t bedstead, and staring in a death panic at her.

At her exclamation all eyes were turned in the direction that hers had
taken, and Mr. Berners looked inquiringly towards Mrs. Winterose who
hastened to reply:

"Oh, I forgot. In my joy at her arrival, I forgot all about the poor
dying man! Sir, he is Mr. Blondelle, who owns the great Dubarry Springs
up yonder. He was set upon and murdered by--the Lord only knows
whom--but he was found by Joe lying in the pine woods, and with the help
of two laborers he was brought here. We sent for the doctor, but he
could do nothing for him. He must die, and he knows it," she added, in a
whisper.

In the mean time, Sybil, staring at the ghastly face which was staring
back at her through its glazing eyes, recognised an old acquaintance.

"It is Satan!" she gasped. "It is Captain 'Inconnu!'"

And Miss Tabby moved by compassion, went up to him and whispered:

"Listen, now. You said there was only one person in the world as you
wanted to see, and that it was impossible to see her. But here she is.
Do you understand me? Here she is."

"Who? Who?" panted the dying man, listening to Miss Tabby, but still
staring at Sybil in the same dazed manner.

"Sybil Berners! Sybil Berners is here!"

"Is--that--her?"

"Yes, yes; don't you see it is?"

"I thought--I thought--it was her phantom!" he gasped.

Sybil gravely approached the bed, and put her hand on the cold hand of
the corpse-like man, and gently inquired:

"Mr. Blondelle, or Captain 'Inconnu,' did you want to see me?"

The expiring flame of life flashed up, once more--flashed up
brilliantly. His whole face brightened and beamed.

"It is you! Oh, thank Heaven! Yes, I did want to see you. But--It is
growing very dark. Where have you gone?" he inquired, blindly feeling
about.

"I am beside you. Here, take my hand, that you may feel that I am here,"
said Sybil, compassionately.

"Yes. Thanks. Lady, I did try very hard to save you from the
consequences of my crime."

"Wretched man!" exclaimed Sybil impulsively snatching away her hand in
abhorrence, "You murdered that unhappy woman, of whose death I was
falsely accused."

"No, lady; no! Give me your hand again. Mine is not stained with her
blood. Thank you," he said, as Sybil laid her hand in his.

"A wild, bad man I was and am, but no murderer; and yet it is no less
true that it was through my fault that the poor woman was done to death,
and you driven to insanity. That was