Sybil's Second Love

Chapter I. Qybil

was gone to Miss Glyn's, and Mrs. Mush had driven over to Saint Yincent on business. Mr. Dermot sat alone in the library. There was nothing and no one to disturb his thoughts. He took down a book and read awhile ; then he put by the volume, and looked his future in the face. That future wore no pleasant aspect, but apart from the fact that he knew how to endure, Mr. Dermot could contemplate it with composure. It was sure to be dark and troublesome, but it was as sure to be brief. The same house could not long hold him and his enemy, and whichever was van quished must needs leave. He had told Sybil but half his troubles, after all. That sad portion of his life in which Mr. Smith had played his part he had kept in the shade. He had concealed it from Blanche Cains in the days when she was his betrothed wife, and he would not reveal to Sybil VOL. III.

B that which she had no right to know. It would only distress her, and could serve no useful purpose. " I wonder if Mrs. Kennedy knows anything !" he thought ; " and knowing it, how she will act . Poor James ! he has brought the enemy into the heart of the citadel, and there is no expelling her now. She is there for ever, and holds him fast. Woe to him if he ever displeases her ! His charmer will turn tyrant and make him her slave. How he will hate her then, and how she will hate him when she knows all !" There is something loathsome in the hatred of man and wife ; and though for many reasons Mr. Dermot's friendship for Sybil's father had lost its fervour, though the married life of Blanche Cains was naught to him, he could not linger over the thought of their future strife without pain. The night was calm and mild ; he left the library, and went out into the cloister to seek there the soothing and benignant influence of air and sky.

The light which he had left burning behind him poured its pale golden rays into the silent cloister, and lit up one of its arched galleries. A misty moon looked down with a troubled mien on the stone cross, and a few stars pierced the clouds and glimmered faintly in their far region. Mr. Dermot had seen finer nights than this — nights of full-orbed moon and planets, and a thousand glit tering worlds ; but Nature's power over us lies in our own mood — not in her aspect. When she wants us she calls us — in a moment we are her slaves, and yield ourselves to the mighty goddess. Blanche Cains, her falsehood, her enmity, the weakness of Mr. Kennedy's friendship, Sybil's sorrow and wrongs, were all forgotten by Mr. Dermot now. As he paced the quiet cloister he felt like one who hears from afar the tumult and the roar of troubled waters, and whom their loud murmur only soothes to a sense of deeper rest.

Thus remote were now to him his life and its cares — a tale in which he had no part. But that lull in active life rarely endures. Every human existence is a romance, if not in action at least in feeling — a romance which often has but one reader ; and it would be very sweet if every now and then we could turn a page in our own book and calmly read that wonderful story. But it may not be ; for a moment we may stand aloof, like Mr. Dermot, and survey our destiny as something in which we have no part — for a moment, and no B more. Soon the outward world calls us forth from that secret stronghold of our inner life — forth into the strife and unrest which flow like a stormy sea around that calm isle. Mr. Dermot had not long enjoyed the repose of that calm spot and quiet hour, when a far sound of wheels and jingling bells, which rapidly grew nearer, warned him that the bride was coming home.

He did not think it needful to go and receive Mr. Kennedy, but neither did he wish to shun meeting him or his wife. So he stayed in the cloister, and waited there till they should cross it to reach the house. Presently the post-chaise drew up at the gates of Saint Vincent, and Narcisse and Denise, each armed with a lantern, flew to open. In the stillness of the night Mr. Dermot could hear Mr. Kennedy's voice saying, " Take care, my love — this way." "And Ralph — where is Ralph?" asked the voice of Blanche Cains. " I am here, ma'am," replied another voice — a woman's, and rather a vulgar voice it was. " She has brought home a lady's-maid," thought Mr. Dermot — " poor little Sybil, you never had one !" " I wish you would see to my bonnet-box," con tinued Mrs. Kennedy — "I am sure the things are awfully crushed, Ralph."

