CHAPTER VII.

DOWN IN THE DARK VALE.

Where rose the mountains, there for her were friends,

Where fell the valley, therein was her home;

Where the steep rock and dizzy peak ascends,

She had the passion and the power to roam.

The crag, the forest, cavern, torrent's foam,

Were unto her companions, and they spake

A natural language clearer than the tone

Of her best books, which she would oft forsake

For Nature's pages, lit by moonbeams on the lake.--BYRON.

Jealousy, once called to life in any human heart, is not easily to be

destroyed. Sybil Berners' almost unconscious jealousy suddenly called

into existence, and as suddenly soothed to sleep, was awakened again by

something that occurred just as the travellers were about to start.

It was the merest trifle, yet one of those trifles which turn the course

of fate just as surely as the little switch of the railroad controls the

direction of the train.

The travellers were just entering the stage-coach. Mr. Berners handed

in first Mrs. Blondelle, then Mrs. Berners, and then he himself entered.

"You sit down here in this right-hand corner, Lyon, dear, and I will sit

in the middle next to you, and Mrs. 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.

"No, no, my dear, not so; but if you will change places with me and take

the right-hand corner-seat, while our fair friend occupies the left-hand

one, I will sit between you two ladies, the proverbial 'thorn between

two roses,'" replied Lyon Berners, gayly and gallantly, with perhaps on

his side a latent desire to sit next the beautiful blonde, but also

quite unconscious of how these words had disappointed and wounded her

whom he would not have willingly wronged for the world.

Sybil silently took her seat, leaving the others to follow her example.

Mr. Berners politely put Mrs. Blondelle in the left-hand corner, and

then seated himself in the middle seat, between his wife and her guest.

In front of them, on the movable central seat, sat Mrs. Blondelle's

child and nurse. Facing them on the front seat, with their backs to the

horses, were the two negro servants, Mr. Berners' valet and Mrs.

Berners' maid.

Though the morning was a very fine one for travelling, there were no

other passengers inside, or out. Mr. Berners and his party had the whole

coach to themselves, at least, at starting.

Sybil thought she had never seen her husband in gayer spirits. As the

horses started and the coach rattled along over the stony streets of the

city, Mr. Berners turned smilingly to Mrs. Blondelle, and said:

"I know of few pleasanter things in this pleasant world than a journey

through our native State of Virginia, taken at this delightful season of

the year; and of all routes I know of none affording such a variety of

beautiful and sublime scenery as this we are now starting upon."

"How long will it take you to reach your beautiful home?" sweetly

inquired Rosa Blondelle.

"We might reach it in two days, if we were to travel day and night; but

we shall be four days on the road, as we propose to put up at some

roadside inn or village each night," answered Lyon Berners.

Meanwhile the coach rattled out of the city and into the open country,

where the landscape was fair, well-wooded, well-watered, but not

striking.

"You must not judge the scenery of our State by this flat country around

our seaport," said Mr. Berners to his guest, with the air of a man

making an apology.

"Yet this is very pleasant to look upon," answered Rosa, sincerely.

"Yes, very pleasant, as you say; but you will use stronger language when

you see our vast forests, our high mountains, and deep valleys,"

answered Lyon Berners with a smile.

Sybil did not join in the conversation. She had not spoken since she had

unwillingly taken that corner seat. And worse than all, to her

apprehension, neither her husband nor her guest had noticed her silence.

They were apparently quite absorbed in each other.

Some hours of jolting over bad turnpike roads brought the coach to the

interior of an old forest, where, at a wayside inn, the horses were

changed, and the travellers dined. Here, on resuming their seats in the

coach, they were joined by two other travellers, elderly country

gentlemen, who took the two vacant places inside, and who would have

made themselves very confidential with Mr. Berners on any subject

within their knowledge, from crops to Congress, if he had not been too

engaged with his fair guest to pay them much attention. Sybil continued

silent, except when occasionally her husband would ask her if she was

comfortable, or if he could do anything for her, when she would thank

him and answer that she was quite comfortable; and that he could do

nothing. And as far as bodily ease went, she spoke the truth. For the

rest, Sybil could not then and there ask him to leave off devoting

himself to their guest, and show _her_ more attention.

A few more hours of more jolting over worse turnpike roads brought the

coach to the foot of the Blue Ridge, and to the picturesque village of

Underhill, where our party passed the night. Here, in the village inn,

Sybil Berners, feeling that Rosa Blondelle, as her guest, was entitled

to her courtesy, made an effort to forget the pain in her heart, the

shadow on her mind, and to do the honors of the table with her usual

affability and grace.

After supper, which was pleasantly prolonged, the travellers separated,

and were shown to their several bed-chambers.

And now, after twelve hours, Sybil found herself once more alone with

her husband. He had not perceived her silence and dejection during the

journey, or if he had, he certainly had not ascribed it to the right

cause. He was equally unconscious of having done a wrong, or inflicted a

wound. And now his manner to his wife was as tender, loving, and devoted

as it had ever been since their marriage. His very first words showed

this. On entering the room and closing the door, he suddenly threw his

arms around her, and clasped her to his bosom as a recovered treasure,

exclaiming:

"Now, my darling, we are alone together once more, with no one to divide

us."

"Thank Heaven!" breathed Sybil with all her heart; and her jealousy was

lulled to rest again by the kisses that he pressed on her lips. She said

to herself that all his devotion to Rosa Blondelle in the stage-coach

was but the proper courtesy of a gentleman to a lady guest, who was,

besides, a stranger in the country; and that she, his wife, ought to

admire, rather than to blame him for it--ought to be pleased, rather

than pained by it.

Very early the next morning the travellers arose, in order to take the

earliest coach, which, having left Norfolk at sunset, would reach

Underhill at sunrise.

Poor, ardent, impulsive Sybil! She had passed a very happy night; and

this morning she met her guest with a gush of genuine affection,

embracing and kissing her and her child, making them even more welcome

than she had done before, and feeling that to-day she could not deal too

kindly by Rosa, to atone for having yesterday thought so hardly of her.

Under these pleasant auspices the travellers sat down to an excellent

breakfast.

But the warning horn blew, and they prepared to resume their journey.

On entering the coach, they found the other passengers, three in number,

already on the back seat. But they were gentlemen, who voluntarily and

promptly gave up their seats to the two ladies and their escort. The

coach started.

Their route now lay through some of the wildest passes of the Blue

Ridge. And here the enthusiasm of Rosa Blondelle burst forth. She said

that she had seen grand mountains in Scotland, but nothing--no, nothing

to equal these in grandeur and beauty!

And Lyon Berners smiled to hear her speak so, as one might smile at the

extravagant delight of a child, for as a child this lovely stranger

often seemed to him and to others. And she, with her sweet, blue eyes,

smiled back to him.

And Sybil looked and listened, and felt again that strange wound

deepening in her heart--that strange cloud darkening over her mind.