"Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?" inquired
Sybil.
"There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons
are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night."
"But--the women of your family?" suggested Sybil.
"There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps
house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam,
with half a dozen sons, but no daughters," returned the landlord.
Sybil lifted her head from her husband's shoulder, where it had rested
so long, and looked wistfully in her husband's eyes. He smiled, and
nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then
she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it
a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the
landlord, saying: "Mr. Judson, will you do me the favor to take this in to the unhappy
lady at once, and see if she will receive me this evening? I feel as if
I would like to try to comfort and serve her," "I will with pleasure, madam; and I have no doubt that the mere
expression of sympathy from another lady will be to her like a drop of
water to a feverish palate," said the landlord, as he left the room.
"Dear Lyon, I have a favor to ask of you," said Sybil, as soon as she
was alone with her husband.
"A favor! a right, my beloved! There is nothing that you can ask of me
that is not your right to receive!"
"No, no; a favor. I like to ask and receive favors from you, dear Lyon."
"Call my service what you will, dear love! a right or a favor, it is
always yours! What, then, is this favor, sweet Sybil?"
"That you will give me a perfect carte blanche in my manner of dealing
with this poor little lady, even though my manner should seem foolish or
extravagant."
At these words from his ardent, generous, romantic wife, Lyon Berners
looked very grave. What, indeed might Sybil, with her magnanimity and
munificence not think proper to do for this utter stranger--this
possible adventuress? Lyon looked very solemn over this proposal from
his wife. He hesitated for a moment; but her large, clear, honest eyes
were fixed full upon him, waiting for his reply. Could he refuse her
request? Did he not owe everything to her, and to that very high-flown
spirit of generosity which was not only a fault (if it were a fault) of
Sybil, but a trait common to all her race.
"As you will, my darling wife! I should be a cur, and worse than a
cur--a thankless wretch--to wish to restrain you in anything!" he
answered, sealing his agreement on her velvet lips.