Lyon Berners dismounted, and began to grope for the entrance in a
thicket of wild-rose bushes, that were now closely covered with scarlet
seed-pods that glowed, and raindrops that sparkled, in the rays of the
morning sun.
At length he found the path, and then he returned to his wife, and said: "We cannot take our horses through the thicket, dear Sybil. You will
have to dismount and remain concealed in here until I lead them back
across the river, where I will turn them loose. There will be a great
advantage gained by that move. Our horses being found on the other side,
will mislead our pursuers on a false scent."
While Lyon Berners spoke, he assisted his wife to alight from her
saddle, and guided her to the entrance of the thicket.
"This path has not been trodden for a score of years, I can well
believe. Just go far enough to be out of sight of any chance spy, and
there remain until I return. I shall not be absent over half an hour,"
said Mr. Berners, as he took leave of Sybil.
She sank wearily down upon a fragment of a rock, and prepared to await
his return.
He mounted his own horse, and led hers, and so went his way down the
stream to the fording place.
He successfully accomplished the difficult task of taking both horses
over the river to the opposite bank, where he turned them loose.
Next with a strong pocket jack-knife he cut a leaping pole from a
sapling near, and went still farther up the stream to the rapids, where,
by a skilful use of his pole and dexterous leaping from rock to rock, he
was enabled to recross the river almost dry-shod.
He rejoined Sybil, whom he found just where he had left her.
She was sitting on a piece of rock, with her head bowed upon her hands.
"Have I been gone long? Were you anxious or lonely, dearest?" he
inquired, as he gave her his hand to assist her in rising.
"Oh, no! I take no note of time! But oh! 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.
"But oh, Heaven! the crushing weight and stunning suddenness of this
blow! It is like death! like perdition!" exclaimed Sybil, pressing her
hands to her head.