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"Good-by, my—my beloved—cousin," he says, in a choked voice. I think the last word is an afterthought. He is tearing himself from all he holds most sacred upon earth, and the strain is terrible. He moves resolutely a a few yards away from her, as though determined to put space between him and her; yet then he pauses, and, as though powerless to withdraw from her presence, returns again, and, flinging himself on his knees before her, presses a fold of her gown to his lips with passionate despair.,
Her face betrays more than she knows.,
"To the old fort?" asks Mona, starting to her feet.,
It is midday, and Geoffrey, gun in hand, is idly stalking through the sloping wood that rises behind Mangle Farm. The shooting he has had since his arrival in Ireland, though desultory,—perhaps because of it,—has proved delightful in his sight. Here coveys come upon one unawares, rising out of fields when least expected, and therefore when discovered possess all the novelty of a gigantic surprise. Now and then he receives kindly warning of birds seen "over night" in some particular corner, and an offer to escort him to the scene of action without beat of drum.
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"You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, idly, gazing at her rather dreamily.,
"Yes; I wore my big Rubens hat, the one with——",
"You used to be tremendous friends there at one time," says Geoffrey; "never out of the house.",
For again news came from Australia that the former tidings of George Rodney's death had been false; that he had only died a twelvemonth since; that he had married almost on first going out, and that his son was coming home to dispute Sir Nicholas's right to house and home and title.
"It has broken out again!" she says, nervously. "I am sure—I am certain—it is a worst wound than you imagine. Ah! do go home, and get it dressed."
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"I think I shall have Allspice too," goes on Mona. "But say nothing. Lady Rodney, if she knew it, would not allow it for a moment. But Jenkins" (the old butler) "has promised to manage it all for me, and to smuggle my dear dogs up to my room without any one being in the least the wiser."
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"Nay," she says, very sweetly and gravely, "you mistake me. I am glad to obey you. I shall not go to Ryan's house again."
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To quarrel with Geoffrey's people will be to cause Geoffrey silent but acute regret, and so for his sake, to save him pain, she quietly bears many things, and waits for better days. What is a month or two of misery, she tells herself, but a sigh amidst the pleasures of one's life? Yet I think it is the indomitable pluck and endurance of her race that carries her successfully through all her troubles.
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Halin-Chen Response,
>"Throw them away," said his father; "throw them both away. That is not a root digger; that is not a dog."
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