"Hush!" he said. "There is some one talking in the Beech Walk."
Both paused and stood stock still. Borne unmistakably on the night wind, voices came to them—the soft voice of a woman, the deeper tones of a man.
"One of the maids, I dare say," Sybilla said, carelessly, "holding tryst with her lover."
"No," said the valet; "not one of the maids would set foot hinside this walk hafter nightfall for a kingdom! They say it's 'aunted. Come forward a little, and let's see if we can't 'ave a look at the talkers. Whoever it is, he's hup to no good, I'll be bound!"
Very softly, stealing on tiptoe, the twain approached the entrance of the avenue. The watery moonlight breaking through a rift in the clouds, shone out for an instant above the trees, and showed them a man and a woman, standing face to face, earnestly talking. Mr. Edwards barely repressed a cry of consternation.
"Good Lord!" he gasped; "it's my lady!"
"Hush!" cried Sybilla. "Who is the man?"
As if some inward prescience told him they were there, the man lifted his hat at that very instant, and plainly showed his face.
"The Hamerican, by Jove!" gasped the horrified valet. Sybilla Silver's eyes blazed like coals of fire, and the demoniac smile, that made her brilliant beauty hideous, gleamed on her lips.
She grasped the man's arm with slender fingers of iron, and stood gloating over the scene.