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The girl clasps her hands passionately, and turns her eyes on Rodney. "I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she told the truth. "Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go off..

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"You are mistaken in one point," she says, slowly. "I may be savage, penniless, without family,—but I bought my own trousseau. I do not say this to excuse myself, because I should not mind taking anything from Geoffrey; but I think it a pity you should not know the truth. I had some money of my own,—very little, I allow, but enough to furnish me with wedding garments." "This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot. Here and there a pack is discovered, so unexpectedly as to be doubly welcome. And sometimes a friendly native will tell him of some quiet corner where "his honor" will surely find some birds, "an be able in the evenin' to show raison for his blazin'." It is a somewhat wild life, but a pleasant one, and perhaps, on the whole, Mr. Rodney finds Ireland an agreeable take-in, and the inhabitants of it by no means as eccentric or as bloodthirsty as he has been led to believe. He has read innumerable works on the Irish peasantry, calculated to raise laughter in the breasts of those who claim the Emerald Isle as their own,—works written by people who have never seen Ireland, or, having seen it, have thought it a pity to destroy the glamour time has thrown over it, and so reduce it to commonplaceness. "And have you walked from Coolnagurtheen this morning? Why, it is eight miles from this," says she, taking no notice of his last speech. "You could have had no breakfast!".