ot to speak in any one's interest but
hers. Were she free as air this moment--were she to come to my feet and
say, 'Let me be your wife,' I should tell her that the whole world was
before her to choose from, save myself. She can never again be anything
to me. No. I speak for her alone. She is marrying you in all confidence.
Are you worthy of her?"

"What on earth do you mean?" cried Frederick Massingbird.

"If there be any sin upon your conscience that ought to prevent your
taking her, or any confiding girl, to your heart, as wife, reflect
whether you should ignore it. The consequences may come home later; and
then what would be her position?"

"I have no sin upon my conscience, Poor John, perhaps, had plenty of it.
I do not understand you, Lionel Verner."

"On your sacred word?"

"On my word, and honour, too."

"Then forgive me," was the ready reply of Lionel. And he held out his
hand with frankness to Frederick Massingbird.

CHAPTER XV.

A TROUBLED MIND.

Just one fortnight from the very day that witnessed the sailing of
Frederick Massingbird and his wife, Mr. Verner was taken alarmingly ill.
Fred, in his soliloquy that afternoon, when you saw him upon the gate of
the ploughed field,--"Old stepfather's wiry yet, and may last an
age,"--had certainly not been assisted with the gift of prevision, for
there was no doubt that Mr. Verner's time to die had now come.

Lionel had thrown his sorrow bravely from him, in outward appearance at
any rate. What it might be doing for him inwardly, he alone could tell.
These apparently calm, undemonstrative natures, that show a quiet
exterior to the world, may have a fire consuming their heartstrings. He
did not go near the wedding; but neither did he shut himself up indoors,
as one indulging lamentation and grief. He pursued his occupations just
as usual. He read to Mr. Verner, who allowed him to do so that day; he
rode out; he saw people, friends and others whom it was necessary to
see. He had the magnanimity to shake hands with the bride, and wish her
joy.

It occurred in this way. Mrs. Verner declined to attend the ceremony.
Since the news of John's death she had been ailing both in body and
mind. But she desired Frederick to take Verner's Pride in his road when
driving away with his bride, that she might say her last farewell to him
and Sibylla, neither of whom she might ever see again. Oh, she'd see
them again fast enough, was Fred's response; they should no