ybilla; "and she will meet you to-night in the Beech Walk,
and hear what you have got to say."

"The deuce she will!" said the artist; "and have her fire-eating
husband catch us and set the flunkies at me. Not if I know myself. If
my lady wants to hear what I've got to say, let my lady come to me."

"She never will," responded Sybilla. "You don't know her. Don't be an
idiot, George--do as she requests. Meet her to-night in the Beech
Walk."

"And have the baronet come upon us in the middle of our confab! Look
here, Sybilla, I ain't a cowardly feller, you know, in the main; but,
by George! it ain't pleasant to be horsewhipped by an outrageous young
baronet or kicked from the gates by his under-strappers."

"There is no danger. Sir Everard is not at home, and will not be
before ten o'clock at least. He is gone to dine at The Grange with his
mother; and my lady was to have gone, too, but your message frightened
her, and she told him little white lies, and insisted on his going by
himself. And, you silly old stupid, if you had two ideas in your head,
you would see that this opportunity of braving his express command, and
entering the lion's den to meet his wife by night and by stealth, is
the most glorious opportunity of revenge you could have. Sir Everard
is nearly mad with jealousy and suspicion already. What will he be
when he finds his wife of a month has lied to him to meet you alone and
in secret at the Beech Walk? I tell you, Mr. Parmalee, you will be
gloriously revenged!"

"By thunder!" cried the artist, "I never thought of that. I'll do it,
Sybilla--I'll do it, so help me! Tell my lady I'll be there right on
the minute; and do you take care that confounded baronet finds it out.
I said I'd pay him off for every blow, and I'll do it, by the Eternal!"

"And strike through her!" hissed Sybilla, with glittering black eyes,
"and every blow will go straight through the core of his proud heart.
We'll torture him, George Parmalee, as man never was tortured before."

"What a little devil you are, Sybilla!" he said, with lover-like
candor. "I've heard tell that you wimmin knock us men into a cocked
hat in the way of hating, and I now begin to think it is true. What
has this 'ere baronet done to you, I should admire to know? You don't
hate him like the old sarpent for nothing."

"What has he done to me?" repeated Sybilla, with a strange, slow smile.
"That is easily told. He gave me a home when I was ho