He spoke in a matter-of-course tone that marvellously quieted Marion’s first thrill of horror. But she could hardly control herself as he had told her, when he gently laid his burden on the sofa in the still lighted drawing-room, and softly removing the shawl from the face showed Marion that it was Sybil! Poor little Sybil, there she lay, her eyes closed, but her brow contracted as if with pain or terror, ghastly pale, with the paleness it seemed to Marion that could only come from one cause—death! “Is she dead?” she whispered. Ralph turned suddenly to her. “My darling,” he said, “how could I be so cruelly thoughtless as to forget you in my anxiety about this poor child. Dead! no. Indeed, no. She is only fainting, and will revive again in a few moments. But dead indeed she might have been but for you. Your goodness, your promptness have saved her. It anything had been wanting to—but what am I saying?” he exclaimed, with a sudden change of tone. “Marion—Miss Freer, you must think me mad.” But she said nothing. She leant over Sybil, and would not look up for fear of meeting his eyes, as she asked quietly,— “What can we do to revive her?” “Nothing,” he said; “she is already coming round. Only be sure to let her see you and this room, as soon as she opens her eyes. She has already fainted once or twice, and was sent into hysterics again as soon as she came round, by the sight of that room. And then she begged me to bring her to you, so I did so, on my own responsibility. My mother and Miss Vyse are out at a ball, the servants there told me. I sent for Bailey, but the old fool was not to be found. Gone to the ball too, I dare say. But it’s just as well to avoid the scandal, for a scandal it is, no doubt, as you will say when you hear it all. I got her this the chemist’s, on our way here. It can’t do her any harm.” And as he spoke he produced a little bottle, from which he poured a few drops into a glass of water, which Marion fetched him. “Now Sybil, my pet,” he said, as the little girl opened her eyes, and glanced round her with an expression of terror. “Now, dear, you are all right again. You see you are with Miss Freer in her pretty house; and she is going to let you sleep in her own room, and stay with you all night.” At which information the poor baby tried to smile, as she stroked Marion’s hand, laid on her caressingly. “Forgive My audacity,” he whispered to Marion; “but you will be as good as my word this once, won’t you?” “You know I will,” answered Marion, in the same tone. And then she went to rouse the good-natured Thérèse, and as far as possible “insense” her as to the strange state of things. Between them, poor Sybil was divested of her cloaks and shawls, and comfortably ensconced for the night in a corner of Marion’s bed.