CHAPTER XVII.

A LULL BEFORE THE TEMPEST.

"We hold our greyhound in our hand, Our falcon on our glove; But where shall we find leash or band For dame that loves to rove?"--SCOTT.

"Now, my dear Mrs. Courtney, you really must not think of going back to the island, any more. Sibyl is to remain with me, for a week or two longer, and you, positively, must stay, for, let me tell you, I have taken a desperate fancy to you, during the last few hours. Then, too, Sibyl, poor child! has seemed ill and out of spirits for the past few days---and the presence of your lively little ladyship will tend to restore her to cheerfulness, again. So, Mrs. Courtney, you will just consider it settled; and, yourself, and husband must remain my guests for the present."

The company, were already dispersing, and Mrs. Courtney, on going to take leave of her hostess, had listened to the above harangue.

"But, Mr. Courtney," she began, rather hesitatingly,

"He will not object, my dear!" broke in Mrs. Brantwell, who was comfortably reposing in a large arm-chair. "He is looking ill, yet, and I don't believe his wound has been half attended to. Just go and tell him, that I say he must stay. I would go myself, only there is a crowd here, waiting to take their leave, and make their adieus. Mrs. Courtney, it's not possible--you do not hesitate. What earthly attraction can there be for you, in that dreary, little isle?"

"Oh, Mrs. Brantwell! it's not that; indeed, I shall be delighted to accept your kind offer; but, Mr. Courtney is sometimes so queer, and has such strange notions about intruding on people, that I do not know----"

"Intrude! Nonsense!" interrupted Mrs. Brantwell. "I'm sure there's nobody in this world, as fond of society as I am. I'd always have the house full of young people if I could. There now, run away, like a good, little woman and tell your husband that I positively will not hear of his going. Come, be off; here is Mr. Stafford, waiting to bid me good-by, and, I never care to keep a young gentleman waiting--especially such a good-looking one; though, I don't know what Mr. Brantwell would say about that!"

And Mrs. Brantwell gave Laura a facetious poke in the ribs, and went off into one of her mellow laughs.

Inwardly delighted at Mrs. Brantwell's invitation, which gave promise of much pleasure, Laura went in search of her husband, fully determined to accept it, whether that unreasonable individual liked it or not.

She found him waiting for her, in the ante-room, all ready for starting.

"What has delayed you so long?" he asked, sharply. "I have been waiting here this half hour. I have sent one of the servants to hire a cab to take us over to Westport--where for the present we can engage lodgings, instead of returning to Campbell's Isle--a place I never want to see again. Come, make haste and get ready."

"There's no occasion, for I'm not going to leave."

"Not going to leave? What do you mean, madam?" he asked, still more sharply.

"What I say. Are you really crazy enough, Mr. Courtney, to think I would undertake a two-hours' ride over to Westport, after being up all night? Catch me at it! I have too much regard for my good looks to undertake any such journey."

"Ah! you wish to return to the island?" he said, setting his teeth hard. "Captain Campbell, of course, will accompany you?"

"How provoking! Every word I say is converted into food for jealousy. No, I don't want to go back to the island. I'm going to spend a week here with Mrs. Brantwell."

"You shall not stay here. You shall come with me to Westport."

"Shall I, indeed? They'll have sharp eyes that will see me in Westport for another week, at least. Come, Edgar, have sense, and stay here for a few days."

"Will Captain Campbell be here?"

"Captain Campbell again. Oh, grant me patience! How do I know whether he will be here or not? I'm sure I hope he may, if it's only to drive you crazy; for, of all the absurd, jealous old tyrants that ever lived you're the worst. I declare, Mr. Courtney, you'd provoke a saint; and I do wish--St. Laura forgive me--that you were safely in heaven. There, now!"

"Take care, madam!" he said, hoarsely; "your good wishes are premature. Old tyrant as I am, I may live long enough to make you repent this language."

