  For only this night, as they whispered, I brought |
As the circle revolved before them, Sybil saw no one but Lyon Berners and Rosa Blondelle, and these she saw always—with her eyes, when they were before them; with her spirit, when they had revolved away from them. She saw him hold close to his heart the arm that leaned on his arm; she saw him press her hand, and play with her fingers, and look love in the glances of his eyes, and speak love in the tones of his voice, although no word of love had been uttered as yet.
At last—oh! deliverance from torture!—the music ceased, the promenaders dispersed to their seats.
The relief was but short! The band soon struck up a popular quadrille, and the gentlemen again selected their partners and formed sets. Lyon Berners, who had conducted his fair companion to a distant seat, now led her forth again, and stood with her at the head of one of the sets.
“There! you see! they are lovers! I wonder who he is?” whispered Death, leaning to Sybil’s ear.
Sybil bit her lip and answered nothing.
“Ah! you do not know, or will not tell! Well, will you honor me with your hand in this quadrille?” requested the stranger, with a bow.
Scarcely knowing what she did, for her eyes and thoughts were still following her husband and her rival, Sybil bowed assent, and arose from her seat.
Death took her hand and led her up to the same quadrille,
Thus Lyon Berners for the first time in the evening was obliged to see his wife, for of course he knew her by her dress, as she knew him by his dress. She saw him stoop and whisper to his partner, and she surmised that he gave her a hint as to who was their vis-a-vis, and gave it as a warning. She fancied here that her confidence had been betrayed in small matters as well as in great, and even in this very small item of divulging the secret of her costume to her rival. And at that moment she took a resolution, which later in the evening she carried out. Now, however, from behind her golden mask she continued to watch her husband and her rival. She noticed, that from the instant her husband had observed his wife’s presence, he modified his manner towards his partner, until there seemed nothing but indifference in it.
But this change, instead of being satisfactory to Sybil, was simply disgusting to her, who saw in it only the effect of her own presence, inducing hypocrisy and deception in them. And the resolution that she had formed was strengthened.
Meanwhile the only couple that was wanted to complete the quadrille now came up, and the dance began.
Sybil noticed, in an absent-minded sort of a way, how very gracefully her grim partner danced. And the thought passed carelessly through her mind, that if in that most ghastly disguise his manner and address were so elegant and polished, how very refined, how perfect they must be in his plain dress. And she wondered and conjectured who, among her numerous friends and acquaintances, this gentleman could be; and she admired and marvelled at the tact and skill with which he so completely and successfully concealed his identity.
“Does he know Rosa, and is he jealous?”
Meanwhile the mazy dance went merrily on, heying and setting, whirling and twisting to the inspiring sound of music. And Sybil acted her part, scarcely conscious that she did it, until the set was ended, and she was led back to her seat by her partner, who, as he placed her in it, bowed gracefully, thanked her for the honor she had done him, and inquired if he could have the pleasure of bringing her a glass of water, lemonade, or anything else.
But she politely declined all refreshment.
He then expressed a hope of having the honor of dancing with her again during the evening, and with a final bow he withdrew.
But he did but make way for a succession of suitors, who, in low and pleading tones, besought the honor of her hand in the waltz that was about to begin. But to each of these in turn she excused herself, upon the plea that she never waltzed.
Next she was besieged by candidates for the delight of dancing with her in the quadrille that was immediately to follow the waltz. And she mechanically bowed assent to the first applicant, and excused herself to all others, upon the plea of her previous engagement.
That Sybil consented to dance at all, under the painful circumstances of her position, was due to the instinctive courtesy of her nature, which taught her, that on such an occasion as this, the hostess must not indulge her private feelings, however importunate they might be, but that she must mingle in the amusements of her guests; for she forgot that a masquerade ball was different from all other entertainments
Meanwhile she was looking for her husband and her rival, who had both disappeared. And presently her vigilance was rewarded. They reappeared, locked in each other’s arms, and whirling around in the bewildering waltz. And she watched them, all unconscious that she herself was the “observed of all observers,” the “cynosure of eyes,” the star of that “goodlie company.” All who were not waltzing, and many who were waltzing, were talking of Sybil.
