there--as he
had phrased it--patiently, until he should release it. He soon did so,
with a weary movement: all he did was wearisome to him then, save the
thinking and talking of the theme which ought to have been a barred
one--Sibylla.

"Will you please to come down to tea this evening?" asked Lucy.

"I don't care for tea; I'd rather be alone."

"Then I will bring you some up."

"No, no; you shall not be at the trouble. I'll come down, then,
presently."

Lucy Tempest disappeared. Lionel leaned against the window, looking out
on the night landscape, and lost himself in thoughts of his faithless
love. He aroused himself from them with a stamp of impatience.

"I must shake it off," he cried to himself; "I _will_ shake it off.
None, save myself or a fool, but would have done it months ago. And yet,
Heaven alone knows how I have tried and battled, and how vain the battle
has been!"

CHAPTER XXV.

HOME TRUTHS FOR LIONEL.

The cottages down Clay Lane were ill-drained. It might be nearer the
truth to say they were not drained at all. As is the case with many
another fine estate besides Verner's Pride, while the agricultural land
was well drained, no expense spared upon it, the poor dwellings had been
neglected. Not only in the matter of draining, but in other respects,
were these habitations deficient: but that strong terms are apt to grate
unpleasingly upon the ear, one might say shamefully deficient. The
consequence was that no autumn ever went over, scarcely any spring, but
somebody would be down with ague, with low fever; and it was reckoned a
fortunate season if a good many were not prostrate.

The first time that Lionel Verner took a walk down Clay Lane after his
illness was a fine day in October. He had been out before in other
directions, but not in that of Clay Lane. He had not yet recovered his
full strength; he looked ill and emaciated. Had he been strong, as he
used to be, he would not have found himself nearly losing his
equilibrium at being run violently against by a woman, who turned
swiftly out of her own door.

"Take care, Mrs. Grind! Is your house on fire?"

"It's begging a thousand pardons, sir! I hadn't no idea you was there,"
returned Mrs. Grind, in lamentable confusion, when she saw whom she had
all but knocked down. "Grind, he catches sight o' one o' the brick men
going by, and he tells me to run and fetch him in; but I had got my
hands in the soap-suds, and couldn't take 'em conve