as Miss Sybilla Silver who somehow had grown to be
as much a fixture there as the marble and bronze statues.

She had written to find her friends in Plymouth, or she said so, and
failed, and she had managed to make herself so useful to my lady that
my lady was very glad to keep her. She could make caps like a Parisian
milliner; she could dress her exquisitely; she could read for hours in
the sweetest and clearest of voices, without one yawn, the dullest of
dull High Church novels. She could answer notes and sing like a siren,
and she could embroider _prie-dieu_ chairs and table-covers, and
slippers and handkerchiefs, and darn point lace like Fairy Fingers
herself.

She was a treasure, this ex-lad in velveteen, and my lady counted it a
lucky day that brought her to Kingsland. But Miss Sybilla belonged to
my lady's son, and not to my lady. To the young lord of Kingsland her
allegiance was due, and at his bidding she was ready, at a moment's
notice, to desert the female standard.

Sir Everard, who took a kindly interest in the dashing damsel with the
coal-black hair and eyes, who had shot the poacher, put the question
plump one day:

"My mother and sister leave before the end of the year, Sybilla. Will
you desert me, too?"

"Never, Sir Everard! I will never desert you while you wish me to
stay."

"I should like it, I confess. It will be horribly dreary for my bride
to come home to a house where there is no one to welcome her but the
servants. If my mother can spare you, Sybilla, I wish you would stay."

As once before, she lifted his hand to her lips.

"Sybilla belongs to you, Sir Everard! Command, and she will obey."

He laughed, but he also reddened as he drew his hand hastily away.

"Oh, pooh! don't be melodramatic! There is no question of commanding
and obeying about it. You are free to do as you please. If you choose
to remain, give Lady Kingsland proper notice. If you prefer to go,
why, I must look out for some one to take your place. Don't be in a
hurry--there's plenty of time to decide."

He swung on and left her.

"Plenty of time to decide," she repeated, with a smile curling her thin
lips. "My good Sir Everard, I decided long ago! Marry your
fox-hunting bride--bring her home. Sybilla Silver will be here to
welcome her, never fear!"

The baronet stayed three weeks in England--then returned impatiently to
Paris. Of course the rapture of the meeting more than repaid the pain
of par