r head to see who it was, and at the sight
of Lionel started up in alarm.

"What is it? Why are you back?" she exclaimed. "Has the train broken
down?"

Lionel smiled at her vehemence; at her crimsoned countenance; at her
unbounded astonishment altogether.

"The train has not broken down, I trust, Lucy. I did not go with it. Do
you know where my mother is?"

"She is gone out with Decima."

He felt a temporary disappointment; the news, he was aware, would be so
deeply welcome to Lady Verner. Lucy stood regarding him, waiting the
solution of the mystery.

"What should you say, Lucy, if I tell you Deerham is not going to get
rid of me at all?"

"I do not understand you," replied Lucy, colouring with surprise and
emotion. "Do you mean that you are going to remain here?"

"Not here--in this house. That would be a calamity for you."

Lucy looked as if it would be anything but a calamity.

"You are as bad as our French mistress at the rectory," she said. "She
would never tell us anything; she used to make us guess."

Her words were interrupted by the breaking out of the church bells: a
loud peal, telling of joy. A misgiving crossed Lionel that the news had
got wind, and that some officious person had been setting on the bells
to ring for him, in honour of his succession. The exceeding bad taste of
the proceeding--should it prove so--called a flush of anger to his
brow. His inheritance had cost Mrs. Verner her son.

The suspicion was confirmed. One of the servants, who had been to the
village, came running in at this juncture with open mouth, calling out
that Mr. Lionel had come into his own, and that the bells were ringing
for it. Lucy Tempest heard the words, and turned to Lionel.

"It is so, Lucy," he said, answering the look. "Verner's Pride is at
last mine. But--"

She grew strangely excited. Lionel could see her heart beat--could see
the tears of emotion gather in her eyes.

"I am so glad!" she said in a low, heartfelt tone. "I thought it would
be so, sometime. Have you found the codicil?"

"Hush, Lucy! Before you express your gladness, you must learn that sad
circumstances are mixed with it. The codicil has not been found; but
Frederick Massingbird has died."

Lucy shook her head. "He had no right to Verner's Pride, and I did not
like him. I am sorry, though, for himself, that he is dead.
And--Lionel--you will never go away now?"

"I suppose not: to live."

"I am so glad! I may tell you that I am