Cruel As The Grave

Here also Lyon Berners gave his name as Howe, and here again he and his

wife were destined to be told all about the murder.

"You see, sir, a little below us there, on the other side of the

mountain, they do say as the murder was done by the woman's husband, as

she had run away from; but they are a set of poor ignorant folks out

there! Now it stand to reason, sir, it couldn't have been done by him,

and it must have been done by some member of that band of burglars that

they say is lurking somewhere there-a-way by Black Hall."

"Band of burglars!" echoed Farmer Howe, in astonishment. And he was

almost about to betray himself by saying that there could be no such

band there, when he recollected his position, and held his tongue.

Farmer Howe and his daughter spent a refreshing night at old Purley's

tavern at Dunville, and at daybreak next morning, after a very early

breakfast, they resumed their journey.

And again, as usual, Lyon Berners consulted his map and his compass. He

now found that his most direct route lay through a thick forest, between

two mountain ridges.

They travelled all the morning, and as usual stopped at noon for rest

and food for themselves and their four-footed friends. In the afternoon

they set forth again, and travelled until they reached Iceville, a

considerable village situated high upon one of the table-lands of the

Blue Ridge. In this town there were three taverns. Farmer Howe and his

daughter put up at the most humble of the trio. And here too the talk of

the hour was the homicide at Black Hall.

"They say about here that it was one of the lady's admirers who killed

her in a fit of desperation from love and jealousy; for the lady was

well beknown to be a great coquette," said one village authority to

another, in the presence of Farmer Howe.

When our travellers found themselves alone that night, in one of the two

small adjoining rooms that had been assigned to them, Lyon Berners

turned to Sybil, and said; "You see, my dear Sybil, how it is: 'A prophet hath honor except in his

own city.' No one out of the Black Valley thinks of accusing you."

"All the world might accuse me, so that my own old friends and neighbors

would justify me," said Sybil, sadly.

They passed another night in peace, and the next morning, at daybreak as

usual, they breakfasted, and then set out on their fourth and last day's

journey.

Again the map and the pocket compass was called into requisition, and

Mr. Berners laid out their route for the day.

Their way lay all that forenoon through the beautifully undulating,

heavily wooded, and well-watered country lying east of the Blue Ridge.