Cruel as the grave
shoulder to attract her attention. She started as if an adder had stung
her, but she never looked around.
"Sybil, my dearest, you are ill. What is the matter?" he whispered,
trying to avoid being overheard by others.
"Do NOT touch me! _Do not_ speak to me, unless you wish to see me drop
dead or go mad before you!" she answered in tones so full of suppressed
energy, that he impulsively drew back.
He waited for a moment in dire dread lest the assembled company should
see the state of his wife, and then he ventured to renew his efforts.
"Sybil, my darling, you are really not well. Let me lead you out of this
crowded room," he whispered, very gently, laying his hand upon her
shoulder.
She dashed it off as if it had been some venomous reptile, and turned
upon him a look flaming with fiery wrath.
"Sybil you will certainly draw the attention of our guests," he
persisted, with much less gentleness than he had before spoken.
"If you touch me, or speak to me but once more--if you do not leave me
on the instant, I _will_ draw the attention of our guests, and draw it
with a vengeance too!" she fiercely retorted, never once removing from
him her flaming eyes.
CHAPTER XVIII.
LYING IN WAIT.
"He is with her; and they know that I know
Where they are, and what they do; they believe my tears flow
While they laugh, laugh at me, at me left in the drear
Empty hall to lament in, for them!--I am here."--BROWNING.
"You are a lunatic, and fit only for a lunatic asylum!" was the angry
comment of Lyon Berners, as he turned upon his heel and left his wife.
It was the first time in his life that he had ever spoken angrily to
Sybil, or even felt angry with her.
Hitherto he had borne her fierce outbursts of jealousy with "a great
patience," feeling, perhaps, that they flamed up from the depths of her
burning love for him; feeling, also, that his own thoughtless conduct
had caused them.
Now, however, he was thoroughly incensed by the deportment of his wife,
and deeply mortified at the effect it might have upon their company.
He went around to the opposite side of the table. He did not again join
Rosa, for he dreaded a scene, and even a catastrophe; but he mingled
with the crowd, and stood where he could see Sybil, without being seen
by her.
Her face remained the same--awful in the marble-like stillness of her
agonized features; terrible in the fierceness of her flaming eyes!
This was at length observed by some of the guests, who whispered their
comments or enquiries to others. And the hum of voices and the burden of
their low-toned talk at length reached the ears or excited the
suspicions of Lyon Berners. The ordeal of the supper-table was a
frightful trial to him. He longed for it to be over.
At length the longing was gratified--the torture was over. The guests,
by twos and by fours, by small groups and large parties, left the
supper-room for the saloon, where the musicians struck up a grand march,
and the greater portion of the company formed into a leisurely promenade
as a gentle exercise after eating, and a prudent prelude to more
dancing.
Some among the guests, however, preferred to seat themselves on the
sofas that lined the walls, and to rest.
Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and
sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not
spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on
Sybil's face. To the vain and shallow coquette, it was gall and
bitterness to perceive that Sybil had still the power, of whatever sort,
to keep her own husband and _her_ admirer from her side. So Rosa sat and
sorrowed, or seemed to sorrow, on the corner sofa, from which nobody
invited her to rise, for there was a very general feeling of
disapprobation against the beautiful blonde.
Sybil also sank upon a side seat, where she sat with that same look of
agony turned to marble, on her face. Some one came up and invited her to
join in the promenade. Scarcely recognizing the speaker, or
comprehending what he said, she arose, more like an automaton than a
living woman, and let herself be led away to join the march.
But her looks had now attracted very general attention, and occasioned
much comment. More than one indiscreet friend or acquaintance had
remarked to Mr. Berners:
"Mrs. Berners looks quite ill. I fear the fatigue of this masquerade has
been too much for her," or words to that effect.
"Yes," Lyon Berners invariably replied, "she is quite indisposed this
evening, suffering indeed; and I have begged her to retire, but I cannot
induce her to do so."
"She is too unselfish; she exerts herself too much for the entertainment
of her guests," suggested another.
And so the rumor went around the room that Mrs. Berners was suffering
from severe illness. And this explanation of her appearance was very
generally received; for the outward and silent manifestations of mental
anguish are not unlike those of physical agony.
And so, after another quadrille and another waltz, and the final
Virginia reel, the company, in consideration of their hostess, began to
break up and depart. Some few intimate friends of the family, who had
come from a distance to the ball, were to stay all night at Black Hall.
These upon their first arrival had been shown to the chambers they were
to occupy, and now they knew where to find them. And so, when the last
of the departing guests had taken leave of their hostess, and had gone
away, these also bade her good-night and retired.
And Sybil remained alone in the deserted drawing-room.
It is sometimes interesting and curious to consider the relative
position of the parties concerned, just before the enactment of some
terrible tragedy.
The situation at Black Hall was this: The guests were in their chambers,
preparing to retire to bed. The servants were engaged in fastening up
the house and putting out the lights, only they refrained from
interfering with three rooms, where three members of the family still
lingered.
