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"I suppose she is a Roman Catholic," says Sir Nicholas musingly. "You are candor itself," returns he, with a short laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Of course I am bound to hope your wish may be fulfilled. And yet I doubt it. I am nearer my object to-night than I have ever been before; and," with a sardonic smile, "yours has been the hand to help me forward." "Well, just after luncheon Letitia, your maid, brought me a note. I opened it. It was from Paul Rodney, asking me to meet him at three o'clock, as he had something of importance to say that concerned not me but those I loved. When he said that," says Mona, looking round upon them all with a large, soft, comprehensive glance, and a sweet smile, "I knew he meant you. So I went. I got into my coat and hat, and ran all the way to the spot he had appointed,—the big chestnut-tree near the millstream: you know it, Geoff, don't you?".
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"What a dismal view you take of my trip! Perhaps, in spite of your forebodings, I shall enjoy myself down to the ground, and weep copiously on leaving Irish soil." "How melancholy!" says Mona, with a nearer approach to brightness than she has shown all day. "What a different life mine might have been had I known you earlier!" Then, with a faint flush, that vanishes almost as it comes, as though without power to stay, he says, "Did your husband object to your coming here?" "You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you.".
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