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"I don't know, sir. I never was abroad before, an' I'm dead bate now, an' the bag's like lead.",It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before them.,"Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, very good.","You know what I mean," says Mona, reproachfully. "You needn't pretend you don't. And it is quite true that England does despise us.","Oh, no, don't," says Mona, earnestly. Then she stops short, and blushes a faint sweet crimson.,Mona obeys, feeling no shrinking from the kindly stout lady who is evidently bent on being "all things" to her. It does occur, perhaps, to her laughter-loving mind that there is a paucity of nose about the duchess, and a rather large amount of "too, too solid flesh;" but she smothers all such iniquitous reflections, and commences to talk with her gayly and naturally.,At this instant a soft ringing laugh, that once heard is not easily forgotten, comes from an inner room, that is carefully curtained and delicately lighted, and smites upon their ears.,"Go back the way ye came," says the man again, with growing excitement. "This is no place for ye. There is ill luck in yonder house. His soul won't rest in peace, sent out of him like that. If ye go in now, ye'll be sorry for it. 'Tis a thing ye'll be thinkin' an' dhramin' of till you'll be wishin' the life out of yer cursed body!",And very honestly, too, because at the time of their visits, when Lady Rodney was entertaining them in the big drawing-room and uttering platitudes and pretty lies by the score, she was deep in the recesses of the bare brown wood, roaming hither and thither in search of such few flowers as braved the wintry blasts.,"Many things, I dare say," she says, nervously, turning from him.,"I never saw the easy-chair I could compare with this," he says, as though to himself, his voice full of truth.,"Oh, you are my friend," says Mona, sweetly. Then, returning to the charge, "Perhaps after all it is not so much her fault as that of others. Evil counsellors work mischief in all ages.".