"Well, Beelzebub," she said through her white lips, "have you seen Mr. Curtis?"
"Yes, missis." Beelzebub rolled his eyes intelligently. He seemed unaware of the tragedy in the English girl's drawn face.
"And the white man?" she said.
"Mr. Curtis think the white man die soon," said Beelzebub.
"Ah!" She pressed her hand tightly against her heart. She felt as if its throbbing would choke her. "And—his name?" she said.
Beelzebub paused and opened his eyes to their widest extent. He was making a supreme effort, and the result was monstrous. But Sybil did not quail; she scarcely saw him.
"His name?" she said; and again, raising her voice, "His name?"
The whole world seemed to rock while she waited, but she stood firm in the midst of chaos. Her whole soul was concentrated upon Beelzebub's reply.
It came at last with the effect of something uttered from an immense distance that was yet piercingly distinct.
"Went—" said Beelzebub, and paused; then, with renewed effort, "Wentworth."