"Take care of what? I'm not afraid of you, Edgar Courtney!" she said, with flashing eyes. "Don't threaten, or you may drive me to say things I should be sorry for afterward."

"Once for all, will you come with me to Westport?"

"Once for all, no!"

"Madam, I command you!"

"Command away, then; I sha'n't budge a step."

"Mrs. Courtney, do you dare to brave my authority?"

"Your authority! It isn't the first time I have braved it."

"Take care that it is not the last!" he hissed, with gleaming eyes.

"Ugh! Don't look at me that way," said Laura, shuddering involuntarily at his unearthly look and tone. "I declare, if you're not enough to scare a person into the fever and ague! What a scowl! Edgar Courtney, you're worse than Nero, Heliogabalus, Mohammed, and all the other nasty old fellows, melted into one. Now I've made up my mind to stay here with Mrs. Brantwell, whether you like it or not; and you may do as you please, for all I care. Allow me to wish you good-night, and a pleasant journey to Westport."

And turning abruptly around, the indignant little lady quitted the room, leaving her spouse to his own not very pleasant reflections.

* * * * *

The company, by this time, had nearly all departed. Drummond, hat in hand, stood near the window, talking in low tones to Sibyl, whose face was now bright, radiant, unclouded.

Mr. and Mrs. Brantwell were still holding a parting conversation with some of their friends, among whom, stood young Stafford, watching Mr. Drummond, with a ferocious glance.

Captain Campbell stood by himself, evidently waiting for his friend to accompany him to the isle.

As Mrs. Courtney entered, he approached her, saying, with a smile:

"Well, Mrs. Courtney, are you not going to return with us to the island?"

"No, I think not," said Laura. "I have accepted our kind hostess' invitation, to remain with her a week."

"Weil, I have no doubt you will find it pleasanter than our lonesome isle, though, we poor unfortunates, left behind will find it doubly dreary, now, that it is deprived of your bright presence."

"Flatterer--flattery! I don't believe I'll ever be missed. You must remember me to good Mrs. Tom, her pretty niece, Christie, and that ill-treated youth, Mr. Carl Henley."

"Your humble servant hears but to obey. But, my dear Mrs. Courtney, you must not desert us, altogether. Will you not visit the island some day during the week?"

"Perhaps I may; indeed, it's very likely I shall. I want to see Mrs. Tom, before I start for home; so, if I can prevail on Miss Campbell to accompany me, your Island will be blessed with my 'bright presence,' once more."

"A blessing, for which, we shall be duly grateful," said Captain Campbell, gayly; "so, just name the day that I shall have the happiness of coming for you, and I shall safely convey you, 'over the sea in my fairy bark.'"

"Why, Captain Campbell, how distressingly poetical you are getting!" said Laura, laughing. "Well, let's see. This is Tuesday, isn't it? Then, I think I will go on Thursday--day after to-morrow."

"Very well, on that day, I shall have the happiness of coming for you. Until then, adieu."

"Good-by, Captain Campbell," said Mrs. Courtney, holding out her hand.

As she spoke, a slight noise behind her, made her turn abruptly round, and she almost shrieked aloud, as she beheld her husband--white, ghastly, and haggard--standing like a galvanized corpse, by her side. He had entered, unobserved, and approached them in time to hear their last words--to hear them make an appointment.

What other proof of her guilt, did he require? His worst suspicions were, of course, confirmed. Oh! terrible, was the look his face wore at that moment, Without a word, he turned away, and walked to the further end of the room.

Startled, shocked, and sick with undefined apprehension, Laura leaned against the table, for support. Captain Campbell's eyes followed the jealous husband, with a look, that said as plainly as words, "what does all this mean?"

"You are ill, Mrs. Courtney," he said, noticing with alarm her sudden faintness. "Allow me to ring for a glass of water."

"No, no! It is nothing," she said, passing her hand across her brow, as if to dispel a mist. "Nothing whatever," she added, rising and forcing a smile as she saw his anxious look. "Excuse me. Good night."

