She shook off the weakness and that terrible fear, at last; struggled to her feet, threw off her drenched garments, and crept into bed chilled and trembling, only to renew in sleep the mournful images from which she had tried to escape during her waking hours.
[CHAPTER VI.]
THE WELCOME THAT AWAITS RALPH HINCHLEY.
On the appointed day, Yates and his companion returned home. Sybil went down to meet them as calm and smiling as though the season of their absence had been fraught with no incident of interest, or no terrible conflict had shaken her whole soul to its center. True, very little had happened in acts; but the greatest changes of life occur when all is still. Supper was over, and Sybil had gone up to her room, leaving the two men smoking upon the veranda. There was a low, eager conversation between them after her departure. At length Dickinson raised his voice:
"You had better go now and talk to her."
"Oh, these women," muttered Yates; "there's no telling how she may take any thing."
"She'll take it as you would," replied Dickinson. "Be careful how you tell your story—don't frighten her at first. Why, you may bring a woman to any thing if you don't upset her nerves at the start."
"You are wonderfully wise," mused Yates.