CHAPTER IV.THE BEAUTIFUL STRANGER.
“From the glance of her eyeShun danger and fly,For fatal ’s the glance.”
Very happy were the married lovers as they sat over their tea, even though the scene of their domestic joy was just now but an inn-parlor. Both the young people had good appetites: gratified love had not deprived them of that.
They talked of their homeward journey and how pleasant it would be in this glorious autumn weather, and of their home and how glad they would be to reach it—yes, how glad! For, paradoxical as it may seem to say so, there is no happiness so perfect as that which looks forward to something still more perfect, if such could be possible in the future. They talked of the Black Valley, and how beautiful even that would look in its gorgeous October livery.
Suddenly in the midst of their sweet converse they heard the sound of weeping—low, deep, heart-broken weeping.
Both paused, looked at each other and listened.
The sound seemed to come from a room on the opposite side of the passage to their own apartment.
“What is that?” inquired Sybil, looking up to her husband’s face.
“It seems to be some woman in distress,” answered Lyon.
“Oh! see what it is, dear, will you?” entreated Sybil.
She was herself so happy, that it was really dreadful to be reminded just then that sorrow should exist in this world; at all.
“Oh, go and see what is the matter. Do, dear,” she insisted, seeing that he hesitated.
“I would do so, dear, in a moment, but it might be indiscreet on my part. The lady may be a party to some little domestic misunderstanding, with which it would be impertinent in any stranger to interfere,” answered the more thoughtful husband.
“A domestic misunderstanding! O, dear Lyon, that such things should be! Fancy you and I having a misunderstanding!” exclaimed Sybil, with a shiver.
“I cannot fancy anything of the sort, my darling; Heaven forbid that I could!” said Lyon, fervently.
“Amen to that! But listen! Ah! how she weeps and wails! Oh, Lyon, how I pity her! Oh, how I wish I could do something for her! Oh, Lyon, are you sure it would be improper for me to go and see if I can relieve her in any way?” pleaded Sybil.
“Quite sure, my darling; I am quite sure that you must not interfere, at least at this stage. If this should be a case in which we can be of service, we shall be likely to know it when the waiter answers the bell that I rung some five minutes since,” said Lyon, soothingly.
But Sybil could not rest with the sound of that weeping and wailing in her ears. She left her chair and began to walk up and down the floor, and to pause occasionally at her door to listen.
Suddenly a door on the opposite side of the passage opened, and the voice of the landlord was heard, apparently speaking to the weeping woman.
“I beg you won’t distress yourself, ma’am; I am sure I wouldn’t do anything to distress you for the world. Keep up your spirits, ma’am. Something may turn up yet, you know,” he said as he closed the opposite door again; and then crossing the passage, he knocked at the door of the Berners’ apartments.
“Come in,” said Lyon Berners eagerly, while Sybil paused in her restless walk and gazed breathlessly at the door.
Both were so interested, they could not have told why, in that weeping woman.
The landlord entered and closed the door behind him, and advanced with a bow and an apology.
“I am afraid that you and your good lady have been disturbed by the noise in the other room; but really I could not help it. I have done all I could to comfort the poor creature; but really you know, ‘Rachel weeping for her children’ was nothing to this woman. She’s been going on in this way for the last three days, sir. I did hope she would be quiet this evening. I told her that I had guests in these rooms. But, Lord, sir! I might just as well try to reason with a thunderstorm as with her. I wish I had quieter rooms to put you in, sir.”
“Pray do not think of us. It is not the disturbance we mind on our own account; it is to hear a fellow creature in so much distress. A guest of the house?” inquired Mr. Berners.
“Yes, sir; worse luck.”
“She has lost friends or—fortune?” continued Berners delicately investigating the case, while Sybil looked and listened with the deepest interest.
“Both, sir! Both, sir! All, sir! Everything, sir! It is really a case of atrocious villainy, sir! And I may say, a case of extreme difficulty as well! A case in which I need counsel myself, sir,” said the landlord, with every appearance of being as willing to give information as to take advice.
CHAPTER V.THE LANDLORD’S STORY.
“What wit so sharp is found in youth or ageThat can distinguish truth from treachery?Falsehood puts on the face of simple truth,And masks i’ th’ habit of plain honesty,When she in heart intends most villany.”
