THE VICTIMS.
| And each will mourn his own, (she saith,) |
| But sweeter woman ne'er drew breath |
| Than that young wife.—Jean Inglelow. |
The Great Black Valley Flood, as it came to be called, had occurred on Hallow Eve.
Before Christmas Eve many of its ravages had been repaired.
The laborers' cottages had been rebuilt and refurnished. Other dwellings were in process of reconstruction; and the works were only temporarily suspended by the frost. The public buildings were contracted for, to be re-erected in the spring.
All the missing bodies had been recovered, and had received Christian burial, except those of Sybil Berners and her young child, neither of which had yet been found, or even heard of—a circumstance that led many to think that the mother and babe had been rescued and concealed by her friends.
And for many weeks Miss Tabby had lain prostrated in body and idiotic in mind, and thus totally unable to give any account of them.
Lyon Berners' anxiety and suspense gradually settled into deep melancholy and despondency. As a matter of duty, he managed the estate as if Sybil or her child might one day reappear to enjoy it.
It may be remembered that when Lyon Howe, the young barrister, married Sybil Berners, the wealthy heiress, by the conditions of the marriage contract he took her family name, that it might not become extinct.
As an offset to this sacrifice on his part, it was stipulated in the instrument that, in case of his wife dying before him, without leaving children, he should inherit her whole property.
This, in the present state of affairs, gave him all the power he needed in the management of the great Black Valley Manor.
He lived at Black Hall, doing his duty for duty's sake, a very lonely man.
Now that Sybil was gone, the neighbors were all disposed to be too good to him. They visited him, and invited him out. But with a just resentment he declined all visits, and all invitations, except from those devoted friends who had been faithful to his wife in the time of her trouble: Clement and Beatrix Pendleton, young Sheridan the lawyer, old Mr. Fortescue the sheriff, and Robert Munson the soldier.
Miss Tabby at length rose from her bed of illness, and, to use her mother's words, "was able to creep about the house," but in a state of mental imbecility, which is not an unusual effect of a long, low type of typhoid fever. She was obstinate too, "obstinate as a mule," her sister said. No one could get a word of satisfaction from her upon the mysterious subject of Sybil's fate. When asked by Mr. Berners how she was saved, she answered:
"I was picked up by a man in a boat."
"What sort of a man?"
"An or'nary man like any other."
"Did you know who he was?"
"Where did he pick you up?"
"Not far from the prison."
"Where did he put you down?"
"Close by the quarries."
"What became of Sybil?"
"I don't know."
"When did you see her last?"
"The last time I ever set eyes on her face, was when she was lying on her bed in her cell, and I went and laid the baby by her; that was just before the water rushed in. I an't set eyes on her face or the baby's face since."
And this was literally true, for Miss Tabby had not seen their faces in the boat. But those who had not the key to her meaning, could not detect the equivocation.
She was cunning enough in her foolishness to keep her oath, and to leave upon the minds of her hearers the impression that Sybil and her young child were certainly lost.
But Miss Tabby had a tender conscience as well as a soft heart and a weak head, and the keeping of this secret, which she could not divulge without breaking her oath, nor conceal without trifling with the truth, caused her so much distress, that these frequent cross-examinations invariably ended, on her part, in a fit of hysterics.
This was the state of affairs on Christmas Eve following the great flood.
It was the saddest Christmas ever passed at Black Hall.
Mr. Berners had invited no one, not even his most intimate friends, to spend it with him.
But Captain Pendleton and Beatrix had come uninvited, for they were determined that Lyon Berners should not be left alone in his sorrow at such a time.
"We have rejoiced with you in many a Christmas holiday. Shall we not come and mourn with you now?" Beatrix gently inquired, as with her brother she entered the parlor, where Mr. Berners on this Christmas Eve was grieving alone.
He got up and welcomed his friends, and thanked them for their visit.
"I could not find it in my heart to invite any one, even you, true souls; but I am very, very glad you have come; though it is another sacrifice on your parts."
"Not at all, Lyon Berners; we love you, and had rather come here and be miserable with you than be merry with anybody else," said Clement Pendleton warmly.
But Mr. Berners was resolved that his generous young friends should not be as "miserable" as they were willing to be in the merry Christmas season. So he wrote a note of invitation for two other guests, and dispatched it by Joe to Blackville that very evening.
The note was addressed to Mr. Sheridan, with a request that he would come, and bring his niece, Miss Minnie Sheridan, to meet Captain and Miss Pendleton at dinner on Christmas-day, at Black Hall.
Now this Miss Minnie Sheridan was an orphan heiress, the daughter of the young barrister's eldest brother. By the death of both her parents, she had been left to the guardianship of her young uncle, who, with his youthful niece, now boarded at the Blackville Hotel.
It was reasonably to be expected that these young people would, on Christmas-day, willingly exchange the hotel parlor and the society of strangers, for the drawing-room at Black Hall and the company of their friends.