Ralph hoped not — she had been so very particu lar in the packing. " Well, but see to it," pursued Mrs. Kenned}-, whose voice was drawing nearer. The door which led from the court she was then crossing to the cloister, opened as she spoke. A dark figure — Denise's, probably — appeared, bearing a lantern, and behind her Mr. Dermot saw two other figures, one of which moved with a loud rustling of silk. He stood still near the cross quietly waiting. " It seems there is no one here," said Mr. Kennedy to his wife ; " but there is a light in the library — who is there, I wonder 1 — Sybil, perhaps, or Mrs. Mush." They were moving towards the library window to look in, when Mrs. Kennedy caught sight of Mr. Dermot's figure. " Who's that ?" she whispered, pressing her husband's arm. Mr. Kennedy took the lantern from the hand of Denise, and raised it, whilst Mr. Dermot came forward.

For a while no one spoke. The light that flashed across their three faces showed in each a different meaning. Mr. Dermot's was composed, and slightly ironical ; Mrs. Kennedy seemed to have seen a ghost, so pale and bewil dered did she look ; and Mr. Kennedy was fairly confounded. " Why, Dermot," he cried, " I thought you were in Canada !" " I did not go — there was no need for the journey. I will tell you all about it to-morrow." " And you were here all the time." " Here, and in England. I there heard of your marriage, and did not think it needful to trouble you with business." Mr. Kennedy laughed rather a forced laugh. " I must introduce you to Mrs. Kennedy — an old acquaintance under a new name." Mr. Dermot bowed. Mrs. Kennedy gave him a calm, distant look of her blue eyes, and shivered slightly.

" Let us go in, my love," said her husband. " Well, Dermot, old fellow, I am glad to see you here again — where's Sybil, though ?" "Sybil is at Miss Glyn's," said Mr. Dermot, " and it is time that I should go and fetch her," he added, looking at his watch. He bowed again, and walked away at a quick pace. " What a chill night !" said Mrs. Kennedy, wrapping herself up in a costly shawl ; " and what an odd man that Mr. Dermot is, dear. He never wished us joy, nor anything, but stood there like a stick. I don't think I ever was in his good graces, do you know ?" She laughed, with a pretty scorn of Mr. Dermot's favour. But Mr. Kennedy said not a word. He was puzzled and annoyed. Why was Mr. Dermot here in Saint Vincent, instead of being in Canada . Why was his manner so cold and severe 1 Why had he surveyed him and his wife with that austere gravity ?

Was Mr. Kennedy the first man of fifty who had married a young and handsome girl . — and what was his marriage to his friend ? " Decidedly that is it," pursued Mrs. Kennedy, as they entered the house together ; " Mr. Dermot took a dislike to me, and is vexed to have me here. Very provoking, is it not ?" " A dislike to you, my love ?" replied her husband, looking down with mingled fondness and pride at her blooming face—" why, if I remember aright, Dermot admired you." " Oh ! no— not he," quickly said Mrs. Kennedy. She spoke in a short, vexed tone, with a little irritated laugh, which did not escape her husband's ear. " Indeed, I thought better of his taste," he replied, gaily. To all appearance he was unmoved. But there are thoughts, at first light and passing, which come to us we know not why or how.

We scarcely heed them, for they slumber as yet, and their murmurings are low, but they are with us. They grow with daily, though hidden strength ; they feed on food we seek for them with uncon scious eagerness till the day comes, when a word, a look, waken them into sudden life, and then, when they turn round and sting us — then do we feel, for the first time, it was a serpent we nourished in our bosom. Even such a thought entered Mr. Kennedy's heart as he heard his wife reply, " Oh ! no — not he," in that voice of irritated vanity. Mr. Dermot, in the meanwhile, went on for Sybil, and having sent her in word that he was waiting, he took a few turns up and down the road that passed in front of Miss Glyn's abode. Great had been Miss Glyn's amazement and indignation on learning the news ; but her wrath, indeed, was stronger than her surprise.

She remembered having foretold that Blanche Cains was setting her cap at some one, and she forgot that Mr. Dermot, and not Mr. Kenned}", had been the individual designated. Sybil, whose sad heart had room for very few feelings now, the great one of her grief excepted, heard, and by her silence assented. She did not care for contradiction or for argument, she did not even care for truth, so she listened in dull, moody silence to Miss Glyn's dark triumph at her own sagacity. For it was singular how quickly the recollection that Mr. Dermot and not Mr. Ken nedy had been Miss Cains's intended victim, wore away, and how surely the contrary of this past pro phecy now grew up in its stead, and like many an upstart, made its way good and prevailed. " I told you you should have struck the letter S from her name," said Miss Glyn.

And Sybil remembered fond embraces, moments of passionate confidence and affection, when the two girls were as one, and had but one heart. " I told you she was thinking of your father all the time, and stayed at home whilst we went to parties," said Miss Glyn; and Sybil's heart turned back to byegone days, when she lay tossing on a sick bed, and Blanche watched by her, all love and fondness then. " You will have to come and live with me," per sisted Miss Glyn ; and this time, Sybil heeding her, looked up and said : "Why so?" " Why so . — why so ? — have you no spirit that you ask ?" inquired Miss Glyn, firing up. " Why should I leave my father's house V ' asked Sybil, gravely ; "it is my father's house after all — not hers." " Your father has done what he pleased," hotly said Miss Glyn ; " and not what he should have done if he had cared a pin for you — as to that Mr. Dermot, I'll never believe but he was in it — her accomplice, Sybil — her accomplice."

As Miss Cains's accomplice was even then ring ing at Miss Glyn's door, and Sybil could hear his voice inquiring for her, she rose and prepared to go. sybil's secomd love. 11 " Well, what are you going for ?" asked her aunt, whose hearing was not so keen as the young girl's. Sybil was very pale, and her hands shook as she tied her bonnet-strings. " Mr. Dermot is below, aunt, and I can guess why he has come." " The happy pair have arrived, no doubt ; now, Sybil, don't go and make a fool of yourself." Sybil did not answer this kind admonition, but hurried downstairs. She found Mr. Dermot walking up and down in the pale moonlight, with rather restless steps. Oh ! how had he felt on seeing her again ? He took her arm in silence. " Why, child, how you tremble," he said. " I cannot help it, Mr Dermot."

" Take heart, Sybil." " When did they come, Mr. Dermot?" " About half an hour ago. Pity you were not there, Sybil, to see the face of the bride when she saw me. But she soon recovered. The assurance of some women is incomparable. On my word, it is grand ! She gave me a cool broad stare of those blue eyes of hers, then looked at her husband, as much as to say, ' Mr. Dermot, I believe.' Sybil, it is well for me that those white teeth of hers did not dare to bite just then, else Duessa, formerly Una, had not spared me. Take care when she kisses you. I would not trust her." " Never ! never !" cried Sybil, passionately ; " never, so long as I live, shall lips of mine touch her cheek ; never shall my hand press hers. I have no secret to guard, Mr. Dermot." "And thank heaven that you have not," he replied, in a tone scarcely less vehement than her own : " thank heaven, Sybil, that you have no daily part to act, no abhorrent recollections to stifle under smiles, no looks of detestation to veil under looks of good-will."

His tone startled and frightened Sybil. A cruel suspicion forced itself upwards like some noxious serpent, do what she would to stifle it in its birth. Was this hatred of the once-loved woman the subtle disguise of unconquered affection, or the unavoidable jealousy of the injured lover? "Mr. Dermot," she said, "are you sure you ought to remain here ? — are you sure you ought not to go away ?" Mr. Dermot was silent awhile, then said in a tone of deep displeasure, "I suppose, Sybil, your meaning is this : 'Mr. Dermot, are you sure you are not still too fond of my father's wife ?' Sybil, I forgive you, but you do not knowr how cruelly insulting is such a question. Why, Sybil, if Mrs. Kennedy were not as a stranger to me — nay, ten times worse than a stranger — I would not, could not stay more than twenty-four hours in the same house with her and her husband.

