o go out.

"I am sorry to leave you so abruptly, as mamma is not here," she said.
"I dare say Lionel will be in to dinner. If not, you must for once
entertain each other."

"But where are you going?" cried Mrs. Verner.

"To Sir Rufus Hautley's. He wishes to see me."

"What does he want with you?" continued Sibylla.

"I do not know," replied Decima.

She quitted the room and went down to the carriage, which had waited for
her. Mrs. Verner and Lucy heard it drive away again as quickly as it had
driven up. As it turned the corner and pursued its way up the road, past
the window they were looking from, but at some distance from it, they
fancied they saw the form of Decima inside, looking out at them.

"Sir Rufus is taken ill," said old Catherine to them, by way of news.
"The servants say that it's feared he won't live through the night. Mr.
Jan is there, and Dr. Hayes."

"But what can he want with Miss Verner?" reiterated Sibylla.

Catherine shook her head. She had not the remotest idea.

Lionel Verner did not come in for dinner, and they descended to it
without him. His non-appearance was no improvement to the temper of his
wife. It had occurred lately that Lionel did not always get home to
dinner.

Sometimes, when detained at Verner's Pride, he would take it with John
Massingbird; if out on the estate, and unable to reach home in time, he
would eat something when he came in. Her fractious state of mind did not
tend to soothe the headache she had complained of earlier in the day.
Every half-hour that passed without her husband's entrance, made her
worse in all ways, head and temper; and about nine o'clock she went up
to her sitting-room and lay down on the sofa, saying that her temples
were splitting.

Lucy followed her. Lucy thought she must really be ill. She could not
understand that any one should be so fractious, except from wearing
pain. "I will bathe your temples," she gently said.

Sibylla did not appear to care whether her temples were bathed or not.
Lucy got some water in a basin and two thin handkerchiefs, wringing out
one and placing it on Mrs. Verner's head and forehead, kneeling to her
task. That her temples were throbbing and her head hot, there was no
question; the handkerchief was no sooner on, than it was warm, and Lucy
had to exchange it for the other.

"It is Lionel's fault," suddenly burst forth Sibylla.

"His fault?" returned Lucy. "How can it be his fault?"

"What business has he