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| There blend the ties that strengthen |
| Our hearts in hours of grief, |
| The silver links that lengthen |
| Joy's visits when most brief!—Bernard Barton. |
"Dear Lyon, how came you here so soon after your dreadful accident, and at such a risk to your life?"
"My dearest Sybil, what led you to give yourself up?"
These questions were simultaneously asked of each other by the husband and wife, as soon as they were fairly upon their journey.
Then their eyes met, and despite the gravity of their position, both smiled.
"Whose question shall be answered first?" inquired Lyon.
"Oh! mine! mine!" exclaimed Sybil; "tell me, dear Lyon, how it is that you are able to be here at all. The bailiffs indeed told me that you were not dangerously injured; if it had not been for that assurance, I should have died with anxiety; but still I had every reason to suppose that you were very seriously injured. How could you get up so soon? How could you bear the stage-coach journey? Are you sure that it has not endangered your life?"
"My dearest Sybil, no," said Mr. Berners, answering her last question first. "On the contrary, it has saved it; for if I had remained in Baltimore in that terrible state of anxiety about you, I should certainly have fallen into a brain-fever. My injuries were not nearly so severe as they seemed. The blow stunned me, and cut my scalp in a glancing way. It bled very profusely, so that the great flow of blood probably saved me from a fit of illness, at the least."
"But the jarring journey by the coach?"
"I did not come that way. I came by water."
"Oh! I forget that you could come so. Go on."
"After you were taken from me, I was laid upon a sofa, where I found myself when I recovered consciousness. The stage-coach that had carried you off had been gone an hour, and no other was to start until the next morning. To hope to overtake you was vain. But to meet you on your arrival at Blackville was practicable, by taking the steamer that was to start at noon. So I ordered a carriage, threw myself into it, and was driven to the pier, where I took passage in the Falcon, bound for Richmond."
"But, oh, Lyon! how could you have borne even so much exertion as that, so soon after your accident?"
"Not very well, to tell you the truth. For as soon as I got on board, I had to turn into my berth, and lay there with ice on my head and mustard at my heels, until the boat arrived at Richmond. But I was then well enough to leave the steamer and embark, on board a schooner, bound up the river. At the mouth of the Black River I got into a small fishing smack, that brought me to Blackville."
"And you reached the village—"
"Only this morning. I expected to find you in the hands of the authorities, when, to my amazement, I heard that you had been rescued from the bailiffs by that band of road robbers. I had scarcely recovered from that astounding intelligence before I met Sheridan hurrying from the hotel towards the court-house."
"To get my bail; but go on."
"He was surprised to see me, of course, but drew my arm in his own and begged me to go with him. On our way thither he told me of the almost incredible news that you had given yourself up to justice; that there had been a preliminary examination, and that you were detained in honorable custody by the high sheriff, until he, as your counsel, should apply to the court to have you released upon recognizance. I went with him to the court-room, where I found Pendleton and his sister. It seems that Pendleton had come to Blackville to meet Beatrix, who was returning from her visit to the city; but on hearing what was afoot they had gone into court to tender their services in case they should be needed."
"Oh!" burst forth Sybil in enthusiasm, "what a noble pair is that brother and sister! What man in this world is worthy to marry Beatrix, or what woman to be the wife of Clement?"
"Yet I hope they both will be happily wedded, for all that," observed Lyon. "And now, dear Sybil, you know the rest. You know that Judge Ruthven 'took the responsibility' of releasing you upon our united recognizance for your appearance at court! And now, as I have told you all I have to tell, I would like to hear all that has befallen you since we parted, and above all, what induced you to give yourself up."
"Stay! tell me; did I not right in giving myself up?"
"Yes, dear Sybil. Being separated from me, and in the hands of outlaws, you did right to yield to law. But tell me the immediate motive of your action."
Being so pressed, Sybil commenced and related all that happened to her from the time that she had been so rudely torn from the side of her wounded husband to the moment that she met him again in the court-room. And she did not fail to give due credit to young Raphael, her devoted worshipper and brave deliverer.
At the close of the narrative, Lyon Berners turned towards the boy, saying:
"Give me your hand, young friend! Henceforth you are our son, to share our home and hearts, and to be cared for as long as we all shall live!"
Raphael bowed low over the hand that was extended to him.
And no more words were then spoken, for the carriage was just turning in to the elm avenue leading up to Black Hall.
But when Sybil came in sight of her home, she suddenly turned to her husband, and asked:
"Oh, Lyon! what has become of my little Nelly? You know we left her locked up in our chamber that morning we started out for a walk, and was stopped by the sheriff's officers in the hall of the hotel. What has become of her; do you know?"
"She is safe. I brought her from Baltimore to Blackville with me. But then—I am very sorry; but in the rush of other events I forgot her, and left her in the hotel. However, she will be well taken care of, for the people know her."
"I am so glad to hear she is safe. We will send for her to-morrow," smiled Sybil.
The carriage rolled on to the house, and drew up before its doors.
Sybil looked out from the window, and saw Miss Tabitha Winterose at the head of all the house servants, standing on the porch to welcome her. Among them was her little Skye terrier, held in check by Joseph. But as soon as Nelly saw her mistress' face she broke loose, and with almost human cries of frantic delight and impatience, scampered forward, and climbed into Sybil's down-stretched arms.
"The first to welcome me home, you faithful little friend! But how did you come here, Nelly?" asked Sybil, taking the little creature on her lap, holding its head between her open hands, and looking down into its loving brown eyes.
But for all answer Nelly suddenly darted up and kissed her mistress on the chin.
"Welcome home, Miss Sybil! Oh, Lord be thanked as I have lived to see this blessed day!" blubbered Joe, coming forward, and laughing and sobbing with delight under the full conviction that all his mistress' sorrows were now over.
"Welcome back, Mrs. Berners, my dear child! a thousand welcomes back!" whimpered Miss Tabby, pressing forward to meet her.
"And me too, Miss Sybil," added Dilly, rather irrelevantly.
"Now, Lord, let thy servant depart, for I have seen the desire of my eyes," said old Abraham, reverently lifting his hat from his white head, and slightly misquoting the Scriptures.
Sybil had by this time alighted, and was shaking hands right and left with her attached servants.
But now a touching sight met her view—a little delicate baby boy, with fair curling hair, clear blue eyes, and a pink and white complexion, hiding behind Miss Tabby, clinging to her skirts, and peeping out with a look half shy and half confiding.
"Oh, you poor child!" said Sybil, tenderly raising him in her arms and pressing him to her bosom, while her tears fell fast upon his head. "You poor, poor child! If I had done what they said, could I ever have looked in your sweet eyes again?"
"Don't cry, poor lady, don't cry," said the child, lifting up his little apron and trying to wipe her eyes.
"Ah, you poor baby! But you shall never want a mother while I live," continued Sybil, still weeping for pity.
"Don't cry, Cro' will be a good, good boy," coaxed the child; softly stroking her face with his little hand.
"Cro' will give you his mudic box, and all his p'ay things. Don't cry," begged the child, and as a last resort, he put his arms around her neck, and added, "Cro' will love you."
"Come, my dear Sybil! come into the house," said Mr. Berners, who, having paid and discharged the hired carriage, now turned to offer his arm to his wife.
But Sybil covered the child in her arms with kisses, and pressed him warmly to her bosom, before she relinquished him to the care of Miss Tabby.
Then she turned to her husband, who still held out his arm to her.
"Poor Lyon!" she said. "You are scarcely able to stand, yet you wish to escort me in. Joseph!"—she called to their faithful servant—"come here. Don't you see your master's state?"
Joe came and looked upon his "sovereign lord," and his eyes and mouth gradually opened in a growing consternation, as he gazed upon the bandaged head.
"Lor save us, marse Lyon; has you been blowed up agin, or has you got you'sef inter a—" Joe paused in respect.
"Row, would you say, Joe? Something like it, I must confess; and a very disreputable appearance I present, no doubt! But there, Joe, I will take your arm into the house, for I do feel rather light-headed still," said Lyon, with a smile, as leaning on his servant, he went up the porch stairs. Sybil followed, attended by Raphael, Miss Tabby and little Cromartie, Delia, and all the servants.
"Come up into your own room, my darling Miss Sybil, Mrs. Berners I mean, which it is all well aired, and nice and warm and ready for you," said Miss Tabby, leading the way up-stairs, followed by Sybil and her maid Delia.
