“Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?” inquired Sybil.
“There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night.”
“But—the women of your family?” suggested Sybil.
“There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam, with half a dozen sons, but no daughters,” returned the landlord.
Sybil lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder, where it had rested so long, and looked wistfully in her husband’s eyes. He smiled, and nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the landlord, saying:
“Mr. Judson, will you do me the favor to take this in to the unhappy lady at once, and see if she will receive me this evening? I feel as if I would like to try to comfort and serve her,”
“I will with pleasure, madam; and I have no doubt that the mere expression of sympathy from another lady will be to her like a drop of water to a feverish palate,” said the landlord, as he left the room.
“Dear Lyon, I have a favor to ask of you,” said Sybil, as soon as she was alone with her husband.
“A favor! a right, my beloved! There is nothing that you can ask of me that is not your right to receive!”
“No, no; a favor. I like to ask and receive favors from you, dear Lyon.”