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It was all terrible,—this young man coming and the thought that, no matter how they might try to disbelieve in his story, still it might be true.,

"Is that all?" says Violet, in a tone of surprise certainly, but as certainly in one of relief.,

"Oh, I got the ould man to bed hours ago; for I knew if he stayed up that he'd get mortial wearin', an' be the death of us if he knew ye were out so late. An' truth to say, Miss Mona," changing her tone from one of extreme joy and thankfulness to another of the deepest censure, "'twas the world an' all of bad behavior to be galavantin' out at this hour.",

"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona, shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully disloyal."

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"I hardly think so. You can refuse to see people yourself when it suits you. Only yesterday, when Mr. Boer, our rector, called, and I sent for you, you would not come.",

Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had torn from its top a heavy stone.,

"Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!",

"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my life—before he came. And when he is gone"—she pauses, chokes back with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward glance, or anything! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious country."