I would not, because it would be base ; and I could not, because I have a touch of the Othello in me. I am inclined to be a jealous man — not a mistrustful one, indeed, but I could not see the woman I loved loving another before my face — it would madden me. So once for all, Sybil, dismiss such thoughts from your mind — if we are to be friends." His tone was so severe that it cut Sybil to the heart. " Do not be hard upon me," she entreated ; " I meant no harm." "Hard upon you! Why, no, child, only don't you be hard upon me. I know you don't like me much, but I must have your esteem." She did not like him much ! Had she, then, kept her secret so well . He resumed very composedly : " When I say you don't like me much, I mean no reproach ; our years, our tempers, our very natures are such as not to allow you any strong affection for me.

It is very natural and right that T should care more for a dear little girl such as you are, than you, the dear little girl, should care for an old man of the world such as I am." Sybil could not bear this. "But, Mr. Dermot," she said, "I do care for you — indeed I do, very much." " Do yon, Sybil? — well, I should not have thought so. Your friend, Miss Cains, had ano ther tale to tell — but I daresay it was all inven tion ; and now take heart, for you are going to face the evil enchantress herself." They stood at the gates, which, after a while, Narcisse came and opened. They crossed the cloister, but at the foot of the staircase Mr. Der mot dropped Sybil's arm. " You do not come up ?" she said faintly. " No, I am busy. Come, take heart ; it must be done, and it will soon be over." He left her, and Sybil went up the staircase alone.

Chapter II

ll~RS. MUSH was talking loud, and no one -L'Jheard Sybil entering the room. She stood still near the door, and looked at them. Mrs. Mush sat with her back turned to her, and she saw her father's side-face only. Mrs. Kennedy she saw well. The drawing-room had donned its new splen dour to greet its new mistress, and that mistress herself was like a fair and costly picture, worthy of this rich setting. The bride sat, half leaning back, on a couch, and her attitude was very graceful. Light wreaths of flowers of vivid hues were scattered on the white cushions against which she rested. She wore a travelling dress of plain silk, but there was depth and richness in its folds. Her slender fin gers sparkled with rings, and Sybil caught the glitter of a bracelet on her fair arm. She looked in excellent health, and in high spirits, and what was more, she looked wonderfully handsome.

Sybil's heart swelled within her. This w/is the girl whom she had brought to that house poor, all but penniless, whom her foolish generosity and affection had thrust on her father's notice, till from indifference Mr. Kennedy had passed to liking, and thence to idolatrous passion. Sybil came forward. Mrs. Mush ceased talking, and Mrs. Kennedy gave a little start, but Sybil did not heed them. She went up to her father, and said, in a low, measured tone, " I am glad you have come back so well, papa." " And how are you, Pussy ?" he asked, giving her a kiss, but scarcely looking at her. Sybil quietly replied that she was very well. Mr. Kennedy put on a gay look, and said, "I have brought you back someone, Sybil." Sybil was mute. " Sybil, have you nothing to say to Mrs. Ken nedy?" he asked, sharply.

" I hope Mrs. Kennedy had a pleasant journey," gravely said Sybil. " Delightful !" replied Mrs. Kenned}-. Mr. Kennedy looked from his wife to his f daughter, and seemed perplexed. They were both very calm, and both looked profoundly indifferent. He put his hand into his pocket. Sybil thought it was the present he always brought her when he had been away, and she waited to receive it. She knew beforehand it would not be worth much, but she resolved to accept it as thankfully as if it were a costly gift. Mr. Kennedy drew out a glittering smelling-bottle, and handed it to his wife. " I beg your pardon, my love," he said, apolo getically, " I had forgotten to return this to you." " Is your head better, dear ?" asked Mrs. Ken nedy, with tender anxiety. " It is quite well again, thank you, my dear, Sybil turned away and went to the table.

