ended a
globe of crystal glass, about the size and shape of a large gourd,
filled with a pure pellucid liquid, in which a small snake, the Egyptian
aspic, described perpetual gyrations.

Dim were the eyes of Barbara, yet not altogether sightless. The troubled
demeanor of her grandchild struck her as she entered. She felt the hot
drops upon her hand as Sybil stooped to kiss it; she heard her
vainly-stifled sobs.

"What ails you, child?" said Barbara, in a voice that rattled in her
throat, and hollow as the articulation of a phantom. "Have you heard
tidings of Luke Bradley? Has any ill befallen him? I said you would
either hear of him or see him this morning. He is not returned, I see.
What have you heard?"

"He _is_ returned," replied Sybil, faintly; "and no ill hath happened to
him."

"He _is_ returned, and you are here," echoed Barbara. "No ill hath
happened to _him_, thou sayest--am I to understand there is--to _you_?"

Sybil answered not. She could not answer.

"I see, I see," said Barbara, more gently, her head and hand shaking
with paralytic affection: "a quarrel, a lover's quarrel. Old as I am, I
have not forgotten my feelings as a girl. What woman ever does, if she
be woman? and you, like your poor mother, are a true-hearted wench. She
loved her husband, as a husband should be loved, Sybil; and though she
loved me well, she loved him better, as was right. Ah! it was a bitter
day when she left me for Spain; for though, to one of our wandering
race, all countries are alike, yet the soil of our birth is dear to us,
and the presence of our kindred dearer. Well, well, I will not think of
that. She is gone. Nay, take it not so to heart, wench. Luke has a hasty
temper. 'Tis not the first time I have told you so. He will not bear
rebuke, and you have questioned him too shrewdly touching his absence.
Is it not so? Heed it not. Trust me, you will have him seek your
forgiveness ere the shadows shorten 'neath the noontide sun."

"Alas! alas!" said Sybil, sadly, "this is no lover's quarrel, which may,
at once, be forgotten and forgiven--would it were so!"

"What is it, then?" asked Barbara; and without waiting Sybil's answer,
she continued, with vehemence, "has he wronged you? Tell me, girl, in
what way? Speak, that I may avenge you, if your wrong requires revenge.
Are you blood of mine, and think I will not do this for you, girl? None
of the blood of Barbara Lovel were ever unrevenged. When Richard Cooper
stabbed m