h."

"That's near enough," replied Jan. "She would go; and she did; and she
danced; and she finished it up by breaking a blood-vessel. And now she
is dying."

"What was Lionel about, to let her go?"

"Lionel knew nothing of it. She slipped off while he was out. Nobody was
in the house but Lucy Tempest and one or two of the servants. She
dressed herself on the quiet, sent for a fly, and went."

"And danced!"

"And danced," assented Jan. "Her back and shoulders looked like a bag
of bones. You might nearly have heard them rattle."

"I always said there were moments when Sibylla's mind was not right,"
composedly observed John Massingbird. "Is there any hope?"

"None. There has not been hope, in point of fact, for a long while,"
continued Jan, "as anybody might have seen, except Sibylla. She has been
obstinately blind to it. Although her father warned her, when he was
here, that she could not live."

John Massingbird smoked for some moments in silence. "She was always
sickly," he presently said; "sickly in constitution; sickly in temper."

Jan nodded. But what he might further have said was stopped by the
entrance of Lionel. He came in at the gate, looking jaded and tired. His
mind was ill at ease, and he had not been to bed.

"I have been searching for you, Jan. Dr. West ought to be telegraphed
to. Can you tell where he is?"

"No, I can't," replied Jan. "He was at Biarritz when he last wrote; but
they were about to leave. I expect to hear from him daily. If we did
know where he is, Lionel, telegraphing would be of no use. He could not
get here."

"I should like him telegraphed to, if possible," was Lionel's answer.

"I'll telegraph to Biarritz, if you like," said Jan. "He is sure to have
left it, though."

"Do so," returned Lionel. "Will you come in?" he added to John
Massingbird.

"No, thank you," replied John Massingbird. "They'd not like my pipe.
Tell Sibylla I hope she'll get over it. I'll come again by and by, and
hear how she is."

Lionel went indoors and passed upstairs with a heavy footstep. Lucy
started from her place, but not before he had seen her in it.

"Why do you sit there, Lucy?"

"I don't know," she answered, blushing that _he_ should have caught her
there, though she had not cared for Jan's doing so. "It is lonely
downstairs to-day; here I can ask everybody who comes out of the room
how she is. I wish I could cure her! I wish I could do anything for
her!"

He laid his hand lightly