On her way thither she passed by Mrs. Kennedy. Sybil half bowed. Her step-mother returned the salutation with a cool bend of her fair head, and resumed her discourse with Mrs. Mush. It re lated to the drawbacks of a sea-journey, and need not be recorded here. Mr. Kennedy frowned, and was inclined to take his daughter to task forthwith, but he remembered a promise he had made his wife, and he forbore. Leaving the sea-journey, Mrs. Kennedy soon launched into pleasanter topics. VOL. III. C " My dear," she said, to her husband, " we must give a ball. I want to dance, and do not want to go out of my own house to do so. When shall it be?" Mr. Kennedy went and sat by her side, and smiled down in her handsome face. " I am not going to let you have a ball just yet, my love," he said. " I must not rouse envy.

I have not forgotten the sensation you created at Mrs. Ronald's." His wife laughed, and showed her handsome teeth, bright and white, like a row of pearls. " Yes," she said, frankly, " I got fairly hated that night ; but I do not fear hate, and you need not fear envy. Besides, I want to show people what beautiful things you can give your wife ; and suppose I am handsome," she added, " why should you not show the world that you have got a hand some wife ?" " The world knows it, my dear." " Oh ! but it must both know and remember," said Blanche, wilfully ; " and the world is so very, very forgetful," she added, with a sweet smile, " it has such a short memory, poor thing. It forgets beauty, goodness, worth, everything, save money !" " And why not that too ?" asked Mrs. Mush. " The thirsty man cannot forget his thirst, nor the hungry man his hunger," replied Mrs. Ken nedy ; " and so the world, who is both hungry and athirst, remembers money for ever."

" You are a wonderful philosopher, Mrs. Ken nedy !" said Mrs. Mush, with mock gravity. " Granted ! I am anything you please, so I have my ball. Now, dear, I must have one, or I'll worry your life out of you !" " I shall like to be worried by you, my dear,'" said Mr. Kennedy, smiling. Blanche nodded sadly, and shook her head. " Mrs. Mush," she said, " you see and hear my hard case. I have already learned to obey, and not to have my way. I had set my heart on this ball, but the despot says nay, and I yield. Be it so, I shall mope, then !" She put on a look, and a very becoming one it was, of deep melancholy. Mr. Kennedy bent over her, fond, admiring, evidently charmed with her flippant speech, but more charmed still with her stately beauty. Admiration was in his looks as it was in his heart.

And Sybil sat silent and deso late, seeing and listening, and feeling that she C was nothing and no one in her father's house. She had not thought she could be forgotten so quickly, nor that her enemy's triumph could have been so complete. Her lover, her friend, her father, had each proved faithless in turns, not in the same degree, but enough to make her very heart ache. Who would be true to her now ? To whom could she look in her sorrow? " I am afraid your head aches, my dear?" said Mrs. Mush, bending a pitying glance on the poor girl. " Very much," replied Sybil. Blanche silently handed her smelling-bottle to Mrs. Mush, who passed it to Sybil. But Miss Kennedy did not touch the sparkling bauble, worth ten times in value such a present as her father usually brought her. She rose almost vehemently from her chair, and said, in a short, broken voice, " Thank you— I shall go to bed."

She bade them all a hurried good-night, and left the room. Her father breathed a relieved sigh as the door closed upon her. It was not pleasant to see her sitting there pale and cold and altered. Her presence was a burden ; her absence a relief. . Sybil's heart was full to bursting. She stopped on the staircase and leaned her head on the banisters. A step coming down made her look up. It was Mr. Dermot. By the light of a lamp which burned dimly against the wall, he saw bright tears glittering on the face she raised to wards him. He bent over her with a look full of concern, and taking her two hands in his stroked them softly. " Sybil, be brave," he said with deep pity — " bear it better." "I cannot," sobbed Sybil — "I cannot! She has taken my father from me. There was a time when he came home all smiles and fondness for his child ; his hands full of presents as his heart was full of love.

