CHAPTER XX.

WHAT CAME NEXT.

"And on the midnight air arose That awful dying cry, That echoed through the lonely house Vibrating to the sky."

The sky was rapidly darkening. The wind came wailing with a low, menacing sound over the waters. The sun sank red, fiery, and threatening in the far west, and the scared water-fowl went skimming over the troubled face of the bay, sending full, wild shrieks, as if to herald the coming storm. The darkened sea heaved and tossed, as if struggling with an inward foe, and the little boat quivered in every joint as it flew over the glassy waves.

Sibyl's eyes kindled as they surveyed the grand but terrible beauty of the scene. On the east, as far as the eye could see, spread out the boundless, tempestuous ocean; on the west stretched a long line of coast, forming a sort of semi-circle, lost on one side in the dense primeval forest, that as yet the woodman's axe had not desecrated, and on the other jutting out in a wild, rocky promontory. On the south was the island, which they were now approaching, looking a mere dark speck in the vast and mighty deep.

"If we don't have a screamer of a storm to-night you may say I don't know nuthing 'bout the weather," said Carl, pausing for a moment to wipe the perspiration off his heated brow, and glance at the darkening face of the sky. "Such a one as we ain't had since the night me and Mr. Drummond and Lem saved the man and woman what was washed ashore from the wreck."

"That was an awful night," said Sibyl, still keeping her kindling eyes fixed on the gloomy grandeur of the sea and sky, "but how splendid, how magnificent, how glorious this prospect is. Oh, I _love_ a storm. I love the grand jubilee of the earth, when sea, and wind, and lightning, and storm, all join in the glorious hymn of the tempest. Oh, the nights that I have spent on sea when nothing was to be seen but the black pall of the heavens above, rent every instant by the forked lightning, while the crash of the thunder, and the roar of the wind and waves mingled together in the sublime refrain, and our ship went driving on, as if mad. Oh, for those nights again! when my very soul was inspired by the unspeakable glory of the scene."

Her wild eyes shone and flashed like stars, and her cheeks flushed with the impetuosity with which she spoke.

She was not addressing Carl, she was not thinking of him, she did not even see him; her whole soul, and heart, and mind, were filled with the present scene, and the remembrance of those she had seen.

Carl stared for an instant at the wild girl, wondering if she had gone mad, but Sibyl recovered from her momentary trance, and asked, quietly:

"Do you think we will reach the island before the storm bursts?"

"Yes. I guess so. We'll be there in 'bout ten minutes now. Oh, by granny, here it comes!"

A low, sullen rumbling, the herald of the coming storm, was heard, and two large, heavy drops of rain fell pattering on the thwart.

"Lor' sakes! ef the squall comes now we'll go to the bottom for sartin," said Carl, pulling with the energy of desperation, until the perspiration stood in great globules on his brow.

But the storm, as if in pity for that frail bark and its inmates, held up a few moments longer, and Carl uttered a yell of triumph, as he shot into a little natural harbor, sheltered by overhanging rocks, immediately below the lodge.

"Let the storm come," he cried, waving his cap in exultation; "we're all right as a trivet now."

And as he spoke his last words were lost in the roar of the wind and sea.

Safe and sheltered as it was in the little cove, the boat quivered for an instant, like a reed in the blast, before the first furious crash of the storm. Had it burst upon them a few moments sooner they would instantaneously have been swamped. But Carl, bending before the furious gale, drove his stanch little craft ashore in triumph and sprang out, followed by Sibyl.

The rain was falling heavily, and the wind blew so furiously, driving it in her face, that for the first moment she shrank back, and was forced to grasp a projecting rock to prevent herself from being blown backward. The next instant her dauntless spirit returned, and, raising her head, she shook the rain from her dripping locks, and sprang up the rocks with the fearless agility of a young mountain-kid, until she stood at the door of Campbell's Lodge, her ancestral home.

All the front of the house was dark and cheerless, for Aunt Moll never visited the front chambers when the family were absent. Pushing open the hall-door, which was never locked, Sibyl, accustomed to the way from earliest childhood, passed through the hall to the door leading to the kitchen, while the old house shook to its center, and every window rattled in the furious blast of the storm. The very chimneys shook as though they would fall and annihilate them, when Sibyl opened the door, and, wet, dripping like a mermaid rising from the sea-foam, she stood before her two astonished servants.

There was a bright fire roaring cheerily up the wide chimney, for, summer or winter, Aunt Moll insisted on having a fire; and over this, the affrighted old woman crouched, mumbling strange prayers and invocations for mercy, and fairly gray with terror. Lem, little less alarmed, sat in a remote corner, keeping his eyes tightly shut, to exclude the blinding glare of the vivid flashes of lightning.

At the sudden and startling opening of the door, both looked up, and beholding their young mistress, whom they supposed safe at the parsonage, standing before them, her wild, black hair streaming in disorder down her back, Aunt Moll uttered a piercing shriek, and, springing to her feet, rushed over and threw herself into Lem's arms, with the cry:

"Ah, it's a ghos'! it's a ghos'! Oh, Lem, sabe yer poor, ole mudder! It's our young missus' ghos'!"

And, terror-stricken, Aunt Moll clung shrieking to Lem, who stood unable to speak, his teeth chattering with terror.

The scene was so ridiculous--Aunt Moll's terror, and Lem's frightened face and distended eyeballs--that Sibyl, throwing herself into a seat, could scarcely refrain from laughter.

At this, Aunt Moll ceased her shrieks, and looked up, and Lem looked at her in utter bewilderment.

