Cruel As The Grave
Page 193"Thanks!" answered Sybil, sweetly, forgetting her assumed character, and
beginning to speak in her natural voice, for it seemed so difficult to
act a part in the presence of this girl.
But Lyon set his coarse boot upon Sybil's foot, and pressed it as a
warning, and then answered for both, saying: "Thank y', honey, but I don't reckon we'll want anything but our supper,
and the old man said how he'd send that up here himself."
"Then I will leave you. Good night. I hope you will have a good sleep,"
answered Rachel, bending her head.
"What a fine face that girl has," said Lyon Berners, as she withdrew.
"Yes; and what a sweet voice!" answered Sybil.
"But she is very pale, and she limps as she walks; did you notice?"
"Yes; I suppose she has ill health--probably the same malady that
carried off her mother, and all her sisters and brothers."
"Consumption?" suggested Sybil.
"Scrofula," sententiously replied Lyon.
"Oh, what a pity!" said Sybil, when their conversation was cut short by
the entrance of the landlord, bringing a waiter with the plain supper
service and a folded table-cloth, and followed by a young man bearing
another waiter piled up with materials for a supper more substantial
than delicate.
The little table was quickly set, and the meal arranged and then the
landlord, after asking if anything more was wanted, and being told there
was not, left the room, followed by his attendant.
Lyon and Sybil made a good supper, and then, as there were no bells in
that primitive house of entertainment, he put his head out of the door
When the waiter had cleared the table, and the travellers were again
left alone, Lyon said to Sybil: "I must leave you here, dear, while I go down to the water-side and
inquire what ships are about to sail for Europe. You will not be afraid
to stay here by yourself?"
"Oh, no indeed! this is not the Haunted Chapel, thank Heaven!" answered
his wife.
"Nor Rachel, the damp girl," added Lyon.
"No, poor child; but she may very soon become one," sighed Sybil.
And Lyon put on his broad-brimmed hat and went out.
Sybil locked the door, took off her red wig, and her coarse outer
garment, and took from her travelling bag a soft woolen wrapper and a
pair of slippers and put them on, and sat down before the fire to make
was enough to satisfy her; but after an hour's waiting in idleness, the
time hung heavily on her hands, and she grew homesick and lonesome. She
thought of the well-stocked library of Black Hall; of her bright
drawing-room, her birds, her flowers, her piano, her easel, her
embroidery frame, her Skie terrier, her tortoise shell cat and kittens,
her fond and faithful servant, the many grand rooms in the old hall; the
negroes' cabins, the ancient trees, the river, the cascade, the
mountains--the thousand means of occupation, amusement, and interest,
within and around her patrimonial home, the ten thousand ties of
association and affection that bound her to her old place, and she
realized her exile as she had never done before. Her spirit grew very
desolate, and her heart very heavy.