"The chapel was a ruin old,
That stood so low, in lonely glen.
The gothic windows high and dark
Were hung with ivy, brier, and yew."
The Haunted Chapel to which Mr. and Mrs. Berners were going was in a
dark and lonely gorge on the other side of the mountain across Black
River, but near its rise in the Black Torrent. To reach the chapel, they
would have to ride three miles up the shore and ford the river, and then
pass over the opposite mountain. The road was as difficult and dangerous
as it was lonely and unfrequented.
Lyon and Sybil rode on together in silence, bending their heads before
the driving mist, and keeping close to the banks of the river until they
should reach the fording place.
At length Sybil's anguish broke forth in words.
"Oh! Lyon, is this nightmare? Or is it true that I am so suddenly cast
down from my secure place, as to become in one hour a fugitive from my
home, a fugitive from justice! Oh! Lyon, speak to me. Break the spell
that binds my senses. Wake me up. Wake me up," she wildly exclaimed.
"Dear Sybil, be patient, calm, and firm. This is a terrible calamity.
But to meet calamity bravely, is the test of a true high soul. You are
compelled to seek safety in flight, to conceal yourself for the present,
to avoid a train of unmerited humiliations that even the consciousness
of innocence would not enable you to bear. But you have only to be
patient, and a few days or weeks must bring the truth to light, and
restore you to your home."
"But flight itself looks like guilt; will be taken as additional
evidence of guilt," groaned Sybil.
"Not so. Not when it is understood that the overwhelming weight of
deceptive circumstantial evidence and deceptive direct testimony had so
compromised you as to render flight your only means of salvation. Be
brave, my own Sybil. And now, here we are at the ford. Take care of
yourself. Let me lead your horse."
"No, no; that would embarrass you, without helping me. Go on before, and
I will follow."
Lyon Berners plunged into the stream. Sybil drew up her long skirts and
dashed in after him. And they were both soon splashing through the Black
River, blacker now than ever with the double darkness of night and mist.
A few minutes of brave effort on the part of horses and riders brought
them all in safety to the opposite bank, up which they successfully
struggled, and found themselves upon firm ground.
"The worst part of the journey is over, dear Sybil. Now I will ride in
advance and find the pass, and do you keep close behind me," said Lyon
Berners, riding slowly along the foot of the mountain until he came to a
dark opening, which he entered, calling Sybil to follow him.