liked you as Sybil's brother;
later, I tolerated you; now you are teaching me to despise you. Long ago
I told you that only yourself could injure yourself in my eyes. There
might have been a reason, an excuse even, for allowing poor Evan, who
has willingly assumed the position, to become the family scape-goat.
There is none for your unbrotherly and false accusation. Whatever his
faults may be, poor Evan is unselfish, and he truly loves his sister."

"Is this your answer?"

"What do you expect? do you want my assurance that my promise to Sybil
was made in good faith, and that I intend to keep it? If so, you have
it." She went swiftly past him, with the last words on her lips. And
again Frank Lamotte was the prey of his enemy; like a drunken man, he
reeled back into the parlor, gnashing his teeth, cursing his fate, half
mad and wholly desperate.

Meanwhile, above stairs, John Burrill was rehearsing to Evan, after his
drunken fashion, the recent scene in Sybil's room, not even omitting his
own expulsion by wily Mrs. Aliston. As he repeated, with wonderful
accuracy, considering his condition, the wild words uttered by Sybil,
his listener sat very erect, with wild staring eyes, and lips held
tightly together, his teeth almost biting through them; with burning
eyes, and quivering frame, and a strange fear at his heart.

Having finished his narrative, Burrill arose:

"I'm to meet some fellows at Forty's," he said, thickly. "I'll stop with
them a couple of hours, or three, maybe; after that--" and he winked
significantly.

"After that," repeated Evan, and winked in return.

An hour later Evan, pale and shivering, knocked softly at Sybil's door;
Mrs. Lamotte appeared.

"How is Sybil, mother?"

"Quiet, but not rational. Doctor Heath has just gone. Evan, why! how
badly you look!"

"I feel badly. I'm going to bed; good night, mother."

CHAPTER XXV.

THAT NIGHT.

At ten o'clock that night, business was running lively at the low
ceiled, dingy, riverside saloon, that was most popular with the factory
men, the colliers, the drovers, and the promiscuous roughs of W----, and
that bears the dignified title of "Old Forty Rods."

The saloon is well patronized to-night. At the upper end, nearest the
door, "Old Forty," in person, is passing liquors across the bar, and
bawling orders to a nimble assistant, while every now and then he
addresses a coarse jest to some one of the numerous loafers about the
bar, mingling