Cruel As The Grave

He took her hand in his, and clasping it protectingly, he closed his

eyes and fell asleep.

She sat watching the little fire, and brooding almost to insanity over

the strange revolution that a few hours had made in her life, driving

her so suddenly from her own hereditary manor-house, her home of wealth

and honor and safety, out into the perilous wilderness, a fugitive from

the law.

Yet not once did Sybil's imagination take in the extreme horror of her

position. She thought that she had been brought away by her husband to

be saved from the affront of an arrest, and the humiliation of a few

days imprisonment. That anything worse than this could happen to her,

she never even dreamed. But even this to the pure, proud Sybil would

have been almost insupportable mortification and misery. To escape all

this she was almost willing to incur the charge of having fled from

justice, and to endure the hardships of a fugitive's life.

And oh! through all there was one consolation so great, that it was

enough to compensate for all the wretchedness of her position. She was

assured of her husband's love, beyond all possibility of future doubt.

He was by her side, never to leave her more!

This was enough! She closed her hand around the beloved hand that held

hers, and felt a strange peace and joy, even in the midst of her exile

and danger.

Perhaps in this stillness she slumbered a while, for when she lifted her

head, the chapel, that had been dark before, but for the gleaming of the

little fire, was now dimly filled with the gray light of dawn.

She saw the shapes of the pointed windows against the background of

heavy shadows and pale lights, and she knew that day was coming. She did

not stir from the spot, lest she should wake her husband, whose hand

held hers. All was still in the chapel, so still that even the faint

sweet sounds of wakening nature could be heard--the stirring of the

partridge in her cover, the creeping of the squirrel from her hole, the

murmur of the little brook, the rustle of the leaves, and, farther off,

the deep thunder of the cascade, and the detonating echoes of the

mountains.

Sybil sat motionless, and almost breathless, lest she should disturb her

beloved sleeper. But the next moment she could scarcely forbear

screaming aloud; for there passed along the wall before her a figure

that, even in the dim light, she recognized as the strange visitant of

the preceding day. It came from the direction of the altar, and glided

past each of the four windows and vanished through the door. When Sybil

had repressed her first impulse to scream, self-control was easy, so she

sat quietly holding her husband's hand, though much amazed by what she

had again seen.