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"I want you to leave Ireland—not next month, or next week, but at once. To-morrow, if possible." "No," said the girl, "not now. They will surely chase us and kill us. Wait until he sleeps again and I will try to get away." Then she filled the horn with water and went back to the buffalo. "I mean she seems a trifle cold, unfriendly, and—er—that," says Geoffrey. "Perhaps it would be a wise thing for you to make up your mind what you will say to her on first meeting her. She will come up to you, you know, and give you her hand like this," taking hers, "and——".

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Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white brow, and lets a little frown—born only of bewildered thought—contract its fairness. Now from the fire again arose the smell of roasting meat. The children ate and played. Those who so long had been silent now talked and laughed. To Ridgway, the under-gardener, he willed three hundred pounds, "as some small compensation for the evil done to him," so runs the document, written in a distinct but trembling hand. And then follow one or two bequests to those friends he had left in Australia and some to the few from whom he had received kindness in colder England. "I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to the farm, and—stay there.".