Off the Line

Chapter I

" There, in a moment, we may plunge our years In fatal penitence ; and in the blight Of our own souls, turn all our blood to tears, And colour things to come with hues of night." Byron. TERVEY returned to Richmond long before Sybil expected, but he brought her no news. He had left her note with the old woman in Hertford Street, as she had told him that she was expecting Mr. Morley's servant to come up that day, who would take the letters back with him. He would know how soon his master intended to return, and she had promised to let Hervey know, if possible, that evening. " And is that all V said ' Sybil, looking very much perplexed. VOL. II. B " What more could I do ? There was no one else to see, and you will hear this evening." " But I can't stay here!" said Sybil in dismay. "Why not? Where can you go?

When Mr. Morley gets your note, he will be sure to come back, and then you can go to-morrow morning." There was partial truth in what Hervey said ; he had left Sybil's note in Hertford Street, but the old woman was deaf, and did not the least understand what he wanted, and he took no pains to enlighten her. " Then I suppose I must wait till to-morrow," said Sybil doubtfully. " Of course, unless you mean to miss him altogether," said Hervey positively. " Everything has been done that is possible to do. Now, I want you to see the place — will you come on the river !" " I should like that," said Sybil, her childish and impulsive nature catching at every straw by which she could put away the evil of the moment. " Oh ! yes, do let us go on the river. I should like to see the place as I am here."

They remained some time on the water. Sybil was enchanted by the gaiety of the scene, the numberless boats of all sizes, the gay little steamers with bands playing and flags flying; it seemed to Sybil as if all the whole world were holiday-making, it was such a contrast to her bleak and lonely sea-side home. Her spirits rose as she gave her self up to the excitement of the moment, and few boats passed in which the occupants did not turn again to catch another glimpse of her lovely ani mated face. "Oh, how delightful!" she exclaimed as they landed. " How I should like to live here always !" Hervey treasured up the saying, though he did not reply to it. Instead of returning to the inn, they took a long ramble in the Park. But the walk was not as pleasant to Sybil as the row on the water had B2 been.

Hervey seemed touchy and exigeant; Sybil did not understand him, and it was with flagging spirits that she re-entered the house. It was impossible for any girl, even for one as thoughtless as Sybil, not to feel considerable anxiety as to her present position. She determined, whether she heard from her uncle or not, to go to Hertford Street in the morning, and persuade the old woman to let her remain there till he came back, as she was persuaded he would return at once upon the receipt of her letter. But she resolved not to mention her intention to Hervey till the morning, as she felt intuitively that he would try to dissuade her from it ; she was becoming afraid of the lowering looks and the impatient words that anything like contradiction always eli cited from him. Early the next morning he came, and asked her to go out with him on the river ; but she declined positively, saying that she must go at once to Hertford Street.

" Why, what have you heard V asked Hervey, quickly. ° Nothing, and that is why I must go. I think I must persuade the old woman to let me stay there to-day. Uncle Harold is sure to come back as soon as he gets my letter." " But you can come out with me on the river first, can't you ?" " Oh ! no, I want to go directly ; you will go with me — won't you, Hervey !" " It's so confoundedly absurd to go to London, when you don't expect to see anybody when you get there — and it would be delightful on the water T There was a want of respect, and a bully ing tone in Hervey's manner, that Sybil felt keenly, and secretly resented ; but she was becoming afraid of doing anything to irritate him. " I must go," she said, gently — " will you tell me when the next train starts for London ?" He went out of the room, and returned with a time-table.

"In less than five minutes — at 9.30. Shall you be ready ?" " Scarcely, for I want to see your aunt, and to thank her for her kindness, and that would not give me time." " So, then, you really do not intend to come back V he exclaimed, angrily. " It would have been better to say so, than to make a fool of me like this." " A fool of you ! — what can you mean ?" she asked in amazement. " I know very well what I mean," said Hervey, biting his lip with vexation ; " and I know, too, that I'm not going to be used for what you want one day, and thrown off like an old glove the next. I'm content to wait, but I'll be paid at last !" Hervey was so angry, and his manner so violent, that Sybil trembled and turned pale. She was really afraid of this man, in whose power she had so rashly placed herself.

