"There will be a score of people here wanting lodgings to-morrow night; surely, your way is clear."
She waved him impatiently off when he would have pursued the subject.
"Go down stairs," she said; "I am tired of this. I am coming in a moment."
He went out. She stood still in the gloom, while that terrible look of ferocity came back to her face.
"Either of them, or both," she muttered; "I don't care! Hinchley is Margaret's cousin—Sybil Yates will save him; but not till they have gone far enough to prove the attempt. Then let them arrest Philip if they will—oh! I am sick of this life, and do so loathe him."
She swept out of the room, cold and stern as a Nemesis, descending to the presence of those men who sat together whispering of things which they dared not speak aloud. They had excited themselves with drink; but Sybil was not afraid to look the reality in the face—her resolve was taken, she would not falter. If she reasoned with her conscience it was thus: "The plan is not mine—I could not help it. These men are false and desperate; I can guide but not defeat them. When it is done—oh, how my heart beats; its chains are falling off. His petty sins shall bind me here no longer."
[CHAPTER VII.]
ARRIVAL OF THE GUEST.