'Tis well--my soul shakes off its load of care;
'Tis only the obscure is terrible;
Imagination frames events unknown,
In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin,
And what its fears creates.--HANNAH MORE.
Upon the snow-white bed the form of Rosa Blondelle, wrapped in pure
white raiment, was laid out. Very peaceful and beautiful she looked, her
fair face, framed in its pale gold hair, wearing no sign of the violent
death by which she died.
At her head sat Sybil, looking very pale, and shedding silent tears.
At her feet sat Miss Tabby, whimpering and muttering.
Within the little nursery, beyond the chamber, the Scotch girl sat,
crying and sobbing.
Lyon Berners softly approached the bed, and whispered to Sybil.
"Dearest, come out, I wish to speak to you."
She silently arose and followed him. He was silent until they had
reached their own room.
"Sit down, Sybil," he then said, as calmly as he could force himself to
speak.
She sank into a seat and looked at him inquiringly, but fearlessly.
He stood before her unable to proceed. It was terrible to him to witness
her utter unconsciousness of her own position--more terrible still to be
obliged to arouse her from it.
She continued to regard him with curiosity, but without anxiety, waiting
silently for what he should say to her.
"Sybil," he said at length, as soon as he was able to speak--"Sybil, you
are a brave and strong spirit! You can meet a sudden calamity without
sinking under it."
"What is it?" inquired his wife, in a low tone.
"Sybil, dearest Sybil! there is no time to break the bad news to you;
brace yourself to hear it abruptly."
"Yes! tell me."
"Sybil, listen, and comprehend. The circumstances that surround this
mysterious murder are of a character to compromise you so seriously,
that you may only find safety in immediate flight."
"Me!--flight!" exclaimed Mrs. Berners, dilating her dark eyes in
amazement.
Mr. Berners groaned in the spirit, as he replied: "Yes, Sybil, yes! Oh! my dearest, attend and understand, and be strong!
Sybil, hear. The quarrel you were known to have had with this poor
woman; the threats you used on that occasion; the dagger in your hand;
the blood oh your wrist, and above all the words of the dying woman
charging you with her death. All these form a chain of circumstantial
and even direct evidence that will drag you down--I cannot say it!"
burst forth Lyon in an accession of agony.
Sybil's dark eyes opened wider and wider in amazement, but still without
the least alarm.
"It is enough, oh, Sybil, to repeat to you that your only safety is in
instant flight," he exclaimed, dropping his face upon his hands.