"And here is Mr. Sheridan, offering himself as your counsel until you can procure better," said the high sheriff, presenting the young lawyer.
"I shall not be likely to find better, I am sure. I shall be very glad to retain Mr. Sheridan," said Sybil, frankly offering her hand to the young man.
"It is not a pleasant visit, Mrs. Berners, this one to Mr. Hawkin's office; but it will only be a preliminary examination, and I will do what I can to make it a brief one," explained Mr. Sheridan, as he offered his arm to his client to conduct her from the room.
Sybil drew her veil over her face, and leaning on the arm of her counsel, was about to follow the sheriff, who had gone before, when she happened to think of her devoted young worshipper, who was standing disconsolately near the judge's desk.
"Stay here until I return, dear Raphael," she said, with a pleasant smile, and then passed from the room.
They took her to an office under the hotel, where the sitting magistrate was ready to hear the case.
A few witnesses were there—persons who had been present at the mask ball, and had observed the marked attentions of Lyon Berners to Rosa Blondelle, and the jealous rage of Sybil, and who had afterwards been drawn to the scene of the tragedy by the cries of the victim, and had arrived in time to hear the fatal charge of the dying woman, as well as to behold her death.
When Sybil saw these people, she shivered and turned pale—not with fear of their testimony, for she had nerved herself to meet that, but with the sudden recollection of the appalling circumstances under which she had last met them, and which their appearance now called up in all its first horror.
The magistrate's clerk now handed Sybil a chair. She then raised her veil, bowed to Squire Hawkins, and took her seat.
The proceedings were commenced.