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"Never mind Larry," says the farmer, impatiently. "This is the seventh time he has died this year. But think of Misther Rodney here. Can't ye do something for him?" He follows her, full of remorse and contrition. Her glance, even more than her words, has covered him with shame, and cured him of his want of generosity. "Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A murderous light creeps into his eyes..

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and light breaks through shutter and curtain, and objects pale and ghostly at first soon grow large and intimate. She says this steadily, and very proudly, with her head held high, but without looking at him; which permits Geoffrey to gaze at her exhaustively. There is an unconscious meaning in her words, quite clear to him. She is of "the people," he of a class that looks but coldly upon hers. A mighty river, called Caste, rolls between them, dividing him from her. But shall it? Some hazy thought like this floats through his brain. They walk on silently, scarcely exchanging a syllable one with the other, until they come within sight of a small thatched house built at the side of the road. It has a manure-heap just in front of it, and a filthy pool to its left, in which an ancient sow is wallowing, whilst grunting harmoniously. "Through the window. I was passing, and found it open." There is some note in his voice that might well be termed mocking. Only as Mrs. Geoffrey makes her final curtesy, and Geoffrey, with a laugh, stoops forward to kiss her lips instead of her hand, as acknowledgment of her earnest and very sweet performance, thereby declaring the same to have come to a timely end, do the new-comers dare to show themselves..