And soon after this her visitors, master and servants, took their leave.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SYBIL'S CHILD.
| But thou wilt burst primeval sleep, |
| And thou wilt live my babe to weep; |
| The tenant of a dark abode, |
| Thy tears must flow as mine have flowed.—Byron. |
Summer ripened into autumn. Sybil and her faithful friend employed the golden days of September and October in the graceful and pleasing feminine work of making up garments for the expected little stranger.
But meanwhile, outside the prison walls, a cloud, black as night, was gathering over the young prisoner's doomed head.
The rumor got abroad that the Governor meant to follow up the long respite with a full pardon.
His course in this matter was canvassed and commented upon severely in every bar-room, grocery, street corner, political meeting, and elsewhere.
The press took up the matter, and vindictively reprobated the course of the Governor, putting his conduct upon the motives of partiality for the aristocracy.