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"He's covered, safe enough. They've throwed an ould sheet over him,—over what remains of him this cruel day. Och, wirra-wirra!" cries the woman, suddenly, throwing her hands high above her head, and giving way to a peculiar long, low, moaning sound, so eerie, so full of wild despair and grief past all consolation, as to make the blood in Rodney's veins run cold. "Last week, Mona, you gave me your promise to marry me before Christmas; can you break it now? Do you know what an old writer says? 'Thou oughtest to be nice even to superstition in keeping thy promises; and therefore thou shouldst be equally cautious in making them.' Now, you have made yours in all good faith, how can you break it again?" "Nay," she says, very sweetly and gravely, "you mistake me. I am glad to obey you. I shall not go to Ryan's house again." "I hear this dance at the Chetwoodes' is to be rather a large affair," says Geoffrey, indifferently. "I met Gore to-day, and he says the duchess is going, and half the county.".