"Oh, how good it is to be home once more! Oh, how delightful to enter one's own bed-room again," sighed Sybil, with the sense of a great relief, as she sank into her own luxurious easy-chair, beside the bright wood fire.
"Let me take off your bonnet, my pet," said the affectionate old maid, untying with trembling fingers the hat of Sybil.
"Miss Tabby, how came little Nelly here?" inquired Mrs. Berners, as the little dog, who had followed her up stairs, jumped into her lap.
"Why, lors, Miss Sybil, the groom from the livery-stable who brought the news of your coming, fotch the dog too. I b'lieve he said as Capting Pendleton found him running round loose, and sent him home."
"Oh, Miss Tabby, sometime when you and I are sitting by our winter evening fire, I can tell you such stories of what I have gone through, and the best story of all is that of little Nelly," said Sybil caressing her tiny four-footed favorite.
"Surely!" exclaimed Miss Tabby, who, having relieved Sybil of her bonnet and shawl, now sat down for a quiet little talk, while waiting for dinner to be announced. She had little Cro' on her lap.
"Miss Tabby," inquired Sybil, suddenly, "where is that child's nurse? I notice that you seem to have him all the time."
"Where is his nurse, is it Miss Sybil? Ah, the brazen, piece! She's gone and got married to Saundy McGruder the livery-stable keeper—master of him who brought the news of your 'rival! Ugh!" exclaimed Miss Tabby in strong disgust. She had never taken upon herself to get married, and she set her face steadily against all such improprieties in the young servants that were under her control.
"And so she deserted her charge? Poor baby! Hard to lose his mother and his nurse at the same time," said Sybil, compassionately. Suddenly she changed the subject, and inquired:
"Miss Tabby! did you ever believe I did that?"
"Did which, honey?"
"What they accused me of?"
"Now I wish you hadn't axed me that there question, Miss Sybil! I do so! for it looks just as if you had a doubt on me, as never doubted you," exclaimed the faithful creature, with an injured look.
"Heaven bless you, good soul! Then you don't believe it!" cried Sybil, in delight.
"Now look here, honey! I've nursed you ever since you was a month old, and how could I believe you would do a thing like that! Though the good Lord knows as you had aggravation enough to drive you out'n your seventeen senses, and into anything! But you never did that! I'd stake my soul on to it. Why, see here! When that ignorant nigger, Dilly, as was a crying and a howling after you, fit to break her heart, when she axes me, 'Oh, Miss Tabby, do you think as my mistress did that?' I fetches her sich a box of the years, as I shouldn't wonder if they ring yet, though that was a matter of nigh two months ago!"
"Thanks, dear old friend, for your faith in me. And now, dear Miss Tabby, did you notice that fair boy whom we brought home with us?"
"I never see such a heavenly looking boy in all my days. To be sure I noticed of him. Wherever did you pick him up, Miss Sybil?"
"On my travels, old Tabby. I will tell you all I know about him, when you and I sit down together to gossip by that winter evening fire we spoke of."
"And, oh, how much you'll have to tell me, my child. I looks to have my hair bristle up on ind!"
"Then wear a strong cap, and tie the strings under your chin tightly, that it may not be lifted from your head," laughed Sybil. "But about the boy; he is to make his home with us; and so I want you to have one of the best bedrooms prepared, and a plate always put on the table for him; and to instruct the servants that they are to treat him in all respects as a son of the house," answered Sybil.
"Lor' bless me! Is that so!" exclaimed the old maid, as her eyes opened in amazement. "Well, Miss Sybil, I have heard of ladies afore now, being so angelable as to pervide for their husband's unnateral relations; but that you should do sich a thing I never would a believed. You're a wery good child! but your goodness don't lay into that toleratin' line, that I know."
"What on earth do you mean, Tabby?" sharply demanded Sybil. "I'm shocked and disgusted at you, that I am."
"Why, what for? You said the boy was to be respected as a son of the house; and then ag'in, they've both got light hair and blue eyes, and fair skins," said Miss Winterose, in dismay.
"Tabby, as far as I understand you, I am quite ashamed of you. That boy is the son of a man who calls himself Captain Inconnu, but whom I believe to own another name; but no matter about that now; that will figure in some of the stories that I shall tell you by our evening fires—Well, what do you want?"
