The door of the chamber opened and a woman entered. Pale, agitated, exhausted, she advanced to them in the glimmering light.
“What is this?” said several of the council.
“Sybil!” exclaimed the astonished Gerard, and he rose from his seat.
She caught the arm of her father, and leant on him for a moment in silence. Then looking up with an expression that seemed to indicate she was rallying her last energies, she said, in a voice low yet so distinct that it reached the ear of all present, “There is not an instant to lose: fly!”
The men rose hastily from their seats; they approached the messenger of danger; Gerard waved them off, for he perceived his daughter was sinking. Gently he placed her in his chair; she was sensible, for she grasped his arm, and she murmured—still she murmured—“fly!”
“‘Tis very strange,” said Maclast.
“I feel queer!” said the thickset man.
“Methinks she looks like a heavenly messenger,” said Wilkins. “I had no idea that earth had anything so fair,” said the youthful scribe of proclamations.
“Hush friends!” said Gerard: and then he bent over Sybil and said in a low soothing voice, “Tell me, my child, what is it?”
She looked up to her father; a glance as it were of devotion and despair: her lips moved, but they refused their office and expressed no words. There was a deep silence in the room.