“Who is she? What is she? Where did she come from? Does any one know her?” were some of the questions that were asked on all sides.
“She outshines every one in the room,” whispered a “Crusader” to a “Quaker.”
“I have heard of ‘making sunshine in a shady place,’ but she ‘makes sunshine’ even in a lighted place!” observed Tecumseh.
“Who, then, is she?” inquired William Penn.
“No one knows,” answered Richard Coeur de Lion.
“But what character does she take?” asked Lucretia Borgia.
“I should think it was a ‘Priestess of the sun,’” surmised Rebecca the Jewess.
“No! I should think she has taken the character of the ‘Princess Creusa,’ the daughter of Creon, King of Corinth, and the victim of Medea the Sorceress. Creusa perished, you know, in the robe of magic presented to her as a wedding gift from Medea, and designed to burn the wearer to ashes! Yes, decidedly it is Creusa, in her death robe of fire!” persisted the ‘gentle Desdemona,’ who had just joined the motley group.
“You are every one of you mistaken. I heard her announced when she entered—the ‘Spirit of Fire,’” said Pocahontas, with an air of authority.
“Shall I whisper my opinion? Mind, it is only an opinion, with no data for a foundation,” put in Charlemagne.
“Yes; do tell us who you take her to be,” was the unanimous request of the circle.
“Then I think she is our fair hostess!”
“Oh-h-h!” exclaimed all the ladies.
“Why do you think so?” inquired several of the gentlemen.
“Because the correspondence is so perfect that it strikes me at once, as it ought to strike everybody.”
“How? how?”
“The correspondence between her nature and her costume, I mean! The outward glow expresses the inward heat. Believe me, Sybil Berners has been masquerading all her life, and now for the first time appears in her true character—a ‘Fire Queen!’”
Such gossip as this was going on all over the room, but only in this circle was the secret of Sybil’s character discovered. But soon this discovery found its way through the crowd, and in half an hour after the secret was first revealed, every one in the room knew of it, except the person most concerned. Sybil was surrounded by a circle of admirers, each one of whom, even by the slightest change of tone or manner, revealed their knowledge, for it would have been as much against the laws of etiquette and courtesy to recognize her before she was willing to be recognized, as it would have been to have unmasked her before she was ready to unmask. So they were very guarded in their manners—even more guarded than they needed to be, for Sybil was not critical, she was indeed scarcely observant of them. She was too deeply absorbed in watching her adored husband and her abhorred rival, as, twined in each
At first they did not see Sybil, entrenched as she was behind her group of admirers; but the moment that they did see her—and Sybil knew that very moment—they modified their manners towards each other. And again Sybil was more disgusted than pleased at what she thought confirmed her worst suspicions of them.
At length the waltz was over. Lyon Berners led his fair partner to a seat, left her there and came to speak to his wife. But it was not until her group of admirers had separated to go in search of partners for the ensuing quadrille, that he had an opportunity of speaking to her privately.
“How are you enjoying yourself?” he inquired, on general principles.
“I am looking on. I am really interested in all these fooleries,” answered Sybil evasively, but truly.
“Why were you not waltzing?”
“Why? Because I did not choose and could not have borne to have had my waist encircled by any other man’s arm than yours, Lyon,” answered his wife, very gravely.
“My darling Sybil, that comes of your old-fashioned notions and country training; and it deprives you of giving and receiving much pleasure,” answered Mr. Berners.
And before Sybil could reply to that, the Black Prince came up to claim her promised hand in the quadrilles that were then forming.
Again, as she flashed like fire through and through the mazes of the dance, her elegant figure, her graceful motions, and her dazzling, flame-like dress was the general subject of enthusiastic admiration.
