Cruel As The Grave

"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.