escaped in disguise, accompanied by her husband, who is also in
disguise; and that both are in the city of Norfolk."
Now it was Lyon's turn to grow pallid with fear, not for himself, but
for one dearer to him than his own life. Still he tried to control his
emotions, or at least to conceal them from her. He compelled himself to
answer calmly:
"Take courage, my darling! We are before them. In a few more hours we
shall be on board the ship."
Her hands were clasped tightly together; her eyes were fixed steadily
upon his face; her own face was white as marble.
"Oh, Lyon! save me! Oh, my husband, save me! You _know_ that I am
guiltless!" she prayed.
"Dearest wife, I will lay down my life for you, if necessary! Be
comforted! See! it is now two o'clock! In two more hours we may be on
shipboard!" he said.
"Let us go now! Let us go now!" she prayed, clasping her hands closely,
gazing in his eyes beseechingly.
"Very well, we will go at once," he answered; and he took up his hat and
hurried down stairs.
He told the landlord that, as the weather was now good, he thought he
would risk the roads, and try to make a half-day's journey that
afternoon, at least. And then, without waiting to hear the host's
expostulations, he just told him to make out the bill, and then he went
to the stables to put the horses to the wagon.
In half an hour all was ready for their departure--the bill paid, the
wagon at the door, and the luggage piled into it. And Sybil and Lyon
took leave of their temporary acquaintances; and Lyon handed Sybil up
into her seat, climbed up after her, and started the horses at a brisk
trot for the ferry-boat.
They reached Portsmouth in safety. Lyon drove down at once to the wharf,
engaged a rowboat, put Sybil and all their effects into it, and rowed
her across the water to where the Enterprise lay at anchor.
"Now I'm safe!" exclaimed Sybil, with a sigh of infinite relief, as she
stepped upon the deck.
The captain did not expect his passengers so soon, and he was busy; but
he came forward and welcomed them, and showed them into the cabin,
apologizing for its unready condition, consequent upon the bustle of
their preparations for sailing.
Lyon left his wife in the Captain's care, and went back to the shore to
complete the sale of his wagon and horses.
He was gone for nearly two hours, and when he returned he explained his
long absence by saying that, after all, the hoped-for purchaser had
refused to purchase, and that he had to leave his wagon and horses at a
stable in Portsmouth, and to retire to a restaurant and write a letter
to Captain Pendleton, and enclose an order for him to receive the
property on paying the livery.
Sybil was satisfied--nay, she was delighted. In company with Lyon she
walked up and down the deck, looking so joyous that the men about the
place could but remark upon it as they gossipped with each other.
The new voyagers took supper in the Captain's cabin, and afterwards
returned to the deck and remained on it until the sun set and the stars
came out.
"Oh, this sense of release from danger! Oh, this delightful sense of
freedom! And the heavenly starlit sky, and the beautiful water, and the
delicious breeze. Oh, the world is so lovely! Oh, life and liberty is so
sweet, so sweet! Oh, dear Lyon, I am so happy! And I love you so much!"
she exclaimed, almost delirious with joy at her great deliverance.
It was very late before Lyon could persuade her to leave the deck.
"I am too happy to sleep," she continually answered.
At length, however, he coaxed her to let him lead her to their
state-room.
There, in the darkness and silence, she grew more composed, though not
less happy. And in a few minutes after she had laid down, she fell
asleep.
She slept very soundly until morning, when she was awakened by the
cheerful chants of the sailors getting ready to make sail.
She lay a little while enjoying the joyous sounds that spoke to her so
happily of liberty, and then she arose and dressed herself, and went up
on deck, leaving Lyon still asleep.
The sun was just rising, and the harbor was beautiful. She walked about,
talking now to the captain, and now to one of the men, and exciting
wonder among them all, at her happiness.
At length she was joined by her husband, who had waked up the moment she
had left him, and got up immediately, and dressed and followed her.
"Oh, Lyon! is not this a beautiful morning? And the Captain says the
wind is fair, and we shall sail in half an hour!" was her greeting.
And Lyon pressed her hand in silence. A great weight of anxiety lay upon
his heart; _he_ knew, if she did not, that she was not safe, even on
shipboard, until the ship should really sail. And now his eyes were
fixed upon a large rowboat that was rapidly crossing the water from the
shore to the ship.
"Do you expect any more passengers?" he inquired of the Captain.
"Oh, lots!" answered the latter.
"Are those some of your passengers coming in the boat?"
The Captain threw a hasty glance at the approaching object and answered
carelessly:
"Of course they are! Don't you see they are making right for the ship?"
The boat was very near. It was at the side of the ship. The oars were
drawn in. The passengers were climbing up to the deck.
"They look like nice people! I am sure they will make it still
pleasanter for us on the voyage," said Sybil, who in her happy mood was
inclined to be delighted with every event.
The Captain went to meet the new-comers.
Two gentlemen of the party spoke for a moment with him, and then
advanced towards the spot where the husband and wife were standing.
"They _are_ nice people," repeated Sybil, positively; but Lyon said
nothing; he was pale as ashes. The two gentlemen came up and stood
before Lyon and Sybil. The elder of the two took off his hat, and bowing
gravely, said to Sybil:
"You are Mrs. Sybil Berners of Black Hall?"
Then all at once an agony of terror took possession of her; her heart
sank, her brain reeled, her limbs tottered.
"You are Mrs. Sybil Berners of Black Hall?" repeated the stranger,
drawing from his pocket a folded paper.
"Yes," faltered Sybil, in a dying voice.
"Then, Madam, I have a most painful duty to perform. Sybil Berners, you
are my prisoner," he said, and he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
With an agonizing shriek she sprang from under his hand, and threw
herself into the arms of her husband, wildly crying:
"Save me, Lyon! Oh! don't let them force me away! Save me, my husband!
Save me!"