"La, sir! the idee of a lady doing such a thing! and a rale high-born lady of quality like Mrs. Burns, or whatever her name was, and doing of it to one she had took in for charity too; 'tan't likely, sir." "But you know, I suppose, that they did accuse a lady?" "Oh, yes; I know they did, and that the poor lady had to ran away and go to Annapolis. But that was that Blackville set, that an't got no sense; but as for us, over this side, _we_ believe it was that red-headed stranger as did it." "There's no doubt of it in the world," said farmer Howe, recklessly, feeling that he was expected to say something. And at this moment he looked towards Sybil, and saw that she could not endure the subject of discussion for one moment longer, so he turned to the landlady, and said: "We have travelled some distance, and feel very tired and hungry. Would you oblige us with supper as soon as possible? We do not need much, only let it be nice and warm." "Surely, sir, it is late; but we will do the best we can for you," said the landlady, hurrying away. Mr. Berners stooped to whisper to his wife. "Sybil, darling, I hail this woman's faith as a good omen. Keep up your courage, and--remain in that shady corner until I come back. I am going out to the stable to see that our horses are properly attended to." And then Lyon left the room. By the time he returned a table was set in that parlor, and a good supper spread for the travellers. When it was over, the landlady showed them to a couple of communicating rooms up stairs, where they passed a very comfortable night. At daybreak the next morning they arose and breakfasted, and resumed their journey. Lyon Berners again consulted his map of the State and his pocket compass, and laid out his road. It lay for all that day up and down, in and out, among the wildest passes of the Allegheny Mountains. At noon they stopped for an hour, to rest and refresh themselves and their horses, and then again went forward. At night they reached another hamlet at the foot of the mountain range. They put up at this hamlet, which was called Dunville, and which boasted one tavern kept by an old Revolutionary pensioner called Purley. Here also Lyon Berners gave his name as Howe, and here again he and his wife were destined to be told all about the murder. "You see, sir, a little below us there, on the other side of the mountain, they do say as the murder was done by the woman's husband, as she had run away from; but they are a set of poor ignorant folks out there! Now it stand to reason, sir, it couldn't have been done by him, and it must have been done by some member of that band of burglars that they say is lurking somewhere there-a-way by Black Hall." "Band of burglars!" echoed Farmer Howe, in astonishment. And he was almost about to betray himself by saying that there could be no such band there, when he recollected his position, and held his tongue.