It was impossible but that some of this praise should reach the ears of its object. And equally impossible that
Suddenly she resolved to try an experiment. She turned to her partner and inquired:
“Do you know me?”
“Not until you permit me to do so, Madam,” answered the Black Prince, very courteously.
“Your reply was worthy of a knight and prince! So I permit you to recognize me,” said Sybil.
“Then you are our beautiful hostess; and I am happy to greet you by your real name, Mrs. Berners,” said the Black Prince.
“Thanks,” answered Sybil. “I saw that many persons knew me, and I wished to ascertain whether you were among their number, and how you and others found me out.”
“Some diviner of spirits,” laughed the Black Prince, “divined you, not only through but by your costume, in its correspondence with your character. And as soon as he made this discovery he hastened to promulgate it. Then I, for one, perceived at once that the splendid ‘Fire Queen’ could be no other than a daughter of ‘Berners of the Burning Heart.’ And now, Madam! am I permitted to introduce myself by the name I bear in this humdrum world of reality, or has your penetration already rendered such an introduction unnecessary?”
“It is unnecessary. I have just recognized—Captain Pendleton,” replied Sybil.
The captain bowed low. And then, to the “forward two” of the leader of the band, he led his partner up to meet their vis-a-vis, to “balance,” “pass,” “change,” and go through all the figures of the dance.
And so the dances succeeded each other to the end of the set. And then Captain Pendleton led his beautiful partner
Then, having solicited her hand for that dance, and having ascertained that she never waltzed, he bowed and withdrew to find a partner elsewhere.
Very soon Sybil saw him whirling around the room with some one of the many unknown flower girls that constituted so large a portion of the company.
Soon after this she saw both her husband and her rival among the waltzers; but they were not waltzing together. Edith the Fair was whirling around and around the room in the arms of a hermit, while Harold the Saxon was engaged with a pretty nun.
“They know me! they are cautious!” muttered Sybil, biting her lips with suppressed fury; for their forbearance, which she called duplicity, enraged her more than all their flirting had done.
And now she immediately put in execution the resolution that she had formed in the earlier part of the evening. Seeing her new acquaintance Death standing unemployed, she beckoned him to approach.
He came promptly.
“King of Terrors!” she said with assumed levity, “I do not waltz, but I am tired of sitting here. Give me your arm to the other end of the room, and even all around the room, perhaps.”
“Spirit of Fire! it will not be the first time that I have had the honor of waiting on you or following in your track,” said Death, gallantly.
“True; Fire has often preceded Death as his agent,” assented Sybil.
“Say rather, that Death has often followed Fire as her servant.”
“Enough of this. We seem to be well paired, at least. Let us get up and walk.”
“Splendid creature! She moves like a spirit or a flame,” exclaimed one.
“What a contrast to her companion! She all life and light, he all darkness and death.”
“It looks, as they walk side by side, as if she had burned him up and consumed him to a skeleton of charred bones,” said another.
“Horrible! Hush!” imperatively commanded a young lady, whose will, if it did not enforce silence, modified expression.
Meanwhile Fire and Death went three times around the room. Then Fire paused near a little corner tÊte-À-tÊte sofa, on which a young girl, dressed as Janet Foster the little Puritan, was seated quite alone; and turning to her escort, she said:
“I am tired and thirsty. I will take this vacant seat for a while and trouble you to go and fetch me a glass of lemonade.”
“With pleasure!” gallantly assented Death, starting off promptly and zealously to execute her commands.
Sybil seated herself beside the young girl on the sofa, and laying her hand upon her shoulder, whispered:
“Trix.”
“There!” exclaimed the girl, starting. “Every one knows me, even you.”
“Well, everybody knows me also, even you,” said Sybil.
“It is very provoking.”
“Very.”
“When I had taken so much pains to disguise myself too.”
“You? Why you took the very means to reveal your self, wearing a dress so perfectly adapted to your nature. Anybody might have known you,” pouted Trix.
