SIBYL'S RETURN TO THE ISLE
"There is a shadow in her eye,
A languor in her frame;
Yet rouse her spirit and she'll glow
With passion's fiercest flame."--T.W.H.
It was late in the afternoon of the following day when Willard
Drummond left the lodge for Mrs. Tom's cottage. Curiosity to see the
rescued ones prompted the visit as much as any other feeling; and he
walked along rapidly, viewing the scene of desolation which the
preceding night's tempest had left.
The cottage door was open to admit the pleasant sunshine, and Willard
paused for a moment to view the scene before he entered.
Mrs. Tom went bustling about the room in her usual breezy, chirruping
way, talking incessantly, but in a subdued tone, as though afraid of
disturbing some one. Christie sat near the window, bending over her
sewing, looking pale still, after the terror and excitement of the
previous night. But Willard's eyes did not linger a moment on her;
they were fixed, as if fascinated, on another, who lay back in Mrs.
Tom's arm-chair, propped up with pillows.
It was the woman, or rather the girl, he had saved, What was there in
that pale young face to make him start so vehemently, while the blood
rushed in a crimson torrent to his very temples? He only saw a
small, slight figure; short, crisp, golden curls clustering over a
round, white, polished forehead; bright, saucy gray eyes, half veiled
now under the long, silken eyelashes, resting on the pearly cheek; a
little rosebud mouth, and a nose decidedly _retrousse_. It was not a
wonderfully pretty face; but there was something bright, piquant,
original, and charming about it--something daring, defiant, and
high-spirited, as you could see even in its pallor and languor. She
might have been sixteen, though she scarcely looked so old as that.
She lay back now with her little white hands folded listlessly on her
lap, her veiled eyes fixed upon them with a dreamy, abstracted look,
as of one whose thoughts are far away--replying low and languidly to
Mrs. Tom's ceaseless questioning. And Willard Drummond, pale and
excited, leaned against the door-post, gazing upon her like one who
cannot believe his senses.
Suddenly Christie raised her eyes from her work, and uttered an
ejaculation as she espied him. He could linger no longer, and like
one who walks in his sleep, he passed in.
The clear, dark eyes of the little lady in the chair were raised as
he entered, and fixed with a look of complete amazement on his face.
Her dark eyes dilated--her lips parted in surprise, as she made an
effort to rise from her chair, and then sank back exhausted.
"Willard Drummond!" broke in surprise from her lips.
"Laura!" he exclaimed.
And he was by her side in an instant, holding her hands in his, and
gazing in her eyes with a look that would have aroused Sibyl's
jealousy, had she been present, but which only puzzled Christie, who,
with Mrs. Tom, looked on in astonishment.
"Who in the world would have expected to meet you here!" said the
lady, recovering first from a moment's embarrassed silence;
"certainly the last spot on earth I should ever look for the gay,
pleasure-loving Willard Drummond. So, sir, I presume you have been
'taking the world easy,' here in this Enchanted Isle, while your
poor, deluded friends were laboring under the conviction you were
improving your mind---which needed improving, goodness knows--by
foreign travel? Pretty conduct, Mr. Drummond, I must say!"
"Oh, Laura! Laura! how little did I dream, last night, you were in
that fatal ship!" he exclaimed, passionately.
"Ugh! yes; wasn't it awful?" said the young girl, with a shudder.
"I'll never get the horrid sight and sounds of that dreadful night
out of my mind while I live. Oh! to have heard the screams, and
cries, and prayers, and blasphemies of the drowning crew, mingling
with the fearful storm, was appalling. Holy saints! I hear them
yet!"
With a convulsive shudder, she hid her face in her hands.
"Thank Heaven your life was saved, at least," said Drummond, with
fervor.
"Yes, our escape was little less than miraculous. I remember some
one making me fast to a floating spar, as the ship struck; then the
waves swept furiously over me, and I remember no more, until I awoke
and found kind friends chafing my hands and temples. Was it you who
saved me, Willard?"
"Not exactly. The waves washed you ashore, and my part of it was
merely to have you conveyed up here. But how little did I dream
then, that Laura Britton was so near!"
"Laura Courtney, if you please, Mr. Drummond," she said, quietly. "I
have had the honor of changing my name since I saw you last."
"And you _have_ married Edgar Courtney! Oh, Laura, Laura?" he said,
reproachfully.
Her eyes flashed as she faced suddenly round, and said, sharply:
"Yes, I have married him; and, Mr. Drummond, don't you dare to speak
of him in that tone again. I will not endure it. No, not if you had
saved my life a dozen times."
The angry blood flushed to her pale cheek, and she jerked her hand
angrily away from his grasp.
Willard bit his lip till it bled, to keep down his rising anger;
while Christie and Mrs. Tom still sat staring in increasing amazement.
There was a long, disagreeable pause, broken at last by Mrs. Courtney
saying, in her usual quick, abrupt way:
"There! you need not get mad, now, Willard; have you forgotten that
no one used ever to get angry at anything said by 'Madcap Laura?'
