LOOKING OUT FOR THE WORST.
The night passed quietly at Verner's Pride. Not, for all its inmates,
pleasantly. Faithful Tynn bolted and barred the doors and windows with
his own hand, as he might have done on the anticipated invasion of a
burglar. He then took up his station to watch the approaches to the
house, and never stirred until morning light. There may have run in
Tynn's mind some vague fear of violence, should his master and Frederick
Massingbird come in contact.
How did Lionel pass it? Wakeful and watchful as Tynn. He went to bed;
but sleep, for him, there was none. His wife, by his side, slept all
through the night. Better, of course, for her that it should be so; but,
that her frame of mind could be sufficiently easy to admit of sleep, was
a perfect marvel to Lionel. Had he needed proof to convince him how
shallow was her mind, how incapable she was of depth of feeling, of
thought, this would have supplied it. She slept throughout the night.
Lionel never closed his eyes; his brain was at work, his mind was
troubled, his heart was aching. Not for himself. His position was
certainly not one to be envied; but, in his great anxiety for his wife,
self passed out of sight. To what conflict might she not be about to be
exposed! to what unseemly violence of struggle, outwardly and inwardly,
might she not expose herself! He knew quite well that, according to the
laws of God and man, she was Frederick Massingbird's wife; not his. He
should never think--when the time came--of disputing Frederick
Massingbird's claim to her. But, what would she do?--how would she act?
He believed in his heart, that Sibylla, in spite of her aggravations
shown to him, and whatever may have been her preference for Frederick
Massingbird in the early days, best cared for him, Lionel, now. He
believed that she would not willingly return to Frederick Massingbird.
Or, if she did, it would be for the sake of Verner's Pride.
He was right. Heartless, selfish, vain, and ambitious, Verner's Pride
possessed far more attraction for Sibylla than did either Lionel or
Frederick Massingbird. Allow her to keep quiet possession of that, and
she would not cast much thought to either of them. If the conflict
actually came, Lionel felt, in his innate refinement, that the proper
course for Sibylla to adopt would be to retire from all social ties,
partially to retire from the world--as Miss West had suggested she
should do now in the uncertainty. Lionel did not wholly agree with Miss
West. He deemed that, in the uncertainty, Sibylla's place was by his
side, still his wife; but, when once the uncertainty was set at rest by
the actual appearance of Frederick Massingbird, then let her retire. It
was the only course that he could pursue, were the case his own. His
mind was made up upon one point--to withdraw himself out of the way when
that time came. To India, to the wilds of Africa--anywhere, far, far
away. Never would he remain to be an eye-sore to Sibylla or Frederick
Massingbird--inhabiting the land that they inhabited, breathing the air
that sustained life in them. Sibylla might rely on one thing--that when
Frederick Massingbird did appear beyond doubt or dispute, that very hour
he said adieu to Sibylla. The shock soothed--and he would soothe it for
her to the very utmost of his power--he should depart. He would be no
more capable of retaining Sibylla in the face of her husband, than he
could have taken her, knowingly, from that husband in his lifetime.
But where _was_ Frederick Massingbird? Tynn's opinion had been--he had
told it to his master--that when he saw Frederick Massingbird steal into
the grounds of Verner's Pride the previous evening, he was coming on to
the house, there and then. Perhaps Lionel himself had entertained the
same conviction. But the night had passed, and no Frederick Massingbird
had come. What could be the meaning of it? What could be the meaning of
his dodging about Deerham in this manner, frightening the
inhabitants?--of his watching the windows of Verner's Pride? Verner's
Pride was his; Sibylla was his; why, then, did he not arrive to assume
his rights?
Agitated with these and many other conflicting thoughts, Lionel lay on
his uneasy bed, and saw in the morning light. He did not rise until his
usual hour; he would have risen far earlier but for the fear of
disturbing Sibylla. To lie there, a prey to these reflections, to this
terrible suspense, was intolerable to him, but he would not risk waking
her. The day might prove long enough and bad enough for her, without
arousing her to it before her time. He rose, but she slept on still.
