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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35384-8.txt b/35384-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32b461c --- /dev/null +++ b/35384-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15067 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Geoffrey, by Duchess + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Geoffrey + +Author: Duchess + +Release Date: February 25, 2011 [EBook #35384] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. GEOFFREY *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + MRS. GEOFFREY. + + BY THE DUCHESS, + +AUTHOR OF "PHYLLIS," "MOLLY BAWN," "AIRY FAIRY LILIAN," ETC., ETC. + + + CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: + BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS. + + + + +MRS. GEOFFREY + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +HOW GEOFFREY DECLARES HIS INTENTION OF SPENDING THE AUTUMN IN IRELAND. + + +"I don't see why I shouldn't put in a month there very comfortably," +says Geoffrey, indolently, pulling the ears of a pretty, saucy little +fat terrier that sits blinking at him, with brown eyes full of love, on +a chair close by. "And it will be something new to go to Ireland, at all +events. It is rather out of the running these times, so probably will +prove interesting; and at least there is a chance that one won't meet +every town acquaintance round every corner. That's the worry of going +abroad, and I'm heartily sick of the whole thing." + +"You will get murdered," says his mother, quite as indolently, half +opening her eyes, which are gray as Geoffrey's own. "They always kill +people, with things they call pikes, or burn them out of house and home, +over there, without either rhyme or reason." + +"They certainly must be a lively lot, if all one hears is true," says +Geoffrey, with a suppressed yawn. + +"You are not really going there, Geoff?" + +"Yes, really." + +"To what part of Ireland?" + +"Somewhere beyond Bantry; you have heard of Bantry Bay?" + +"Oh, I dare say! I am not sure," says Lady Rodney, pettishly, who is +rather annoyed at the idea of his going to Ireland, having other plans +in view for him. + +"Ever heard of Botany Bay?" asks he, idly; but, this question being +distinctly frivolous, she takes no notice of it. "Well, it's in +Ireland," he goes on, after a slight but dignified pause. "You have +heard of the Emerald Isle, I suppose? It's the country where they grow +potatoes, and say 'bedad'; and Bantry is somewhere south, I think. I'm +never very sure about anything: that's one of my charms." + +"A very doubtful charm." + +"The name of the place I mean to stay at--my own actual property--is +called Coolnagurtheen," goes on Geoffrey, heedless of her censure. + +"Eh?" says Lady Rodney. + +"Coolnagurtheen." + +"I always said you were clever," says his mother, languidly; "now I +believe it. I don't think if I lived forever I should be able to +pronounce such a sad word as that. Do--do the natives speak like that?" + +"I'll tell you when I come back," says Geoffrey,--"if I ever do." + +"So stupid of your uncle to leave you a property in such a country!" +says Lady Rodney, discontentedly. "But very like him, certainly. He was +never happy unless he was buying land in some uninhabitable place. There +was that farm in Wallachia,--your cousin Jane nearly died of chagrin +when she found it was left to her, and the lawyers told her she should +take it, whether she liked it or not. Wallachia! I don't know where it +is, but I am sure it is close to the Bulgarian atrocities!" + +"Our 'pretty Jane,' on occasions, can talk as much nonsense as--as any +woman I ever met," says Geoffrey,--the hesitation being full of filial +reverence; "and that may be called, I think, unqualified praise." + +"Better give up the Irish plan, dear, and come with Nichols and me to +the Nugents. They are easy-going people, and will suit you." + +"Free-and-easy-going would be a more appropriate term, from all I have +heard." + +"The shooting there is capital," says his mother, turning a deaf ear to +his muttered interruption, "and I don't believe there is anything in +Ireland, not even birds." + +"There are landlords, at least; and very excellent shooting they are, if +all accounts be true," says Geoffrey, with a grin,--"to say nothing of +the partridge and grouse. Besides, it will be an experience; and a man +should say 'how d'ye do?' to his tenants sometimes." + +"If you are going to preach to me on that subject, of course I have +nothing more to say. But I wish you would come with me to the Nugents." + +"My dear mother, there is hardly anything I wouldn't do for you; but the +Nugent scheme wouldn't suit at all. That girl of the Cheviots is sure to +be there,--you know how fond Bessie Nugent is of her?--and I know she is +bent on marrying me." + +"Nonsense! Would you have me believe you are afraid of her?" + +"I am afraid of her; I was never so afraid of any one before. I have +made it the business of my life to avoid her ever since last New Year's +Day, when some kind fellow told me it was leap-year. You know I never +yet said 'No' to any one, and I shouldn't dare begin by saying it to +Miss Cheviot. She has such a stony glare, and such a profusion of nose!" + +"And a profusion of gold, too," says Lady Rodney, with a sigh. + +"I hope she has, poor soul: she will want it," says Geoffrey, feelingly; +and then he falls to whistling the "Two Obadiahs" softly, yet with a +relish, beneath his breath. + +"How long do you intend to banish yourself from civilized life?" + +"A month, I dare say. Longer, if I like it; shorter, if I don't. By the +by, you told me the other day it was the dream of your life to see me in +Parliament, now that 'Old Dick' has decided on leading a sedentary +existence,--a very stupid decision on his part, by the way, so clever as +he is." + +"He is not strong, you see: a little thing knocks him up, and he is too +impressionable for a public career. But you are different." + +"You think I am not impressionable? Well, time will tell. I shouldn't +care about going into the House unless I went there primed and loaded +with a real live grievance, Now, why should I not adopt the Irish? +Consider the case as it stands: I go and see them; I come home, raving +about them and their wretched condition, their cruel landlords, their +noble endurance, magnificent physique, patient suffering, honest +revenge, and so forth. By Jove! I feel as if I could do it already, +even before I've seen them," says Mr. Rodney, with an irreverent laugh. + +"Well don't go to Dublin, at all events," says her mother, plaintively. +"It's wretched form." + +"Is it? I always heard it was rather a jolly sort of little place, once +you got into it--well." + +"What a partisan you do make!" says Lady Rodney, with a faint laugh. +"Perhaps after all we should consider Ireland the end and aim of all +things. I dare say when you come back you will be more Irish than the +Irish." + +"It is a good thing to be in earnest over every matter, however trivial. +As I am going to Ireland, you will advise me to study the people, would +you not?" + +"By all means study them, if you are really bent on this tiresome +journey. It may do you good. You will at least be more ready to take my +advice another time." + +"What a dismal view you take of my trip! Perhaps, in spite of your +forebodings, I shall enjoy myself down to the ground, and weep copiously +on leaving Irish soil." + +"Perhaps. I hope you won't get into a mess there, and make me more +unhappy than I am. We are uncomfortable enough without that. You know +you are always doing something bizarre,--something rash and uncommon!" + +"How nice!" says Geoffrey, with a careless smile. "Your 'faint praise' +fails 'to damn'! Why, one is nothing nowadays if not eccentric. Well," +moving towards the door, with the fox-terrier at his heels, "I shall +start on Monday. That will get me down in time for the 12th. Shall I +send you up any birds?" + +"Thanks, dear; you are always good," murmurs Lady Rodney, who has ever +an eye to the main chance. + +"If there are any," says Geoffrey, with a twinkle in his eye. + +"If there are any," repeats she, unmoved. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HOW GEOFFREY GOES TO IRELAND AND WHAT HE SEES THERE. + + +It is early morn. "The first low breath of waking day stirs the wide +air." On bush and tree and opening flower the dew lies heavily, like +diamonds glistening in the light of the round sun. Thin clouds of pearly +haze float slowly o'er the sky to meet its rays; and + + Envious streaks + Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. + +Geoffrey, with his gun upon his shoulder, trudges steadily onward +rejoicing in the freshness of the morning air. + +To his right lies Bantry Bay, that now is spreading itself out in all +its glory to catch the delicate hues of the sky above. They rush to +greet it, and, sinking deep down into its watery embrace, lie there all +day rocked to and fro by the restless ocean. + +From the hills the scent of the heather is wafted towards him, filling +him with a subtle keen sense of youth and gladness and the absolute joy +of living. His good dog is at his heels; a boy--procured from some +neighboring cabin, and warranted not to wear out, however long the +journey to be undertaken or how many miles to travel--carries his bag +beside him. + +Game as yet is not exactly plentiful: neither yesterday nor the day +before could it be said that birds flock to his gun; there is, indeed, a +settled uncertainty as to whether one may or may not have a good day's +sport. And yet perhaps this very uncertainty gives an additional +excitement to the game. + +Here and there a pack is discovered, so unexpectedly as to be doubly +welcome. And sometimes a friendly native will tell him of some quiet +corner where "his honor" will surely find some birds, "an be able in the +evenin' to show raison for his blazin'." It is a somewhat wild life, but +a pleasant one, and perhaps, on the whole, Mr. Rodney finds Ireland an +agreeable take-in, and the inhabitants of it by no means as eccentric or +as bloodthirsty as he has been led to believe. He has read innumerable +works on the Irish peasantry, calculated to raise laughter in the +breasts of those who claim the Emerald Isle as their own,--works written +by people who have never seen Ireland, or, having seen it, have thought +it a pity to destroy the glamour time has thrown over it, and so reduce +it to commonplaceness. + +He is, for instance, surprised, and indeed somewhat relieved, when he +discovers that the drivers of the jaunting-cars that take him on his +shooting-expeditions are not all modern Joe Millers, and do not let off +witty remarks, like bombshells, every two minutes. + +He is perhaps disappointed in that every Irish cloak does not conceal a +face beautiful as a houri's. And he learns by degrees that only one in +ten says "bedad," and that "och murther?" is an expression almost +extinct. + +They appear a kindly, gentle, good-humored people,--easily led, no doubt +(which is their undoing), but generous to the heart's core; a people who +can speak English fluently (though with a rich brogue) and more +grammatically than the Sassenachs themselves (of their own class), +inasmuch as they respect their aspirates and never put an _h_ in or +leave one out in the wrong place. + +The typical Irishman, in whom Lever delighted, with his knee-breeches +and long-tailed coat, his pig under one arm and his shillalah under the +other, is literally nowhere! The caubeen and the dhudheen which we are +always hearing about may indeed be seen, but they are very usual objects +in all lands, if one just alters the names, and scarcely create +astonishment in the eyes of the on-looker. + +The dhudheen is an institution, no doubt, but the owner of it, as a +rule, is not to be found seated on a five-barred gate, with a shamrock +pinned in his hat and a straw in his mouth, singing "Rory O'More" or +"Paddy O'Rafferty," as the case may be. On the contrary, poor soul, he +is found by Geoffrey either digging up his potatoes or stocking his turf +for winter use. + +Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is +comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying +_perdu_ in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn +stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or +reason. + +Rodney, with the boy at his side, is covering ground in a state of +blissful uncertainty. He may be a mile from home, or ten miles, for all +he knows, and the boy seems none the wiser. + +"Where are we now?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, stopping and facing "the +boy." + +"I don't know, sir." + +"But you said you knew the entire locality,--couldn't be puzzled within +a radius of thirty miles. How far are we from home?" + +"I don't know, sir. I never was abroad before, an' I'm dead bate now, +an' the bag's like lead." + +"You're a nice boy, you are!" says Mr. Rodney; "Here, give me the bag! +Perhaps you would like me to carry you too; but I shan't, so you needn't +ask me. Are you hungry?" + +"No," says the boy valiantly; but he looks hungry, and Geoffrey's heart +smites him, the more in that he himself is starving likewise. + +"Come a little farther," he says, gently, slinging the heavy bag across +his own shoulders. "There must be a farmhouse somewhere." + +There is. In the distance, imbedded in trees, lies an extensive +farmstead, larger and more home-like than any he has yet seen. + +"Now, then, cheer up, Paddy!" he says to the boy: "yonder lies an oasis +in our howling wilderness." + +Whereat the boy smiles and grins consumedly, as though charmed with his +companion's metaphor, though in reality he understands it not at all. + +As they draw still nearer, Geoffrey becomes aware that the farmyard +before him is rich with life. Cocks are crowing, geese are cackling, and +in the midst of all this life stands a girl with her back turned to the +weary travellers. + +"Wait here," says Geoffrey to his squire, and, going forward, rests the +bag upon a low wall, and waits until the girl in question shall turn her +head. When she does move he is still silent, for, behold, _she_ has +turned _his_ head! + +She is country bred, and clothed in country garments, yet her beauty is +too great to be deniable. She is not "divinely tall," but rather of +medium height, with an oval face, and eyes of "heaven's own blue." Their +color changes too, and deepens, and darkens, and grows black and purple, +as doth the dome above us. Her mouth is large, but gracious, and full of +laughter mixed with truth and firmness. There is no feature that can so +truly express character as the mouth. The eyes can shift and change, but +the mouth retains its expression always. + +She is clad in a snowy gown of simple cotton, that sits loosely to her +lissom figure yet fails to disguise the beauty of it. A white kerchief +lies softly on her neck. She has pulled up her sleeves, so that her arms +are bare,--her round, soft, naked arms that in themselves are a perfect +picture. She is standing with her head well thrown back, and her +hands--full of corn--lifted high in the air, as she cries aloud, "Cooee! +Cooee!" in a clear musical voice. + +Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons--brown and white +and bronze and gray--come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, +and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her +head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more +adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery +resting-place upon her bosom. + +"What greedy little things!" cries she aloud, with the merriest laugh in +the world. "Sure you can't eat more than enough, can you? an' do your +best! Oh, Brownie," reproachfully, "what a selfish bird you are!" + +Here Geoffrey comes forward quietly, and lifts his hat to her with all +the air of a man who is doing homage to a princess. It has occurred to +him that perhaps this peerless being in the cotton gown will feel some +natural chagrin on being discovered by one of the other sex with her +sleeves tucked up. But in this instance his knowledge of human nature +receives a severe shock. + +Far from being disconcerted, this farmyard goddess is not even ashamed +(as indeed how could she be?) of her naked arms, and, coming up to him, +rests them upon the upper rung of the entrance-gate and surveys him +calmly if kindly. + +"What can I do for you?" she asks, gently. + +"I think," says Geoffrey, slightly disconcerted by the sweet leisure of +her gaze, "I have lost my way. I have been walking since sunrise, and I +want you to tell me where I am." + +"You are at Mangle Farm," returns she. Then, judging by the blank +expression on his face that her words bring him no comfort, she +continues with a smile, "That doesn't seem to help you much, does it?" + +He returns her smile in full,--_very_ full. "I confess it doesn't help +me at all," he says. "Mangle Farm, I am sure, is the most attractive +spot on earth, but it tells me nothing about latitude or longitude. Give +me some further help." + +"Then tell me where you come from, and perhaps I may be able." She +speaks softly, but quickly, as do all the Irish, and with a brogue +musical but unmistakable. + +"I am staying at a shooting-lodge called Coolnagurtheen. Do you know +where that is." + +"Oh, of course," returns she, with a sudden accession of animation. "I +have often seen it. That is where the young English gentleman is staying +for the shooting." + +"Quite right. And I am the young English gentleman," says Geoffrey, +lifting his hat again by way of introduction. + +"Indeed, are you?" asks she, raising her pretty brows. Then she smiles +involuntarily, and the pink flush in her rounded cheeks grows a shade +deeper. Yet she does not lower her eyes, or show the slightest touch of +confusion. "I might have guessed it," she says, after a minute's survey +of the tall gray-coated young man before her. "You are not a bit like +the others down here." + +"Am I not?" says he, humbly, putting on his carefully crestfallen air +that has generally been found so highly successful. "Tell me my fault." + +"I will--when I find it," returns she, with an irrepressible glance, +full of native but innocent coquetry, from her beautiful eyes. + +At this moment one of the pigeons--a small, pretty thing, +bronze-tinged--flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a +tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though +imploring more corn. + +"Would you bite me?" murmurs she, fondly, as the bird flies off again +alarmed at the presence of the tall stranger, who already is busy +comparing most favorably the face of its mistress with the faces of all +the fashionable beauties London has been raving about for eighteen +months. "Every morning they torment me like this," she says, turning to +Geoffrey, with a little pleasant confidential nod. + +"He looked as if he wanted to eat you; and I'm sure I don't wonder at +it," says Geoffrey, making the addition to his speech in a lower key. + +"And have you walked from Coolnagurtheen this morning? Why, it is eight +miles from this," says she, taking no notice of his last speech. "You +could have had no breakfast!" + +"Not yet; but I suppose there must be a village near here, and an inn, +and I want you to direct me how to get to it. I am giving you a great +deal of trouble," remorsefully, "but my boy knows nothing." + +He points as he speaks to the ignorant Paddy, who is sitting on the +ground with his knees between his hands, crooning a melancholy ditty. + +"The village is two miles farther on. I think you had better come in and +breakfast here. Uncle will be very glad to see you," she says, +hospitably. "And you must be tired." + +He hesitates. He _is_ tired, and hungry too; there is no denying. Even +as he hesitates, a girl coming out to the door-step puts her hand over +her eyes, and shouts pleasantly from afar to her mistress,-- + +"Miss Mona, come in; the tay will be cold, an' the rashers all spoiled, +an' the masther's callin' for ye." + +"Come, hurry," says Mona, turning to Geoffrey, with a light laugh that +seems to spring from her very heart. "Would you have the 'tay' get cold +while you are making up your mind? I at least must go." + +She moves from him. + +"Then thank you, and I shall go with you, if you will allow me," says +Geoffrey, hurriedly, as he sees her disappearing. + +"Tell your boy to go to the kitchen," says Mona, thoughtfully, and, +Paddy being disposed of, she and Geoffrey go on to the house. + +They walk up a little gravelled path, on either side of which trim beds +of flowers are cut, bordered with stiff box. All sorts of pretty, +sweetly-smelling old wild blossoms are blooming in them, as gayly as +though they have forgotten the fact that autumn is rejoicing in all its +matured beauty. Crimson and white and purple asters stand calmly gazing +towards the sky; here a flaming fuchsia droops its head, and there, +apart from all the rest, smiles an enchanting rose. + + "That like a virgin queen salutes the sun + Dew-diadem'd." + +Behind the house rises a thick wood,--a "solemn wood," such as Dickens +loved to write of, with its lights and shades and every-varying tints. A +gentle wind is rushing through it now; the faint murmur of some "hidden +brook," singing its "quiet tune," fall upon the ear; some happy birds +are warbling in the thickets. It is a day whose beauty may be felt. + +"I have no card but my name is Geoffrey Rodney," says the young man, +turning to his companion. + +"And mine is Mona Scully," returns she, with the smile that seems part +of her lips, and which already has engraven itself on Mr. Rodney's +heart. "Now, I suppose, we know each other." + +They walk up two steps, and enter a small hall, and then he follows her +into a room opening off it, in which breakfast lies prepared. + +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. + +An