All that day, or what remained of it after his father's departure, and the almost simultaneous withdrawal of the private detective, Frank Lamotte passed in an uneasy reverie. He had much at stake; and, now that the crisis of his fortunes was so near at hand, he began to review his ground, and every word, look, and tone of Constance Wardour, as he recalled them, one by one, was to him a fresh puzzle.

Six months ago, Frank Lamotte would have scoffed at the suggestion of a refusal even from the proud Constance. Now, somehow, he had lost his self-confidence. Again and again he imagined the words that he would say, and the words he hoped, that she would answer. Then, as he forced himself to face the possibility of defeat, the veins upon his temples swelled out, his teeth clenched, and one of those "attacks," to which he was subject, and against which Doctor Heath had warned him, seemed imminent. Again and again he gazed, with proud satisfaction, upon his reflected image, in the full length drawing-room mirror, and turned away, vowing himself a fitting mate for any woman. Again and again, when the image of his own physical perfections had ceased to dazzle his vision, his heart sank within him, and a dismal foreboding put his courage to flight.

"Confound it all," muttered he, as he wandered aimlessly from one deserted room to another: "the very house seems under a spell. Sybil, sitting like a recluse in her own rooms, growing pale, and wild-eyed, and spectre-like, every day. Evan, in his room, sick with drink, and verging on the D. T. Mother, gliding like a stately ghost from the one to the other, or closeted in her own room; she has not been down stairs to-day. Burrill, the devil knows where he is, and what took him out so unusually early this morning. He's been cutting it worse than ever for the past week; the fellow, seemingly, can't find company low enough for him, in one stage of his drunkenness, nor high enough for him in another. It's fortunate for us that liquor has at last relaxed his vigilance; the old man has taken a leading trick by the means. Curse the brute! Why won't he die in a drunken frenzy, or from overfeeding, but he won't!" Thus soliloquizing, he lighted a segar and went out into the grounds. "I'll try the effect of a little sunshine," he muttered; "for the house feels like a sarcophagus; one would think the family pride was about to receive its last blow, and the family doom about to fall."

So, restless and self-tormented, Frank Lamotte passed the long afternoon, in the double solitude of a man deserted, alike by his friends and his peace of mind.

"We make our own ghosts," said somebody once.

Frank Lamotte's phantoms had begun to manifest themselves, having grown into things of strength, and become endowed with the power to torture; thanks to the atmosphere into which he had plunged himself and them.

Late in the afternoon, John Burrill came home, but Frank avoided him, not caring to answer any questions at that time.

Burrill seemed to care little for this, or for anything; he was in a wonderfully jubilant mood. He rambled through the tenantless rooms, whistling shrilly, and with his hands in his pockets. He commanded the servants like a Baron of old. He drank wine in the library, and smoked a segar in the drawing room, and when these pleasures palled upon him, he ascended the stairs, and went straight to the room occupied by Evan.

For some time past, Jasper Lamotte had made an effort to break the bond of good fellowship, that, much to the surprise of all the family, had sprung up between the wild young fellow, and the coarser and equally or worse besotted elder one. How even reckless Evan Lamotte could find pleasure in such society, was a mystery to all who knew the two. But so it was, and Jasper Lamotte's interdict was not strong enough to sever the intimacy. John Burrill responded to his exhortations with a burst of defiance, or a volley of oaths; and, Evan received all comments upon his choice of a companion, with a sardonic smile, or a wild mocking laugh.

They had not been much together for the past few days, owing to the indisposition which had kept Evan away from their favorite haunts, but had not kept him away from his favorite beverage.

As Burrill entered his room, Evan received him with a shout of welcome, and for more than an hour they were closeted there, some times conversing in low, guarded tones, and sometimes bursting into roars of laughter, that penetrated even through the shut doors of Sybil's rooms, causing her to start nervously, and shiver as with a chill.

A little before sunset the carriage from Wardour deposited Constance and Mrs. Aliston at the door of this home of little harmony, and even Constance noted the unusual stillness, and whispered to her aunt, as they waited in the drawing room the appearance of Mrs. Lamotte:

"Bah! I sniff the ogre here, auntie. 'The trail of the serpent' is over the entire house."

"I sniff the dead odor of a vile segar," retorted Mrs. Aliston. "As for the ogre—if he won't appear in person, I'll try and survive the rest."

"I am very glad you have come, Constance," said Mrs. Lamotte, entering at this moment. "We are so dull here, and Sybil has wished much to see you." And then she extended a courteous but more stately greeting to Mrs. Aliston.

"It grieves me to hear that Sybil is not so well, dear Mrs. Lamotte. Does she employ a physician?" asked Constance, presently.