She hastened away, and Captain Campbell, after a moment's wondering pause, approached the spot where Willard and Sibyl stood, and touching him on the shoulder, said, somewhat impatiently:

"Come, Drummond, it's time we were off, if we go at all. Even as it is, it will be sunrise before we reach the island."

In spite of all her efforts a cloud fell on Sibyl's sunny brow at his words. The demon of Doubt was not yet wholly exorcised. The island! the name grated harshly on her ear, for Christie was there.

Willard Drummond saw it, and his resolution was taken. He felt it would not do to return to the island just now.

"I regret having kept you waiting," he said, gravely; "but I do not intend going to the island just yet."

A radiant glance from Sibyl's beautiful eyes repaid him for the words. But Captain Campbell was amazed.

"Not return? Why, what's in you head, now, Drummond? Where are you going?" he asked, in surprise.

"For the present, I shall stay here."

"Here, at Mr. Brantwell's?"

"No, in the village."

"Tired of Campbell's Isle already, eh? I knew how it would be. Well, I suppose I'll have to submit to keep bachelor's hall alone for a day or two, and then I shall return to Westport to see after my bonny bark. As the Courtneys stay, likewise, I shall have to go alone; so _au revoir_."

And Captain Campbell, after exchanging a word with his hostess, left the house to return to Campbell Lodge.

The few remaining guests by this time, had gone; and Willard Drummond, also, took his departure. And then Sibyl took her night-lamp and retired to her room to dream of her new-found happiness.

Laura Courtney sat alone on a sofa in a remote corner, her head on her hand, her brows knit in painful thought. This fierce jealousy of her husband's was growing insufferable; she felt she could not endure it much longer. Every word, every look, every action was warped and distorted by his jealous imagination into another proof of her guilt. And she painfully felt that this absurd jealousy must soon be apparent to every one--an almost unendurable thought; for, in spite of all her levity and apparent indifference, the little girl-wife possessed too much pride and self-respect to carelessly submit to such a bitter humiliation.

"I wish I knew what to do," she thought. "If I submit to all his whims and caprices, it will only make matters worse. Nothing can remove this deep-rooted passion, and the yoke he will lay on my neck will become unbearable. Oh, I was mad, crazed, ever to marry him. Every one that knew him told me how it would be--that he was tyrannical, jealous, exacting, and passionate, but I only laughed at them, and deemed him perfection. How I could ever have loved him, I'm sure I don't know, for he hasn't a single lovable quality in him. However, it's too late to think of this now; I want to forget the past altogether, if I can, and my folly with it. Good gracious! what an awful look was on his face that time when I turned round. Perhaps, after all, I had better not go to the island. The man's a monomaniac on this point, and it won't do to drive him to desperation."

She bent her forehead on her hand, and remained for a few moments lost in troubled thought.

"No, I shall not go; but I will not give him the triumph of knowing it. He shall not think I am afraid of him, and that he has humbled me at last," she said, half aloud, as she raised her head proudly. "I will avoid Captain Campbell, too, as much as possible, if I can do so without attracting attention. Heigho! what it is to have a jealous husband! I wonder where Edgar is? Perhaps he has gone to Westport, and left me here!"

"Prithee, why so sad?" said the jovial voice of Mrs. Brantwell, breaking in at this moment on her reverie.

"You are looking as doleful as if some near relation had just been hung for sheep-stealing. Come, I can't allow any one in my house to wear so doleful a face. Don't indulge in the blues, my dear, or you need never expect to wax fat and portly, as I am. Come, let me see you smile, now."

"Oh, Mrs. Brantwell! who could be sad in your sunshiny presence," said Laura, smiling as brightly as even the good old lady could wish; "but, really, I wasn't out of spirits--only dreadfully sleepy." And an immense yawn confirmed the truth of her words.

