ttendant.

Lyon and Sybil made a good supper, and then, as there were no bells in
that primitive house of entertainment, he put his head out of the door
and called for some one to come and take away the service.

When the waiter had cleared the table, and the travellers were again
left alone, Lyon said to Sybil:

"I must leave you here, dear, while I go down to the water-side and
inquire what ships are about to sail for Europe. You will not be afraid
to stay here by yourself?"

"Oh, no indeed! this is not the Haunted Chapel, thank Heaven!" answered
his wife.

"Nor Rachel, the damp girl," added Lyon.

"No, poor child; but she may very soon become one," sighed Sybil.

And Lyon put on his broad-brimmed hat and went out.

Sybil locked the door, took off her red wig, and her coarse outer
garment, and took from her travelling bag a soft woolen wrapper and a
pair of slippers and put them on, and sat down before the fire to make
herself comfortable. At first the sense of relief and rest and warmth
was enough to satisfy her; but after an hour's waiting in idleness, the
time hung heavily on her hands, and she grew homesick and lonesome. She
thought of the well-stocked library of Black Hall; of her bright
drawing-room, her birds, her flowers, her piano, her easel, her
embroidery frame, her Skie terrier, her tortoise shell cat and kittens,
her fond and faithful servant, the many grand rooms in the old hall; the
negroes' cabins, the ancient trees, the river, the cascade, the
mountains--the thousand means of occupation, amusement, and interest,
within and around her patrimonial home, the ten thousand ties of
association and affection that bound her to her old place, and she
realized her exile as she had never done before. Her spirit grew very
desolate, and her heart very heavy.

But Sybil really was not a woman to give way to any weakness without an
effort. She got up and tried to engage herself by examining the two
little rooms that were to be her dwelling place for a day or a week, as
chance might direct.

There was not much to interest her. The furniture was poor and old, but
neat and clean, as anything under the care of pale Rachel was sure to
be. Then Sybil looked about to try to find some stray pamphlet or book,
that she might read. But she found nothing but a treatise on tanning and
an old almanac until, happening to look behind the glass on the chest of
drawers in the inner room, she discovered a small volume whic