day before."

"We shall soon be back here," replied Mrs. Ogilvie. "I shall see about
furnishing next week at the latest, and we can come down whenever we
are tired of town."

"That will be lovely," said Sibyl. "Oh, won't my pony love cantering
over the roads here!"

When they landed at the little quay just outside the inn, the landlord
came down to meet them. He held a telegram in his hand.

"This came for you, madam, in your absence," he said, and he gave the
telegram to Mrs. Ogilvie. She tore it open. It was from her lawyer,
Mr. Acland, and ran as follows:

"Ominous rumors with regard to Lombard Deeps have reached me. Better
not go any further at present with the purchase of Silverbel."

Mrs. Ogilvie's face turned pale. She looked up and met the fixed stare
of her little daughter and of Rochester. Lady Helen had turned away.
She was leaning over the rails of the little garden and looking down
into the swiftly flowing river.

Mrs. Ogilvie's face grew hard. She crushed up the telegram in her
hand.

"I hope there is nothing wrong?" asked Rochester.

"Nothing at all," she replied. "Yes, we will come here next week.
Sibyl, don't stare in that rude way."

The return journey was not as lively as that happy one in the morning.

Sibyl felt through her sensitive little frame that her mother was
worried about something. Rochester also looked anxious. Lady Helen
alone seemed unconscious and _distrait_. When the child nestled up to
her she put her arm round her waist.

"Are you sad about anything, darling Lady Helen?" whispered Sibyl.

"No, Sibyl; I am quite happy."

"Then you are thinking very hard?"

"I often think."

"I do so want you to be awfully happy."

"I know you do, and I think I shall be."

"Then that is right. _Twelve he marries_. Wasn't it sweet of the
marguerite daisy to give Mr. Rochester just the right petal at the
end; wasn't it luck?"

"Yes; but hush, don't talk so loud."

Mr. Rochester now changed his seat, and came opposite to where Lady
Helen and the child had placed themselves. He did not talk to Lady
Helen, but he looked at her several times. Presently he took one of
Sibyl's hands, and stroked it fondly.

"Does Lady Helen tell you beautiful stories too?" asked Sibyl,
suddenly.

"No," he answered; "she is quite naughty about that. She never tells
me the charming stories she tells you."

"You ought to," said Sibyl, looking at her earnestly; "it would do him
good. It's an awfully