"Well, Heaven bless us! here we are!" exclaimed Lyon Berners, reining up
his horse and looking around himself in a ludicrous state of mind, made
up of surprise, dismay, and resignation.
"Yes; on the shores of the Black River, at the head of our own Black
Valley," chimed in Sybil, in a tone of voice in which there was more of
satisfaction than of disappointment. Poor Sybil was sentimental and
illogical, like all her sex.
"But at a point at which, I may venture to say, that even you, its
owner, never reached before," added Lyon, as he touched up his horse and
led the way up the road, still looking about as well as he could through
the darkness, for a place in which to stop and rest their horses.
Suddenly, as they rode slowly onward, they heard approaching them from
the opposite direction the sound of a wagon and horse, accompanied by a
human voice, singing: "Brothers and sisters there will meet,
Brothers and sisters there will meet,
Brothers and sisters there will meet--
Will meet, to part no more!"
"Yes, bress de Lord! so dey will. And all departed friends will meet,
and meet to part no more! GLORY!" rang out the voice of the singer, who
seemed to be working himself up into enthusiasm.
"It is only some negro with his team," said Lyon Berners, to soothe the
spirits of Sybil, which always took the alarm at the approach of any
stranger.
"Yes; but what an hour for a negro, or for any one else but fugitives
like ourselves, to be out," said Sybil, doubtingly.
"Oh, he is making an early start for market perhaps. It must be near
morning."
"Oh, there will be glory--
Glory! glory! glory!--
Oh, there will be glory
Around the throne of God!"
sang the unseen singer, making the mountain caves and glens ring with
his melody.
"Yes; bress Marster! there will be Glories and Hallelujahs all through
heaven," he added; "for-"Saints and angels there will meet,
Saints and angels there will meet,
Saints and angels there will meet--
Will meet, to part no more."
"And me and my young missis there will meet! And meet to part no more!
GLORY!" added the singer, with a sudden shout.
"Lyon, that's our Joe!" exclaimed Sybil, in joyful surprise.
The cart and horses now loomed dimly through the darkness, being almost
upon them.
"Joe!" called out Sybil, in a gleeful voice--"Joe!"
"Who dar?" answered the man, in affright.
"It is I! Sybil, Joe!"
"Oh, my good gracious Lord in heaven! it's her spirit as is calling me,
and she must be dead!" gasped the man, in a quavering voice.
By this time the two horses were beside the cart, upon the seat of
which the driver sat in an extremity of terror.