Sybilla Lockwood

Front matter

vol. in. BX NOELL RADECLIFFE, AUTHOR OF "ALICE WENTWORTH," "THE LEES OF BLENDON HALL," "WHEEL WITHIN WHEEL," &c. "The predominant passion of the mind throws itself, like the ivy, round all human actions, entwines all our resolutions, and perpetually adheres to — and mixes itself among — or even overtops them."— Bacon. IN THEEE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSOKS TO HENRY COLBURN, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1864. The right <tf Translation it reserved London : Henry C. Berrt <fc Co., Printers, Gloucester Street, Regent's Park, N.W. PART THIRD.

Chapter I

" Wie eine Leiche Die grollend ausgeworfen das Meer, Lieg' ich am Strande, Am oden kahlen Strande ! Vor mir wogt die Wasser — Wuste, Hinter liegt nur Kummer and Elend, Und iiber mich hin ziehen die Wolken, Die formlos granen Tochter der Lust !" Heineich Heine. About four years after the period when the preceding narrative breaks off, a family of the name of Southwell, travelling in Germany, was obliged, by the indis position of one of the children, to stop for some days at an inconsiderable town, completely out of the beat of usual tourists. The party consisted of Mr. and Mrs. South well, their son, several daughters between VOL. III. B the ages of ten and fifteen, and a French lady, who superintended their studies. This lady, Mademoiselle Le Vasseur by name, went out alone on the evening of the day following their arrival, for the purpose of buying some music-paper.

She had some trouble in making herself understood by the people of the shop — one of whom, indeed, professed to speak French, but neither comprehended it readily, nor pronounced it intelligibly. At length, however, she succeeded so far as to be shown the article she required ; but when she wished to settle the number of sheets, and to learn the price, all was wrong again. The mistress of the shop and the second in command then conferred together in German, pronouncing the name of " Vilson " more than once ; after which the younger woman left the shop, and went upstairs ; while the elder, by her gestures, and by setting a chair for Mademoiselle Le Vas seur, indicated a request that she would wait till her return. Mademoiselle Le Vasseur accordingly seated herself; and in a few minutes the young woman came back, saying something, from which she gathered that a " Madame Vilson" an English lady, who spoke French as well as German, was coming to act as interpretress.

Made moiselle wondered internally if the Eng lish-French would be more to the purpose than the German. " But at any rate," thought she to herself, " if she is English, I can understand her in her own tongue, so we shall make it out somehow." Her doubts vanished, however, on hearing the clear and correct pronunciation, in French, of an in quiry "whether the lady wished to know the price of music-paper?" and turning to look at the speaker, she saw before her a slight woman, rather below the middle size, with dark eyes and hair, and very plainly dressed in black. She had the look of a gentlewoman, and her countenance was worn and dejected. Her age might be from twenty-eight to thirty. "Madame Vilson" (for by that name she evidently went) gave a visible start at the sight of Mademoiselle Le Vasseur ; but recovering herself rapidly, endured her searching glance with an apparent com posure, that went near to shake the awakened suspicions of her observer. b " Madame is English, I am told ?" said the French lady, in her own language ; "but it is uncommon," continued she, pointedly, "to hear such French from a foreigner, unless that foreigner has been brought up — brought up from childhood — by a native of France."

At these words, " Madame Vilson " coloured, and looked down, but proceeded to inquire for what purpose her interpreta tion was desired ? Mademoiselle Le Vasseur made no direct reply, but went close up to the English woman, to whom she said, in a tremulous whisper — " Sybille ! mon enfant ! why seek to dis guise yourself from me ?" She who was thus addressed shook from head to foot, but began a reply as if not understanding what she heard, till, totally unable to command her voice or her countenance, she stopped, and burst into tears. A new customer entered the shop, and Mademoiselle Le Vasseur, seizing the powerless hand of the weeping woman, exclaimed — " You are not going to pretend you are any one else, ma petite Sybille ! You will not have the heart to tell such a falsehood to me !" " No, I have not ! come what may !" was the answer, given in a scarcely audible voice ; " but let us get away from here !"

Mademoiselle Le Vasseur turned to the people of the shop, and told them in French (which they might or might not under stand), that she found Madame Wilson knew some friends of hers, and that she would settle about her purchases after having had a half-hour's conversation with her. She then followed Mrs. Wilson, who led the way up a steep stair, to the banister of which she clung as she ascended. At the third landing-place a door stood open into a small, sparely-furnished room. She entered it, followed by Mademoiselle Le Vasseur, with whom she was no sooner alone than she threw herself into her arms with wild eagerness, clasping her convul sively, and uttering, between the sobs that shook her frame, every word of affection and endearment. When this violent burst had somewhat subsided, Mademoiselle made her sit upon the bed, and, placing herself near her, said — "So it is your own self, Mignonne!

