"Conny, it has come."
"What has come, Evan?"
"The day we hoped for; we have heard from Sybil."
"A letter! Oh Evan, tell me all about it."
"I can't, there is no time; only, Con., it's your turn now. It's your time to strike for Sybil. They are holding council over the letter, and can't decide, whether the old gentleman shall go at once and see Sybil; whether they shall bring her back and swallow the Burrill; for, it seems he must be swallowed, and what society will think about it, are the questions that they are agitating. Mother says, that Sybil must and shall come back; father says he will go and see her; and Frank—" he broke off abruptly and bent down to look at his saddle girth.
"And Frank; what does he say, Evan?"
"Frank is a fool," snapped Evan irrelevantly. "What he says is no matter; only, Conny, now is your time, if you will only have faith in what I say. You are out with your ponies; drive straight to Mapleton, and don't mention me. You will be admitted to mother. Father is there, and Frank; give them the least chance, and they will tell you about Sybil, and then you can manage the rest. Tell them to bring her back, even with that beastly incumbrance. They will listen to you; they won't to me. If you fail me here, then—"
"Then your sacrifice goes for nothing. Oh, Evan, did you think I would not understand that? You have wronged yourself for Sybil's sake. But you shall have a tithe of your reward. And, dear boy, you should not have done this thing; we might have found another way."
"Nonsense, Conny! It was the only way. And what is my life worth, or my reputation, either? It can't hurt a poor devil like me. Con., will you go?"
"I will go straight to Mapleton, Evan. You shall see that I have faith in you. I will do just as you direct, and all will go well."
"Then I'm off. I stole Frank's horse. I must get him back to avoid a row. Thank you, Conny; you are a true friend."
"Good-bye, Evan. Come to me with all the news, or when you want help."
"I won't forget," wheeling his horse about; then, in a choking voice, "God bless you, Conny," and a moment later, he was away down the road, galloping in a cloud of dust.
Constance followed in his wake, keeping her ponies at a sober pace.
"I wonder how he found out these things. Poor boy!" she murmured, half aloud, "he is not one at their family councils; of that I am sure. His father has lost all patience with him; and yet, he knows all that is going on. I wonder how."
If Evan Lamotte had heard this query, and had chosen to answer it, he would have said: "I watch and I listen."