Thus abjured, like a flock of startled birds, the bower-maidens fled to arrange their own toilet, and Sibyl was alone with Mrs. Brantwell.
"My own precious Sibyl! and am I to lose you at last?" said Mrs. Brantwell, clasping her in her arms, and gazing upon her sparkling face, with eyes of yearning fondness.
"Dear Mrs. Brantwell, my second mother, come what may, let the future bring what it will, you will ever hold the second place in my heart," said Sibyl, dropping her head on the shoulder of her friend.
"And you are happy, perfectly happy, my own darling?"
"Oh, yes, perfectly happy, too happy for words to say. Oh, Mrs. Brantwell, my only fear is that such intense joy is too blissful to last."
"And you have perfect trust, perfect faith in him who is so soon to be your husband? Does no doubt still linger amid all this love?"
"None, none! not the slightest, not the faintest. Oh! I wronged him by ever doubting his truth. I could stake my hopes of heaven on his fidelity now," exclaimed Sibyl, with some of her old fierce impetuosity.
"Thank Heaven for that!" said Mrs. Brantwell, with a sigh of relief. "Oh! Sibyl, dearest, eradicate forever from your heart this fatal dream of jealousy; to doubt one we love is deepest misery."
"Oh! I know it; I know it," said Sibyl, with a shudder, as she recalled the stormy past.
And just then the tripping of light feet approaching the door was heard.