Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth “He is with her; and they know that I know Where they are, and what they do; they believe my tears flow While they laugh, laugh at me, at me left in the drear Empty hall to lament in, for them!—I am here.”—Browning.

“You are a lunatic, and fit only for a lunatic asylum!” was the angry comment of Lyon Berners, as he turned upon his heel and left his wife.

It was the first time in his life that he had ever spoken angrily to Sybil, or even felt angry with her.

Hitherto he had borne her fierce outbursts of jealousy with “a great patience,” feeling, perhaps, that they flamed up from the depths of her burning love for him; feeling, also, that his own thoughtless conduct had caused them.

Now, however, he was thoroughly incensed by the deportment of his wife, and deeply mortified at the effect it might have upon their company.

He went around to the opposite side of the table. He did not again join Rosa, for he dreaded a scene, and even a catastrophe; but he mingled with the crowd, and stood where he could see Sybil, without being seen by her.

Her face remained the same—awful in the marble-like stillness of her agonized features; terrible in the fierceness of her flaming eyes!

This was at length observed by some of the guests, who whispered their comments or enquiries to others. And the hum of voices and the burden of their low-toned talk at length reached the ears or excited the suspicions of Lyon Berners. The ordeal of the supper-table was a frightful trial to him. He longed for it to be over.

At length the longing was gratified—the torture was over. The guests, by twos and by fours, by small groups and large parties, left the supper-room for the saloon, where the musicians struck up a grand march, and the greater portion of the company formed into a leisurely promenade as a gentle exercise after eating, and a prudent prelude to more dancing.

Some among the guests, however, preferred to seat themselves on the sofas that lined the walls, and to rest.

Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on Sybil’s face. To the vain and shallow coquette, it was gall and bitterness to perceive that Sybil had still the power, of whatever sort, to keep her own husband and her admirer from her side. So Rosa sat and sorrowed, or seemed to sorrow, on the corner sofa, from which nobody invited her to rise, for there was a very general feeling of disapprobation against the beautiful blonde.

Sybil also sank upon a side seat, where she sat with that same look of agony turned to marble, on her face. Some one came up and invited her to join in the promenade. Scarcely recognizing the speaker, or comprehending what he said, she arose, more like an automaton than a living woman, and let herself be led away to join the march.

But her looks had now attracted very general attention, and occasioned much comment. More than one indiscreet friend or acquaintance had remarked to Mr. Berners:

“Mrs. Berners looks quite ill. I fear the fatigue of this masquerade has been too much for her,” or words to that effect.

“Yes,” Lyon Berners invariably replied, “she is quite indisposed this evening, suffering indeed; and I have begged her to retire, but I cannot induce her to do so.”

“She is too unselfish; she exerts herself too much for the entertainment of her guests,” suggested another.And so the rumor went around the room that Mrs. Berners was suffering from severe illness. And this explanation of her appearance was very generally received; for the outward and silent manifestations of mental anguish are not unlike those of physical agony.

And so, after another quadrille and another waltz, and the final Virginia reel, the company, in consideration of their hostess, began to break up and depart. Some few intimate friends of the family, who had come from a distance to the ball, were to stay all night at Black Hall. These upon their first arrival had been shown to the chambers they were to occupy, and now they knew where to find them. And so, when the last of the departing guests had taken leave of their hostess, and had gone away, these also bade her good-night and retired.

And Sybil remained alone in the deserted drawing-room.

It is sometimes interesting and curious to consider the relative position of the parties concerned, just before the enactment of some terrible tragedy.

The situation at Black Hall was this: The guests were in their chambers, preparing to retire to bed. The servants were engaged in fastening up the house and putting out the lights, only they refrained from interfering with three rooms, where three members of the family still lingered.

In the first of these was the mistress of the house, who, as I said, remained alone in the deserted drawing-room. Sybil stood as if turned to stone, and fixed to the spot—motionless in form and face, except that her lips moved and a hollow monotone issued from them, more like the moan of a lost soul, than the voice of a living woman.

“So all is lost, and nothing left but these—revenge and death!” she muttered.

The awful spirit of her race overshadowed her and possessed her. She felt that, to destroy the destroyer of her peace, she would be willing to meet and suffer all that man could inflict upon her body, or devil do to her soul! And so she brooded, until suddenly out of this trance-like state she started, as if a serpent had stung her.

