RETURN OF THE EXILE.
| Long years had seen her roaming |
| A sad and weary way, |
| Like traveller tired at gloaming, |
| Of a sultry summer-day. |
| But now a home doth greet her, |
| Though worn its portals be, |
| And ready kindness meet her, |
| And peace that will not flee.—Percival. |
Sybil Berners stood before them! Sybil Berners, in magnificent beauty! Sybil Berners, developed into a woman of majestic dignity and angelic grace!
Yet they all knew her in an instant.
The scene that followed is indescribable, unimaginable.
Forgotten was the dying man! Unseen was Lyon Berners, whose fine form filled up the door-way.
They crowded around her, they caressed her, they cried over her, they exclaimed about her, they asked her a score of questions, and without waiting for a single answer asked her a hundred others.
"God bless my dear old home, and all the people in it!" were the first words that Sybil spoke after she was permitted to catch her breath.
"And you, my darling, you! God bless you in coming home!" fervently exclaimed the old woman.
"Now, where is my child; Mrs. Winterose? Where is my Gem?" the lady inquired, looking eagerly around the room.
"Gem, come here," said the dame.
And the beautiful young girl who had been timidly lingering in the background, yet with some suspicion of the lady's identity too, came modestly forward, and was silently folded in the arms of her mother.
A moment they clung thus; and then Sybil lifted the young head from her bosom, and holding it between her hands gazed tenderly down in the sweet face.
"My daughter! my little Gem!" she murmured. "It is but a few months since I knew that I possessed you."
"But I always knew that you were my mother. I always knew it, though no one ever told me!" sobbed Gem.
"And did you think that I had deserted you all this time, my daughter, my daughter?" inquired the lady, lingering on the last word, and tenderly gazing into her dark eyes.
"I thought you were compelled to do it, mother!"
"What! to leave you here alone, uncared for and unschooled, all these long years? No, my daughter; no, no, no. I did not know that I was blessed with a daughter; I did not know that you lived, until within a few months past. Mistaken love for me, inordinate care for me, induced all those who were nearest to me to conceal your existence from me, lest, if I should know it, I should compromise my safety, my liberty and life, Gem, by seeking to see you!"
"Oh, mother!"
"And they were so far right, my darling, that as soon as at last, your father informed me of your existence, and of a necessity to bring you over to us for education, I became so impatient that I could not wait for you to be brought to me. I felt that I must fetch you, at all risks, for the sake of seeing you some few weeks earlier than I could by waiting for you over there! So here I am, my daughter!"
"But oh! dearest, dearest mother, at what a hazard!" sighed Gem.
"I do not believe it, my darling. I do not believe, after all these years, that any one will seek to molest me for the few days that I shall remain here, even if my presence should be suspected, which will be very improbable, as I have taken and shall take every precaution for secrecy. I have travelled only by night, Gem, and this is the first time I have raised my thick veil."
"But oh, mother!" she said, giving an alarmed look around, for she suddenly remembered that there were the doctor and the lawyer in the house; but she did not see them. They had discreetly withdrawn into the back room.
"And now, dear Gem, here is your father, who is waiting to embrace you," said Sybil.
And Lyon Berners, who had forborne to interrupt the meeting between the mother and daughter, and who was standing apart, talking in low, eager tones with Mrs. Winterose, now came forward and folded his daughter to his heart, and laid his hand upon her head and blessed her.
"But who is that?" exclaimed Sybil, in a startled tone, as she turned her eyes upon a ghastly and blood-stained form, sitting bolt upright on the cot bedstead, and staring in a death panic at her.
At her exclamation all eyes were turned in the direction that hers had taken, and Mr. Berners looked inquiringly towards Mrs. Winterose who hastened to reply:
"Oh, I forgot. In my joy at her arrival, I forgot all about the poor dying man! Sir, he is Mr. Blondelle, who owns the great Dubarry Springs up yonder. He was set upon and murdered by—the Lord only knows whom—but he was found by Joe lying in the pine woods, and with the help of two laborers he was brought here. We sent for the doctor, but he could do nothing for him. He must die, and he knows it," she added, in a whisper.
