eared that Rachel had
seen Fred that night with his cousin Sibylla--your wife now. What she
had seen or heard, goodness knows; but enough to prove to her that
Fred's real love was given to Sibylla, that she was his contemplated
wife. It drove Rachel mad: Fred had probably filled her up with the idea
that the honour was destined for herself. Men are deceivers ever, and
women soft, you know, Lionel."

"And they quarrelled over it?"

"They quarrelled over it. Rachel, awakened out of her credulity, met him
with bitter reproaches. Luke could not hear what was said towards its
close. The meeting--no doubt a concerted one--had been in that grove in
view of the Willow Pond, the very spot that Master Luke had chosen for
his own hiding-place. They left it and walked towards Verner's Pride,
disputing vehemently; Roy made off the other way, and the last he saw of
them, when they were nearly out of sight, was a final explosion, in
which they parted. Fred set off to run towards Verner's Pride, and
Rachel came flying back towards the pond. There's not a shadow of doubt
that in her passion, her unhappy state of feeling, she flung herself in;
and if Luke had only waited two minutes longer, he might have been in at
the death--as we say by the foxes. That's the solution of what has
puzzled Deerham for years, Lionel."

"Could Luke not have saved her?"

"He never knew she was in the pond. Whether the unexpected sight of his
mother scared his senses away, he has often wondered; but he heard
neither the splash in the water nor the shriek. He made off, pretty
quick, he says, for fear his mother should attempt to stop him, or
proclaim his presence aloud--an inconvenient procedure, since he was
supposed to be in London. Luke never knew of her death until we were on
the voyage. I got to London only in time to go on board the ship in the
docks, and we had been out for days at sea before he learned that Rachel
was dead, or I that Luke had been down, on the sly, to Deerham. I had to
get over that precious sea-sickness before entering upon that, or any
other talk, I can tell you. It's a shame it should attack men!"

"I suspected Fred at the time," said Lionel.

"You did! Well, I did not. My suspicions had turned to a very different
quarter."

"Upon whom?"

"Oh, bother! where's the good of ripping it up, now it's over and done
with?" retorted John Massingbird. "There's the paper of baccy by your
elbow, chum. Chuck it here."

CHAPTER