“I linger here,” she cried, “while they—Where are they, the traitor and his temptress? I will seek them through the house; I will tear them asunder, and confront them in their treachery.”

Meanwhile where were they, the false friend and the fascinated husband?

Lyon Berners, much relieved from anxiety by the departure of the last guests, but still deeply displeased with his wife, had retired to the little morning parlor to collect himself. He stood now upon the rug, with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in sombre thought. He loved his wife, bitterly angry as he had been with her this evening, and prone as he was to fall under the spell of the fair siren who was now his temptress. He loved his wife, and he wished to insure her peace. He resolved to break off, at once and forever, the foolish flirtation with a shallow coquette which his deep-hearted Sybil had taken so earnestly. How to do this, occupied his thoughts now. He knew that it would be difficult, or impossible to do it, as long as Rosa Blondelle remained in the same house with himself. He felt that he could not ask her to go and find another home; for to do so would be rude, inhospitable, and even cruel to the homeless and friendless young stranger.

What should he do, then?

It occurred to him that he might make some fair excuse to take Sybil to the city, and spend the ensuing winter there with her, leaving Rosa Blondelle in full possession of Black Hall until she should choose to make arrangements to return to her own country. This or something else must be done, for the flirtation with Rosa must never be resumed. In the midst of these good resolutions he was interrupted.

Meanwhile, Rosa Blondelle had been as deeply mortified and enraged by the sudden desertion and continued coolness of Lyon Berners, as it was in her shallow nature to be. She went to her own room, but she could not remain there. She came out into the long narrow passage leading to the front hall, and she paced up and down with the angry restlessness of a ruffled cat, muttering to herself:

“She shall not take him from me, even if he is her husband! I will not be outrivalled by another woman, even if she is his wife!”

Over and over again she ground these words through her teeth, or other words of the same sort. Suddenly she passed out of the narrow passage into the broad ball, where she noticed that the parlor door was ajar, a light burning within the room, and the shadow of a man thrown across the carpet. She stole to the door, peeped in, and saw Lyon Berners still standing on the rug with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in sombre thought.

She slipped in, and dropped her head upon his shoulder and sobbed.

Startled and very much annoyed, he gently tried to raise her head and put her away.

But she only clung the closer, and sobbed the more.

“Rosa! don’t! don’t, child! Let us have no more of this! It is sinful and dangerous! For your own sake, Rosa, retire to your room!” he gently expostulated.

“Oh! you love me no longer! You love me no longer!” vehemently exclaimed the siren. “That cruel woman has compelled you to forsake me! I told you she would do it, and now she has done it.”

“‘That woman,’ Rosa, is my beloved wife, entitled to my whole faith; yet not even for her will I forsake you; but I will continue to care for you, as a brother for a sister. But, Rosa, this must cease,” he gravely added.

“Oh, do not say that! do not! do not fling off the poor lonely heart that you have once gathered to your own!” and she clung to him as closely and wept as wildly as if she had been in earnest.

“Rosa! Rosa!” he whispered eagerly, and in great embarrassment, “my child! be reasonable! Reflect! you have a husband!”

“Ah! name him not! He robbed and left me, and I hate him,” she cried.

“And I have a dear and honored wife whose happiness I must guard. Thus you see we can be nothing to each other but brother and sister. A brother’s love and care is all that I can offer you, or that you should be willing to accept from me,” he continued, as he gently smoothed her fair hair.

“Then give me a brother’s kiss,” she sighed. “That is not much to ask, and I have no one to kiss me now! So give me a brother’s kiss, and let me go!” she pleaded, plaintively.

He hesitated for a moment, and then bending over her, he said:

“It is the first, and for your own sake it must be the last, Rosa!” he pressed his lips to hers.

It was the last as well as the first; for at the meeting of their lips, they were stricken asunder as by the fall of a thunderbolt!

And Sybil, blazing with wrath, like a spirit from the Lake of Fire, stood between them!

Yes! for she looked not human—with her ashen cheeks, and darkened brow, and flaming eyes—with her whole face and form heaving, palpitating, flashing forth the lightnings of anger!

“Sybil!” exclaimed her husband, thunderstruck, appalled.

She waved her hand towards him, as if to implore or command silence.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she muttered, in low and husky tones, as if ashes were in her throat. “But to you!” 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 you I 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.”

“With her! 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! I will not harbor her. 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.