In the mean time, Sybil, staring at the ghastly face which was staring back at her through its glazing eyes, recognised an old acquaintance.
"It is Satan!" she gasped. "It is Captain 'Inconnu!'"
And Miss Tabby moved by compassion, went up to him and whispered:
"Listen, now. You said there was only one person in the world as you wanted to see, and that it was impossible to see her. But here she is. Do you understand me? Here she is."
"Who? Who?" panted the dying man, listening to Miss Tabby, but still staring at Sybil in the same dazed manner.
"Sybil Berners! Sybil Berners is here!"
"Is—that—her?"
"Yes, yes; don't you see it is?"
"I thought—I thought—it was her phantom!" he gasped.
Sybil gravely approached the bed, and put her hand on the cold hand of the corpse-like man, and gently inquired:
"Mr. Blondelle, or Captain 'Inconnu,' did you want to see me?"
"The expiring flame of life flashed up, once more—flashed up brilliantly. His whole face brightened and beamed.
"It is you! Oh, thank Heaven! Yes, I did want to see you. But—It is growing very dark. Where have you gone?" he inquired, blindly feeling about.
"I am beside you. Here, take my hand, that you may feel that I am here," said Sybil, compassionately.
"Yes. Thanks. Lady, I did try very hard to save you from the consequences of my crime."
"Wretched man!" exclaimed Sybil impulsively snatching away her hand in abhorrence, "You murdered that unhappy woman, of whose death I was falsely accused."
"No, lady; no! Give me your hand again. Mine is not stained with her blood. Thank you," he said, as Sybil laid her hand in his.
"A wild, bad man I was and am, but no murderer; and yet it is no less true that it was through my fault that the poor woman was done to death, and you driven to insanity. That was the reason why I tried to save you by every other means but the only sure one—confession. But now, when a confession will redeem your life without ruining mine—mine—which is over—I have made it, under oath, signed it, and placed it in the hands of your solicitor, lawyer Closeby."
He ceased to speak, and he breathed very hard.
She continued to hold his hand, which grew colder and colder in her clasp.
"Lie down," she whispered gently. "You are too weak to sit up. Lie down."
"No, not yet," he panted hard. "Tell me: do you forgive me?"
"As I hope to be forgiven, I forgive you with all my heart and soul; and I pray to the Lord to pardon you, for the Saviour's sake," said Sybil, earnestly.
"Amen and amen!" faintly aspirated the expiring man. And his frozen hand slipped from Sybil's clasp, and he fell back upon his pillow—DEAD.
Sybil's sudden cry brought the three old women to the bedside.
"It is all over, my dear child. The poor man has gone to his account. Come away," said the experienced dame, when she had looked at the corpse.
"I am very glad as you happened to come in time, and as you was good to him and forgave him, whether he deserved it or not," wept the tender-hearted Miss Tabby.
"Every one who is penitent enough to ask for forgiveness deserves to have it, Miss Tabby," said Sybil, solemnly.
"But, oh! the signs and omens as ushered in this awful ewent!" whispered Miss Libby.
"Hush! hush!" said the dame. "To more vain talk. We are in the presence of death. Mr. Lyon, my dear sir, take your wife and daughter into the parlor. It is not damp, or close. It was aired yesterday. The whole house has been opened and aired faithful, once a month, ever since you have been away. And Joe went and made a fire in the parlor about a quarter of an hour ago. Take them in there, Mr. Lyon, and leave me and my daughters to do our last duties to this dead man," she added, turning to Mr. Berbers.
He followed her advice, and took his wife and daughter from the room of death.
As they entered the old familiar parlor, now well aired and warmed and lighted, Joe, who was still busy improving the fire, and Mopsy, who was dusting the furniture, came forward in a hurry to greet their beloved mistress. They loudly welcomed her, wept over her, blessed her, kissed her hands, and would not let her go until the door opened, and Dr. Hart and lawyer Closeby entered the room.
"Go now," said Sybil gently to her faithful servants. "Mopsy, see to having my bed-room got ready; and, Joe, carry up a plenty of wood."