old man, rugged but kindly-featured, rises on his entrance, and gazes +at him expectantly. Mona, going up to him, rests her hand upon his arm, +and, indicating Geoffrey by a gesture, says, in a low tone,-- + +"He has lost his way. He is tired, and I have asked him to have some +breakfast. He is the English gentleman who is living at Coolnagurtheen." + +"You're kindly welcome, sir," says the old man, bowing with the slow and +heavy movement that belongs to the aged. There is dignity and warmth, +however, in the salute, and Geoffrey accepts with pleasure the toil-worn +hand his host presents to him a moment later. The breakfast is good, +and, though composed of only country fare, is delicious to the young +man, who has been walking since dawn, and whose appetite just now would +have astonished those dwelling in crowded towns and living only on their +excitements. + +The house, is home-like, sweet, and one which might perhaps day by day +grow dearer to the heart; and this girl, this pretty creature who every +now and then turns her eyes on Geoffrey, as though glad in a kindly +fashion to see him there, seems a necessary part of the whole,--her +gracious presence rendering it each moment sweeter and more desirable. +"My precept to all who build is," says Cicero, "that the owner should be +an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner." + +Mona pours out the tea--which is excellent--and puts in the cream--which +is a thing to dream of--with a liberal hand. She smiles at Geoffrey +across the sugar-bowl, and chatters to him over the big bowl of flowers +that lies in the centre of the table. Not a hothouse bouquet faultlessly +arranged, by any means, but a great, tender, happy, straggling bunch of +flowers that seem to have fallen into their places of their own accord, +regardless of coloring, and fill the room with their perfume. + +His host going to the window when breakfast is at an end, Geoffrey +follows him; and both look out upon the little garden before them that +is so carefully and lovingly tended. + +"It is all her doing," says the old man,--"Mona's, I mean. She loves +those flowers more than anything on earth, I think. Her mother was the +same; but she wasn't half the lass that Mona is. Never a mornin' in the +cowld winter but she goes out there to see if the frost hasn't killed +some of 'em the night before." + +"There is hardly any taste so charming or so engrossing as that for +flowers," says Geoffrey, making this trite little speech, that sounds +like a copy-book, in his most engaging style. "My mother and cousin do a +great deal of that sort of thing when at home." + +"Ay, it looks pretty and gives the child something to do." There is a +regretful ring in his tone that induces Geoffrey to ask the next +question. + +"Does she--does Miss Scully find country life unsatisfying? Has she not +lived here always?" + +"Law, no, sir," says the old man, with a loud and hearty laugh. "I think +if ye could see the counthry girls round here, an' compare 'em with my +Mona, you'd see that for yerself. She's as fine as the queen to them. +Her mother, you see, was the parson's daughter down here; tiptop she +was, and purty as a fairy, but mighty delicate; looked as if a march +wind would blow her into heaven. Dan--he was a brother of mine, an' a +solicitor in Dublin. You've been there, belike?" + +"Yes; I stopped there for two or three days on my way down here. +Well--and--your brother?" He cannot to himself explain the interest he +feels in this story. + +"Dan? He was a fine man, surely; six feet in his stockin', he was, an' +eyes like a woman's. He come down here an' met her, an' she married him. +Nothing would stop her, though the parson was fit to be tied about it. +An' of course he was no match for her,--father bein' only a bricklayer +when he began life,--but still I will say Dan was a fine man, an' one to +think about; an' no two ways in him, an' _that_ soft about the heart. He +worshipped the ground she walked on; an' four years after their marriage +she told me herself she never had an ache in her heart since she married +him. That was fine tellin', sir, wasn't it? Four years, mind ye. Why, +when Mary was alive (my wife, sir) we had a shindy twice a week, reg'lar +as clockwork. We wouldn't have known ourselves without it; but, however, +that's nayther here nor there," says Mr. Scully, pulling himself up +short. "An' I ask yer pardon, sir, for pushing private matters on ye +like this." + +"But you have interested me," says Geoffrey, seating himself on the +broad sill of the window, as though preparing for a long dissertation on +matters still unknown. "Pray tell me how your brother and his lovely +wife--who evidently was as wise and true as she was lovely--got on." + +Mr. Rodney's face being of that rare kind that is as tender as it is +manly, and by right of its beauty demands confidence, the old man (who +dearly loves his own voice) is encouraged to proceed. + +"They didn't get on for long," he says, mournfully,--and what voice is +so full of melancholy as the Irish voice when it sinks into sadness? +"When the little one--Mona--was barely five years old, they went to +ground; Mount Jerome got them. Fever it was; and it carried 'em both off +just while ye'd have time to look round ye. Poor souls, they went to the +blessed land together. Perhaps the Holy Virgin knew they would have got +on badly without each other anywhere." + +"And the child,--Miss Mona?" asks Geoffrey. + +"She went to live in Anthrim with her mother's sister. Later she got to +Dublin, to her aunt there,--another of the parson's daughters,--who +married the Provost in Thrinity; a proud sort he was, an' awful tiresome +with his Greeks an' his Romans, an' not the height of yer thumb," says +Mr. Scully, with ineffable contempt. "I went to Dublin one day about +cattle, and called to see me niece; an' she took to me, bless her, an' +I brought her down with me for change of air, for her cheeks were whiter +than a fleece of wool, an' she has stayed ever since. Dear soul! I hope +she'll stay forever. She is welcome." + +"She must be a great comfort to you," says Geoffrey from his heart. + +"She is that. More than I can say. An' keeps things together, too. She +is clever like her father, an' he was on the fair way to make a fortune. +Ay, I always say it, law is the thing that pays in Ireland. A good sound +fight sets them up. But I'm keeping you, sir, and your gun is waitin' +for ye. If you haven't had enough of me company by this," with another +jolly laugh, "I'll take ye down to a field hard by, an' show ye where I +saw a fine young covey only yesternight." + +"I--I should like to say good-by to Miss Mona, and thank her for all her +goodness to me, before going," says the young man, rising somewhat +slowly. + +"Nay, you can say all that on your way back, an' get a half-shot into +the bargain," says old Scully, heartily. "You'll hardly beat the potheen +I can give ye." He winks knowingly, pats Rodney kindly on the shoulder, +and leads the way out of the house. Yet I think Geoffrey would willingly +have bartered potheen, partridge, and a good deal more, for just one +last glance at Mona's beautiful face before parting. Cheered, however, +by the prospect that he may see her before night falls, he follows the +farmer into the open air. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +HOW GEOFFREY'S HEART IS CLAIMED BY CUPID AS A TARGET, AND HOW MONA +STOOPS TO CONQUER. + + +It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no +new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees +are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and +richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before +them. + +Great cascades of water are rushing from the high hills, tumbling, +hurrying, with their own melodious music, into the rocky basins that +kind nature has built to receive them. The soothing voices of the air +are growing louder, more full of strength; the branches of the elms bow +down before them; the gentle wind, "a sweet and passionate wooer," +kisses the blushing leaf with perhaps a fiercer warmth than it did a +month agone. + +It is in the spring--so we have been told--that "a young man's fancy +lightly turns to thoughts of love;" yet it is in the autumn that _our_ +young man takes to this pleasing if somewhat unsatisfactory amusement. + +Not that he himself is at all aware of the evil case into which he has +fallen. He feels not the arrow in his heart, or the tender bands that +slowly but surely are winding themselves around him,--steel bands, +decked out and hidden by perfumed flowers. As yet he feels no pang; and, +indeed, were any one to even hint at such a thing, he would have laughed +aloud at the idea of his being what is commonly termed "in love." + +That he--who has known so many seasons, and passed through the practised +hands of some of the prettiest women this world can afford, heart-whole, +and without a scratch--should fall a victim to the innocent wiles of a +little merry Irish girl of no family whatever, seems too improbable even +of belief, however lovely beyond description this girl may be (and is), +with her wistful, laughing, mischievous Irish eyes, and her mobile lips, +and her disposition half angelic, half full of fire and natural +coquetry. + +Beauty, according to Ovid, is "a favor bestowed by the gods;" +Theophrastus says it is "a silent cheat;" and Shakspeare tells us it + + "Is but a vain and doubtful good, + A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly, + A flower that dieth when first it 'gins to bud, + A brittle glass that's broken presently, + A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, + Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour." + +Mere beauty of form and feature will fade indeed, but Mona's beauty lies +not altogether in nose or eyes or mouth, but rather in her soul, which +compels her face to express its lightest meaning. It is in her +expression, which varies with each passing thought, changing from "grave +to gay, from lively to severe," as the soul within speaks to it, that +her chief charm dwells. She is never quite the same for two minutes +running,--which is the surest safeguard against satiety. And as her soul +is pure and clean, and her face is truly the index to her mind, all it +betrays but endears her to and makes richer him who reads it. + + "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale + Her infinite variety." + +Whenever these lines come to me I think of Mona. + + * * * * * + +It is midday, and Geoffrey, gun in hand, is idly stalking through the +sloping wood that rises behind Mangle Farm. The shooting he has had +since his arrival in Ireland, though desultory,--perhaps because of +it,--has proved delightful in his sight. Here coveys come upon one +unawares, rising out of fields when least expected, and therefore when +discovered possess all the novelty of a gigantic surprise. Now and then +he receives kindly warning of birds seen "over night" in some particular +corner, and an offer to escort him to the scene of action without beat +of drum. + +As for instance, in the morning his man assails him with the news that +Micky Brian or Dinny Collins (he has grown quite familiar with the +gentry around) "is without, an' would like to spake wid him." Need I +remark that he has widely hired his own particular attendant from among +the gay and festive youths of Bantry? + +Whereupon he goes "without," which means to his own hall-door that +always stands wide open, and there acknowledges the presence of Mickey +or Dinny, as the case may be, with a gracious nod. Mickey instantly +removes his caubeen and tells "his honor" (regardless of the fact that +his honor can tell this for himself) that "it is a gran' fine day," +which as a rule is the first thing an Irish person will always say on +greeting you, as though full of thankfulness to the powers above, in +that sweet weather has been given. + +Then follows a long-winded speech on the part of Mickey about birds in +general and grouse in particular, finishing up with the announcement +that he can tell where the finest covey seen this season lies hidden. + +"An' the biggest birds, an' as full o' corn as iver ye see, the rogues!" + +At this his honor requests Mickey to step into the hall, and with his +own hands administers to him a glass of whiskey, which mightily pleases +the son of Erin, though he plainly feels it his duty to make a face at +it as he swallows it off neat. And then Geoffrey sallies forth and goes +for the promised covey, followed closely by the excited Mickey, and, +having made account of most of them, presses backsheesh into the hands +of his informant, and sends him home rejoicing. + +For the most part these bonnie brown birds have found their way into +Miss Mona's pantry, and are eaten by that little gourmand with the rarer +pleasure that in her secret heart she knows that the giver of them is +not blind to the fact that her eyes are faultless and her nose pure +Greek. + +Just at this moment he is coming down through brake and furze, past +tangling blackberry-bushes that are throwing out leaves of brilliant +crimson and softest yellow, and over rustling leaves, towards the farm +that holds his divinity. + +Ill luck has attended his efforts to-day, or else his thoughts have been +wandering in the land where love holds sway, because he is empty-handed. +The bonnie brown bird has escaped him, and no gift is near to lay at +Mona's shrine. + +As he reaches the broad stream that divides him from the land he would +reach, he pauses and tries to think of any decent excuse that may enable +him to walk with a bold front up to the cottage door. But no such excuse +presents itself. Memory proves false. It refuses to assist him. He is +almost in despair. + +He tries to persuade himself that there is nothing strange or uncommon +in calling upon Wednesday to inquire with anxious solicitude about the +health of a young woman whom he had seen happy and robust on Tuesday. +But the trial is not successful, and he is almost on the point of +flinging up the argument and going home again, when his eye lights upon +a fern small but rare, and very beautiful, that growing on a high rock +far above him, overhangs the stream. + +It is a fern for which Mona has long been wishing. Oh! happy thought! +She has expressed for it the keenest admiration. Oh! blissful +remembrance! She has not one like it in all her collection. Oh! +certainty full of rapture. + +Now will he seize this blessed opportunity, and, laden with the spoils +of war, approach her dwelling (already she is "she"), and triumphantly, +albeit humbly, lay the fern at her feet, and so perchance gain the right +to bask for a few minutes in the sunshine of her presence. + +No sooner thought than done! Laying his gun carefully upon the ground, +he looks around him to see by what means he shall gain possession of +this lucky fern which is growing, deeply rooted in its native soil, far +above him. + +A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is +not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is +indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it +must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and +then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern +can be seen. + +It is rather beyond his reach, but he is determined not to be outdone. +Of course by stepping into the water and climbing the slimy rock that +holds the desired treasure, it can be gained; but with a lazy desire to +keep his boots dry, he clings to his present position, regardless of the +fact that bruised flesh (if nothing worse) will probably be the result +of his daring. + +He has stooped very much over indeed. His hand is on the fern; he has +safely carefully extracted it, roots and all (one would think I was +speaking of a tooth! but this is by the way), from its native home, when +cr-r-k goes something; the branch on which he rests betrays him, and +smashing hurls him head downwards into the swift but shallow stream +below. + +A very charming vision clad in Oxford shirting, and with a great white +hat tied beneath her rounded chin with blue ribbons,--something in the +style of a Sir Joshua Reynolds,--emerges from among the low-lying firs +at this moment. Having watched the (seemingly) light catastrophe from +afar, and being apparently amused by it, she now gives way to +unmistakable mirth and laughs aloud. When Mona laughs, she does it with +all her heart, the correct method of suppressing all emotion, be it of +joy or sorrow,--regarding it as a recreation permitted only to the +vulgar,--being as yet unlearned by her. Therefore her expression of +merriment rings gayly and unchecked through the old wood. + +But presently, seeing the author of her mirth does not rise from his +watery resting-place, her smile fades, a little frightened look creeps +into her eyes, and, hastening forward, she reaches the bank of the +stream and gazes into it. Rodney is lying face downwards in the water, +his head having come with some force against the sharp edge of a stone +against which it is now resting. + +Mona turns deadly pale, and then instinctively loosening the strings of +her hat flings it from her. A touch of determination settles upon her +lips, so prone to laughter at other times. Sitting on the bank, she +draws off her shoes and stockings, and with the help of an alder that +droops to the river's brim lowers herself into the water. + +The stream, though insignificant, is swift. Placing her strong young +arms, that are rounded and fair as those of any court dame, beneath +Rodney, she lifts him, and, by a supreme effort, and by right of her +fresh youth and perfect health, draws him herself to land. + +In a minute or two the whole affair proves itself a very small thing +indeed, with little that can be termed tragical about it. Geoffrey comes +slowly back to life, and in the coming breathes her name. Once again he +is trying to reach the distant fern; once again it eludes his grasp. He +has it; no, he hasn't; yet, he has. Then at last he wakes to the fact +that he has indeed _got it_ in earnest, and that the blood is flowing +from a slight wound in the back of his head, which is being staunched by +tender fingers, and that he himself is lying in Mona's arms. + +He sighs, and looks straight into the lovely frightened eyes bending +over him. Then the color comes with a sudden rush back into his cheeks +as he tells himself she will look upon him as nothing less than a "poor +creature" to lose consciousness and behave like a silly girl for so +slight a cause. And something else he feels. Above and beyond everything +is a sense of utter happiness, such as he has never known before, a +thrill of rapture that has in it something of peace, and that comes from +the touch of the little brown hand that rests so lightly on his head. + +"Do not stir. Your head is badly cut, an' it bleeds still," says Mona, +with a shoulder. "I cannot stop it. Oh, what shall I do?" + +"Who got me out of the water?" asks he, lazily, pretending (hypocrite +that he is) to be still overpowered with weakness. "And when did you +come?" + +"Just now," returns she, with some hesitation, and a rich accession of +coloring, that renders her even prettier than she was a moment since. +Because + + "From every blush that kindles in her cheeks, + Ten thousand little loves and graces spring." + +Her confusion, however, and the fact that no one else is near, betrays +the secret she fain would hide. + +"Was it you?" asks he, raising himself on his elbow to regard her +earnestly, though very loath to quit the spot where late he has been +tenant. "You? Oh, Mona!" + +It is the first time he has ever called her by her Christian name +without a prefix. The tears rise to her eyes. Feeling herself +discovered, she makes her confession slowly, without looking at him, and +with an air of indifference so badly assumed as to kill the idea of her +ever attaining prominence upon the stage. + +"Yes, it was I," she says. "And why shouldn't I? Is it to see you drown +I would? I--I didn't want you to find out; but"--quickly--"I would do +the same for _any one_ at _any_ time. You know that." + +"I am sure you would," says Geoffrey, who has risen to his feet and has +taken her hand. "Nevertheless, though, as you say, I am but one in the +crowd,--and, of course, nothing to you,--I am very glad you did it for +me." + +With a little touch of wilfulness, perhaps pride, she withdraws her +hand. + +"I dare say," she says, carelessly, purposely mistaking his meaning: "it +must have been cold lying there." + +"There are things that chill one more than water," returns he, slightly +offended by her tone. + +"You are all wet. Do go home and change your clothes," says Mona, who is +still sitting on the grass with her gown spread carefully around her. +"Or perhaps"-reluctantly--"it will be better for you to go to the farm, +where Bridget will look after you." + +"Thank you; so I shall, if you will come with me." + +"Don't mind me," says Miss Scully, hastily. "I shall follow you by and +by." + +"By and by will suit me down to the ground," declares he, easily. "The +day is fortunately warm: damp clothes are an advantage rather than +otherwise." + +Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind +being evidently great with thought. + +"I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to +the farm, and--stay there." + +"Well, come with me, and I'll stay till you turn me out.' + +"I can't," faintly. + +"Why not?" in a surprised tone. + +"Because--I prefer staying here." + +"Oh! if you mean by that you want to get rid of me, you might have said +so long ago, without all this hinting," says Mr. Rodney, huffily, +preparing to beat an indignant retreat. + +"I didn't mean that, and I never hint," exclaims Mona, angrily; "and if +you insist on the truth, if I must explain to you what I particularly +desire to keep secret, you----" + +"You are hurt!" interrupts he, with passionate