Ralph Hinchley was still at the house, and his quick perceptions made him understand, more clearly than any one else, the state of feeling between the unhappy pair.
He was an honorable, high principled man, and not for the world would he have been guilty of an act which could produce new discord with those already divided hearts. But he pitied Laurence, and his sympathy for Margaret made him unusually kind and gentle. But Miss Chase watched every movement or word with her lynx-eyes, and turned each into the shape that best suited her purpose.
Laurence made Sybil his confidant now with the most perfect freedom; he told her all his suspicions, his unhappiness and fears; she gave him back the most touching sympathy, and such advice as proved satisfactory to his feelings in every respect.
Margaret was too much preoccupied to observe any thing of this. Miss Chase was so wary and prudent, that she would have averted the suspicions of a much more jealous person than her young hostess.
Edward Laurence, even in his anger and wretchedness, would have shrunk from any deliberate wrong to Margaret; but, day by day, Sybil's influence over him increased—day by day her wiles produced their effect, and placed him more completely in her dangerous power.
They were conversing one morning in the breakfast-room before any one else was down—for Miss Chase persevered in her habit of early rising, and many long talks and rambles were taken with an unexpressed understanding of which no one in the house had the slightest idea.
They were talking of Margaret; she was often the subject of their conversations, while she lay in her darkened chamber, trying to forget her ills in broken slumber, which the dreary watches of the night had refused to give.
"How much Miss Waring enjoys society," Sybil said; "I am glad that these people happened to come just now—she was miserable before."
"Then you pity her for the misfortunes she has brought upon herself?"