I
will say no more. I will _not_ revert to the horror and degradation of
this position again, if I can help it," groaned Sybil.

"My wife, you are very faint. Try to take some nourishment," urged Lyon,
as he began to open the small parcel of refreshments thoughtfully
provided by Captain Pendleton.

"No, no, I cannot swallow a morsel. My throat is parched and
constricted," she answered.

"If I only had a little coffee for you," said Lyon.

"If we only had liberty to go home again," sighed Sybil, "then we
should have all things. But there; indeed I will not backslide into weak
complaints again," she added, compunctuously.

"Modify your grief, dear Sybil, but do not attempt entirely to suppress
it. Nature is not to be so restrained," said Lyon Berners, kindly.

There was silence between them for a little while, during which Sybil
still sat down upon the flagstones, with her elbows resting on her
knees, and her head bowed upon the palms of her hands; and Lyon stood up
near her with an attitude and expression of grave and sad reflection and
self-control.

At length Sybil spoke:

"Oh, Lyon! who could have murdered that poor woman, and brought us into
such a horrible position?"

"My theory of the tragedy is this, dear Sybil: that some robber, during
the confusion of the fancy ball, found an opportunity of entering and
concealing himself in Mrs. Blondelle's room; that his first purpose
might have been simple robbery, but that, being discovered by Mrs.
Blondelle, and being alarmed lest her shrieks should bring the house
upon him and occasion his capture, he impulsively sought to stop her
cries by death; and then that, hearing your swift approach down the
stairs leading into her room, he made his escape through the window."

"But then the windows were all found, as they had been left, fastened,"
objected Sybil.

"But, dearest, you must remember that these windows, having spring
bolts, may be fastened by being pushed to from the outside. It is quite
possible for a robber, escaping through them, to close them in this
manner to conceal his flight."

"That must have been the case in this instance. Everybody must see now
that that was the manner in which the miscreant escaped. Oh, Lyon! I
think we were wrong to have left home."

"No, dear Sybil, we were not. Our only hope is in the discovery of the
real murderer, and that may be a work of time; meanwhile we wish to be
free, even at the price of being called fugitives