Cruel As The Grave Part 57

Rachel, honey, you just go long of the farmer and his daughter and show them where they've got to sleep, that's a good girl. Put 'em in the two little rooms over the bar, you know."

"Yes, father. Come, sir; come, miss," said the landlord's daughter, leading the way from the smoky parlor.

Lyon and Sybil followed her. Lyon walking slowly like a weary old man, and pausing at the head of the stairs, as if to recover his wind.

"Pappy, you look tired to death," said Sybil, in a rough sympathetic voice.

"Ay, ay; it is weary work for an old man to get up-stairs," grunted Lyon.

"The stairs are very steep, but here you are," said the landlord's daughter, opening the door leading into two little communicating rooms.

She entered, followed by Sybil and Lyon. She set the candle down on the top of the old chest of drawers, and turned around. And then the travellers noticed, for the first time, how beautiful the daughter of their host was.

Rachel's face was of the purest type of beauty, combining the physical, intellectual, and spiritual. Her form was of medium height and perfect grace; her head was finely shaped, and covered with dark brown hair, parted in the middle and carried over the temples, and arranged in a knot behind; her forehead broad and full; her eyebrows were gently arched, her eyes dark luminous gray, with drooping lids and long fringes; her nose small and straight, her lips full, small, and plump, and her chin was round and well set. There were some flaws in this otherwise perfect beauty and grace of form and face; for her complexion was very pale, her expression pensive, and her walk slightly limping.

While Sybil was observing her with both admiration and pity, and wondering whether she did not suffer from some hereditary malady that had carried off her mother and all her sisters and brothers, Rachel spoke:

"I think you have everything here that you require; but if you should need anything else, please call, and I will come and attend to your wants."

"Thanks!" answered Sybil, sweetly, forgetting her a.s.sumed character, and beginning to speak in her natural voice, for it seemed so difficult to act a part in the presence of this girl.

But Lyon set his coa.r.s.e boot upon Sybil's foot, and pressed it as a warning, and then answered for both, saying:

"Thank y', honey, but I don't reckon we'll want anything but our supper, and the old man said how he'd send that up here himself."

"Then I will leave you. Good night. I hope you will have a good sleep,"

answered Rachel, bending her head.

"What a fine face that girl has," said Lyon Berners, as she withdrew.

"Yes; and what a sweet voice!" answered Sybil.

"But she is very pale, and she limps as she walks; did you notice?"

"Yes; I suppose she has ill health--probably the same malady that carried off her mother, and all her sisters and brothers."

"Very likely."

"Consumption?" suggested Sybil.

"Scrofula," sententiously replied Lyon.

"Oh, what a pity!" said Sybil, when their conversation was cut short by the entrance of the landlord, bringing a waiter with the plain supper service and a folded table-cloth, and followed by a young man bearing another waiter piled up with materials for a supper more substantial than delicate.

The little table was quickly set, and the meal arranged and then the landlord, after asking if anything more was wanted, and being told there was not, left the room, followed by his attendant.

Lyon and Sybil made a good supper, and then, as there were no bells in that primitive house of entertainment, he put his head out of the door and called for some one to come and take away the service.

When the waiter had cleared the table, and the travellers were again left alone, Lyon said to Sybil:

"I must leave you here, dear, while I go down to the water-side and inquire what s.h.i.+ps are about to sail for Europe. You will not be afraid to stay here by yourself?"

"Oh, no indeed! this is not the Haunted Chapel, thank Heaven!" answered his wife.

"Nor Rachel, the damp girl," added Lyon.

"No, poor child; but she may very soon become one," sighed Sybil.

And Lyon put on his broad-brimmed hat and went out.

