Two gentlemen of the party spoke for a moment with him, and then advanced towards the spot where the husband and wife were standing.
“They are nice people,” repeated Sybil, positively; but Lyon said nothing; he was pale as ashes. The two gentlemen came up and stood before Lyon and Sybil. The elder of the two took off his hat, and bowing gravely, said to Sybil:
“You are Mrs. Sybil Berners of Black Hall?”
Then all at once an agony of terror took possession of her; her heart sank, her brain reeled, her limbs tottered.
“You are Mrs. Sybil Berners of Black Hall?” repeated the stranger, drawing from his pocket a folded paper.
“Yes,” faltered Sybil, in a dying voice.
“Then, Madam, I have a most painful duty to perform. Sybil Berners, you are my prisoner,” he said, and he laid his hand upon her shoulder.
With an agonizing shriek she sprang from under his hand, and threw herself into the arms of her husband, wildly crying:
“Save me, Lyon! Oh! don’t let them force me away! Save me, my husband! Save me!”