What have you done ?" "What indeed!" sighed Sybilla, for it was no other. " How cruel of you to make us all think you were dead ! — even your father !" Sybilla wrung her hands despairingly, and steadying her voice with an effort, just uttered the words — " Is he living?" " Yes, he is ; I may say too that he is well — that is, he was much better when I left England." "Thank God he is alive!" exclaimed Sybilla, " though I shall never see him — though he must never know I live !" " But why not, dearest ? I understand your wishing to conceal yourself from the world (especially now Mr. Fitzherbert is married again), but good, kind Mr. Lock wood !" " It is very horrible ! It is the grievous punishment of my implacability. I may have been — was, no doubt — wrong in being unable to overcome resentment, however justly excited; and therefore it is that I must live the rest of my life parted from — forgotten by — all I loved !"

" No, Sybille, you are not forgotten !" " By whom am I remembered ?" asked Sybilla, gloomily. " By me, to begin with ! Ever since that dreadful day when they told us Oh, Sybille ! don't look at me so ! it breaks my heart ! But, for these four years past, every morning when I waked — every night when I went to bed — I have always thought of you, my child ! Then there is good Mr. Lockwood (and it is only six months since I left Elmhurst), the very look of him shows (though he never speaks on the subject) how constantly you are in his mind ! And dear little Bertha, when ever she is alone with me, the talk is alwaj^s about you. She reminds me of your kindness to her — of the singing lessons j^ou used to give her that last time you stayed with us at Elmhurst (now more than four years and a half back) — of that visit she was to have paid you the same year — if they had not chosen to send Florence instead !

Then how carefully she keeps that bracelet, and that heart and cross you gave her the day before Lady Clevedon's wedding! Not that she ever wears them, for fear her papa should take notice." " If I could but see her for one hour, and die !" "Oh, don't say such things, dear! it's wrong." " Yes ; it is wrong," answered her pupil, in a subdued tone. " There is no other way — I will not say of expiating my faults, but — of showing my repentance — than com plete submission to the lot I have brought on myself — acceptation of it — whether it be an early death among strangers, or a lonely life and desolate old age in exile ; which, if it be my doom, God give me strength to endure !" " Amen, my child ! but still I don't un derstan d " " I trust, dear friend, to make you un derstand," interrupted Sybilla (who had in some degree recovered outward composure), "that my existence must be a secret to all; at least I trust that you will kindly yield to my earnest wish ; which, believe me, has most sufficient grounds ; for, dear as you are to me, and precious as is the visit of one who can speak to me of those I love (though but for one half-hour !)

I have determined to leave this place to-night, so as never to be tracked by the most perse vering endeavours, unless you will give me your word — pledge me your faith, solemnly and sacredly — never to tell any one — not my father, not Bertha, not my cousin Helen — that I live, that you have seen me ! " Indeed, indeed, Sybille, I have my scruples. It would be such a consolation for your father to learn " " No !" cried Sybilla ; " it would be no consolation ! When I left my country, I resolved never to return to it in Mr. Fitz herbert's lifetime ; in other words, I con demned myself to perpetual banishment, which I must bear as best I may. I cannot go to see my father ; nor would it be any thing but misery for him to come and see me as I am in this place. He has bewailed me as dead : let him for ever believe me to be so !

Will you give me the promise— the vow — I require ?" r- Mademoiselle still demurred a little ; but after a short hesitation, passed her word in so solemn a manner, as to satisfy Sybilla, who knew she could depend upon her old governess's given promise, though she could in no degree reckon upon her discre tion. She therefore grew calmer, kissed Mademoiselle Le Vasseur affectionately, and said "To-morrow, if you can come again, I will tell you how I was directed hither, how I earn my living, and a good deal more that I see you are anxious to learn ; but at present I know you can't stay long, and you must just let me ask you questions. Did I not hear you say that Mr. Fitz herbert is married ?" "You did indeed; he has been married these three years." " I expected, I hoped so," answered Sybilla.