Come, don't speak so of Mr. Courtney again, and I'll forgive you;
there's my hand on it. I cannot forget that we are old friends."
A shadow crossed Willard's face, as he bent over the little hand she
extended.
"Has your--has Mr. Courtney been saved?" he asked, in a subdued tone.
"Yes, the waves washed us ashore together, but something struck him
on the head, and he is unable to rise. I suppose you are puzzling
your brains now to know what brought us to this quarter of the globe?"
"I confess I have some curiosity on that point."
"Well, you see," said little Mrs. Courtney, adjusting herself more
comfortably in her chair, "we went on a bridal-tour to New York, and
on our way home Edgar thought he would call at Westport, where he had
business of some kind. All the way we had fine weather until the
journey was at its end, and then the storm arose in which we nearly
perished. But, Willard, what under the sun can have driven you here?"
Willard colored as he met her keen, bright glance.
"Well, I came with a friend of mine, a certain Captain Campbell, who
owns a residence here, and I am for the present his guest, though
unexpected business, for a time, called him away. Anything for a
change, you know," he added, laughing, "and this island is not
_quite_ devoid of attraction."
"By no means," said Mrs. Courtney, glancing demurely at Christie. "I
certainly admire your good taste in saying so. Once here, with such
a divinity as this, I can easily account for the attraction that
binds you, most fickle of men, here," she added, in a lower tone.
"Pshaw, Laura!" he said, striving to hide by a laugh the guilty flush
that lingered still on his face, "you surely do not think I have
forgotten _you_ so soon?"
"If it were any one else I would not, but you--oh, you never would be
true to any one longer than a month. Talk about woman's fickleness!
I'm sure the wind never was half so changeable as you."
"Yes, you gave me great encouragement to be true to you," he
answered, with some bitterness.
"Did I," said Mrs. Courtney, with a yawn. "Well, I know I was a
horrid little simpleton once, but I've grown old and wise now. And,
if it's all the same to you, Mr. Drummond, I'll leave you now. I
feel tired and half sick yet, after last night."
She rose and went into the room with a weary, tired air.
"So, you know her?" said Mrs. Tom. "Who'd ever thought it? So that
tall, dark-looking fellow, with all the whiskers and mustaches, is
her husband? I declare if it ain't scandalous the way gals _will_
get married afore they're out o' short frocks. I jist wish I had a
darter--no, I mean if I _had_ a darter--I'd like to see her tryin' to
get married at such an unchristian age!"
Christie turned scarlet, and bent lower over her work.
Willard stood leaning with one arm on the mantel-piece, gazing
thoughtfully into the fire.
"What did you say her name was?" inquired Mrs. Tom, sitting down, and
beginning to reel off yarn.
"Mrs. Edgar Courtney, now; she was Laura Britton when I last met
her," he said, as if half speaking to himself.
"S'pose you've known her a long time?" continued Mrs. Tom.
"Yes, we were children together," he replied, in the same dreamy tone.
"And her husband--known him long?" pursued Mrs. Tom.
"Yes, I know him for a cruel, jealous, passionate tyrant!" said
Willard, starting up so suddenly and fiercely that Mrs. Tom dropped
the ball she was winding, and sprang back.
"Well, you needn't make such a fuss about it!" she exclaimed,
recovering herself, and indignantly resuming her work. "Scaring a
body out o' their wits for nothin'. I s'pose she knowed all that
afore she took him."
"Pray, pardon my vehemence, Mrs. Tom," said Willard, recovering
himself by an effort, as he saw Christie's troubled gaze fixed on his
face; "I forgot myself for a moment. But this patient of yours, this
Mr. Courtney, may need a doctor. I am going over to Westport
to-night, and if you wish, I will bring one to-morrow."
"It would be better," said Mrs. Tom, thoughtfully. "He's got a
temenjous cut right in his head. I did what I could for him; but, of
course, a body would feel more satisfied if they had a reg'lar
doctor.'
"If I were ill, Mrs. Tom, I should trust to you in preference to any
doctor ever warranted to kill or cure," said Willard, as he took his
hat to go.
Mrs. Tom smiled benignly at the compliment, quite delighted at this
tacit acknowledgment of her skill.
And an hour after, Willard and Lem were on their way to Westport.
What were Willard Drummond's thoughts, as, sitting silently in the
stern of the boat, he watched the dancing waves flash and sparkle in
the sunlight? Very different from those he had indulged not long
since, when, on one eventful night, he and Christie had crossed it
together. This Laura Courtney, with her pretty, piquant face, and
pert, saucy manners, had first won his boyish heart. He had raved,
and vowed, and implored at her feet, but she only laughed at him and
his passion, and now she had no more power over his heart than if she
never existed. Might it not be the same with those he had loved
since? Was not his passion for Christie beginning to grow cold
already? Would it not grow colder every day? And in the hot ardor
of his love he had made this little obscure, uneducated, shy child,
his wife. Why, oh, why, had he not waited? And now that the deed
was irreparable, where was this to end?
