Hinchley went to the door, and led in the woman who had served for a time as housekeeper at Brooklawn.
"This person," he said, "has a story to tell; luckily, circumstances have placed her quite in my power."
"I must, my dear," replied the woman, sobbing. "They'll never let me alone if I don't."
"Who wrote the letter Mr. Laurence saw you give me?" demanded Hinchley.
"It is false!" she exclaimed. "Margaret Waring wrote it."
"Nonsense, Sybil," returned Yates. "What's the good of keeping this up? You're found out, and that's the end of it. You thought I was dead, you wanted to marry Mr. Laurence--always did, for that matter--and laid your plans beautifully. Upon my word, I honor you! But, you see, I am inconveniently alive; your old mother has been frightened into telling the truth for once, so there's nothing for it but to get away to the Valley Ranche. The miners have forgot that little affair, and we shall find something brighter than potatoes in the cellar. You know that."
She looked at him with her frightened eyes.
"Don't take on so," he said, with a gleam of feeling. "I always loved you better than you believed."
"So we'll forget and forgive. I don't mind it if you did bring the vigilance committee down on us that night; Tom and I were both hard on you--it wasn't work for a lady. As for Mr. Hinchley, he ought to go down on his knees and fill your lap with gold. If it hadn't been for her, I tell you, old fellow, you never would have seen daylight again. After all, that woman's a trump. I wouldn't give her up for all the gold in California."
"Sybil," said Laurence, in a grave, low voice, "is this thing true?"
She struggled for voice, and replied, very faintly:
"It is true! God help me, it is true; but I thought he was dead. It was night, and I so terrified that the face was not clear. Oh! if it were only death that he brings instead of these bonds."
Laurence looked on her distress with heavy eyes.
She started as if a viper had stung her, then broke into fresh moans, rocking to and fro on her chair.
"If we wronged her--if that letter was not genuine, tell me, that I may offer the poor atonement in my power."
She looked up into his eyes with such anguish, that even Yates seemed troubled.