ic, and a small choice collection of
books.

All these comforts were collected there as much for Miss Pendleton's
sake as for Sybil's.

The room did not look in the least like a prison-cell, nor was there any
legal necessity that it should.

It was late in the afternoon when Sybil and her devoted friend were
transferred to the new quarters.

"What is this for?" inquired Sybil, rousing herself a little, when she
found she was about to be removed.

"Oh, you know, dear, that we have been sleeping in the daughter's room,
and keeping her out of it, and now she wants her own, and so they have
fixed up another one for us," said Miss Pendleton, soothingly, as she
drew her friend's arm within her own and led her on after the warden,
who walked before them with a large bunch of keys in his hand.

"Why, here are all my things!" said Sybil, startled to unusual interest
by the sight of her personal effects arranged in the new cell.

"Yes, dear," whispered Miss Pendleton, as she put Sybil gently down into
the rocking-chair--"yes, dear. You know Lyon fears that it will be some
time before you are able to go home, and these people are too poor to
make you comfortable, so he sent these things for them to fix up this
room for you."

"Beatrix," said Sybil, putting her hands up to her temples.

"What is it, dear?"

"My head is very bad."

"Does it ache?"

"No; but it is so queer; and I have had a horrid dream--oh! a horrid,
ghastly dream; but I can't recall it."

"Don't try, my darling; you took cold in the storm last night, and you
are not well now; so turn your thoughts away from your disagreeable
dream, and fix them upon something else," said Beatrix soothingly,
although at heart she was very much alarmed, as it was probable that the
sight of her favorite little effects had started a train of associations
that might bring her back to perfect sanity and to utter agony.

At that moment, too, there was a diversion. Lyon Berners entered the
cell, bringing in a basket of fruit and flowers.

"From your own garden and conservatories, my dear Sybil. Until you are
well enough to go home, you must have some of your home comforts brought
here," he said, as he set the elegant basket down on a stand, and went
and embraced her.

"Yes; thank you very much, dear Lyon. When do you think I will be well
enough to go home?" she asked, and then, without giving the slightest
attention to her husband's affectionate answer, she dropped at