Sybil followed him closely.
Day was broadening over the mountains, and bringing out a thousand prismatic colors from the autumn foliage of the trees, gemmed now with the rain drops that had fallen during the night.
“It will be quite clear when the sun rises,” said Lyon, encouragingly to Sybil, as they went on.
He was right. Sunrise in the mountains is sometimes almost as sudden in its effects as sunrise at sea. The eastern horizon had been ruddy for sometime, but when the sun suddenly came up from behind the mountain, the mist lifted itself, rolled into soft white wreaths and crowned the summits, while all the land below broke out into an effulgence of light, color, and glory.
But people who are flying for life do not pause to enjoy scenery, even of the finest. Lyon and Sybil rode on towards the upper banks of the Black River, hearing at every step the thunder of the Black Torrent, as it leaped from rock to rock in its passionate descent to the valley.
At length they came to a narrow opening in the side of the mountain.
“Here is a path I know,” said Mr. Berners, “though its entrance is so concealed by undergrowth as to be almost impossible to discover.”
Lyon Berners dismounted, and began to grope for the entrance in a thicket of wild-rose bushes, that were now closely covered with scarlet seed-pods that glowed, and raindrops that sparkled, in the rays of the morning sun.
At length he found the path, and then he returned to his wife, and said:
“We cannot take our horses through the thicket, dear Sybil. You will have to dismount and remain concealed in here until I lead them back across the river, where I will turn them loose. There will be a great advantage gained by that move. Our horses being found on the other side, will mislead our pursuers on a false scent.”