"I could listen no longer. How I burst from the crowd I know not, but I reached the open air frantic, almost maddened. The crowd poured out after me, and presently the prisoner appeared, between your husband, her brother, and the sheriff.
"I saw no one but Sibyl. Her face wore the same fixed, stony look it had done when she arose—not a muscle had quivered. It was evident she heard not, cared not for the awful doom about to befall her. I broke through the crowd like a madman, until I stood before her.
"'Sibyl—Sibyl!' I cried out.
"Something in my tone arrested her, and she looked vacantly at me. She passed her hand across her forehead, as if to clear away a mist, and then said, in a low, dreamy tone:
"'Ah, Mr. Stafford, I have a request to make of you.'
"'What is it?' I asked, scarcely able to speak.
"'Hasten to my dear friend, Mrs. Brantwell, and tell her what has happened; but, tell her not to be sorry for me, for it is better as it is. Guy, I am tired; take me away.'
"She said all this in a strange, weary tone, like one that is bewildered. I saw them help her into a coach, saw it driven away; and then I went to the hotel, feeling—well, it's no use trying now to tell you how I felt. Long before daylight this morning, I started to come here—and that is all."