He recalled how, in another generation, one Agatha Berners, in a frenzy

of jealousy, had stabbed her rival, and then thrown herself into the

Black Lake. Fortunately neither of the attempted crimes had been

consummated, for the wounded woman recovered, and the would-be suicide

lived to wear out her days in a convent.

Reflecting upon these terrible outbursts of the family passion, Lyon

Berners became very much alarmed for Sybil.

He started up and went in search of her. He looked successively through

the drawing-room, the dining-room, and library. Not finding her in any

of these rooms, he ascended to the second floor and sought her in their

own apartment. Still not finding her, his alarm became agony.

"I will search every square yard within these walls," he said, as he

hurried through all the empty chambers of that floor, and then went up

into the attic.

There, in the lumber-room--the chamber of desolation--he found his wife,

lying with her face downwards on the floor. He hastened towards her,

fearing that she was in a swoon. But no; she was only exhausted by the

violence of her emotions.

Without saying a word, he lifted her in his arms as if she had been a

child. She was too faint now to resist him. He carried her down stairs

to her own chamber and laid her on the sofa, and while he gently

smoothed the damp dark hair from her pale brow, he whispered softly: "My wife, I know now what has troubled you. It was a great error, my own

dear Sybil. You have no cause to doubt me, or to distress yourself."

She did not reply, but with a tearless sob, turned her face to the wall.

"It was of you that I was thinking, my beloved, when I wrote that name

on the cards," he continued, as he still smoothed her hair with his

light mesmeric touch. She did not repel his caresses, but neither did

she reply to his words. And he saw, by the heaving of her bosom and the

quivering of her lips, that the storm had not yet subsided.

He essayed once more to reassure her.

"Dear wife," he earnestly commenced, "you believe that my affections are

inconstant, and that they have wandered from you?"

She answered by a nod and another tearless sob, but she did not look

around or speak to him.

"Yet withal you believe me to be a man of truthful words?"

Again she nodded acquiescence.

"Then, dear Sybil, you must believe my words when I assure you, on my

sacred truth and honor, that your suspicions of me are utterly

erroneous."

Now she turned her head, opened her large dark eyes in astonishment, and

gazed into his earnest face.

"As Heaven hears me, my own dear wife, I love no other woman in the

world but you."




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