s.

The centre of an admiring group, its chief attraction, sat Sibylla, her
dress some shining material that glimmered in the light, and her hair
confined with a band of diamonds. Inexpressibly beautiful by this light
she undoubtedly was, but she would have been more charming had she less
laid herself out for attraction. Lionel, Lord Garle, Decima, and young
Bitterworth--he was generally called young Bitterworth, in
contradistinction to his father, who was "old Bitterworth"--formed
another group; Sir Rufus Hautley was talking to the Countess of Elmsley;
and Lucy Tempest sat apart near the window.

Sir Rufus had but just moved away from Lucy, and for the moment she was
alone. She sat within the embrasure of the window, and was looking on
the calm scene outside. How different from the garish scene within! See
the pure moonlight, side by side with the most brilliant light we
earthly inventors can produce, and contrast them! Pure and fair as the
moonlight looked Lucy, her white robes falling softly round her, and her
girlish face wearing a thoughtful expression. It was a remarkably light
night; the terrace, the green slopes beyond it, and the clustering trees
far away, all standing out clear and distinct in the moon's rays.
Suddenly her eye rested on a particular spot. She possessed a very clear
sight, and it appeared to detect something dark there; which dark
something had not been there a few moments before.

Lucy strained her eyes, and shaded them, and gazed again. Presently she
turned her head, and glanced at Lionel. An expression in her eyes seemed
to call him, and he advanced.

"What is it, Lucy? We must have a set of gallant men here to-night, to
leave you alone like this!"

The compliment fell unheeded on her ear. Compliments from _him_! Lionel
only so spoke to hide his real feelings.

"Look on the lawn, right before us," said Lucy to him, in a low tone.
"Underneath the spreading yew-tree. Do you not fancy the trunk looks
remarkably dark and thick?"

"The trunk remarkably dark and thick!" echoed Lionel. "What do you mean,
Lucy?" For he judged by her tone that she had some hidden meaning.

"I believe that some man is standing there. He must be watching this
room."

Lionel could not see it. His eyes had not been watching so long as
Lucy's, consequently objects were less distinct. "I think you must be
mistaken, Lucy," he said. "No one would be at the trouble of standing
there to watch the room. It is too far