And after a few minutes’ conversation it was arranged that Sybil should be left in charge of the second officer, and that Mr. Purley should go with Mr. Berners to the livery stable to look at the horses and wagon. These two went out together, and Purley took the precaution to lock the door and put the key in his pocket.
“Why have you done that?” inquired Lyon, reproachfully.
“Because women are irrational and impulsive. I have always found them so! She might suddenly cut and run; and although it wouldn’t be a bit of use, you know, because she would be sure to be retaken in an hour or less time; yet, you see, it would cause a fuss, and be very unpleasant to me and you and her and everybody.”
“I see,” said Mr. Berners, with a sigh, acknowledging the truth of the position.
Meanwhile Sybil sat, absorbed in despair, and guarded by the second officer. Suddenly she heard her name softly murmured, and she looked up. The young bailiff stood before her. He was a sturdy looking young fellow, swarthy skinned, black haired, and black bearded.
“Miss Sybil, don’t you know me? I beg your pardon! Mrs. Berners, don’t you know me?” he inquired in a low tone, as if fearful of being heard.
Sybil looked at him in surprise, and answered hesitatingly:
“N-no.
“You forget people that you have been good to; but they don’t forget you. Try to recollect me, Miss Sybil—Mrs. Berners.”
“Your face seems familiar; but—”