“Ah!” my lady recoiled as though an adder had stung her—­“always that man!  Speak out, then”—­turning swiftly upon her husband’s protegee—­“what is the message this man sends me by you?”

“That if you do not meet him within two days, he will sell your secret to the highest bidder.”

Sybilla delivered, word for word, the words of the American—­cruelly, slowly, significantly—­looking her still straight in the eyes.  Those clear gray eyes flashed with a fierce, defiant light.

“You know all?” she cried.

Sybilla Silver bowed her head.

“I know all,” she answered.

Dead silence fell.  White as a dead woman, Lady Kingsland stood, her eyes ablaze with fierce, consuming fire.  Sybilla made a step forward, sunk down before her, and lifted her hand to her lips.

“He told me all, my dear lady; but your secret is safe with me.  Sybilla will be your true and faithful, though humble, friend, if you will let her.  Dear Lady Kingsland, don’t look at me with that stony, angry face.  I have no wish but to serve you.”

The gracious speech met with but an ungracious return.  My lady snatched her hand away, as though from a snake, and gazed at her with flashing eyes of scorn and distrust.

“What are you to this man, Miss Silver?” she asked.  “Why should he tell you?”

“I am his plighted wife,” replied Sybilla, trying to call up a conscious blush.

“Ah, I see!” my lady said, scornfully.  “Permit me to congratulate you on the excellent execution your black eyes have wrought.  You are a very clever girl, Miss Silver, and I think I understand you thoroughly.  I am only surprised you did not carry your discovery straight to Sir Everard Kingsland.”

“Your ladyship is most unjust,” Sybilla said, turning away, “unkind and cruel.  I have delivered my message, and I will go.”

“Wait one moment,” my lady said, in her clear sweet voice, her proud face gleaming with a cynical smile.  “Tomorrow evening it will be impossible for me to see Mr. Parmalee—­there is to be a dinner-party at the house—­during the day still more impossible.  Since he commands me to see him, I will do so to-night, and throw over my other engagements.  At eight this evening I will be in the Beech Walk, and alone.  Let Mr. Parmalee come to me there.”

A gleam of diabolical triumph lighted up the great black eyes of Sybilla, but the profound bow she made concealed it.

“I will tell him, my lady,” she said, “and he will be there without fail.”

She quitted the room, closed the door, and looked back at it as Satan may have looked back at Eden after vanquishing Eve.

“My triumph begins,” she said to herself.  “I have caught you nicely this time, my lady.  You and Mr. Parmalee will not be alone in the Beech Walk to-night.”

Left to herself, Harriet stood for a moment motionless.