Cruel As The Grave Part 21

"She was very much excited!" exclaimed Mrs. Blondelle, with a significant shrug of her shoulders.

"Oh! that was from her exhilarating morning ride, which raised her spirits."

"Which excited her excessively, I should say, if it really _was_ the ride."

"Of course it was the ride. And I admit that she was very gay," laughed Mr. Berners.

"Gay?" echoed Rosa, raising her eyebrows--"Gay? Why, she was almost delirious, my friend."

"Oh! well; Sybil gives full vent to her feelings; always did, always will. My little wife is in many respects a mere child, you know," said Mr. Berners, tenderly.

"Ah! what a happy child, to have her faults so kindly indulged! I wish I were that child!" sighed Rosa.

"But why should you wish to be anything else but yourself, being so charming as you are?" he softly inquired.

"Do you really like me, just as I am, Mr. Berners?" she meekly inquired, dropping her eyes.

"I really do. I have told you so, Rosa," he answered, approaching her, and taking her hand.

She sighed and turned away her head; but she left her hand in his clasp.

"Dear Rosa! dear child!" he murmured. "You are not happy."

"No, not happy," she echoed, in a broken voice.

"Dear Rosa! what can I do to make you happy?" he tenderly inquired.

"You? What can you do? Oh!--But I forget myself! I know not what I say!

I must leave you, Mr. Berners!" she exclaimed, in well-acted alarm, as she s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand from his grasp and fled from the room.

Mr. Berners looked after her, sighed heavily, and then began to walk thoughtfully up and down the room.

Sybil, from her covert, watched him, and grimly nodded her head. Then she also slipped away.

An hour later than this, the three, Mr. and Mrs. Berners and Mrs.

Blondelle, were in the drawing-room together.

"You promised me some music," whispered Lyon to Rosa.

"Oh yes; and I will give you some. I am so glad you like my poor songs.

I am so happy when I can do anything at all to please you," she murmured in reply, lifting her humid blue eyes to his face.

"Everything you do pleases me," he answered, in a very low voice.

Sybil was not standing very near them, yet, with ears sharpened by jealousy, she overheard the whole of that short colloquy, and--treasured it up.

Lyon Berners led Rosa Blondelle to the piano, arranged her music-stool, and placed the music sheets before her. She turned to one of Byron's impa.s.sioned songs, and while he hung enraptured over her, she sang the words, and ever she raised her eyes to his, to give eloquent expression and point to the sentiment. And then _his_ eyes answered, if his voice and his heart did not.

That song was finished, and many more songs were sung, each more impa.s.sioned than the other, until at last, Rosa, growing weary and becoming slightly hoa.r.s.e, arose from the piano, and with a half-suppressed sigh sank into an easy-chair.

Then Sybil--who had watched them through the evening, and noted every look and word and smile and sigh that pa.s.sed between them, and who now found her powers of self-command waning--Sybil, I say, rang for the bedroom candles. And when they were brought, the little party separated and retired for the night.

From this time forth, in the insanity of her jealousy, and with a secretiveness only possible to the morally insane, Sybil completely concealed her suspicions and her sufferings from her husband and her guest. She was affectionate with Lyon, pleasant with Rosa, and confiding in her manners towards both.

And they were completely deceived, and never more fatally so than when they imagined themselves alone together.

_They were never alone._

There was never a tender glance, a fluttering sigh, a soft smile, a low-toned, thrilling word pa.s.sed between the false flirt and the fascinated husband, that was not seen and heard by the heart-broken, brain-crazed young wife!

And oh! could these triflers with sacred love--these wanderers on the brink of a fearful abyss--have seen the look of her face then, they would have fled from each other for ever, rather than to have dared the desperation of her roused soul.

But they saw nothing, knew nothing, suspected nothing! They were, like children playing with deadly poisons, with edge tools, or with fire, ignorant of the fatal toys they handled.

And, moreover they meant nothing. Theirs was the shallowest pretence of love that ever went by the name of a flirtation. On the woman's side, it was but a love of admiration and an affectation of sentiment. On the man's side, it was pity and gratified self-love. So little did Rosa Blondelle really care for Lyon Berners, and so truly did she estimate the value of her very luxurious home at Black Hall, that had she known the state of Sybil's mind, she would very quickly have put an end to her flirtation with the husband, and done all that she could to recover the confidence of the wife, and then--looked out among the attractive young men of the neighborhood for another party to that sentimental, meaningless love-making, which was yet a necessity to her shallow life.

And as for Mr. Berners, had he dreamed of the real depth of anguish this trifling with the blonde beauty caused his true-hearted wife, he would have been the first to propose the immediate departure of their guest.

Had Sybil been frank with either or both the offenders, much misery might have been saved. But the young wife, wounded to the quick in her pride and in her love, hid her sufferings and kept her secret.

And thus the three drifted towards the awful brink of ruin.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE FIRST FATAL HALLOW EVE.

AMBROSE--Where be these maskers, fool?

COLLIN--Everywhere, sage! But chiefly there Where least they seem to mask!

JONSON--THE CARNIVAL.

It was All-Hallow Eve, a night long antic.i.p.ated with delight by the whole neighborhood, and much longer still remembered with horror by the whole country.

It was the occasion of Sybil Berners' mask ball; and Black Hall, the Black Valley, and the town of Blackville were all in a state of unprecedented excitement; for this was the first entertainment of the kind that had ever been given in the locality, and the gentry of three contiguous counties had been invited to a.s.sist at it.

Far distant from large cities and professional costumers as the rural belles and beaux of the neighborhood were, you will wonder what they did for fancy dresses.

They did very well. They ransacked the old cedar chests of their great-grandparents, and exhumed the rich brocades, cloths of gold and silvers, lutestrings, lamas, fardingdales, hair-cushions, and all the gorgeous paraphernalia and regalia of the ante-revolutionary queens of fashion. And they referred to old family portraits, and to pictures in old plays and novels, and upon the whole they got up their dresses with more fidelity to fact than most costumers do.

Some also went to the trouble and expense of a journey to New York to procure outfits, and these were commissioned to buy masks for all their friends and acquaintances who were invited to the ball.

These preparations had occupied nearly the whole month of October. And now the eventful day had come, and the whole community was on tiptoe with expectation.

First, at Black Hall all was in readiness, not only for the ball and the supper, but for the accommodation of those lady friends of the hostess who, coming from a great distance, would expect to take a bed there.