her last dance on earth. The
terrible exertion had induced a fit of coughing of unnatural violence,
and in the straining a blood-vessel had once more broken.

CHAPTER LXXXVII.

THE LAMP BURNS OUT AT LAST.

From the roof of the house to the floor of the cellar, ominous silence
reigned in Deerham Court. Mrs. Verner lay in it--dying. She had been
conveyed home from the Hall on the morning following the catastrophe.
Miss Hautley and Sir Edmund urged her remaining longer, offering every
possible hospitality; but poor Sibylla seemed to have taken a caprice
against it. Caprices she would have, up to her last breath. All her
words were "Home! home!" Jan said she might be moved with safety; and
she was taken there.

She seemed none the worse for the removal--she was none the worse for
it. She was dying, but the transit had not increased her danger or her
pain. Dr. Hayes had been over in the course of the night, and was now
expected again.

"It's all waste of time, his coming; he can't do anything; but it is
satisfaction for Lionel," observed Jan to his mother.

Lady Verner felt inclined to blame those of her household who had been
left at home, for Sibylla's escapade: all of them--Lionel, Lucy Tempest,
and the servants. They ought to have prevented it, she said; have kept
her in by force, had need been. But she blamed them wrongly. Lionel
might have done so had he been present; there was no knowing whether he
would so far have exerted his authority, but the scene that would
inevitably have ensued might not have been less fatal in its
consequences to Sibylla. Lucy answered, and with truth, that any
remonstrance of hers to Sibylla would never have been listened to; and
the servants excused themselves--it was not their place to presume to
oppose Mr. Verner's wife.

She lay on the sofa in her dressing-room, propped up by pillows; her
face wan, her breathing laboured. Decima with her, calm and still;
Catherine hovered near, to be useful, if necessary; Lady Verner was in
her room within call; Lucy Tempest sat on the stairs. Lucy, remembering
certain curious explosions, feared that her presence might not be
acceptable to the invalid; but Lucy partook of the general restlessness,
and sat down in her simple fashion on the stairs, listening for news
from the sick-chamber. Neither she nor any one else in the house could
have divested themselves of the prevailing excitement that day, or
settled to calmness in the remotest d