CHAPTER XXII.
AT NIGHT IN THE BEECH WALK.
The instant Sir Everard was out of sight Sybilla ran up to her chamber, and presently reappeared, dressed for a walk.
Even the long, shrouding mantle she wore could not disguise the exquisite symmetry of her graceful form, and the thick brown veil could not dim the luster of her flashing Assyrian eyes.

She smiled back, before flitting away, at the dark, bright, sparkling face her mirror showed her.
"You are a very pretty person, my dear Miss Silver," she said--"prettier even than my lady herself, though I say it.

Worlds have been lost for less handsome faces than this in the days gone by, and Mr.Parmalee will have every reason to be proud of his wife--when he gets her." She ran lightly down-stairs, a sarcastic smile still on her lips.

In the lower hall stood Mr.Edwards, the valet, disconsolately gazing at the threatening prospect.

He turned around, and his dull eyes lighted up at sight of this darkling vision of beauty--for Mr.Parmalee was by no means the only gentleman with the good taste to admire handsome Sybilla.
"Going hout, Miss Silver!" Mr.Edwards asked.