" Can you tell me to whom ?" " I can't remember the name, though it was mentioned to me ; but I know it was a young lady of very good family, well thought of, and estimable. I did not hear whether she was pretty; but every one agrees that Mr. Fitzherbert makes her a very good husband. Oh, my dear creature, why could you not take patience?" " If that is the case," observed Sybilla, without apparently noticing her old friend's closing ejaculation, " he at least has been a gainer by my disappearance." " No, my dear, it drove him almost to desperation ! his state of remorse was dreadful to witness, for your cousin Helen said—" " Oh, tell me about her" broke in Sybilla ; " what has become of my dear, dear Helen ?" " She is still Miss Grimston," said Made moiselle, "and to speak truth, my dear, I I see no chance of her ever being anything else.

She says herself she is destined to ' coiffer Sainte Catherine ' (as we call it) — not that her saying so signifies ; but you see people don't often marry (chez vous) when they withdraw from the kind of societies where they are likely to meet with what is suitable, as she has been doing these last four years, and particularly since your uncle's death." " What ! is Uncle Grimston dead ?" asked Sybilla. " With whom does Helen live ?" "With her eldest brother, who is married, and inhabits the late Mr. Grim ston's house ; so that she is still in Curzon Street, as formerly. Poor dear Helen ! how she has lamented you, Sybille ! how she laments you still ! And I am to keep from her, too, that you are living?" " It must be so, for the punishment of my most heavy sin," said Sybilla, in bitter agony ; " but go on," added she, " go on telling me about Helen ; how does she look ?

What does she do ? Does she seem tolerably happy and contented ?" "I hardly know what to say," replied Mademoiselle Le Vasseur ; " she never conrplains of anything or anybody ; she is always busy too, just as she used to be. When she comes and spends a little time with us (at Elmhurst, I mean ; when she stays with Lady Clevedon, too, I hear), there is always the same readiness to be interested in those she is among, which we remember in her from a child. And yet I can't get it out of my mind that she must have undergone some great sorrow, independent of that of losing you — though, to be sure, it might very well be that, and that only, for she did so love you ! She has still just the same sweet, kind face, that does one good to look on ; the same fine figure (though she dresses more as if she were five-and-thirty than six and-twenty).

But the bloom you recollect, the cheeks like two roses, and the dimples — all that is not what it was ; and she has a general appearance — not exactly of sadness — that would not be the right word, only of some thing so much more serious than in the days when she used to chat with us all in the Elmhurst school-room ! They say she might have married very well ; that Mr. Brownlow (you remember him, don't you ?) was much attached to her — couldn't indeed resign himself to the belief that she posi tively would not have him. 'Enfin il a fini par prendre son parti,' like a reasonable man ; and two years ago he married your cousin, Caroline Osborne. Her luck has not been the less for coming late, for she had seen her twenty-eight birth-days ' bien comptes,' before she made the best match of all that family.

Mr. Brownlow is so rich, I'm told." " I should have said myself that Fanny had been the most fortunate of them," observed Sybilla. "Ah, Madame Temple ! 'trouvez vous?' I don't know whether she is quite of your opinion, for they do say that she makes no scruple of telling whoever will listen to her, that she thinks herself very much to be pitied for being poor, and having no carriage. She is very handsome though — handsomer, to my mind, than she used to be. You know what spoilt her formerly was her being too large for a young person; so now she has grown thinner, she is more admired than ever, when she goes into society. But that is not often. She tells us her husband is jealous, and won't take her out ; though one wouldn't say, to look at him, that he was troubled with jealousy — one would sooner suspect he was dying of dulness, which would be no great wonder, considering."

Mademoiselle had run on without noticing if she were listened to by SYBDLLA LOCKWOOD. 15 Sybilla, who sat with fixed eyes, buried in thoughts nearer her heart than the Temples' affairs. But as the light began to fade, Mademoiselle Le Vasseur observed that it was getting late. "Oh, my dearest Sybille, must I go away? What would I not give to stay with you this evening, and always ! " " But you will come to-morrow ? I shall see you once again ! " exclaimed Sybilla eagerly. " Oh yes, you may be sure of that, for we must necessarily spend some days in this town. The Southwells are excellent people. I am comfortable, quite comfortable with them. But it was a terrible trial to leave Bertha ; she, too — poor child ! — shed many tears at our farewell. Only, you under stand, her education was finished, and Mrs. Southwell was anxious I should lose no time in replacing the governess she was parting with.

