tried to move
a mountain. He threw away the crowbar in desperation, and then he
stooped and peered through the iron bars: all dark! all still in those
dismal depths! He turned away and rekindled the fire, and prepared a
little breakfast for himself and his dumb companion. He must cherish
his strength for the work that was before him.

After having eaten a morsel, and given his dog food, he signalled to her
to lie down at the door of the vault and watch, while he went out
towards the thicket to look for Joe, who might now soon be expected.

He went through the church-yard, and on to the entrance of the thicket
path; he even pursued that path until it led him out upon the river
road. He looked down the road for miles, but saw no sign of Joe!

Then, not wishing longer to leave the spot where the body of his
murdered wife was supposed to lie unburied, he went back through thicket
and graveyard to the chapel, where at the door of the vault the faithful
little Skye terrier still watched.

He entered and threw himself down beside her, there to wait for the
return of his messenger.

But ah! this was destined to be a day of weary, weary waiting! The
morning advanced towards noon, and still Joe did not appear. Lyon arose
and walked restlessly about the chapel, stopping sometimes to peer down
into the vault, where nothing could be seen, or to call down where
nothing could be heard, or he took up the crowbar again, and renewed his
frantic efforts to force the iron door that nothing could move.

Noon passed; afternoon advanced.

"Something has happened to Joe," said the desperate man to himself, as
once more he started out in the forlorn hope of meeting his messenger.

Again the weary way was traversed; again he went through the church-yard
and thicket, and came out upon the long river road, and strained his
gaze far along its length, but without seeing signs of the negro's
approach.

"Yes; some accident has befallen Joe. All goes wrong, all is fatal, all
is doomed!" He groaned in despair as he turned and retraced his steps
towards the old "Haunted Chapel." As he drew near the building, he was
startled by the furious barking of his little dog.

"Poor little Nelly has worked herself up into hysterics again at the
door of that vault," he said to himself, as he quickened his pace and
entered the building.

He found it in the possession of the constables, with the sheriff at
their head. Mr. Benthwick, with an expression on