They reached Westport before dark; and Lem, having landed him, set
off for the island again, promising to return for him in the morning.
The moon was just rising above the pine trees when he reached home;
and, on entering the house, the first object he beheld was his young
mistress, in close conversation with his mother.
"Lor' sakes, Miss Sibyl! you here!" was Lem's first ejaculation.
"Yes, Lem; and glad to be home again," she answered, gayly. "Aunt
Moll tells me you have just been taking Mr. Drummond over to
Westport."
"So I hev; but I'm to go for him early to-morrow-mornin.' 'Spect, ef
he'd know you was a comin,' he'd staid here."
"Humph!" said Aunt Moll, dubiously.
"Did he seem lonely during my--during our absence?" asked Sibyl.
"Lonesome? 'Deed he didn't, honey; he was in fust rate spirits all
the time."
"Ah!" said Sibyl, a shadow falling over her face; "he spent his time
in fishing and shooting, I suppose, and snaring birds?"
"Snarin' birds? Yes; an' caught one, too," said Aunt Moll, in a tone
that spoke volumes.
"Caught _one_! What do you mean, Aunt Moll? I don't understand,"
said Sibyl, anxiously.
"Miss Sibyl, don't listen to her. She's allers got some nonsense to
tell," interrupted Lem, casting an angry and warning glance toward
his mother.
But now that the opportunity she had so long waited for had come, the
old woman's tongue was not to be stopped.
"It's all fur yer good, child, 'deed it is; an' I 'siders it my duty
to warn you, honey, dat Massa Drummond ain't to be 'pended on. Dar!"
"Aunt Moll, what do you mean? Speak, and tell me what you are
hinting at. What has Mr. Drummond done?" asked Sibyl, growing very
pale.
"Well, chile, 'stead o' stayin' here, and thinking ob you, as he'd
orter, he's been prowlin', all hours o' de night, round de island,
wid dat 'ar Miss Chrissy--making lub to her, I'll be bound."
"_What?_" cried Sibyl, in a tone that made the old woman leap to her
feet, as she sprang forward, and caught her by the arm. "Dare you
insinuate such a thing? I tell you he could not, and he would
not--he dare not prove false to me!"
"Miss Sibyl, honey! for de Lord's sake, don't look at me wid such
wild eyes. I 'spec's she's witched him. I can't 'count for it no
other way," said Aunt Moll, trembling before the awful wrath of those
blazing eyes. "I on'y says what I knows. He's all the time talkin'
'bout her to hisself, when he's 'lone."
"It cannot be true; he dare not deceive me!" almost shrieked Sibyl.
"What proof have you of this? Speak! speak!"
"Miss Sibyl, honey! you may 'sassinate me ef you's a mind to; but I's
tellin' de trufe. Sence eber you left, dey ain't a minute apart.
Dey've sailed in de riber after night, an' gone trampin' in de woods
in de day time; an' I's heered him callin' her his 'dear Chrissy,'
when he's 'lone. I knows, chile, 'taint pleasant, nor likewise
'greeable for you to hear dis; but I talks for your good,
honey--'deed I does."
But now the first fierce gust of passion was over, and pale and
tottering, Sibyl leaned against the chimney-piece--her arm on the
mantel, her head bowed upon it, shuddering, sinking, collapsed. All
his neglect, that had puzzled her so long, was accounted for now.
She was forgotten--deserted, for this island girl!
So long she remained in that fixed, rigid attitude, that Aunt Moll
began to grow alarmed; and she was on the point of commencing a
consoling speech, beginning with: "Miss Sibyl, honey," when the young
girl lifted her head, and, asked in a hollow voice:
"Is this--this girl on the island still?"
"Yes, chile, ob course she is--down to Miss Tom's."
For a moment longer Sibyl stood, gazing steadily before her, with
those wild, fierce, burning eyes; her face perfectly colorless, save
that two dark-purple spots blazed in and out upon it like burning
coals; her teeth set; her hands clenched. All the humiliation, the
shame, the agony of being deserted, rushed, like a burning torrent,
through her mind. And with it came a fierce, demoniacal hatred of
her idol, and a deadly wish to be revenged.
Starting suddenly up, she fled up the stairs, through the long,
unlighted hall, out of the front door, and took the path leading to
Mrs. Tom's.
The bright moonlight lit all around with a pale, radiant glory. And,
standing near a rock, commanding an extensive view of the sea,
Christie stood, enjoying the beauty of the night, when suddenly a
fierce grasp was laid on her shoulder, and she looked up. Her vision
was realized. Sibyl Campbell stood glaring upon her, with her
fierce, wild, black eyes, her long hair streaming down her back, like
an aroused tigress preparing to spring.