"If they can get out. But Dr. Cannonby can't. He is a physician, and must stop at his post, season or no season."
"I am going up to town to-day," remarked Lionel, "and—"
"You are! For long?"
"Back to-morrow, I hope; perhaps to-night. If you will give me the address, I'll copy it down."
Lionel wrote it down; but Mr. Gordon told him there was no necessity; any little ragged boy in the street could direct him to Dr. Cannonby's. Then he went to make his proposed journey known to Sibylla. She was standing near one of the terrace pillars, looking up at the sky, her eyes shaded with her hand. Lionel drew her inside an unoccupied room.
"Sibylla, a little matter of business is calling me to London," he said. "If I can catch the half-past ten train, I may be home again to-night, late."
"How sudden!" cried Sibylla. "Why didn't you tell me? What weather shall we have to-day, do you think?"
"Fine. But it is of little consequence to me whether it be fine or wet."
"Oh! I was not thinking of you," was the careless reply. "I want it to be fine for our archery."
"Good-bye," he said, stooping to kiss her. "Take care of yourself."