“And now I have something to reveal,” said Sybil, solemnly.
“Another morning dream?” inquired Lyon, while Pendleton looked up with interest.
“No; a reality—a ghastly, horrible reality,” she answered.
And while both looked at her with strange, deep interest and curiosity, she related her sepulchral experiences of the night. When with pale cheeks and shuddering frame she described the six dark, shrouded forms that had come up out of the vault, bearing long shadowy coffins, which they carried in a slow procession down along the east wall, past the Gothic windows and out at the front door, her two listeners looked at her, and then at each other, in amazement and incredulity.
“It was an opium dream,” said Mr. Berners, in a positive manner.
“It would be useless, dear Lyon, for me to tell you that I was rather wider awake then than I am now, yet I really was,” said Sybil, with equal assurance.
“And yet you did not lift hand or voice to call my attention to what was going on.”
“I did not wish to do it; my will seemed palsied. I could only gaze at the awful procession and think how ghastly it was, and thinking so, I sank into a dreamless sleep, and knew no more until I woke up this afternoon.”
“Meanwhile let us go and look at the door of the vault. You say the door was wide open?” inquired Captain Pendleton.
“Of course it was wide open: that is, wide open last night when those horrible forms came up out of the vault; but this morning it was fast enough,” answered Sybil.