No. Everything was forgotten but the intoxicating girl before him, with her sparkling face, her glorious eyes of jet, and her flashing, sun-bright hair.
From the rhapsody of passion—from the seventh heaven of his day-dreams, he was at last recalled by the voice of Sibyl herself summoning him to supper.
He looked up with a start, half inclined to be provoked at this sudden summons from his ideal world to the vulgar reality of a supper of hot-cakes, tea, and preserves. But there sat Sibyl at the head of the table, bright and smiling—beautifying even the dull routine of the tea-table with the charm of her presence. And then, too—now that this airy vision was gone—Mr. Willard Drummond began to recollect that he was very hungry, and that "dreams and visions" were, after all, very unsubstantial things, compared with the bread and butter of every-day life, degrading as the confession was.
Guy had already taken his place, so Willard took the seat his young host pointed out to him, and the business of the tea-table commenced.
When the meal was over, Aunt Moll cleared the table, and the three gathered round the fire—for, though the weather was warm, the great unaired room was chill enough to render the fire pleasant.
By degrees, perhaps it was owing to the strange, dreary loneliness of the place, the conversation turned upon deserted houses, bold robberies, murders, and by a natural consequence, upon ghosts.
Willard and Captain Campbell seemed striving to outvie each other in telling the most frightful tales, the latter taxing his imagination to invent them, when the original failed to produce the necessary degree of horror. Every one knows what a strange fascination such ghostly legends have, the hours passed almost unnoticed, and it was only when the fire burned low on the hearth, and the solitary candle guttered in the socket before going out, that our party became aware of the lateness of the hour.
"Well, we have been profitably spending the evening, I must say," remarked Captain Campbell, rising, with a laugh. "You should have been in bed an hour ago, Sibyl. Here! Aunt Moll," he cried, going to the door, "bring us lights, and show Mr. Drummond to his room."
He waited for a response, but none came, only the echo of his own voice sounded dolefully through the hall.
"Hallo! Aunt Moll, I say—Lem, bring candles," once more called Captain Campbell. Again he waited for an answer, and again none came. "Confound it!" he muttered, turning away, "the sleepy-headed pair have doubtless been in bed for the last three hours, and are as sound as the Seven Sleepers by this time."