"No wonder; it's four o'clock, so you had better retire. Jenny will show you to your room."

"Did you see--has Mr. Courtney--" began Laura, hesitatingly, as she rose.

"Mr. Courtney went to bed a quarter of an hour ago, my dear. And here's Jenny, now, with your lamp. Good-night, love!" And kissing her, Mrs. Brantwell consigned her to the charge of a neat mulatto girl, who appeared with a light at the door.

Laura followed her up stairs to the door of her apartment. And here Jenny handed her the light, dropped a courtesy, and disappeared.

Mrs. Courtney opened the door and entered. It was a neat, pretty little room, with white curtains on the windows and white dimity hangings on the bed; a wan-hued carpet on the floor, and a cozy arm-chair beside the window. Mr. Courtney sat on the bed, still dressed in his evening costume--his arm resting on the snowy pillows and his face bowed upon it. His dark elf-locks fell heavily over the white pillows, as he lay as motionless as though death had stifled forever his wildly Throbbing heart.

He looked up as his wife entered, and dashes back his long, dark hair. Laura really felt for him--the wretched victim of his own turbulent passions--but pity and sympathy she knew would be alike misunderstood by him, if manifested; and even, perhaps, be adding fuel to the flames already raging in his breast.

"Oh! you are here, are you?" she said, setting her lamp on the toilet-stand, and throwing herself languidly in the arm-chair, "I thought you had gone to Westport."

"And left you to flirt with your new lover. Ha! Ha! You thought so, did you?"

What a goblin laugh it was. Laura shivered involuntarily, but she would not abate one jot of her defiant sarcasm.

"Yes, I saw you playing the eavesdropper," she said, as she began taking off her collar and bracelets; "it is just what I expected of you. You did it so expertly, one would think you had been taking lessons all your life, in listening at keyholes. Perhaps, you have learned from some hotel-waiter, or lady's maid."

"By Heaven! I will strangle you!" he exclaimed, roused to madness by her taunting tone. And he sprang to his feet, glaring upon her, as though he would fulfill his threat.

"Come, Mr. Courtney, be calm, or I shall be under the painful necessity of going down stairs, and inquiring where the nearest lunatic asylum is located. Don't rave, now, or try to transfix me with your flashing glances. I am not, in the slightest degree, afraid of you, Mr. Courtney."

And Mrs. Courtney drew her little form up to its full height, and looked with cool contempt, in his face.

"Madam! if you go to the island, I swear, by heaven, and all its hosts, it will be the dearest night's work you have ever done."

"Hem! Why don't you swear by the other place; you are likely to know more about it, some day, than you will ever know of heaven."

"Silence!" he shouted, in a fierce voice, "I repeat it; if you keep this appointment with Captain Campbell, you shall repent it, in dust and ashes!"

For a moment, he stood perfectly paralyzed, foaming at the mouth like a wild beast. Even the audacious Mrs. Courtney, trembled before the terrible pitch of passion, she had daringly excited. And with it, came another feeling, apprehensions for her personal safety.

Springing to her feet, she darted past him, reached the door, and said:

"Mr. Courtney, your disagreeable temper renders it necessary for me to leave you to solitude, which is said to be excellent for cross people. Hoping you will have recovered your usual good-temper, before we meet again, allow me, to wish you good-night."

He darted toward her, but she was gone, slamming the door after her, and was down the stairs in a twinkling. She knew he would not dare to follow her; and, reaching the dark, deserted parlor, she threw herself on a lounge, and burst into a passionate flood of tears. In that moment, she fairly hated her husband.

But, when the household assembled next morning, little Mrs. Courtney looked as bright, and smiling, and breezy as ever, and met her pale, sour-visaged husband with her customary, careless unconcern. He, too, was calm; but, it was a delusive lull in the storm. The treacherous peace of the sleeping volcano--the menacing quiet of a savage, seeking revenge--a calm, more to be dreaded, than his former, fierce outburst of passion.