"It was worse than anything I ever saw in my life, madam--her grief and shame and despair! She arose from her bed and began to examine her effects, to see what she might have left, and how far they would go towards settling my bill. She possessed some invaluable jewelry in diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. I know she did, for I had seen her wear them. She alluded to these, and said that they were worth many thousand dollars, and that she would sell some of them to satisfy my claims. She began to look for them, and then it was only by her broken exclamations of dismay that I came to know that he had robbed her." "The unnatural monster!" indignantly exclaimed Mr. Berners, while Sybil gazed in almost incredulous consternation. "Yes, sir, and madam, the truth was now apparent, even to the poor lady; and it was this--that on the night of the dinner-party he had heavily drugged her wine, so that when she retired to bed she fell into that deep, death-like sleep. Then he took advantage of her state to get possession of her keys, and to rifle her boxes and caskets, and make off with her money and jewels." "Poor, poor woman!" sighed Sybil. "This, madam," continued the landlord, turning to Mrs. Burners, "occurred four days ago. Since that time her base husband has been traced to New York, and there lost sight of." "And she?" inquired Sybil. "She, madam, has given herself up to the wildest grief and despair. She is as simple and as helpless as her own child. She has not the faintest notion of self-reliance. And here is where the trouble is with me. I have already lost several hundred dollars through this swindling villain. The wife and child he has left behind him are still occupying my best suite of apartments, for which, during their stay here, I shall not receive one penny of remuneration: therefore you see I cannot afford to keep this lady and her suite here, and neither can I find it in my heart to tell her to leave the house. For where, indeed, can she go? She has no friends or acquaintances in this country, no money, and no property that she can effectually turn into money." "Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?" inquired Sybil. "There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night." "But--the women of your family?" suggested Sybil. "There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam, with half a dozen sons, but no daughters," returned the landlord. Sybil lifted her head from her husband's shoulder, where it had rested so long, and looked wistfully in her husband's eyes. He smiled, and nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the landlord, saying: