and took therefrom a capacious
drinking flask; raising it to his lips he drained half its contents, and
the stimulant acting upon overstrained nerves, seemed to restore rather
than to intoxicate.

"At last," he muttered to himself, "I am at the bottom of the mystery,
and--I am powerless." Then, like his sister on the previous day, he
muttered, "There is but one way--only one--and _it must be done_!" Then
throwing himself once more upon the bed, he moaned:

"Oh, that I, the accursed of the family, heretofore, should live to
be--but pshaw! it is for Sybil I care. But--for to-day let them all keep
out of my sight--I could not see them and hold my peace."

He pocketed the half empty flask, and made his way from the house to be
seen by none at Mapleton for the next twenty-four hours.

After that morning interview with his father-in-law, John Burrill
blusters less for a few days, and makes himself less disagreeable to the
ladies. He accepts the situation, or seems to; he rides out on one or
two sunny afternoons with Mrs. Lamotte and Sybil, and on one of these
occasions they meet Constance Wardour, driving with her aunt. The
heiress of Wardour smiles gayly and kisses the tips of her fingers to
the ladies, but there is no chance for him--he might be the footman for
all Constance seems to see or know to the contrary. This happens in a
thoroughfare where they are more than likely to have been observed, and
John Burrill chafes inwardly, and begins to ponder how he can, in the
face of all the Lamottes, gain a recognition from Constance Wardour. In
his sober moments this becomes a haunting thought; in his tipsy ones it
grows to be a mania.

One day, during this lull in the family siege, Sybil and her mother
visit the city, doing a mountain of shopping, and returning the next
day. Sybil keeps on as she began, on the night when she listened to her
father and husband, while they held council in her mother's room. She is
full of energy and nervous excitement always, and the old stupor of
dullness, and apathetic killing of time, never once returns. But Mrs.
Lamotte likes this last state not much better than the first; neither
does Constance; but they say nothing, for the reason that it would be
useless, as they know too well. Sybil goes out oftener, sits with the
family more, and seems like one waiting anxiously for a long expected
event.

John Burrill is a little disturbed at Sybil's visit to the city. He
knows that she will go