The queen of the isle

by May Agnes Fleming

And so, like a tempest-tossed bark on a tempest-tossed sea, he strove with passion and honor, love and remorse, right and wrong.

Once only, fearing lest her suspicions might be aroused by his absence, he had visited Sibyl, whose rapturous greeting and confiding love made him feel far more of a villain than ever. He looked forward with dread to the period of her return, fearing for the discovery of his falsity; but, more than all, fearing for the effects of her fierce wrath on Christie, knowing well what must be the strength of Sibyl's passion when unchained.

And so, when Mrs. Brantwell proposed that Sibyl should remain with her another week, instead of returning to the dreary isle, instead of feeling irritated now, he backed the proposal, saying that perhaps it would be better for her to do so, more especially during her brother's absence.

And Sibyl, in her deep love and woman's trust, suspecting nothing, fearing nothing, consented, to the inward joy and sincere relief of her false lover.

Resolving to visit her frequently, and so allay any suspicions that his absence might give rise to, Willard Drummond returned to the island and to—Christie, yielding himself without further effort to the witching spell of her love.

Mrs. Tom suspected nothing of the contraband courting carried on under her very eyes. It was the most natural thing in the world, she thought, that, in the absence of Sibyl and her brother, the young man should spend whole days with them, for it was not pleasant having no one to talk to but a couple of negroes, as she very well knew. Then, it was not to be wondered at, that he preferred talking and walking with Christie to any of the rest, for she was "book-l'arned" like himself, which neither she nor Carl was. She did wonder a little sometimes, and said as much to Christie, why he should stay on the island at all, in the absence of the other.

"But, I suppose," was always her conclusion, "It's because it's Miss Sibyl's home, and, for her sake, he stays there until she comes."

But Christie, though she only blushed and was silent, was of a different opinion—one that she would scarcely own to her own heart. As to his being in love with Christie, Mrs. Tom would have scouted the idea with scorn and unbelief, had she heard it. Every circumstance was against such a conclusion. He was rich, highly connected, and proud as a prince of the blood; she was poor, unknown, and, compared with him, uneducated. Besides, in the good widow's opinion, she was a child in feeling, as she certainly was in years, scarcely knowing the meaning of the word love.

Ah! she had been till he came; and his fervid, impassioned words, his burning glances, his thrilling touch, had swept away the glamour of childhood and simplicity, and revealed to her the passionate woman's heart within her. His words, his looks, his tones, were all new revelations to the artless, island maiden, changing her, as if by magic, from a child to a woman. She revered him as the embodiment of all that was brave, generous, and noble; worshipped him as a god, and loved him with all the affection of her fresh, young heart, with all the ardor of a first, deep love.

As yet, she knew not whether that love was returned; for, unfaithful as he was in thought to Sibyl, passion had not yet so totally conquered his reason as to make him sin in words. He had never said, "Christie, I love you;" but, ah, how often had his eyes said this, and much more; and how long would this slight barrier stand before the fiery impetuosity of unstable youth?