, and stood by the side of Sibylla. Lionel leaned over
its back.

"I trust you are not feeling very ill, Mrs. Verner," she said in a low,
sweet tone as she bent towards her and touched her hand. Touched it
only; let her own fall lightly upon it; as if she did not feel
sufficiently sure of Sibylla's humour to presume to take it.

"No, I don't think I'm better. I am so weak here."

She touched her chest as she spoke. Lucy, perhaps somewhat at a loss
what to say, stood in silence.

"I have been very cross to you sometimes, Lucy," she resumed. "I meant
nothing. I used to feel vexed with everybody, and said foolish things
without meaning it. It was so cruel to be turned from Verner's Pride,
and it made me unhappy."

"Indeed I do not think anything about it," replied Lucy, the tears
rising to her eyes in her forgiving tenderness. "I know how ill you must
have felt. I used to feel that I should like to help you to bear the
pain and the sorrow."

Sibylla lay panting. Lucy remained as she was; Lionel also. Presently
she, Sibylla, glanced at Lucy.

"I wish you'd kiss me."

Lucy, unnerved by the words, bent closer to her, a shower of tears
falling from her eyes on Sibylla's face.

"If I could but save her life for you!" she murmured to Lionel, glancing
up at him through her tears as she rose from the embrace. And she saw
that Lionel's eyes were as wet as hers.

And now there was a commotion outside. Sounds, as of talking and wailing
and crying, were heard. Little need to tell Lionel that they came from
the Misses West; he recognised the voices; and Lucy glided forward to
open the door.

Poor ladies! They were wont to say ever after that their absence had
happened on purpose. Mortified at being ignored in Miss Hautley's
invitations, they had made a little plan to get out of Deerham. An old
friend in Heartburg had repeatedly pressed them to dine there and remain
for the night, and they determined to avail themselves of the invitation
this very day of the _fete_ at Deerham Hall. It would be pleasant to
have to say to inquisitive friends, "We could not attend it; we were
engaged to Heartburg." Many a lady, of more account in the world than
Deborah or Amilly West, has resorted to a less innocent ruse to conceal
an offered slight. Jan had despatched Master Cheese by the new railway
that morning with the information of Sibylla's illness; and here they
were back again, full of grief, of consternation, and ready to show it
i