Too utterly exhausted in her present weak state to visit the prison that night, Mrs. Brantwell immediately retired to her room, and desired the waiter to send Captain Campbell to her.
She scarcely recognized him, so altered had he become in those few days; the old hopeful look was gone, and in its place the darkest, gloomiest despair.
The meeting was a very sad and very silent one. Mrs. Brantwell pressed the hand he extended with deepest pity and warmest sympathy, but said nothing. Her silence was more eloquent than words. At last—
"When did you see Sibyl?" she asked.
"Not since the day of the trial," he answered, moodily.
"No!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "How is that?"
"She would not see me; she would not see any one. I attended her to the cell, and there she bade me go—she would be alone; she insisted on it; she would not even see Mr. Brantwell. I left her, and went the next day, and the next, and the next, but still the same answer was returned; she would see no one. From the moment she left the court-house she had thrown herself upon her bed, and she would not touch the food they offered her; she would not speak one word, only repeating that peremptory demand to be alone."
"My poor, poor Sibyl! And Mr. Drummond, where is he?"
"I know not. When he heard the sentence of the court, he sprang on his horse and dashed away like a madman. May Heaven's heaviest vengeance light on him and that black-hearted traitor, Courtney! for between them they have brought her to this!" And Captain Campbell's face grew absolutely livid with the storm of passion that swept across it.
"My dearest boy, hush! We must forgive our enemies, you know, if we expect to be forgiven.