He saw his advantage, and followed it up. " I'm ready to do your bidding — you know I am," he said, coming up to her, and laying his hand on her arm, " only you need never think of giving me the slip at last." Sybil turned away, her heart full of bitter feel ing, which she did not dare analyse. " I shall be ready in half an hour," she said, and went to find Mrs. Ramsden. The kind old lady could not conceal her amaze ment when Sybil said she had sought her to take leave of her. " But why, my dear ? — why do you go ? My sister will be so surprised. Surely there's nothing turned up wrong between you and Hervey ; you'll make it out in some way, after all, won't you ? For my part, you are welcome to what I can do to make you comfortable, though I've doubted if I could do that according to what you are used to.

It would have been better if Sophia had come too, for I don't understand it at all." Sybil did not comprehend much of this ram bling speech, and, thanking her again, went in search of Hervey, who was standing at the door with a scowl on his brow, that did not augur a pleasant journey to Sybil. They arrived at the station only just in time, and got into the first carriage that appeared empty. But there was one gentleman in the carriage, seated in the furthest corner, busily engaged in reading the newspaper, which, as it was unfolded, entirely concealed his face. Sybil, with a sad heart, sat on the opposite side, looking through the open window for some minutes, till the rustling of the paper caused her to look round. The gentleman was folding up the paper, and glanced for the first time at his fellow-travellers ; he started, as Sybil had done the previous moment, but their impulses were very different.

Sybil's was to turn away ; Hugh Dormer's — for he was the other occupant of the carriage — to dart across and seat himself by her side. " Good God ! Miss Morley, is it possible you are alone ?" and he glanced at Hervey, apparently doubting whether he had accompanied her or not. " Where is your brother ? Is he with you V " No," said Sybil, blushing deeply ; " I am with my uncle — that is, I am going to him." " To your uncle, Mr. Morley ?" said Hugh, looking at her in amazement ; " he is at Ormsdale Castle — I left him there this morning — I came up by the first train. Perhaps you mean some one else ?" " No, I don't," said Sybil, turning pale ; " I was going to Hertford Street, in hopes of finding him." " But you cannot be coming from the North ? Is it possible that you came up without knowing whether Mr. Morley was at home or not ?"

"I did not know," answered Sybil, evidently wishing to put a stop to the conversation. Hugh Dormer was silent for a few minutes, apparently much perplexed; then he remembered how quickly the time was passing, and that he must get some more information before they parted. Again he looked at Sybil's anxious face, and at the sullen and defiant expression on Her vey's countenance, and turning to Sybil, he said in a low voice, " For God's sake, Miss Morley, tell me where you are staying ? — what is the meaning of meeting you in this way ?" " I am not staying anywhere," said Sybil, evading his question. "I came up to stay with my uncle." Hugh Dormer became more puzzled every moment, for he had discovered by this time that the handsome young man who had come into the car riage with Sybil was really her companion.

" Can she have married that ill-tempered, ill-conditioned fellow?" he soliloquised; "impossible — besides, she said she was going to her uncle." It never occurred to Hugh to doubt her word — whatever Sybil said always bore the impress of truth. She looked tired too, and ill, and he felt sure that there was something wrong and mysterious in this journey, though he could not fathom it. He de termined at once that nothing should induce him to lose sight of her till he felt satisfied that she was under proper protection, and resolved to wait and see what course she and her strange com panion intended to pursue. He did not say any more to her then ; he saw her in eager conversa tion with Hervey when they alighted at Waterloo Bridge ; they appeared to be waiting for some thing — probably for his departure; but he kept them both in sight, and did not stir, to the astonishment of his servant, who came up to him and asked if he should call a cab.

" Yes ; and take my portmanteau to Portman Square, to my mother's house, and tell her that I may be detained for some time on business. Then return, and see if I am still here, and bring any letters that may be waiting. Stay, you must go to the telegraph office, and send off this message at once : — Waterloo Bridge Station. Hugh Dormer to Eustace Morley. — Your sister is here. Can you come up at once f" " It must be the safest thing to do," he thought ; " and now I have only to watch their proceedings." As he stood by the door, Sybil came up to him. " Oh ! Mr. Dormer, are you still here ? — will you give me Uncle Harold's address ?" He took out a card, wrote it down, and gave it to her. "Now, Miss Morley, you must give me the privilege of an old friend, and tell me where you are going." " I don't know — I am not sure — I shall write to my uncle from here."

