The girl continued her story.
"We let no time be lost. We gathered up the most valuable and portable of our effects, and that same night evacuated our cavern and dispersed our band; taking care to appoint a distant place of rendezvous. Satan watched the road, riding frequently to the way-side inns to try to discover the coach by which you would be brought back. He was at Upton this evening, when the stage stopped to change horses. He recognized you, and immediately mounted, put spurs to his fast horse and rode as for life and death to the rendezvous of his band, and got them into their saddles to intercept the stage-coach. He also gave orders that we should come on to this deserted house, which he had discovered in the course of his rides, and which he supposes will be a safe retreat for the present. That is all I have to tell you, and I reckon you know all the rest," concluded Gentiliska.
But still Sybil sat in the same attitude of deep despair, regardless of all that was said to her.
While Gentiliska's tongue was running, her hands were also busy. She had prepared a cordial of spiced and sweetened port wine, and had set it in a saucepan over the fire to heat. And now she poured it out into a silver mug and handed it to Sybil, saying:
"Come, drink: this will warm and strengthen you. You look like death, but you must not die yet. You must drink, and live."
"Yes, I must live!" said Sybil. "I must live to throw off this horrible imputation from the fame of my father's daughter."
And she took the goblet and drank the cordial.
And soon a new expression passed into her face; the fixed despair rose into a settled determination, a firm, active resolution.
"You look as if you were going to do something. What is it?" inquired Gentiliska.
"I am going to give myself up! I am guiltless, and I will not longer act the part of a guilty person!" said Sybil, firmly.