hour, and you must accompany her," urged Captain Pendleton.

"I know it! I know it! But oh, Heaven! the anguish of my heart! the
chaos of my thoughts! Pendleton, think for me; act for me; tell me what
to do!" cried the strong man, utterly overwhelmed and powerless.

Captain Pendleton hurried into the supper-room, the scene of the late
revels, and brought from there a glass of brandy, which he forced his
friend to swallow.

"Now listen to me, Berners. Go and call your wife, take her to your
mutual room, tell her the necessity of instant flight. She is strong,
and will be equal to the occasion. Then, quickly as you can collect all
your money and jewels, and conceal them about your person. Dress
yourself, and tell her to dress in plain stout weather-proof
riding-habits. Do this at once. Meanwhile, I will go myself to the
stables, and saddle two of the swiftest horses, and bring them around to
the back door, so that no servant need to be taken into our confidence
to-night. When I meet you with the horses, I will direct you to a
temporary retreat where you will be perfectly safe for the present;
afterwards we can think of a permanent place of security. Now, then,
courage, and hurry!"

"My friend in need!" fervently exclaimed Lyon Berners, as they parted.

"I have further suggestions to make when we meet again. I have thought
of everything," Captain Pendleton called after him.

Lyon Berners went in search of Sybil, to the chamber of death, which was
now restored to order, and dimly lighted.

CHAPTER XXI.

SYBIL'S FLIGHT.

'Tis well--my soul shakes off its load of care;
'Tis only the obscure is terrible;
Imagination frames events unknown,
In wild, fantastic shapes of hideous ruin,
And what its fears creates.--HANNAH MORE.

Upon the snow-white bed the form of Rosa Blondelle, wrapped in pure
white raiment, was laid out. Very peaceful and beautiful she looked, her
fair face, framed in its pale gold hair, wearing no sign of the violent
death by which she died.

At her head sat Sybil, looking very pale, and shedding silent tears.

At her feet sat Miss Tabby, whimpering and muttering.

Within the little nursery, beyond the chamber, the Scotch girl sat,
crying and sobbing.

Lyon Berners softly approached the bed, and whispered to Sybil.

"Dearest, come out, I wish to spea