Agitated with these and many other conflicting thoughts, Lionel lay on his uneasy bed, and saw in the morning light.  He did not rise until his usual hour; he would have risen far earlier but for the fear of disturbing Sibylla.  To lie there, a prey to these reflections, to this terrible suspense, was intolerable to him, but he would not risk waking her.  The day might prove long enough and bad enough for her, without arousing her to it before her time.  He rose, but she slept on still.  Lionel did wonder how she could.

Not until he was going out of the room, dressed, did she awake.  She awoke with a start.  It appeared as if recollection, or partial recollection, of the last night’s trouble flashed over her.  She pushed aside the curtain, and called to him in a sharp tone of terror.

“Lionel!”

He turned back.  He drew the curtain entirely away, and stood by her side.  She caught his arm, clasping it convulsively.

“Is it a dreadful dream, or is it true?” she uttered, beginning to tremble.  “Oh, Lionel, take care of me!  Won’t you take care of me?”

“I will take care of you as long as I may,” he whispered tenderly.

“You will not let him force me away from you?  You will not give up Verner’s Pride?  If you care for me, you will not.”

“I do care for you,” he gently said, avoiding a more direct answer.  “My whole life is occupied in caring for you, in promoting your happiness and comfort.  How I have cared for you, you alone know.”

She burst into tears.  Lionel bent his lips upon her hot face.  “Depend upon my doing all that I can do,” he said.

“Are you going to leave me by myself?” she resumed in fear, as he was turning to quit the room.  “How do I know but he may be bursting in upon me?”

“Is that all your faith in me, Sibylla?  He shall not intrude upon you here; he shall not intrude upon you anywhere without warning.  When he does come, I shall be at your side.”

Lionel joined his guests at breakfast.  His wife did not.  With smiling lips and bland brow, he had to cover a mind full of intolerable suspense, an aching heart.  A minor puzzle—­though nothing compared to the puzzle touching the movements of Frederick Massingbird—­was working within him, as to the movements of Captain Cannonby.  What could have become of that gentleman?  Where could he be halting on his journey?  Had his halt anything to do with them, with this grievous business?

To Lionel’s great surprise, just as they were concluding breakfast, he saw the close carriage driven to the door, attended by Wigham and Bennet.  You may remember the latter name.  Master Dan Duff had called him “Calves” to Mr. Verner.  If Verner’s Pride could not keep its masters, it kept its servants.  Lionel knew he had not ordered it; and he supposed his wife to be still in bed.  He went out to the men.

“For whom is the carriage ordered, Bennet?”