"My own dear Sybil, you _are_ all in all to me. Do you not know, dear, that you are unique? that there is not another like you in the world; and that I value you and love you accordingly? What is this shallow-hearted blonde beauty to me? This woman, who, in a week, could forget the man who had robbed and deserted her, and give herself up to amusement! No, dear wife. I may be pleased with her good-natured efforts to please me; I may admire her beauty and delight in her music; but I care so little for herself, that were she to die to-day, I should only say, 'Poor thing,' and immediately forget her! While, if _you_ were to die, dear wife, life would be a living death, and the world a sepulchre to me!" "Is this true? Oh! is this indeed true?" exclaimed Sybil, in deep emotion. "As I am a man of truth, it is, as true as Heaven!" answered Lyon Berners, earnestly. And Sybil turned and threw herself in his arms, weeping for joy. "You shall have no more cause for distress, dear, warm-hearted wife. This lady must find other audience for her music. For, as to me, I shall not indulge in her society at such a cost to your feelings," said Lyon Berners earnestly, as he returned her warm caress. "No, no, no, no," exclaimed Sybil, generously. "You shall deny yourself no pleasure, for my sake, dear, dear Lyon! I am not such a churl as to require such a sacrifice. Only let me feel sure of your love, and then you may read with her all the morning, and play and sing with her all the evening, and I shall not care. I shall even be pleased, because you are so. But only let me feel sure of your love. For, oh! dear Lyon! I live only in your heart, and if any woman were to thrust me thence, I should die!" "Nor man, nor woman, nor angel, nor devil, shall ever do that, dear Sybil," he earnestly answered. The reconciliation between the husband and the wife was perfect. And Sybil was so happy that, in the lightness of her heart, she became kinder to Mrs. Blondelle than she had been for many days past. But as for Mr. Berners, from this time he carefully avoided Mrs. Blondelle. He was as courteous to her as ever, even more courteous than ever when his wife was present, but as soon as Sybil would leave the room, Lyon would make some excuse and follow her. This went on for some days, during which Mrs. Blondelle, being cut short in her platonic flirtation, first wondered and then moped, and then resolved to win back her fancied slave. So she whitened her face with bismuth, to make it look pale and interesting, and she arranged her golden locks and flowing robes with the most studied air of graceful neglect, and she affected silence, pensiveness, and abstraction; and thus she utterly imposed on Lyon Berners, whose sympathies were awakened by her. "Is it possible, that this pretty little fool can really be pleased with me, and pained by my neglect?" he inquired of himself. And then, human being like, he flattered himself and pitied her.