CHAPTER XXXI.

THE BANKRUPT HEART.

Oh, break, break, break! poor bankrupt, break at once, To prison, soul! Ne'er hope for liberty!"--SHAKESPEARE.

"Every sense Had been unstrung by pangs intense, And each frail fiber of her brain As bow-strings when released by rain, The erring arrows launch aside-- Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide."--BYRON.

There was a long pause. Then Mrs. Brantwell raised her head, and asked.

"When do you return to Westport?"

"I cannot go before to-morrow; my horse is unfit for the journey."

"Then I will accompany you."

"But my dear madam----"

"Mr. Stafford, not a word. I will go!"

She spoke in a tone there was no disobeying; so Stafford was forced to assent; and soon after Mrs. Brantwell left the room and sought her own apartment. The light breakfast next morning was untouched by either of them; and as soon as it was over, Mrs. Brantwell hastily threw on her bonnet and shawl, and entered the carriage that stood waiting to convey her to Westport.

Some time before evening they reached the town--now so crowded with strangers that it would have been impossible to have secured lodgings, had not Captain Campbell given up his rooms to the use of Mrs. Brantwell while she should remain.

Too utterly exhausted in her present weak state to visit the prison that night, Mrs. Brantwell immediately retired to her room, and desired the waiter to send Captain Campbell to her.

She scarcely recognized him, so altered had he become in those few days; the old hopeful look was gone, and in its place the darkest, gloomiest despair.

The meeting was a very sad and very silent one. Mrs. Brantwell pressed the hand he extended with deepest pity and warmest sympathy, but said nothing. Her silence was more eloquent than words. At last--

"When did you see Sibyl?" she asked.

"Not since the day of the trial," he answered, moodily.

"No!" she exclaimed, in surprise. "How is that?"

"She would not see me; she would not see any one. I attended her to the cell, and there she bade me go--she would be alone; she insisted on it; she would not even see Mr. Brantwell. I left her, and went the next day, and the next, and the next, but still the same answer was returned; she would see no one. From the moment she left the court-house she had thrown herself upon her bed, and she would not touch the food they offered her; she would not speak one word, only repeating that peremptory demand to be alone."

"My poor, poor Sibyl! And Mr. Drummond, where is he?"

"I know not. When he heard the sentence of the court, he sprang on his horse and dashed away like a madman. May Heaven's heaviest vengeance light on him and that black-hearted traitor, Courtney! for between them they have brought her to this!" And Captain Campbell's face grew absolutely livid with the storm of passion that swept across it.

"My dearest boy, hush! We must forgive our enemies, you know, if we expect to be forgiven.

"Forgive them! Yes! if I ever meet them, I'll send them to another world, with a bullet through their brains, in search of forgiveness!" he fiercely replied.

"Oh, Guy! do not say such dreadful things! You do not mean it, I know; but it is wrong nevertheless."

He only replied with a smile--but such a smile! Mrs. Brantwell turned away with a shudder.

"To-morrow I will visit the prison. I feel sure Sibyl will receive me."

"I hope so; but there is no telling. You can make the effort nevertheless."

"You will accompany me?"

"Oh, certainly. And as you look fatigued now, I will leave you to seek the necessary repose. Good-night."

He was gone with the same dark, rigid look on his face, that made Mrs. Brantwell's heart ache; and she sought her couch with a mind deeply disturbed by the thought of to-morrow's interview.

Next day, immediately after her slender breakfast, Captain Campbell made his appearance in her room. As the prison was but a short distance from the hotel, they were to walk; and drawing her arm within his own, Captain Campbell set out.

The streets were already crowded with people, drawn hither by the news of the great trial, and determined to wait now to see the execution.

Groups were assembled on every corner, discussing in low tones the expected event, and the murder. Every eye was bent on Captain Campbell as he passed; some knowing him to be the brother of the condemned; others supposing him to be her false lover, and the elderly lady on his arm, her mother. These insolent stares were met by such fixed, fierce glances on the part of the young man, that every eye fell, and every one shrank back to let him pass.

They reached the prison, and were admitted by the warden, who glanced at Captain Campbell in the deepest distress.

"We wish to be admitted to my sister's cell, Mr. Dent," said Captain Campbell.

"Yes, sir; but if you please, sir----"

"There--there! I know what you would say," impatiently interrupted the young man. "But my sister will receive this lady. Lead on, sir."

With a deep sigh of compassion, the old man obeyed; and they followed him through a long, gloomy hall, until they reached a door, before which the warden paused.

Fumbling among a large bunch of keys, he produced one which unlocked the door; and stepping back, he flung the door open and signed to them to pass in.

They did so, and paused on the threshold. For there before them was a sight that struck them dumb; that sent the life-blood curdling in horror to their hearts.

Crouching in a corner, and glaring upon them with her wild, vacant black eyes; every trace of color faded from her lips, leaving even the beautiful lips blue and livid; her long hair streaming wildly down her back; her hands held out before her, as if to keep them off, she sat. Well might they stare, while the very life-blood froze in their hearts.

Sibyl Campbell, the bride of a moment--alone in her prison-cell--had gone _mad_!