Cruel as the grave
panic I ever felt in all my life. My heart was hammering at my ribs like
a trip-hammer. First I took up the white hand that was hanging
helplessly down by the side of the bed; and I was glad to find that it
was limber, though cold as ice. Life might not be extinct. I ran down
and dispatched several servants in different directions for physicians,
being determined to insure the attendance of one, even at the risk of
bringing a dozen, and having all their fees to pay."
"You never thought of fees, I'll guarantee," said Mr. Berners.
"Indeed I did not. I thought only of the lady. I sent my old mother to
her bedside, with a request that she would keep everybody else out of
the room until the arrival of a physician, and to let nothing be
touched; for you see, sir, I did not know but what the attendance of a
coroner would be called for as well."
"Oh, how terrible!" murmured Sybil, from her shelter on her husband's
breast.
"Yes, madam, but not so terrible as we feared. Not to tire you with too
long an account of this bad business, I will tell you at once the result
of the physician's examination. It was, that this death-like sleep or
coma of the lady was produced by some powerful narcotic, but by what or
for what purpose administered, he could not discover. The maid was
questioned as to whether her mistress was in the habit of using any form
of opium, and answered that she certainly was not. Well, madam, the
doctor left the lady under the care of my mother, with directions to
watch her pulse, and on any indication of its failure, to summon him
immediately."
"She was in danger, then?"
"Apparently. My mother watched beside her bed all that night; the lady
did not awake until the next morning--that was the Tuesday; and the poor
soul thought it was Monday! You see twenty-four hours had been lost to
her consciousness."
"And her infamous husband?" inquired Mr. Berners.
"Neither he nor his valet were to be found. I had the police upon his
track, you may be sure; though I did not, at the time of the lady's
awakening, know the full extent of his atrocious villainy. I knew he
had swindled me, but I did not know that he had robbed and forsaken his
lovely young wife."
"Robbed and forsaken his wife?" echoed Sybil, piteously.
"Yes, madam, incredible as it seems. But I did not know this until the
lady came to her senses. When she first awoke and found my mother seated
by her bed, she expressed much surprise, at _her_ presence and at her
own husband's absence. My mother, a plain spoken old lady, blurted out
the truth--how Mr. Horace Blondelle, after imposing a worthless check
upon me, in payment of my bill, had absconded with his valet, and been
missing ever since the night of the dinner-party, and that she, Mrs.
Blondelle, had slept profoundly through all these events.
"Oh, what a dreadful tale for the poor young wife to hear!" sighed
Sybil.
"It was worse than anything I ever saw in my life, madam--her grief and
shame and despair! She arose from her bed and began to examine her
effects, to see what she might have left, and how far they would go
towards settling my bill. She possessed some invaluable jewelry in
diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. I know she did, for I had seen her wear
them. She alluded to these, and said that they were worth many thousand
dollars, and that she would sell some of them to satisfy my claims. She
began to look for them, and then it was only by her broken exclamations
of dismay that I came to know that he had robbed her."
"The unnatural monster!" indignantly exclaimed Mr. Berners, while Sybil
gazed in almost incredulous consternation.
"Yes, sir, and madam, the truth was now apparent, even to the poor lady;
and it was this--that on the night of the dinner-party he had heavily
drugged her wine, so that when she retired to bed she fell into that
deep, death-like sleep. Then he took advantage of her state to get
possession of her keys, and to rifle her boxes and caskets, and make off
with her money and jewels."
"Poor, poor woman!" sighed Sybil.
"This, madam," continued the landlord, turning to Mrs. Burners,
"occurred four days ago. Since that time her base husband has been
traced to New York, and there lost sight of."
"And she?" inquired Sybil.
"She, madam, has given herself up to the wildest grief and despair. She
is as simple and as helpless as her own child. She has not the faintest
notion of self-reliance. And here is where the trouble is with me. I
have already lost several hundred dollars through this swindling
villain. The wife and child he has left behind him are still occupying
my best suite of apartments, for which, during their stay here, I shall
not receive one penny of remuneration: therefore you see I cannot afford
to keep this lady and her suite here, and neither can I find it in my
heart to tell her to leave the house. For where, indeed, can she go? She
has no friends or acquaintances in this country, no money, and no
property that she can effectually turn into money."
"Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?" inquired
Sybil.
"There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons
are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night."
"But--the women of your family?" suggested Sybil.
"There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps
house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam,
with half a dozen sons, but no daughters," returned the landlord.
Sybil lifted her head from her husband's shoulder, where it had rested
so long, and looked wistfully in her husband's eyes. He smiled, and
nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then
she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it
a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the
landlord, saying:
"Mr. Judson, will you do me the favor to take this in to the unhappy
lady at once, and see if she will receive me this evening? I feel as if
I would like to try to comfort and serve her,"
"I will with pleasure, madam; and I have no doubt that the mere
expression of sympathy from another lady will be to her like a drop of
water to a feverish palate," said the landlord, as he left the room.
