(Here Sybil slipped away to a short distance, and joined a group of masks as if she belonged to them.)
“But I shiver as if she were near me now.”
Lyon Berners suddenly looked around and then laughed, saying:
“But there is no one near you, dear Rosa, except Death.”
“Death!” she echoed with a start and a shudder.
“Why, how excessively nervous you are, dear Rosa,” said Lyon Berners laying his hand soothingly upon her shoulder.
“Oh, but just reflect what you have just said to me. ‘No one near me but Death!’ Death near me!” she repeated, trembling.
“Poor child, are you superstitious as well as nervous? It was the mask I meant. The mask that was Sybil’s partner in the quadrille which we danced with them,” laughed Lyon Berners.
“Oh, yes, I know. And they stood opposite to us. So that we danced with them more than with any one else! And my own hand turned cold every time it had to touch his. What a ghastly mask!”
“Yes, indeed. I wonder any man should choose such a one,” added Lyon.
“Who is he? Who is that mask?”
“Indeed I do not know. Some one among our invitedguests, of course. But he maintains his incognito so successfully, that even I, who have discovered most people in the room, have not been able to detect his identity. However, at supper all will unmask, and we shall see who he is.”
“Look, is he still near me?” inquired Rosa, shaking as if with an ague.
Mr. Berners turned his head, and then answered:
“Yes, just to your left.”
“Oh! please ask him to go away! I freeze and burn, all in one minute, while he is near!”
That was enough for Lyon Berners. He arose and went to Death, and said:
“Excuse me, friend. No offence is meant; but your rather ghastly costume is too much for the nerves of the lady who is with me. I do not ask you to withdraw to some other part of the room; but I ask you whether you will do so, or whether I shall take the lady away from her resting-place?”
“Oh! I will withdraw! I know that my presence is not ever welcome, though I am not always so easily got rid of!” answered Death as, with a low inclination of his head, he went away.
“Oh! I breathe again! I live again!” murmured Rosa, with a sigh of relief.
“And now you are sufficiently rested, the music is striking up for a lively quadrille, and so, if you please, we will join the dancers and dance away dull care!” said Lyon Berners, rising and offering his arm to Rosa Blondelle.
She arose and took his arm.
(Sybil, in her little Puritan’s dress moved after them.)
He led her to the head of a set that was about to be formed.
“Oh! there she is!” suddenly exclaimed Rosa.
“Who?”
“Sybil.”
“Where?”
“There!”
And Rosa pointed to one of the doors, at which Beatrix Pendleton, in Sybil’s disguise, was just entering the room.
“No matter! See! she has taken another direction from this, and will not be near you, dear child; so be at rest,” said Lyon Berners soothingly.
“Oh! I am so glad! You don’t know how I fear that woman,” replied Rosa.
“But you did not use to do so!”
“No! not until to-night! To-night when I met her terrible eyes,” said Rosa.
“Come, come, dear! Cheer up,” smiled Mr. Berners, encouragingly, as he took her hand and led her to the order—“Forward four!”
The dance began, and Sybil heard no more; but she had heard enough to convince her, if she had not been convinced before, of her guest’s treachery and her husband’s enthrallment.
She went and sat down quietly in a remote corner, and “bided her time.” And waltz succeeded quadrille, and quadrille waltz. At the beginning of every new dance, some one would come up and ask for the honor of her hand, which she always politely refused—taking good care to speak in a low tone, and disguised voice. At length Captain Pendleton came up, and mistaking her for his sister, said:
“Sulking still, Trix?”
Not venturing to speak to him, lest he should discover his mistake, she shrugged her shoulders and turned away.
“All right! sulk as long as you please. It hurts no one but yourself, my dear,” exclaimed the Captain, sauntering off.
She saw Beatrix Pendleton, in her dress, moving merrily through the quadrille, or floating around in the waltz. She heard a gentleman near her say:
“I thought that lady never waltzed. I know she refused me and several others upon the plea that she never did.”
