And yet indeed, I say, still speaking in the light of after knowledge, that at this time he was equally unconscious of his wife’s jealousy, or of any wrong-doing on his own part, calculated to arouse it. Had Lyon Berners suspected that his attentions to their fair guest gave such deep pain to his high-spirited wife, he would at least have modified them to retain her confidence. But he suspected nothing. Sybil revealed nothing; her pride was even greater than her jealousy; for this last daughter of the House of Berners inherited all the pride of all her line. At this time, this pride quite enabled her to keep her pain to herself.
At length the severe ordeal was, for the moment, over. She perceived that her companions had finished breakfast, and so she arose from the table, leaving her example to be followed by them.
“Let me lead you to our pleasant morning parlor. It is just across the hall, and commands the same view of the lake and mountains that this room does—from the front windows I mean; but from the end windows you get a view up the valley, and may catch glimpses of the Black Torrent as it rushes roaring down the side of the mountain,” said Mr. Berners, as he offered his hand to Mrs. Blondelle and led her from the breakfast parlor.
Sybil looked after them with pallid cheeks and darkening brows; then she rushed up into her own chamber, locked her door, threw herself upon her bed and gave way to a storm of sobs and tears. While she was still weeping vehemently, there came a knock at the door. She lifted up her head and listened; controlling her voice as well as she could, she inquired:
“Who is there, and what is wanted?”
“It is I, my dear, and I want to come in,” answered the voice of her husband.
“I have not even the privilege of shutting myself up to weep alone! for I belong to one who can invade my privacy or command my presence at his pleasure!” exclaimed Sybil in bitterness of spirit; and yet bitterness that was mingled with a strange, deep sweetness too! for she loved to feel that she did belong to Lyon Berners; that he had the privilege of invading her privacy, or commanding her presence at his pleasure. And ah! that was a happiness Rosa Blondelle would not share!
“Well, well, my darling! are you going to let me in?” inquired Mr. Berners, after a moment of patient waiting.
“Yes, in an instant dear!” exclaimed Sybil, hastily wiping her eyes and trying to efface all signs of weeping from her countenance.
Then she opened the door.