Cruel as the grave

by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

“So all is lost, and nothing left but these—revenge and death!” she muttered.

The awful spirit of her race overshadowed her and possessed her. She felt that, to destroy the destroyer of her peace, she would be willing to meet and suffer all that man could inflict upon her body, or devil do to her soul! And so she brooded, until suddenly out of this trance-like state she started, as if a serpent had stung her.

“I linger here,” she cried, “while they—Where are they, the traitor and his temptress? I will seek them through the house; I will tear them asunder, and confront them in their treachery.”

Meanwhile where were they, the false friend and the fascinated husband?

Lyon Berners, much relieved from anxiety by the departure of the last guests, but still deeply displeased with his wife, had retired to the little morning parlor to collect himself. He stood now upon the rug, with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in sombre thought. He loved his wife, bitterly angry as he had been with her this evening, and prone as he was to fall under the spell of the fair siren who was now his temptress. He loved his wife, and he wished to insure her peace. He resolved to break off, at once and forever, the foolish flirtation with a shallow coquette which his deep-hearted Sybil had taken so earnestly. How to do this, occupied his thoughts now. He knew that it would be difficult, or impossible to do it, as long as Rosa Blondelle remained in the same house with himself. He felt that he could not ask her to go and find another home; for to do so would be rude, inhospitable, and even cruel to the homeless and friendless young stranger.

What should he do, then?

It occurred to him that he might make some fair excuse to take Sybil to the city, and spend the ensuing winter there with her, leaving Rosa Blondelle in full possession of Black Hall until she should choose to make arrangements to return to her own country. This or something else must be done, for the flirtation with Rosa must never be resumed. In the midst of these good resolutions he was interrupted.

Meanwhile, Rosa Blondelle had been as deeply mortified and enraged by the sudden desertion and continued coolness of Lyon Berners, as it was in her shallow nature to be. She went to her own room, but she could not remain there. She came out into the long narrow passage leading to the front hall, and she paced up and down with the angry restlessness of a ruffled cat, muttering to herself:

“She shall not take him from me, even if he is her husband! I will not be outrivalled by another woman, even if she is his wife!”

Over and over again she ground these words through her teeth, or other words of the same sort. Suddenly she passed out of the narrow passage into the broad ball, where she noticed that the parlor door was ajar, a light burning within the room, and the shadow of a man thrown across the carpet. She stole to the door, peeped in, and saw Lyon Berners still standing on the rug with his back to the smouldering fire, absorbed in sombre thought.