Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

“ It was she, Sybil, the accused, whose very aspect accused her more loudly than the dying woman had done; for she stood there, still in her fiery masquerade dress, her face pallid, her eyes blazing, her wild black hair loose and streaming, her crimsoned hand raised and grasping a bloodstained dagger.
“Oh, wretched woman! most wretched woman! What is this that you have done?” groaned Lyon Berners, in unutterable agony—agony not for the dead beauty before him, but for the living wife, whom he felt that he had driven to this deed of desperation. “Oh, Sybil! Sybil! what have you done?” ”

“ Lyon, when shall I wake?” she exclaimed in wild despair.
“What is it you say, dear Sybil?” he gently asked.
“When shall I wake—wake from this ghastly nightmare, in which I seem to myself to be a fugitive from justice! an exile from my home! a houseless, hunted stranger in the land! It is a nightmare! It can not be real, you know! Oh, that I could wake!”
“Dear Sybil, collect your faculties. Do not let despair drive you to distraction. Be mistress of yourself in this trying situation,” said Lyon Berners, gravely. ”

“ Death kept his eye on the two, and speaking in a low voice, inquired of his companion;
“Beautiful mask! though we may not yet discover ourselves to each other, yet we are at liberty to form a guess of the identity of our friends here?”
“Yes,” answered Sybil, in a low voice. She scarcely understood what she had been asked, or what she had answered; for her whole attention was absorbed in watching her husband and her rival, who were walking immediately before her—so close, yet so unconscious of her presence; so near in person, yet so far in spirit! ”

“ A sudden and terrible catastrophe has driven us from our home. You have had a heavy sleep since that, and you find it difficult to awake to the truth,” said Lyon Berners tenderly, as he sat down by her side, and sought to soothe her.
“Oh! I know now! I remember all now! my fatal fancy ball! Rosa Blondelle’s mysterious murder! Our sudden flight! All! O! Heavens, all!” cried Sybil, dropping her face upon her hands.
Lyon Berners put his arm around her, and drew her to his bosom. But he did not speak; he thought it better to leave her to collect herself in silence. ”

“ Nor am I the only friend you have in the world. My wife is surely your friend,” said Lyon Berners, earnestly.
Slowly and sorrowfully Rosa Blondelle shook her head, murmuring sadly:
“No woman ever was my friend. I know not why.”
“I can easily imagine why. But in regard to my dear wife, you are mistaken. Surely she has proved herself your friend.”
“She is a noble lady, and I honor her. She is my benefactress, and I thank her. But she is not my friend, and so I do not love her.” ”

“ You are a true daughter of your house! A Berners of the burning heart! A Berners of the boiling blood! A Berners of whom it has been said, that it is almost as fatal to be loved, as to be hated, by one of them! Dear Sybil! never doubt my love; never be jealous of me, if you would not destroy us both,” he earnestly implored.
“I do not doubt you, dearest Lyon; I am not jealous of you! What cause, indeed, have I to be so? But—but——”
“But what, my darling?” ”

“ She do the thing they accuse her of! Why, sir, she no more did it than I, or you, or your own sweet wife did it! And Satan burn me! when I hear of any man accusing her of it, if I don’t feel just like knocking his dull brains out, and taking the consequences—that I do!” swore the farmer.
“I will trust him,” said Lyon Berners to himself.
—“And to think that men who call themselves law officers, not to say Christians, should hunt that lovely lady through the country as if she was some wild beast or highway robber! ”

“ You know not what you say. The Saviour of the world—”
“——Was a divine martyr, father,” said Sybil, reverently bowing her head—“was a divine martyr, not a victim. All who suffer and die in a great cause are martyrs; but those who suffer and die for nothing but of their own weakness are victims, with whom I have no sympathy. I never could be a victim, father.”
“Heaven help you, Sybil!”
“You need not fear for me, father. I can take care of myself as well as if I were a son, instead of a daughter of the House of Berners,” said Sybil, haughtily. ”

“ And to make his probation still more painful, he was in love! not as men are who are taken with a new face every year of their lives, but as the heroes of old used to be—for once and forever! profoundly, passionately, desperately in love, almost despairingly in love, since she whom he loved was at once the richest heiress, the greatest beauty, and the proudest lady in the whole community—Sybil Berners! ”

“ Before Lyon Berners could speak, Farmer Nye impetuously pushed past him, and rushed up to Sybil, pulled off his hat and put out his hand, exclaiming:
“Give me your hand, lady. I beg your pardon ten thousand times over for all I said and did to affront you, not knowing who you was. But now, lady, here is a man who don’t believe you to be innocent, because he knows that you are so, and who will fight for you as long as he has got a whole bone left in his body, and shed his blood for you as long as he has got a drop left in his veins.” ”

