Farmer Howe and his daughter spent a refreshing night at old Purley's tavern at Dunville, and at daybreak next morning, after a very early breakfast, they resumed their journey. And again, as usual, Lyon Berners consulted his map and his compass. He now found that his most direct route lay through a thick forest, between two mountain ridges. They travelled all the morning, and as usual stopped at noon for rest and food for themselves and their four-footed friends. In the afternoon they set forth again, and travelled until they reached Iceville, a considerable village situated high upon one of the table-lands of the Blue Ridge. In this town there were three taverns. Farmer Howe and his daughter put up at the most humble of the trio. And here too the talk of the hour was the homicide at Black Hall. "They say about here that it was one of the lady's admirers who killed her in a fit of desperation from love and jealousy; for the lady was well beknown to be a great coquette," said one village authority to another, in the presence of Farmer Howe. When our travellers found themselves alone that night, in one of the two small adjoining rooms that had been assigned to them, Lyon Berners turned to Sybil, and said; "You see, my dear Sybil, how it is: 'A prophet hath honor except in his own city.' No one out of the Black Valley thinks of accusing you." "All the world might accuse me, so that my own old friends and neighbors would justify me," said Sybil, sadly. They passed another night in peace, and the next morning, at daybreak as usual, they breakfasted, and then set out on their fourth and last day's journey. Again the map and the pocket compass was called into requisition, and Mr. Berners laid out their route for the day. Their way lay all that forenoon through the beautifully undulating, heavily wooded, and well-watered country lying east of the Blue Ridge. As before, they broke their journey by an hour's repose at noon, and then re-commenced it. And at twelve, midnight, they arrived safely at Norfolk. CHAPTER XXX FLIGHT AND PURSUIT. Oh, death were welcome!--COLERIDGE. On reaching Norfolk, Lyon Berners drove at once to an obscure tavern down by the wharves, and near the market. Here he found good stabling for his horses and wagon, and decent accommodation for himself and wife. "Come to market, I reckon, father?" suggested the landlord, taking the stump of an old pipe from his mouth for the purpose. "Yes," answered Lyon Berners, as "farmer Howe," taking off his broad-brimmed hat, handing it to Sybil, and then sinking slowly and heavily into a chair, like a very weary old man. "Your daughter, I reckon, farmer?" continued the landlord, pointing to Sybil with the stem of his pipe. "My only girl," answered Lyon Berners, evasively. "And no boys?" inquired the landlord. "No boys," replied Lyon.