"'Deed, Miss Sibyl, I darsent do it—'twon't do to leab you here in de draf, all alone. Let me help you to bed, an' make de catnip tea, an' you'll be better to-morrow, sure."
"Oh, this heart—this heart!"
"Yes, chile, I knows; I 'spects it's de cramps you'se got, an' I 'vises of you to get up. Come, honey, come." And Aunt Moll put her arm coaxingly round her young lady's neck, and attempted to lift her up.
"Oh, Aunt Moll! if you only knew my affliction! What matters it whether I die or not, since I have nothing more to live for? I might as well die now as live; for the living death of a loveless life."
"You mustn't talk so, Miss Sibyl; 'taint right, nor likewise 'spectful to de Lord, who sends us cramps, as well as healf, sometimes. 'Tis r'ally 'stonishin', de way you takes on 'bout it."
"Aunt Moll, I am not bodily ill—only wronged, suffering, despairing, deceived, broken-hearted almost," said Sibyl, looking straight before her, with a fixed, anguished look.
"Dear heart! don't take on so about it. I's real sorry, I is."
And good Aunt Moll passed her hand gently and caressingly over the glossy, dark locks of the young girl.
"Oh! there is nothing but falsehood and treachery in this world! I, who loved and trusted so much, to be now deceived! I would have staked my life, my soul, my hopes of heaven on his fidelity! And now, this awakening from my blissful, delusive dream is worse than death. Oh, Aunt Moll! my dear old friend, is there any one who really loves me in this world but you?"
And, wholly overcome, Sibyl's strong despair gave way to a passionate burst of tears.