"There was a man named Judas," she muttered; "I have heard them tell of him somewhere--he sold a man's life for some pieces of silver--but when it was done he went and cast the treasure back to those who had bought his soul. He must have felt as I do. What is it that I feel--_remorse_, _repentance_, or a horror of that dreadful leap I shall soon be taking into the dark?" Walking wildly up and down she did not see two figures coming towards her through the mist of the rain--two female figures shrouded in long water-proof cloaks and thick veils. "Miss Bonnibel," said one to the other, "'tis the wicked old witch--the fortune-teller--Wild Madge. Sure the old thing must be crazy, tramping out in such wild weather!" Bonnibel shuddered as she looked at the weird old creature. "Cannot we avoid her notice?" she inquired, shrinking from contact with the sibyl. At that moment Wild Madge turned and saw them. Directly she came up to them with her fortune-teller's whine: "Cross my palm with silver and I will tell your fortune, bonny ladies." "No, no, Wild Madge, we haven't got time to hear our fortunes told," said Lucy Moore. "Don't try to detain us. We are on a mission of life and death." "So am I," mocked the sibyl with her strange, discordant laugh. "Death is on my trail to-day; but I know you, Lucy Moore, and you, too, lovely lady," she added, peering curiously under Bonnibel's veil. "I told your fortune once, pretty one--did the prophecy come true?" she inquired, seizing hold of Bonnibel's reluctant hand, and drawing off her glove. "Yes, it came true," she answered, tremblingly. "Yes, I see, I see," said the sibyl, peering into the little hand; "you have suffered--you suffer still! But, lady, listen to me! The clouds are breaking, there is a silver lining to every one that droops over you now. You may believe what I tell you; ha! ha! "'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before.'" Uttering the quotation with the air of a prophetess, she released Bonnibel's hand and suddenly sank upon the wet ground with a stifled moan of pain. "Oh! Lucy, she is ill--her hands are as hot as fire, her eyes are quite glassy," exclaimed Bonnibel in alarm as she bent over the fallen form. "We can't help that, Miss Bonnibel--we are compelled to hurry on to Brandon," said the girl, for though ordinarily the softest-hearted of human beings her impatience to be gone made her rather indifferent to the visible weakness and illness of the sibyl. "Oh! but, Lucy, we must spare her a moment," cried Bonnibel, full of womanly pity, and forgetting her dread of the sibyl at sight of her sufferings; "she must not die out here in the cold and rain. Let us take her between us and lead her to the house, and leave her in care of the old housekeeper if she is there." "We must hurry, then," said Lucy; "Mr. Leslie Dane's life is worth more than this old witch's if she lived two hundred years to follow her trade of lying!"