"Never mind, dear. Try to be patient. It would not do for you to undertake the journey now, you know," said Miss Pendleton, soothingly.
"Oh, but, Beatrix, I did so want to be at home to welcome my first dear child! There was never a Berners born out of Black Hall since the building was first erected," she pleaded.
"Never mind, dear. Everything now must give way to your health, you know. We could not endanger your health, by taking you over all these rough roads to Black Hall just now," said Miss Pendleton, gently.
"Ah, well! I will try to content myself to stay here in this gloomy place. But, oh! Beatrix, after all, I may die, and never see my home again. My dear home! Oh, if I should die here, Beatrix, I should be sure to haunt my home!"
"But you will not die. You must put away such gloomy fancies!"
As Miss Pendleton spoke, the cell door was opened, and the warden appeared bearing in the tray containing the supper service for the two ladies. It was not usual for the warden to wait on them in person; and so, to Miss Pendleton's silent look of inquiry, he answered:
"You must excuse my daughter for this once, ma'am, as she has gone to a merry-making in the village—this, you know, being Hallow Eve."
"Hallow Eve!" echoed an awful voice.
Both the warden and the young lady started, and turned around to see whence the unearthly sound came.
They beheld Sybil fallen back in her chair, pallid, ghastly, and convulsed.