remorse. "I see it all +now. Stepping into that hateful stream to save me, you injured yourself +severely. You are in pain,--you suffer; whilst I----" + +"I am in no pain," says Mona, crimson with shame and mortification. "You +mistake everything. I have not even a scratch on me; and--I have no +shoes or stockings on me either, if you must know all!" + +She turns from him wrathfully; and Geoffrey, disgusted with himself, +steps back and makes no reply. With any other woman of his acquaintance +he might perhaps at this juncture have made a mild request that he might +be allowed to assist in the lacing or buttoning of her shoes; but with +this strange little Irish girl all is different. To make such a remark +would be, he feels, to offer her a deliberate insult. + +"There, do go away!" says this woodland goddess. "I am sick of you and +your stupidity." + +"I'm sure I don't wonder," says Geoffrey, very humbly. "I beg your +pardon a thousand times; and--good-by, Miss Mona." + +She turns involuntarily, through the innate courtesy that belongs to her +race, to return his parting salutation, and, looking at him, sees a tiny +spot of blood trickling down his forehead from the wound received awhile +since. + +On the instant all is forgotten,--chagrin, shame, shoes and stockings, +everything! Springing to her little naked feet, she goes to him, and, +raising her hand, presses her handkerchief against the ugly stain. + +"It has broken out again!" she says, nervously. "I am sure--I am +certain--it is a worst wound than you imagine. Ah! do go home, and get +it dressed." + +"But I shouldn't like any one to touch it except you," says Mr. Rodney, +truthfully. "Even now, as your fingers press it, I feel relief." + +"Do you really?" asks Mona, earnestly. + +"Honestly, I do." + +"Then just turn your back for one moment," says Mona simply, "and when +my shoes and stockings are on I'll go home with you an' bathe it. Now, +don't turn round, for your life!" + +"'Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?'" quotes Mr. +Rodney; and, Mona having got into her shoes, she tells him he is at +liberty to follow her across the rustic bridge lower down, that leads +from the wood into Mangle Farm. + +"You have spoiled your gown on my account," says Geoffrey, surveying her +remorsefully; "and such a pretty gown, too. I don't think I ever saw you +looking sweeter than you look to-day. And now your dress is ruined, and +it is all my fault!" + +"How dare you find a defect in my appearance?" says Mona, with her old +gay laugh. "You compel me to retaliate. Just look at yourself. Did you +ever see such a regular pickle as you are?" + +In truth he is. So when he has acknowledged the melancholy fact, they +both laugh, with the happy enjoyment of youth, at their own +discomfiture, and go back to the cottage good friends once more. + +On the middle of the rustic bridge before mentioned he stops her, to +say, unexpectedly,-- + +"Do you know by what name I shall always call you in my thoughts?" + +To which she answers, "No. How should I? But tell me." + +"'Bonnie Lesley:' the poet says of her what I think of you." + +"And what do you think of me?" She has grown a little pale, but her eyes +have not left his. + + "To see her is to love her, + And love but her forever; + For nature made her what she is, + And ne'er made sie anither," + +quotes Geoffrey, in a low tone, that has something in it almost +startling, so full is it of deep and earnest feeling. + +Mona is the first to recover herself. + +"That is a pretty verse," she says, quietly. "But I do not know the +poem. I should like to read it." + +Her tone, gentle but dignified, steadies him. + +"I have the book that contains it at Coolnagurtheen," he says, somewhat +subdued. "Shall I bring it to you?" + +"Yes. You may bring it to me--to-morrow," returns she, with the +faintest hesitation, which but enhances the value of the permission, +whereon his heart once more knows hope and content. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER A CABIN AND SEE ONE OF THE RESULTS OF +PARNELL'S ELOQUENCE. + + +But when to-morrow comes it brings to him a very different Mona from the +one he saw yesterday. A pale girl, with great large sombrous eyes and +compressed lips, meets him, and places her hand in his without a word. + +"What is it?" asks he, quick to notice any change in her. + +"Oh! haven't you heard?" cries she. "Sure the country is ringing with +it. Don't you know that they tried to shoot Mr. Moore last night?" + +Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind +Mangle Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday. + +"Yes, of course; but I heard, too, how he escaped his would-be +assassin." + +"He did, yes; but poor Tim Maloney, the driver of the car on which he +was, he was shot through the heart, instead of him! Oh, Mr. Rodney," +cries the girl, passionate emotion both in her face and voice, "what can +be said of those men who come down to quiet places such as this was, to +inflame the minds of poor ignorant wretches, until they are driven to +bring down murder on their souls! It is cruel! It is unjust! And there +seems no help for us. But surely in the land where justice reigns +supreme, retribution will fall upon the right heads." + +"I quite forgot about the driver," says Geoffrey, beneath his breath. +This remark is unfortunate. Mona turns upon him wrathfully. + +"No doubt," she says scornfully. "The gentleman escaped, the man doesn't +count! Perhaps, indeed, he has fulfilled his mission now he has shed his +ignoble blood for his superior! Do you know it is partly such thoughts +as these that have driven our people to desperation! One law for the +poor, another for the rich! Friendship for the great, contempt for the +needy." + +She pauses, catching her breath with a little sob. + +"Who is uttering seditious language now?" asks he, reproachfully. "No, +you wrong me. I had, indeed, forgotten for the moment all about that +unfortunate driver. You must remember I am a stranger here. The peasants +are unknown to me. I cannot be expected to feel a keen interest in each +one individually. In fact, had Mr. Moore been killed instead of poor +Maloney, I shouldn't have felt it a bit the more, though he was the +master and the other the man. I can only suffer with those I know and +love." + +The "poor Maloney" has done it. She forgives him; perhaps because--sweet +soul--harshness is always far from her. + +"It is true," she says, sadly. "I spoke in haste because my heart is +sore for my country, and I fear for what we may yet live to see. But of +course I could not expect you to feel with me." + +This cuts him to the heart. + +"I do feel with you," he says, hastily. "Do not believe otherwise." +Then, as though impelled to it, he says in a low tone, though very +distinctly, "I would gladly make your griefs mine, if you would make my +joys yours." + +This is a handsome offer, all things considered, but Mona turns a deaf +ear to it. She is standing on her door-step at this moment, and now +descends until she reaches the tiny gravelled path. + +"Where are you going?" asks Rodney, afraid lest his last speech has +offended her. She has her hat on,--a big Gainsborough hat, round which +soft Indian muslin is clinging, and in which she looks nothing less than +adorable. + +"To see poor Kitty Maloney, his widow. Last year she was my servant. +This year she married; and now--here is the end of everything--for her." + +"May I go with you?" asks he, anxiously. "These are lawless times, and I +dare say Maloney's cabin will be full of roughs. You will feel happier +with some man beside you whom you can trust." + +At the word "trust" she lifts her eyes and regards him somewhat +steadfastly. It is a short look, yet a very long one, and tells more +than she knows. Even while it lasts he swears to himself an oath that he +never to his life's end breaks. + +"Come, then," she says, slowly, "if you will. Though I am not afraid. +Why should I be? Do you forget that I am one of themselves? My father +and I belong to the people." + +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. + +Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together some yards from the +cabin, whispering and gesticulating violently, as is "their nature to." + +The man, seeing Mona, breaks from the woman, and comes up to her. + +"Go back again, miss," he says, with much excitement. "They've brought +him home, an' he's bad to look at. I've seed him, an' it's given me a +turn I won't forget in a hurry. Go home, I tell ye. 'Tis a sight not fit +for the eyes of the likes of you." + +"Is he there?" asks Mona, pointing with trembling fingers to the house. + +"Ay, where else?" answers the woman, sullenly who has joined them. "They +brought him back to the home he will never rouse again with step or +voice. 'Tis cold he is, an' silent this day." + +"Is--is he covered?" murmurs Mona, with difficulty, growing pale, and +shrinking backwards. Instinctively she lays her hand on Rodney's arm, as +though desirous of support. He, laying his own hand upon hers, holds it +in a warm and comforting clasp. + +"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. + +"Go back the way ye came," says the man again, with growing excitement. +"This is no place for ye. There is ill luck in yonder house. His soul +won't rest in peace, sent out of him like that. If ye go in now, ye'll +be sorry for it. 'Tis a thing ye'll be thinkin' an' dhramin' of till +you'll be wishin' the life out of yer cursed body!" + +A little foam has gathered round his lips, and his eyes are wild. +Geoffrey, by a slight movement, puts himself between Mona and this man, +who is evidently besides himself with some inward fear and horror. + +"What are ye talkin' about? Get out, ye spalpeen," says the woman, with +an outward show of anger, but a warning frown meant for the man alone. +"Let her do as she likes. Is it spakin' of fear ye are to Dan Scully's +daughter?" + +"Come home, Mona; be advised by me," says Geoffrey, gently, as the man +skulks away, walking in a shambling, uncertain fashion, and with a +curious trick of looking every now and then over his shoulder, as though +expecting to see an unwelcome follower. + +"No, no; this is not a time to forsake one in trouble," says Mona, +faithfully, but with a long, shivering sigh. "I need see nothing, but I +_must_ speak to Kitty." + +She walks deliberately forward and enters the cabin, Geoffrey closely +following her. + +A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is +a large room (if so it can be called), possessed of no flooring but the +bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a +huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, +emitting the strong aromatic perfume that belongs to it. Near it +crouches an old woman with her blue-checked apron thrown above her head, +who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn +breath--that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a +desert shore--brings her old withered palms together with a gesture +indicative of despair. + +Opposite to her is a pig, sitting quite erect, and staring at her +blankly, without the slightest regard to etiquette or nice feeling. He +is plainly full of anxiety, yet without power to express it, except in +so far as his tail may aid him, which is limp and prostrate, its very +curl being a thing of the past. If any man has impugned the sagacity of +pigs, that man has erred! + +In the background partly hidden by the gathering gloom, some fifteen +men, and one or two women, are all huddled together, whispering eagerly, +with their faces almost touching. The women, though in a great +minority, are plainly having the best of it. + +But Mona's eyes see nothing but one object only. + +On the right side of the fireplace, lying along the wall, is a rude +stretcher,--or what appears to be such,--on which, shrouded decently in +a white cloth, lies something that chills with mortal fear the heart, as +it reminds it of that to which we all some day must come. Beneath the +shroud the murdered man lies calmly sleeping, his face smitten into the +marble smile of death. + +Quite near to the poor corpse, a woman sits, young, apparently, and with +a handsome figure, though now it is bent and bowed with grief. She is +dressed in the ordinary garb of the Irish peasant, with a short gown +well tucked up, naked feet, and the sleeves of her dress pushed upwards +until they almost reach the shoulder, showing the shapely arm and the +small hand that, as a rule, belong to the daughters of Erin and betray +the existence of the Spanish blood that in days gone by mingled with +theirs. + +Her face is hidden; it is lying on her arms, and they are cast, in the +utter recklessness and abandonment of her grief, across the feet of him +who, only yesterday, had been her "man,"--her pride and her delight. + +Just as Mona crosses the threshold, a man, stepping from among the group +that lies in shadow, approaching the stretcher, puts forth his hand, as +though he would lift the sheet and look upon what it so carefully +conceals. But the woman, springing like a tigress to her feet, turns +upon him, and waves him back with an imperious gesture. + +"Lave him alone!" cries she; "take yer hands off him! He's dead, as ye +well know, the whole of ye. There's no more ye can do to him. Then lave +his poor body to the woman whose heart is broke for the want of him!" + +The man draws back hurriedly, and the woman once more sinks back into +her forlorn position. + +"Kitty, can I do anything for you?" asks Mona, in a gentle whisper, +bending over her and taking the hand that lies in her lap between both +her own, with a pressure full of gentle sympathy. "I know there is +nothing I can _say_ but can I _do_ nothing to comfort you?" + +"Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly, I know," says the woman, wearily. +"But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. +He's dead, ye see!" + +The inference is full of saddest meaning. Even Geoffrey feels the tears +rise unbidden to his eyes. + +"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, +and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor +cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it. + +Mona, turning, confronts the frightened group in the corner, both men +and women, with a face changed and aged by grief and indignation. + +Her eyes have grown darker; her mouth is stern. To Rodney, who is +watching her anxiously, she seems positively transformed. What a +terrible power lies within her slight frame to feel both good and evil! +What sad days may rest in store for this girl, whose face can whiten at +a passing grievance, and whose hands can tremble at a woe in which only +a dependant is concerned! Both sorrow and joy must be to her as giants, +strong to raise or lower her to highest elevations or lowest depths. + +"Oh, what a day is this!" cries she, with quivering lips. "See the ruin +you have brought upon this home, that only yestermorn was full of life +and gladness! Is this what has come of your Land League, and your Home +Rulers, and your riotous meetings? Where is the soul of this poor man, +who was hurried to his last account without his priest, and without a +prayer for pardon on his lips? And how shall the man who slew him dare +to think on his own soul?" + +No one answers; the very moanings of the old crone in the chimney-corner +are hushed as the clear young voice rings through the house, and then +stops abruptly, as though its owner is overcome with emotion. The men +move back a little, and glance uneasily and with some fear at her from +under their brows. + +"Oh, the shameful thought that all the world should be looking at us +with horror and disgust, as a people too foul for anything but +annihilation! And what is it you hope to gain by all this madness? Do +you believe peace, or a blessing from the holy heavens, could fall and +rest on a soil soaked in blood and red with crime? I tell you no; but +rather a curse will descend, and stay with you, that even Time itself +will be powerless to lift." + +Again she pauses, and one of the men, shuffling his feet nervously, and +with his eyes bent upon the floor, says, in a husky tone,-- + +"Sure, now, you're too hard on us, Miss Mona. We're innocent of it. Our +hands are clean as yer own. We nivir laid eyes on him since yesterday +till this blessed minit. Ye should remember that, miss." + +"I know what you would say; and yet I do denounce you all, both men and +boys,--yes, and the women too,--because, though your own actual hands +may be free of blood, yet knowing the vile assassin who did this deed, +there is not one of you but would extend to him the clasp of +good-fellowship and shield him to the last,--a man who, fearing to meet +another face to face, must needs lie in ambush for him behind a wall, +and shoot his victim without giving him one chance of escape! Mr. Moore +walks through his lands day by day, unprotected and without arms: why +did this man not meet him there, and fight him fairly, to the death, if, +indeed, he felt that for the good of his country he should die! No! +there was danger in that thought," says Mona, scornfully: "it is a safer +thing to crouch out of sight and murder at one's will." + +"Then why does he prosecute the poor? We can't live; yet he won't lower +the rints," says a sullen voice from the background. + +"He did lower them. He, too, must live; and, at all events, no +persecution can excuse murder," says Mona, undaunted. "And who was so +good to you as Mr. Moore last winter, when the famine raged round here? +Was not his house open to you all? Were not many of your children fed by +him? But that is all forgotten now; the words of a few incendiaries have +blotted out the remembrance of years of steady friendship. Gratitude +lies not with you. I, who am one of you, waste my time in speaking. For +a very little matter you would shoot me too, no doubt!" + +This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A +young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,-- + +"I don't think ye have any call to say that to us, Miss Mona. 'Tisn't +fair like, when ye know in yer own heart that we love the very sight of +ye, and the laste sound of yer voice!" + +Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened by this speech, as +might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, +quench the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and +passionate. + +"Perhaps you do," she says, sadly. "And I, too,--you know how dear you +all are to me; and it is just that that makes my heart so sore. But it +is too late to warn. The time is past when words might have availed." + +Turning sorrowfully away, she drops some silver into the poor widow's +lap; whereon Geoffrey, who has been standing close to her all the time, +covers it with two sovereigns. + +"Send down to the Farm, and I will give you some brandy," says Mona to a +woman standing by, after a lengthened gaze at the prostrate form of +Kitty, who makes no sign of life. "She wants it." Laying her hand on +Kitty's shoulder, she shakes her gently. "Rouse yourself," she says, +kindly, yet with energy. "Try to think of something,--anything except +your cruel misfortune." + +"I have only one thought," says the woman, sullenly, "I can't betther +it. An' that is, that it was a bitther day when first I saw the light." + +Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head +despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side. + +For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is +wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking +at her, he discovers she is crying,--bitterly, though quietly. The +reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks. + +"Mona, it has all been too much for you," exclaims he, with deep +concern. + +"Yes, yes; that poor, poor woman! I cannot get her face out of my head. +How forlorn! how hopeless! She has lost all she cared for; there is +nothing to fall back upon. She loved him; and to have him so cruelly +murdered for no crime, and to know that he will never again come in the +door, or sit by her hearth, or light his pipe by her fire,--oh, it is +horrible! It is enough to kill her!" says Mona, somewhat disconnectedly. + +"Time will soften her grief," says Rodney, with an attempt at soothing. +"And she is young; she will marry again, and form new ties." + +"Indeed she will not;" says Mona indignantly. "Irish peasants very +seldom do that. She will, I am sure, be faithful forever to the memory +of the man she loved." + +"Is that the fashion here? If--if you loved a man, would you be faithful +to him forever?" + +"But how could I help it?" says Mona, simply. "Oh, what a wretched state +this country is in! turmoil and strife from morning till night. And yet +to talk to those very people, to mix with them, they seem such +courteous, honest, lovable creatures!" + +"I don't think the gentleman in the flannel jacket, who spoke about the +reduction of 'rints,' looked very lovable," says Mr. Rodney, without a +suspicion of a smile; "and--I suppose my sight is failing--but I confess +I didn't see much courtesy in his eye or his upper lip. I don't think I +ever saw so much upper lip before, and now that I have seen it I don't +admire it. I shouldn't single him out as a companion for a lonely road. +But no doubt I wrong him." + +"Larry Doolin is not a very pleasant person, I acknowledge that," says +Mona, regretfully; "but he is only one among a number. And for the most +part, I maintain, they are both kind and civil. Do you know," with +energy, "after all I believe England is most to blame for all this evil +work? We are at heart loyal: you must agree with me in this, when you +remember how enthusiastically they received the queen when, years ago, +she condescended to pay us a flying visit, never to be repeated. And how +gladly we welcomed the Prince of Wales, and how the other day all +Ireland petted and made much of the Duke of Connaught! I was in Dublin +when he was there; and I know there was no feeling towards him but +loyalty and affection. I am sure," earnestly, "if you asked him he would +tell the same story." + +"I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with +_empressement_. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer +to you." + +"We should be all good subjects enough, if things were on a friendlier +footing," says Mona, too absorbed in her own grievance to notice Mr. +Rodney's suppressed but evident enjoyment of her conversation. "But when +you despise us, you lead us to hate you." + +"I never heard such awful language," says Rodney. "To tell me to my face +that you hate me. Oh, Miss Mona! How have I merited such a speech?" + +"You know what I mean," says Mona, reproachfully. "You needn't pretend +you don't. And it is quite true that England does despise us." + +"What a serious accusation! and one I think slightly unfounded. We don't +despise this beautiful island or its people. We even admit that you +possess a charm to which we can lay no claim. The wit, the verve, the +pure gayety that springs direct from the heart that belongs to you, we +lack. We are a terrible prosy, heavy lot capable of only one idea at a +time. How can you say we despise you?" + +"Yes, you do," says Mona, with a little obstinate shake of her head. +"You call us dirty, for one thing." + +"Well, but is that altogether a falsehood? Pigs and smoke and live fowls +and babies are, I am convinced, good things in their own way and when +well at a distance. But, under the roof with one and in an apartment a +few feet square, I don't think I seem to care about them, and I'm sure +they can't tend towards cleanliness." + +"I admit all that. But how can they help it, when they have no money and +when there are always the dear children? I dare say we are dirty, but so +are other nations, and no one sneers at them as they sneer at us. Are we +dirtier than the canny Scots on whom your queen bestows so much of her +society? Tell me that!" + +There is triumph in her eye, and a malicious sparkle, and just a touch +of rebellion. + +"What a little patriot!" says Rodney, pretending fear and stepping back +from her. "Into what dangerous company have I fallen! And with what an +accent you say '_your_ queen'! Do you then repudiate her? Is she not +yours as well? Do you refuse to acknowledge her?" + +"Why should I? She never comes near us, never takes the least notice of +us. She treats us as though we were a detested branch grafted on, and +causing more trouble than we are worth, yet she will not let us go." + +"I don't wonder at that. If I were the queen I should not let you go +either. And so you throw her over? Unhappy queen! I do not envy her, +although she sits upon so great a throne. I would not be cast off by you +for the wealth of all the Indies." + +"Oh, you are my friend," says Mona, sweetly. Then, returning to the +charge, "Perhaps after all it is not so much her fault as that of +others. Evil counsellors work mischief in all ages." + +"'A Daniel come to judgment!' So sage a speech is wonderful from one so +young. In my opinion, you ought to go into Parliament yourself, and +advocate the great cause. Is it with the present government that you +find fault? + + "A government which, knowing not true wisdom, + Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?" + +says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that +it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it, + + 'A council made of such as dare not speak, + And could not if they durst,' + +because your part of it takes care to make itself heard." + +"How I wish it didn't!" says Mona, with a sigh. + +The tears are still lingering on her lashes; her mouth is sad. Yet at +this instant, even as Geoffrey is gazing at her and wondering how he +shall help to dispel the cloud of sorrow that sits upon her brow, her +whole expression changes. A merry gleam comes into her wet eyes, her +lips widen and lose their lachrymose look, and then suddenly she throws +up her head and breaks into a gay little laugh. + +"Did you see the pig," she says, "sitting up by the fireplace? All +through I couldn't take my eyes off him. He struck me as so comical. +There he sat blinking his small eyes and trying to look sympathetic. I +am convinced he knew all about it. I never saw so solemn a pig." + +She laughs again with fresh delight at her own thought. That pig in the +cabin has come back to her, filling her with amusement. Geoffrey regards +her with puzzled eyes. What a strange temperament is this, where smiles +and tears can mingle! + +"What a curious child you are!" he says, at length. "You are never the +same for two minutes together." + +"Perhaps that is what makes me so nice," retorts Miss Mona, saucily, the +sense of fun still full upon her, making him a small grimace, and +bestowing upon him a bewitching glance from under her long dark lashes, +that lie like shadows on her cheeks. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +HOW MONA BETRAYS WHAT MAKES GEOFFREY JEALOUS, AND HOW AN APPOINTMENT IS +MADE THAT IS ALL MOON-SHINE. + + +"Yes, it certainly is a charm," says Geoffrey slowly "but it puzzles me. +I cannot be gay one moment and sad the next. Tell me how you manage it." + +"I can't, because I don't know myself. It is my nature. However +depressed I may feel at one instant, the next a passing thought may +change my tears into a laugh. Perhaps that is why we are called fickle; +yet it has nothing to do with it: it is a mere peculiarity of +temperament, and a rather merciful gift, for which we should be +grateful, because, though we return again to our troubles, still the +moment or two of forgetfulness soothes us and nerves us for the +conflict. I speak, of course, of only minor sorrows; such a grief as +poor Kitty's admits of no alleviation. It will last for her lifetime." + +"Will it?" says Geoffrey, oddly. + +"Yes. One can understand that," replies she, gravely, not heeding the +closeness of his regard. "Many things affect me curiously," she goes on, +dreamily,--"sad pictures and poetry and the sound of sweet music." + +"Do you sing?" asks he, through mere force of habit, as she pauses. + +"Yes." + +The answer is so downright, so unlike the usual "a little," or "oh, +nothing to signify," or "just when there is nobody else," and so on, +that Geoffrey is rather taken back. + +"I am not a musician," she goes on, evenly, "but some people admire my +singing very much. In Dublin they liked to hear me, when I was with Aunt +Anastasia; and you know a Dublin audience is very critical." + +"But you have no piano?" + +"Yes I have: aunty gave me hers when I was leaving town. It was no use +to her and I loved it. I was at school in Portarlington for nearly three +years, and when I came back from it I didn't care for Anastasia's +friends, and found my only comfort in my music. I am telling you +everything am I not," with a wistful smile, "and perhaps I weary you?" + +"Weary me! no, indeed. That is one of the very few unkind things you +have ever said to me. How could I weary of your voice? Go on; tell me +where you keep this magical piano." + +"In my own room. You have not seen that yet. But it belongs to myself +alone, and I call it my den, because in it I keep everything that I hold +most precious. Some time I will show it to you." + +"Show it to me to-day," says he, with interest. + +"Very well, if you wish." + +"And you will sing me something?" + +"If you like. Are you fond of singing!" + +"Very. But for myself I have no voice worth hearing. I sing, you know, a +little, which is my misfortune, not my fault; don't you think so?" + +"Oh, no; because if you can sing at all--that is correctly, and without +false notes--you must feel music and love it." + +"Well for my part I hate people who sing a little. I always wish it was +even less. I hold that they are a social nuisance, and ought to be put +down by law. My eldest brother Nick sings really very well,--a charming +tenor, you know, good enough to coax the birds off the bushes. He does +all that sort of _dilettante_ business,--paints, and reads tremendously +about things dead and gone, that can't possibly advantage anybody. +Understands old china as well as most people (which isn't saying much), +and I think--but as yet this statement is unsupported--I think he writes +poetry." + +"Does he really?" asks Mona, with eyes wide open. "I am sure if I ever +meet your brother Nick I shall be dreadfully afraid of him." + +"Don't betray me, at all events. He is a touchy sort of fellow, and +mightn't like to think I knew that about him. Jack, my second brother, +sings too. He is coming home from India directly, and is an awfully good +sort, though I think I should rather have old Nick after all." + +"You have two brothers older than you?" asks Mona, meditatively. + +"Yes; I am that most despicable of all things, a third son." + +"I have heard of it. A third son would be poor, of course, and--and +worldly people would not think so much of him as of others. Is that so?" + +She pauses. But for the absurdity of the thing, Mr. Rodney would swear +there is hope in her tone. + +"Your description is graphic," he answers, lightly, "if faintly unkind; +but when is the truth civil? You are right. Younger sons, as a rule, are +not run after. Mammas do not hanker after them, or give them their +reserve smiles, or pull their skirts aside to make room for them upon +small ottomans." + +"That betrays the meanness of the world," says Mona, slowly and with +indignation. "Has not Geoffrey just declared himself to be a younger +son?" + +"Does it? I was bred in a different belief. In my world the mighty do no +wrong; and a third son is nowhere. He is shunted; handed on; if +possible, scotched. The sun is not made for _him_, or the first waltz, +or caviare, or the 'sweet shady side' of anything. In fact, he 'is the +man of no account' with a vengeance!" + +"What a shame!" says Mona, angrily. Then she changes her note, and says, +with a soft, low, mocking laugh, "How I pity you!" + +"Thanks. I shall try to believe you, though your mirth is somewhat out +of place, and has a tendency towards heartlessness." (He is laughing +too.) "Yet there have been instances," goes on Mr. Rodney, still +smiling, while watching her intently, "when maiden aunts have taken a +fancy to third sons, and have died leaving them lots of tin." + +"Eh?" says Mona. + +"Tin,--money," explains he. + +"Oh, I dare say. Yes, sometimes: but--" she hesitates, and this time the +expression of her face cannot be misunderstood: dejection betrays itself +in every line--"but it is not so with you, is it? No aunt has left you +anything?" + +"No,--no aunt," returns Rodney, speaking the solemn truth, yet conveying +a lie: "I have not been blessed with maiden aunts wallowing in coin." + +"So I thought," exclaims Mona, with a cheerful nod, that under other +circumstances should be aggravating, so full of content it is. "At first +I fea--I thought you were rich, but afterwards I guessed it was your +brothers' ground you were shooting over. And Bridget told me, too. She +said you could not be well off, you had so many brothers. But I like you +all the better for that," says Mona, in a tone that actually savors of +protection, slipping her little brown hand through his arm in a kindly, +friendly, lovable fashion. + +"Do you?" says Rodney. He is strangely moved; he speaks quietly, but his +heart is beating quickly, and Cupid's dart sinks deeper in its wound. + +"Is your brother, Mr. Rodney, like you?" asks Mona presently. + +He has never told her that his eldest brother is a baronet. Why he +hardly knows, yet now he does not contradict her when she alludes to him +as Mr. Rodney. Some inward feeling prevents him. Perhaps he understands +instinctively that such knowledge will but widen the breach that already +exists between him and the girl who now walks beside him with a happy +smile upon her flower-like face. + +"No; he is not like me," he says, abruptly: "he is a much better fellow. +He is, besides, tall and rather lanky, with dark eyes and hair. He is +like my father, they tell me; I am like my mother." + +At this Mona turns her gaze secretly upon him. She studies his hair, his +gray eyes, his irregular nose,--that ought to have known better,--and +his handsome mouth, so resolute, yet so tender, that his fair moustache +only half conceals. The world in general acknowledges Mr. Rodney to be a +well-looking young man of ordinary merits, but in Mona's eyes he is +something more than all this; and I believe the word "ordinary," as +applied to him, would sound offensive in her ears. + +"I think I should like your mother," she says, naively and very sweetly, +lifting her eyes steadily to his. "She is handsome, of course; and is +she good as she is beautiful?" + +Flattery goes a long way with most men, but in this instance the subtle +poison touches Mr. Rodney even more than it pleases him. He presses the +hand that rests upon his arm an eighth of an inch nearer to his heart +than it was before, if that be possible. + +"My mother is a real good sort when you know her," he says, evasively; +"but she's rather rough on strangers. However, she is always all there, +you know, so far as manners go, and that." + +Miss Mona looks puzzled. + +"I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where +would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?" + +She says this in such perfect good faith that Mr. Rodney roars with +laughter. + +"Perhaps you may not know it," says he, "but you are simply perfection!" + +"So Mr. Moore says," returns she, smiling. + +Had she put out all her powers of invention with a view to routing him +with slaughter, she could not have been more successful than she is with +this small unpremeditated speech. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, +he could not have betrayed more thorough and complete discomfiture. + +He drops her arm, and looks as though he is prepared to drop her +acquaintance also, at a moment's notice. + +"What has Mr. Moore to do with you?" he asks, haughtily. "Who is he, +that he should so speak to you?" + +"He is our landlord," says Mona, calmly, but with uplifted brows, +stopping short in the middle of the road to regard him with +astonishment. + +"And thinks you perfection?" in an impossible tone, losing both his head +and his temper completely. "He is rich, I suppose; why don't you marry +him?" + +Mona turns pale. + +"To ask the question is a rudeness," she says, steadily, though her +heart is cold and hurt. "Yet I will answer you. In our country, and in +our class," with an amount of inborn pride impossible to translate, "we +do not marry a man because he is 'rich,' or in other words, sell +ourselves for gold." + +Having said this, she turns her back upon him contemptuously, and walks +towards her home. + +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. + +"Forgive me, Mona," he says, with deep entreaty. "I confess my fault. +How could I speak to you as I did! I implore your pardon. Great sinner +as I am, surely I shall not knock for forgiveness at your sweet heart in +vain!" + +"Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him +eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for +Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to +see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as +Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!" + +But that Mr. Rodney is still oppressed with the fear that he has +mortally offended her, he could have laughed out loud at this childish +speech; but anxiety helps him to restrain his mirth. Nevertheless he +feels an unholy joy as he thinks on Mr. Moore's bald pate, his "too, too +solid flesh," and his "many days." + +"Yet he dares to admire you?" is what he does say, after a decided +pause. + +"Sure they all admire me," says Miss Mona, with an exasperating smile, +meant to wither. + +But Mr. Rodney is determined to "have it out with her," as he himself +would say, before consenting to fade away out of her sight. + +"But he wants to marry you. I know he does. Tell me the truth about +that," he says, with flattering vehemence. + +"Certainly I shall not. It would be very mean, and I wonder at you to +ask the question," says Mona, with a great show of virtuous indignation. +"Besides," mischievously, "if you know, there is no necessity to tell +you anything." + +"Yet answer me," persists he, very earnestly. + +"I can't," says Mona; "it would be very unfair; and besides," +petulantly, "it is all too absurd. Why, if Mr. Moore were to ask me to +marry him ten thousand times again, I should never say anything but +'no.'" + +Unconsciously she has betrayed herself. He hears the word "again" with a +strange sinking of the heart. Others, then, are desirous of claiming +this wild flower for their own. + +"Oh, Mona, do you mean that?" he says. But Mona, who is very justly +incensed, declines to answer him with civility. + +"I begin to think our English cousins are not famous for their +veracity," she says, with some scorn. "You seem to doubt every one's +word; or is it mine in particular? Yet I spoke the truth. I do not want +to marry any one." + +Here she turns and looks him full in the face; and something--it may be +in the melancholy of his expression--so amuses her that (laughter being +as natural to her lips as perfume to a flower) she breaks into a sunny +smile, and holds out to him her hand in token of amity. + +"How could you be so absurd about that old Moore?" she says, lightly. +"Why he has got nothing to recommend him except his money; and what +good," with a sigh, "does that do him, unless to get him murdered!" + +"If he is as fat as you say, he will be a good mark for a bullet," says +Mr. Rodney, genially, almost--I am ashamed to say--hopefully. "I should +think they would easily pot him one of these dark night that are coming. +By this time I suppose he feels more like a grouse than a man, +eh?--'I'll die game' should be his motto." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," says Mona, with a shudder. "It +isn't at all nice of you; and especially when you know how miserable I +am about my poor country." + +"It is a pity anything should be said against Ireland," says Rodney, +cleverly; "it is such a lovely little spot." + +"Do you really like it?" asks she, plainly delighted. + +"I should rather think so. Who wouldn't? I went to Glengariffe the other +day, and can hardly fancy anything more lovely than its pure waters, and +its purple hills that lie continued in the depths beneath." + +"I have been there. And at Killarney, but only once, though we live so +near." + +"That has nothing to do with it," says Rodney. "The easier one can get +to a place the more one puts off going. I knew a fellow once, and he +lived all his time in London, and I give you my word he had never seen +the Crystal Palace. With whom did you go to Killarney?" + +"With Lady Mary. She was staying at the castle there; it was last year, +and she asked me to go with her. I was delighted. And it was so +pleasant, and everything so--so like heaven. The lakes are delicious, so +calm, so solitary, so full of thought. Lady Mary is old, but young in +manner, and has read and travelled so much, and she likes me," says +Mona, naively. "And I like her. Do you know her?" + +"Lady Mary Crighton? Yes, I have met her. An old lady with corkscrew +ringlets, patches, and hoops? She is quite _grande dame_, and witty, +like all you Irish people." + +"She is very seldom at home, but I think I like her better than any one +I ever met." + +"Do you?" says Geoffrey, in a tone that means much. + +"Yes,--better than all the women I ever met," corrects Mona, but without +placing the faintest emphasis upon the word "women," which omission +somehow possesses its charm in Rodney's eyes. + +"Well, I shall go and judge of Killarney myself some day," he says, +idly. + +"Oh, yes, you must indeed," says the little enthusiast, brightening. +"It is more than lovely. How I wish I could go with you!" + +She looks at him as she says this, fearlessly, honestly, and without a +suspicion of coquetry. + +"I wish you could!" says Geoffrey from his heart. + +"Well, I can't, you know," with a sigh. "But no matter: you will enjoy +the scenery even more by yourself." + +"I don't think I shall," says Geoffrey, in a low tone. + +"Well, we have both seen the bay," says Mona, cheerfully,--"Bantry Bay I +mean: so we can talk about that. Yet indeed"--seriously--"you cannot be +said to have seen it properly, as it is only by moonlight its full +beauty can be appreciated. Then, with its light waves sparkling beneath +the gleam of the stars, and the moon throwing a path across it that +seems to go on and on, until it reaches heaven, it is more satisfying +than a happy dream. Do you see that hill up yonder?" pointing to an +elevation about a mile distant: "there I sometimes sit when the moon is +full, and watch the bay below. There is a lovely view from that spot." + +"I wish I could see it!" says Geoffrey, longingly. + +"Well so you can," returns she, kindly. "Any night when there is a good +moon come to me and I will go with you to Carrickdhuve--that is the name +of the hill--and show you the bay." + +She looks at him quite calmly, as one might who sees nothing in the fact +of accompanying a young man to the top of a high mountain after +nightfall. And in truth she does see nothing in it. If he wishes to see +the bay she loves so well, of course he must see it; and who so +competent to point out to him all its beauties as herself? + +"I wonder when the moon will be full," says Geoffrey, making this +ordinary remark in an everyday tone that does him credit, and speaks +well for his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, as well as for his +power of discerning character. He makes no well-turned speeches about +the bay being even more enchanting under such circumstances, or any +orthodox compliment that might have pleased a woman