"Fortune favors us this bout, Mrs. Denover," he said, "I've met an old chum down on the wharf yonder—a countryman—and I'd as soon have expected to find the President of the United States in this little one-horse town. His name's Davis—Captain Davis, of the schooner 'Angelina Dobbs'—and he's going to sail for Southampton this very night. There's a streak of luck. A free passage for you and for me up to Southampton to-night."
"But my—Lady Kingsland?" she faltered.
"I've made that all right, too. I met one of the flunkies and sent word to Sybilla that we were here, and that she'd better see us at once. I expect an answer every—— Ah, by George! speak of the—here she is!"
It was Miss Sybilla Silver, sailing gracefully down the street. Mr. Parmalee darted out and met her—superbly handsome, her dark cheeks flushed with some inward excitement, her black eyes gleaming with strange fire.
"Is she here?" she breathlessly asked.
Mr. Parmalee nodded toward the window.
Sybilla gazed up a moment at the pale, haggard face.
"They are alike," she said, under her breath—"mother and daughter—and that face is scarcely more haggard than the other now. We have had a dreadful quarrel, Mr. Parmalee, since you left, up at the Court."
"Want to know about me?"
"Partly. About the secret—about that meeting in the Beech Walk. He absolutely threatened her life."