the three, Mr. and Mrs. Berners and Mrs.
Blondelle, were in the drawing-room together.

"You promised me some music," whispered Lyon to Rosa.

"Oh yes; and I will give you some. I am so glad you like my poor songs.
I am so happy when I can do anything at all to please you," she murmured
in reply, lifting her humid blue eyes to his face.

"Everything you do pleases me," he answered, in a very low voice.

Sybil was not standing very near them, yet, with ears sharpened by
jealousy, she overheard the whole of that short colloquy, and--treasured
it up.

Lyon Berners led Rosa Blondelle to the piano, arranged her music-stool,
and placed the music sheets before her. She turned to one of Byron's
impassioned songs, and while he hung enraptured over her, she sang the
words, and ever she raised her eyes to his, to give eloquent expression
and point to the sentiment. And then _his_ eyes answered, if his voice
and his heart did not.

That song was finished, and many more songs were sung, each more
impassioned than the other, until at last, Rosa, growing weary and
becoming slightly hoarse, arose from the piano, and with a
half-suppressed sigh sank into an easy-chair.

Then Sybil--who had watched them through the evening, and noted every
look and word and smile and sigh that passed between them, and who now
found her powers of self-command waning--Sybil, I say, rang for the
bedroom candles. And when they were brought, the little party separated
and retired for the night.

From this time forth, in the insanity of her jealousy, and with a
secretiveness only possible to the morally insane, Sybil completely
concealed her suspicions and her sufferings from her husband and her
guest. She was affectionate with Lyon, pleasant with Rosa, and confiding
in her manners towards both.

And they were completely deceived, and never more fatally so than when
they imagined themselves alone together.

_They were never alone._

There was never a tender glance, a fluttering sigh, a soft smile, a
low-toned, thrilling word passed between the false flirt and the
fascinated husband, that was not seen and heard by the heart-broken,
brain-crazed young wife!

And oh! could these triflers with sacred love--these wanderers on the
brink of a fearful abyss--have seen the look of her face then, they
would have fled from each other for ever, rather than to have dared the
desperation of her roused soul.

But they saw nothing, knew nothing, suspected not