And of course she gave them these directions for the sake of giving them something to do for herself, which she knew would please them.
Delighted to obey their beloved mistress, they left the room.
Dr. Hart and lawyer Closeby came up to Sybil.
"Let us welcome you home, Mrs. Berners! And you, sir! Words would fail to express our happiness in seeing you. You arrive in an auspicious hour too. If you had not come I should have dispatched a special messenger to Europe after you by the next steamer," said lawyer Closeby, grasping a hand each of Sybil and Lyon.
"Welcome, my child! Welcome, Sybil! Welcome home! I thank Heaven that I have lived to see this day. Well may I exclaim with one of old, 'Now, Lord, let thy servant depart in peace, for I have seen the desire of my eyes!'" fervently exclaimed old Dr. Hart, as he clasped and shook Sybil's hands, while the tears of joy filled his eyes.
But Sybil threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, for she could not speak.
Then he shook hands with Mr. Berners, and warmly welcomed him home.
When the congratulations were all over, and the friends were seated around the fire, Mr. Closeby drew a parchment packet from his pocket, and said:
"I told you, Sir, and Madam, that you had arrived in time to prevent my sending for you. I hold the cause of my words in my hand."
"The confession of Horace Blondelle?" said Mr. Berners, while Sybil listened eagerly.
"Yes; the confession of Horace Blondelle, alias Captain Inconnu, alias Satan. This confession must first be read to you, then sent up to the Governor of Virginia, and finally published to the whole world; for it fully vindicates your honor, Mrs. Berners."
"At last! thank Heaven!" exclaimed Sybil, while her husband took one of her hands and pressed it, and her daughter took the other one and kissed it.
"The writing down of this confession from the lips of the dying man occupied an hour and a quarter; the reading of it will take perhaps fifteen minutes. Can you hear it now, or are you too much fatigued with your journey, and would you prefer to put off the reading until to-morrow morning?" inquired the lawyer, looking from Sybil to Lyon.
"Put off the reading of that document until to-morrow? By no means! Read it at once, if you please," replied Mr. Berners, with a glance at his wife, which she at once understood and acted upon by hastening to say:
"Oh, yes! yes! read it at once! I could not sleep now without first hearing it."
"Very well, then," said the lawyer, as he unfolded the paper and prepared to peruse it.
The confession of Horace Blondelle need not be given in full here. A synopsis of it will serve our purpose.
As the son of a wicked old nobleman and a worthless young ballet dancer, he had been brought up in the very worst school of morality.
His mother closed her career in a hospital. His father died at an advanced age, leaving him a large legacy.
His beauty, his wit, and his money enabled him to insinuate himself into the rather lax society of fashionable watering places and other public resorts.
He had married three times. First he married a certain Lady Riordon, the wealthy widow of an Irish knight, and the mother of Raphael, who became his step-son. He soon squandered this lady's fortune, and broke her heart.
After her death he joined himself to a band of smugglers trading between the French and English coast, and consorted with them until he had made money for a fashionable campaign among the watering places. He went to Scarborough, where he met and married the fair young Scotch widow Rosa Douglass.
He lived with her until he had spent all her money, and swindled her infant out of his inheritance, and then he had robbed her of her jewels and deserted her.
About the same time a smuggling craft, unsuspected as such by the authorities, had entered the port of Norfolk, sailing under the British flag.
Mr. Horace Blondelle, going to take passage in her, recognized the captain and the crew as his own old confederates.
As he was quite ready for new adventures, he joined them then and there. The ship sailed the next day. And the next week it was wrecked on the coast of Virginia.
The lives of the captain and crew, and also the money and jewels, the silks and spirits they had on board, were all saved. They reached the land in safety.
There a new scheme was formed in the busy brain of Mr. Blondelle. Accident had revealed to him the fact that the little Gentiliska, the orphan daughter of a dead comrade, was the heiress of a great Virginian manor, long unclaimed. He made up his mind to go and look up the estate, marry the heiress, and claim her rights.
Without revealing his whole plan to his companions, he persuaded them to accompany him to the neighborhood.
