"Go on," said Sybil, breathlessly; she had waited for nearly a week to gain information—waited with the patience which was one of her most remarkable characteristics; but now that the moment was at hand, she could hardly give the woman time to speak.
"One of the gentlemen had a hurt—"
"Was the doctor here?"
"Yes; it wasn't nothing but a sprain."
"You are certain?"
"Sartin of it, ma'am. They staid here that night and the next; he was quite well by that time, and then they went on—that's all I know about them; I wish it was more, if it could oblige you."
"That is enough," said Sybil.
She appeared satisfied; she had walked five miles through the forest to obtain those meager crumbs of information—braved dangers from which even a man might have shrunk; but in that lonely, miserable life of hers, it was something even to have gained those brief tidings.
A few more questions she asked: how the gentleman looked; if he had quite recovered; if the woman had heard him speak.
"Pretty much, ma'am, and he seemed as full of fun as a boy; I guess he didn't mind. Oh, them that's rich can afford to be funny, and folks say he's got a mighty heap of gold."