or later, in age or youth, doth it not wake at last, and see how it
hath wasted its all on follies? Yes, Father, my heart can answer,
when thy genius would complain."

"Sibyll," said Warner, roused and surprised, and gazing on her
wistfully, "time flies apace. Till this hour I have thought of thee
but as a child, an infant. Thy words disturb me now."

"Think not of them, then. Let me never add one grief to thine."

"Thou art brave and gay in thy silken sheen," said Adam, curiously
stroking down the rich, smooth stuff of Sibyll's tunic; "her grace the
duchess is generous to us. Thou art surely happy here!"

"Happy!"

"Not happy!" exclaimed Adam, almost joyfully, "wouldst thou that we
were back once more in our desolate, ruined home?"

"Yes, ob, yes!--but rather away, far away, in some quiet village, some
green nook; for the desolate, ruined home was not safe for thine old
age."

"I would we could escape, Sibyll," said Adam, earnestly, in a whisper,
and with a kind of innocent cunning in his eye, "we and the poor
Eureka! This palace is a prison-house to me. I will speak to the
Lord Hastings, a man of great excellence, and gentle too. He is ever
kind to us."

"No, no, Father, not to him," cried Sibyll, turning pale,--"let him