"It's our young Miss Sibyl, herself," ventured Lem, at last.

"Why, of course it is," said Sibyl, as soon as she could speak, for laughter. "Come, Aunt Moll, I'm no more of a ghost than you are yourself. Don't look so terribly afraid of me."

"Miss Sibyl, _is_ it you?" said Aunt Moll, beginning cautiously to approach, and eying her askance. "Well, I 'clare to gracious, ef I didn't t'ink 'twas your ghos', Miss Sibyl!" said Aunt Moll, drawing a deep breath. "What could take you out sich a stormy night?"

"Carl Henley's boat, brought me here; I wanted to see you and Lem, Aunt Moll. And now, Lem, go and make a fire in my bed-room, to air it; I am going to stay here, all night."

"S'pect you'll have to. Should like to know who could go out ag'in dis night. Oh, Lor' a massy-sakes! jist listen to dat, will yer!" said Aunt Moll, trembling and shrinking, as another furious blast made the old house shake.

"Yes, it's a terrible night. Heaven grant there may be no wrecks on the coast!" said Sibyl, thoughtfully.

"An' now, honey, when de fire's made in yer room, yer mus' go up an' take off'n your wet clothes, else you'll catch your deff o' cole. An' I'll get yer supper, cause yer mus' be hungry," said Aunt Moll, approaching the fireplace.

But at that instant, a vivid flash of lightning blazed down the wide chimney, and old Moll sprang back, with a yell.

"Oh, Lor'! who ebber did see de like o' dat! S'pect it t'ought it had me dat time; but I ain't cotched yet!" said the old woman, quaking in terror.

"Oh, don't mind, Aunt Moil; I do not care for anything," said Sibyl. "And here comes Lem; so I will go to my room."

"Oh, Miss Sibyl, may I go too? 'Deed an' 'deed, I is 'feared to stay here!" said Aunt Moll, in trembling tones, as she listened to the roaring, howling, shrieking of the wild storm without.

"Certainly, Aunt Moll, if you think you will be any safer with me, you are welcome to come. But your trust should be placed in a higher power. He who rules the storm alone can help you," said Sibyl, gravely.

"Yes, Miss Sibyl, I knows all dat, an' I does trus' in Providence; but, 'pears like I'd feel safer ef I was with you. Seems like de danger wouldn't be so near, nor so drefful," said Aunt Moll; "an' I allers was awfully skeered o' lightnin'."

"Very well; come, then," said Sibyl.

And Aunt Moll, glad of the permission, lit a candle, and preceded Sibyl through the hall, and up the polished oaken stairs, at a shuffling trot, leaving Lem, much against his will, sole possessor of the kitchen.

There was a bright fire burning on the hearth, which the damp, unused rooms required, rendering the flickering tallow candle superfluous.

"Now, where are you going to sleep, Aunt Moll?" said Sibyl.

"Here on de floor, honey; I'll bring in de mattrass, an' spread it here afore de fire."

Sibyl assented to this arrangement; and, lifting the blind, seated herself by the window to watch the storm. But Aunt Moll coming in, held up her hands in speechless terror at her hardihood.

"Settin' at de winder, an' it a lightnin'!" she exclaimed. "Miss Sibyl, honey, dat's de mos' recklesses thing to do as eber was. Put down de curtain, chile, an' go to bed; it's a temptin' o' de Lor', dat ar."

"There's no danger, Aunt Moll," said Sibyl; "it is just as safe here as in bed."

"But it ain't, chile; you doesn't know. It's wrong, and likewise sinful, to sit down a lookin' at de storm," persisted the old woman.

But Sibyl, without paying the slightest attention, still sat gazing out, while Aunt Moll from entreating took to scolding, which was likewise unheeded.

"Hold your tongue, Aunt Moll!" said her young mistress, at last, impatiently facing round, tired of hearing the garrulous old woman.

And at this unprecedented rebuke, Aunt Moll sat down before the fire in mortified silence.

Though burning with feverish impatience to meet Christie, and learn what meaning lay couched in her mysterious note, Sibyl found herself forced to wait until morning. The storm seemed steadily increasing, the wind raved wildly, shaking every beam in the old house, and the booming of the sea on the rocks was deafening.

Perhaps it was the wildly shrieking tempest, the appalling crash of the angry elements, but an unaccountable depression weighed on Sibyl's spirits--a creeping feeling of horror that no effort could shake off. She strove to rouse herself, to reason herself out of the superstitious dread that was overwhelming her, but in vain. A nameless terror had clutched her heart, and would not relax its hold.

And so the hours wore on, and midnight approached. And the storm without seemed to have shrieked and roared, and worn itself hoarse, and was at last relapsing into sullen silence. The fire on the hearth was burning low, and casting wild and fantastic shadows through the gloomy room. Aunt Moll lay in that deep, deathlike sleep which only those of her race enjoy, and her deep breathing sounded audibly through the room.

Exhausted with the excitement of the storm and her own thoughts, Sibyl rose and prepared herself for bed, hoping in sleep to lose the strange feeling that was overpowering her.

She lay down, but she wooed the drowsy god in vain. Sleep would not come at her call. So she tossed from side to side, wishing--vaguely, wildly--morning would come, and listening to the dreary beat of the waves on the shore.

A death-like silence reigned within the old house, while the storm without was still sullenly grumbling.

It was near midnight, and Sibyl lay with her hands clasped over her forehead, when suddenly she heard the front door burst violently open, and through the silent house arose the wild, terrific, appalling shriek of "Murder!"