“Sit down, Mr. Judson; sit down, and tell us all about this matter; and if we can aid either you or your distressed lodger in any way, we shall be glad to do so,” said Mr. Berners, earnestly.
“Yes, indeed,” added Sybil, throwing herself down in her easy-chair, with a deep breath of relief and anticipation.
“Well, sir, and madam,” commenced the landlord, frankly accepting the offered seat, “the case is this: About ten days ago there arrived in this city, by the ship Banshee, from Cork, a lady, gentleman, and child, with two servants, who came directly to this house. The gentleman registered his party as Mr. and Mrs. Horace Blondelle, child, nurse, and valet, and he engaged the very best rooms in the house—the rooms corresponding to these on the opposite side of the passage, you know, madam.”
“Yes,” assented Mrs. Berners.
“Well, sir, and Mr. Horace Blondelle ordered, besides the best rooms, everything else that was best in the house, and, indeed, better than the house contained; for, for his supper that very night, I had to send by his directions, and procure Johanesberg, Moselle, and other rare and costly wines, such as are seldom or never called for here. But then you know, sir, he was a foreign gentleman.”
“Certainly,” agreed Lyon, with a smile.
“Next day, the finest horses and carriages from the livery stables. And so on in the highest scale of expense,until his week’s bill ran up to seven hundred dollars. As a good deal of this was money paid out of my pocket for costly wines and costly horses, I sent in my account on the Saturday night. It is the usual thing, however, madam.”
“I know,” answered Mrs. Berners.
“Well, Mr. Horace Blondelle very promptly settled it by handing me a check on the local bank for the amount. It was too late then to cash my check, as the bank had been for some hours closed. But I resolved to take it to the bank the first thing on Monday morning to get the money; and I left Mr. Horace Blondelle’s apartments with a secret feeling of commendation for his prudence in putting his ready money in the local bank, instead of keeping it about him in a crowded hotel like this. For, you know, sir, that the recent daring robbery at the Monroe House has proved to us that even the office safe is notalways‘safe.’”
“Not always,” echoed Mr. Berners.
“Well, sir, and madam, I was so well pleased with my guest’s promptitude in settling his bill, that I redoubled my attentions to his comfort and that of his party. On the Sunday he commenced the week’s account by giving a large dinner-party, for he had made acquaintances in the town. And again the most expensive delicacies and the mostly costly wines were ordered, with the most lavish extravagance. And they kept up the festivities in rather a noisy manner through the whole night, which was painful to me, I being a Churchman. But then, you know, madam, a landlord can not interfere with his guests to that extent.”
“Certainly not,” admitted Mrs. Berners.
“Well, sir, the next morning after such a carousal, I naturally expected my guests to sleep late, so I was not surprised that the stillness of their rooms remained unbroken by any sound even up to ten o’clock. At that hour however, the bank opened, and I went myself to get mycheck cashed. There, sir, I got another check. Judge of my astonishment when the cashier, after examining Mr. Horace Blondelle’s paper, declared that he knew no such person, and that there was no money deposited in that bank to the credit of that name.”
“It was a swindle!” exclaimed Mr. Berners, impulsively.
“It was a swindle,” admitted the landlord. “Yes, sir, a swindle of the basest sort, though I did not know it even then. I was inclined to be angry with the cashier, but I reflected that there was probably a mistake of some sort; so I hurried back home and inquired if Mr. Horace Blondelle had shown himself yet. I was told that he had not yet even rung his bell. Then I went to his private parlor, which had been the scene of last night’s dinner giving and Sabbath breaking. The servants of the house had removed all signs of the carousal, and were moving noiselessly about the room while restoring it to order, so as not to disturb the rest of Mr. and Mrs. Horace Blondelle in the bedroom adjoining. I told my people that, as soon as Mr. Blondelle should awake, they must tell him that I begged leave to wait on him on a matter of business. It is as well to say, that while I lingered in the room, the nurse came in with the child, a pretty, fair-haired boy of five years old. They occupied a little chamber at the end of the passage, in easy reach of the child’s mother. The nurse came in, hushing and cautioning the child not to make a noise, lest he should wake up poor mamma and papa, who were so tired. I mention this little domestic incident because, in some strange way that I cannot begin to understand, it quieted my misgivings, so that I went below and waited patiently for the rising of Mr. Horace Blondelle. Madam, I might have waited till this time!” said the landlord, pausing solemnly.