" I am not going to leave you till I do know," he said decidedly ; " and as you do not seem to have any settled plan, will you let me take you to Portman Square? — my mother is in town, and though you do not know her, I can answer for it that she will be delighted to see you. She has often heard of you," he added. " Oh ! no — quite impossible, thank you — I must go. I shall wait for my uncle — it does not sig nify." " I beg your pardon, it does signify very much ; I must see you in safer hands than you appear to be at present," said Hugh gravely. Perplexed, tired, and nervous, Sybil burst into tears. Hugh called to a cabman who stood near. "Now come at once witha me to my mother's," he said. " She will arrange everything for you." " Pray, pray don't," said Sybil, as Hugh offered to put her into the cab.

" I shall go to my uncle's house probably, and wait for him." "Very well," said Hugh coolly; "then I shall go with you." Sybil turned away as she saw Hervey approaching. " Are you going to get rid of that chap?" he said angrily. " Who is he, and what the devil is he waiting for?" " He is a friend of my brother's, and has asked me to wait at his mother's house till my uncle returns." " He does — by he does ! He had better not meddle, I can tell him," retorted Hervey, fiercely ; " if he does it will be the worse for him !" " Then what do you want me to do ?" " Come back to Richmond, of course," he said, pacified by her apparent concession. " And write to my uncle from there ? I have got his address." " Yes, to be sure, and it will be all right to morrow," he said, recovering his temper ; " but you are so changeable, one never knows what you are going to be at.

There's a train we can go back by in five minutes. I'll go and get the tickets." Afraid of making him more angry if she refused, she made no opposition. But she was very unwilling that Hugh Dormer should know of her intention, aud walked away to avoid observa tion. It may appear strange and improbable that a nature so rebellious as Sybil's should tamely sub mit to threats and intimidations from a man whom she might almost expect to be her slave. But any one at all conversant with the study of human nature must have observed that among young people it is precisely those who are the most impatient of control, and the most inclined to rebel when treated with kindness and consideration, that are in reality the least self-reliant, and that can in their turn be most easily cowed by any cruelty or harshness.

No matter how harsh or cruel their own conduct may have been — they inflicted the wrong, they did not suffer it. The atmosphere in which they have lived is probably one of tenderness, and they have no moral strength to support them against severity or injustice when it falls to their share. Cruel people are always selfish, and therefore keenly alive to the smallest wrong done to themselves, and an ungenerous nature tramples where it can. Sybil's nature was not ungenerous, but she was inconsiderate and selfish; no one had ever spoken a sharp word to her in her life, till Eustace had taken her to task about Hervey Feltham ; so that any thing like harshness made her feel utterly depressed, and as if she had been transported into another region. She could brave circumstances, but not unkindness, and had become really afraid of Her vey's fierce and headstrong temper.

This made her resolve to go back to Richmond for one day, knowing that, having her uncle's ad dress, she could communicate with him at once ; and there was something so desperate in Hervey when roused, that she felt instinctively it was best to conciliate him while she was in his power. Hugh never lost sight of Hervey ; he saw him take two tickets to Richmond, and as soon as he was t gone he took one for himself, and was able, by mingling with the crowd, to get into the train, un observed by either Sybil or Hervey. His great wish was to discover where Sybil was living, so as to let Eustace know when he arrived, as he felt sure that his telegram would bring him to London at once. Then a doubt as to the wisdom of his own pro ceeding in the matter crossed his mind, if, after all, this journey of Sybil's had been taken with the knowledge and consent of her family.

He wished that he had telegraphed to Mary Power in the first instance ; at all events, he could not now re trace his steps. He watched them alight at Richmond, and fol lowed them to a small inn, hardly better than a public-house. "No one would allow her to go there," he thought; "there must be something strangely wrong in all this." And he at once determined to stay at Richmond that day, in the same house if \ VOL. II. C C possible ; and if, as he imagined, Sybil was staying there, he would meet Eustace at Waterloo Bridge by the last train, and bring him down at once. He took the precaution, however, to send another mes sage to him to his mother's house, as if, by any chance, they missed each other he felt sure Eustace would go there to inquire for him. Having done this, he proceeded at once to the inn, without taking any especial pains to conceal himself.