So to-morrow I shall not fail to be here — here for a long while, at whatever hour suits you. Tell me, when shall I come?" "I shall be giving lessons all the morning," said Sybilla ; " in the afternoon too, I expect a young woman to whom I have offered to teach English. But from five to seven I shall have nothing but needlework to do ; so come, if you can, then. How I shall count the hours — the minutes " and so saying, she kissed her old friend with a fresh burst of tears, and they parted. Sybilla slept little that night. All the calmness which a newly-acquired re signation had procured her was, for the time, banished by this visit from an inhabi tant of her own old world, and the re awakened torment of absence from all she had ever loved, so bewildered her mind as to make her almost regret having seen Mademoiselle — and yet she only lived in the hope of seeing her again !

Her father, Bertha, Helen — their images flitted before her, whether she lay with unclosed eyes, or sank into snatches of broken slumber. "So Helen," thought she, "is living — living uncomplainingly — in the very posi tion to avoid the chance of which I took the risk of the marriage that has been my bane. I feared to be, at this time, living; single in my father's house, under a step mother. To what have I brought myself ! To living single, and absolutely unpro tected, without one of the consolations which my own home, my own country offered, and which, in my folly and eager desire for more poignant pleasure, I had looked on as nothing ! To live with a sister-in-law cannot, except in some rare instances, be a much more enviable lot than that of living with a step-mother, and a father, such as mine is, would be a greater compensation to me than Helen's brother can possibly be to her.

If I dared write to her ! But no ; I am dead to them all, and must so remain, till it please God, in His mercy, to remove me from the weary struggle, the unsoothed toil, to which my own deeds have condemned me ! " She rose early from her uneasy bed ; was busily employed all the forenoon in the teaching of music and English, and after wards gave what attention she could to the instruction of a young girl, from whose parents she had received extreme kindness during her first attempts at gaining a liviDg vol. in. c where she was. At last, her pupil went away, and she seated herself with her work at the window to wait for the arrival, to look anxiously for the approach, of the first being who for four years past had given her news of home. When Mademoiselle appeared, the meeting was one of less vehement emotion than that of the day before ; but still it was, on Sybilla's part, overwhelming enough.

After some minutes, she collected herself, and fulfilled her promise of giving Mademoiselle a circumstantial account of the manner in which she had quitted England, as also of her way of life since, from the time of her arrival in that town up to the present moment. " And now," she said, having finished her narration, " I must begin again with my questions. It comes back to me that you said yesterday my father 'was better.' I was so distracted and bewildered that I did not half notice it then. Has he been seriously ill ? — or, were you only meaning he was less affected — by — what / have to answer for?" " No, my dear child, not that. It is true that poor Mr. Lockwood was already a good deal altered ; not at all what he used to be before that misfortune ; but it was nearly a year afterwards that he was so injured by a fall from his horse, that he has never been able to ride again ; and though he can get about now better than he or any one at first expected, he walks slowly, and with difficulty.

He really bears it very well ; but you know what it is for a man to have all his habits broken up ! He who lived so much out of doors too ! It would be some thing if he would let the house be filled with company, as it used to be, when Lady Clevedon was Miss Lockwood ! That would bring him some amusement (though he will not allow it could), and it would be a good thing besides for poor dear little Bertha, who spends a dull life enough ! ' Pauvre petit ange !' No ; he can't endure the notion of it; nor Mrs. Lockwood neither, which is more strange ; but now she has seen Florence and Augusta married — " " Whom has Augusta married ?" asked Sybilla. "Oh, I had forgotten to tell you; her c husband is a Mr. Dalrymple ; a very good match. (Not like the Earl of Clevedon of course, but still ' un tres bon parti').

And he would be a handsome man too — if he had not such a long nose ! I should almost say that your father had been better pleased with this last marriage than with Florence's, though that has turned out so well, he such an excellent husband, and she so devoted to her duties, at the same time retaining the social liveliness and affability she always had. But where was I ? I was telling you about Bertha, was I not ? Yes ; it's quite singular how little trouble Mrs. Lockwood gives herself for that sweet youngest girl of hers. Perhaps, she thinks it is Lady Clevedon's and Mrs. Dalrymple's business to find her an establishment ; but ' ces dames' have other occupations. There was Mrs. Dalrymple just confined when I left England; and Lady Clevedon has three children already, besides having to pay at tention to all her husband's numerous rela tions.

