CHAPTER XV.
SELF-TORTURE.
"And to be wroth with one we love,
Doth work like madness on the brain."—COLERIDGE.
That night of deepest woe to the passionate heart of Sibyl had been spent in pacing up and down her room, now hurling fierce, bitter maledictions on the head of him who had deceived her, and on this puny girl for whose sake she had been thrown aside; then in breathing wild, passionate vows of vengeance for the wrong, the deep humiliation that had been done her, and anon, throwing herself upon the floor in a convulsive fit of weeping. Then another mood would come, when she would forget all but the blissful days of the past, and all her despised love and tenderness would flood back to her soul, and her very heart would cry out to be with him again. And then would come the thought that this could never, never be again, and she would spring up with blazing eyes, her very tears seemingly turned to sparks of fire.
And, mingled with all these stormy passions was an under-current of deepest shame, of bitter humiliation, of wounded self-love and humbled pride. That she, the descendant of a haughty Highland clan, the daughter of a princely race, should be forgotten for one so far beneath her in every way, was a disgrace that sent the blood tingling to her pale cheeks, and made her clench her hands in impotent despair.
So passed the night.
With morning came a calmer mood. The necessity of adopting some line of conduct that would bring matters to a speedy denouement soothed for the time her frenzied brain. No one must know as yet of her desertion. She felt as though she could die sooner than survive the shame of such a discovery. Neither could she stay on the island. Her time for meeting her betrayer had not come; but it was at hand, and then——
The flame that leaped like forked lightning from her black eyes, the deep smile that curled her lips, better than words, spoke the rest.
Leaning her head on her hand, she thought intently. She would return to the parsonage, and remain there until her future course was decided upon. She could easily feign some plausible pretext for leaving the island, and good Mrs. Brantwell, she knew, would be but too happy to have her.
And, in pursuance of this resolution, she went early the following morning back to N——.