ut of that high-bred,
haughty face, that the look of the eyes, the compression of the lips,
the fear and horror of the entire countenance, amount almost to a
transfiguration.

She draws Constance away from the bed, and into the dressing room
beyond. Then, in a voice husky with suppressed emotion, she addresses
her as follows:

"Constance Wardour, I am about to place my honor, my daughter's life,
the honor of all my family, in your hands. There is not another living
being in whom to trust, and I must trust some one. I must, for my
child's sake, have relief, or _my_ reason, too, will desert me.
Constance, that sick room holds a terrible secret--Sybil's secret. If
you can share it with me, for Sybil's sake, I will try to brave this
tempest, as I have braved others; if you refuse"--she paused a moment,
and then whispered fiercely:

"If you refuse, I will lock that chamber door, and Sybil Lamotte shall
die in her delirium before I will allow an ear that I can not trust,
within those walls, or the hand of a possible enemy to administer one
life-saving draught."

[Illustration: "Sybil Lamotte shall die in her delirium."]

Over the face of Constance Wardour crept a look of horror indescribable.
In an instant her mind is illuminated, and all the fearful meaning of
Mrs. Lamotte's strange words, is grasped and mastered. She reels as if
struck by a heavy hand, and a low moan breaks from her lips. So long she
stands thus, mute and awe-stricken, that Mrs. Lamotte can bear the
strain of suspense no longer.

"For God's sake, speak," she gasps; "there have been those of your race
who could not abandon a fallen friend."

Over the cheek, and neck, and brow, the hot, proud, loyal Wardour blood,
comes surging. The gray eyes lift themselves with a proud flash; low and
firm comes the answer:

"The Wardours were never Summer friends. Sybil has been as a sister, in
prosperity; I shall be no less than a sister now. You may trust me as
you would yourself; and--I am very glad you sent for me, and trusted no
other."

"God bless you, Constance! No one else _can_ be trusted. With your help
I must do this work alone."

Then comes a cry from the sick room; they go back, and Constance enters
at once upon her new, strange task. Her heart heavy; her hand firm; her
ears smitten by the babbling recitation of that awful secret; and her
lips sealed with the seal of the Wardour honor.

All that day she is at her post. Mrs. Lamotte, who is resolv