Sybil pleaded, wept, and demanded an explanation, but Margaret broke from her, and hurried out of the room.
"What is to come now?" whispered the woman, going close to Sybil, who stood looking after Margaret, and smiling as only women like her can smile.
"She has done exactly what I desired," she answered. "I shall leave this house in an hour; you will go with me."
"But the duel?"
"Oh! that drives me frantic; but I believe Hinchley will be the sufferer—I should go mad else! Pack my things, and meet me at the station in an hour."
She hurried away, without giving the woman time to speak, and left the house at once.
Sybil took her way rapidly through the grounds, crossed the high road, and ran through the fields until she reached a lofty ascent, from whence she could command a view of the broad sandy plain beneath.
She was only just in time; there she stood, and gazed below with the same expression her face had worn upon the night when she watched her husband's frightful death in the wilds of California.
Only a few paces from each other stood Laurence and Ralph Hinchley; each held a pistol in his hand, and even as Sybil looked, one of the seconds gave the word.
There was a simultaneous report, a blinding flash, and when the smoke cleared away, Sybil saw Hinchley stretched upon the ground, the two assistants bending over him, and Laurence standing in his old position.