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. CHAPTER LXIV. ENDURANCE. Lionel had probably obeyed the summons sooner than was expected by Lady Verner and Decima; sooner, perhaps, than they deemed he could have obeyed it. Neither of them was in the breakfast-room: no one was there but Lucy Tempest. By the very way in which she looked at him--the flushed cheeks, the eager eyes--he saw that the tidings had reached her. She timidly held out her hand to him, her anxious gaze meeting his. Whatever may have been the depth of feeling entertained for him, Lucy was too single-minded not to express all she felt of sympathy. "Is it true?" were her first whispered words, offering no other salutation. "Is what true, Lucy?" he asked. "How am I to know what you mean?" They stood looking at each other. Lionel waiting for her to speak; she hesitating. Until Lionel was perfectly certain that she alluded to that particular report, he would not speak of it. Lucy moved a few steps from him, and stood nervously playing with the ends of her waist-band, the soft colour rising in her cheeks. "I do not like to tell you," she said simply. "It would not be a pleasant thing for you to hear, if it be not true."