tired as
to be fit for nothing but bed," said Rosa Blondelle, throwing herself
languidly into the green-covered easy-chair before the dressing-table.

"And, 'deed, me leddy, there's nae dress ye look sae weell in as that
bonny black velvet," said the maid.

Rosa knew this well, and for this reason, perhaps, selected the dress.

The maid quickly and skilfully arranged her mistress's hair in its
natural golden ringlets, that needed no ornament whatever. And when her
toilet was complete, Rosa Blondelle's fair beauty was even more
resplendent than usual, from its contrast with the rich blackness of her
dress.

"'A star upon the brow of night!'" quoted Sybil, as she entered the room
and stood for a moment in involuntary admiration. Then, with a smile,
she drew the arm of her guest within her own and led her off to the
supper-table, where they were joined by Mr. Berners.

It was a warm wainscotted little room, with crimson carpet and crimson
curtains, a good open fire of hickory wood, and a small, but luxuriously
spread supper-table.

Mr. Berners led their guest to her place at the board, and left his wife
to follow. These courtesies were no doubt due the visitor, yet they made
the wife's heart ache. She hated to miss the attentions her husband had
always hitherto bestowed on her alone; and she hated more to see them
lavished on another, and that other a beautiful, fascinating, and, as
she half suspected, most dangerous woman. It was in vain she said to
herself that these attentions were no more than any gentleman should
show to the invited visitor of his wife. She could not argue away her
heartache. She could not endure to see her husband touch the beauty's
hand. It drove her almost out of her self-possession to see their eyes
meet in that provoking mutual smile. Oh! how she repented ever having
invited this fatal beauty to her house! And yet she pitied the
friendless stranger too, and she struggled bravely against those
feelings of jealousy and hatred that were creeping into her heart. And,
in fact, from this time the whole inner life of Sybil Berners became one
hard struggle between her passions and her reason. And this struggle
soon manifested itself in a series of inconsistencies of conduct that
were perfectly incomprehensible to both Lyon Berners and Rosa Blondelle.

For instance, on this first night at home, while they sat at the
supper-table. Sybil was silent, abstracted, and depressed. Her
companions mentall