lap, and her head bowed upon her hand, "What is the matter with you,
Sybil?"

"Oh, Beatrix, I don't know. But this autumn weather, it saddens me. Oh,
more than that--worse than that, it _horrifies_ me so much! It seems
associated with--I know not what of anguish and despair. And I want to
leave this desolate and gloomy place. It is so lonely, now that all the
visitors have gone but ourselves. How can you bear it, Beatrix?"

"Very well, dear, so long as I have your company," answered Miss
Pendleton, wondering that Sybil should miss the throng of visitors that
had existed only in her own imagination.

"But I am homesick, Beatrix. Oh, Beatrix! I am so--so--homesick!" said
Sybil, plaintively.

"Never mind, dear. Try to be patient. It would not do for you to
undertake the journey now, you know," said Miss Pendleton, soothingly.

"Oh, but, Beatrix, I did so want to be at _home_ to welcome my first
dear child! There was never a Berners born out of Black Hall since the
building was first erected," she pleaded.

"Never mind, dear. Everything now must give way to your health, you
know. We could not endanger your health, by taking you over all these
rough roads to Black Hall just now," said Miss Pendleton, gently.

"Ah, well! I will try to content myself to stay here in this gloomy
place. But, oh! Beatrix, after all, I may die, and never see my home
again. My dear home! Oh, if I should die here, Beatrix, I should be sure
to haunt my home!"

"But you will not die. You must put away such gloomy fancies!"

As Miss Pendleton spoke, the cell door was opened, and the warden
appeared bearing in the tray containing the supper service for the two
ladies. It was not usual for the warden to wait on them in person; and
so, to Miss Pendleton's silent look of inquiry, he answered:

"You must excuse my daughter for this once, ma'am, as she has gone to a
merry-making in the village--this, you know, being Hallow Eve."

"_Hallow Eve!_" echoed an awful voice.

Both the warden and the young lady started, and turned around to see
whence the unearthly sound came.

They beheld Sybil fallen back in her chair, pallid, ghastly, and
convulsed.

Beatrix seized her vial of sal volatile and flew to the relief of her
friend.

"What is it, dear Sybil? can you tell me?" she anxiously inquired, as
she held the vial to the nostrils of her friend.

"_Hallow Eve! Hallow Eve!_" she repeated in a terrible tone.

"Well, dear, what of that? That is