“ And then the spell that had bound her faculties was unloosed, and she uttered scream after scream as she shook and awakened her husband.
“In the name of Heaven, Sybil, what now?” he exclaimed, as he started up into a sitting posture.
“Oh, Lyon! for the love of mercy, get up! Get a light! I shall go mad in this horrible place!” she cried in a perfect frenzy of terror.
“Calm yourself, Sybil. There is nothing to fear. I am here with you. I will strike a light,” answered Lyon Berners quietly, as he got up and groped about in the darkness for the tinder-box. ”

“ Then at length the stream of utterance flowed forth, and—
“He loves me no longer! my husband loves me no longer!” she cried in more than the bitterness of death. “He loves that false siren in place of me, his true wife. He gives her all the tender words, all the warm caresses he used to lavish on me. His heart is won from me. I am desolate! I am desolate, and I shall die! I shall die! But oh, how much I must suffer before I can die, for I am so strong to suffer! Ah, how I wish I might die at once, or that suicide were no sin!” ”

“ Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on Sybil’s face. To the vain and shallow coquette, it was gall and bitterness to perceive that Sybil had still the power, of whatever sort, to keep her own husband and her admirer from her side. So Rosa sat and sorrowed, or seemed to sorrow, on the corner sofa, from which nobody invited her to rise, for there was a very general feeling of disapprobation against the beautiful blonde. ”

“ He loved his wife, and he wished to insure her peace. He resolved to break off, at once and forever, the foolish flirtation with a shallow coquette which his deep-hearted Sybil had taken so earnestly. How to do this, occupied his thoughts now. He knew that it would be difficult, or impossible to do it, as long as Rosa Blondelle remained in the same house with himself. He felt that he could not ask her to go and find another home; for to do so would be rude, inhospitable, and even cruel to the homeless and friendless young stranger. ”

“ All these Miss Winterose passed on to Delia, with directions to show them to the ladies’ dressing-rooms. And then she turned to Mr. Joy with a deep sigh, whimpering:
“Ah! Joseph, where do all these people expect to die when they go to? I—I mean, to go to when they die?”
“They don’t trouble themselves about that, I reckon,” said contradictory Joe.
“Ah! but it is written that we shall not make to ourselves the likeness of anything that is in the heavens above, or in the earth beneath, or in the waters under the earth. ”

“ Then all the women except Sybil held their breath in awe.
It was indeed an awful pass! a road roughly hewn through the bottom of a deep, narrow, tortuous cleft in the mountains where, at some remote period, by some tremendous convulsions of nature, the solid rocks had been rent apart, leaving the ragged edges of the wound hanging at a dizzy height between heaven and earth! The dark iron-gray precipices that towered on each side were clothed in every cleft, from base to summit, with clumps of dark stunted evergreens as sombre as themselves. ”

“ I am sure she spoke in the delirium of sudden death and terror,” said Lyon Berners earnestly.
“Nor will any one else who knows me, believe it! So be tranquil. I am not guilty, nor will I run away like a guilty one. I will stay here and tell the truth,” said Sybil composedly.
“But, oh, good Heavens! telling the truth will not help you! The law deals with facts, not truths! and judges of facts as if they were truths. And oh! my dear Sybil! ”

“ Kings had no better,” said Lyon Berners, cheerfully.
Sybil approached the fire, but instead of walking around it, she sat down on the flagstones before it. She looked very weary, thoroughly prostrated in body, soul, and spirit.
“What are we waiting for, in this horrible pause?” she inquired at length.
“We are waiting for Pendleton. He is to bring us news, as soon as he can slip away and steal to us without fear of detection,” answered Lyon Berners.
“Oh, Heaven! what words have crept into our conversation about ourselves and friends too! ”

“ He lifted her gently in his arms, and carried her and laid her on the mattress. And then, feeling overcome with drowsiness, he threw himself down beside her, and fell into a profound sleep.
But Sybil, as she afterwards told, did not sleep so deeply. It seemed, indeed, less sleep than stupor that overcame her. She was conscious when her husband raised her up in his arms and laid her on the bed; but she was too utterly oppressed with stupor and weariness to lift her eyes to look, or open her lips to speak, or, even after he had laid her down, to move a limb from the position into which it fell. ”

“ But as for me, nothing could be more opposite in character than Janet Foster the Puritan maiden, and Beatrix Pendleton the wild huntress. We are about as much alike as sage tea and sparkling hock. Why, see here, Sybil; in order to throw every one off the track of me, I took a character as unlike mine as it was possible to find, and yet I have not succeeded in concealing my identity. ”

“ I should call it rather the ‘Valley of the Sun.’”
“Would not the ‘Valley of the Pyrotechnics’ do as well?” inquired Lyon Berners, with dry humor.
“I think it would,” replied Rosa, quite seriously, “for certainly this morning, with this glorious sunshine and these glowing, sparkling woods and waters, the place is a perfect spectacle of fire-works!”
“You view the scenery at its best and brightest. It is never so beautiful and brilliant as on a clear sunny autumn noon-day. At all other seasons, and at all other hours, it is gloomy enough. ”