"She will not have a physician called, much to my regret. The very suggestion makes her wildly nervous."

"And—she keeps her room too much. I think Frank told me."

"Yes, recently. But, Constance, go up to her; Mrs. Aliston and I will entertain each other for awhile, and then we will join you. Sybil heard you announced, and will expect you."

Thus commanded, Constance lost no time in making her way, unattended, to Sybil's room.

In the upper hall she met Frank, who started, and flushed at sight of her, and then hurried forward, with extended hand.

"Constance," he exclaimed, eagerly, "how glad I am to see you."

"I'm such an uncommon sight!" she laughed, too much absorbed with thoughts of Sybil, to notice the extra warmth of his greeting, or a certain change of manner, that was a mingling of boldness, bashfulness, humility and coxcombery.

"How do you do, Frank?"

"Well in body, Constance—"

"Oh! then we can easily regulate your mind. I'm going to see Sybil, and I don't want your company; so adieu, Frank."

"One moment, please. I want to—I must see you, this evening. Shall you remain with us?"

"No. Aunt Honor below; we go home, soon."

"Then—may I call, this evening, Constance?"

"What a question! as if you did not call whenever the spirit moved you so to do; come, if you like, child; I shall have no better company, I am afraid," and on she swept, and had vanished within his sister's room, before Frank could decide whether to be chagrined, or delighted, at so readily given, carelessly worded, a consent.

The start, the nervous tremor, the terrified ejaculations, with which Sybil greeted, even this expected and welcome guest, all told how some deadly foe was surely undermining her life and reason. And Constance noted, with a sinking heart, the dark circles around the eyes that were growing hollow, and heavy, and full of a strange, wild expectancy: the pale cheeks, thinner than ever, and the woful weariness of the entire face.

Greeting her tenderly, and making no comments on her changed appearance, Constance chatted for a time on indifferent subjects, and noted closely, as a loving friend will, the face and manner of her listener. Sybil sat like one in a trance, rather a nightmare, her eyes roving from her visitor's face to the door, and back again, and this constantly repeated; her whole attitude and manner, that of one listening, rather for some sound, or alarm, from afar, than to the words of the friend beside her.

At last, Constance finding commonplace about exhausted, said:

"Congratulate me, child! I have thrown off a burden from my shoulders; I have brought my diamond investigations to a close."

"Ah! diamonds!" Sybil almost started from her chair, and the exclamation came sharply from lips white and trembling.

"Yes, my lost diamonds, you know; I have dismissed Mr. Belknap."

"Belknap!" an unmistakable look of horror crossed her face. "Dismissed him; oh, I wish I could!"

Sorely at a loss, yet thinking it best not to seem surprised at what she believed to be the efforts of a wandering mind to grasp and master the subject under discussion, Constance talked on, answering questions and making observations, without allowing Sybil to see the surprise and sorrow that filled her heart; and, not until many days later did she recall her friend's wild words, to see how much of method there might be in this seeming madness.

"Mr. Belknap was conducting the search for the diamonds, you know, Sybil?"

Sybil seemed making an effort to collect her scattered senses.

"Yes, yes, Conny, go on," she whispered.

"I have paid him off and am done with him; that's about all, dear."

"Conny," in a half whisper, "is he gone?"

"I don't know about that; he said something about remaining here for a time."

"Oh!" ejaculated Sybil, and then, under her breath, "My God!"

Constance shuddered as she looked upon the shivering figure before her, the wavering eyes, the hands clenching and unclenching themselves; she found conversation difficult, and began to wonder how she could avoid subjects that brought painful thoughts or suggestions. But suddenly a change came over Sybil; sitting erect, she looked fixedly at her friend, and asked:

"Conny, has he tormented you of late?"

"He! Sybil; you mean—"

"I mean my curse! has he dared to annoy you? He has sworn that he will be accepted and recognized as your friend."

Constance laughed a short, sarcastic laugh.

"Be at rest, Sybil; he never will."

"No;" with a strange dropping of the voice. "He never will!"

Again she seemed struggling to recover herself, and to recall some thought; then she looked up and asked abruptly:

"Conny, have you promised to marry my—Frank Lamotte?"

"No, Sybil."

"Then—promise, promise me, Constance, as if I were on my dying bed, that you never will."

"Why, Sybil, dear?"

"Don't ask for reasons, don't; promise, promise, PROMISE!"

She was growing excited, and Constance hastened to say:

"You are laboring under some delusion, dear child; Frank has not offered himself to me."

"But he will! he will! and I tell you, Constance, it would be giving yourself to a fate like mine, and worse. The Lamottes have not done with disgrace yet, and it shall not fall on you; promise me, Con."

"I promise, Sybil."

