Oh, might we here

In solitude live savage, in some glade

Obscured, where highest woods impenetrable

To star, or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad

And brown as evening; cover us, ye pines

Ye cedars with innumerable boughs

Hide us where we may ne'er be seen again.--BYRON.

Nothing could be more lonely and desolate than this place. It was

abandoned to Nature and Nature's wild children. Of the birds that

perched so near his hand; of the squirrels that peeped at him from their

holes under the gravestones, he might have said with Alexander Selkirk

on Juan Fernandez, "Their tameness is shocking to me."

There was a great consolation to be derived from these circumstances,

however; for they proved how completely deserted by human beings, and

how perfectly safe for the refugees, was this old "Haunted Chapel."

Too deeply troubled in mind to take any repose of body; Lyon Berners

continued to ramble about among the gravestones, which were now so worn

with age that no vestige of their original inscriptions remained to

gratify the curiosity of a chance inspector.

Above him was the glorious autumn sky, now hazy with the golden mist of

Indian summer. Around him lay a vast wilderness of hill and dell covered

with luxuriant forests, now gorgeous with the glowing autumn colors of

their foliage.

But his thoughts were not with this magnificent landscape. They

wandered to the past days of peace and joy before the coming of the

coquette had "made confusion" with the wedded pair. They wandered to the

future, trying to penetrate the gloom and horror of its shadows. They

flew to Black Hall, picturing the people, prevising the possibilities

there.

How he longed for, yet dreaded the arrival of Captain Pendleton! Would

there be danger in his coming through the open daylight? What news would

he bring?

The verdict of the coroners jury? Against whom must this verdict be

given? Lyon Berners shuddered away from answering this question. But it

was also possible that before this the murderer might have been

discovered and arrested. Should this surmise prove to be a fact, oh,

what relief from anguish, what a happy return home for Sybil! If not--if

the verdict should be rendered against her,--nothing but flight and

exile remained to them.

While Lyon Berners wandered up and down like a restless ghost among the

gravestones, his attention was suddenly arrested by the sound of a

crackling tread breaking through the bushes. He turned quickly,

expecting to see Captain Pendleton, but he saw his own servant instead.

"Joe!" he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise.

"Marser!" responded the man, in a voice of grief.

"You come from Captain Pendleton? What message does he send? How is it

at the house? Has the coroner come? And oh! has any clue been found to

the murderer?" anxiously inquired Mr. Berners.




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