This last question was addressed to a colored boy, who opened the chamber door and looked in.
"Please, ma'am, I wanted to tell Miss Tabby as dinner was on the table," said the child.
"And didn't you know better, you little brute, than to open a lady's door without knocking? Go down to the kitchen with yourself, this very instant!" exclaimed Miss Tabby, indignantly.
"Don't scold the child this first day of my return," pleaded Sybil.
"And, lor', now here I have been a keeping on you, child, a-satisfyin' of my old woman's curiosity, and not even a leaving of you time enough to dress for dinner," said the old maid, regretfully.
"Dress for dinner!" echoed Sybil, lifting her eye-brows. "I had almost forgotten such a piece of propriety! I have not dressed for dinner for nearly two months!"
But for all that, she got up, and went to her toilet glass and smoothed her hair, and washed her hands, and put on a clean collar.
"That will do for to-day. Now don't look hurt, you good old Tabby, and I'll promise to-morrow to 'dress up to the nines!'" said Sybil, laughing, as she tripped out of the room. She was in such good spirits at being home again, she had for the moment forgotten that she was only there on sufferance.
"And I had such a splendid dinner got for her, too! With all the silver-gilt and cut-glass out, and some of the old wine them devils happened to leave when they robbed the cellar. I haven't told her about that robbery yet! I don't want to tell her no bad news the first day as she gets home," ruminated Miss Tabby, as she sat over the fire with little Cromartie in her arms.
Of course Miss Winterose could not guess that Sybil had heard of the raid upon her cellars.
Sybil ran down stairs, at the foot of which she found Mr. Berners and Raphael waiting for her.
"I have been taking a nap on the parlor sofa, and my young friend here has been mousing among the books in the library," said Lyon Berners, as he met his wife.
"I hope you feel refreshed," said Sybil.
"Very much," answered Lyon. "Raphael, my boy, give Mrs. Berners your arm in to the dinner-table."
The lad blushingly obeyed, and they went in to dinner.
There was one little affectionate mischievous thought darted through Mr. Berners' brain; "I will show my wife that I can trust her with this pretty page who is in love with her, better than she could trust me with the beautiful widow who was not in love with me," he said smilingly to himself, as he followed them in to the dining-room.
This may be said to be the re-commencement of Sybil Berners' happy home-life. Of the awful cloud that overhung her fate, she scarcely thought at all this evening. When dinner was over she led the way into her own bright drawing-room, which had been that day "swept and garnished" for her reception. Fresh snow-white lace curtains were at the windows, contrasting finely with the warm, bright hues of the crimson satin hangings, the crimson velvet parlor set, and the crimson Brussels carpet. A brilliant sea-coal fire was glowing in the grate, and vases filled with fragrant hothouse plants stood on every white marble-top table and stand.
Like a child home for the holidays, Sybil roamed about in delight from object to object, and fondly opened her disused piano, to try if it was still in tune. She was surprised and pleased to find that its tone was perfect. She had been absent but two months or less, and she knew it, yet she felt as if two years must have elapsed since she had touched her piano. She sat down and played some of her favorite airs, and sang some of her favorite songs, to the great entertainment of Mr. Berners and Raphael.
But this evening she was too happy and too restless to keep to any one thing. So she soon left the piano, and called Raphael to follow her to a book-stand in the corner, where she showed him some fine engravings from the old masters—a volume containing master-pieces from Guido, Correggio, Leonardo, Murillo, and others. With all this wealth of art the poor child-artist was delighted.
"But here is something better still, my boy! Here is a volume of the rarest gems," she said, opening a book of Raphael's Madonnas and laying it before him.
He uttered a cry of delight, and then checked himself, blushed, and apologized.
Meanwhile Lyon Berners reclined upon the sofa. He was still weak from his accident, and from the imprudent journey that had followed it. He lay there, watching Sybil, content that she should be amused, until the wife herself suddenly lifted up the volume she had been examining with the boy, and calling Raphael to follow her, went over to her husband, and kneeling by his side, with the book resting on the edge of the sofa, she turned a page, and said:
"Look here, dear Lyon! I want you to notice this amazing resemblance," and she pointed first to an engraved head of the artist Raphael occupying the centre of the title-page, and then to the living head of the boy Raphael bending by her side.
