forgive?
Pray get up; there is no reason you should kneel and supplicate pity
from me."

He raised her imperatively. Her head dropped in womanly confusion,
and, hiding her face, she sobbed.

"What must you think? How dreadful it must look! But, oh, Sir
Everard! if you only knew!"

"I should like to know, I confess. Come here in this window recess and
tell me, won't you? Come, look up, and don't cry so. Tell me who you
are."

"I am Sybilla Silver, and I have run away from home, and I will die
sooner than ever go back!"

She looked up with a passionate outbreak, and Sir Everard saw the
splendor of a pair of flashing Spanish eyes.

"I shall not send you back, depend upon it. Why did you run away, Miss
Silver?"

"Do you really wish to know?" she asked. "Oh, Sir Everard Kingsland,
will you indeed be my friend?"

"Your true and faithful friend, my poor girl!" he answered, moved by
the piteous appeal. "Surely I could hardly be less to one who so
bravely saved my life."

"Ah! that was nothing. I lay no claim on that. Serve me as you would
serve any friendless girl in distress; and you are brave and generous
and noble, I know."

"You 'do me proud,' mademoiselle. Suppose you cease complimenting, and
begin at the beginning. Who are your friends, and why did you leave
them, and where have you run away from?"

"From Yorkshire, Sir Everard--yes, all the way from Yorkshire in this
disguise. Ah! it seems very bold and unwomanly, does it not? But my
uncle was such a tyrant, and I had no appeal. I am an orphan, Sir
Everard. My father and mother have been dead since my earliest
recollection, and this uncle, my sole earthly relative, has been my
guardian and tormentor. I can not tell you how cruelly he has treated
me. I have been immured in a desolate old country-house, without
friends or companions of my own age or sex, and left to drag on a
useless and aimless life. My poor father left me a scant inheritance;
but, such as it is, my uncle set his greedy heart upon adding it to his
own. To do this, he determined upon marrying me to his only son. My
cousin William was his father over again--meaner, more cruel and crafty
and cold-blooded, if possible--and utterly abhorred by me. I would
sooner have died ten thousand deaths than marry such a sordid, hateful
wretch! But marry him I surely must have done, if I remained in their
power. So I fled. With inconceivable trouble and maneuvering. I
obtained