"In your room, Pappy. I hate a place like this a-smellin' of liquor and
inyuns and things, and men coming in and out," said Sybil, digging her
elbow into her "Pappy's" ribs, and turning up her nose at the little
tavern sitting-room.
"Well, then, honey, we'll have it up there. Up there, landlord, if it
won't be putting of you to too much trouble."
"Oh, not at all, farmer; it's all one to me. Now I'll go and call
Rachel."
And the inquisitive and communicative host went out, and soon returned
with a young woman of about Sybil's own age.
"This is my daughter, my Rachel, as I was telling you about, farmer.
Rachel, honey, you just go long of the farmer and his daughter and show
them where they've got to sleep, that's a good girl. Put 'em in the two
little rooms over the bar, you know."
"Yes, father. Come, sir; come, miss," said the landlord's daughter,
leading the way from the smoky parlor.
Lyon and Sybil followed her. Lyon walking slowly like a weary old man,
and pausing at the head of the stairs, as if to recover his wind.
"Pappy, you look tired to death," said Sybil, in a rough sympathetic
voice.
"Ay, ay; it is weary work for an old man to get up-stairs," grunted Lyon.
"The stairs are very steep, but here you are," said the landlord's
daughter, opening the door leading into two little communicating rooms.
She entered, followed by Sybil and Lyon. She set the candle down on the
top of the old chest of drawers, and turned around. And then the
travellers noticed, for the first time, how beautiful the daughter of
their host was.
Rachel's face was of the purest type of beauty, combining the physical,
intellectual, and spiritual. Her form was of medium height and perfect
grace; her head was finely shaped, and covered with dark brown hair,
parted in the middle and carried over the temples, and arranged in a
knot behind; her forehead broad and full; her eyebrows were gently
arched, her eyes dark luminous gray, with drooping lids and long
fringes; her nose small and straight, her lips full, small, and plump,
and her chin was round and well set. There were some flaws in this
otherwise perfect beauty and grace of form and face; for her complexion
was very pale, her expression pensive, and her walk slightly limping.
While Sybil was observing her with both admiration and pity, and
wondering whether she did not suffer from some hereditary malady that
had carried off her mother and all her sisters and brothers, Rachel
spoke: "I think you have everything here that you require; but if you should
need anything else, please call, and I will come and attend to your
wants."