Moreover, Mr. Berners had noticed a growing esteem between the brilliant young barrister and the beautiful Beatrix Pendleton, an esteem which he hoped and believed, for their sakes, would ripen into a warmer sentiment. Therefore he invited the Sheridans to meet the Pendletons at the Christmas dinner.
Miss Tabby had, within a few days, returned and resumed her position as housekeeper at Black Hall. Her office was something of a sinecure. She could do little more than fret at the servants. She was not strong enough yet to scold them vigorously.
On the night before Christmas it snowed, but just enough to cover the ground a few inches deep.
Christmas-day broke clear, bright, and beautiful.
Lyon Berners arose early in the morning, to be ready to greet his two friends upon their entrance into the drawing-room.
Although his heart was aching with grief for Sybil, he was resolved to wear a cheerful countenance for the sake of those two loyal souls who had been so devoted to her, and were now so constant to him. He little dreamed how great would be his reward before the day should be over.
Clement and Beatrix Pendleton did not keep him waiting long. They soon came down from their chambers, and greeted him affectionately.
"This cannot be a 'merry' Christmas to you, dear Lyon, but it may be a good one. Will you accept this from me? See! with the faith or the superstition of the old Christians, I opened it at random to-day, to find your fate in some text. And this is really what my eyes first lighted on," said Beatrix Pendleton, as she placed an elegantly bound pocket Bible in the hands of Lyon Berners, and pointed to this passage:
"There shall be light at the evening tide."
"Thanks, dear Beatrix! thanks for the sacred gift and happy augury!" said Mr. Berners, as he took the book and read the lines. "'Light at the evening tide,' That, I fancy, means the evening of life. A weary time to wait, Beatrix. Ah! Clement, good-morning. I may wish you a merry Christmas, at least," he added, suddenly turning to Captain Pendleton, who had followed his sister into the room.
And they shook hands and went in to breakfast.
There were no more Christmas presents exchanged. No one there, except Beatrix, had thought of giving one; though hers had been graceful and appropriate.
After breakfast they went to church at Blackville. They were drawn thither in the roomiest carriage, by a pair of the strongest horses, with Joe on the box; for they expected to pick up the Sheridans after the morning service, and to bring them to Black Hall to dinner.
The distance between Black Hall and Blackville was considerable, and the road was rough, and so it was rather late when our party reached the church.
The congregation were already in their seats, and the pastor was in his pulpit; so there was no opportunity for our friends to meet until after the benediction was pronounced.
Then, as the people were all leaving the church, Mr. Berners sought out young Sheridan and his little niece, and after paying them the compliments of the season, invited them to take seats in his carriage to Black Hall.
They accepted his offer with thanks, and allowed him to conduct them to the coach, in which the Pendletons were already seated.
There was a merry meeting between the young people, notwithstanding the sadness of some reminiscences.
Youth cannot for ever be sorrowful.
Joe put whip to his horses, and started them at a brisk trot over the snow-clad roads, and under the brilliant sky of that clear December day.
They reached Black Hall in good time.
The splendid Christmas fires were blazing on every hearth in the house.
Beatrix Pendleton took Minnie Sheridan to her own bed-chamber, that they might there lay off their bonnets and shawls and prepare for dinner.
Captain Pendleton went off alone to his room, and Mr. Berners was just about to conduct young Sheridan to some spare bed-chamber, where he could brush his hair, when the barrister laid his hand upon his host's shoulder, and stopped him, saying:
"No; stay here. I have something which I must show you while we are quite alone."
And he shut the doors, and then drew his companion away to the furthest window, out of earshot of any chance eavesdropper.
"What is it?" inquired Mr. Berners, much mystified.
"I do not know; something very important I fancy. But read this first," said the barrister, placing an open letter in his friend's hand.
Lyon Berners in great curiosity examined it. It was addressed to —— Sheridan, Esq., Counsellor at Law, Blackville.
It contained these lines:
"Take the enclosed letter to Mr. Lyon Berners on Christmas-day, when you find him quite alone. If this should reach you before Christmas, keep it carefully until that day; then deliver it to its address with secrecy and discretion."
"In the name of Heaven, what is this? Where is the letter? When did you get it?" demanded Lyon Berners, in astonishment.
"It seems to be a mystery. I got the letter only this morning, else in spite of the injunction I should have delivered it to you before. Here it is now," said young Sheridan, placing the mysterious epistle in the hands of his friend.
Lyon Berners examined it in haste and excitement.
It was superscribed:
"To Lyon Berners, Esq., Black Hall. To the care of ---- Sheridan, Esq. To be delivered secretly on Christmas-day."
Mr. Berners tore off the envelope, when he came to another one, on which was written:
A Christmas gift for Mr. Berners.
This also he hastily tore off. Then he ran his eyes rapidly over the contents of the letter, and with a great cry—a cry of joy unspeakable—he threw up his arms and sank to the floor.
He who had never been conquered by fear or sorrow or despair, was now utterly vanquished by joy!