versed in the +world's ways. + +"We must see," says Mona, thoughtfully. + +They have reached the farm again by this time, and Geoffrey, taking up +the guns he had left behind the hall door,--or what old Scully is +pleased to call the front door in contradistinction to the back door, +through which he is in the habit of making his exits and +entrances,--holds out his hand to bid her good-by. + +"Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, +"while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty." + +It strikes Geoffrey as part of the innate sweetness and genuineness of +her disposition that, after all the many changes of thought that have +passed through her brain on their return journey, her first concern on +entering her own doors is for the poor unhappy creature in the cabin up +yonder. + +"Don't be long," he says, impulsively, as she disappears down a passage. + +"I won't, then. Sure you can live alone with yourself for one minute," +returns she, in very fine Irish; and, with a parting smile, sweet as +nectar and far more dangerous, she goes. + +When she is gone, Geoffrey walks impatiently up and down the small hall, +conflicting emotions robbing him of the serenity that usually attends +his footsteps. He is happy, yet full of a secret gnawing uneasiness that +weighs upon him daily, hourly. Near Mona--when in her presence--a +gladness that amounts almost to perfect happiness is his; apart from her +is unrest. Love, although he is but just awakening to the fact, has laid +his chubby hands upon him, and now holds him in thrall; so that no +longer for him is that most desirable thing content,--which means +indifference. Rather is he melancholy now and then, and inclined to look +on life apart from Mona as a doubtful good. + +For what, after all, is love, but + + "A madness most discreet, + A choking gall, and a preserving sweet?" + +There are, too, dispassionate periods, when he questions the wisdom of +giving his heart to a girl lowly born as Mona undoubtedly is, at least +on her father's side. And, indeed, the little drop of blue blood +inherited from her mother is so faint in hue as to be scarcely +recognizable by those inclined to cavil. + +And these he knows will be many: there would be first his mother, and +then Nick, with a silent tongue but brows uplifted, and after them +Violet, who in the home circle is regarded as Geoffrey's "affinerty," +and who last year was asked to Rodney Towers for the express purpose +(though she knew it not) of laying siege to his heart and bestowing upon +him in return her hand and--fortune. To do Lady Rodney justice, she was +never blind to the fortune! + +Yet Violet, with her pretty, slow, _trainante_ voice and perfect manner, +and small pale attractive face, and great eyes that seem too earnest for +the fragile body to which they belong, is as naught before Mona, whose +beauty is strong and undeniable, and whose charm lies as much in inward +grace as in outward loveliness. + +Though uncertain that she regards him with any feeling stronger than +that of friendliness (because of the strange coldness that she at times +affects, dreading perhaps lest he shall see too quickly into her tender +heart), yet instinctively he knows that he is welcome in her sight, and +that "the day grows brighter for his coming." Still, at times this +strange coldness puzzles him, not understanding that + + "No lesse was she in secret heart affected, + But that she masked it in modestie, + For feare she should of lightnesse be detected." + +For many days he had not known "that his heart was darkened with her +shadow." Only yesterday he might perhaps have denied his love for her, +so strange, so uncertain, so undreamt of, is the dawning of a first +great attachment. One looks upon the object that attracts, and finds the +deepest joy in looking, yet hardly realizes the great truth that she has +become part of one's being, not to be eradicated until death or change +come to the rescue. + +Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly--and certainly more tenderly--than +any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when +he says,-- + + "The first sound in the song of love + Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. + Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings + Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, + And play the prelude of our fate." + +For Geoffrey the prelude has been played, and now at last he knows it. +Up and down the little hall he paces, his hands behind his back, as his +wont when deep in day-dreams, and asks himself many a question hitherto +unthought of. Can he--shall he--go farther in this matter? Then this +thought presses to the front beyond all others:--"Does she--will +she--ever love me?" + +"Now, hurry, Bridget," says Mona's low soft voice,--that "excellent +thing in woman." "Don't be any time. Just give that to Kitty, and say +one prayer, and be back in ten minutes." + +"Law, Miss Mona, ye needn't tell me; sure I'm flyin' I'll be there an' +back before ye'll know I'm gone." This from the agile Biddy, as +(exhilarated with the knowledge that she is going to see a corpse) she +rushes up the road. + +"Now come and see my own room," says Mona, going up to Rodney, and, +slipping her hand into his in a little trustful fashion that is one of +her many, loving ways, she leads him along the hall to a door opposite +the kitchen. This she opens, and with conscious pride draws him after +her across its threshold. So holding him, she might at this moment have +drawn him to the world's end,--wherever that may be! + +It is a very curious little room they enter,--yet pretty, withal, and +suggestive of care and affection, and certainly not one to be laughed +at. Each object that meets the view seems replete with pleasurable +memory,--seems part of its gentle mistress. There are two windows, +small, and with diamond panes like the parlor, and in the far end is a +piano. There are books, and some ornaments, and a huge bowl of +sweetly-smelling flowers on the centre-table, and a bracket or two +against the walls. Some loose music is lying on a chair. + +"Now I am here, you will sing me something," says Geoffrey, presently. + +"I wonder what kind of songs you like best," says Mona, dreamily, +letting her fingers run noiselessly over the keys of the Collard. "If +you are like me, you like sad ones." + +"Then I am like you?" returns he, quickly. + +"Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and +forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all +her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and +then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and +looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work. + +"You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has +finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a +question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. +And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me +one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you." + +"I am not going to suffer," says Mona, lightly. "Sorrow only falls on +every second generation; and you know poor mother was very unhappy at +one time: therefore I am free. You will call that superstition, but," +with a grave shake of her head, "it is quite true." + +"I hope it is," says Geoffrey; "though, taking your words for gospel, it +rather puts me out in the cold. My mother seems to have had rather a +good time all through, devoid of anything that might be termed trouble." + +"But she lost her husband," says Mona, gently. + +"Well, she did. I don't remember about that, you know. I was quite a +little chap, and hustled out of sight if I said 'boo.' But of course +she's got over all that, and is as jolly as a sand-boy now," says +Geoffrey, gayly. (If only Lady Rodney could have heard him comparing her +to a "sand-boy"!) + +"Poor thing!" says Mona, sympathetically, which sympathy, by the by, is +utterly misplaced, as Lady Rodney thought her husband, if anything, an +old bore, and three months after his death confessed to herself that she +was very glad he was no more. + +"Where do you get your music?" asks Geoffrey, idly, wondering how +"London Bridge" has found its way to this isolated spot, as he thinks of +the shops in the pretty village near, where Molloy and Adams, and their +attendant sprite called Weatherley, are unknown. + +"The boys send it to me. Anything new that comes out, or anything they +think will suit my voice, they post to me at once." + +"The boys!" repeats he, mystified. + +"Yes, the students, I mean. When with aunty in Dublin I knew ever so +many of them, and they were very fond of me." + +"I dare say," says Mr. Rodney, with rising ire. + +"Jack Foster and Terry O'Brien write to me very often," goes on Mona, +unconsciously. "And indeed they all do occasionally, at Christmas, you +know, and Easter and Midsummer, just to ask me how I am, and to tell me +how they have got through their exams. But it is Jack and Terry, for the +most part, who send me the music." + +"It is very kind of them, I'm sure," says Geoffrey, unreasonably +jealous, as, could he only have seen the said Terry's shock head of red +hair, his fears of rivalry would forever have been laid at rest. "But +they are favored friends. You can take presents from them, and yet the +other day when I asked you if you would like a little gold chain to hang +to your mother's watch, you answered me 'that you did not require it' in +such a tone as actually froze me and made me feel I had said something +unpardonably impertinent." + +"Oh, no," says Mona, shocked at this interpretation of her manner. "I +did not mean all that; only I really did not require it; at +least"--truthfully--"not _much_. And, besides, a song is not like a gold +chain; and you are quite different from them; and besides, +again,"--growing slightly confused, yet with a last remnant of +courage,--"there is no reason why you should give me anything. Shall +I"--hurriedly--"sing something else for you?" + +And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that +awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice +rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely +melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and +pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a +"p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her +heart dictates. + +When she has finished, Geoffrey says "thank you" in a low tone. He is +thinking of the last time when some one else sang to him, and of how +different the whole scene was from this. It was at the Towers, and the +hour with its dying daylight, rises before him. The subdued light of the +summer eve, the open window, the perfume of the drowsy flowers, the girl +at the piano with her small drooping head and her perfectly trained and +very pretty voice, the room, the soft silence, his mother leaning back +in her crimson velvet chair, beating time to the music with her long +jewelled, fingers,--all is remembered. + +It was in the boudoir they were sitting, and Violet was dressed in some +soft gray dress that shone and turned into palest pearl as she moved. It +was his mother's boudoir, the room she most affects, with its crimson +and gray coloring and its artistic arrangements, that blend so +harmoniously, and are so tremendously becoming to the complexion when +the blinds are lowered. How pretty Mona would look in a gray and crimson +room? how---- + +"What are you thinking of?" asks Mona, softly, breaking in upon his +soliloquy. + +"Of the last time I heard any one sing," returns he, slowly. "I was +comparing that singer very unfavorably with you. Your voice is so unlike +what one usually hears in drawing-rooms." + +He means highest praise. She accepts his words as a kind rebuke. + +"Is that a compliment?" she says, wistfully. "Is it well to be unlike +all the world? Yet what you say is true, no doubt. I suppose I am +different from--from all the other people you know." + +This is half a question; and Geoffrey, answering it from his heart, +sinks even deeper into the mire. + +"You are indeed," he says, in a tone so grateful that it ought to have +betrayed to her his meaning. But grief and disappointment have seized +upon her. + +"Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen +upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that--that last singer?" she +asks, in a subdued voice. + +"At home," returns he. He is gazing out of the window, with his hands +clasped behind his back, and does not pay so much attention to her words +as is his wont. + +"Is your home very beautiful?" asks she, timidly, looking at him the +more earnestly in that he seems rapt in contemplation of the valley that +spreads itself before him. + +"Yes, very beautiful," he answers, thinking of the stately oaks and aged +elms and branching beeches that go so far to make up the glory of the +ivied Towers. + +"How paltry this country must appear in comparison with your own!" goes +on the girl, longing for a contradiction, and staring at her little +brown hands, the fingers of which are twining and intertwining nervously +with one another, "How glad you will be to get back to your own home!" + +"Yes, very glad," returns he, hardly knowing what he says. He has gone +back again to his first thoughts,--his mother's boudoir, with its old +china, and its choice water-colors that line the walls, and its delicate +Italian statuettes. In his own home--which is situated about fourteen +miles from the Towers, and which is rather out of repair through years +of disuse--there are many rooms. He is busy now trying to remember them, +and to decide which of them would look best decked out in crimson and +gray, or blue and silver: he hardly knows which would suit her best. +Perhaps, after all---- + +"How strange it is!" says Mona's voice, that has now a faint shade of +sadness in it. "How people come and go in one's lives, like the waves of +the restless sea, now breaking at one's feet, now receding, now----" + +"Only to return," interrupts he, quickly. "And--to break at your feet? +to break one's heart, do you mean? I do not like your simile." + +"You jest," says Mona, full of calm reproach. "I mean how strangely +people fall into one's lives and then out again!" She hesitates. Perhaps +something in his face warns her, perhaps it is the weariness of her own +voice that frightens her, but at this moment her whole expression +changes, and a laugh, forced but apparently full of gayety, comes from +her lips. It is very well done indeed, yet to any one but a jealous +lover her eyes would betray her. The usual softness is gone from them, +and only a well-suppressed grief and a pride that cannot be suppressed +take its place. + +"Why should they fall out again?" says Rodney, a little angrily, hearing +only her careless laugh, and--man-like--ignoring stupidly the pain in +her lovely eyes. "Unless people choose to forget." + +"One may choose to forget, but one may not be able to accomplish it. To +forget or to remember is not in one's own power." + +"That is what fickle people say. But what one feels one remembers." + +"That is true, for a time, with some. _Forever_ with others." + +"Are you one of the others?" + +She makes him no answer. + +"Are _you_?" she says, at length, after a long silence. + +"I think so, Mona. There is one thing I shall never get." + +"Many things, I dare say," she says, nervously, turning from him. + +"Why do you speak of people dropping out of your life?" + +"Because, of course, you will, you must. Your world is not mine." + +"You could make it yours." + +"I do not understand," she says, very proudly, throwing up her head with +a charming gesture. "And, talking of forgetfulness, do you know what +hour it is?" + +"You evidently want to get rid of me," says Rodney, discouraged, taking +up his hat. He takes up her hand, too, and holds it warmly, and looks +long and earnestly into her face. + +"By the by," he says, once more restored to something like hope, as he +notes her drooping lids and changing color and how she hides from his +searching gaze her dark, blue, Irish eyes, that, as somebody has so +cleverly expressed it, seem "rubbed into her head with a dirty finger," +so marked lie the shadows beneath them, that enhance and heighten their +beauty,--"by the by, you told me you had a miniature of your mother in +your desk, and you promised to show it to me." He merely says this with +a view to gaining more time, and not from any overwhelming desire to see +the late Mrs. Scully. + +"It is here," says Mona, rather pleased at his remembering this promise +of hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to open a secret drawer, in +which lies the picture in question. + +It is a very handsome picture, and Geoffrey duly admires it; then it is +returned to its place, and Mona, opening the drawer next to it, shows +him some exquisite ferns dried and gummed on paper. + +"What a clever child you are!" says Geoffrey, with genuine admiration. +"And what is here?" laying his hand on the third drawer. + +"Oh, do not open that--do not!" says Mona, hastily, in an agony of fear, +to judge by her eyes, laying a deterring hand upon his arm. + +"And why not this or any other drawer?" says Rodney, growing pale. Again +jealousy, which is a demon, rises in his breast, and thrusts out all +gentler feelings. Her allusion to Mr. Moore, most innocently spoken, +and, later on, her reference to the students, have served to heighten +within him angry suspicion. + +"Do not!" says Mona, again, as though fresh words are impossible to her, +drawing her breath quickly. Her evident agitation incenses him to the +last degree. Opening the drawer impulsively, he gazes at its contents. + +Only a little withered bunch of heather, tied by a blade of grass! +Nothing more! + +Rodney's heart throbs with passionate relief, yet shame covers him; for +he himself, one day, had given her that heather, tied, as he remembers, +with that selfsame grass; and she, poor child, had kept it ever since. +She had treasured it, and laid it aside, apart from all other objects, +among her most sacred possessions, as a thing beloved and full of tender +memories; and his had been the hand to ruthlessly lay bare this hidden +secret of her soul. + +He is overcome with contrition, and would perhaps have said something +betraying his scorn of himself, but she prevents him. + +"Yes," she says, with cheeks colored to a rich carmine, and flashing +eyes, and lips that quiver in spite of all her efforts at control, "that +is the bit of heather you gave me, and that is the grass that tied it. I +kept it because it reminded me of a day when I was happy. Now," +bitterly, "I no longer care for it: for the future it can only bring +back to me an hour when I was grieved and wounded." + +Taking up the hapless heather, she throws it on the ground, and, in a +fit of childish spleen, lays her foot upon it and tramples it out of all +recognition. Yet, even as she does so, the tears gather in her eyes, +and, resting there unshed, transfigure her into a lovely picture that +might well be termed "Beauty in Distress." For this faded flower she +grieves, as though it were, indeed, a living thing that she has lost. + +"Go!" she says, in a choked voice, and with a little passionate sob, +pointing to the door. "You have done mischief enough." Her gesture is at +once imperious and dignified. Then in a softer voice, that tells of +sorrow, and with a deep sigh, "At least," she says, "I believed in your +honor!" + +The reproach is terrible, and cuts him to the heart. He picks up the +poor little bruised flower, and holds it tenderly in his hand. + +"How can I go," he says, without daring to look at her, "until, at +least, I _ask_ for forgiveness?" He feels more nervous, more crushed in +the presence of this little wounded Irish girl with her pride and her +grief, than he has ever felt in the presence of an offended fashionable +beauty full of airs and caprices. "Mona, love makes one cruel: I ask you +to remember that, because it is my only excuse," he says, warmly. "Don't +condemn me altogether; but forgive me once more." + +"I am always forgiving you, it seems to me," says Mona, coldly, turning +from him with a frown. "And as for that heather," facing him again, with +eyes shamed but wrathful, "I just kept it because--because--oh, because +I didn't like to throw it away! That was all!" + +Her meaning, in spite of her, is clear; but Geoffrey doesn't dare so +much as to think about it. Yet in his heart he knows that he is glad +because of her words. + +"You mustn't think I supposed you kept it for any other purpose," he +says, quite solemnly, and in such a depressed tone that Mona almost +feels sorry for him. + +He has so far recovered his courage that he has taken her hand, and is +now holding it in a close grasp; and Mona, though a little frown still +lingers on her low, broad forehead, lets her hand so lie without a +censure. + +"Mona, _do_ be friends with me," he says at last, desperately, driven to +simplicity of language through his very misery. There is a humility in +this speech that pleases her. + +"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was +foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't +signify, not in the least. But--but," the blood mounting to her brow, +"if ever you speak of it again,--if ever you even _mention_ the word +'heather,'--I shall _hate you_!" + +"That word shall never pass my lips again in your company,--never, I +swear!" says he, "until you give me leave. My darling," in a low tone, +"if you could only know how vexed I am about the whole affair, and my +unpardonable conduct! Yet, Mona, I will not hide from you that this +little bit of senseless heather has made me happier than I have ever +been before." + +Stooping, he presses his lips to her hand for the first time. The caress +is long and fervent. + +"Say I am quite forgiven," he pleads, earnestly, his eyes on hers. + +"Yes. I forgive you," she says, almost in a whisper, with a seriousness +that amounts to solemnity. + +Still holding her hand, as though loath to quit it, he moves towards the +door; but before reaching it she slips away from him, and says "Good-by" +rather coldly. + +"When am I to see you again?" says Rodney, anxiously. + +"Oh not for ever so long," returns she, with much and heartless +unconcern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Certainly not until Friday," she +goes on, carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his spirits once more rise +into the seventh heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or perhaps some day +next week," she says, unkindly. + +"If on Friday night there is a good moon," says Rodney, boldly, "will +you take me, as you promised, to see the Bay?" + +"Yes, if it is fine," says Mona, after a faint hesitation. + +Then she accompanies him to the door, but gravely, and not with her +accustomed gayety. Standing on the door-step he looks at her, and, as +though impelled to ask the question because of her extreme stillness, he +says, "Of what are you thinking?" + +"I am thinking that the man we saw before going into Kitty's cabin is +the murderer!" she says, with a strong shudder. + +"I thought so all along," says Geoffrey, gravely. