Hinchley went to the door, and led in the woman who had served for a time as housekeeper at Brooklawn.
"This person," he said, "has a story to tell; luckily, circumstances have placed her quite in my power."
Sybil sprung again to her feet.
"Don't speak!" she cried; "don't speak!"
"I must, my dear," replied the woman, sobbing. "They'll never let me alone if I don't."
"Who wrote the letter Mr. Laurence saw you give me?" demanded Hinchley.
The woman pointed to Sybil.
"It is false!" she exclaimed. "Margaret Waring wrote it."
"Nonsense, Sybil," returned Yates. "What's the good of keeping this up? You're found out, and that's the end of it. You thought I was dead, you wanted to marry Mr. Laurence—always did, for that matter—and laid your plans beautifully. Upon my word, I honor you! But, you see, I am inconveniently alive; your old mother has been frightened into telling the truth for once, so there's nothing for it but to get away to the Valley Ranche. The miners have forgot that little affair, and we shall find something brighter than potatoes in the cellar. You know that."
She looked at him with her frightened eyes.