And she heard the other lightly answer:
“Oh, well, ladies are privileged to change their minds.”
The waltz of which they were speaking came now to an end. Sybil saw Beatrix led to a seat near her own. She also saw her partner bow and leave her. She seized the opportunity and glided up to Beatrix, and whispered:
“There will be but one more quadrille, and then supper will be served. I am going to my room. Do not dance in the next quadrille, but follow me, that we may change our dresses again. We have to be ready to unmask at supper, you know.”
“Very well! I will be punctual. I really have enjoyed myself in your dress. And you?”
“As much as I expected to. I am satisfied.”
At this moment the music for the quadrille struck up, and gentlemen began to select their partners. Two or three were coming towards Sybil and Beatrix. So with a parting caution to Beatrix to be careful, Sybil left the saloon.
She glided up to her chamber, where she was soon joined by Beatrix.
They began rapidly to take off their dresses, to exchange them.
“Oh, I have had so much amusement!” exclaimed Beatrix, laughing. “Everybody took me for you. And oh, I have received so many flattering compliments intended for you; and I have heard so much wholesome abuse of myself! That I was fast; that I was eccentric; that I was more than half-crazy; that I had a dreadful temper. And you?”
“I also received some sweet flattery intended for the pretty little Puritan maiden, and learned some bitter truths about myself,” answered Sybil.
“How hollow your voice is, Sybil! Bosh! who cares forsuch double-dealing wretches, who flatter us before our faces and abuse us behind our backs?” exclaimed Beatrix, as she quickly finished her Puritan toilet, and announced herself ready.
Sybil was also dressed, and they went down stairs and entered the drawing-room together.
The last quadrille before supper was over, the supper-rooms were thrown open, and the company were marching in.
Captain Pendleton hastened to meet Sybil, and another gentleman offered his arm to Beatrix, and thus escorted, they fell in the line of march with others.
As each couple passed into the supper-room, they took off their masks, and handed them to attendants, placed for that purpose, to the right and left of the door. Thus, when the company filled the rooms, every face was shown.
There were the usual surprises, the usual gay recognitions.
Among the rest, “Harold the Saxon” and “Edith the Fair” stood confessed as Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle, and much silent surprise as well as much whispered suspicion was the result.
“Is it possible?” muttered one. “I took them for a pair of lovers, they were so much together.”
“I thought they were a newly married pair, who took advantage of their masks to be more together than etiquette allows,” murmured a second.
“I think it was very improper; don’t you?” inquired a third.
“Improper! It was disgraceful,” indignantly answered a fourth, who was no other than Beatrix Pendleton, who now completely understood why it was that Sybil Berners wished to change dresses with her, and also how it was that Sybil’s voice was so hollow, as she spoke in the bed-chamber. “She wished to put on my dress that she might watch them unsuspected, and she was right. She detected them intheir sinful trifling, and she was wretched,” said Beatrix to herself. And she looked around to catch a glimpse of Sybil’s face. Sybil was sitting too near her to be seen. Sybil was on the same side with herself, and only two or three seats off. But Beatrix saw Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle sitting immediately opposite to herself, and with a recklessness that savored of fatuity, still carrying on their sentimental flirtation.
Yes! Rosa was still throwing up her eyes to his eyes, and cooing “soft nonsense” in his ears; and Lyon was still dwelling on her glances and her tones with lover-like devotion. Suddenly assuming a gay tone, she asked him:
“Where is our ghastly friend, Death! I do not see him anywhere in the room, and I wassoanxious to see him unmasked, that I might find out who he is. Where is he? Do you see him anywhere?”
“No; he is not here yet; but doubtless he will make his appearance presently,” answered Mr. Berners.
“Do you really not know who he is?”
“Not in the least; nor does any one else here know,” replied Mr. Berners.
Suddenly Rosa looked up, started, and with a suppressed cry, muttered:
“Good heavens! Look at Sybil!”