“ Soon he ceased his efforts, and arose.
“Vain! vain!” he said, “all is still and lifeless, and growing cold and stiff in death. Oh! my wretched wife!”
“The lady may not be dead! This may be a swoon from loss of blood. In such a swoon she would be pulseless and breathless, or seem so! let me try! I have seen many a swoon from loss of blood, as well as many a death from the same cause, in my military experience,” said Captain Pendleton, pushing forward and kneeling by the sofa, and beginning his tests, guided by experience. ”

“ Sybil Berners was at this time about eighteen years of age—a beautiful, black-haired, bright-eyed little brunette, full of fire, spirit, strength, and self-will. She was a law to herself. No one, not even her aged father, had the slightest control over her except through her affections, when they could be gained, or her passions, when they could be aroused ”

“ Rachel, honey, you just go long of the farmer and his daughter and show them where they’ve got to sleep, that’s a good girl. Put ’em in the two little rooms over the bar, you know.”
“Yes, father. Come, sir; come, miss,” said the landlord’s daughter, leading the way from the smoky parlor.
Lyon and Sybil followed her. Lyon walking slowly like a weary old man, and pausing at the head of the stairs, as if to recover his wind.
“Pappy, you look tired to death,” said Sybil, in a rough sympathetic voice.
“Ay, ay; it is weary work for an old man to get up-stairs,” grunted Lyon. ”

“ But people who are flying for life do not pause to enjoy scenery, even of the finest. Lyon and Sybil rode on towards the upper banks of the Black River, hearing at every step the thunder of the Black Torrent, as it leaped from rock to rock in its passionate descent to the valley. ”

“ Miss Tabby sighed, whimpered, and moralized.
“I feel as if I had been drinking for a week, and had a lively sort of a nightmare! Here comes another ghoul, in a false face and black gown and hood! Now, how is anybody to tell what it is? Whether it is a tall woman or a short man? Gentleman, or lady, if your honor pleases?” said Joseph Joy, addressing himself to a black domino that just then came up.
“Gentleman,” answered the unknown.
“Pass to the right, then, if you please, sir! Here Alick, show this gentleman in the black shroud to the gentlemen’s dressing-room.” ”

“ And he gazed again at the western windows, where the sun was shining, and which he mistook for the eastern, supposing the time to be morning.
“The chapel has not turned around, Lyon; but the sun has. It is late in the afternoon, and that is the declining and not the rising sun that you see.”
“Good gracious, Sybil! Have I slept so late as this? Why did you let me?”
“Because I slept myself; we all slept; even to Captain Pendleton, who must have been overpowered by sleep on his way to his horse; for I have just found him lying among the gravestones.” ”

“ When John Lyon Howe, with his heart filled with love for Sybil Berners, first entered Black Hall, it was without the slightest suspicion of her responsive love for him. But when they were thrown so much together, he was not very 43long in making the discovery so delightful to his soul, and yet—so trying too! for, as a man of good principles, there seemed to be but one course left open to him—the course of self-denial! He loved the great heiress, and had unintentionally won her love! Therefore he must fly from her presence, trying to forget her, hoping that she might forget him. ”

“ I’m a-going to get up, though it’s very early, and I an’t as young as I used to be twenty years ago, nyther,” grumbled the “farmer,” as with many a grunt and sigh, as of an old and weary man, he got up and began to dress himself.
“Sybil,” he whispered to his wife before leaving the room, “I shall have to take my breakfast at a stall in the market-house, and I shall not be back until the market is out, which will be about twelve o’clock. You can have your breakfast brought up here. And mind, my darling, don’t forget to put on your wig, and keep up your character.” ”

“ The young crescent moon with its tender beam had gone down; but the great stars were 79out 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. ”

“ At length, when she felt sufficiently composed, she went to her own chamber, where she made a more elaborate and beautiful toilet than usual, preparatory to joining her husband and their guest at the dinner-table.
“Now smile, eyes! smile, lips! flatter, tongue! Be a siren among the sirens, Sybil! Be a serpent among the serpents!” she hissed, as she glided down the stairs and entered the dining-room. ”

“ But I am nervous and hysterical, I believe,” she added; for, as before, his tender caresses dispelled her jealousy and restored her trust. With her head resting on his bosom; with his arms around her; with his eyes smiling down upon hers, she could not look in his face and retain her jealous doubts.
“I have no reason in the world for weeping. I am just a nervous, hysterical woman—like the rest! It is no wonder men, who see the weakness of our sex, refuse to trust us with any power,” she added, with a light laugh. ”

“ On the man’s side, it was pity and gratified self-love. So little did Rosa Blondelle really care for Lyon Berners, and so truly did she estimate the value of her very luxurious home at Black Hall, that had she known the state of Sybil’s mind, she would very quickly have put an end to her flirtation with the husband, and done all that she could to recover the confidence of the wife, and then—looked out among the attractive young men of the neighborhood for another party to that sentimental, meaningless love-making, which was yet a necessity to her shallow life. ”