"But why? I thought everybody knew. You are always trying to make her marry you, I see it in your eyes; you don't know how you look when you look at her, oh--ever so eager, same as I look when father's in the room and he is not talking to me. I hope you will marry her, more especial if she's as poor as a church mouse. I never knew why mice were poor, nor why mother said it, but she did. Oh, and there is mother, I must fly to her; good-by--good-by." Rochester concealed his feelings as best he could, and hurried immediately into a distant part of the grounds, where he cogitated over what Sibyl, in her childish, way, had revealed. The pony had been purchased, and Sibyl had ridden it once. It was a bright bay with a white star on its forehead. It was a well-groomed, well-trained little animal, and Lord Grayleigh had given Sibyl her first riding lesson, and had shown her how to hold the reins, and how to sit on her saddle, and the riding habit had come from town, and the saddle was the newest and most comfortable that money could buy. "It is my present to you," said Lord Grayleigh, "and remember when you ride it that you are going to be a good girl." "Oh dear, oh dear," said Sibyl, "I don't want _everyone_ to tell me that I am to be a good girl. If it was father; but--don't please, Lord Grayleigh; I'll do a badness if you talk to me any more about being so good." "Well, I won't," said Lord Grayleigh, laughing. "I 'spect father will write you a most loving letter about this," said Sibyl. "Won't he be 'sprised? And did you tell mother about me having a ride every morning?" "I did." "And did you speak to her about the food for my pony all being paid for?" "Yes, everything is arranged. Your pony shall be the best cared for in all London, and you shall ride him every day for half-an-hour before you go to school." "Oh, I never go to school," said Sibyl in a sorrowful voice. "I have a Miss Winstead to teach me. She is the sort that--oh, well, no matter; she means all right, poor thing. She wants the money, so of course she has to stay. She doesn't suit me a bit, but she wants the money. It's all right, isn't it?" "So it seems, little girl; and now here is the carriage, and the pony has gone off to London already, and will be ready to take you on his back to-morrow morning. Be sure you think of a nice name for him." "Father will tell me a name. I won't let anybody else christen my ownest pony. Good-by, Lord Grayleigh. I like you very much. Say good-by to Mr. Rochester for me--oh, and there is Lady Helen; good-by, Lady Helen--good-by." They all kissed Sibyl when they parted from her, and everyone was sorry at seeing the last of her bright little face, and many conjectures went forth with regard to the trouble that was before the child when she got to London. One and all thought that Ogilvie had behaved cruelly, and that his wife was somewhat silly to have yielded to him.