"Oh, I did. I did, unintentionally, perhaps, but still I wronged her. Hark! they are coming, Willard."
There was a soft knock at the door. Willard opened it, and Mr. Brantwell, followed by Sibyl and Captain Campbell, entered. The young captain, pale, thin, and haggard, cast a fierce, implacable glance at Willard; but the sight of the frail, spiritual, attenuated form of Christie checked the fierce, passionate words that were already rising to his lips.
A great change was perceptible in Sibyl during these few minutes. The exhortations of the good clergyman had evidently not been without effect; for her pale, worn face had a calm, subdued look, as if she had at last realized the great danger she had escaped.
"Miss Sibyl—dear Miss Sibyl, can you ever forgive me?" said the sad, sweet voice of Christie, as she held out her hand and looked wistfully, imploringly into Sibyl's face.
"Oh, Christie, I have nothing to forgive you. You were not guilty," said Sibyl, sinking down by the bedside, and hiding her face in Christie's little thin hand.
"Not willfully, but still I wronged you. And there is another—-will you not forgive him?"
"Never, so he'p me Heaven!" fiercely exclaimed Sibyl, springing up and casting upon him a glance of fire.
"Sibyl, I am dying! You will not refuse my last request? Oh, Sibyl, in a moment of thoughtless passion he married me; but all the time he loved you best. I can see it all now. He loved you then—he loves you now, better than all the world."
"And you can forgive him for the irreparable wrong he has done you—a deserted home, a blighted life, and an early death? Christie, you are an angel!"
"No, no; only a frail sinner, with so much to be forgiven herself, that she can easily, joyfully forgive that. Sibyl, my hours are numbered. Will you render them miserable by refusing my last request?"