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"Well, I didn't," says Rodney. "There were moments, indeed, when I believed in you; but five minutes ago, when you flung me over so decidedly, and refused to have anything to do with me, I lost faith in you, and began to think you a thorough-going coquette like all the rest. How I wronged you, my dear love! I should have known that under no circumstances could you be untruthful." She smiles again, and, with a sigh of rapture at her own success, turns to Geoffrey and presses her lips to his out of the very fulness of her heart. How sweet it is to be wanted by those we love! Geoffrey, lowering his gun, stoops and enters the lowly cabin (which, to say the truth, is rather uninviting than otherwise) with more alacrity than he would show if asked to enter the queen's palace. Yet what is a palace but the abode of a sovereign? and for the time being, at least, Rodney's sovereign is in possession of this humble dwelling. So it becomes sacred, and almost desirable, in his eyes..
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Indeed, no sound disturbs the sacred silence save the crisp rustle of the dead leaves, as they are trodden into the ground. "The will—but are you sure—sure?" says Lady Rodney, feebly. She tries to rise, but sinks back again in her chair, feeling faint and overcome. "You are not really going there, Geoff?" "You are Sir Nicholas?" questions she at last, gaining courage to speak, and raising her eyes to his full of entreaty, and just a touch of that pathos that seems of right to belong to the eyes of all Irishwomen..
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