Indeed, if he could have informed Sybil of his presence without the knowledge of her com panion, he would have done so. He thought it just possible that he might see her alone, and with this hope he walked into the house, and desired to be shown a sitting-room. " Sitting-room, sir? Yes, sir — room to yourself, sir ?" " Yes, and some luncheon — can I have some ? This room will do," said Hugh, walking into a small dingy parlour on one side of the front door, and which looked into the street, so that no one could leave the house without his knowing it. "This will do : I will stay here," he said decidedly. " Now get me some luncheon." " Luncheon, sir ? Yes, sir — what sort ? Bread and cheese, sir?" It was evident that luncheon was not usually in l'equest at the Bull Inn at Richmond. " No, mutton-chops, or beefsteaks and potatoes — I can have some, I suppose ?"

" Oh ! yes, sir," answered the little maid, whose bright face, clean cap, and red ribands disposed Hugh to take a more favourable view of the hos telry than he had previously done. The girl retired, and Hugh felt quite disappointed when the door opened, and a portly, elderly dame entered the room. She looked at him attentively, but seemed good-natured and respectable, and as sured him that she could give him anything that was possible in this world; but he, being somewhat impressed by her appearance, was modest in his dec mands, and declared that he should be more than satisfied with a mutton-chop. " Certainly not a commercial traveller, but a real gentleman," thought Mrs. Ramsden, who felt as if prosperity had fallen upon her house. " A respectable woman," thought Hugh ; " but I cannot question her.

I wish the little maid would come back." His wish was soon gratified, and while she was bringing in a tray, and laying a table-cloth, wdiich was none of the whitest, Hugh began a conversation with her. Nothing loth to be noticed by the handsome gentleman, she was ready with her replies about the town, shops, boats, and river — in all of which Hugh appeared to be interested in the high est degree. " You must have a great deal to do," he said at last, in a tone of compassion. " Sometimes, sir, but not just now, though." " Oh ! then people don't come here so early, perhaps. But now I should think such a pleasant house as this must be generally full. You are full now, I daresay ? " " Oh ! no, sir, not now." " But you don't mean the house is empty," he replied with well-feigned astonishment. "No, sir, not exactly empty — we've a young lady and gentleman here ; but he's not exactly a visitor, being Mrs. Ramsden's nephew."

" Indeed," said Hugh, now really concerned and surprised, as he comprehended at once the strange chance that had brought Sybil to Richmond ; and then, to cover his sudden interest, he said some what irrelevantly, " that must be very pleasant." "Yes, sir, I suppose so," said the girl, wondering more and more at the affable young gentleman, who took so deep an interest in the concerns of the Bull Inn at Richmond. Hugh, who saw some wonder depicted on her countenance, thought it would be wiser to give her something to divert her attention. " I may as well pay for my luncheon at once," he said, tossing a half-sovereign on the table ; " there will be plenty of change out of this, so will you keep it, and buy some more of those becoming red ribands?" The little maid's cheeks were redder now than her ribands with surprise and delight, and Hugh was marked in her memory as the most delightful gentleman that ever was seen.

The long spring day seemed interminable to Hugh, as he sat in Mrs. Ramsden's dingy parlour, or paced the street restlessly between the Inn and the railway. He saw nothing of Sybil, though Hervey seemed to be waiting for some one, as he lounged about between the street door and the dull square enclosure dignified by the name of a gar den. As evening drew on, Hugh thought it would be his best plan to meet Eustace at Waterloo Bridge, and bring him down to Richmond at once. As he found, on arriving there, that he would have an hour to wait before the last train came in, he went to Portman Square to see his mother. There he found a letter from Mary Power, telling him of Sybil's disappearance, and of the grief and per plexity into which it had plunged her family. The train came in just as he got back to the station.

"Is she here?" asked Eustace, jumping out of the carriage as soon as he caught sight of Hugh on the platform. " No — she is at Richmond. Shall we go there at once 1" "At once, if possible," and they hurried off, and were soon on their way. Then Hugh explained to Eustace all that he knew, and what had alarmed him when he met his sister in the morning. " I was almost afraid you would think me officious," he added ; " but when your sister seemed to be in such fearful peril, it was best to be on the safe side." " I cannot thank you enough," said Eustace — " God grant we may not be too late to save her !" " You will probably wish to remove her from Richmond at once. I find the landlady of the inn is aunt to that man, which explains his taking her there." " Scoundrel !" muttered Eustace. " I hope you will make any use you like of my mother's house," continued Hugh, not heeding the interruption ; " and she wishes it also.

