Tried for Her Life. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

she passed behind another of those over-lapping partitions of rock, and led Sybil into another small division, fitted up as a rude but clean bed-chamber. In one corner was a pile of dried moss and leaves, covered with fine white linen sheets and soft, warm, woolen blankets. On a ledge of rock stood a tin wash-basin, in which stood a pure silver ewer. In a word, the appointments of this apartment were as incongruous as those of the other had been found.

      "This is my bed, and if you should be tired when we get back from our tour through the caverns, or at any time, you can lie down here and sleep in perfect safety," said the girl.

      "I thank you," answered Sybil, as they passed out of that division into another.

      It was as the girl had told her, a net-work or cell-work of caverns, occupying, as far as it had been explored, several acres under the mountain. All these caverns bore a natural resemblance to each other. All had their roofs and walls incrusted with pearly spars and hung with glittering stalactites, and their floors covered with living moss; and all were connected by narrow passages, with the walls lapping past each other.

      But some of these caverns were large, and lighted by crevices in the roof, and others were small and dark. Some of the passages between them were also wide and free, and some narrow and impassable. And in some black inaccessible holes was heard the fearful sound of subterranean waters. In one of the larger divisions of the cavern there were boxes and bales of merchandise, and silver plate and jewels; in another there was the complicated machinery of an underground distillery; and in still another was a collection of burglars' tools, counterfeiters' instruments, and firearms.

      "I show you all! I do not fear to do so! You will never betray us, even if you have a chance; but you will never have a chance," said the guide.

      "What! You would not keep me here for ever?"

      "No; for we shall not stay for ever. Be comforted, lady! No harm is intended you," said the girl, as, having shown her guest all that was to be seen of the caverns, she conducted her back to the bedroom.

      "I am very much surprised at all that I have seen," said Sybil. "I had no idea that there was a cave of such extent and beauty so near our home."

      "I believe," answered the girl, "that there are many caves in the mountains, as there are many isles in the ocean, that have never been discovered."

      Sybil looked up in surprise. "You call yourself the companion of thieves, yet you talk like a person of intelligence and refinement," she said.

      The girl laughed sardonically. "Of course people 'of intelligence and refinement' are all and always honest and true. You should know Belial! He taught me to read. I taught myself everything else. I have read Homer, Danté, Milton, and Shakespeare. But now you are tired; you look so. Lie down on my bed of moss and rest, and I will cover you up warm."

      "Thank you, I will do so," answered Sybil, gladly stretching her wearied limbs upon the soft couch.

      Her wild hostess covered her carefully, and then left her, saying:

      "Sleep in peace, lady, for here you are perfectly safe."

CHAPTER II.

       Table of Contents

WHAT WAS SOUGHT, AND WHAT WAS FOUND.

       Table of Contents

They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,

They sought her in vain till a week passed away.

The highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,

Her husband sought wildly, but found her not.—The Mistletoe Bough.

      When Lyon Berners and his faithful servant returned to the Haunted Chapel, after having comfortably disposed of their horses for the rest of the night, the interior was still so dark that they did not at first discover the absence of Sybil, especially as the covering lay heaped upon the mattress so like a sleeping form, that even in a less murky darkness it might have been mistaken for her.

      As it was now very cold, Mr. Berners, who had found a tinder-box and a coil of wax tapers among his other effects in the wagon, struck a light, with the intention of kindling a fire.

      Joe brought some broken sticks and dry brushwood from the far corner where Lyon Berners had piled it up just before the flight from the chapel, and between the master and man they soon kindled a cheerful blaze that lighted up every nook and crevice of the old interior.

      Then Mr. Berners turned toward the mattress to see how his wife might be sleeping.

      "Why, she is not here! She has waked up and walked out," he exclaimed, in some surprise and annoyance, but not in the least alarm, for he naturally supposed that she had only left the chapel for a few minutes, and would soon return.

      "Hi! whar de debbil she took herself off to, all alone, dis onlawful time o' de night?" cried Joe, in dismay.

      "Oh, not far! She will soon be back again," answered Mr. Berners cheerfully. And then he took one of the blankets from the mattress and folded it up for a seat, and sat down upon it near the fire, and stretched his benumbed hands over the blaze. Joe followed his example, stretching out his hands also, and staring across the fire at his master—staring at such a rate that Mr. Berners, feeling somewhat inconvenienced, sharply demanded:

      "What the deuce do you mean by that, Joe?"

      "I want to go and sarch for my mistess. I don't feel satisfied into my own mind about her."

      "Why, what are you afraid of, man?"

      "Ghostesses."

      "Absurd!"

      "Well, now, no it an't, marster. I've knowed Miss Sybil longer'n you have. I've knowed her ever since she was born, and I don't believe as she'd go out all alone by herself in the dead of night to the lonesome church-yard—that I don't. And I's afeard as the ghostesses have spirited her away."

      "Preposterous, Joe! Have you lived in an intelligent family, and in a Christian community all your life, to believe in 'ghostesses,' as you call them? Are you such a big fool as all that, at your time of life?"

      "Yes, marster, I's jest sich a big fool as all that, at my time of life. And I want to go out and sarch for my young mistess," said Joe, in the spirit of "dogged persistence," as he began to gather himself up.

      "Stop, stay where you are. If one of us must go, it must be myself," said Mr. Berners.

      "Which would be a heap the most properest proceedings, any ways," muttered Joe, sulkily settling himself in his seat again, in a manner that seemed to say, "And I wonder why you didn't do it before."

      "She really ought to be back by this time, even if she went out but the moment before we returned; and she may have gone out before that," murmured Mr. Berners, with some little vague uneasiness, as he arose and buttoned his overcoat, and went into the church-yard.

      The day was dawning, and the old tombstones gleamed faintly from their bushes, in the pale gray light of early morning.

      "She cannot have gone far; she would not venture; she must be very near," he said to himself, and he murmured softly:

      "Sybil! Sybil! where are you, love?"

      There was no answer, and he raised his voice a little.

      "Sybil, Sybil, my darling!"

      Still there was no response. His vague uneasiness became anxiety, and he called aloud:

      "Sybil! Sybil!"

      But