“Yes, anybody might have known me; but I do not think that anybody would have done so, if it had not been for a certain ‘expert’ who, detecting the ‘correspondences,’ as he calls them, divulged the secret to the whole room,” explained Sybil.
“Well, somebody found you out, and did it by the fitness of your costume too. But as for me, nothing could be more opposite in character than Janet Foster the Puritan maiden, and Beatrix Pendleton the wild huntress. We are about as much alike as sage tea and sparkling hock. Why, see here, Sybil; in order to throw every one off the track of me, I took a character as unlike mine as it was possible to find, and yet I have not succeeded in concealing my identity. And this has provoked me to such an extent that I have left the dance.”
“And so I find you sulking here. Well, Trix, I will tell you how they found you out. You and I are known to be the two smallest women in the whole neighborhood. After having found me out, through the divination of a magician, it was easy to see that the other small woman must be you.”
“Oh, I see; but it is perfectly exasperating!”
“So it is; but you may get some fun out of it yet, Trix, by turning the tables upon them all.”
“How? Tell me! I’ll do anything to get the better of them.”
“I cannot tell you now, for here comes my escort with my lemonade, and this matter must remain a secret between you and me. But listen: in fifteen minutes from this time slip away and go to my bedroom. You know the way, and you will find it empty. I will join you there, and tell you my plan,” said Sybil, in a very low tone.
Sybil received it from him with many thanks, and having offered it first to her companion, who politely declined it, she drank it, sat the empty glass upon the corner of the mantle-piece and then said:
“I will trouble you now, if you please, to take me back to my former seat.”
Death bowed and offered his arm. Fire arose, nodded to the little Puritan on the sofa, took the arm of her escort, and walked away.
When she reached her old seat she dismissed her escort, and in a few minutes, finding herself for the instant unobserved, she quietly slipped away to her bed-chamber, where she found Beatrix Pendleton already awaiting her.
First of all Sybil locked the door, to insure herself and her companion from interruption. Then she went to the glass and took off her crown of flame and her mask of gold gauze, and drew a long breath of relief as she turned towards her companion, who started violently, exclaiming:
“Good Heaven, Sybil! how ghastly pale you look! You are ill!”
“Oh, no; only very weary,” sighed Sybil, adding then, in explanation, “You know these affairs are very fatiguing.”
“Yes, I know, but not to that extent, when you have a house full of trained servants to do everything. Why Sybil, you look as if your fiery dress had burned you to a form of ashes, leaving only a shape that might be blown away with a breath.”
“Like another Creusa,” answered Sybil, coldly. Then changing her tone, she said, with assumed lightness, “Come, Trix, you want to see some fun, and you shall see it. You and I are of about one size. We will therefore exchange dresses. You shall be the Fire Queen and I will
“Why, that it is enchanting. I agree to your plan at once.”
“All right, then. We have no time to lose. It is half-past ten o’clock now. At twelve supper will be served, when all the guests will lay aside their masks. So you see that we have but an hour and a half to effect our change of dress and hoax our wise companions. Just before supper we must slip up here again and change back, so that we may unmask at supper in our proper disguises.”
“All right!” exclaimed Trix, delighted with the plan.
“And there is one more caution I must give you. Keep out of the way of my husband. He knows my character of Fire Queen, and if he should see you near him in that dress, he would be sure to speak to you for me; and if you should attempt to reply, no matter how well you might imitate my voice, your speech would certainly betray you.”
“All right! I will keep away from your husband, if I can; but how shall I know him?”
“He is dressed as Harold the last of the Saxon Kings!”
“Oh! is that Mr. Berners? And I never suspected it! I thought that was some single man, desperately smitten with the charms of Edith the Fair,” continued Beatrix.
