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"Oh, no; only a country dance," says Mona, blushing. "It was true," says Mona: "I was writing letters for Geoffrey." "Oh! so you can ride, then," says Lauderdale, alluding probably to the cause of his late merriment..

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"Mona must go," says Nicholas, quickly. "Lady Lilias made a point of it. You will go, Mona?" She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful earth. The typical Irishman, in whom Lever delighted, with his knee-breeches and long-tailed coat, his pig under one arm and his shillalah under the other, is literally nowhere! The caubeen and the dhudheen which we are always hearing about may indeed be seen, but they are very usual objects in all lands, if one just alters the names, and scarcely create astonishment in the eyes of the on-looker. "Must you really go, Geoffrey?—really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock..