"The most dreadful voyage for her!" ejaculated Miss Deborah. "The ship may go to the bottom before it gets there." "And not so much as time to _think_ of proper things for her, let alone getting them!" sobbed Miss Amilly. "It's all a confused mass in my mind together--bonnets, and gowns, and veils, and wreaths, and trunks, and petticoats, and calico things for the voyage!" Lionel felt his lips grow pale. They were too much engrossed to notice him; nevertheless, he covered his face with his hand as he stood by the mantel-piece. "Where is she going?" he quietly asked. "To Melbourne, with Fred," said Miss Deborah. "Fred's going out to see about the money and gold that John left, and to realise it. They are not to stay: it will only be the voyage out and home. But if she should be taken ill out there, and die! Her sisters died, Mr. Lionel. Fred is her cousin, too. Better have married one not of kin." They talked on. Lionel heard them not. After the revelation, that she was about to marry, all else seemed a chaos. But he was one who could control his feelings. "I must be going," said he quietly, moving from his standing-place with calmness. "Good-day to you." He shook hands with them both, amidst a great accession of sobs, and quitted the room. Running down the stairs at that moment, singing gaily a scrap of a merry song, came Sibylla, unconscious of his vicinity; indeed, of his presence in the house. She started when she saw him, and stopped in hesitation. Lionel threw open the door of the empty dining-room, caught her arm and drew her into it--his bearing haughty, his gestures imperative. There they stood before each other, neither speaking for some moments. Lionel's very lips were livid; and _her_ rich wax-work colour went and came, and her clear blue eyes fell under the stern gaze of his. "Is this true, which I have been obliged to hear?" was his first question. She knew that she had acted ill. She knew that Lionel Verner deserved to have a better part played by him. She had always looked up to him--all the Wests had--as one superior in birth, rank, and station to herself. Altogether, the moment brought to her a great amount of shame and confusion. "Answer me one question; I demand it of you," exclaimed Lionel. "Have you ever mistaken my sentiments towards you in the least degree?" "Have--I--I don't know," she faltered. "No equivocation," burst Lionel. "Have you not _known_ that I loved you? that I was only waiting my uncle's death to make you my wife?--Heaven forgive me that I should thus speak as though I had built upon it!" Sibylla let fall some tears. "Which have you loved?--all this while! Me?--or him?" "Oh! don't speak to me like that," sobbed Sibylla. "He asked me to marry him, and--and--papa said yes." "I ask you," said Lionel in a low voice, "which is it that you love?"