“For all I know he is,” answered old Catherine.  “I saw him a few minutes agone in the court out there, a-talking to the doctor.”

“Will you please ask if I can speak to him.”

Lionel did not wait further, but descended to the hall.  The butler, in his deep mourning, had taken his seat on the bench.  He rose as Lionel approached.

“Well, Tynn, how are you?  What is it?”

“My mistress has sent me to ask if you’d be so kind as come to Verner’s Pride, sir?” said Tynn, standing with his hat in his hand.  “She bade me say that she did not feel well enough, or she’d have written you a note with the request, but she wishes particularly to see you.”

“Does she wish to see me to-day?”

“As soon as ever you could get there, sir, I fancy.  I am sure she meant to-day.”

“Very well, Tynn.  I’ll come over.  How is your mistress?”

“She’s very well, sir, now; but she gets worried on all sides about things out-of-doors.”

“Who worries her with those tales?” asked Lionel.

“Everybody almost does, sir, as comes a-nigh her.  First it’s one complaint that’s brought to the house, of things going wrong, and then it’s another complaint—­and the women servants, they have not the sense to keep it from her.  My wife can’t keep her tongue still upon it, and can’t see that the rest do.  Might I ask how her ladyship is to-day, sir?”

“Not any better, Tynn.  Tell Mrs. Verner I will be with her almost immediately.”

Lionel lost little time in going to Vender’s Pride.  Turned from it as he had been, smarting under the injustice and the pain, many a one would have haughtily refused to re-enter it, whatever might have been the emergency.  Not so Lionel.  He had chosen to quit Verner’s Pride as his residence, but he had remained entirely good friends with Mrs. Verner, calling on her at times.  Not upon her would Lionel visit his displeasure.

It was somewhat curious that she had taken to sit in the old study of Stephen Verner; a room which she had rarely entered during his lifetime.  Perhaps some vague impression that she was now a woman of business, or ought to be one, that she herself was in sole charge for the absent heir, had induced her to take up her daily sitting amidst the drawers, bureaux, and other places which had contained Mr. Verner’s papers—­which contained them still.  She had, however, never yet looked at one.  If anything came up to the house, leases, deeds, other papers, she would say:  “Tynn, see to it,” or “Tynn, take it over to Mr. Lionel Verner, and ask what’s to be done.”  Lionel never refused to say.

She was sitting back in Mr. Verner’s old chair, now, filling it a great deal better than he used to do.  Lionel took her hand cordially.  Every time he saw her he thought her looking bigger and bigger.  However much she may have grieved at the time for her son John’s death, it had not taken away either her flesh or her high colour.  Nothing would have troubled Mrs. Verner permanently, unless it had been the depriving her of her meals.  Now John was gone, she cared for nothing else in life.