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Here he breaks down ignominiously, considering the amount of sternness he had summoned to his aid when commencing, and, walking to the mantelpiece, lays his arm on it, and his head upon his arms. "Lady Lilias Eaton, you mean?" asks Lady Rodney. "That reminds me we are bound to go over there to-morrow. At least, some of us." Each bank and root of mossy tree is studded with pale primroses that gleam like stars when the morning rises to dim their lustre. My lady's straw-bed spreads its white carpet here and there; the faint twitter of birds is in the air, with "liquid lapse of murmuring streams;" every leaf seems bursting into life, the air is keen but soft, the clouds rest lightly on a ground of spotless blue; the world is awake, and mad with youthful glee as.
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But when they came to look for the will, lo! it was nowhere to be found. Each drawer and desk and cabinet was searched to no avail. Never did the lost document come to light. "He's covered, safe enough. They've throwed an ould sheet over him,—over what remains of him this cruel day. Och, wirra-wirra!" cries the woman, suddenly, throwing her hands high above her head, and giving way to a peculiar long, low, moaning sound, so eerie, so full of wild despair and grief past all consolation, as to make the blood in Rodney's veins run cold. "Very good," says Mona, indifferently, after which the woman, having straightened a cushion or two, takes her departure. He, too, looks at her. The same thought fills them both. As they are together there in the water, so (pray they) "may we be together in life." This hope is sweet almost to solemnity..
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