Mr. Berners followed the direction of her gaze across the table, and even he started at the sight of Sybil’s face.
That face wore a look of anguish, despair, and desperation that seemed fixed there forever; for in all its agony of passion that tortured and writhen face was as still, cold, hard, and lifeless as marble, except that from its eyes streamed glances as from orbs of fire.
Mr. Berners suddenly turned his eyes from her, and looked up and down the table. Fortunately now every one was too busily engaged in eating, drinking, laughing, talking, flirting, and gossiping to attend to the looks of their hostess.
“I must go and speak to her,” said Lyon Berners in extreme anxiety and displeasure, as he left Rosa’s side, and made his way around the table, until he stood immediately behind his wife. He touched her on her 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.
“Donottouch me!Do notspeak 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, Iwilldraw 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 knowWhere they are, and what they do; they believe my tears flowWhile they laugh, laugh at me, at me left in the drearEmpty 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 groupsand 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 andheradmirer 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—revengeanddeath!” 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 mancould 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 mortifiedand 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! Iwillnot 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 thefirst, and for your own sake it must be thelast, Rosa!” he pressed his lips to hers.
Itwasthe 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.
She waved her hand towards him, as if to implore or command silence.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she muttered, in lowand husky tones, as if ashes were in her throat. “But toyou!” she said, and her voice rose clear and strong as she turned and stretched out her arm towards Rosa, who was leaning in a fainting condition against the wall—“to you, viper, who has stung to death the bosom that warmed you to life—to you, traitress, who has come between the true husband and his wife—to you, thief! who has stolen from your benefactress the sole treasure of her life—to youI have this to say: I will not drive you forth in dishonor from my door this night, nor will I publish your infamy to the world to-morrow, though you have deserved nothing less than these from my hands; but in the morning you must leave the house you have desecrated! for if you do not, or if ever I find your false face here again, I will tread down and crush out your life with less remorse than ever I set heel upon a spider! I will, as I am a Berners! And now, begone, and never let me see your form again!”
Rosa Blondelle, who had stood spell-bound by the terrible gaze and overwhelming words of Sybil, the wronged wife, now suddenly threw up her hands, and with a low cry, fled from the room.
And Sybil dropped her arm and her voice at the same instant, and stood dumb and motionless.
And now, at length, Lyon Berners spoke again.
“Sybil! you have uttered words that nothing on the part of that poor lady should have provoked from you—words that I fear may never be forgotten or forgiven! But—I know that she has a gentle and easy nature. When you are cooler and more rational, I wish you to go to her and be reconciled with her.”
“Withher! I am a Berners!” answered Sybil, haughtily.
“But you bitterly wrong that lady in your thoughts!”
“Bah! I caught her in your arms! on your breast! her lips clinging to yours!”
“The first and last kiss! I swear it by all my hopes of Heaven, Sybil—a brother’s kiss!”
Sybil made a gesture of scorn and disgust.
“If I were not past laughing, I should have to laugh now,” she said.
“And you will not believe this?”
She shook her head.
“And you will not be reconciled to this injured young stranger?”
“I! I am a lady—‘or long have dreamed so,’” answered Sybil, haughtily. “At least the daughter of an honest mother. And I will not even permit such a woman as that to live under the same roof with me another day. She leaves in the morning.”
“The house is yours! You must do as you please! But this I tell you: that in the same hour which sees that poor and friendless young creature driven from the shelter of this roof, I leave it too, and leave it for ever.”
If Lyon Berners really meant this, or thought to bring his fiery-hearted wife to terms by the threat, he was mistaken in her character.
“Oh, go!” she answered bitterly—“go! Iwillnot harborher. And why should I seek to detain you? Your heart has left me already; why should I wish to retain its empty case? Go as soon as you like, Lyon Berners. Good-night, and—good-bye,” she said, and with a wave of her hand she passed from the room.
He was mad to have spoken as he did; madder still to let her leave him so! how mad, he was soon to learn.
CHAPTER XIX.SWOOPING DOWN.