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +HOW THE MYSTIC MOONBEAMS THROW THEIR RAYS ON MONA; AND HOW GEOFFREY, +JEALOUS OF THEIR ADMIRATION, DESIRES TO CLAIM HER AS HIS OWN. + + +Friday is fine, and towards nightfall grows still milder, until it seems +that even in the dawn of October a summer's night may be born. + +The stars are coming out one by one,--slowly, tranquilly, as though +haste has got no part with them. The heavens are clothed in azure. A +single star, that sits apart from all the rest, is twinkling and +gleaming in its blue nest, now throwing out a pale emerald ray, now a +blood-red fire, and anon a touch of opal, faint and shadowy, yet more +lovely in its vagueness than all the rest, until verily it resembles "a +diamond in the sky." + +Geoffrey coming to the farm somewhat early in the evening, Mona takes +him round to the yard, where two dogs, hitherto unseen by Geoffrey, lie +chained. They are two splendid bloodhounds, that, as she approaches, +rise to their feet, and, lifting their massive heads, throw out into the +night-air a deep hollow bay that bespeaks welcome. + +"What lovely creatures!" says Geoffrey, who has a passion for animals: +they seem to acknowledge him as a friend. As Mona looses them from their +den, they go to him, and, sniffing round him, at last open their great +jaws into a satisfied yawn, and, raising themselves, rest their paws +upon his breast and rub their faces contentedly against his. + +"Now you are their friend forever," says Mona, in a pleased tone. "Once +they do that, they mean to tell you they have adopted you. And they like +very few people: so it is a compliment." + +"I feel it keenly," says Rodney, caressing the handsome creatures as +they crouch at his feet. "Where did you get them?" + +"From Mr. Moore." A mischievous light comes into her face as she says +this, and she laughs aloud. "But, I assure you, not as a love-token. He +gave them to me when they were quite babies, and I reared them myself. +Are they not lovely? I call them? 'Spice' and 'Allspice,' because one +has a quicker temper than the other." + +"The names are original, at all events," says Geoffrey,--"which is a +great charm. One gets so tired of 'Rags and Tatters,' 'Beer and +Skittles,' 'Cakes and Ale,' and so forth, where pairs are in question, +whether they be dogs or ponies." + +"Shall we set out now?" says Mona; and she calls "Mickey, Mickey," at +the top of her strong young lungs. + +The man who manages the farm generally--and is a plague and a blessing +at the same time to his master--appears round a corner, and declares, +respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, +if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit." + +And in truth the "claning" occupies a very short period,--or else Mona +and Geoffrey heed not the parting moments. For sometimes + + "Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, + Unsoiled and swift, and of a silken sound." + +"I'm ready now, miss, if you are," says Mickey from the background, with +the utmost _bonhommie_, and in a tone that implies he is quite willing +not to be ready, if it so pleases her, for another five minutes or so, +or even, if necessary, to efface himself altogether. He is a stalwart +young Hibernian, with rough hair and an honest face, and gray eyes, +merry and cunning, and so many freckles that he looks like a turkey-egg. + +"Oh, yes, I am quite ready," says Mona, starting somewhat guiltily. And +then they pass out through the big yard-gate, with the two dogs at their +heels, and their attendant squire, who brings up the rear with a soft +whistle that rings through the cool night-air and tells the listening +stars that the "girl he loves is his dear," and his "own, his artless +Nora Creana." + +Geoffrey and Mona go up the road with the serenader behind them, and, +turning aside, she guiding, mount a stile, and, striking across a field, +make straight for the high hill that conceals the ocean from the farm. +Over many fields they travel, until at length they reach the mountain's +summit and gaze down upon the beauteous scene below. + +The very air is still. There is no sound, no motion, save the coming and +going of their own breath as it rises quickly from their hearts, filled +full of passionate admiration for the loveliness before them. + +From the high hill on which they stand, steep rocks descend until they +touch the water's edge, which lies sleeping beneath them, lulled into +slumber by the tranquil moon as she comes forth "from the slow opening +curtains of the clouds." + +Far down below lies the bay, calm and placid. Not a ripple, not a sigh +comes to disturb its serenity or mar the perfect beauty of the silver +pathway thrown so lightly upon it by the queen of heaven. It falls there +so clear, so unbroken, that almost one might deem it possible to step +upon it, and so walk onwards to the sky that melts into it on the far +horizon. + +The whole firmament is of a soft azure, flecked here and there with +snowy clouds tipped with palest gray. A little cloud--the tenderest veil +of mist--hangs between earth and sky. + + "The moon is up; it is the dawn of night; + Stands by her side one bold, bright, steady star, + Star of her heart. + Mother of stars! the heavens look up to thee." + +Mona is looking up to it now, with a rapt, pensive gaze, her great blue +eyes gleaming beneath its light. She is sitting upon the side of the +hill, with her hands clasped about her knees, a thoughtful expression on +her lovely face. At each side of her, sitting bolt upright on their huge +haunches, are the dogs, as though bent on guarding her against all +evil. + +Geoffrey, although in reality deeply impressed by the grandeur of all +the surroundings, yet cannot keep his eyes from Mona's face, her pretty +attitude, her two mighty defenders. She reminds him in some wise of Una +and the lion, though the idea is rather far-fetched; and he hardly dares +speak to her, lest he shall break the spell that seems to lie upon her. + +She herself destroys it presently. + +"Do you like it?" she asks, gently, bringing her gaze back from the +glowing heavens, to the earth, which is even more beautiful. + +"The praise I heard of it, though great, was too faint," he answers her, +with such extreme sincerity in his tone as touches and gladdens the +heart of the little patriot at his feet. She smiles contentedly, and +turns her eyes once more with lazy delight upon the sea, where each +little point and rock is warmed with heavenly light. She nods softly to +herself, but says nothing. + +To her there is nothing strange or new, either in the hour or the place. +Often does she come here in the moonlight with her faithful attendant +and her two dogs, to sit and dream away a long sweet hour brimful of +purest joy, whilst drinking in the plaintive charm that Nature as a rule +flings over her choicest paintings. + +To him, however, all is different; and the hour is fraught with a +tremulous joy, and with a vague sweet longing that means love as yet +untold. + +"This spot always brings to my mind the thoughts of other people," says +Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poetry: are you?" + +"Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed +in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?" + +"I have read so few," she says, wistfully, and with hesitation. Then, +shyly, "I have so few to read. I have a Longfellow, and a Shakspeare, +and a Byron: that is all." + +"Byron?" + +"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do +you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?" + +"I think I like no poet half so well. You mistake me," replies he, +ashamed of his own surprise at her preference for his lordship beneath +the calm purity of her eyes. "But--only--it seemed to me Longfellow +would be more suited to you." + +"Well, so I do love him. And just then it was of him I was thinking: +when I looked up to the sky his words came back to me. You remember what +he says about the moon rising 'over the pallid sea and the silvery mist +of the meadows,' and how,-- + + 'Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, + Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels, + +That is so sweet, I think." + +"I remember it; and I remember, too, who watched all that: do you?" he +asks, his eyes fixed upon hers. + +"Yes; Gabriel--poor Gabriel and Evangeline," returns she, too wrapped up +in recollections of that sad and touching tale to take to heart his +meaning:-- + + 'Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure + Sat the lovers, and whispered together.' + +That is the part you mean, is it not? I know all that poem very nearly +by heart." + +He is a little disappointed by the calmness of her answer. + +"Yes; it was of them I thought," he says, turning his head away,--"of +the--lovers. I wonder if _their_ evening was as lovely as _ours_?" + +Mona makes no reply. + +"Have you ever read Shelley?" asks he, presently, puzzled by the extreme +serenity of her manner. + +She shakes her head. + +"Some of his ideas are lovely. You would like his poetry, I think." + +"What does he say about the moon?" asks Mona, still with her knees in +her embrace, and without lifting her eyes from the quiet waters down +below. + +"About the moon? Oh, many things. I was not thinking of the moon," with +faint impatience; "yet, as you ask me, I can remember one thing he says +about it." + +"Then tell it to me," says Mona. + +So at her bidding he repeats the lines slowly, and in his best manner, +which is very good:-- + + "The cold chaste moon, the queen of heaven's bright isles, + Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles! + That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame, + Which ever is transformed, yet still the same, + And warms, but not illumines." + +He finishes; but, to his amazement, and a good deal to his chagrin, on +looking at Mona he finds she is wreathed in smiles,--nay, is in fact +convulsed with silent laughter. + +"What is amusing you?" asks he, a trifle stiffly.--To give way to +recitation, and then find your listener in agonies of suppressed mirth, +isn't exactly a situation one would hanker after. + +"It was the last line," says Mona, in explanation, clearly ashamed of +herself, yet unable wholly to subdue her merriment. "It reminded me so +much of that speech about tea, that they always use at temperance +meetings; they call it the beverage 'that cheers but not inebriates.' +You said 'that warms but not illumines,' and it sounded exactly like it. +Don't you see!" + +He doesn't see. + +"You aren't angry, are you?" says Mona, now really contrite. "I couldn't +help it, and it _was_ like it, you know." + +"Angry? no!" he says, recovering himself, as he notices the penitence on +the face upraised to his. + +"And do say it is like it," says Mona, entreatingly. + +"It is, the image of it," returns he, prepared to swear to anything she +may propose And then he laughs too, which pleases her, as it proves he +no longer bears in mind her evil deed; after which, feeling she still +owes him something, she suddenly intimates to him that he may sit down +on the grass close beside her. He seems to find no difficulty in swiftly +following up this hint, and is soon seated as near to her as +circumstances will allow. + +But on this picture, the beauty of which is undeniable, Mickey (the +barbarian) looks with disfavor. + +"If he's goin' to squat there for the night,--an' I see ivery prospect +of it," says Mickey to himself,--"what on airth's goin' to become of +me?" + +Now, Mickey's idea of "raal grand" scenery is the kitchen fire. Bays and +rocks and moonlight, and such like comfortless stuff, would be +designated by him as "all my eye an' Betty Martin." He would consider +the bluest water that ever rolled a poor thing if compared to the water +that boiled in the big kettle, and sadly inferior to such cold water as +might contain a "dhrop of the crather." So no wonder he views with +dismay Mr. Rodney's evident intention of spending another half hour or +so on the top of Carrick dhuve. + +Patience has its limits. Mickey's limit comes quickly When five more +minutes have passed, and the two in his charge still make no sign, he +coughs respectfully but very loudly behind his hand. He waits in anxious +hope for the result of this telling manoeuvre, but not the faintest +notice is taken of it. Both Mona and Geoffrey are deaf to the pathetic +appeal sent straight from his bronchial tubes. + +Mickey, as he grows desperate, grows bolder. He rises to speech. + +"Av ye plaze, miss, will ye soon be comin'?" + +"Very soon, Mickey," says Mona, without turning her head. But, though +her words are satisfactory, her tone is not. There is a lazy ring in it +that speaks of anything but immediate action. Mickey disbelieves in it. + +"I didn't make up the mare, miss, before comin' out wid ye," he says, +mildly, telling this lie without a blush. + +"But it is early yet, Mickey, isn't it?" says Mona. + +"Awfully early," puts in Geoffrey. + +"It is, miss; I know it, sir; but if the old man comes out an' finds the +mare widout her bed, there'll be all the world to pay, an' he'll be +screechin' mad." + +"He won't go into the stable to-night," says Mona, comfortably. + +"He might, miss. It's the very time you'd wish him aisy in his mind that +he gets raal troublesome. An' I feel just as if he was in the stable +this blessid minit lookin' at the poor baste, an' swearin' he'll have +the life uv me." + +"And I feel just as if he had gone quietly to bed," says + +Mona, pleasantly, turning away. + +But Mickey is not to be outdone. "An' there's the pigs, miss," he begins +again, presently. + +"What's the matter with them?" says Mona, with some pardonable +impatience. + +"I didn't give them their supper yet, miss; an' it's very bad for the +young ones to be left starvin'. It's on me mind, miss, so that I can't +even enjoy me pipe, and it's fresh baccy I have an' all, an' it might as +well be dust for what comfort I get from it. Them pigs is callin' for me +now like Christians: I can a'most hear them." + +"I shouldn't think deafness is in your family," says Geoffrey, genially. + +"No, sir; it isn't, sir. We're none of us hard of hearin' glory be +to----. Miss Mona," coaxingly, "sure, it's only a step to the house: +wouldn't Misther Rodney see ye home now, just for wanst?" + +"Why, yes, of course he can," says Mona, without the smallest +hesitation. She says it quite naturally, and as though it was the most +usual thing in the world for a young man to see a young woman home, +through dewy fields and beneath "mellow moons," at half-past ten at +night. It is now fully nine, and she cannot yet bear to turn her back +upon the enchanting scene before her. Surely in another hour or so it +will be time enough to think of home and all other such prosaic facts. + +"Thin I may go, miss?" says Mickey. + +"Oh, yes, you may go," says Mona. Geoffrey says nothing. He is looking +at her with curiosity, in which deep love is mingled. She is so utterly +unlike all other women he has ever met, with their petty affectations +and mock modesties, their would-be hesitations and their final +yieldings. She has no idea she is doing anything that all the world of +women might not do, and can see no reason why she should distrust her +friend just because he is a man. + +Even as Geoffrey is looking at her, full of tender thought, one of the +dogs, as though divining the fact that she is being left somewhat alone, +lays its big head upon her shoulder, and looks at her with large loving +eyes. Turning to him in response, she rubs her soft cheek slowly up and +down against his. Geoffrey with all his heart envies the dog. How she +seems to love it! how it seems to love her! + +"Mickey, if you are going, I think you may as well take the dogs with +you," says Mona: "they, too, will want their suppers. Go, Spice, when I +desire you. Good-night, Allspice; dear darling,--see how he clings to +me." + +Finally the dogs are called off, and reluctantly accompany the jubilant +Mickey down the hill. + +"Perhaps you are tired of staying here," says Mona, with compunction, +turning to Geoffrey, "and would like to go home? I suppose every one +cannot love this spot as I do. Yes," rising, "I am selfish. Do come +home." + +"Tired!" says Geoffrey, hastily. "No, indeed. What could tire of +anything so divine? If it is your wish, it is mine also, that we should +stay here for a little while longer." Then, struck by the intense relief +in her face, he goes on: "How you do enjoy the beauties of Nature! Do +you know I have been studying you since you came here, and I could see +how your whole soul was wrapped in the glory of the surrounding +prospect? You had no thoughts left for other objects,--not even one for +me. For the first time," softly, "I learned to be jealous of inanimate +things." + +"Yet I was not so wholly engrossed as you imagine," she says, seriously. +"I thought of you many times. For one thing, I felt glad that you could +see this place with my eyes. But I have been silent, I know; +and--and----" + +"How Rome and Spain would enchant you," he says watching her face +intently, "and Switzerland, with its lakes and mountains!" + +"Yes. But I shall never see them." + +"Why not? You will go there, perhaps when you are married." + +"No," with a little flickering smile, that has pain and sorrow in it; +"for the simple reason that I shall never marry." + +"But why?" persists he. + +"Because"--the smile has died away now, and she is looking down upon +him, as he lies stretched at her feet in the uncertain moonlight, with +an expression sad but earnest,--"because, though I am only a farmer's +niece, I cannot bear farmers, and, of course, other people would not +care for me." + +"That is absurd," says Rodney; "and your own words refute you. That man +called Moore cared for you, and very great impertinence it was on his +part." + +"Why, you never even saw him," says Mona, opening her eyes. + +"No; but I can fancy him, with his horrid bald head. Now, you know," +holding up his hand to stop her as she is about to speak, "you know you +said he hadn't a hair left on it." + +"Well, he was different," says Mona, giving in ignominiously. "I +couldn't care for him either; but what I said is true all the same. +Other people would not like me." + +"Wouldn't they?" says Rodney, leaning on his elbow as the argument waxes +warmer; "then all I can say is, I never met any 'other people.'" + +"You have met only them, I suppose, as you belong to them." + +"Do you mean to tell me that _I_ don't care for you?" says Rodney, +quickly. + +Mona evades a reply. + +"How cold it is!" she says, rising, with a little shiver. "Let us go +home." + +If she had been nurtured all her life in the fashionable world, she +could scarcely have made a more correct speech. Geoffrey is puzzled, nay +more, discomfited. Just in this wise would a woman in his own set answer +him, did she mean to repel his advances for the moment. He forgets that +no tinge of worldliness lurks in Mona's nature, and feels a certain +amount of chagrin that she should so reply to him. + +"If you wish," he says, in a courteous tone, but one full of coldness; +and so they commence their homeward journey. + +"I am glad you have been pleased to-night," says Mona, shyly, abashed by +his studied silence. "But," nervously, "Killarney is even more +beautiful. You must go there." + +"Yes; I mean to,--before I return to England." + +She starts perceptibly, which is balm to his heart. + +"To England!" she repeats, with a most mournful attempt at unconcern, +"Will--will that be soon?" + +"Not very soon. But some time, of course, I must go." + +"I suppose so," she says, in a voice from which all joy has flown. "And +it is only natural; you will be happier there." She is looking straight +before her. There is no quiver in her tone; her lips do not tremble; yet +he can see how pale she has grown beneath the vivid moonlight. + +"Is that what you think?" he says, earnestly. "Then for once you are +wrong. I have never been--I shall hardly be again--happier than I have +been in Ireland." + +There is a pause. Mona says nothing, but taking out the flower that has +lain upon her bosom all night, pulls it to pieces petal by petal. And +this is unlike Mona, because flowers are dear to her as sunshine is to +them. + +At this moment they come to a high bank, and Geoffrey, having helped +Mona to mount it, jumps down at the other side, and holds out his arms +to assist her to descend. As she reaches the ground, and while his arms +are still round her, she says, with a sudden effort, and without lifting +her eyes, "There is very good snipe-shooting here at Christmas." + +The little pathetic insinuation is as perfect as it is touching. + +"Is there? Then I shall certainly return for it," says Geoffrey, who is +too much of a gentleman to pretend to understand all her words seem to +imply. "It is really no journey from this to England." + +"I should think it a long journey," says Mona, shaking her head. + +"Oh, no, you won't," says Rodney, absently. In truth, his mind is +wandering to that last little speech of hers, and is trying to unravel +it. + +Mona looks at him. How oddly he has expressed himself! "You won't," he +said, instead of "you wouldn't." Does he then deem it possible she will +ever be able to cross to that land that calls him son? She sighs, and, +looking down at her little lean sinewy hands, clasps and unclasps them +nervously. + +"Why need you go until after Christmas?" she says, in a tone so low that +he can barely hear her. + +"Mona! Do you want me to stay?" asks he, suddenly, taking her hands in +his. "Tell me the truth." + +"I do," returns she, tremulously. + +"But why?