Cruel As The Grave

"Yes, madam," politely replied Sybil.

"Then, dear Mr. Berners, I shall have to ask you to write a few

visiting-cards for me. I have not an engraved one in the world. But you

write such a beautiful hand, that your writing will look like

copper-plate. You will oblige me?" she inquired, smiling, and placing a

pack of blank cards before him.

"With the greatest pleasure," answered Lyon Berners, promptly putting

aside his paper.

Rosa turned to leave the room.

"Will you not remain with us?" courteously inquired Sybil.

"No, dear; much as I should like to do so," replied Rosa.

"But why?" inquired Lyon Berners, looking disappointed.

"Oh! because I have my dress to see about. We are far from all

fashionable modistes here; but I must try to do honor to madam's

masquerade for all that," laughed Rosa, as she passed gracefully out of

the room.

With a sigh that seemed to his sorrowing wife to betray his regret for

the beauty's departure, Lyon Berners drew the packet of blank cards

before him, scattered them in a loose heap on his left hand, and then

selecting one at a time, began to write. As he carefully wrote upon and

finished each card, he as carefully laid it on his right hand, until a

little heap grew there.

Sybil, who gloried in all her husband's accomplishments, from the

greatest to the least, admired very much his skill in ornamental

chirography. She drew her chair closer to the table, and took up the

topmost card, and began to decipher, rather than to read, the name in

the beautiful old English characters, so tangled in a thicket of

rose-buds and forget-me-nots as to be scarcely legible. She looked

closely and more closely at the name on the card.

What was there in it to drive all the color from her cheeks?

She snatched up and scrutinized a second card, a third, a fourth; then,

springing to her feet, she seized the whole mass, hurled them into the

fire, and turned, and confronted her husband.

Her teeth were clenched upon her bloodless lips, her face seemed marble,

her eyes lambent flames.

He rose to his feet in surprise and dismay.

"SYBIL! what is all this? Why have you destroyed the cards?"

"Why?" she gasped, pressing both hands upon her heart, as if to keep

down its horrible throbbings. "Why? Because they are lies! lies!

LIES!"

"SYBIL! have you gone suddenly mad?" he cried, gazing at the "embodied

storm" before him with increasing astonishment and consternation.

"No! I have suddenly come to my senses!" she gasped between the catches

of her breath, for she could scarcely speak.

"You must calm yourself, and tell me what this means, my wife," said

Lyon Berners, exerting a great control over himself, and pushing aside

the last card he had written.