They set out together, picking their way slowly over the heaps of rubbish that filled the churchyard and lay between them and the narrow path leading through the thicket to the river road.
Little Nelly followed faithfully at their heels.
CHAPTER IX.
THE SECOND FLIGHT.
| A beam of comfort, like the moon through clouds, |
| Gilds the black horror and directs their way.—Dryden. |
It was yet early morning, and Lyon Berners still lay on his comfortable bed in the spacious front chamber, at Pendleton Hall. The window shutters were open, admitting a fine view of the wooded mountains, not yet wholly divested of their gay autumn hues. A fine wood fire blazed in the broad fireplace. A nice breakfast stood on a little stand by the bed-side. A good-humored, motherly looking negro woman presided over the little meal, while Captain Pendleton stood by the invalid, trying to persuade him to take nourishment.
"But I have no inclination, dear friend," pleaded Mr. Berners, as he reached out his pale hand, took a morsel of bread from the plate, and put it to his lips.
"You must eat without inclination, then, Berners. It is your duty to live," remarked Captain Pendleton.
"But, in the name of Heaven, what have I left to live for?" groaned the bereaved husband.