--why? Is it because you love me? Oh, Mona! If it is that! At +times I have thought so, and yet again I have feared you do not love me +as--as I love you." + +"You love me?" repeats she, faintly. + +"With all my heart," says Rodney, fervently. And, indeed, if this be so, +she may well count herself in luck, because it is a very good and true +heart of which he speaks. + +"Don't say anything more," says the girl, almost passionately, drawing +back from him as though afraid of herself. "Do not. The more you say +now, the worse it will be for me by and by, when I have to think. +And--and--it is all quite impossible." + +"But why, darling? Could you not be happy as my wife?" + +"Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender +seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I +am not fit to be that, and----" + +"Look here," says Geoffrey, with decision, "I will have no 'buts,' and I +prefer taking my answer from your eyes than from your lips. They are +kinder. You are going to marry me, you know, and that is all about it. +_I_ shall marry _you_, whether you like it or not, so you may as well +give in with a good grace. And I'll take you to see Rome and all the +places we have been talking about, and we shall have a real good old +time. Why don't you look up and speak to me, Mona?" + +"Because I have nothing to say," murmurs the girl, in a frozen +tone,--"nothing." Then passionately, "I will not be selfish. I will not +do this thing." + +"Do you mean you will not marry me?" asks he, letting her go, and moving +back a step or two, a frown upon his forehead. "I confess I do not +understand you." + +"Try, _try_ to understand me," entreats she, desperately, following him +and laying her hand upon his arm. "It is only this. It would not make +you happy,--not _afterwards_, when you could see the difference between +me and the other women you have known. You are a gentleman; I am only a +farmer's niece." She says this bravely, though it is agony to her proud +nature to have to confess it. + +"If that is all," says Geoffrey, with a light laugh, laying his hand +over the small brown one that still rests upon his arm, "I think it need +hardly separate us. You are, indeed, different from all the other women +I have met in my life,--which makes me sorry for all the other women. +You are dearer and sweeter in my eyes than any one I have ever known! Is +not this enough? Mona, are you sure no other reason prevents your +accepting me? Why do you hesitate?" He has grown a little pale in his +turn, and is regarding her with intense and jealous earnestness. Why +does she not answer him? Why does she keep her eyes--those honest +telltales--so obstinately fixed upon the ground? Why does she show no +smallest sign of yielding? + +"Give me my answer," he says, sternly. + +"I have given it," returns she, in a low tone,--so low that he has to +bend to hear it. "Do not be angry with me, do not--I----" + +"'Who excuses himself, accuses himself,'" quotes Geoffrey. "I want no +reasons for your rejection. It is enough that I know you do not care for +me." + +"Oh, no! it is not that! you must know it is not that," says Mona, in +deep grief. "It is that I _cannot_ marry you!" + +"Will not, you mean!" + +"Well, then, I _will_ not," returns she, with a last effort at +determination, and the most miserable face in the world. + +"Oh, if you _will_ not," says Mr. Rodney, wrathfully. + +"I--will--not," says Mona, brokenly. + +"Then I don't believe you!" breaks out Geoffrey, angrily. "I am positive +you want to marry me; and just because of some wretched fad you have got +into your head you are determined to make us both wretched." + +"I have nothing in my head," says Mona, tearfully. + +"I don't think you can have much, certainly," says Mr. Rodney, with the +grossest rudeness, "when you can let a few ridiculous scruples interfere +with both our happiness." Then, resentfully, "Do you hate me?" + +No answer. + +"Say so, if you do: it will be honester. If you don't," threateningly, +"I shall of course think the contrary." + +Still no answer. + +She has turned away from him, grieved and frightened by his vehemence, +and, having plucked a leaf from the hedge near her, is trifling absently +with it as it lies upon her little trembling palm. + +It is a drooping blackberry-leaf from a bush near where she is standing, +that has turned from green into a warm and vivid crimson. She examines +it minutely, as though lost in wonder at its excessive beauty, for +beautiful exceedingly it is, clothed in the rich cloak that Autumn's +generosity has flung upon it; yet I think, she for once is blind to its +charms. + +"I think you had better come home," says Geoffrey, deeply angered with +her. "You must not stay here catching cold." + +A little soft woollen shawl of plain white has slipped from her throat +and fallen to the ground, unheeded by her in her great distress. Lifting +it almost unwillingly, he comes close to her, and places it round her +once again. In so doing he discovers that tears are running down her +cheeks. + +"Why, Mona, what is this?" exclaims he, his manner changing on the +instant from indignation and coldness to warmth and tenderness. "You are +crying? My darling girl! There, lay your head on my shoulder, and let us +forget we have ever quarrelled. It is our first dispute; let it be our +last. And, after all," comfortably, "it is much better to have our +quarrels before marriage than after." + +This last insinuation, he flatters himself, is rather cleverly +introduced. + +"Oh, if I could be quite, _quite_ sure you would never regret it!" says +Mona, wistfully. + +"I shall never regret anything, as long as I have you!" says Rodney. "Be +assured of that." + +"I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well +off, I should never consent,--never!" + +"No, of course not," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly! "as a rule, girls +nowadays can't endure men with money." + +This is "sarkassum;" but Mona comprehends it not. + +Presently, seeing she is again smiling and looking inexpressibly happy, +for laughter comes readily to her lips, and tears, as a rule, make no +long stay with her,--ashamed, perhaps, to disfigure the fair "windows of +her soul," that are so "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"--"So you will +come to England with me, after all?" he says, quite gayly. + +"I would go to the world's end with you," returns she, gently. "Ah! I +think you knew that all along." + +"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." + +At his words, a glad light springs to life within her wonderful eyes. +She is so pleased and proud that he should so speak of her. + +"Do you know, Mona," says the young man, sorrowfully, "you are too good +for me,--a fellow who has gone racketing all over the world for years. +I'm not half worthy of you." + +"Aren't you?" says Mona, in her tender fashion, that implies so kind a +doubt. Raising one hand (the other is imprisoned), she draws his face +down to her own. "I wouldn't have you altered in any way," she says; +"not in the smallest matter. As you are, you are so dear to me you could +not be dearer; and I love you now, and I shall always love you, with all +my heart and soul." + +"My sweet angel!" says her lover, pressing her to his heart. And when he +says this he is not so far from the truth, for her tender simplicity and +perfect faith and trust bring her very near to heaven! + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA FALL INTO STRANGE COMPANY AND HOW THEY PROFIT BY +IT; AND HOW MONA, OUTSTRIPPING WICKED VENGEANCE, SAVES A LIFE. + + +"Is it very late?" says Mona, awaking from her happy dreams with a +start. + +"Not very," says Geoffrey. "It seems only just now that Mickey and the +dogs left us." Together they examine his watch, by the light of the +moon, and see that it is quite ten o'clock. + +"Oh, it is dreadfully late!" says Mona, with much compunction. "Come, +let us hurry." + +"Well, just one moment," says Geoffrey, detaining her, "let us finish +what we were saying. Would you rather go to the East or to Rome?" + +"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----" + +"Who on earth are you speaking to?" says Geoffrey. + +"To you!" with surprise. + +"I am not Mr. Rodney: Jack is that. Can't you call me anything else?" + +"What else?" says Mona, shyly. + +"Call me Geoffrey." + +"I always think of you as Geoffrey," whispers she, with a swift, sweet, +upward glance; "but to say it is so different. Well," bravely, "I'll +try. Dear, dear, _dear_ Geoffrey, I want to tell you I would be as happy +with you in Wicklow as in Rome." + +"I know that," says Geoffrey, "and the knowledge makes me more happy +than I can say. But to Rome you shall go, whatever it may cost. And then +we shall return to England to our own home. And then--little rebel that +you are--you must begin to look upon yourself as an English subject, and +accept the queen as your gracious sovereign." + +"I need no queen when I have got a king," says the girl, with ready wit +and great tenderness. + +Geoffrey raises her hand to his lips. "_Your_ king is also your slave," +he says, with a fond smile. + +Then they move on once more, and go down the road that leads towards the +farm. + +Again she has grown silent, as though oppressed with thought; and he too +is mute, but all his mind is crowded with glad anticipations of what the +near future is to give him. He has no regrets, no fears. At length, +struck by her persistent taciturnity, he says, "What is it, Mona?" + +"If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still +tormenting herself with unseen evils,--"if ever I should see discontent +in your eyes, how would it be with me then?" + +"Don't talk like a penny illustrated," says Mr. Rodney in a very +superior tone. "If ever you do see all you seem to anticipate, just tell +yourself I am a cur, and despise me accordingly. But I think you are +paying both yourself and me very bad compliments when you talk like +that. Do try to understand that you are very beautiful, and far superior +to the general run of women, and that I am only pretty well so far as +men go." + +At this they both laugh heartily, and Mona returns no more to the +lachrymose mood that has possessed her for the last five minutes. + +The moon has gone behind a cloud, the road is almost wrapped in complete +gloom, when a voice, coming from apparently nowhere, startles them, and +brings them back from visions of impossible bliss to the present very +possible world. + +"Hist, Miss Mona! hist!" says this voice close at Mona's ear. She starts +violently. + +"Oh! Paddy," she says, as a small figure, unkempt, and only half clad, +creeps through the hedge and stops short in her path. + +"Don't go on, miss," says the boy, with much excitement. "Don't ye. I +see ye coming', an', no matter what they do to me, I says to myself, +I'll warn her surely. They're waitin' for the agint below, an' maybe +they might mistake ye for some one else in the dark, an' do ye some +harm." + +"Who are they waiting for?" says Mona, anxiously. + +"For the agint, miss. Oh, if ye tell on me now they'll kill me. Maxil, +ye know; me lord's agint." + +"Waiting--for what? Is it to shoot him?" asks the girl, breathlessly. + +"Yes, miss. Oh, Miss Mona, if ye bethray me now 'twill be all up wid me. +Fegs an' intirely, miss, they'll murdher me out uv hand." + +"I won't betray you," she says. "You may trust me. Where are they +stationed?" + +"Down below in the hollow, miss,--jist behind the hawthorn-bush. Go home +some other way, Miss Mona: they're bint on blood." + +"And, if so, what are you doing here?" says Mona, reprovingly. + +"On'y watchin', miss, to see what they'd do," confesses he, shifting +from one foot to the other, and growing palpably confused beneath her +searching gaze. + +"Is it murder you want to see?" asks she slowly, in a horrified tone. +"Go home, Paddy. Go home to your mother." Then, changing her censuring +manner to one of entreaty, she says, softly, "Go, because I ask you." + +"I'm off, miss," says the miscreant, and, true to his word, darts +through the hedge again like a shaft from a bow, and, scurrying through +the fields, is soon lost to sight. + +"Come with me," says Mona to Rodney; and with an air of settled +determination, and a hard look on her usually mobile lips, she moves +deliberately towards the hawthorn-bush, that is about a quarter of a +mile distant. + +"Mona," says Rodney, divining her intent, "stay you here while I go and +expostulate with these men. It is late, darling, and their blood is up, +and they may not listen to you. Let me speak to them." + +"You do not understand them," returns she, sadly. "And I do. Besides, +they will not harm me. There is no fear of that. I am not at all afraid +of them. And--I _must_ speak to them." + +He knows her sufficiently well to refrain from further expostulation, +and just accompanies her silently along the lonely road. + +"It is I,--Mona Scully," she calls aloud, when she is within a hundred +yards of the hiding-place. "Tim Ryan, come here: I want you." + +It is a mere guess on her part,--supported certainly by many tales she +has heard of this Ryan of late, but a guess nevertheless. It proves, +however, to be a correct one. A man, indistinct, but unmistakable, shows +himself on the top of the wall, and pulls his forelock through force of +habit. + +"What are you doing here, Tim?" says Mona, bravely, calmly, "at this +hour, and with--yes, do not seek to hide it from me--a gun! And you too, +Carthy," peering into the darkness to where another man, less plucky +than Ryan lies concealed. "Ah! you may well wish to shade your face, +since it is evil you have in your heart this night." + +"Do ye mane to inform on us?" says Ryan, slowly, who is "a man of a +villanous countenance," laying his hand impulsively upon his gun, and +glancing at her and Rodney alternately with murder in his eyes. It is a +critical moment. Rodney, putting out his hand, tries to draw her behind +him. + +"No, I am not afraid," says the girl, resisting his effort to put +himself before her; and when he would have spoken she puts up her hands, +and warns him to keep silence. + +"You should know better than to apply the word 'informer' to one of my +blood," she says, coldly, speaking to Ryan, without a tremor in her +voice. + +"I know that," says the man, sullenly. "But what of him?" pointing to +Rodney, the ruffianly look still on his face. "The Englishman, I mane. +Is he sure? It's a life, for a life afther all, when everything is +towld." + +He handles the gun again menacingly. Mona, though still apparently calm, +whitens perceptibly beneath the cold penetrating rays of the "pale-faced +moon" that up above in "heaven's ebon vault, studded with stars +unutterably bright," looks down upon her perhaps with love and pity. + +"Tim," she says, "what have I ever done to you that you should seek to +make me unhappy?" + +"I have nothing to do with you. Go your ways. It is with him I have to +settle," says the man, morosely. + +"But _I_ have to do with him," says Mona, distinctly. + +At this, in spite of everything, Rodney laughs lightly, and, taking her +hand in his, draws it through his arm. There is love and trust and great +content in his laugh. + +"Eh!" says Ryan; while the other man whom she has called Carthy--and who +up to this has appeared desirous of concealing himself from view--now +presses forward and regards the two with lingering scrutiny. + +"Why, what have you to do with her?" says Ryan, addressing Rodney, a +gleam of something that savors of amusement showing itself even in his +ill-favored face. For an Irishman, under all circumstances, dearly loves +"a courting, a _bon-mot_, and a broil." + +"This much," says Rodney, laughing again: "I am going to marry her, with +her leave." + +"If that be so, she'll make you keep from splittin' on us," says the +man. "So now go; we've work in hand to-night not fit for her eyes." + +Mona shudders. + +"Tim," she says, distractedly, "do not bring murder on your soul. Oh, +Tim, think it over while there is yet time. I have heard all about it; +and I would ask you to remember that it is not Mr. Maxwell's fault that +Peggy Madden was evicted, but the fault of his master. If any one must +be shot, it ought to be Lord Crighton" (as his lordship is at this +moment safe in Constantinople, she says this boldly), "and not his paid +servant." + +"I dare say we'll get at the lord by an' by" says Ryan, untouched. "Go +yer ways, will ye? an' quick too. Maybe if ye thry me too far, ye'll +learn to rue this night." + +Seeing further talk is useless, Mona slips her hand into Rodney's and +leads him down the road. + +But when they have turned a corner and are quite out of sight and +hearing, Rodney stops short and says, hurriedly,-- + +"Mona, can you manage to get home by some short way by yourself? Because +I must return. I must stand by this man they are going to murder. I must +indeed, darling. Forgive me that I desert you here and at such an hour, +but I see you are safe in the country, and five minutes will take you to +the farm, and I cannot let his life be taken without striking a blow for +him." + +"And did you think I was content to let him die" says Mona, +reproachfully. "No! There is a chance for him still, and I will explain +it to you. It is early yet. He seldom passes here before eleven, and it +is but a little after ten. I know the hour he usually returns, because +he always goes by our gate, and often I bid him good-night in the +summer-time. Come with me," excitedly. "I can lead you by a cross-path +to the Ballavacky road, by which he must come, and, if we overtake him +before he reaches that spot, we can save his life. Come; do not delay!" + +She turns through a broken gap into a ploughed field, and breaks into a +quick run. + +"If we hurry we must meet his car there, and can send him back into +Bantry, and so save him." + +All this she breathes forth in disjointed sentences as she rushes, like +a light-footed deer, across the ploughed land into the wet grass +beyond. + +Over one high bank, across a stile, through another broken gap, on to a +wall, straight and broad, up which Rodney pulls her, carefully taking +her down in his arms at the other side. + +Still onward,--lightly, swiftly: now in sight of the boundless sea, now +diving down into the plain, without faintness or despondency, or any +other feeling but a passionate determination to save a man's life. + +Rodney's breath is coming more quickly, and he is conscious of a desire +to stop and pull himself together--if only for a minute--before bracing +himself for a second effort. But to Mona, with her fresh and perfect +health, and lithe and lissom body, and all the rich young blood that +surges upward in her veins, excitement serves but to make her more +elastic; and with her mind strung to its highest pitch, and her hot +Irish blood aflame, she runs easily onward, until at length the road is +reached that is her goal. + +Springing upon the bank that skirts the road on one side, she raises her +hands to her head, and listens with all her might for the sound of +wheels in the distance. + +But all is still. + +Oh, if they should be too late! If Maxwell has passed and gone down the +other road, and is perhaps now already "done to death" by the cruel +treacherous enemy that lieth in wait for him! + +Her blood heated by her swift run grows cold again as this thought comes +to her,--forced to the front by the fact that "all the air a solemn +stillness holds," and that no sound makes itself heard save the faint +sighing of the night-wind in the woods up yonder, and the "lone and +melancholy voice" of the sea, a mile away, as it breaks upon the silent +shore. + +These sounds, vague and harmonious as they are, yet full of mystery and +unexplained sadness, but serve to heighten the fear that chills her +heart. + +Rodney, standing beside her, watches her anxiously. She throws up her +head, and pushes back her hair, and strains her eyes eagerly into the +darkness, that not all the moonbeams can make less than night. + +Alas! alas! what foul deed may even now be doing while she stands here +powerless to avert it,--her efforts all in vain! How richly shines the +sweet heaven, studded with its stars! how cool, how fragrant, is the +breeze! How the tiny wavelets move and sparkle in the glorious bay +below. How fair a world it is to hold such depths of sin! Why should not +rain and storms and howling tempest mark a night so---- + +But hark! What is this that greets her ear? The ring of horse's feet +upon the quiet road! + +The girl clasps her hands passionately, and turns her eyes on Rodney. + +"Mona, it is--it must be!" says Geoffrey, taking her hand; and so they +both stand, almost breathless, on the high bank, listening intently. + +Now they can hear the sound of wheels; and presently a light tax-cart +swings round the corner, drawn by a large, bony, bay mare, and in which +sits a heavy-looking, elderly man, in a light overcoat. + +"Mr. Maxwell! Mr. Maxwell!" cries Mona, as he approaches them; and the +heavy man, drawing up, looks round at her with keen surprise, bending +his head a little forward, as though the better to pierce the gloom. + +"Miss Scully, is it you?" he says, at length; "and here at this hour?" + +"Go back to Bantry," says Mona, not heeding his evident surprise, "at +once,--_now_. Do not delay. There are those waiting for you on the +Tullymore road who will take your life. I have run all this way to warn +you. Oh, go back, while there is yet time!" + +"Do you mean they want to shoot me?" says Maxwell, in a hurried tone. + +"Yes; I know it! Oh, do not wait to ask questions, but go. Even now they +may have suspected my purpose, and may be coming here to prevent your +ever returning." + +Each moment of delay only helps to increase her nervous excitement. + +"But who are they? and where?" demands the agent, completely taken +aback. + +"I can tell you no more; I will not; and you must never ask me. It is +enough that I speak the truth, and that I have been able to save your +life." + +"How can I thank you?" says Maxwell, "for all----" + +"Some other day you can do that. Now go," says Mona, imperiously, waving +her hand. + +But Maxwell still lingers, looking first at her and then very intently +at her companion. + +"It is late," he says. "You should be at home, child. Who am I, that +you should do me so great a service?" Then, turning quietly to Rodney, +"I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir," he says, gravely; +"but I entreat you to take Miss Scully safely back to the Farm without +delay." + +"You may depend upon me," says Rodney, lifting his hat, and respecting +the elder man's care for the well-being of his beloved, even in the +midst of his own immediate danger. Then, in another moment, Maxwell has +turned his horse's head, and is soon out of sight. + +The whole scene is at an end. A life has been saved. And they two, Mona +and Geoffrey, are once more alone beneath the "earnest stars." + +"Take me down," says Mona, wearily, turning to her lover, as the last +faint ring of the horse's feet dies out on the breeze. + +"You are tired," says he, tenderly. + +"A little, now it is all over. Yet I must make great haste homeward. +Uncle Brian will be uneasy about me if he discovers my absence, though +he knew I was going to the Bay. Come, we must hurry." + +So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, +meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her +home. + +Here they behold the faithful Biddy, craning her long neck up and down +the road, and filled with wildest anxiety. + +"Oh, may I niver agin see the light," cries this excitable damsel, +rushing out to Mona, "if I iver hoped to lay eyes on yer face again! +Where were ye at all, darlin'? An' I breakin' me heart wid fear for ye. +Did ye know Tim Ryan was out to-night? When I heerd tell of that from +that boy of the Cantys', I thought I'd have dhropped. 