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"Why don't I hate you?" he says, with some emotion. "How bitterly unkind even the softest, sweetest women can be! Yet there is something about you that subdues me and renders hatred impossible. If I had never met you, I should be a happier man.",

Behind the house rises a thick wood,—a "solemn wood," such as Dickens loved to write of, with its lights and shades and every-varying tints. A gentle wind is rushing through it now; the faint murmur of some "hidden brook," singing its "quiet tune," fall upon the ear; some happy birds are warbling in the thickets. It is a day whose beauty may be felt.,

On a low bed, with his eyes fastened eagerly upon the door, lies Paul Rodney, the dews of death already on his face.,

He draws Mrs. Geoffrey's hand through his arm, and goes towards the lodge.

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"Good-by, my—my beloved—cousin," he says, in a choked voice. I think the last word is an afterthought. He is tearing himself from all he holds most sacred upon earth, and the strain is terrible. He moves resolutely a a few yards away from her, as though determined to put space between him and her; yet then he pauses, and, as though powerless to withdraw from her presence, returns again, and, flinging himself on his knees before her, presses a fold of her gown to his lips with passionate despair.,

"Because"—with a quick blush—"I am not accustomed to dancing much. Indeed, I only learned to-day, and I might not be able to dance with every one.",

"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they mend.",

"What luck to find you here," says Geoffrey, stooping over the industrious spinner, and (after the slightest hesitation) kissing her fondly in spite of the presence of the old woman, who is regarding them with silent curiosity, largely mingled with admiration. The ancient dame sees plainly nothing strange in this embrace of Geoffrey's but rather something sweet and to be approved. She smiles amiably, and nods her old head, and mumbles some quaint Irish phrase about love and courtship and happy youth, as though the very sight of these handsome lovers fills her withered breast with glad recollections of bygone days, when she, too, had her "man" and her golden hopes. For deep down in the hearts of all the sons and daughters of Ireland, whether they be young or old, is a spice of romance living and inextinguishable.