Sybil locked the door, took off her red wig, and her coa.r.s.e outer garment, and took from her travelling bag a soft woolen wrapper and a pair of slippers and put them on, and sat down before the fire to make herself comfortable. At first the sense of relief and rest and warmth was enough to satisfy her; but after an hour's waiting in idleness, the time hung heavily on her hands, and she grew homesick and lonesome. She thought of the well-stocked library of Black Hall; of her bright drawing-room, her birds, her flowers, her piano, her easel, her embroidery frame, her Skie terrier, her tortoise sh.e.l.l cat and kittens, her fond and faithful servant, the many grand rooms in the old hall; the negroes' cabins, the ancient trees, the river, the cascade, the mountains--the thousand means of occupation, amus.e.m.e.nt, and interest, within and around her patrimonial home, the ten thousand ties of a.s.sociation and affection that bound her to her old place, and she realized her exile as she had never done before. Her spirit grew very desolate, and her heart very heavy.

But Sybil really was not a woman to give way to any weakness without an effort. She got up and tried to engage herself by examining the two little rooms that were to be her dwelling place for a day or a week, as chance might direct.

There was not much to interest her. The furniture was poor and old, but neat and clean, as anything under the care of pale Rachel was sure to be. Then Sybil looked about to try to find some stray pamphlet or book, that she might read. But she found nothing but a treatise on tanning and an old almanac until, happening to look behind the gla.s.s on the chest of drawers in the inner room, she discovered a small volume which she took to be the New Testament. She drew it from its hiding-place and sat down to read it. But when she opened the book, she found it to be--"Celebrated Criminal Trials."

At once it seemed to have a fearful interest for her, and this interest was terribly augmented when, on further examination, she discovered that a portion of the work was devoted to the "Fatal Errors of Circ.u.mstantial Evidence."

To this part of the book she turned at once, and her attention soon became absorbed in its subject. Here she read the cases of Jonathan Bradford, Henry Jennings, and many others tried for murder, convicted under an overwhelming weight of circ.u.mstantial evidence, executed, and long afterwards discovered to be entirely innocent of the crimes for which they had been put to death. Sybil read on hour after hour. And as this evening, while sitting in solitude and idleness and thinking of her home and all its charms, she had first realized the bitterness of her exile, so now, in reading these instances of the fatal effects of circ.u.mstantial evidence upon guiltless parties, she also first realized the horrors of her own position.

She closed the book and fell upon her knees, and weeping, prayed for pardon of those fierce outbursts of hereditary pa.s.sion, that had so often tempted her to deeds of violence, and that now subjected her to the dread charge of crime. Yes, she prayed for forgiveness of this sin and deliverance from this sinfulness, even before she ventured to pray for a safe issue out of all her troubles.

Relieved, as every one feels who approaches our Father in simplicity and faith, she arose from her knees, and sat down again before the fire to wait for the return of her husband.

He came at length, looking really tired now, but speaking cheerfully as he entered the room.

"I have been gone from you a long time, dear Sybil, but I could not help it. I had to go to Portsmouth in search of our s.h.i.+p," he said, as he put his hat on the floor, and sat down at the fire.

"Then you found a s.h.i.+p?" she inquired, with so much more than usual anxiety in her expression, that he looked up in painful surprise as he replied to her question.

"Yes, dear; I have found a s.h.i.+p that will suit us. It is the 'Enterprise,' Captain Wright, bound for Liverpool within a few days."

"Oh! I wish it were to-morrow," sighed Sybil.

"Why, love, what is the matter?" tenderly inquired her husband, taking her hand, and looking into her face.

"_That_ is the matter," replied Sybil, with a shudder, as she took the volume she had been reading from the chimney piece and put it in his hands.

It was a work with which Lyon Berners, as a law student, had been very familiar.

"Why, where did you get this?" he inquired in a tone of annoyance, for he felt at once what its effect upon Sybil's mind must be.

"Oh, I found it behind the looking-gla.s.s in the other room."

"Left by some traveller, I suppose. I am sorry, Sybil, that you have chanced upon this work; but you must not let its subject influence you to despondency."

"Oh, Lyon! how can I help it? I was so strong and cheerful in my sense of innocence, I had no idea how guiltless people could be convicted and executed as criminals."

"My darling Sybil, all these cases that you have read were tried in the last century, a period of judicial barbarism. Courts of justice are more enlightened and humane now, in our times. They do not sacrifice sacred life upon slight grounds. Come, take courage! be cheerful! trust in G.o.d, and all will be well."