thinking) that Lionel had had previous information of the
matter.

"What am I to do?" she cried, her emotion becoming hysterical. "Oh,
Lionel! don't you give me up!"

"I would have got here earlier had there been means," he soothingly
said, wisely evading all answer to the last suggestion. "I feared he
would be telling you in my I absence; better that you should have heard
of it from me."

She lifted her face to look at him. "Then you know it!"

"I have known it this clay or two. My journey to-day--"

She broke out into a most violent fit of emotion, shrieking, trembling,
clinging to Lionel, calling out at the top of her voice that she would
not leave him. All his efforts were directed to stilling the noise. He
implored her to be tranquil, to remember there were listeners around; he
pointed out that, until the blow actually fell, there was no necessity
for those listeners to be made cognisant of it. All that he _could_ do
for her protection and comfort, he would do, he earnestly said. And
Sibylla subsided into a softer mood, and cried quietly.

"I'd rather die," she sobbed, "than have this disgrace brought upon me."

Lionel put her into the large arm-chair, which remained in the study
still, the old arm-chair of Mr. Verner. He stood by her and held her
hands, his pale face grave, sad, loving, bent towards her with the most
earnest sympathy. She lifted her eyes to it, whispering--

"Will they say you are not my husband?"

"Hush, Sibylla! There are moments, even yet, when I deceive myself into
a fancy that it may be somewhat averted. _I cannot_ understand how he
can be alive. Has Cannonby told you whence the error arose?"

She did not answer. She began to shake again; she tossed back her golden
hair. Some blue ribbons had been wreathed in it for dinner; she pulled
them out and threw them on the ground, her hair partially falling with
their departure.

"I wish I could have some wine?"

He moved to the door to get it for her. "Don't you let _her_ in,
Lionel," she called out as he unlocked it.

"Who?"

"That Deborah. I hate her now," was the ungenerous remark.

Lionel opened the door, called to Tynn, and desired him to bring wine.
"What time did Captain Cannonby get here?" he whispered, as he took it
from the butler.

"Who, sir?" asked Tynn.

"Captain Cannonby."

Tynn paused, like one who does not understand. "There's no gentleman
here of that name, sir. A Mr. Rushworth called to-day, and my mistress