"Don't take on so," he said, with a gleam of feeling. "I always loved you better than you believed."
Sybil shuddered.
"So we'll forget and forgive. I don't mind it if you did bring the vigilance committee down on us that night; Tom and I were both hard on you—it wasn't work for a lady. As for Mr. Hinchley, he ought to go down on his knees and fill your lap with gold. If it hadn't been for her, I tell you, old fellow, you never would have seen daylight again. After all, that woman's a trump. I wouldn't give her up for all the gold in California."
"Sybil," said Laurence, in a grave, low voice, "is this thing true?"
She struggled for voice, and replied, very faintly:
"It is true! God help me, it is true; but I thought he was dead. It was night, and I so terrified that the face was not clear. Oh! if it were only death that he brings instead of these bonds."
Laurence looked on her distress with heavy eyes.
"And Margaret."
She started as if a viper had stung her, then broke into fresh moans, rocking to and fro on her chair.
"If we wronged her—if that letter was not genuine, tell me, that I may offer the poor atonement in my power."