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"Or like the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' There is something cherubic about you, do you know Nolly, when one comes to think of it. But finish your tale." She turns away in a desolate fashion, and moves towards the door; but Sir Nicholas, having recovered from his stupefaction by this time, follows her, and placing his arm round her, bends over her tenderly, and presses her face against his shoulder. "Say so, if you do: it will be honester. If you don't," threateningly, "I shall of course think the contrary.".
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"Are you?" she says, at length, after a long silence. "Yes, really. Horrid bore, isn't it?—but county dinners must be attended, and Nicholas will do nothing. Besides, it isn't fair to ask him just now, dear old fellow, when he has so much upon his mind." "Oh, yes, I am quite ready," says Mona, starting somewhat guiltily. And then they pass out through the big yard-gate, with the two dogs at their heels, and their attendant squire, who brings up the rear with a soft whistle that rings through the cool night-air and tells the listening stars that the "girl he loves is his dear," and his "own, his artless Nora Creana." "You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is absolutely frozen with fear..
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