“Why? go on and tell me!” impulsively exclaimed Mrs. Berners.
“Why? I will soon let you know. I waited until longafter noon. And still no sound from the bedroom. I walked in and out of the sitting-room, where the table was set for breakfast, and still no sound from the bedroom. And in the sitting-room no sound of occupation but the waiting breakfast-table in the middle of the floor, and the nurse seated at one of the windows with the impatient child at her knee.
“‘Your master and mistress sleep late,’ I said.
“‘Yes, sir, they were up late last night,’ she replied while twisting the child’s golden ringlets around her fingers, in pure idleness, for they did not need curling.
“I went away and staid away for about an hour, and then returned to the sitting-room. No sound from the bedroom yet. No change in the sitting-room, except that the nurse had taken a seat at the corner of the table with the child on her lap, and was feeding him from a bowl of milk and bread.
“‘Your master and mistress not up yet?’ I ventured to say.
“‘No, sir, and no sign of them; I am giving little Crowy his supper, and am going to put him to bed. And if the bell don’t ring by that time, I shall make bold to knock at the door and wake them up. Because, sir, I’m getting uneasy. Something might be the matter, though I don’t know what,’ said the girl, anxiously.
“‘So am I, I wish you would. And when your master has breakfasted, tell him I wish to be permitted to wait on him,’ I said to the girl, and I left the room for the tenth time, I do suppose, that day.”
“Well!” eagerly exclaimed Sybil.
“Well, madam, in less than an hour from that time, one of the waiters came to me with looks of alarm, and said that something must have happened in number 90, for that the lady’s maid had been knocking and calling loudly at the door for the last ten minutes without being able to make herself heard within.”
“Oh!” breathed Sybil, clasping her hands.
“Madam, I hurried to the spot. I joined my efforts to those of the terrified maid to arouse the sleepers within the chamber, but with no effect. The maid was almost crazy by this time, ma’am.”
“‘Oh, sir, are they murdered in their bed?’ she cried to me.
“‘Murdered? No, but something has happened, and we must force open the door, my good girl,’ I said by way of calming her. You may well judge, sir, that I did not send for a locksmith; but with a crowbar, hastily procured from below, I hoisted the door from its hangings and effected an entrance.”
“And then? And then?” breathlessly inquired Sybil, perceiving that the landlord paused for a moment.
“We found the room in the utmost confusion. Chests of drawers, clothes-presses, boxes, and so forth, stood wide open, with their contents scattered over the floor. We glanced at the bed, and the maid uttered a wild scream, and even I felt my blood run cold; for there lay the form of the lady, still, cold, pallid, livid, like that of a corpse many hours dead. No sign of Blondelle was to be seen about the chamber.”
“Oh! had he murdered her and fled?” gasped Sybil, with a half-suppressed hysterical sob.
Mr. Berners passed his arm around her shoulders and drew her head down upon his breast, and signed for the landlord to proceed with his story.
“Sir,” continued Mr. Judson, “I went up to that bedside in the worst 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 differentdirections 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 extentof 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, atherpresence 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-likesleep. 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 tohave 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 perfectcarte blanchein 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 munificencenotthink 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? Didhenot 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.
“Iwould; 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 knewall, you would certainly withdraw your kind offer,” she said.
“I will not withdraw it in any event. Idoknow all that your landlord could tell me, and that awakens my deepest sympathy for you. But I do not know all thatyoucould 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 Ihad 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 devilWhen he put on the cherub to perplexEve, and to pave, Heaven knows how, the road to evil.—Byron.
She had been the penniless orphan daughter of a noble, but impoverished Scotch family. She had been left, by the death of her parents, dependent upon harsh and cruel relatives. She had been given in marriage, at the age of fifteen, to a wealthy old gentleman, whose years quadrupled hers. But he had used her very kindly, and she had performed her simple duty of love and obedience as well as she knew how to do it. After two years of tranquil domestic happiness, the old man died, leaving her a young widow seventeen years of age, sole guardian to their infant son, between whom and herself he had divided his whole estate.
