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The words were spoken quietly, temperately; their tone proving how hopeless could be any appeal against them, whether from him, from her, or from without. It was perfectly true: Lionel Verner's position placed him beyond the reach of social ties. Little more was said. It was a topic which Lucy could not urge or gainsay; and Lionel did not see fit to continue it.
The doctor replied to the communication, but conveniently ignored the question. He was "charmed" to hear that the long-missing deed was found, which restored Verner's Pride to the rightful owner, Lionel Verner; but he appeared not to have read, or else not to have understood the very broad hint implicating himself, for not a word was returned to that part, in answer.
In a gap of the hedge behind them, Lionel had caught sight of a human face, its stealthy ears complacently taking in every word. It was that of Roy the bailiff. Mrs. Tynn, the housekeeper at Verner's Pride, was holding one of those periodical visitations that she was pleased to call, when in familiar colloquy with her female assistants, a "rout out."
Fred Massingbird's dead, poor fellow; he died of fever three weeks after they landed; and you are master of Verner's Pride." Lionel Verner could scarcely believe in his own identity.
"What a pretty carriage!" she exclaimed. Many said the same of the Verner's Pride equipages. The colour of the panels was of that rich shade of blue called ultra-marine, with white linings and hammer-cloths, while a good deal of silver shone on the harness of the horses. The servants' livery was white and silver, their small-clothes blue. Lionel handed her in. "Have we far to go?" she asked.
He met old Matthew Frost; he frightened Dan Duff into fits; he frightened Master Cheese; he startled the parson; he solaced himself by taking up his station under the yew-tree on the lawn at Verner's Pride, to contemplate that desirable structure, which perhaps was his, and the gaiety going on in it.
Benoite cheered me up, I can tell you, better than you do. 'What matter to cry? she asked. 'If he does come back, you will still be the mistress of Verner's Pride. And so I shall." Lionel let go her hands. She sped off to the house, eager to find Captain Cannonby. He her husband leaned against the trunk of a tree, bitter mortification in his face, bitter humiliation in his heart.
But that some very great anxiety was racking him might be seen by the most casual observer. It had been racking him for a long time past, and it was growing worse now. And it appeared to be what he could not, or would not, speak of. The news of the dangerous change in the master of Verner's Pride circulated through the vicinity, and it brought forth, amidst other of his friends, Mr. Bitterworth.
Bringing the name out slowly, he stared at Jan in very astonishment. "Well," said he presently, "John is not Frederick." "No," assented Jan. "He can put in no claim to your wife. But he can to Verner's Pride." The words caused Lionel's heart to go on with a bound. A great evil for him; there was no doubt of it; but still slight, compared to the one he had dreaded for Sibylla.
But she desired Frederick to take Verner's Pride in his road when driving away with his bride, that she might say her last farewell to him and Sibylla, neither of whom she might ever see again. Oh, she'd see them again fast enough, was Fred's response; they should not be away more than a year. But he complied with her request, and brought Sibylla.
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