CHAPTER XXI.
ISHMAEL WORTH'S NEWS.
| Even through the hollow eye of Death |
| I spy Life peering; but I dare not say |
| How near the tidings of our comfort is.—Shakespeare. |
"Life, or death?" cried Lyon Berners, pallid with intense anxiety.
"It is a respite," answered Ishmael Worth, gravely and kindly, taking the arm of the agitated man and gently leading him towards a chair.
"Only that!" groaned Lyon Berners, as he dropped heavily into the offered seat.
"But that is much," soothingly began Ishmael Worth, "very much, for it is an earnest of—"
"How long?" moaned Mr. Berners, interrupting his companion.
"During the pleasure of the governor. No new day has been appointed for her—death!" added the young lawyer, in a low voice and after a short pause, for he could not bear to utter the other awful word of doom.
"Go on!" said Sybil's husband, still violently shaken by his emotions.