"It is a likeness," said Lyon.
"Likeness! It is a portrait! If I had known this boy before, and had seen this picture anywhere else, I should have supposed it had been taken for him," said Sybil, earnestly.
Lyon closed the book, and asked her to play and sing a certain beautiful evening hymn which was a great favorite with them, after which he suggested they should retire.
So passed the first evening of Sybil's recovered home.
The next morning, after she had breakfasted, she took another school-girl's holiday frolic. She ran all over the house, renewing her acquaintance with every room.
She had scarcely finished her pleasant tour, when old Joe came after her to say that Marser Sheridan, from Blackville had called to see her.
Her counsel!
The announcement of this visitor awoke Sybil from her pleasant dream of home and safety.
With trembling hands she arranged her dress, and went below to the parlor, where she found Mr. Berners entertaining the lawyer.
Both arose at her entrance, and Mr. Sheridan shook hands with her, saying:
"I do not know a better place to get up my brief for the defence, Mrs. Berners, than here on the scene of the tragedy and the imputed crime."
The tone and manner of the lawyer were very cheerful, and at once restored Sybil's composure.
"I have heard your explanation of the circumstances that led you to the bed-side of Rosa Blondelle, at the moment in which her murderer had left her, but I heard it at second hand. I would now hear it from yourself," said Mr. Sheridan.
Sybil began and related the whole story, which the lawyer took down from her lips.
"Now," he said, "Mr. Berners, I would have your statement, commencing from the moment the deceased rushed into the library."
Lyon Berners related the circumstances attending Rosa Blondelle's death, as far as he knew them.
"And now I would like to minutely examine the room in which the crime was committed," said Mr. Sheridan.
"Come, then," answered Lyon Berners. And he led the lawyer to the rooms lately occupied by Rosa Blondelle.
"A man might easily have escaped by these windows an instant after having committed the crime. They close with a spring catch. The fact of their having been found fastened when the room was examined, proves nothing whatever against my client. The murderer could in an instant unfasten one of them from within, jump through, and clap it to behind him, when it would be as fast as if secured by a careful servant within," said the lawyer, after the examination was complete.
Then they all returned to the library, where Mr. Sheridan summed up his brief for the defence.
"Give yourself no uneasiness, Mrs. Berners," he said. "Your case lies in a nut-shell. It is based upon your own explanation of your attitude at the bed-side of the victim, and upon the fact, which I shall undertake to prove, that the assassin had escaped from the window at the foot of the bed."
The lawyer spoke so cheerfully that Sybil's spirits rose again.
He then, as a precautionary measure, he said, to give them the help of the greatest bulwarks of the bar, advised that they should write to Washington to engage the services of the celebrated Ishmael Worth, who, in a case like this, would apply in the regular way to be admitted to plead.
Mr. Berners accepted this advice, and said that he would lose no time in following it.
Then the lawyer took his leave.
He had scarcely got out of sight before Captain Pendleton and his sister Beatrix drove up to the door.
"I have come to stay with you as long as you will let me, my darling," said Beatrix, as Sybil hastened to welcome her.
"Then you will stay with me forever, or until you are happily married, dearest," answered Sybil, hospitably, as she led her friend up to a bedroom to lay off her bonnet.
Captain Pendleton, meantime, was taken care of by Mr. Berners.
"Clement!" said the latter, when he had taken his guest to his dressing-room, "we are old, tried friends, and need not fear to speak the truth to each other. Tell me now, frankly, has not the action of the judge, in admitting Sybil to bail, been very much censured? Will it not injure him and affect his position, even to the risk of impeachment?"
"Oh, no! There is a great deal of talk, to be sure. Malcontents complain that he has exceeded his prerogative, that he has overstepped the law, that he has tried to establish a dangerous precedent, and so on, and so on."
"And what does Judge Ruthven say to all this?"
"Nothing, nothing whatever! Do you suppose for an instant he is going to condescend to defend himself to such asses? He says nothing."
"But his friends! his friends! surely they defend him?"
