t be away
more than a year. But he complied with her request, and brought Sibylla.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, the ceremony and the breakfast
over, the carriage, with its four horses, clattered on to the terrace,
and Fred handed Sibylla out of it. Lionel was crossing the hall at the
moment of their entrance; his horse had just been brought round for him.
To say he was surprised at seeing them there would not be saying enough;
he had known nothing of the intended call. They met face to face.
Sibylla wore a sweeping dress of silk; a fine Indian shawl, the gift of
Mrs. Verner, was folded round her, and her golden hair fell beneath her
bonnet. Her eyes fell, also, before the gaze of Lionel.

Never had she looked more beautiful, more attractive; and Lionel felt
it. But, had she been one for whom he had never cared, he could not have
shown more courtly indifference. A moment given to the choking down of
his emotion, to the stilling of his beating pulses, and he stood before
her calmly self-possessed; holding out his hand, speaking in a low,
clear tone.

"Allow me to offer you my good wishes for your welfare, Mrs.
Massingbird."

"Thank you; thank you very much," replied Sibylla, dropping his hand,
avoiding his eye, and going on to find Mrs. Verner.

"Good-bye, Lionel," said Frederick Massingbird. "You are going out, I
see."

Lionel shook his hand cordially. Rival though he had proved to him, he
did not blame Frederick Massingbird; he was too just to cast blame where
it was not due.

"Fare you well, Frederick. I sincerely hope you will have a prosperous
voyage; that you will come safely home again."

All this was over, and they had sailed; Dr. West having exacted a solemn
promise from his son-in-law that they should leave for home again the
very instant that John's property had been realised. And now, a
fortnight after it, Mr. Verner was taken--as was believed--for death. He
himself believed so. He knew what his own disorder was; he knew that the
moment the water began to mount, and had attained a certain height, his
life would be gone.

"How many hours have I to live?" he inquired of Dr. West.

"Probably for some days," was the answer.

_What_ could it have been that was troubling the mind of Mr. Verner?
That it was worldly trouble was certain. That other trouble, which has
been known to distract the minds of the dying, to fill them with agony,
was absent from his. On that score he was in perfect peace.