erwards, he and Fred started
from Melbourne, and I went to stay at the Eyres."

Lionel did not interrupt her. She had made a pause, her eyes fixed on
the fire.

"A day or two, and Captain Cannonby came back, and said that my husband
was dead. I was not very much surprised. I thought he would not live
when he left me: he had death written in his face. And so I am alone in
the world."

She raised her large blue eyes, swimming in tears, to Lionel. It
completely disarmed him. He forgot all his prudence, all his caution; he
forgot things that it was incumbent upon him to remember; and, as many
another has done before him, older and wiser than Lionel Verner, he
suffered a moment's impassioned impulse to fix the destiny of a life.

"Not alone from henceforth, Sibylla," he murmured, bending towards her
in agitation, his lips apart, his breath coming fast and loud, his
cheeks scarlet. "Let me be your protector. I love you more fondly than I
have ever done."

She was entirely unprepared for the avowal. It may be that she did not
know what to make of it--how to understand it. She stepped back, her
eyes strained on him inquiringly, her face turning to pallor. Lionel
threw his arms around her, drew her to him, and sheltered her on his
breast, as if he would ward off ill from her for ever.

"Be my wife," he fondly cried, his voice trembling with its own
tenderness. "My darling, let this home be yours! Nothing shall part us
more."

She burst into tears, raised herself, and looked at him. "You cannot
mean it! After behaving to you as I did, can you love me still?"

"I love you far better than ever," he answered, his voice becoming
hoarse with emotion. "I have been striving to forget you ever since that
cruel time; and not until to-night did I know how utterly futile has
been the strife. You will let me love you! you will help me to blot out
its remembrance!"

She drew a long, deep sigh, like one who is relieved from some wearing
pain, and laid her head down again as he had placed it. "I can love you
better than I loved him," she breathed, in a low whisper.

"Sibylla, why did you leave me? Why did you marry him?"

"Oh, Lionel, don't reproach me!--don't reproach me!" she answered,
bursting into tears. "Papa made me. He did, indeed."

"_He_ made you! Dr. West?"

"I liked Frederick a little. Yes, I did; I will not deny it. And oh, how
he loved me! All the while, Lionel, that you hovered near me--never
speaking, never sayin