Twice it called, so loudly calledWith horrid strength beyond the pitch of nature;And murder! murder! was the dreadful cry.A third time it returned with feeble strength,But o’ the sudden ceased; as though the wordsWere smothered rudely in the grappled throat.And all was still again, save the wild blastWhich at a distance growled—Oh, it will never from the heart depart!That dreadful cry all in the instant stilled.—Baillie.
Lyon Berners remained walking up and down the room some time longer. The lights were all out, and the servants gone to bed. Yet still he continued to pace up and down the parlor floor, until suddenly piercing shrieks smote his ear.
In great terror he started forward and instinctively rushed towards Rosa’s room, when the door was suddenly thrown open by Rosa herself, pale, bleeding from a wound in her breast.
“Great Heaven! What is this?” he cried, as, aghast with amazement and sorrow, he supported the ghastly and dying form, and laid it on the sofa, and then sunk on his knees beside it.
“Who, who has done this?” he wildly demanded, as, almost paralyzed with horror, he knelt beside her, and tried to stanch the gushing wound from which her life-blood was fast welling.
“Who, who has done this fiendish deed?” he reiterated in anguish, as he gazed upon her.
She raised her beautiful violet eyes, now fading in death; she opened her bloodless lips, now paling in death, and she gasped forth the words:
“She—Sybil—your wife. I told you she would do it, and she has done it. Sybil Berners has murdered me,”she whispered. Then raising herself with a last dying effort, she cried aloud, “Hear, all! Sybil Berners has murdered me.” And with this charge upon her lips, she fell backdead.
Even in that supreme moment Lyon Berners’ first thought, almost his only thought, was for his wife. He looked up to see who was there—who had heard this awful, this fatal charge.
Allwere there! guests and servants, men and women, drawn there by the dreadful shrieks. All had heard the horrible accusation.
And all stood panic-stricken, as they shrank away from one who stood in their midst.
It was she, Sybil, the accused, whose very aspect accused her more loudly than the dying woman had done; for she stood there, still in her fiery masquerade dress, her face pallid, her eyes blazing, her wild black hair loose and streaming, her crimsoned hand raised and grasping a bloodstained dagger.
“Oh, wretched woman! most wretched woman! What is this that you have done?” groaned Lyon Berners, in unutterable agony—agony not for the dead beauty before him, but for the living wife, whom he felt that he had driven to this deed of desperation. “Oh, Sybil! Sybil! what have you done?” he cried, grinding his hands together.
“I? I have done nothing!” faltered his wife, with pale and tremulous lips.
“Oh, Sybil! Sybil! would to Heaven you had died before this night! Or that I could now give my life for this life that you have madly taken!” moaned Lyon.
“I have taken no life! What do you mean? This is horrible!” exclaimed Sybil, dropping the dagger, and looking around upon her husband and friends, who all shrank from her. “I have taken no life! I am no assassin! Who dares to accuse me?” she demanded, standing up pale and haughty among them.
And then she saw that every lowered eye, every compressed lip, every shuddering and shrinking form, silently accused her.
Mr. Berners had turned again to the dead woman. His hand was eagerly searching for some pulsation at the heart. Soon he ceased his efforts, and arose.
“Vain! vain!” he said, “all is still and lifeless, and growing cold and stiff in death. Oh! my wretched wife!”
“The lady may not be dead! This may be a swoon from loss of blood. In such a swoon she would be pulseless and breathless, or seem so! let me try! I have seen many a swoon from loss of blood, as well as many a death from the same cause, in my military experience,” said Captain Pendleton, pushing forward and kneeling by the sofa, and beginning his tests, guided by experience.
His words and actions unbound the spell of horror that had till then held the assembled company still and mute, and now all pressed forward towards the sofa, and bent over the little group there.
“Air! air! friends, if you please! Stand farther off. And some one open a window!” exclaimed Captain Pendleton, peremptorily.
