“Oh, Sybil!” he groaned, in an agony of despairing love.
“Quick! quick! Lyon! We have but this moment! Strike here now—now, this instant! Strike first, and then kiss me! kiss me as I die!”
“Sybil! Sybil, darling you wring my heart.”
“I am not afraid of death, Lyon; I am only afraid of shame. Kill me, to save me, Lyon! Be a Roman husband. Slay your wife, to save her from shame!” she cried, gazing on him with great bright dilated eyes, where the fires of frenzy, if not of insanity, blazed.
“My best beloved! my only beloved! there can be no shame where there is no sin. I will save you, Sybil; I swear it by all my hopes of Heaven! I do not yet see clearly how; but I will do it,” he said, solemnly, and pressing her again to his heart.
“Do it this way! do it this way!” she wildly entreated, never removing her frenzied eyes from his face.
“No, not that way, Sybil. But listen: there are safe means—sinless means that we may use for your deliverance. The journey back will be a long one, broken up by many stoppages at small hamlets and roadside inns. Escape from these will be comparatively easy. I have also about me, in money and notes, some five thousand dollars. With those I can purchase connivance or assistance. Besides, to farther our views, I shall offer our wagon and horses, which luckily were not sold, but remain at the livery-stable at Portsmouth—I shall offer them, I say, to the officer for his use, and try to persuade him to take us down to Blackville by that conveyance, which will be easier even for him, than by the public stage coach. Take courage, dear Sybil, and take patience; and above all, do not think of using any desperate means to escape this trouble. But trust in Divine Providence. And now, dear Sybil, we must not try the temper of these officers longer, especially as we have got to leave the ship before it sails.”
And so saying, Lyon Berners beckoned the bailiffs to approach.
“I hope the lady feels better,” said the elder one.
“She is more composed, and will go quietly,” answered Mr. Berners.