Cruel As The Grave

"How long will it take you to reach your beautiful home?" sweetly

inquired Rosa Blondelle.

"We might reach it in two days, if we were to travel day and night; but

we shall be four days on the road, as we propose to put up at some

roadside inn or village each night," answered Lyon Berners.

Meanwhile the coach rattled out of the city and into the open country,

where the landscape was fair, well-wooded, well-watered, but not

striking.

"You must not judge the scenery of our State by this flat country around

our seaport," said Mr. Berners to his guest, with the air of a man

making an apology.

"Yet this is very pleasant to look upon," answered Rosa, sincerely.

"Yes, very pleasant, as you say; but you will use stronger language when

you see our vast forests, our high mountains, and deep valleys,"

answered Lyon Berners with a smile.

Sybil did not join in the conversation. She had not spoken since she had

unwillingly taken that corner seat. And worse than all, to her

apprehension, neither her husband nor her guest had noticed her silence.

They were apparently quite absorbed in each other.

Some hours of jolting over bad turnpike roads brought the coach to the

interior of an old forest, where, at a wayside inn, the horses were

changed, and the travellers dined. Here, on resuming their seats in the

coach, they were joined by two other travellers, elderly country

gentlemen, who took the two vacant places inside, and who would have

made themselves very confidential with Mr. Berners on any subject

within their knowledge, from crops to Congress, if he had not been too

engaged with his fair guest to pay them much attention. Sybil continued

silent, except when occasionally her husband would ask her if she was

comfortable, or if he could do anything for her, when she would thank

him and answer that she was quite comfortable; and that he could do

nothing. And as far as bodily ease went, she spoke the truth. For the

rest, Sybil could not then and there ask him to leave off devoting

himself to their guest, and show her more attention.

A few more hours of more jolting over worse turnpike roads brought the

coach to the foot of the Blue Ridge, and to the picturesque village of

Underhill, where our party passed the night. Here, in the village inn,

Sybil Berners, feeling that Rosa Blondelle, as her guest, was entitled

to her courtesy, made an effort to forget the pain in her heart, the

shadow on her mind, and to do the honors of the table with her usual

affability and grace.

After supper, which was pleasantly prolonged, the travellers separated,

and were shown to their several bed-chambers.

And now, after twelve hours, Sybil found herself once more alone with

her husband. He had not perceived her silence and dejection during the

journey, or if he had, he certainly had not ascribed it to the right

cause. He was equally unconscious of having done a wrong, or inflicted a

wound. And now his manner to his wife was as tender, loving, and devoted

as it had ever been since their marriage. His very first words showed

this. On entering the room and closing the door, he suddenly threw his

arms around her, and clasped her to his bosom as a recovered treasure,

exclaiming: "Now, my darling, we are alone together once more, with no one to divide

us."