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Geoffrey starts. He walks quickly up to Mona, and, stooping over her, very gently loosens her hand from the other hand she is holding. Passing his arm round her neck, he turns her face deliberately in his own direction—as though to keep her eyes from resting on the bed and lays it upon his own breast. "It is pretty, I think," she says. "The duke," with a grave look, "gave it to me just two years after my son was born." Thus at odd moments time can treble itself; but with the blessed daylight come comfort and renewed hope, and Geoffrey, greeting with rapture the happy morn, that,.

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Violet and Dorothy are to be married next month, both on the same day, at the same hour, in the same church,—St. George's Hanover Square, without telling. From old Lord Steyne's house in Mayfair, by Dorothy's special desire, both marriages are to take place, Violet's father being somewhat erratic in his tastes, and in fact at this moment wandering aimlessly among the Himalayas. Geoffrey, who would be at any moment as polite to a dairymaid as to a duchess, follows her, and, much to her discomfort,—though she is too civil to say so,—helps her to lay the table. He even insists on filling a dish with the potatoes, and having severely burned his fingers, and having nobly suppressed all appearance of pain,—beyond the dropping of two or three of the esculent roots upon the ground,—brings them in triumph to the spot where Mona is sitting. "That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success. "Enjoying myself?—No, I never do that," says Rodney, with unexpected frankness..