“But look now, there is a very fine scene,” said Mr. Berners, pointing through the window as the coach rolled on. Sybil was already gazing through the right-hand window, and so Rosa stretched her fair neck to look from the left-hand one.
Yes, it was a fine scene. The young crescent moon with its tender beam had gone down; but the great stars were out in all their glory, and by their shining the travellers saw before them a beautiful little river, whose rippling surface reflected in fitful glimmers the cheerful lights of a village on its opposite bank.
“This is the Black River. It rises in those distant mountains, which are called the Black Rocks, and which shut in our Black Valley. The village here is called Blackville,” explained Lyon Berners.
“What a deal of blackness!” replied Rosa Blondelle.
“If you think so, I must tell you in the first place that we are not responsible for having named these places; and in the second, that the names are really appropriate. The stupendous height and dark iron-gray hue of the rocks that overshadow and darken the valley and the river, and also the situation of the village at the entrance of the dark valley, justify these names. And even if they did not, still we are not so irreverent as to interfere with the arrangements of those who have gone before us,” laughed Lyon Berners.
And as he spoke the stage-coach reached the banks of the river, and drew up before the little ferry-house. Here the travellers alighted, and had their baggage taken off. And the coach, waiting only long enough to change horses and to pick up passengers, all of whom, both man and beast, had been brought over from the village by the ferry-boat, went on its way, which lay along the east bank of the river.
Mr. Berners had his luggage and that of his party put upon the ferry-boat, and then he led the ladies on board. He saw them comfortably seated, and the nurse and child in a safe place, and then he turned to the aged ferry-man with hearty good will, and inquired:
“Well, old Charon! all right with you?”
“Yes, sir, thank Heaven!” replied the old man, whose occupation, combined with his great age and flowing gray locks, yet stalworth form and unbroken strength, had conferred upon him the name of his infernal predecessor—the navigator of the River Styx.
“All right in the village, and in the valley?” further inquired Mr. Berners.