"Oh, Willard! this is dreadful—dreadful! What if all he predicted should come to pass!"
"Well, I should be obliged to do the best I could. What will be, will be—you know. But I have no such fear. Nonsense, Sibyl! a Campbell of the Isle trembling thus at imaginary danger!—the ghost of Guy the Fearless will start from his grave, if he discovers it!"
The color came proudly back to her cheek at his bantering words, as she said, more coldly and calmly:
"For myself, I could never tremble; but for——"
She paused, and her beautiful lip quivered.
"For me, then, dear love, those fears are," he said tenderly. "A thousand thanks for this proof of your love: but, believe me, the cause is only imaginary. Why, Sibyl, I had nearly forgotten all about the matter, until your brother's remark to-night recalled it to my memory. Promise me, now, you will never think of it more—much less speak of it."
"Tell me one thing more, Willard, and I promise—only one," said Sibyl, laying her hand on his shoulder, and looking up in his face earnestly, while her voice trembled in spite of all her efforts.
"Well," he said, anxiously.
"Did you recognize the face of the person whom you saw beside you at the altar, and who afterward died on I the scaffold?"
He was silent, and looked with a troubled eye out over the shining waters.