She did not follow the avenue which led from the dwelling down to the highway, but took one of the numerous paths which wound among the shrubberies. Sometimes in the full glory of the waning sunset, anon a darker shadow among the other shadows that lay under the trees, she passed, walking rapidly, as if anxious to find quiet in bodily fatigue—then forgetting her purpose, if it had been present to her mind, and moving slowly along, deeply engrossed in thought as when she stood in the library an hour before.
It was already twilight when Sybil Chase reached the ponderous iron gates which gave entrance from the road to the grounds. She seated herself upon a stone bench a little off from the avenue, and gazed quietly around with that observing eye which never lost the most minute particular.
The air was soft and warm, the moon was already coming up and dispelling the dusky shadows sufficiently to distinguish objects at a considerable distance. The murmur of a little brook that traversed the grounds and came out of the thicket back of her seat was pleasantly audible, and the deafened cry of a whippowill sounded through the distance. The moon rose higher, the repose of the spring evening increased, and through the distance Sybil's quick ear detected the tramp of horses, faint but rapidly approaching nearer.
She rose from the bench and looked up the road. She saw Margaret and Mr. Laurence cantering gayly over the nearest hill. While she looked, the girl's horse shied at some object by the road—started so violently that his rider, evidently taken by surprise, was thrown to the ground.
Sybil Chase pressed her two hands hard together, a quick breath broke from her lips, and her eyes looked out large and wild; but she made no effort to go forward—never stirred from her attitude of strange expectancy.
Before Mr. Laurence could dismount and go to his companion's assistance, a man rode rapidly up behind them. Sybil saw him stop, spring from his horse, and hasten with Mr. Laurence toward the lady. Before they reached the spot, Margaret had risen; through the stillness Sybil caught the echo of hurried exclamations, a gay laugh from the young girl, which seemed to give assurance that she had suffered no injury.
At that sound the lady whispered a few words to herself; then, after an instant of hesitation, hurried toward the gates, pushed them open, and ran with all her speed toward the foot of the hill.
Before she reached the first rise, the three had mounted and were riding toward her; she was plainly visible to them in the moonlight, toiling rapidly up the ascent, and apparently so overcome by agitation that nothing but a desire to be of service preserved her strength.
"Are you hurt?" she called, wildly.
"Not in the least," Margaret answered, while Laurence waved his riding-cap gayly in the air.