"Very true; I never thought of it before. Can you be ready, Sibyl?"
Sibyl thought of Drummond, and asked, rather hesitatingly, "How long will you be gone?"
"About a week—or two or three, at the farthest."
"Now, Sibyl," broke in Mrs. Brantwell, who seemed to possess the faculty of reading people's thoughts, "never mind Mr. Drummond; I'll break the news of your absence to him in the gentlest manner possible. Your fortune is of more importance just now than his lordship, who, no doubt, will follow you to New York when he hears you are there."
There was no use getting angry with the good-humored old lady, so Sibyl smiled, and promised to ready betimes next morning.
And early the following day the brother and sister set out for New York.
CHAPTER XI.
THE STORM—THE WRECK.
"The strife of fiends is in the battling clouds,
The glare of hell is in these sulphurous lightnings!
This is no earthly storm."—BERTRAM.
It was two days after the departure of Sibyl ere Willard Drummond visited the parsonage again. And then he heard of her departure with real surprise and affected concern; but he did not follow her to New York, as Mrs. Brantwell had prophesied.