In the first of these was the mistress of the house, who, as I said,
remained alone in the deserted drawing-room. Sybil stood as if turned to
stone, and fixed to the spot--motionless in form and face, except that
her lips moved and a hollow monotone issued from them, more like the
moan of a lost soul, than the voice of a living woman.
"So all is lost, and nothing left but these--REVENGE and DEATH!" she
muttered.
The awful spirit of her race overshadowed her and possessed her. She
felt that, to destroy the destroyer of her peace, she would be willing
to meet and suffer all that man could inflict upon her body, or devil
do to her soul! And so she brooded, until suddenly out of this
trance-like state she started, as if a serpent had stung her.
"I linger here," she cried, "while they--Where are they, the traitor and
his temptress? I will seek them through the house; I will tear them
asunder, and confront them in their treachery."
Meanwhile where were they, the false friend and the fascinated husband?
Lyon Berners, much relieved from anxiety by the departure of the last
guests, but still deeply displeased with his wife, had retired to the
little morning parlor to collect himself. He stood now upon the rug,
with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in sombre thought. He
loved his wife, bitterly angry as he had been with her this evening, and
prone as he was to fall under the spell of the fair siren who was now
his temptress. He loved his wife, and he wished to insure her peace. He
resolved to break off, at once and forever, the foolish flirtation with
a shallow coquette which his deep-hearted Sybil had taken so earnestly.
How to do this, occupied his thoughts now. He knew that it would be
difficult, or impossible to do it, as long as Rosa Blondelle remained in
the same house with himself. He felt that he could not ask her to go and
find another home; for to do so would be rude, inhospitable, and even
cruel to the homeless and friendless young stranger.
What should he do, then?
It occurred to him that he might make some fair excuse to take Sybil to
the city, and spend the ensuing winter there with her, leaving Rosa
Blondelle in full possession of Black Hall until she should choose to
make arrangements to return to her own country. This or something else
must be done, for the flirtation with Rosa must never be resumed. In the
midst of these good resolutions he was interrupted.
Meanwhile, Rosa Blondelle had been as deeply mortified and enraged by
the sudden desertion and continued coolness of Lyon Berners, as it was
in her shallow nature to be. She went to her own room, but she could not
remain there. She came out into the long narrow passage leading to the
front hall, and she paced up and down with the angry restlessness of a
ruffled cat, muttering to herself:
"She shall not take him from me, even if he is her husband! I _will_ not
be outrivalled by another woman, even if she is his wife!"
Over and over again she ground these words through her teeth, or other
words of the same sort. Suddenly she passed out of the narrow passage
into the broad ball, where she noticed that the parlor door was ajar, a
light burning within the room, and the shadow of a man thrown across the
carpet. She stole to the door, peeped in, and saw Lyon Berners still
standing on the rug with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in
sombre thought.
She slipped in, and dropped her head upon his shoulder and sobbed.
Startled and very much annoyed, he gently tried to raise her head and
put her away.
But she only clung the closer, and sobbed the more.
"Rosa! don't! don't, child! Let us have no more of this! It is sinful
and dangerous! For your own sake, Rosa, retire to your room!" he gently
expostulated.
"Oh! you love me no longer! You love me no longer!" vehemently exclaimed
the siren. "That cruel woman has compelled you to forsake me! I told you
she would do it, and now she has done it."
"'That woman,' Rosa, is my beloved wife, entitled to my whole faith; yet
not even for her will I forsake you; but I will continue to care for
you, as a brother for a sister. But, Rosa, this must cease," he gravely
added.
"Oh, do not say that! do not! do not fling off the poor lonely heart
that you have once gathered to your own!" and she clung to him as
closely and wept as wildly as if she had been in earnest.
"Rosa! Rosa!" he whispered eagerly, and in great embarrassment, "my
child! be reasonable! Reflect! you have a husband!"
"Ah! name him not! He robbed and left me, and I hate him," she cried.
"And I have a dear and honored wife whose happiness I must guard. Thus
you see we can be nothing to each other but brother and sister. A
brother's love and care is all that I can offer you, or that you should
be willing to accept from me," he continued, as he gently smoothed her
fair hair.
"Then give me a brother's kiss," she sighed. "That is not much to ask,
and I have no one to kiss me now! So give me a brother's kiss, and let
me go!" she pleaded, plaintively.
He hesitated for a moment, and then bending over her, he said:
"It is the _first_, and for your own sake it must be the _last_, Rosa!"
he pressed his lips to hers.
It _was_ the last as well as the first; for at the meeting of their
lips, they were stricken asunder as by the fall of a thunderbolt!
And Sybil, blazing with wrath, like a spirit from the Lake of Fire,
stood between them!
Yes! for she looked not human--with her ashen cheeks, and darkened brow,
and flaming eyes--with her whole face and form heaving, palpitating,
flashing forth the lightnings of anger!
"SYBIL!" exclaimed her husband, thunderstruck, appalled.