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CHAPTER XIX. To break the calm of Nature: A strange feeling of shyness is weighing upon her. Her stalwart English lover is standing close beside her, having risen from his chair with his eyes on hers, and in his shirt-sleeves looking more than usually handsome because of his pallor, and because of the dark circles that, lying beneath his eyes, throw out their color, making them darker, deeper, than is their nature. How shall she bare the arm of this young Adonis?—how help to heal his wound? Oh, Larry Moloney, what hast thou not got to answer for!.

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"One must not hope for perfect happiness on this earth," says Mona, gravely; "but at least I know," with a soft and trusting glance at him, "I shall be happier than most people." It is in Geoffrey's eyes a very curious room, unlike anything he has ever seen before; yet it possesses for him (perhaps for that very reason) a certain charm. It is uncarpeted, but the boards are white as snow, and on them lies a fine sprinkling of dry sand. In one of the windows—whose panes are diamond-shaped—two geraniums are in full flower; upon the deep seat belonging to the other lie some books and a stocking half knitted. "To Rome," says Mona. "But do you mean it? Can you afford it? Italy seems so far away." Then, after a thoughtful silence, "Mr. Rodney——" And pleasant, too, to think on.'".