s do."

"So you always tell me," laughed the elderly chatterbox. "Well, Con.,
they say that Sybil has sacrificed herself."

"Do they?" said Con., sarcastically; "the wise heads. I hope that
conclusion has not exhausted their keen intellects, whoever 'they' may
be. As if the sacrifice were not patent on the face of the thing."

"Con. you talk like a--a stump orator."

"Do I? Well, I'm glad of it; it would not be so bad to be a 'stump
orator,' or any other sort of male animal, for the older I grow the more
I incline to the belief that women are fools. But go on, auntie; I
believe I get 'riled' every time I hear Sybil's name. What else do
'they' say?"

"You don't deserve to be told, you are so impatient; but I will tell you
this once. I was about to add that it seems to be an accepted fact that
Sybil sacrificed herself to save Evan from some sort of exposure and
disgrace. And they say that some of those rough men in a saloon threw
the thing in Evan's teeth, and that he replied in his odd way:

"'Yes, she did it for my sake, and now the first man of you that
mentions my sister's name in my hearing will go under.' You know they
are afraid of Evan in his rages."

Constance opened her mouth impulsively, but she choked back the words
that rushed forward for utterance, and closing her lips tightly, sat
staring straight before her, a strange expression creeping into her
face.

She seemed to hear anew Evan's words: "Do your part, I will do mine. I,
Evan Lamotte, worthless, black sheep, sot; I will find a reason that
will not be questioned, and that will spare Sybil."

And he had found a reason. The black sheep was offered up a sacrifice.
Evan Lamotte had flung away his last rag of respectability for his
sister's sake. Henceforth he would appear in the eyes of the people
doubly blackened, doubly degraded, the destroyer of his sister's
happiness, the blight upon her life, and yet, he was innocent of this;
he was a martyr; he the ne'er-do-well, the inebriate.

Constance was strangely moved by this self-sacrifice, coming from one
who was so morally weak; if it had been Frank, but here her lip curled
contemptuously; instinctively she knew that such self-sacrifice was not
in Frank's nature, any more than was such self-abandonment to weakness.
Constance began to wonder if Frank and his parents knew the truth. If
they had permitted the weakest shoulders to bear the burden; or, if Evan
had deceived them too, and then she murmur