Beelzebub paused and opened his eyes to their widest extent.  He was making a supreme effort, and the result was monstrous.  But Sybil did not quail; she scarcely saw him.

“His name?” she said; and again, raising her voice, “His name?”

The whole world seemed to rock while she waited, but she stood firm in the midst of chaos.  Her whole soul was concentrated upon Beelzebub’s reply.

It came at last with the effect of something uttered from an immense distance that was yet piercingly distinct.

“Went—­” said Beelzebub, and paused; then, with renewed effort, “Wentworth.”

And Sybil turned from him, shrinking as though something evil had touched her, and walked stiffly back into the house.  She had known it all day long!

XIII

She never knew afterwards how long a time elapsed between the confirmation of her doubts and the sudden starting to life of a new resolution within her.  It came upon her unexpectedly, striking through the numbness of her despair, nerving her to action—­the memory of her dream and whence that dream had sprung.  Robin Wentworth still lived.  It might be he would know her.  It might even be that he was wanting her.  She would go to him.

It was the only thing left for her to do.  Of the risk to herself she did not think, nor would it have deterred her had it presented itself to her mind.  She felt as though he had called to her, and she had not answered.

To Beelzebub’s abject entreaties she paid no heed.  There were two fresh horses in the stable, and she ordered him to saddle them both.  He did not dare to disobey her in the matter, but she knew that no power on earth would have induced him to remain alone at the farm till Mercer’s coming.

She left no word to explain her absence.  There seemed no time for any written message, nor was she in a state of mind to frame one.  She was driven by a consuming fever that urged her to perpetual movement.  It did not seem to matter how the tidings of her going came to Mercer.

Not till she was in the saddle and riding, riding hard, did she know a moment’s relief.  The physical exertion eased the inward tumult, but she would not slacken for an instant.  She felt that to do so would be to lose her reason.  Beelzebub, galloping after her, thought her demented already.

Through the long, long pastures she travelled, never drawing rein, looking neither to right nor left.  The animal she rode knew the way to Wallarroo, and followed it undeviatingly.  The sun was beginning to slant, and the shadows to lengthen.

Mile after mile of rolling grassland they left behind them, and still they pressed forward.  At last came the twilight, brief as the soft sinking of a curtain, and then the dark.  But the night was ablaze with stars, and the road was clear.

Sybil rode as one in a nightmare, straining forward eternally.  She did not urge her horse, but he bore her so gallantly that she did not need to do so.  Beelzebub had increasing difficulty in keeping up with her.