“Sweet wife, I would rather convince you how completely your senses have deceived you. Your imagination has been excited while your nerves were depressed. You have heard the legend of the Haunted Chapel, and while sleeping within it you conjured up the heroine of the story in your dream where she immediately took the form of incubus.”
“I!—the legend! What are you talking of, Lyon? I have heard the church called the Haunted Chapel indeed, but I never even knew that there was any story connected with it,” exclaimed Sybil, in surprise.
“Really? Never heard the legend of ‘Dubarry’s Fall’?” inquired Mr. Berners, with equal surprise.
“Well, it is an old tradition; forgotten like the family with whom it was connected. I heard it in my childhood; but it had slipped my memory until your graphic description of the gipsy girl in the red cloak recalled it to my mind, and led me to believe that your knowledge of the legend had so impressed your imagination as to make it conjure up the heroine of the legend.”
“What is the legend? Do tell me, Lyon.”
“Not now, dearest. You must first have some coffee, which a faithful friend has provided for us.”
“Captain Pendleton?” eagerly inquired Sybil.
“No, dear, our servant Joe. I do not expect to see Captain Pendleton until nightfall,” added Lyon Berners, for he tried to anticipate and prevent any troublesome questions that Sybil might ask, as he wished to save her from needless additional pain as long as he possibly could.
“And Joe is here with us?” inquired Sybil, cheerfully.