servants. Deborah West stood on the stair like a statue, her hands
clasped; and Mademoiselle Benoite frantically inquired what anybody had
been doing to her mistress. All stared in amazement. She, in that
terrible state of agitation; Lionel supporting her with his white and
haughty face.

"It is nothing," he said, waving them off. "Mrs. Verner is not well.
Come with me, Sibylla."

Waving them off still, he drew her into the study, closed the door, and
bolted it. She clung to him like one in the extremity of terror, her
throat heaving convulsively.

"Oh, Lionel! is it true that he is come back? That he did not die? What
will become of me? Tell me that they have been deceiving me; that it is
not true!"

[Illustration: "Tell me that it is not true!"]

He could not tell her so. He wound his arms tenderly round her and held
her face to his breast, and laid his own down upon it. "Strive for
calmness," he murmured, his heart aching for her. "I will protect you so
long as I shall have the power."

CHAPTER LX.

MISS DEB'S DISBELIEF.

Miss Deborah West did not believe in ghosts. Miss Deb, setting aside a
few personal weaknesses and vanities, was a strong-minded female, and no
more believed in ghosts than she did in Master Cheese's delicate
constitution, which required to be supplied with an unlimited quantity
of tarts and other dainties to keep up his strength between meals. The
commotion respecting Frederick Massingbird, that his ghost had arrived
from Australia, and "walked," reached the ears of Miss Deb. It reached
them in this way.

Miss Deb and her sister, compelled to economy by the scanty allowance
afforded by Dr. West, had no more helpmates in the household department
than were absolutely necessary, and the surgery boy, Bob, found himself
sometimes pressed into aiding in the domestic service. One evening Miss
Deb entered the surgery, and caught Master Cheese revelling in a hatful
of walnuts by gaslight. This was the evening of the storm, previously
mentioned.

"Where's Bob?" asked she. "I want a message taken to Mrs. Broom's about
those pickled mushrooms that she is doing for me."

"Bob's out," responded Master Cheese. "Have a walnut, Miss Deb?"

"I don't mind. Are they ripe?" answered Miss Deb.

Master Cheese, the greediest chap alive, picked out the smallest he
could find, politely cracked it with his teeth, and handed it to her.

"You'll not get Bob over to Broom's at this hour," cried he. "J