Cruel As The Grave

"Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?" inquired

Sybil.

"There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons

are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night."

"But--the women of your family?" suggested Sybil.

"There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps

house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam,

with half a dozen sons, but no daughters," returned the landlord.

Sybil lifted her head from her husband's shoulder, where it had rested

so long, and looked wistfully in her husband's eyes. He smiled, and

nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then

she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it

a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the

landlord, saying: "Mr. Judson, will you do me the favor to take this in to the unhappy

lady at once, and see if she will receive me this evening? I feel as if

I would like to try to comfort and serve her," "I will with pleasure, madam; and I have no doubt that the mere

expression of sympathy from another lady will be to her like a drop of

water to a feverish palate," said the landlord, as he left the room.

"Dear Lyon, I have a favor to ask of you," said Sybil, as soon as she

was alone with her husband.

"A favor! a right, my beloved! There is nothing that you can ask of me

that is not your right to receive!"

"No, no; a favor. I like to ask and receive favors from you, dear Lyon."

"Call my service what you will, dear love! a right or a favor, it is

always yours! What, then, is this favor, sweet Sybil?"

"That you will give me a perfect carte blanche in my manner of dealing

with this poor little lady, even though my manner should seem foolish or

extravagant."

At these words from his ardent, generous, romantic wife, Lyon Berners

looked very grave. What, indeed might Sybil, with her magnanimity and

munificence not think proper to do for this utter stranger--this

possible adventuress? Lyon looked very solemn over this proposal from

his wife. He hesitated for a moment; but her large, clear, honest eyes

were fixed full upon him, waiting for his reply. Could he refuse her

request? Did he not owe everything to her, and to that very high-flown

spirit of generosity which was not only a fault (if it were a fault) of

Sybil, but a trait common to all her race.

"As you will, my darling wife! I should be a cur, and worse than a

cur--a thankless wretch--to wish to restrain you in anything!" he

answered, sealing his agreement on her velvet lips.