After the death of her old husband, the youthful widow lived in strict seclusion for nearly two years, devoting herself exclusively to the care of her child.
But in the third year the health of the little Cromartierequired a change, and his mother, by her physician’s advice, took the boy to Scarborough. That fashionable watering place was then at the height of its season, and filled with visitors.
Thus it was impossible but that the wealthy young widow should attract much attention. She was inevitably drawn into the maelstrom of society, into which she rushed with all the impetuosity of a novice or an inexperienced recluse, to which all the scenes of the gay world were as delightful as they were novel.
She had many suitors for her hand; but none found favor in her eyes but Mr. Horace Blondelle, a very handsome and attractive young gentleman, whose principal passport into good society seemed to be his distant relationship to the Duke of Marchmonte.Howhe lived no one knew.Wherehe lived everyone might see, for he always occupied the best suits of apartments in the best hotel of any town or city in which he might be for the time sojourning.
We, every one of us know, or knowof, Mr. Horace Blondelle. There are scores of him scattered about the great hotels of all the large cities in Europe and America. But the simplest maiden or the silliest widow in society, is seldom taken in by him.
There, however, at Scarborough, was an inexperienced poor little creature from the Highlands, who had never in her life seen any one more attractive than the red-headed heroes of her native hills, and who, having aurific tresses of her own, was particularly prejudiced against that splendid hue, and fatally ensnared by the raven ringlets and dark eyes of this professional lady-killer.
And thus it followed of course, that this beast of prey devoured the pretty little widow and all her substance with less hesitation or remorse than a cobra might have felt in swallowing a canary bird.
So complete was her hallucination, so perfect her trust inhim, that she took no precaution of having any part of her property settled upon herself; and, in marrying this man she gave him an absolute control over her own fortune, and a dangerous, if limited, influence over that of her infant son.
This very imprudent marriage was followed by a few months of delusive happiness on the part of the bride; for the little fair beauty adored her dark-haired Apollo, who graciously accepted her adoration.
But then came satiety and weariness and inconstancy on the part of the husband, who soon commenced the pleasing pastime of breaking the wife’s heart.
Yet still, for some little time longer, she, with a deplorable fatuity, believed in and loved him. After he had squandered her own fortune on gaming-tables and race-courses, he wished to get possession of the fortune of her son. To do this he persuaded her to sell out certain stock and entrust him with the proceeds, to be invested, as he convinced her, in railway shares in America, that would pay at least two hundred per cent. dividends, and in a few months double that money.
Acting as her son’s guardian and trustee, acting also, as she thought, in his best interests, the deluded mother did as her husband directed. She sold out the stocks, and confided the proceeds to him.
Then it was that they made the voyage to America, ostensibly to purchase the railway shares in question. His real motive in bringing her to this country was, doubtless, to take her as far as possible from her native place and her old acquaintances, so as to prosecute the more safely and effectually his fraudulent designs.
How they had arrived at Norfolk and taken rooms at the Anchor, and how he had robbed and deserted her there, has already been told.
Sybil Berners listened to this sad and revolting story ofwoman’s weakness and man’s criminality with mingled emotions of pity and indignation.
“Believe me,” she said, tenderly taking the hand of the injured wife, “I feel the deepest sympathy with your misfortunes. I will do everything in my power to comfort and help you—not in words only, but in deeds; and I only grieve, dear, that I cannot give you back your husband in his honor and integrity as you once regarded him,” added this loving and confiding wife, to whom no misery seemed so great as that caused by the default and desertion of a husband.
“Oh, do not name him to me!” burst forth in pain from the lips of Rosa Blondelle; “oh, I hope, as long as I may live in this world, never to be wounded by the sound of his base name, or blasted with the sight of his false face again.”
Sybil Berners shrank in dismay from the excited woman, who continued, vehemently:
“Do you wonder at this? I tell you, madam, it is possible for love to die a sudden and violent death, for mine has done so within the last three days.”
“I am deeply grieved to hear you say so, for it proves how much you must have suffered—how much more than even I had imagined. But try to take a little comfort. I and my own dear husband will be your friends, will be a sister and a brother to you,” said Sybil earnestly, with all the impulsive, unlimited generosity of her youth and her race, awakened by her sympathy with the sorrows of this young stranger.
“Oh, madam, you—” began Rosa, but her voice broke down in sobs.
