replied Sibylla.

The reservation struck upon him with a chill; it seemed to be a
confirmation of his worst fears. Sibylla continued, for he did not
speak--

"Of course he stayed with him until he was buried. When Captain Cannonby
came back to me at Melbourne, he said he had waited to lay him in the
ground. Why should he have said it, if he did not?"

"True," murmured Lionel.

"He said the burial-service had been read over him. I remember that,
well. I reproached Captain Cannonby with not having come back to me
immediately, or sent for me that I might at least have seen him dead, if
not alive. He excused himself by saying that he did not think I should
like to see him; and he had waited to bury him before returning."

Lionel fell into a reverie. If this, that Captain Cannonby had stated,
was correct, there was no doubt that Frederick Massingbird was safely
dead and buried. But he could not be sure that it was correct; Captain
Cannonby may not have relished waiting to see a dead man buried;
although he had affirmed so much to Sibylla. A thousand pounds would
Lionel have given out of his pocket at that moment, for one minute's
interview with Captain Cannonby.

"Lionel!"

The call came from Sibylla with sudden intensity, half startling him.
She had got one of her fingers pointed to the lawn.

"Who's that--peeping forth from underneath the yew-tree?"

The same place, the same tree which had been pointed to by Lucy Tempest!
An impulse, for which Lionel could not have accounted, caused him to
turn round and put out the lamp.

"Who can it be?" wondered Sibylla. "He appears to be watching us. How
foolish of any of them to go out! _I_ should not feel safe under a tree,
although that lightning is only sheet-lightning."

Every perceptive faculty that Lionel Verner possessed was strained upon
the spot. He could make out a tall man; a man whose figure bore--unless
his eyes and his imagination combined to deceive him--a strong
resemblance to Frederick Massingbird's. Had it come to it? Were he and
his rival face to face; was she, by his own side now, about to be
bandied between them?--belonging, save by the priority of the first
marriage ceremony, no more to one than to the other? A stifled cry,
suppressed instantly, escaped his lips; his pulses stood still, and then
throbbed on with painful violence.

"Can you discern him, Lionel?" she asked. "He is going away--going back
amidst the trees. Perhaps because he can't se