Perhaps Mrs. Lockwood's health is not quite what it was; perhaps, too, her being obliged to give herself up so much to Mr. Lockwood, prevents her being interested. as she used to be, in all that concerns a young girl's appearance in the world. Bertha has very little amusement at any rate, and can hardly even get leave to stay with her sisters ; for Mrs. Lockwood says she is wanted at home to help her papa to pass his time." " Oh, if I were but there to take her place !" cried Sybilla. " That is just what I have been thinking too, my dear — only — " " Only you know it can't be," interrupted her pupil. " Yes, I know ; and as long as Mr. Fitz herbert lives it can't be otherwise. He was very taking though ; the most taking, to my mind," she continued, " of all Mr. Lock wood's sons-in-law ; " and they say he has grown quite steady; but for all that," added she, after a slight pause, " I should be glad now if he would think fit to die, and pretty soon too — the world could get on without him, and then — " " My dear friend," exclaimed Sybilla, " He had better live than I !

Wish for my death, if you will ; it would be a great release ! But tell me more about Helen ; when did you last see her ?" " Well, we have been travelling a month, and I called on her a few days before we started. It is five weeks back now; and she was looking pretty well — very well compared to when I had last seen her. She talked to me of you again, too. Poor dear Helen, how attached she was to you! Now, would it not be possible you should let me tell her — her only — a secret she would keep, as I shall, from your father, from Bertha, from every one ! Think of it a little, Sybille !" " I have thought," was the reply ; " have thought, and not a little ; but I must deny myself that consolation. Alas, that it should needs be so !" "But why?" " For one thing I doubt her being able, (however willing she might be), to keep such a strange and heavy secret for ever; in some moment it would burst forth without her meaning it ; she had better not know."

" It shall be as you please, my dear; but in your place I should reckon on her, as much as you do on me — more even. I may say besides ' chere amie' that I myself should feel more sure of my own capacity for silence (as regards others), if I were allowed to open my heart a little by talking of you to Helen ; while, on her side, I can't help thinking that freedom to talk of you to me, would save her from being tempted to indiscretion." This idea seemed to strike Sybilla, and she half consented, but then retracted, saying — " No ; there are other reasons, and I can't let her know." " Well, Sybille, dearest, / too have a reason ; but I was afraid of vexing — per haps, of offending you ; still, if I dared, I should like to speak it out." " Say what you like, dear Mademoiselle," answered Sybilla, taking her hand.

" Then I must tell you that I believe my account of your present existence, such as it is, would afford greater relief to Helen than to any of the others, greater than to your father even. Three years ago she spent a fortnight a Elmhurst ; it was just a year after your flight — your death, as we be lieved ; and being alone with her one even ing, I naturally spoke of you. She told me she had never been able to persuade herself that you were actually no more. At least," said she over and over again, " I have never been given any proof of her death that convinced me, as others are convinced. I asserted that you must be really dead, though it was true your body had never been identified. I added that I thought her fortunate in living under a contrary persuasion." " No, no," cried poor Helen, with tears in her eyes, " the persuasion is no comfort to me.

I had rather be sure she were dead !" I pressed so urgently to have these words explained that (after trying to retract them) Helen confessed she was afraid you might, in your banished condition, be persecuted by that Mr. Wynton (him I had seen the last time I was at Ashdown), and she allowed me to perceive that she thought he was in love with you. " Well," said I, " and if she were living, and that gentleman were in love with her, ' tant pis pour lui !' She need not have fallen in love with him, need she ?" " Not here ; no," answered your cousin, " but poor, wandering, unprotected, ex posed to all the snares which the most perverted, the falsest man I ever knew could lay for her, the very thought makes me shudder !" " That gentleman was not likely to seek me out," said Sybilla, " nor have I seen or heard anything of him."

" That is what I kept telling her," con tinued Mademoiselle, "would that man have dared to persecute Mrs. Fitzherbert ? ' Comme si elle ne l'aurait pas envoye" pro mener' whether at home or abroad ! I don't know what had been perturbing Helen's mind. It seemed as if that Mr. Wynton struck her as an evil genius, capable of exerting some unknown power ! It is true he was then still on the continent, and not yet married ; but on that point she certainly appeared to me less sensible than usual. She went on saying ' that the bare notion of your having fallen in the way of that man chilled her with horror !' and I believe it is a sort of ' idee fixe' that has laid hold on her ; for even the last time I saw her, she did not indeed mention Mr. Wynton (she never named him but in that one tete-a tete I was telling you of), but in speaking of you this last time, she said, ' What would I not give to feel certain, as you and every one else are of the death of my poor Sybilla !' And now dearest, are you not disposed to free your best friend from so painful an anxiety, which, for as ill-grounded as it is, torments her unceasingly ?"