"Sibyl is—oh, Heaven? how can I speak the terrible words?" exclaimed the excited young man, pacing up and down like one demented.
"Heavens! will you tell me before I go mad?" cried Mrs. Brantwell, becoming as much excited as himself.
"Then listen—since I must repeat her awful fate! Sibyl has been tried, convicted, and doomed to die!"
The look that Mrs. Brantwell's face wore that moment, never left the memory of Will Stafford. There was a sound as of many waters in her ears, a sudden darkness before her eyes, her brain reeled, and her head dropped helplessly on the arm of her chair.
Stafford, in alarm, flew to the bell; but overcoming, with a mighty effort, that deadly inclination to swoon, she lifted up her head, and half raised her hand, in a faint motion to stop him.
"I want nothing; it is over," she said, tremulously. "Sit down before me and tell me all. The worst is over, and I can bear anything now."
"Oh! it was horrible, monstrous, outrageous, this sentence," exclaimed Stafford, with a burst of passionate grief. "I never dreamed for an instant—never did—that she would be condemned. Oh, curse that Courtney! Heaven's malediction rest on him, here and hereafter!" he hissed through his clenched teeth.
"Tell me all! Oh, tell me all!" said Mrs. Brantwell, trying to steady her trembling voice.
"I wish I could! I came for that purpose; but I am going mad, I think," said Stafford, throwing himself into a chair with something like a howl of mingled rage and despair. "She told me to come and tell you; nothing else could have made me leave Westport while she lives."
"Was it Sibyl?"