ed, casually, as it appeared, that he
was not well, but that was all. He had not learned tidings of John, but
had not had time yet to make inquiries. The worst piece of news he
mentioned was the loss of his desk, which had contained the chief
portion of his money. It had disappeared in a mysterious manner
immediately after being taken off the ship--he concluded by the light
fingers of some crimp, or thief, shoals of whom crowded on the quay. He
was in hopes yet to find it, and had not told Sibylla. That was all he
had to say at present, but would write again by the next packet.

"It is not very cheering news on the whole, is it?" said Mrs. Verner, as
Lionel folded the letters.

"No. They had evidently not received the tidings of my uncle's death, or
we should have heard that they were already coming back again."

"I don't know that," replied Mrs. Verner. "Fred worships money, and he
would not suffer what was left by poor John to slip through his fingers.
He will stay till he has realised it. I hope they will think to bring me
back some memento of my lost boy! If it were only the handkerchief he
used last, I should value it."

The tears filled her eyes. Lionel respected her grief, and remained
silent. Presently she resumed, in a musing tone--

"I knew Sibylla would only prove an encumbrance to Fred, out there; and
I told him so. If Fred thought he was taking out a wife who would make
shift, and put up pleasantly with annoyances, he was mistaken. Sibylla
in Canvas Town! Poor girl! I wonder she married him. Don't you?"

"Rather so," answered Lionel, his scarlet blush deepening.

"I do; especially to go to that place. Sibylla's a pretty flower, made
to sport in the sunshine; but she never was constituted for a rough
life, or to get pricked by thorns."

Lionel's heart beat. It echoed to every word. Would that she could have
been sheltered from the thorns, the rough usages of life, as he would
have sheltered her.

Lionel dined with Mrs. Verner, but quitted her soon afterwards. When he
got back to Deerham Court, the stars were peeping out in the clear
summer sky. Lucy Tempest was lingering in the courtyard, no doubt
waiting for him, and she ran to meet him as soon as he appeared at the
gate.

"How long you have been!" was her greeting, her glad eyes shining forth
hopefully. "And is it all yours?"

Lionel drew her arm within his own in silence, and walked with her in
silence until they reached the pillared entrance