I.

AT NIGHT IN THE BEECH WALK.

The instant Sir Everard was out of sight Sybilla ran up to her chamber,
and presently reappeared, dressed for a walk.

Even the long, shrouding mantle she wore could not disguise the
exquisite symmetry of her graceful form, and the thick brown veil could
not dim the luster of her flashing Assyrian eyes. She smiled back,
before flitting away, at the dark, bright, sparkling face her mirror
showed her.

"You are a very pretty person, my dear Miss Silver," she
said--"prettier even than my lady herself, though I say it. Worlds
have been lost for less handsome faces than this in the days gone by,
and Mr. Parmalee will have every reason to be proud of his wife--when
he gets her."

She ran lightly down-stairs, a sarcastic smile still on her lips. In
the lower hall stood Mr. Edwards, the valet, disconsolately gazing at
the threatening prospect. He turned around, and his dull eyes lighted
up at sight of this darkling vision of beauty--for Mr. Parmalee was by
no means the only gentleman with the good taste to admire handsome
Sybilla.

"Going hout, Miss Silver!" Mr. Edwards asked. "Huncommon urgent your
business must be to take you from 'ome such a hevening as this. 'Ow's
my lady?"

"My lady is not at all well, Mr. Edwards," answered Sybilla. "Sir
Everard was obliged to go alone to his mother's, my lady's headache is
so intense. Claudine is with her, I believe. We are going to have a
storm, are we not? I shall be obliged to hurry back."

She flitted away as she spoke, drawing down her veil, and disappearing
while yet Mr. Edwards was trying to make a languid proffer of his
services as escort. He lounged easily up against the window, gazing
with calm admiration after her.

"An huncommon 'andsome and lady-looking young pusson that," reflected
Sir Everard's gentleman. "I shouldn't mind hasking her to be my missus
one of these days. That face of hers and them dashing ways would take
helegantly behind the bar of a public."

Sybilla sped on her way down the village to the Blue Bell. Just before
she reached the inn she encountered Mr. Parmalee himself, taking a
constitutional, a cigar in his mouth, and his hands deep in his
trousers pockets. He met and greeted his fair betrothed with natural
phlegm.

"How do, Sybilla?" nodding. "I kind of thought you'd be after me, and
so I stepped out. You've been and delivered that there little message
of mine, I suppose?"

"Yes," said S