Lionel did wonder how she could.
Not until he was going out of the room, dressed, did she awake. She
awoke with a start. It appeared as if recollection, or partial
recollection, of the last night's trouble flashed over her. She pushed
aside the curtain, and called to him in a sharp tone of terror.
"Lionel!"
He turned back. He drew the curtain entirely away, and stood by her
side. She caught his arm, clasping it convulsively.
"Is it a dreadful dream, or is it true?" she uttered, beginning to
tremble. "Oh, Lionel, take care of me! Won't you take care of me?"
"I will take care of you as long as I may," he whispered tenderly.
"You will not let him force me away from you? You will not give up
Verner's Pride? If you care for me, you will not."
"I do care for you," he gently said, avoiding a more direct answer. "My
whole life is occupied in caring for you, in promoting your happiness
and comfort. How I _have_ cared for you, you alone know."
She burst into tears. Lionel bent his lips upon her hot face. "Depend
upon my doing all that I can do," he said.
"Are you going to leave me by myself?" she resumed in fear, as he was
turning to quit the room. "How do I know but he may be bursting in upon
me?"
"Is that all your faith in me, Sibylla? He shall not intrude upon you
here; he shall not intrude upon you anywhere without warning. When he
does come, I shall be at your side."
Lionel joined his guests at breakfast. His wife did not. With smiling
lips and bland brow, he had to cover a mind full of intolerable
suspense, an aching heart. A minor puzzle--though nothing compared to
the puzzle touching the movements of Frederick Massingbird--was working
within him, as to the movements of Captain Cannonby. What could have
become of that gentleman? Where could he be halting on his journey? Had
his halt anything to do with them, with this grievous business?
To Lionel's great surprise, just as they were concluding breakfast, he
saw the close carriage driven to the door, attended by Wigham and
Bennet. You may remember the latter name. Master Dan Duff had called him
"Calves" to Mr. Verner. If Verner's Pride could not keep its masters, it
kept its servants. Lionel knew he had not ordered it; and he supposed
his wife to be still in bed. He went out to the men.
"For whom is the carriage ordered, Bennet?"
"For my mistress, I think, sir."
And at that moment Lionel heard the steps of his wife upon the stairs.
She was coming down, dressed. He turned in, and met her in the hall.
"Are you going out?" he cried, his voice betokening surprise.
"I can't be worried with this uncertainty," was Sibylla's answer, spoken
anything but courteously. "I am going to make Deborah tell me all she
knows, and where she heard it."
"But----"
"I won't be dictated to, Lionel," she querulously stopped him with. "I
will go. What is it to you?"
He turned without a remonstrance, and attended her to the carriage,
placing her in it as considerately as though she had met him with a
wife's loving words. When she was seated, he leaned towards her. "Would
you like me to accompany you, Sibylla?"
"I don't care about it."
He closed the door in silence, his lips compressed. There were times
when her fitful moods vexed him above common. This was one. When they
knew not but the passing hour might be the last of their union, the last
they should ever spend together, it was scarcely seemly to mar its
harmony with ill temper. At least, so felt Lionel. Sibylla spoke as he
was turning away.
"Of course, I thought you would go with me. I did not expect you would
grumble at me for going."
"Get my hat, Bennet," he said. And he stepped in and took his seat
beside her.
Courteously, and smiling as though not a shade of care were within ages
of him, Lionel bowed to his guests as the carriage passed the
breakfast-room windows. He saw that curious faces were directed to him;
he felt that wondering comments, as to their early and sudden drive,
were being spoken; he knew that the scene of the past evening was
affording food for speculation. He could not help it; but these minor
annoyances were as nothing, compared to the great trouble that absorbed
him. The windows passed, he turned to his wife.
"I have neither grumbled at you for going, Sibylla, nor do I see cause
for grumbling. Why should you charge me with it?"
"There! you are going to find fault with me again! Why are you so
cross?"
Cross! He cross! Lionel suppressed at once the retort that was rising to
his lips; as he had done hundreds of times before.