There is a freemasonry among thieves that enables them to recognize each other even at a first meeting.
Blondelle and his band no sooner reached the neighborhood of the Black Mountain, than they strengthened their forces by the addition of all the local outlaws who were at large.
They made their head-quarters first at the old deserted "Haunted Chapel." They penetrated into the vault beneath it, and there discovered the clue to the labyrinth of caverns under the mountain that henceforth became their stronghold.
Thence they sallied out at night upon their predatory errands.
On the night of the mask ball, two members of the band determined to attend it in disguise, for the double purpose of espionage and robbery. Mr. Blondelle had learned to his chagrin that his deserted wife was in the neighborhood, at Black Hall, where her presence of course would defeat his plan of marrying the little Dubarry heiress.
He arrived as an ordinary traveller at the Blackville Inn, where he assumed the ghastly and fantastic character of "Death," and went to the ball.
His companion, known in the band as "Belial," took the character of Satan, and met him there.
With great dexterity, they had lightened several ladies and gentlemen of valuable jewels before supper was announced. And then they went and concealed themselves in the heavy folds of the bed-curtains in Mrs. Blondelle's room, intending to rob the house that night.
An accident revealed the presence of Belial to Mrs. Blondelle, who, on catching sight of him, screamed loudly for help. The robber was at her throat in an instant; in another instant his dagger was buried in her bosom; and then, as Sybil's steps were heard hurrying to the help of her guest, he jumped out of the low window, followed instantly by Blondelle. They clapped the shutter to, and fled.
Subsequently, when Mr. Blondelle discovered that the beautiful Sybil Berners was accused of the murder, he sought to save her in every manner but the only sure one—confession. He could not confess, for two reasons. He was bound by the mutual compact of the band, never to betray a comrade; and also he was resolved now that he was free, to marry the Dubarry heiress and claim the manor, which he could never do, if once he were known as an outlaw.
The death of Belial and the disbanding of the robbers released him from his compact; but still self-preservation kept him silent until the hour of his death, when he made this confession as an act of tardy justice to Sybil Berners. His violent death had been the direct result of his lawless life. A brutal ex-confederate in crime had long successfully black-mailed him, and at length waylaid, robbed, and murdered him. The criminal subsequently fled the neighborhood, but no doubt somewhere, sooner or later, met his deserts.
The confession was ended. At the same time Miss Tabby knocked at the door and announced supper.
And after this refreshment the friends separated, and retired to rest.
There is but little more to tell.
The next day news of the tragedy was taken to the Dubarry Springs.
Raphael Riordon and his step-mother, Mrs. Blondelle, came over to view the corpse and see to its removal.
Gentiliska, now a very handsome matron, gazed at the dead body with a strangely mingled expression of pity, dislike, sorrow, and relief. She had not been happy with the outlaw, whom, in her ignorance and friendlessness, she had been induced to marry; and she was not now unhappy in his death.
Raphael, now a grave and handsome man, met Mrs. Berners with a sad composure. He worshipped her as constantly and as purely as ever. He had known no second faith.
Mr. Blondelle was buried at Dubarry.
His confession was duly laid before the Governor of Virginia, who, in granting Sybil a pardon for the crime she had never committed, also wrote her a vindicatory letter, in which he expressed his respect for her many virtues, and his sorrow that the blundering of the law should have caused her so much of suffering.
The criminal's confession and the Governor's letter were both published through the length and breadth of the land. And Sybil Berners became as much loved and lionized as ever she had been hated and persecuted.
In the spring other exiles returned to the neighborhood: Captain Pendleton and his wife, once Miss Minnie Sheridan; and Mr. Sheridan, with his wife, once Miss Beatrix Pendleton.
Both these couples had long been married, and had been blessed with large families of sons and daughters.
The widow Blondelle sold out her interest in the Dubarry White Sulphur Springs, and with her step-son Raphael Riordon, returned to England. Under another name, those springs are now among the most popular in America.
Mr. and Mrs. Berners have but one child—Gem! But she is the darling of their hearts and eyes; and she is betrothed to Cromartie Douglass, whom they love as a son.