The mule started off with Dickinson, at a sharp canter, and deprived him of an opportunity to reply even if he had wished it. Yates gathered up his reins, nodded to Sybil, and prepared to follow.
"When shall I expect you?" she asked.
"To-morrow night, at the furtherest. I only want to see how the men get on."
"Good-by, then, till to-morrow."
He rode away, and Sybil stood watching them for some time; but her face had lost the sweet expression which possessed so great a charm for Dickinson.
"How long must this continue?" she muttered. "Will there never be an end? Oh, Sybil—Sybil! what a weak, miserable fool you have been! This is the end of your art and talent—a home in the wilderness, a gambler's wife! But it shall change—oh! it shall change, I say!"
She clasped her hands hard over her heart, gave one other glance toward the retreating riders, and entered the house. She went up to her own room, and remained there a long time.
At length she rose and glanced out of the window. The sun had set, and the twilight would have been gloomy and gray but for a faint glory heralding the moon which had not yet appeared in sight over the towering mountains.
"I must be gone!" she exclaimed. "I can not bear this any longer—I should go crazy!"