When the women had left the room, the doctor bade the two laboring men retire with Joe to the kitchen, where he himself would have followed them, seeing that the rest of the house was closed up and fireless; but at a sign from the dying man, he stayed, and took a seat by the bedside.

The lawyer sat between the bed's head and the little stand upon which pens, ink, and paper had been placed.

"It is a will," said Mr. Closeby, as he rolled out a sheet of parchment he had taken the precaution to bring.

The dying man laughed low as he replied:

"No, it is a confession. I can make it now, when it will redeem _her_ life without ruining mine."

The lawyer and the doctor exchanged glances, but made no comment.

What Mr. Horace Blondelle's confession would be they had already surmised. What it really was will be seen presently.

The work occupied something more than an hour, for the narrator was very weak from loss of blood, and spoke slowly, faintly, and with frequent pauses, while the lawyer, at leisure, took down his words, and the doctor from time to time consulted his pulse and administered stimulants.

Meanwhile the three old women, with Gem, remained up stairs, gathered around the small fire in their bed-room. Awe hushed their usually garrulous tones, or moved them to speak only in whispers. Never seemed an hour so long. At length it was past, and more than past, when the door at the foot of the stairs was opened, and the doctor's voice was heard calling upon them to come down.

"Is it all over?" whisperingly inquired Mrs. Winterose.

"The work is over."

"But the man, I mean."

"It is not all over with him yet. He still lives, though sinking fast."

"Don't you think he ought to have a clergyman?"

"He would be dead before a clergyman could be brought here."

This rapid, low-toned conversation took place at the foot of the stairs, out of hearing of the dying man, whose senses were fast failing.

Mrs. Winterose then came down into the room and took her seat by the bed, and from time to time bathed the sufferer's brow with her own preparation of aromatic vinegar, or moistened his lips with brandy and water.

Tabby, Libby, and Gem sat around the fire. The doctor and the lawyer stood conferring in a low tone at a distant window.

Thus the death-watch was kept in the silence of awe, until Miss Tabby, unable to resist her desire to do something for the sufferer, crept up to the side of the cot opposite to which her mother sat, and "shook his sands," by asking him in a low tone:

"Is there _no_ one in the world you would like to see, or to send a message to?"

"No--no one--but Sybil Berners--and I have written a message to--her; but--to see her--is impossible," gasped the man at intervals.

"Tabby, go sit down and keep quiet. You only worry the poor soul!" said Mrs. Winterose.

Miss Tabby complied, and the silent death-watch was resumed, and continued unbroken except by the howling of the wind, the beating of the rain, and the rattling of the leafless trees, until at length--inexplicable sound!--wheels were heard, grating over the rough, neglected avenue, and approaching the house.

Who could it be, coming at that late hour of a stormy night, to a house to which, even in daylight and good weather, scarcely a visitor ever came?

The sound of the wheels ceased before the door, and was immediately followed by a knock.

"Burglars never come in wheeled carriages," said Miss Tabby to herself, as she recovered her courage, and went and opened the door.

She recoiled with a loud cry.

Every one started up, and hurried forward to see what could now be the matter.

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

RETURN OF THE EXILE.

Long years had seen her roaming A sad and weary way, Like traveller tired at gloaming, Of a sultry summer-day.

But now a home doth greet her, Though worn its portals be, And ready kindness meet her, And peace that will not flee.--PERCIVAL.

Sybil Berners stood before them! Sybil Berners, in magnificent beauty!

Sybil Berners, developed into a woman of majestic dignity and angelic grace!

Yet they all knew her in an instant.

The scene that followed is indescribable, unimaginable.

Forgotten was the dying man! Unseen was Lyon Berners, whose fine form filled up the door-way.

They crowded around _her_, they caressed her, they cried over her, they exclaimed about her, they asked her a score of questions, and without waiting for a single answer asked her a hundred others.

"G.o.d bless my dear old home, and all the people in it!" were the first words that Sybil spoke after she was permitted to catch her breath.

"And you, my darling, you! G.o.d bless you in coming home!" fervently exclaimed the old woman.

"Now, where is my child; Mrs. Winterose? Where is my Gem?" the lady inquired, looking eagerly around the room.

"Gem, come here," said the dame.

And the beautiful young girl who had been timidly lingering in the background, yet with some suspicion of the lady's ident.i.ty too, came modestly forward, and was silently folded in the arms of her mother.

A moment they clung thus; and then Sybil lifted the young head from her bosom, and holding it between her hands gazed tenderly down in the sweet face.

"My daughter! my little Gem!" she murmured. "It is but a few months since I knew that I possessed you."

"But I always knew that you were my mother. I always knew it, though no one ever told me!" sobbed Gem.

"And did you think that I had deserted you all this time, my daughter, my daughter?" inquired the lady, lingering on the last word, and tenderly gazing into her dark eyes.

"I thought you were compelled to do it, mother!"

"What! to leave you here alone, uncared for and unschooled, all these long years? No, my daughter; no, no, no. I did not know that I was blessed with a daughter; I did not know that you lived, until within a few months past. Mistaken love for me, inordinate care for me, induced all those who were nearest to me to conceal your existence from me, lest, if I should know it, I should compromise my safety, my liberty and life, Gem, by seeking to see you!"