n, striking through the
east windows, and lighting on the face of the sleeper, awoke him.

He looked into the face of his wife, and then along the walls of the
chapel, with a bewildered expression of countenance. This had been his
first sleep for two nights, and it had been so deep that he had utterly
forgotten the terrible drama of the two last preceding days, and could
not at once remember what had happened, or where he was. But as he again
turned and looked into Sybil's face, full memory of all flashed back
upon him. But he did not allude to the past; he merely said to Sybil:

"You have not slept, love."

"I have not wished to do so," she answered.

"This is a very primitive sort of life we are living, love," he said,
with a smile, as he arose from the mattress.

"But it is not at all an unhappy one," answered Sybil; "for, oh, since
you are with me, I do not care much about anything else. Destiny may do
what she pleases, so that she does not part us. I can bear exile,
hunger, cold, fatigue, pain--anything but parting, Lyon!"

"Do not fear that, love; we will never part for a single day, if I can
help it."

"Then let anything else come. I can bear it cheerfully," smiled Sybil.
While they talked they were working also. Sybil was folding up the
bedclothes, and Lyon was looking about for a bucket, to fetch water from
the fountain. He soon found one, and went upon his errand.

Sybil followed him with two towels. They washed their hands and faces
in the stream, and dried them on the towels. And then they went higher
up the glen, and caught a bucketful of delightful water from the crystal
spring that issued from the rocks.

They returned to the chapel, and together they made the fire and
prepared the breakfast.

It was not until they were seated at their primitively arranged
breakfast, which was laid upon the flagstones of the chapel floor--it
was not, in fact, until they had nearly finished their simple meal, that
Sybil told Lyon of the apparition she had seen in the early dawn, to
come up as if from the floor to the right of the altar, and glide along
the east wall of the chapel, past the four gothic windows, and disappear
through the door.

"It was a morning dream, dear Sybil; nothing more," said Lyon,
sententiously; for in the broad daylight he believed in nothing
supernatural, even upon the evidence of his own senses.

"If that were a morning dream, then the sight that we saw together
yesterday was but a