senses.
She wants you here to contradict it; she says she knows it
cannot have any foundation.

DECIMA."

Somehow the words seemed to subdue Sibylla's irritation. She returned
the note to Lionel, and spoke in a hushed, gentle tone. "Is it _this_
report that she alludes to, do you think, Lionel?"

"I fear so. I do not know what other it can be. I am vexed that it
should already have reached the ears of my mother."

"Of course!" resentfully spoke Sibylla. "You would have spared _her_!"

"I would have spared my mother, had it been in my power. I would have
spared my wife," he added, bending his grave, kind face towards her,
"that, and all other ill."

She dashed down the front blinds of the carriage, and laid her head upon
his bosom, sobbing repentantly.

"You would bear with me, Lionel, if you knew the pain I have
here"--touching her chest. "I am sick and ill with fright."

He did not answer that he _did_ bear with her--bear with her most
patiently--as he might have done. He only placed his arm round her that
she might feel its shelter; and, with his gentle fingers, pushed the
golden curls away from her cheeks, for her tears were wetting them.

She went into her sister's house alone. She preferred to do so. The
carriage took Lionel on to Deerham Court. He dismissed it when he
alighted; ordering Wigham back to Miss West's, to await the pleasure of
his mistress.

CHAPTER LXIV.

ENDURANCE.

Lionel had probably obeyed the summons sooner than was expected by Lady
Verner and Decima; sooner, perhaps, than they deemed he could have
obeyed it. Neither of them was in the breakfast-room: no one was there
but Lucy Tempest.

By the very way in which she looked at him--the flushed cheeks, the
eager eyes--he saw that the tidings had reached her. She timidly held
out her hand to him, her anxious gaze meeting his. Whatever may have
been the depth of feeling entertained for him, Lucy was too
single-minded not to express all she felt of sympathy.

"Is it true?" were her first whispered words, offering no other
salutation.

"Is what true, Lucy?" he asked. "How am I to know what you mean?"

They stood looking at each other. Lionel waiting for her to speak; she
hesitating. Until Lionel was perfectly certain that she alluded to that
particular report, he would not speak of it. Lucy moved a few steps from
him, and stood nervously playing with the ends of her waist-band, the
soft colour rising in her chee