pain caused by her words, he suppressed it.

"Jan came here to tell me news that quite justified his sending for me,
wherever I might be, or however occupied, Sibylla. He has succeeded in
solving to-night the mystery which has hung over us; he has discovered
who it is that we have been taking for Frederick Massingbird."

"It is not Frederick Massingbird," cried Sibylla, speaking sharply.
"Captain Cannonby says that it cannot be."

"No, it is not Frederick Massingbird--God be thanked!" said Lionel.
"With that knowledge, we can afford to hear who it is bravely; can we
not, Sibylla?"

"But why don't you tell me who it is?" she retorted, in an impatient,
fretful tone, not having the discernment to see that he wished to
prepare her for what was coming. "Can't you speak, Jan, if he won't?
People have no right to come, dressed up in other people's clothes and
faces, to frighten us to death. He ought to be transported! Who is it?"

"You will be startled, Sibylla," said Lionel. "It is one whom we have
believed to be dead; though it is not Frederick Massingbird."

"I _wish_ you'd tell--beating about the bush like that! You need not
stare so, Jan. I don't believe you know."

"It is your cousin, Sibylla; John Massingbird."

A moment's pause. And then, clutching at the hand of Lionel--

"Who?" she shrieked.

"Hush, my dear. It is John Massingbird."

"Not dead! Did he not die?"

"No. He recovered, when left, as was supposed, for dead. He is coming
here to-morrow morning, Jan says."

Sibylla let fall her hands. She staggered back to a pillar and leaned
against it, her upturned face white in the starlight.

"Is--is--is Verner's Pride yours or his?" she gasped in a low tone.

"It is his."

"His! Neither yours nor mine?"

"It is only his, Sibylla."

She raised her hands again; she began fighting with the air, as if she
would beat off an imaginary John Massingbird. Another minute, and her
laughter and her cries came forth together, shriek upon shriek. She was
in strong hysterics. Lionel supported her, while Jan ran for water; and
the gay company came flocking out of the lighted rooms to see.

CHAPTER LXIX.

NO HOME.

People talk of a nine days' wonder. But no nine days' wonder has ever
been heard or known, equal to that which fell on Deerham; which went
booming to the very extremity of the county's boundaries. Lionel Verner,
the legitimate heir--it may so be said--the possessor of Verner's Pride,
was tur