“Take comfort,” continued Sybil, laying her little brown hand on that fair golden head, “take comfort. Think, you have not lost all. You have your child left.”
“Ah, my child!” cried Rosa, in a tone like a shriek of anguish, “my child, my wronged and ruined babe! Thesight of him is a sword through my bosom! my child thatherobbed and mademean accomplice in robbing—it is maddening to think of it.”
“Then do not think of it,” said Sybil, gently, and still caressing the bowed head; “think of anything else—think of what I am going to say to you. Listen. While you remain in this crowded and noisy hotel, you can never recover calmness enough to act with any good effect. So I wish you to come home with me and my dear husband to our quiet country house, and be our cherished guest until you can communicate with your friends, or come to some satisfactory decision concerning your future course.”
While Sybil spoke these words, the young stranger raised her head and looked up with gradually dilating eyes.
“Come, now; what say you? Will you be our dear and welcome guest this autumn?” smiled Sybil.
“Oh,doyou mean this?canyou mean it?” exclaimed Rosa, in something like an ecstasy of surprise and gratitude.
“In our secluded country house, with sympathizing friends around you,” continued Sybil, still caressing Rosa’s little golden-haired head, and speaking all the more calmly because of Rosa’s excitement, “you will have repose and leisure to collect your thoughts and to write to your friends in the old country, and to wait without hurry or anxiety to hear from them.”
“Oh, angels in Heaven, do you hear what this angel on earth is saying to me! Oh, was ever such divine goodness seen under the sun before! Oh, dear lady, you amaze, you confound me with your heavenly goodness!” exclaimed the young stranger, in strong emotion.
Sybil took her hand, and still all the more gently for the increasing agitation of Rosa, she continued:
“We are daughters of the Divine Father, sisters in one suffering humanity, and so we should care for each other.At present you are suffering, and I have some power to comfort you. In the future our positions may be reversed, andImay be the sufferer and you the comforter. Who can tell?”
“O, dear lady, Heaven forbid that great heart of yours should ever be called to suffer, or that you should ever need such poor help as mine. But this I know: so penetrated am I by your goodness, that, if ever you should lose your present happiness and my death would restore it, I would die to give it back to you,” fervently exclaimed the stranger.
And for the moment she felt as she had spoken, for she was most profoundly moved by a magnanimity she had never seen equalled.
Sybil blushed like a child, and found nothing to say in reply to this excessive praise. She only left her hand in the clasp of the stranger, who covered it with kisses, and then continued:
“When I first saw your little white card and the delicate tracery of your name and your kind words, I seemed to know it was a friend’s writing. And when I first saw your sweet face and heard your tender tones, both so full of heavenly pity, I felt that the good Lord had not forsaken me, for He had sent one of his holy angels to visit me. Ah, lady, if you had only come and looked at me so and spoken to me so, and then passed out and away forever, still, still, that look and that tone would have remained with me, a comfort and a blessing for all time. But now—but now to hold out your hands to lead me to a place in your own home, by your own side—oh, it is too much! too much!”
And tears of many mingled emotions flowed down the speaker’s cheeks.
“There, there!” said Sybil, utterly confused by this excessive, but most sincere adulation, yet still caressing the stranger’s fair head, “there, dear, dry your eyes, and tell me if you can be ready to leave this place with us to-morrow morning.”
Again the foreign lady seized and kissed the hands of her new friend, exclaiming fervently:
“Yes dear lady, yes! I am too deeply touched by your heavenly goodness not to be anxious to profit by it as soon as possible.”
“Then I will leave you to your preparations for the journey,” said Sybil, rising.
Rosa also stood up.
“There will be much to be done in a short time. Will you let me send my maid to help yours?” inquired Sybil, with a hesitating smile.
“Thanks, dear madam. I shall be much obliged,” replied Rosa, with a bow.
“And there is yet another request I have to make,” added Mrs. Berners, pausing with her hand upon the latch of the door—“Will you kindly meet us at breakfast at eight o’clock to-morrow morning in our private sitting-room, so that I may make you acquainted with my husband before we all start on our journey together?”
“With pleasure, dear lady! It is your will to load me with benefits, and you must be gratified,” replied Rosa, with a faint smile.