"Dear Lyon, I have a favor to ask of you," said Sybil, as soon as she
was alone with her husband.
"A favor! a right, my beloved! There is nothing that you can ask of me
that is not your right to receive!"
"No, no; a favor. I like to ask and receive favors from you, dear Lyon."
"Call my service what you will, dear love! a right or a favor, it is
always yours! What, then, is this favor, sweet Sybil?"
"That you will give me a perfect _carte blanche_ in my manner of dealing
with this poor little lady, even though my manner should seem foolish or
extravagant."
At these words from his ardent, generous, romantic wife, Lyon Berners
looked very grave. What, indeed might Sybil, with her magnanimity and
munificence _not_ think proper to do for this utter stranger--this
possible adventuress? Lyon looked very solemn over this proposal from
his wife. He hesitated for a moment; but her large, clear, honest eyes
were fixed full upon him, waiting for his reply. Could he refuse her
request? Did _he_ not owe everything to her, and to that very high-flown
spirit of generosity which was not only a fault (if it were a fault) of
Sybil, but a trait common to all her race.
"As you will, my darling wife! I should be a cur, and worse than a
cur--a thankless wretch--to wish to restrain you in anything!" he
answered, sealing his agreement on her velvet lips.
In another minute the landlord re-entered the room.
"Mrs. Blondelle's thanks and compliments, and she will be very grateful
for Mrs. Berners' visit, as soon as Mrs. Berners pleases to come," was
the message that Mr. Judson brought.
Sybil arose with a smile, kissed her hand playfully to her husband, and
passed out of the room.
The landlord went before her, rapped at the opposite door, then opened
it, announced the visitor, and closed it behind her.
Sybil advanced a step into the stranger's apartment, and then paused in
involuntary admiration.
She had heard and read of celebrated beauties, whose charms had
conquered the wisest statesmen and the bravest warriors, who had
governed monarchs and ministers, and raised or ruined kingdoms and
empires. And often in poetic fancy she had tried to figure to herself
one of these fairy forms and faces. But never, in her most romantic
moods, had she imagined a creature so perfectly beautiful as this one
that she saw before her.
The stranger had a form of the just medium size, and of the most perfect
proportions; a head of stately grace; features small, delicate, and
clearly cut; a complexion at once fair and rosy, like the inside of an
apple blossom; lips like opening rose-buds; eyes of dark azure blue,
fringed with long dark eye-lashes, and over-arched by slender, dark
eyebrows; and hair of a pale, glistening, golden hue that fell in soft,
bright ringlets, like a halo around her angelic face. She wore a robe of
soft, pale, blue silk, that opened over a white silk skirt.
She arose with an exquisite grace to welcome her visitor.
"It is very good of you, madam, to come to see me in my misery," she
murmured, in a sweet, pathetic tone that went to her visitor's heart, as
she sat a chair, and, by a graceful gesture invited her to be seated.
Sybil was herself impulsive and confiding, as well as romantic and
generous. She immediately drew her chair up to the side of the strange
lady, took her hand affectionately, and tried to look up in her eyes, as
she said:
"We are personal strangers to each other; but we are the children of one
Father, and sisters who should care for each other."
"Ah! who would care to claim sisterhood with such a wretch as I am?"
sighed the unhappy young creature.
"_I_ would; but you must not call yourself ill-names. Misfortunes are
not sins. I came here to comfort and help you--to comfort and help you
not in words merely, but in deeds; and I have both the power and the
will to do it, if you will please to let me try," said Sybil, gently.
The young creature looked up, her lovely, tearful, blue eyes expanded
with astonishment.
"You offer to comfort and help me! _Me_--a perfect stranger, with a
cloud of dishonor hanging over me! Oh, madam, if you knew _all_, you
would certainly withdraw your kind offer," she said.
"I will not withdraw it in any event. I _do_ know all that your landlord
could tell me, and that awakens my deepest sympathy for you. But I do
not know all that _you_ could tell me. Now, dear, I want you to confide
in me as you could not confide either in your landlord, or even in his
mother."
"Oh, no, no! I could not tell either of them. They were kind; but--oh,
so hard!"
"Now, dear, then, look in my face, look well, and tell me whether you
can confide in me," said Sybil, gently.
"If I had never seen your heavenly countenance--if I had only heard
your heavenly voice, I could confide in you, as in the holy mother of
Christ," said the stranger fervently.
"Tell me then, dear; tell me all you wish to tell; relieve your heart;
lay all your burdens on my bosom; and then you shall feel how well I can
comfort and help you," said Sybil, putting her hand around the fair neck
and drawing the little golden-haired head upon her breast.
Then and there the friendless young stranger--friendless now, no
more--told her piteous story.
CHAPTER VI.
ROSA BLONDELLE.
Her form had all the softness of her sex,
Her face had all the sweetness of the devil
When he put on the cherub to perplex