Meanwhile, above stairs, John Burrill was rehearsing to Evan, after his drunken fashion, the recent scene in Sybil's room, not even omitting his own expulsion by wily Mrs. Aliston. As he repeated, with wonderful accuracy, considering his condition, the wild words uttered by Sybil, his listener sat very erect, with wild staring eyes, and lips held tightly together, his teeth almost biting through them; with burning eyes, and quivering frame, and a strange fear at his heart.
Having finished his narrative, Burrill arose:
"I'm to meet some fellows at Forty's," he said, thickly. "I'll stop with them a couple of hours, or three, maybe; after that—" and he winked significantly.
"After that," repeated Evan, and winked in return.
An hour later Evan, pale and shivering, knocked softly at Sybil's door; Mrs. Lamotte appeared.
"How is Sybil, mother?"
"Quiet, but not rational. Doctor Heath has just gone. Evan, why! how badly you look!"
"I feel badly. I'm going to bed; good night, mother."