"They do. They tell the donkeys that a judge has certain discretionary powers to modify the severity of the law when justice requires it; that these modifications become precedents for other judges to follow, and finally they become laws that none may dispute; that in this case Judge Ruthven has followed the spirit of the law, if not its letter; that he based his act upon the fact that the accused lady, being perfectly safe from the officers of the law at the time, voluntarily came forward, delivered herself up, and challenged a trial; and that therefore she was a worthy object of the privilege of bail."
Honest Clement Pendleton was no lawyer, and he had spoken a trifle unprofessionally; but it was no matter. Lyon Berners understood him, and was satisfied.
Sybil and Beatrix came down to join them; and then they all adjourned to the dining-room, where they had luncheon.
Then Captain Pendleton went home, leaving Beatrix with Sybil.
A few days after this the Court adjourned, and Sybil knew that she would not be brought to trial until the spring term. In that long interval, what discoveries might not be made to save her? Her hopes rose high.
"But oh!" she thought, with a shudder, "if these months had to be passed in prison!" And in the depths of her grateful heart she again thanked Providence and Judge Ruthven for her restoration to home and friends.
Then Christmas came. Under the circumstances they preferred to spend it very quietly. Beatrix was still with them, and Clement was invited to come and dine on Christmas-day.
Sybil took great delight in delighting. And if good taste forbade her now to indulge in the lavish hospitality and gay festivity that had always been customary in Black Hall at this season, she determined to indemnify herself by making unusually handsome presents to her servants and dependants, as well as the most liberal donations to the poor—and so to be happy in the happiness she should bestow.
With this intention she put a small fortune in her longest purse, and went in her roomiest carriage to Blackville, intending to empty the purse and fill the carriage before her return.
The day being Christmas eve, the village was full of people, come there to shop for the holidays, and poor Sybil was brought to a sense of her condition by the treatment she received—silence, rude stares, or injurious whispers greeted her as she passed. But they were only pin thrusts, which she soon forgot in the interesting errand upon which she had come.
She loaded her carriage with bundles, boxes, and baskets, and returned home in time to separate the treasures, and write upon each one of them the name of the person for whom it was intended.
The next morning Captain Pendleton arrived early, to assist in the distribution of the presents. No one was neglected; every body was made happy with several valuable gifts.
Little Cro' went to paradise in the corner of the room, with his cap full of toys.
That day also Sybil's dependents enjoyed as good a dinner as was set for herself and her friends. So, after all, in spite of fate, they kept their "Christmas, merry still."
When it was generally known that Sybil Berners had returned to Black Hall, there was much discussion among the ladies as to whether they should call on her.
Some declared that she was a murderess, whose face they never could bear to look on, and therefore of course they never would go near her. Others, who said that they believed her guiltless and wished her well, added, that they felt the same delicacy in going or in staying away—as in the first case Mrs. Berners might consider their call an intrusion from motives of curiosity, and in the second case she might construe their absence into intentional neglect. And between these two extremes there was every shade of opinion as to Sybil's culpability, and every sort of reason for not going to see her just yet.
And so it followed that Sybil passed a whole, good, peaceful fortnight in the company of her husband, her three devoted friends, her faithful servants, and her little pets.
But at length, early in January, sympathy on the one hand and curiosity on the other prevailed over every feeling and reason, and Sybil's neighbors, both detractors and defenders, began to call on her.
But Mrs. Berners had penetration enough to know her friends from her foes, and so she felt no hesitation and made no mistakes when she welcomed the visits of the first and declined those of the last mentioned.
So the winter slipped away peacefully enough, and Sybil seldom remembered what her friends tried to make her forget—the heavy cloud that still hung over her fate.
She was reminded of it only when her counsel came to consult with her; but then they always wore cheerful countenances, and spoke hopeful words that inspired her with confidence and courage.
Sometimes indeed, the recollection of the awful crisis that could not be shunned, that must be met, would come to her in the middle watches of the night, and fill her soul with horror; but with the first beams of the morning sun, this darkness of her spirit, like the darkness of the hour, would pass away.
It was in all the reviving life and budding beauty of early spring, that the Criminal Court resumed its sittings at Blackville.
The case of Sybil Berners, charged with the murder of Rosa Blondelle, was the very first upon the docket.
It was a day as bright, beautiful, and glorious as any day that ever dawned, when the summons came that called Mrs. Berners up to the court to be put upon trial for her life.