I had just stretched myself yawning in my chair, and remarked that it was quite time we turned in, when my friend rose, closed the door, and returned to me, saying in a very low, mysterious voice,--"Wilfrid, I've been waiting all the evening to speak to you, only I couldn't get you alone. They've all gone at last, so we can talk." "Well," I said, throwing away my cigar, and bending towards him eagerly. "What is it, old fellow? Something serious, I know, from your manner." For I saw that his good-humoured face was now pale and troubled. "Yes. It is serious--very serious," he said in a hard, low voice. "It concerns Sybil--your friend." "What about her?" I exclaimed, in quick surprise. "I've learnt something to-day--something that utterly amazes me. I feel that it can't be true. Therefore, I'm bound to confide in you, as you are her friend as well as mine. We must act together." "Tell me," I said anxiously, "what have you heard? Some foolish story concerning her, of course." "Well. I know that I may rely on your secrecy, so I'll relate the whole facts. About three o'clock this afternoon I left the others to try the turnips around Charlton Wood, and while walking on the edge of the thickets that fringe the forest I thought I heard voices. I have a quick ear for sound, you know. Well, wondering who might be there, I resorted to an old trick taught me by the African natives, and leaving my gun, crept in through the undergrowth without stirring a leaf until I was close to the strangers. Then parting the branches I saw to my utter amazement, Tibbie standing there with a man--a tallish fellow in a dark suit." "Tibbie!" I gasped. "With a man--in the wood?" "Yes," said my friend. "And mere. I overheard some of their conversation. The fellow looked to me like some farmer's lout, yet he spoke with an air of refinement--he spoke to her, Wilfrid--as her lover!" "Her lover!" I echoed, bewildered. Then the strange rumour I had heard had actually some foundation! The Honourable Sybil Burnet, one of the smartest women in London, was in the habit of meeting a lover in secret. I held my breath, utterly confounded. "Well," I asked, stunned by the revelation, "and what else--what else did you see?" "Imagine my utter surprise, my dear old chap, to witness Tibbie--our own Tibbie--allowing the fellow to kiss her! And yet she did, without repelling him. She stood and heard him to the end. He told her that he loved her and that he intended to marry her, whatever the world might say. `You are mine, Miss Sybil--mine--mine!' he kept on repeating, while she stood, allowing him to take her in his arms, and kiss her passionately. Who the fellow is I don't know. I'm only certain that for some reason she's in deadly fear of him." "Why?" I asked, eagerly.