already smiting
him? Lucy, who had stood by the table, her bed candle in her hand,
stepped forward and held out the other hand to Lionel.

"May I wish you good-night?" she said.

"Good-night," he answered, shaking her hand. "How is your cold?"

"Oh! it is so much better!" she replied, with animation. "All the
threatened soreness of the chest is gone. I shall be well by to-morrow.
Lady Verner said I ought to have gone to bed early, but I felt too well.
I knew Jan's advice would be good."

She left him, and Lionel leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece, his brow
contracting as does that of one in unpleasant thought. Was he recalling
the mode in which he had taken leave of Lucy earlier in the day?

CHAPTER XXXVII.

NEWS FOR LADY VERNER: AND FOR LUCY.

If he did not recall it then, he recalled it later, when he was upon his
bed, turning and tossing from side to side. His conscience was smiting
him--smiting him from more points than one. Carried away by the impulse
of the moment, he had spoken words that night, in his hot passion, which
might not be redeemed; and now that the leisure for reflection was come,
he could not conceal from himself that he had been too hasty. Lionel
Verner was one who possessed excessive conscientiousness; even as a boy,
had impetuosity led him into a fault--as it often did--his silent,
inward repentance would be always keenly real, more so than the case
deserved. It was so now. He loved Sibylla--there had been no mistake
there; but it is certain that the unexpected delight of meeting her, her
presence palpably before him in all its beauty, her manifested sorrow
and grief, her lonely, unprotected position, had all worked their effect
upon his heart and mind, had imparted to his love a false intensity.
However the agitation of the moment may have caused him to fancy it, he
did _not_ love Sibylla as he had loved her of old; else why should the
image of Lucy Tempest present itself to him surrounded by a halo of
regret? The point is as unpleasant for us to touch upon, as it was to
Lionel to think of: but the fact was all too palpable, and cannot be
suppressed. He did love Sibylla: nevertheless there obtruded the
unwelcome reflection that, in asking her to be his wife, he had been
hasty; that it had been better had he taken time for consideration. He
almost doubted whether Lucy would not have been more acceptable to him;
not loved _yet_ so much as Sibylla, but better suited to him in all