And this time he brought me nothing — he scarcely looked at me. I saw he wished me out of the room. Oh, Mr. Dermot ! it has come to this !" " Yes, it is hard," said Mr. Dermot, gently ; " and children do not expect it, for they generally forget first." " No one cares for me now !" moaned Sybil. " Am I no one ?" asked Mr. Dermot, reproachfully. " And have I forgotten you ?" he added, producing and raising to her face a bunch of violets, fresh and blue. "Are they for me?" asked Sybil, evidently pleased. " Unless you wish me to present the bride with them," he drily replied, " they are for you." Sybil smiled languidly, but did not take the flowers. Mr. Dermot deliberately took and held them above the wall of the old-fashioned staircase, and said quietly, " Will you have them ? As he uttered the last One — two — three '" word, and opened his Sybil saucily snatched up the staircase.

He hand to drop the flowers, them from him and ran turned round and raised a threatening forefinger at her ; but Sybil only gave him a defiant little nod as she looked round over her shoulder before she entered her room. Her first act was to place her flowers in water. But the pleasure this slight gift of his had given her was already over, and behind it remained a dull, aching pain. " He would never be so kind, if he knew how fond I am of him," she thought. " He takes pity upon me because I am a poor betrayed little creature, and because he likes me in a sort of way ; but let another Blanche Cains come in his way, and he will fall in love with her, and forget me as if I had never been. If my own father is al ready cold and estranged, what will Mr. Dermot be?" There was truth in these bitter thoughts, but they were none the less bitter for being so true.

Sybil knew, too, that, however hard her fate might be, useless repining could only make it harder to bear. Her nature, though sensitive, was strong, and even in this, the first vehemence of her grief, she resolved upon patience and resigna tion. Her back was turned to the door of her room as she stood near her toilet-table undressing ; but she heard the door open, she heard, too, the rustle of a silk dress, and in the glass facing her, she saw Mrs. Kennedy's handsome face. Sybil was half undressed, her hair flowed on her bare arms and shoulders ; and on being thus in truded upon, she hastily took up a shawl and wrapped it around her. Blanche Cains was dead, and Mrs. Kennedy was a stranger. " Sybil," impetuously said her stepmother as she closed the door, " I come to know whether it is to be peace or war between us."

Sybil turned round slowly till she confronted her. " Neither," was her laconic reply. "Neither! How so?" And Mrs. Kennedy sat down unbidden " You are my father's wife — I have no intention of being at war with you. You are my false friend — we cannot be at peace." "That is candid, though not very plain," said Mrs. Kennedy, reddening. " Oh, Sybil — Sybil !" she added, bursting into tears, " is this the love you professed for me ?" " Where is the love you professed for me ?" moodily asked Sybil. "Your father would have married again," said Mrs. Kennedy; "you must see and feel that. Why is it such a hardship that he took your dearest friend instead of some stranger? True, this marriage has given me a good and kind hus band — it has taken me out of poverty into afflu ence ; but you are not mean, Sybil — you cannot grudge me that.

Is it so long ago that you devised a hundred foolish plans, the upshot of every one being that we should never part. Now that in the only feasible manner this plan is fulfilled, that we need never separate, you hate your friend. Why so, Sybil — why so ?" She spoke impetuously, and not without genuine emotion — it was very plain that she would rather be the friend than the stepmother. But Sybil smiled drearily. " If there was no harm in this, why did you hide it from me ?" she asked. " Since it was so desirable for me that you should become my father's wife, why did you not become so openly? But you were wronging me, so you did not dare to trust me. And now you expect me to forget the crudest treachery that was ever wrought from friend to friend. You took advantage of my ignorance, and laughing at my simplicity all the time, you stole my father from me.