"We have good news. But—where is Miss Sheridan?" inquired Mr Berners, suddenly remembering his youngest guest.
"Oh, Minnie is curling her hair in my room. Her ringlets were so blown by the wind that it was necessary to dress it over again. She wouldn't let me wait for her," explained Beatrix.
"It is just as well," added Mr. Sheridan. "Minnie is a good girl, but she is little more than a child; and though I could answer for her honesty, I couldn't for her discretion."
"Then," said Lyon Berners very gravely, "then let what I am about to read to you remain an inviolable secret between us four."
"Certainly," answered Sheridan.
"Shall we swear it?" inquired Pendleton.
"Yes! yes! if necessary. But, oh! do go on! It is something about Sybil," impatiently exclaimed Beatrix.
"Yes, it is something about Sybil. You need not swear to be secret on this subject. You have given me your words, and that is sufficient. Indeed, I feel sure that without any request on my part or promise on yours, you would still have been secret, for you would still have seen the necessity of secrecy. Now I will read you the letter, which will explain itself," said Mr. Berners, as he unfolded his mysterious epistle, and read:
"British Merchantman Deliverance, }
"At Sea, Lat. 35 deg. 15 m., Lon. 49 deg. 27 m.,}
December 1st, 18—. }"To Lyon Berners, Esq.: Sir—As you and your set made such a mess of it in trying to save Mrs. Sybil Berners from the injustice of 'justice,' I, who am an outlaw, undertook to take her from out of all your hands.
"The instrument of my work was my dutiful son Raphael. We had intended, with the help of our brave band, to storm the prison, and deliver the fair prisoner by force of arms. But before we were quite ready for that difficult enterprise, the flood came and made all easy. We had only to hire a boat, get into it, and permit ourselves to be lifted by the rise of the waters to the level of her cell window, beat it in, and take her out. We did that and saved her, and also, incidentally, the infant girl and the old maid.
"We put out the woman at the foot of the Quarries, having first bound her by an oath to secrecy as to the means of her rescue and the safety of Sybil Berners—an oath, by the way, of which you hereby have the authority to release her, should you see fit to do so.
"We placed the child at nurse with a woman by the name of Fugitt, who is the wife of the overseer at Colonel Poindexter's plantation, not far from Blackville. The nurse knows nothing of the child, except that she was paid a hundred dollars down for taking care of it, and asking no questions.
"We took the mother to the old ruined wind-mill, where we had a snug room or two. There she was skilfully nursed by our old housekeeper through the dangerous fever that followed her confinement and her exposure. After her recovery and her full restoration to reason, we, avoiding every reference either to her long imprisonment or maternity, both of which events she had forgotten in the delirium of her illness, we took her away to Norfolk, where we went on board the British merchant ship 'Deliverance.' I write this letter from the sea, about half-way across the Atlantic, and I wait to send it by some homeward-bound ship.
"December 9th.—The man on the look-out reports a sail in sight, heading this way. If she should prove to be an American-bound ship, her name ought to be 'The Surprise,' for when I send this letter by her she will take you a very great surprise.
"If this should reach you in season, pray accept it as a Christmas gift.
"Mrs. Berners is still improving, though not yet well or strong enough to accommodate herself to the motion of the ship sufficiently to enable her to write to you. Nor will she send any confidential message through me. She will not even see or speak to me. She keeps her state-room, attended by my wife.
"She still resents her rescue, which she calls her abduction, and she feels grief and indignation at being taken away from you, rather than joy or gratitude at being saved from death. But then it is true that she thinks she was only rescued from drowning in the flood. She does not know that she was saved from a still more horrible fate.
"The mild insanity which appeared several months ago, and disappeared at the birth of her child, and which then shielded her from all realization of the horrors of her late position, still saves her from all knowledge of what it was. Although now perfectly sane, she is entirely ignorant that she was ever put on trial for her life, or condemned to death, or sent to prison.
"Nor would I enlighten her on that subject lest the fate of the sleep-walker should be hers—who, having safely walked over the parapet of a bridge above an awful chasm, fell dead with horror the next morning at beholding the peril he had escaped. I would advise you to maintain the same inviolable secrecy on that subject. She does not know the dangers she has passed, and she need never know them.
"They have spoken the ship, and I will go up and see what she is.
"Later.—She is not the "Surprise," as she ought to have been. She is the "Sally Ann," of Baltimore, homeward bound, with a cargo of silks. She will lay alongside for half an hour to exchange letters and some provisions.
"A few words more. Don't forget where I told you, you might find your child, and then go and accuse me of stealing it.
"Remember that you have my authority for releasing the old woman from her oath, that she may give you every detail of the rescue. But I counsel you, that as soon as you shall have heard all that she has got to tell you, you will seal up her lips with another oath even more binding than the first.
"The continued existence of Sybil Berners should be kept a profound secret from all others, except those few devoted friends who will follow her into exile; and it should be kept so, for this reason; that sometime, sooner or late, there will be an extradition treaty between all civilized nations, for the delivering up of fugitives from justice, which impending treaty may or may not have a retrospective action. Therefore it is better that Mrs. Berners should be supposed to have perished in the flood, and that the secret of her rescue and continued life should be carefully kept from all, except those already mentioned.
"A last word. The only way in which my wife can keep her quiet, is by promising that you will follow her immediately. Come as soon as you can. I am weary of my charge. Why I ever undertook it, is my secret. We will await you in Liverpool. A letter addressed to 'Raphael,' through the general post-office in that city, will find us.
"And now I must seal up, wishing you a merry Christmas. From your
Unknown Friend."