Poor Sybil was quite overcome, and found a deadly
fascination in the horror. As they sat together on the steps with the
glorious view spread before them, her attention was so closely
fixed on his story that she saw neither the view nor even the
carriages of tourists who drove up, looked about, and departed,
envying Carrington his occupation with the lovely girl.
She was in imagination rushing with him down the valley of
Virginia on the heels of our flying army, or gloomily toiling back
to the Potomac after the bloody days at Gettysburg, or watching
the last grand deb?cle on the road from Richmond to Appomattox.
They would have sat there till sunset if Carrington had not at
length insisted that they must go, and then she rose slowly with a
deep sigh and undisguised regret.
As they rode away, Carrington, whose thoughts were not devoted
to his companion so entirely as they should have been, ventured to
say that he wished her sister had come with them, but he found
that his hint was not well received.
Sybil emphatically rejected the idea: "I'm very glad she didn't
come. If she had, you would have talked with her all the time, and
I should have been left to amuse myself. You would have been
discussing things, and I hate discussions. She would have been
hunting for first principles, and you would have been running
about, trying to catch some for her. Besides, she is coming herself
some Sunday with that tiresome Mr. Ratcliffe. I don't see what she
finds in that man to amuse her.
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