ed the box beside the coachman, who had received
his directions where to drive, but who could scarcely see his way, for
weeping.

The storm came down in fury. The lightning glared, the thunder rolled;
the rain swept the mountain sides like a flood.

"We shall never be able to reach Black Hall to-night, my darling. We
must stop at some house," said Lyon Berners, artfully.

"Yes? that's bad," answered his wife, who with an evident effort roused
herself to reply, and then sank back into her seat, in an attitude of
weariness, and began slowly to pick at the fringe of her parasol, in an
absent-minded, quiet manner.

The county prison was at the lower end of the village, at the junction
of the Black river and Bird creek. It was a plain, rude structure, built
of the iron-gray stone dug from the quarries of the Black mountain. It
did not look like a prison. But for the grated windows it might have
been taken for a commodious country house. And but for its
well-cultivated grounds and stone fence, it might have been taken for a
store-house. It comprised within its four walls the home of the warden
and his family, as well as the lodgings for the turnkeys, and the cells
of the prisoners.

Old Father Martin, the warden, found his office almost a sinecure. There
were never many inmates of the prison, at any period. And sometimes for
months together it would be quite vacant, so that in rainy weather its
corridors and cells would be the play-ground of the warden's
grandchildren.

Now however, there were some ten or twelve petty offenders confined
there, who were waiting trial for such comparatively small offences as
disorderly conduct, assault, etc.

Sybil had never in her life seen even the outside of this prison.

So when the carriage drew up before the outer gate, and Mr. Berners
alighted and handed her out, and said that they would be obliged to stop
here at Mr. Martin's until the storm should be over, she silently
acquiesced, and permitted herself to be led, under the shelter of the
sheriff's umbrella, up to the door of the building.

At the sheriff's ring, it was opened by the turnkey in attendance.

The sheriff immediately led his prisoner into the warden's office.

They were followed by Mr. Berners and the two Pendletons.

"I was expecting of this here," said the warden, as he drew forward a
chair for the lady.

Sybil sank into it, weary, stupefied, apathetic, and utterly unconscious
of her real situation.

Be