"Heaven knows, nothing was further from my thoughts than to be 'cross,'"
he answered, his tone full of pain. "Were I to be cross to you, Sibylla,
in--in--what may be our last hour together, I should reflect upon myself
for my whole life afterwards."
"It is not our last hour together!" she vehemently answered. "Who says
it is?"
"I trust it is not. But I cannot conceal from myself the fact that it
maybe so. Remember," he added, turning to her with a sudden impulse, and
clasping both her hands within his in a firm, impressive
grasp--"remember that my whole life, since you became mine, has been
spent for you; in promoting your happiness; in striving to give you more
love than has been given to me. I have never met you with an unkind
word; I have never given you a clouded look. You will think of this
when we are separated. And, for myself, its remembrance will be to my
conscience as a healing balm."
Dropping her hands, he drew back to his corner of the chariot, his head
leaning against the fair, white watered silk, as if heavy with
weariness. In truth, it was so; heavy with the weariness caused by
carking care. He had spoken all too impulsively; the avowal was wrung
from him in the moment's bitter strife. A balm upon his conscience that
he had done his duty by her in love? Ay. For the love of his inmost
heart had been another's--not hers.
Sibylla did not understand the allusion. It was well. In her weak and
trifling manner, she was subsiding into tears when the carriage suddenly
stopped. Lionel, his thoughts never free, since a day or two, of
Frederick Massingbird, looked up with a start, almost expecting to see
him.
Lady Verner's groom had been galloping on horseback to Verner's Pride.
Seeing Mr. Verner's carriage, and himself inside it, he had made a sign
to Wigham, who drew up. The man rode up to the window, a note in his
hand.
"Miss Verner charged me to lose no time in delivering it to you, sir.
She said it was immediate. I shouldn't else have presumed to stop your
carriage."
He backed his horse a step or two, waiting for the answer, should there
be any. Lionel ran his eyes over the contents of the note.
"Tell Miss Verner I will call upon her shortly, Philip."
And the man, touching his hat, turned his horse round, and galloped back
towards Deerham Court.
"What does she want? What is it?" impatiently asked Sibylla.
"My mother wishes to see me," replied Lionel.
"And what else? I know _that's_ not all," reiterated Sibylla, her tone a
resentful one. "You have always secrets at Deerham Court against me."
"Never in my life," he answered. "You can read the note, Sibylla."
She caught it up, devouring its few lines rapidly. Lionel believed it
must be the doubt, the uncertainty, that was rendering her so irritable;
in his heart he felt inclined to make every allowance for her; more,
perhaps, than she deserved. There were but a few lines:--
"Do come to us at once, my dear Lionel! A most strange report
has reached us, and mamma is like one bereft of her senses.
She wants you here to contradict it; she says she knows it
cannot have any foundation.
DECIMA."
Somehow the words seemed to subdue Sibylla's irritation. She returned
the note to Lionel, and spoke in a hushed, gentle tone. "Is it _this_
report that she alludes to, do you think, Lionel?"
"I fear so. I do not know what other it can be. I am vexed that it
should already have reached the ears of my mother."
"Of course!" resentfully spoke Sibylla. "You would have spared _her_!"
"I would have spared my mother, had it been in my power. I would have
spared my wife," he added, bending his grave, kind face towards her,
"that, and all other ill."
She dashed down the front blinds of the carriage, and laid her head upon
his bosom, sobbing repentantly.
"You would bear with me, Lionel, if you knew the pain I have
here"--touching her chest. "I am sick and ill with fright."
He did not answer that he _did_ bear with her--bear with her most
patiently--as he might have done. He only placed his arm round her that
she might feel its shelter; and, with his gentle fingers, pushed the
golden curls away from her cheeks, for her tears were wetting them.
She went into her sister's house alone. She preferred to do so. The
carriage took Lionel on to Deerham Court. He dismissed it when he
alighted; ordering Wigham back to Miss West's, to await the pleasure of
his mistress.