to a letter rack over the mantel-piece, selected
three letters from it, and handed them to Lionel.

Back again all the weary way. His strong suspicions were no longer
suspicions now, but confirmed certainties. The night grew dark; it was
not darker than the cloud which had fallen upon his spirit.

Thought was busy in his brain. How could it be otherwise? Should he get
home to find the news public property? Had Captain Cannonby made it
known to Sybilla? Most fervently did he hope not. Better that he,
Lionel, should be by her side to help her to bear it when the dreadful
news came out. Next came another thought. Suppose Frederick Massingbird
should have discovered himself? should have gone to Verner's Pride to
take possession? _his_ home now; his wife. Lionel might get back to find
that he had no longer a place there.

Lionel found his carriage waiting at the station. He had ordered it to
be so. Wigham was with it. A very coward now, he scarcely dared ask
questions.

"Has Captain Cannonby arrived at the house to-day, do you know, Wigham?"

"Who, sir?"

"A strange gentleman from London. Captain Cannonby."

"I can't rightly say, sir. I have been about in the stables all day. I
saw a strange gentleman cross the yard just at dinner-time, one I'd
never seen afore. May be it was him."

A feeling came over Lionel that he could not see Captain Cannonby before
them all. Better send for him to a private room, and get the
communication over. What his after course would be was another matter.
Yes; better in all ways.

"Drive round to the yard, Wigham," he said, as the coachman was about to
turn on to the terrace. And Wigham obeyed.

He stepped out. He went in at the back door, almost as if he were
slinking into the house, stealthily traversed the passages, and gained
the lighted hall. At the very moment that he put his feet on its
tessellated floor, a sudden commotion was heard up the stairs. A door
was flung open, and Sibylla, with cheeks inflamed and breath panting,
flew down, her convulsive cries echoing through the house. She saw
Lionel, and threw herself into his arms.

"Oh, Lionel, what is this wicked story?" she sobbed. "It is not true! It
cannot be true that I am not your wife, that----"

"Hush, my darling!" he whispered, placing his hand across her mouth. "We
are not alone!"

They certainly were not! Out of the drawing-rooms, out of the
dining-room, had poured the guests; out of the kitchen came peeping the