And he was immediately obeyed by the falling off of the crowd, one of whom threw open a window.
“Some one should fetch a physician!” suggested Beatrix Pendleton, whose palsied tongue was now at length unloosed.
And half a dozen gentlemen immediately started for the stables to dispatch a messenger for the village doctor from Blackville.
“And while they are fetching the physician, they should summon the coroner also,” suggested a voice from the crowd.
“No! no! not until we have ascertained that life is actually extinct,” exclaimed Captain Pendleton, hastily; atthe same time seeking and meeting the eyes of Mr. Berners, with a meaning gaze said:
“If we cannot restore the dead woman to life, we must at least try to save the living woman from unspeakable horrors!”
Mr. Berners turned away his head, with a deep groan.
And Captain Pendleton continued his seeming efforts to restore consciousness to the prostrate form before him, until he heard the galloping of the horse that took the messenger away for the doctor, and felt sure that the man could not now receive orders to fetch the coroner also.
Then Captain Pendleton arose and beckoned Miss Tabby Winterose to come towards him. That lady came forward, whimpering as usual, but with an immeasurably greater cause than she had ever possessed before.
“Close her eyes, straighten her limbs, arrange her dress. She is quite dead,” said the Captain.
Miss Tabby’s voice was lifted up in weeping.
But wilder yet arose the sound of wailing, as the Scotch girl, with the child in her arms, broke through the crowd and cast herself down beside her dead mistress, crying:
“Oh! and is it gone ye are, my bonny leddy? Dead and gone fra us, a’ sae suddenly! Oh, bairnie! look down on your puir mither, wham they have murthered—the born deevils.”
The poor child, frightened as much by the wild wailing of the nurse as by the sight of his mother’s ghastly form, began to scream and to hide his head on Janet’s bosom.
“Woman, this is barbarous. Take the boy away from this sight,” exclaimed Captain Pendleton, imperatively.
But Janet kept her ground, and continued to weep and wail and apostrophize the dead mother, or appeal to the orphan child. And all the women in the crowd whose tongues had hitherto been paralyzed with horror, now broke forth in tears and sobs, and cries of sympathy and compassion, and—
“Oh, poor murdered young mother! Oh, poor orphaned babe!” or lamentations to the same effect, broke forth on all sides.
“Mr. Berners, you are master of the house. I earnestly exhort you to clear the room of all here, except Miss Winterose and ourselves,” said Captain Pendleton in an almost commanding tone.
“Friends and neighbors,” cried Lyon Berners, lifting up his voice, so that it could be heard all over the room, “I implore you to withdraw to your own apartments. Your presence here only serves to distress yourselves and embarrass us. And we have a duty to do to the dead.”
The crowd began to disperse and move toward the doors when suddenly Sybil Berners lifted her hand on high and called, in a commanding tone:
“Stop!”
And all stopped and turned their eyes on her.
She was still very pale, but now also very calm; the most self-collected one in that room of death.
“I have somewhat to say to you,” she continued. “You all heard the dying words of that poor dead woman, in which she accused me of having murdered her; and your own averted eyes accuse me quite as strongly, and my own aspect, perhaps, more strongly than either.”
She paused and glanced at her crimsoned hand, and then looked around and saw that her nearest neighbors and oldest friends, who had known her longest and loved her best, now turned away their heads, or dropped their eyes. She resumed:
“The dead woman was mistaken; you are misled; and my very appearance is deceptive. I will not deny that the woman was my enemy. Driven to desperation, and in boiling blood, I might have been capable of doing her a deadly mischief, but bravely and openly, as the sons and daughters of my fiery race have done such things before this. But togo to her chamber in the dead of night, and in darkness and secrecy—! No! I could not have done that, if she had been ten times the enemy she was. Is there one here who believes that the daughter of Bertram Berners could be guilty of that or any other base deed?” she demanded, as her proud glance swept around upon the faces of her assembled friends and neighbors.
But their averted eyes too sorrowfully answered her question.