“Then I will come myself and fetch you, a little before the hour,” added Sybil, playfully throwing a kiss as she darted through the door.
When she re-entered her own apartment, she found her husband impatiently pacing up and down the floor.
“How very long you have been, my darling Sybil,” he said, with all the fondness of a newly-wedded lover, as he went to meet her.
“Oh, I am so glad you thought it long!” she answered mischievously, as she took his hand and pulled him to the big easy-chair and pushed him down into it.
“Sit down there, and listen to me,” she said, with a pretty little air of authority. Then she drew an ottomanto his side and sunk down upon it, and leaned her arms upon his knees, and lifted her beautiful dark face, now all aglow with the delight of benevolence, and told him all that had passed in the interview between herself and Mrs. Blondelle.
And Lyon Berners, with his arm over her graceful shoulders, his fingers stringing her silken black ringlets, and his eyes gazing with infinite tenderness and admiration down on her eloquent face, listened with attentive interest to the story. But at its close, great was his astonishment.
“My dear, impulsive Sybil, what have you done!” he exclaimed.
“What!” echoed Sybil, her crimson lips breathlessly apart—her dark eyes dilated.
“Love, you have invited a perfect stranger, casually met at a hotel—a gambler’s wife, even by her own showing, an adventuress by all other appearances, to come and take up her abode with us for an indefinite length of time!”
Sybil’s mouth opened, and her eyes dilated with an almost comical expression of dismay. She had not a word to say in self-defence!
“Do not think I blame you, dear, warm, imprudent heart! I only wonder at you, and—adore you!” he said, earnestly pressing her to his bosom.
“Oh, but you would have done as I did, if you had seen her distress!” pleaded Sybil, recovering her powers of speech.
“But could you not have helped her without inviting her home with us?”
“But how?” inquired Sybil.
“Could you not have paid her board? or lent her money?”
“Oh, Lyon! Lyon!” said Sybil, slowly shaking her head and looking up in his face with a heavenly benevolence beaming through her own. “Oh, Lyon! it was not aboarding-house she wanted, it was arefuge, a home with friends! But I am very sorry if this displeases you.”
“Dear, impetuous, self-forgetting child! I am not so impious as to find fault with you.”
“But you do not like the lady’s coming.”
“I should not like any visitor coming to stay with us and prevent ourtête-à-tête,” said Lyon, gravely.
“I thought of that too, dear, and with a pang of selfish regret; for of course I would much rather that you and I should have our dear old home to ourselves, than that any stranger should share it with us. But then, oh, dearest Lyon, I reflected that we are so rich and happy in our home and our love, and she is so poor and sorrowful in her exile and desertion, that we might afford to comfort her from the abundance of our blessings,” said Sybil, earnestly.
“My angel wife! you are worthier than I, and your will shall be done,” he gravely replied.
“Not so, dear Lyon! But when you see this lady in her beauty and her sorrow, you also will admire and pity her, and you will be glad that she is coming to the refuge of our home.”
“I may be so,” replied Mr. Berners with an arch smile, “but how will your proud neighbors receive this questionable stranger?”
The stately little head was lifted in an instant, and—
“My ‘proud neighbors’ well know that whom Sybil Berners protects with her friendship is peer with the proudest among them!” she said, with a hauteur not to be surpassed by the haughtiest in the Old Dominion.
“Well said, my little wife! And now, as this matter is decided, I must see about taking additional places in the stage-coach. How many will be wanted? What retinue has this foreign princess in distress,” inquired Lyon, rather sarcastically.
“There will be three places required, for the lady, child and nurse.”
“Whe-ew! My dear Sybil, we are collecting a ready made family! Does the child squall? or the nurse drink?” inquired Lyon, with a laugh, as without waiting for a reply he rang the bell, and gave the order for three more places to be taken inside the Staunton coach for the morning.
And soon after this the young pair retired to rest.
Very early the next morning Sybil Berners came out of her chamber, looking fresh and bright as the new day itself. She wore a close-fitting travelling dress of crimson merino, that well became her elegant little figure and rich, dark complexion.
She glanced around the room to see that everything was in order. Yes; the fire was bright, the hearth clean, the breakfast-table neatly set, and the morning sun shining through the red-curtained windows and glancing upon the silver tea-service.
