"General Villiers! Not from India! My brother's friend! Impossible! It must be somebody else. General Villiers would never have left Sir Theodore to come by an earlier mail; unless, indeed, they have come together. Sir Theodore there too? No! But you are sure it is General Villiers, of Dutton Park?" Pearce signified that there could be no mistake. He was an old retainer. General Villiers was well known to him, not only as Sir Theodore's intimate friend, but as the present owner of Dutton Park, a neighbouring property. The estate had been left to General Villiers some two years earlier by an aged relative, and he had not yet been home to inspect it. He was expected to arrive three weeks later, with Sir Theodore and little Cyril. "I don't understand. It is so strange," Sybella went on excitedly. "If my dear aunt—" and there was an unhappy recollection that she must act for herself. "Perhaps I had better see him in here," she said uncertainly. "Yes, Miss!" and Pearce vanished. A soldierly man entered, tall, upright as a dart, and slender still, despite his more than fifty-five summers. He had bronzed handsome features, and his hair was variegated with gray. Close behind walked a small boy, white-faced and pretty. Miss Devereux had not seen the General for fifteen years. She came forward in a hesitating manner, to be met by a courtly bow and warm hand-clasp. "I am grieved to hear of Mrs. Willoughby's illness. Pardon my intrusion at such a time. Unhappily there is reason," the General said in a deep, moved voice. "Yes; oh, pray take a chair." Miss Devereux glanced round in search of a support not too ethereal for six feet two of human length. The General relieved her anxiety by depositing himself with care upon a fragile construction of cane. Fortunately he was not stout. "If my dear aunt were here, she would—" Miss Devereux began, and paused. "Yes, she is ill. I hope and trust she will soon be better. Dr. Ingram seems to think—" Another break. Sybella's lack of decision often showed itself in unfinished sentences. Her words ran ahead of her ideas, and had to be pulled up. "Not Dr. Symonds?" "No. Dr. Symonds retired lately. He has left Dulveriford. Everybody was so sorry to lose him. Dr. Ingram is a very clever man. They say he is too clever for the country, and he only came on account of his wife's health; and, poor thing, she died soon after. But we don't know him well yet. And perhaps—" Ideas failing anew, her eyes fell upon the boy, standing shyly close to the General's knee. "Is that a nephew of yours?" "I have no nephews. He has been in my charge." The General spoke solemnly, an underground rumble echoing in his deep-toned voice. There is always something impressive in a voice of that description; and it is particularly well adapted for the carrying of bad news.