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"Then that villain, that scoundrel, has it now in his possession," he says, quickly. "If I go after him, even yet I may come up with him before he reaches his home, and compel him to give it up." He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon it,— "I can't, because I don't know myself. It is my nature. However depressed I may feel at one instant, the next a passing thought may change my tears into a laugh. Perhaps that is why we are called fickle; yet it has nothing to do with it: it is a mere peculiarity of temperament, and a rather merciful gift, for which we should be grateful, because, though we return again to our troubles, still the moment or two of forgetfulness soothes us and nerves us for the conflict. I speak, of course, of only minor sorrows; such a grief as poor Kitty's admits of no alleviation. It will last for her lifetime.".
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"Yes, really." These sounds, vague and harmonious as they are, yet full of mystery and unexplained sadness, but serve to heighten the fear that chills her heart. "That doesn't matter," says Lady Rodney: "it is a mere formula. If it suited your purpose you could have said so—I don't doubt—readily enough." "The name of the place I mean to stay at—my own actual property—is called Coolnagurtheen," goes on Geoffrey, heedless of her censure..
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