In truth now, for the first time, the mischief was done! The siren had at last ensnared him, in her distress and dishabille, with her tears and tenderness, as she never had done in the full blaze of her adorned beauty, or by the most entrancing strains of divine melody. While Lyon Berners paced up and down the drawing-room floor, he seemed to see again the tender, tearful gaze of her soft blue eyes upon him; seemed to hear again the melting tones of her melodious voice pleading with him: "How have I been so unhappy as to offend you, Mr. Berners?" What a contrast this sweet humility of friendship with the fiery pride of Sybil's love! While he was almost involuntarily drawing this comparison, he heard the wheels of the carriage that brought Sybil home roll up to the door and stop. From her morning drive through the bright and frosty air, Sybil entered the drawing-room blooming, and glowing with health and happiness. For since that full explanation with her husband, she had been very happy. Lyon Berners hastened to meet her. And perhaps it was his secret and painful consciousness of that little episode with Rosa, that caused him to throw into his manner even more than his usual show of affection, as he drew her to his bosom and kissed her fondly. "Why!" exclaimed Sybil, laughing and pleased, "you meet me as if I had been gone a month, instead of a morning!" "Your absence always seems long to me, dear wife, however short it may really be," he answered earnestly. And he spoke the truth; for notwithstanding his admiration of Rosa, and the invidious comparison he had just drawn between her and Sybil, in his heart of hearts he still loved his wife truly. She threw off her bonnet and shawl, and sat down beside him and began to rattle away like a happy girl, telling him all the little incidents of her morning's drive--whom she had seen, what she had purchased, and how excited everybody was on the subject of her approaching fancy ball. "The first one ever given in this neighborhood, you know. Lyon," she added. And having told him all the news, she snatched up her bonnet and shawl and ran up-stairs to her own room, where she found her thin housekeeper engaged in sorting out laces and snivelling. "Why, what's the matter now, Miss Tabby?" cheerfully inquired Sybil. "Well, then, to tell you the truth, ma'am, I am dreadfully exercised into my own mind," answered Miss Winterose, wiping a tear from the tip of her nose. "What about, now?" gayly demanded Sybil, who felt not the slightest degree of alarm on account of Miss Tabby, knowing that lady to be a constitutional and habitual whimperer. "Then, it's all along of the wickedness and artfulness and deceitfulness of this here world." "Well, never mind, Miss Tabby; you'll not have to answer for it all. But what particular instance of wickedness frets your soul now?" laughed Sybil.