I hope you will." " How can I ?" exclaimed Eustace — " how can I take her into your mother's house, and to your sisters ?" " Why not ?" said Hugh, earnestly. " Yrou forget that her intention was to go to your uncle ; he was away, and she has fallen into some trap that these people have laid for her. She looks ill and tired." " She had better be ill, or dead, than have done this," said Eustace, sternly. " My dear fellow, you see it wrong — indeed you do," said Hugh, anxiously. "As to the scoundrel who is with her, he richly deserves a horsewhipping, and I only wish it fell to my lot to give it him ; but, of course, in your sister it has been only ignorance, or thoughtlessness. Besides, we do not know the facts of the case yet." " We know that she is found at a public-house with a disreputable fellow like Hervey Feltham ; you don't expect me to bear such a disgrace quiet ly, I suppose ?"

Eustace spoke with such deep and bitter resentment, that Hugh at once resolved to go with him to the inn, and not to leave him at the station, as he originally intended. He might soften him towards Sybil — at all events, he would wait and see the turn that events took. Sybil had spent the remainder of the day in her own room, deaf to Hervey's entreaties to go with him upon the river, as well as to Mrs. Ramsden's advice about the bad effects of " moping," as she called it ; but Sybil pleaded headache, and remain ed alone. The expression of Hugh Dormer's face had startled her more than his words — then, and never till then, had the full rashness of her conduct dawned upon her. She saw it the more plainly as not only had the first excitement, which caused her to leave Sandling, passed away, but she had been considerably disenchanted with Hervey upon closer acquaintance.

She knew now that she often shrunk from this man, whom so lately she fancied that she loved. She resented his familiar manner, and his fierce vindictive temper made her physically afraid. She looked round helplesslv — her one hope the " to-morrow," which was to see her safely harboured with her uncle. Mrs. Ramsden had been more mystified by their return than she had been by their departure, and vainly questioned Hervey, who, enveloped in the blackest gloom at Sybil's seclusion, gave her the surliest answers possible. She felt really disconsolate at the state of things around her, and, as she complained to Sybil, " could not bear not having a cheerful home," and looked so disappointed when she saw the untasted tea in Sybil's room, that out of compassion for the kind-hearted old lady's dilemma, Sybil agreed to come down later, and have " a comfortable cup of tea " in her room.

" So you've condescended to come down at last," said Hervey roughly, as he followed her into his aunt's room. " It had nothing to do with condescension — I had a headache," she said coldly. " Why are you always so cross, Hervey ?" " Come now — come now," said the old lady, just as if she was coaxing little children, or calling chickens, " what are you two young things spar ring about ! Sit down, Hervey, and have some tea ; and you might take a turn after," she added turning to Sybil ; " it's a sweet evening ; it will do your head good." " It is fine," said Sybil absently, as suddenly a vision of Cheveleigh rose up before her. It might have been the smell of the sweet-briar that came in through the open window, that made her think how the same scent was creeping into her room at home, and how the rooks were cawing as they flew home to their nests in the limes just beyond the churchyard wall, and drowned the song of the young thrushes, strong and lustily as they had sung through the long spring day.

Oh ! if she had been there, how different her life would have been ! If she could go there now — see it even for a day ! — and a wild longing seized her to look again upon those well-known scenes. She was suddenly awakened from her day-dream to very different sights and sounds. A fly driving up rapidly to the door, voices, and scuffling feet, and one voice which blanched her cheek, and sent the blood curdling back to her heart. Then the door was flung open, and Eus tace and Hugh Dormer stood before her! With a cry she sprang forward, but her brother did not appear to see her. In an instant he seized Hervey by the collar, and dragged him out of the room. Utterly taken by surprise, he was mas tered at once. Eustace's anger had given him unnatural strength. "Confound you!" exclaimed Hervey, as soon as he could struggle to his feet.

" What do you want ? You shall answer for this !" " You had better answer for yourself," returned Eustace; "you need not think that your rascally conduct is going unpunished. Perhaps you do not know the penalty of the law for carrying off a minor; but you will hear of it, j^ou may de pend." " It's a lie — a d d false lie !" exclaimed Her vey, choking with passion. " I never carried her off — she came of her own free will." " And by your persuasions ! — but I am not go ing to waste words upon a scoundrel like you! You may think yourself lucky if you escape without a good horsewhipping ; and if you don't wish to get one on the spot, I advise you to take yourself out of my sight, for as sure as I am a living man, you shall suffer for this deed." " Indeed !" sneered Hervey. " You may wish me out of your sight now, but I can tell you that a day may come when you will think a sight of me the best thing you can have."