“Oh, yes, I dare say you thought, but you were mistaken. Edith the Fair is our guest, Mrs. Blondelle. And she took the character of Edith to support Mr. Berners in Harold, and to be true to these characters they must act as they do;
“‘Lovers in history’ were they? I should take them to be lovers in mystery now, if I did not know them to be Mr. Berners and Mrs. Blondelle,” persisted Beatrix, all unconscious of the blows she was raining upon Sybil’s overburdened heart. “However,” she added, “I shall keep out of the way of both, for if he knew your disguise, be sure that she knew it also; and of course both, in daily intercourse with you, know your voice equally well. And if either of them should take me for you and speak to me for you, and I should attempt to reply, I should be sure to betray myself. So I will keep away from both, if I can. If not, if they should come suddenly upon me and speak to me, I shall not answer, but shall turn around and walk silently away as if I were offended with them.”
“Yes, do that; that will be excellent,” assented Sybil.
“And now, how are you going to support my character, or rather my disguise?” inquired Beatrix.
“By being very silent and demure as Janet Foster; or, if need should be, by carrying on your mood of sullenness as Beatrix Pendleton, masked.”
“That will do,” agreed Beatrix, with a smile.
All the while they had been speaking, they had also been taking off their fancy dresses. No time was lost, and the exchange of costume was quickly effected.
“Now,” said Sybil, “another favor.”
“Name it.”
“Let me go down first. Then do you wait ten minutes here before you follow me. And when you enter the room keep away from me, as well as from my husband and my guest.”
“Very well. I will do so. Anything else?”
And Sybil, dressed now in the plain, close-fitting camlet gown and prim white linen cap, cuffs, and collar of the Puritan maid, and with a pale, young looking mask on her face, reËntered the saloon to try her experiment.
She looked around, and soon saw her husband and her rival sitting side-by-side, on the little retired sofa in the corner. They were absorbed in each other’s attractions, and did not see her. She glided cautiously into a seat near them.
They were sitting very close together, talking in a very low tone. Her hand rested in his. At length, Sybil heard her inquire:
“Where is your wife? I have not seen her for some time.”
“She has left the room, I believe,” answered Mr. Berners.
“Oh, that is such a relief! Do you know that I am really afraid of her?”
“Afraid of her! why? With me you are always perfectly safe. Safe!” he repeated, with a light laugh—“why, of course you are! Besides, what could harm you? Of whom are you afraid? Your friend, my wife, Sybil? She is your friend, and would do you only good.”
Rosa Blondelle slowly shook her head, murmuring:
“No, Lyon, your wife is not my friend—she is my deadly enemy. She is fiercely jealous of your affection for me, though it is the only happiness of my unhappy life. And she will make you throw me off yet.”
“Never! no one, not even my wife, shall ever do that! I swear it by all my hopes of—”
“Hush! do not swear, for she will make you break your oath. She is your wife. She will make you forsake me, or—she will do me a fatal mischief. Oh, I shiver whenever
“It was your fancy, dear Rosa; no more than that. Come, shake off all this gloom and terror from your spirit, and be your lovely and sprightly self!”
“But I cannot! oh, I cannot! I feel the burning of her terrible eyes upon me now.”
“But she is not even in the room.”
(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 invited
“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.”
“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:
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 for
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 in
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 was so anxious 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.
“Sybil, my dearest, you are ill. What is the matter?” he whispered, trying to avoid being overheard by others.
“Do not touch me! Do not speak to me, unless you wish to see me drop dead or go mad before you!” she answered in tones so full of suppressed energy, that he impulsively drew back.
He waited for a moment in dire dread lest the assembled company should see the state of his wife, and then he ventured to renew his efforts.
“Sybil, my darling, you are really not well. Let me lead you out of this crowded room,” he whispered, very gently, laying his hand upon her shoulder.
She dashed it off as if it had been some venomous reptile, and turned upon him a look flaming with fiery wrath.
“Sybil you will certainly draw the attention of our guests,” he persisted, with much less gentleness than he had before spoken.
“If you touch me, or speak to me but once more—if you do not leave me on the instant, I will draw the attention of our guests, and draw it with a vengeance too!” she fiercely retorted, never once removing from him her flaming eyes.
