"It was uttered by one of your race."
"By whom?"
"By Barbara Lovel," said Peter, with a sneer of triumph.
"Ha!"
"Heed him not," exclaimed Luke, as Sybil recoiled at this intelligence. "I am yours."
"Not mine! not mine!" shrieked she; "but, oh! not hers!"
"Whither go you?" cried Luke, as Sybil, half bewildered, tore herself from him.
"To Barbara Lovel."
"I will go with you."
"No! let me go alone. I have much to ask her; yet tarry not with this old man, dear Luke, or close your ears to his crafty talk. Avoid him. Oh, I am sick at heart. Follow me not; I implore you, follow me not."