"It's the only way," she repeated. "They have left me but one weapon, and it's for my life;" and the lips set themselves in hard lines, and the dark eyes looked steely and resolute. What wild purpose was taking shape in the tortured brain of Sybil Burrill? planted there by the impulsive revelation of Constance Wardour.
While the lurid light yet shone from her eyes, there came a tap upon the door, and then Mrs. Lamotte's voice called:
"Sybil, are you there?"
"Yes, mamma."
Sybil gathered up the jewels once more, hastily and putting them under lock and key, admitted her mother. Mrs. Lamotte was never a demonstrative parent. She glanced anxiously at her daughter, and the look upon the pale face did not escape her eye; but she made no comment, only saying:
"I heard Constance drive away, and thought I should find you alone. Do you feel equal to a drive, Sybil?"
Sybil hesitated, and then answered: "I think so mamma, if you wish to go out."
"I have some shopping to do, and—it's best for us to go out a little. Don't you think so?"
"It's best that we keep up appearances, certainly mamma; for what else do we exist? Shall we take the honorable Mr. Burrill?"
Mrs. Lamotte shrugged her shoulders. "By no means," she replied. "Mr. Burrill, if his feelings are too much hurt, shall drive with me to-morrow. It's an honor he has been thirsting for."