With a smile of satisfaction, she tossed back her raven-black ringlets, and passed from the room and through the hall, and rapped at the door of her new acquaintance.
Mrs. Blondelle herself opened it, and stood there quite ready to accompany her friend to breakfast.
Radiantly beautiful looked the fair young stranger this morning, in the dark, bright-blue cloth habit that so highly enhanced the dazzling splendor of her blooming complexion and the golden glory of her hair.
An instant Sybil paused in involuntary admiration, and then recovered herself and greeted the lady with affectionate warmth.
“It is nearly eight o’clock, dear, and breakfast is quite ready. Will you come now?” inquired Sybil, when these salutations were passed.
Rosa assented with a sweet smile, and Sybil led the way into her own sitting-room.
Mr. Berners had come in during his wife’s short absence, and he now stood before the fire with the morning paper in his hand. He put it down on the table, and came forward to meet his wife, and to welcome her guest.
“Mrs. Blondelle, Mr. Berners,” said Sybil, introducing the parties to each other by the simplest formula.
And while they were bowing together, Sybil was watching mischievously to see what effect the dazzling beauty of Rosa Blondelle would have upon Lyon Berners.
She saw it!
After bowing, they lifted their heads and looked at each other—he, at first, with the courtesy of a host—but she with a radiant and enchanting smile.
Sybil was prepared to see Lyon’s surprise at the first view of this peerless creature; but she was by no means prepared to witness the involuntary gaze of intense and breathless admiration and wonder that he fixed for a moment on her beautiful face. That gaze said as eloquently as words could have spoken:
“This is the most wondrous, perfect creature that the world ever saw! This is the master-piece of nature.”
With the sunlight of her smile still shining on him, Rosa held out her hand, and said in the sweetest tones:
“Sir, I have no words good enough to tell you how deeply I feel your kindness and that of your dear wife to me.”
“Dear lady, Mrs. Berners and myself do but gratify our own tastes intryingto serve you; for it will be a great happiness to us if we succeed in doing so,” replied Lyon Berners, with a look and tone that proved his perfect sincerity and earnestness.
As thus they smiled and glanced, and spoke to each other, Sybil also glanced from the one to the other; a sudden pang shot through her heart, exciting a nameless dread in her mind.“Even so quickly may one catch the plague!”
“Let me lead you to the table,” said Mr. Berners, offering his arm to Mrs. Blondelle, and conducting her to her place.
Above all, Sybil was a lady; for she was a Berners. So, with this strange wound in her heart, this vague warning in her mind, she took her seat at the head of her table and did its honors with her usual courtesy and grace.
Mr. Berners seconded his wife in all hospitable attentions to their beautiful young guest.
While they were all still seated at the table, a groom rapped at the door and reported the stage-coach ready.
They all arose in a hurry, and began to make the last hasty preparations for departure.
Mrs. Blondelle hurried into her own room, to have her luggage taken down stairs to be put on the coach, and also to summon her nurse with the child.
When Sybil Berners found herself for a moment alone with her husband, she laid her hand upon his coat sleeve to stay him, in his haste, and she inquired:
“What do you think of her now?”
“I think, my darling Sybil, that you were right in your judgment of this lady. And I agree with you perfectly. I think, my only love, that in what you have done for this stranger, you have acted not only with the goodness, but with the wisdom of an angel,” replied Lyon Berners, snatching her suddenly to his heart, and holding her closely there while he pressed kiss after kiss upon her crimson lip; and murmured:
“I must steal a kiss from these sweet lips when and wherever I can, my own one, since we are not to be much alone together now.”
And then he released her, and hurried off to put on his overcoat.
Sybil stood for a minute, smiling, where he had left her, and so happy that she forgot she had to get ready to go.The pain was gone from her heart, and the cloud from her brain.
And as yet, so little did she know of herself or others, that she could not have told why the pain and the cloud ever came, or why they ever went away.
As yet she did not know that her husband’s admiring smiles given to a rival beauty had really caused her nameless suffering; or that it was his loving caresses, bestowed upon herself, that had soothed it.
In a word, Sybil Berners, the young bride, did not dream that the bitter, bitter seed ofjealousywas germinating in her heart, to grow and spread perhaps into a deadly upas of the soul, destroying all moral life around it.