"Of course it was wide open: that is, wide open last night when those
horrible forms came up out of the vault; but this morning it was fast
enough," answered Sybil.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mr. Berners.
"I know what that 'oh!' means, Lyon. But I hope before we leave this
chapel that you will find out that I can distinguish a dream from a
dreadful reality," observed his wife.
Meanwhile they had reached the iron door of the vault. It was fast.
Pendleton took hold of the iron bars and tried to shake it; but the bars
were bedded in solid stone, and the door was immovable. Then he looked
through the grating down into the depths below, but he only saw the top
of the staircase, the bottom of which disappeared in the darkness.
"My dear Mrs. Berners," he then said, turning to Sybil, "I do not like
to differ with a lady in a matter of her 'own experience'; but as we are
in search of the truth, and the truth happens to be of the most vital
importance to our safety, I feel constrained to assure you that this
door, from its very appearance, assures us that it can not have been
opened within half a century, and that consequently your 'own
experience' of the last night cannot have been a reality, but must have
been a dream."
"I wish you could dream such a one, and then you would know something
about it," answered Sybil.
"I think you will have to come to my theory about the opium," put in Mr.
Berners, "especially as I have pursued my 'phantom' one stage farther in
her flight, and am able to assign a possible motive for her secret
visits to the chapel."
"Ah! do that, and we will think about agreeing with your views. Now then
the motive," exclaimed Pendleton.
"A lover."
"Oh!"
"Yes, a lover. She comes here to meet him; and not liking eye-witnesses
to the courtship, she drugged us," said Mr. Berners, triumphantly.
"That is the most violent and far-fetched theory of the mystery. Nothing
but our desperate need of an elucidation could excuse its being put
forward," said Captain Pendleton, drily. Then he spoke more earnestly:
"Berners, whatever may be the true explanation of all that we have
experienced here, one thing seems certain: that your retreat here is
known to at least one person, who may or may not be inimical to your
interests. Now my advice to you is still the same. Stop this girl the
first time you see her again, and compel her to give an account of
herself. Conceal your names and stations from her, if possible, and in
any case bribe her to silence upon the subject of your abode here. If it
were prudent, I should counsel you to leave this chapel for some other
place of concealment; but really there seems now more danger in moving
than in keeping still. So I reiterate my advice, that you shall enlist
this strange girl in your interests."