"In the name of Heaven, Sybil! what is all this about? What has happened
to distress you so deeply? Have you heard any bad news?" he inquired as
he caressed and tried to soothe her.

She did not repel his caresses; for, jealous as she was, she felt no
anger towards him then. She laid her head upon his bosom, and sobbed
aloud.

"What bad news have you heard, dear Sybil?" repeated Mr. Berners.

"Oh, none at all! What bad news _could_ I hear to make _me_ weep? I do
not care as much as that for anything on earth, or anybody except you!"
she answered, lifting her head from his bosom as she spoke, and then
dropping it again when she had finished.

"Then what is it that troubles you, my own dear wife? What cause can you
have for weeping?" he inquired, tenderly caressing the beautiful,
wayward creature.

She lifted her head, and smiled through her tears as she answered:

"None at all, I believe. What does Kotzebue say? 'To laugh or cry
without a reason, is one of the few privileges women have.' I have no
good reason to weep, dear Lyon! I know that I have not. But I am nervous
and hysterical, I believe," she added; for, as before, his tender
caresses dispelled her jealousy and restored her trust. With her head
resting on his bosom; with his arms around her; with his eyes smiling
down upon hers, she could not look in his face and retain her jealous
doubts.

"I have no reason in the world for weeping. I am just a nervous,
hysterical woman--_like the rest_! It is no wonder men, who see the
weakness of our sex, refuse to trust us with any power," she added, with
a light laugh.

"But I utterly deny this alleged 'weakness of your sex.' You bewray
yourself and sex by repeating the slander, though even in jest, as I see
you are. _You_ are not weak, my Sybil. Nor do you weep without a cause.
You have some good and sufficient reason for your tears."

"Indeed, no; I have none. I am only nervous and hysterical, and
thoroughly ashamed of myself for being so," she answered, very
sincerely, for she _was_ really thoroughly ashamed of her late jealousy,
and anxious to conceal it from her husband.

He looked at her so inquisitively, not to say so incredulously, that
she hastened to add;

"This is really nothing but nervous irritability, dear Lyon. Do not
distress yourself about my moods."

"But I must, my darling. Whether their cause is mental or physical, real
or imaginary, I must trouble myself about your tears," answered Lyon