Then she turned to her husband and lowered her voice to an almost imploring tone as she inquired:
“Lyon Berners, doyoubelieve me guilty?”
He looked up, and their eyes met. If he had really believed her guilty he did not now. He answered briefly and firmly:
“No, Sybil! Heaven knows that I do not. But oh! my dear wife! explain, if you can, how that dagger came into your possession, how that blood came upon your hands; and, above all, why this most unhappy lady should have charged you with having murdered her.”
“At your desire, and for the satisfaction of the few dear old friends whom I see among this unbelieving crowd, the friends who would deeply grieve if I should either do or suffer wrong,I willspeak. But if it were not for you and for them, I would die before I would deign to defend myself from a charge that is at once so atrocious and so preposterous—so monstrous,” said Sybil, turning a gaze full of haughty defiance upon those who stood there before her face, and dared to believe her guilty.
A stern voice spoke up from that crowd.
“Mr. Lyon Berners, attend to this. A lady lies murdered in your house. By whom she has been so murdered we do not know. But I tell you that every moment in which you delay in sending for the officers of justice to investigate this affair, compromises you and me and all who stand byand silently submit to this delay, as accessories, after the fact.”
Lyon Berners turned towards the speaker, a grave and stern old man of nearly eighty years, a retired judge, who had come to the mask ball escorting his grand-daughters.
“An instant, Judge Basham. Pardon us, if in this dismay some things are forgotten. The coroner shall be summoned immediately. Captain Pendleton, will you oblige me by despatching a messenger to Coroner Taylor at Blackville?” he then inquired, turning to the only friend upon whose discretion he felt he could rely.
Captain Pendleton nodded acquiescence and intelligence, and left the room, as if for the purpose specified.
“Now, dear Sybil, with Judge Basham’s permission, give our friends the explanation that you have promised them,” said Lyon Berners affectionately, and confidingly taking her hand and placing himself beside her.
For all his anger as well as all her jealousy had been swept away in the terrible tornado of this evening’s events.
“The explanation that I promisedyou, and those who wish me well,” she said emphatically. And then her voice arose clear, firm, and distinct, as she continued:
“I was in my chamber, which is immediately above that occupied by Mrs. Blondelle. My chamber is approached by two ways, first by the front passage and stairs, and secondly by a narrow staircase running up from Mrs. Blondelle’s room. And the door leading from her room up this staircase and into mine, she has been in the habit of leaving open. To-night, as I said, I was sitting in my chamber; from causes not necessary to explain now and here, I was too much disturbed in mind to think of retiring to rest, or even of undressing. I do not know how long I had sat there, when I heard a piercing shriek from some one in the room below. Instinctively I rushed down the communicating stairs and into Mrs. Blondelle’s room, and up to herbed, where I saw by the light of the taper she was lying. Her eyes were closed, and I thought at first that she had fainted from some fright until, almost at the same instant, I saw this dagger—” here Sybil stooped and picked up the dagger that she had dropped a few minutes before—“driven to its haft in her chest. I drew it out. Instantly the blood from the opened wound spirted up, covering my hand and sleeve with the accusing stains you see! With the flowing of the blood her eyes flew wildly open! She gazed affrightedly at me for an instant, and then with the last effort of her life, for which terror lent her strength, she started up and fled shrieking to this room. I, still holding the dagger that I had drawn from her bosom, followed her here. And—you know the rest,” said Sybil; and overcome with excitement, she sank upon the nearest chair to rest.
Lyon Berners still held her hand.
Her story had evidently made a very great impression upon the company present. But Lyon Berners suddenly exclaimed:
“Good Heavens! that lady’s mistaken charge has put us all off the scent, and allowed the murderer to escape. But it may not yet be too late! Some clue may be left in her room by which we may trace the criminal! Come, neighbors, and let us search the premises.”
And Lyon Berners, leaving the shuddering women of the party in the room with Sybil and the dead, and followed by all the men, went to search the house and ground for traces of the assassin.