threatening, angry, stern; there was a
vacancy in the eyes, a strain in the features, and yet a wild, intense
animation lighting and pervading all,--it was as the face of one walking
in his sleep, and, at the first confusion of waking, Sibyll thought
indeed that such was her father's state. But the impatience with which
he shook the arm he grasped, and repeated, as he opened convulsively
his other hand, "The gold, Sibyll, the gold! Why didst thou hide it
from me?" speedily convinced her that her father's mind was under the
influence of the prevailing malady that made all its weakness and all
its strength.

"My poor father!" she said pityingly, "wilt thou not leave thyself the
means whereby to keep strength and health for thine high hopes? Ah,
Father, thy Sibyll only hoarded her poor gains for thee!"

"The gold!" said Adam, mechanically, but in a softer voice,--"all--all
thou hast! How didst thou get it,--how?"

"By the labours of these hands. Ah, do not frown on me!"

"Thou--the child of knightly fathers--thou labour!" said Adam, an
instinct of his former state of gentle-born and high-hearted youth
flashing from his eyes. "It was wrong in thee!"

"Dost thou not labour too?"

"Ay, but for the world. Well, the gold!"

Sibyll rose, and modestly throwing over her form the old mantle which
lay on the pallet, passed to a corner of the room, and opening a chest,
took from it the gipsire, and held it out to her father.

"If it please thee, dear and honoured sir, so be it; and Heaven prosper
it in thy hands!"

Before Adam's clutch could close on the gipsire, a rude hand was laid
on his shoulder, the gipsire was snatched from Sibyll, and the gaunt,
half-clad form of old Madge interposed between the two.

"Eh, sir!" she said, in her shrill, cracked tone, "I thought when I
heard your door open, and your step hurrying down, you were after no
good deeds. Fie, master, fie! I have clung to you when all reviled, and
when starvation within and foul words without made all my hire; for I
ever thought you a good and mild man, though little better than stark
wode. But, augh! to rob your child thus, to leave her to starve and
pine! We old folks are used to it. Look round, look round! I remember
this chamber, when ye first came to your father's hall. Saints of
heaven! There stood the brave bed all rustling with damask of silk; on
those stone walls once hung fine arras of the Flemings,--a marriage gift
to my lady from Queen Margare