one of the
big-wigs. We cannot do without big-wigs at our bazaar."

"Well, Mrs. Ogilvie, I will come if I can. I cannot distinctly promise
at the present moment, for I may possibly have to go to Scotland; but
the chances are that I shall be at Grayleigh Manor, and if so I can
come."

Mrs. Ogilvie was walking with Lord Grayleigh down one of the corridors
which led to the Chamber of Peace while this conversation was going
on. As he uttered the last words she flung open the door.

"One of the big-wigs, Sibyl, come to see you," she said, in a playful
voice.

Lord Grayleigh saw a white little face with very blue eyes turned
eagerly in his direction. He did not know why, but as he looked at the
child something clutched at his heart with a strange fear. He turned
to Mrs. Ogilvie and said,

"Rest assured that I will come." He then went over, bent toward Sibyl
and took her little white hand.

"I am sorry to see you like this," he said. "What has happened to you,
my little girl?"

"Oh, nothing much," answered Sibyl, "I just had a fall, but I am quite
all right now and I am awfully happy. Did you really come to see me?
It is good of you. May I talk to Lord Grayleigh all by myself, mother
darling?"

"Certainly, dear. Lord Grayleigh, you cannot imagine how we spoil this
little woman now that she is lying on her back. I suppose it is
because she is so good and patient. She never murmurs, and she enjoys
herself vastly. Is not this a pretty room?"

"Beautiful," replied Lord Grayleigh, in an abstracted tone. He sank
into a chair near the window, and glanced out at the smoothly kept
lawn, at the flower-beds with their gay colors, and at the silver
Thames flowing rapidly by. Then he looked again at the child. The
child's grave eyes were fixed on his face; there was a faint smile
round the lips but the eyes were very solemn.

"I will come back again, presently," said Mrs. Ogilvie. "By the way,
Sib darling, Lord Grayleigh is coming to our bazaar, the bazaar for
which you are dressing dolls."

"Nursie is dressing them," replied Sibyl in a weak voice--the mother
did not notice how weak it was, but Lord Grayleigh did. "It somehow
tires me to work. I 'spect I'm not very strong, but I'll be better
perhaps to-morrow. Nursie is dressing them, and they are quite
beautiful."

"Well, I'll come back soon; you mustn't tire her, Lord Grayleigh, and
you and I have a great deal to talk over when you do come downstairs."

"I must return