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Updated: June 19, 2025
Some among the guests, however, preferred to seat themselves on the sofas that lined the walls, and to rest. Among these last was Rosa Blondelle, who sat on a corner sofa, and sulked and looked sad and sentimental because Lyon Berners had not spoken to her, or even approached her since he had seen that look on Sybil's face.
Horace Blondelle, a very handsome and attractive young gentleman, whose principal passport into good society seemed to be his distant relationship to the Duke of Marchmonte. How he lived no one knew. Where he lived everyone might see, for he always occupied the best suits of apartments in the best hotel of any town or city in which he might be for the time sojourning.
Lyon Berners was reclining on the sofa in the drawing-room, with the last number of the "North American Review" in his hands. Suddenly a soft hand stole into his, and a soft voice murmured in his ear: "Mr. Berners, how have I been so unhappy as to offend you?" He looked up in surprise to see Rosa Blondelle standing by him.
I will, as I am a Berners! And now, begone, and never let me see your form again!" Rosa Blondelle, who had stood spell-bound by the terrible gaze and overwhelming words of Sybil, the wronged wife, now suddenly threw up her hands, and with a low cry, fled from the room. And Sybil dropped her arm and her voice at the same instant, and stood dumb and motionless.
It ran thus: "It is now certain that Sybil Berners, accused of the murder of Rosa Blondelle, is not in Annapolis, as was falsely reported; but that she has escaped in disguise, accompanied by her husband, who is also in disguise; and that both are in the city of Norfolk." Now it was Lyon's turn to grow pallid with fear, not for himself, but for one dearer to him than his own life.
Blondelle shall sit in the left-hand corner next to me," said Sybil, still standing while she pointed out their several places on the back seat; and she spoke perhaps under the influence of a latent jealousy, that instigated her to place herself between her husband and her guest, for that long journey.
"I know," answered Mrs. Berners. "Well, Mr. Horace Blondelle very promptly settled it by handing me a check on the local bank for the amount. It was too late then to cash my check, as the bank had been for some hours closed. But I resolved to take it to the bank the first thing on Monday morning to get the money; and I left Mr.
Blondelle's room, two figures a gentleman and a lady. The gentleman she instantly recognized as her husband, by his dress as "Harold, the last of the Saxon Kings." The lady she felt certain must be Rosa Blondelle, as she wore the dress of "Edith the Fair," the favorite of the King.
"Nor man, nor woman, nor angel, nor devil, shall ever do that, dear Sybil," he earnestly answered. The reconciliation between the husband and the wife was perfect. And Sybil was so happy that, in the lightness of her heart, she became kinder to Mrs. Blondelle than she had been for many days past. But as for Mr. Berners, from this time he carefully avoided Mrs. Blondelle.
It occurred to him that he might make some fair excuse to take Sybil to the city, and spend the ensuing winter there with her, leaving Rosa Blondelle in full possession of Black Hall until she should choose to make arrangements to return to her own country. This or something else must be done, for the flirtation with Rosa must never be resumed.
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