"You promise;" she arose from her chair and came close to Constance; "you promise," she said, slowly, "never, never to marry Francis Lamotte?"

"You promise never to marry Francis Lamotte?"

"I swear it."

A coarse laugh, a smothered oath; they both turn swiftly, and there, in the doorway, smelling of tobacco and brandy, and shaking with coarse laughter, is John Burrill, and beside him, with clenched hands, swollen temples, drawn, white lips, stands Francis Lamotte. Stands! No. He reels, he clings to the door-frame for support; his enemy is upon him.

Sybil draws herself erect; the red blood flames to her face; the fire darts from her eyes; she lifts one slender arm and points at the reeling figure; then there rings out a burst of mad, mocking laughter.

"Ha! ha! ha! Frank Lamotte, I have settled my account with you."

Then turning swiftly upon Burrill, and with even fiercer fury she shrieks:

"Out, out, out of my sight! I am almost done with you, too. Go back to your wine and your wallowing in the gutter; your days are numbered."

The awful look upon her face, the defiant hatred in her voice, the sudden strength and firmness of her whole bearing, Constance shuddered at and never forgot. Frank Lamotte, making a monstrous effort for self-control, gasped, let go his hold on the door frame, lifted his hand to his temples, and came a few steps into the room. Outside, on the stairway, was the rustle of woman's garments, the light fall of swift feet. In another moment Mrs. Lamotte, followed by Mrs. Aliston, enters the room, pushing past the gaping and astonished Burrill with scant ceremony. Then, Sybil's strength deserts her as John Burrill, recalled to a sense of his own importance, advances, and seems about to address her. She utters a cry of abhorrence and terror, and, throwing out her hands to ward off his approach, reels, falls, and is caught in the supporting arms of Constance and Mrs. Lamotte.

While they are applying restoratives, Frank sees the propriety of withdrawing from the scene, but no such motives of delicacy or decency ever find lodgment in the brain of John Burrill, and leering with tipsy gravity, he presses close to the bedside and poisons the air with his reeking breath. Constance flushes with anger, and glances at Mrs. Lamotte. That lady looks up uneasily, and seems to hesitate, and then Mrs. Aliston rises to the occasion, and covers herself with glory.

Looking blandly up into the man's face, she lays one fat, gloved hand upon his arm, and says, in a low, confidential tone:

"Come this way one moment, sir, if you please," and she fairly leads the wondering and unsuspecting victim from the room. A second later he is standing in the passage, the chamber door is shut swiftly and locked securely. John Burrill has been led out like a lamb, and the fat and smiling strategist comes back to the bedside.

"I suppose he thought I would tell him a secret when I got him outside," she laughs, softly.

Whatever he thought he kept to himself. After uttering a few curses he went below, "returned to his pipe and his bowl," and waited the dinner hour.

"I shall send for Doctor Heath," said Mrs. Lamotte, as she bent above her daughter, who had slowly returned to consciousness, but lay passive, seeming not to see or know the friends who stood about her. "Sybil does not know us; I feel alarmed."

Mrs. Aliston nodded sagaciously. "He can not come too soon," she said; then to Constance, with a mingling of womanly tact and genuine kindliness, "my child, you had better drive home soon. If Mrs. Lamotte wishes, or will permit, I will stay to-night. It will be better, believe me, Mrs. Lamotte, than to share a watch with any servant; and I am a good nurse."

So it is arranged that she shall stay, and Constance proposes to return alone to Wardour.

As she goes down stairs to her carriage, from out the shadow of the drawing room comes Frank Lamotte, still very haggard, and trembling with excitement suppressed.

"Constance!" he whispers, hoarsely, "one moment, please."

She pauses before him, very pale and still.

"Constance," speaking with an effort, "I—went up there, hoping to keep Burrill from intruding; he was too quick for me, and—and I heard Sybil's last words—and yours."

No answer from the pale listener.

"My sister asked you to refuse me. Am I right?"

"You heard."

"And you promised?"

"I promised."

"Constance, Sybil is half mad. You surely were only humoring her whim in so replying."

"Sybil is half mad. I begin to think that you know why."

"We all know why. She has sacrificed herself for an ingrate; she has saddled us all with a monster, to save a brother who is not worth saving."

"Frank Lamotte, stop; I can not listen to this; for, let me tell you that I know this charge against Evan Lamotte to be false, and I know that you know it; and yet you have sanctioned the fraud. Who has blighted Sybil's life, you may know, but it is not Evan."

"Constance do you mean—"

"I mean all that I say. Let me pass, Frank."

"Not yet. Constance, Constance! had you never any love for me? Is there no shadow of hope?"

"At first," said Constance, coldly, "I 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."