'Tis no good he's +up to. Come in, asthore: you must be near kilt with the cowld." + +"No; I am quite warm," says Mona, in a low, sad tone. + +"'Tis I've bin prayin' for ye," says Biddy, taking her mistress's hand +and kissing it fondly. "On me bended knees I was with the blessid beads +for the last two hours. An' shure I've had me reward, now I see ye safe +home agin. But indeed, Miss Mona, 'tis a sore time I've had uv it." + +"And Uncle Brian?" asks Mona, fearfully. + +"Oh, I got the ould man to bed hours ago; for I knew if he stayed up +that he'd get mortial wearin', an' be the death of us if he knew ye were +out so late. An' truth to say, Miss Mona," changing her tone from one of +extreme joy and thankfulness to another of the deepest censure, "'twas +the world an' all of bad behavior to be galavantin' out at this hour." + +"The night was so lovely,--so mild," says Mona, faintly, concealment in +any form being new to her, and very foreign to her truthful nature; "and +I knew Mickey would tell you it was all right." + +"An' what brought him home, the murdherin' scamp," says Miss Bridget, +with more vehemence than politeness, "instid of stayin' wid ye to see ye +came to no harm?" + +"He had to see the mare made up, and the pigs fed," says Mona. + +"Is that what he towld ye? Oh, the blaggard!" says Bridget. "An' nary +sign did he do since his return, but sit be the fire an' smoke his +dhudheen. Oh, be the powers of Moll Kelly, but I'll pay him out for his +lies? He's soakin' it now, anyhow, as I sint him up to the top of the +hill agin, to see what had become of ye." + +"Bridget," says Mona, "will you go in and get me a cup of tea before I +go to bed? I am tired." + +"I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she +walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on +Geoffrey's arm. + +"Promise me you will not go back to Coolnagurtheen to-night?" she says, +earnestly. "At the inn, down in the village, they will give you a bed." + +"But, my dearest, why? There is not the slightest danger now, and my +horse is a good one, and I sha'n't be any time getting----" + +"I won't hear of it!" says Mona, interrupting him vehemently. "You would +have to go up _that road_ again," with a strong shudder. "I shall not go +indoors until you give me your honor you will stay in the village +to-night." + +Seeing the poor child's terrible fear and anxiety, and that she is +completely overwrought, he gives way, and lets her have the desired +promise. + +"Now, that is good of you," she says, gratefully, and then, as he stoops +to kiss her, she throws her arms around his neck and bursts into tears. + +"You are worn out, my love, my sweetheart," says Geoffrey, very +tenderly, speaking to her as though she is in years the child that, in +her soul, she truly is. "Come, Mona, you will not cry on this night of +all others that has made me yours and you mine! If this thought made you +as happy as it makes me, you _could_ not cry. Now lift your head, and +let me look at you. There! you have given yourself to me, darling, and +there is a good life, I trust, before us; so let us dwell on that, and +forget all minor evils. Together we can defy trouble!" + +"Yes, that is a thought to dry all tears," she says, very sweetly, +checking her sobs and raising her face, on which is dawning an adorable +smile. Then, sighing heavily,--a sigh of utter exhaustion,--"You have +done me good," she says. "I shall sleep now; and you my dearest, will be +safe. Good-night until to-morrow!" + +"How many hours there are in the night that we never count!" says +Geoffrey, impatiently. "Good-night, Mona! To-morrow's dawn I shall call +my dearest friend." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA PLAN A TRANSFORMATION SCENE. + + +Time, with lovers, "flies with swallows' wings;" they neither feel nor +heed it as it passes, so all too full of haste the moments seem. They +are to them replete with love and happiness and sweet content. To-day is +an accomplished joy, and to-morrow will dawn for no other purpose but to +bring them together. So they think and so they believe. + +Rodney has interviewed the old man, her uncle; has told him of his great +and lasting love for this pearl among women; has described in a very few +words, and without bombast, his admiration for Mona; and Brian Scully +(though with sufficient national pride to suppress all undue delight at +the young man's proposal) has given a hearty consent to their union, and +is in reality flattered and pleased beyond measure at this match for +"his girl." For, no matter how the Irish may rebel against landlordism +and aristocracy in general, deep down in their hearts lies rooted an +undying fealty to old blood. + +To his mother, however, he has sent no word of Mona, knowing only too +well how the news of his approaching marriage with this "outer +barbarian" (as she will certainly deem his darling) will be received. It +is not cowardice that holds his pen, as, were all the world to kneel at +his feet and implore him or bribe him to renounce his love, all such +pleading and bribing would be in vain. It is that, knowing argument to +be useless, he puts off the evil hour that may bring pain to his mother +to the last moment. + +When she knows Mona she will love her,--who could help it? so he argues; +and for this reason he keeps silence until such time as, his marriage +being a _fait accompli_, hopeless expostulation will be of no avail, and +will, therefore, be suppressed. + +Meanwhile, the hours go by "laden with golden grain." Every day makes +Mona dearer and more dear, her sweet and guileless nature being one +calculated to create, with growing knowledge, an increasing admiration +and tenderness. Indeed, each happy afternoon spent with her serves but +to forge another link in the chain that binds him to her. + +To-day is "so cool, so calm, so bright," that Geoffrey's heart grows +glad within him as he walks along the road that leads to the farm, his +gun upon his shoulder, his trusty dog at his heels. + +All through the air the smell of heather, sweet and fragrant, reigns. +Far down, miles away, the waves rush inland, glinting and glistening in +the sunlight. + + "Blue roll the waters, blue the sky + Spreads like an ocean hung on high." + +The birds, as though once more led by the balmy mildness of the day into +the belief that summer has not yet forsaken them, are singing in the +topmost branches of the trees, from which, with every passing breeze, +the leaves fall lightly. + +From the cabins pale wreaths of smoke rise slowly, scarce stirred by the +passing wind. Going by one of these small tenements, before which the +inevitable pig is wallowing in an unsavory pool, a voice comes to him, +fresh and joyous, and plainly full of pleasure, that thrills through his +whole being. It is to him what no other voice ever has been, or ever can +be again. It is Mona's voice! + +Again she calls to him from within. + +"Is it you?" she says. "Come in here, Geoffrey. I want you." + +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. + +She is sitting before a spinning-wheel, and is deftly drawing the wool +through her fingers; brown little fingers they are, but none the less +dear in his sight. + +"I'm here," she cries, in the glad happy tones that have been ringing +their changes in his heart all day. + +An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in +its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which +boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home +presently from their work. + +"What luck to find you here," says Geoffrey, stooping over the +industrious spinner, and (after the slightest hesitation) kissing her +fondly in spite of the presence of the old woman, who is regarding them +with silent curiosity, largely mingled with admiration. The ancient dame +sees plainly nothing strange in this embrace of Geoffrey's but rather +something sweet and to be approved. She smiles amiably, and nods her old +head, and mumbles some quaint Irish phrase about love and courtship and +happy youth, as though the very sight of these handsome lovers fills her +withered breast with glad recollections of bygone days, when she, too, +had her "man" and her golden hopes. For deep down in the hearts of all +the sons and daughters of Ireland, whether they be young or old, is a +spice of romance living and inextinguishable. + +Rising, the old dame takes a chair, dusts it, and presents it to the +stranger, with a courtesy and a wish that he will make himself welcome. +Then she goes back again to the chimney-corner, and taking up the +bellows, blows the fire beneath the potatoes, turning her back in this +manner upon the young people with a natural delicacy worthy of better +birth and better education. + +Mona, who has blushed rosy red at his kiss, is now beaming on her lover, +and has drawn back her skirts to admit of his coming a little closer to +her. He is not slow to avail himself of this invitation, and is now +sitting with his arm thrown across the back of the wooden chair that +holds Mona, and with eyes full of heartfelt gladness fixed upon her. + +"You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, +idly, gazing at her rather dreamily. + +"Except that my hair is rolled up, and is too dark, isn't it? I have +read about her, and I once saw a picture of Marguerite in the Gallery in +Dublin, and it was very beautiful. I remember it brought tears to my +eyes, and Aunt Anastasia said I was too fanciful to be happy. Her story +is a very sad one, isn't it?" + +"Very. And you are not a bit like her, after all," says Geoffrey, with +sudden compunction, "because you are going to be as happy as the days +are long, if I can make you so." + +"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." + +"What a darling you are!" says Rodney, in a low tone; and then something +else follows, that, had she seen it, would have caused the weatherbeaten +old person at the fire another thrill of tender recollection. + +"What are you doing?" asks Geoffrey, presently, when they have returned +to everyday life. + +"I am spinning flax for Betty, because she has rheumatism in her poor +shoulder, and can do nothing, and this much flax must be finished by a +certain time. I have nearly got through my portion now," says Mona; "and +then we can go home." + +"When I bring you to my home," says Geoffrey, "I shall have you painted +just in that gown, and with a spinning-wheel before you; and it shall be +hung in the gallery among the other--very inferior--beauties." + +"Where?" says Mona, looking up quickly. + +"Oh! at home, you know," says Mr. Rodney, quickly, discovering his +mistake. For the moment he had forgotten his former declaration of +poverty, or, at least, his consenting silence, when she had asked him +about it. + +"In the National Gallery, do you mean?" asks Mona, with a pretty, +puzzled frown on her brow. "Oh, no, Geoffrey; I shouldn't like that at +all. To be stared at by everybody,--it wouldn't be nice, would it?" + +Rodney laughs, in an inward fashion, biting his lip and looking down. + +"Very well; you sha'n't be put there," he says. "But nevertheless you +must be prepared for the fact that you will undoubtedly be stared at by +the common herd, whether you are in the National Gallery or out of it." + +"But why?" says Mona, trying to read his face. "Am I so different from +other people?" + +"Very different," says Rodney. + +"That is what I am afraid of always," says Mona, a little wistfully. + +"Don't be afraid. It is quite the correct thing to be eccentric +nowadays. One is nowhere if not bizarre," says Rodney, laughing; "so I +dare say you will find yourself the very height of fashion." + +"Now I think you are making fun of me," says Mona, smiling sweetly; and, +lifting her hand, she pinches his ear lightly, and very softly, lest she +should hurt him. + +Here the old woman at the fire, who has been getting up and down from +her three-legged stool during the past few minutes, and sniffing at the +pot in an anxious manner, gives way to a loud sigh of relief. Lifting +the pot from its crook, she lays it on the earthen floor. + +Then she strains the water from it, and looks with admiration upon its +steaming contents. "The murphies" (as, I fear, she calls the potatoes) +are done to a turn. + +"Maybe," says Betty Corcoran, turning in a genial fashion to Mona and +Geoffrey, "ye'd ate a pratie, would ye, now? They're raal nice an' +floury. Ye must be hungry, Miss Mona, afther all the work ye've gone +through; an' if you an' your gintleman would condescind to the like of +my dinner, 'tis ready for ye, an' welcome ye are to it. Do, now!" +heartily. "The praties is gran' this year,--praises be for all mercies. +Amen." + +"They _do_ look nice," says Mona, "and I _am_ hungry. If we won't be a +great trouble to you, Betty," with graceful Hesitation, "I think we +should like some." + +"Arrah! throuble is it?" says Betty, scornfully. "Tisn't throuble I'm +thinkin' of anyway, when you're by." + +"Will you have something to eat Geoffrey?" says Mona. + +"Thank you," says Geoffrey, "but----" + +"Yes, do, alannah!" says the old lady, standing with one hand upon her +hips and the other holding tightly a prodigious "Champion." "'Twill set +ye up afther yer walk." + +"Then, thank you, Mrs. Corcoran, I _will_ have a potato," says Rodney, +gratefully, honest hunger and the knowledge that it will please Mona to +be friendly with "her people," as she calls them, urging him on. "I'm as +hungry as I can be," he says. + +"So ye are, bless ye both!" says old Betty, much delighted, and +forthwith, going to her dresser, takes down two plates, and two knives +and forks, of pattern unknown and of the purest pot-metal, after which +she once more returns to the revered potatoes. + +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. + +"It might be that ye'd take a dhrop of new milk, too," says Betty, "on +hospitable thoughts intent," placing before her visitors a little jug of +milk she has all day been keeping apart, poor soul! for her own +delectation. + +Not knowing this, Mona and Geoffrey (whose flask is empty) accept the +proffered milk, and make merry over their impromptu feast, while in the +background, the old woman smiles upon them and utters little kindly +sentences. + +Ten minutes later, having bidden their hostess a hearty farewell, they +step out into the open air and walk towards the farm. + +"You have never told me how many people are in your house?" says Mona, +presently. "Tell me now. I know about your mother, and," shyly, "about +Nicholas; but is there any one else?" + +"Well, Jack is home by this time, I suppose,--that's my second brother; +at least he was expected yesterday; and Violet Mansergh is very often +there; and as a rule, you know, there is always somebody; and that's +all." + +The description is graphic, certainly. + +"Is--is Violet Mansergh a pretty girl?" asks Mona, grasping +instinctively at the fact that any one called Violet Mansergh may be a +possible rival. + +"Pretty? No. But she dresses very swagger, and always looks nice, and +is generally correct all through," replies Mr. Rodney, easily. + +"I know," says Mona, sadly. + +"She's the girl my mother wanted me to marry, you know," goes on Rodney, +unobservant, as men always are, of the small signals of distress hung +out by his companion. + +"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I _don't_ +know, because you never told me before." + +"I thought I did," says Geoffrey, waking slowly to a sense of the +situation. + +"Well, you didn't," says Mona. "Are you engaged to her?" + +"If I was, how could I ask you to marry me?" returns he, in a tone so +hurt that she grows abashed. + +"I hope she isn't in love with you," she says, slowly. + +"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She +cares for me just about as much as I care for her,--which means exactly +nothing." + +"I am very glad," says Mona, in a low tone. + +"Why, Mona?" + +"Because I could not bear to think any one was made unhappy by me. It +would seem as though some evil eye was resting on our love," says Mona, +raising her thoughtful, earnest eyes to his. "It must be a sad thing +when our happiness causes the misery of others." + +"Yet even were it so you would love me, Mona?" + +"I shall always love you," says the girl, with sweet seriousness, +"better than my life. But in that case I should always, too have a +regret." + +"There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and +I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, +except yourself." + +"I am indeed dear to you, I think," says Mona, softly and thankfully, +growing a little pale through the intensity of her emotion. + +"'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee,'" replies he, quite as +softly. + +Then she is pleased, and slips her hand into his, and goes along the +quiet road, beside him with a heart in which high jubilee holds sway. + +"Now tell me something else," she says, after a little bit. "Do all the +women you know dress a great deal?" + +"Some of them; not all. I know a considerable few who dress so little +that they might as well leave it alone." + +"Eh?" says Mona, innocently, and stares at him with an expression so +full of bewilderment, being puzzled by his tone more than his words, +that presently Mr. Rodney becomes conscious of a feeling akin to shame. +Some remembrance of a line that speaks of "a soul as white as heaven" +comes to him, and he makes haste to hide the real meaning of his words. + +"I mean, some of them dress uncommon badly," he says, with much +mendacity and more bad grammar. + +"Now, do they?" says Mona. "I thought they always wore lovely clothes. +In books they always do; but I was too young when with Aunt Anastasia in +Dublin to go out. Somehow, what one imagines is sure to be wrong. I +remember," laughing, "when I firmly believed the queen never was seen +without her crown on her head." + +"Well, it always _is_ on her head," says Mr. Rodney, at which ridiculous +joke they both laugh as gayly as though it were a _bon-mot_ of the first +water. That "life is thorny, and youth is vain" has not as yet occurred +to either of these two. Nay, more, were you even to name this thought to +them, they would rank it as flat blasphemy, and you a false +prophet--love and laughter being, up to this, the burden of their song. + +Yet after a moment or two the smile fades from Mona's mobile lip that +ever looks as if, in the words of the old song, "some bee had stung it +newly," and a pensive expression takes its place. + +"I think I'd like to see myself in a regular evening gown," she say, +wistfully. + +"So should I," says Rodney, eagerly, but incorrectly; "at least, not +myself, but you,--in something handsome, you know, open at the neck, and +with your pretty arms bare, as they were the first day I saw you." + +"How you remember that, now!" says Mona, with a heavenly smile, and a +faint pressure of the fingers that still rest in his. "Yes, I should +like to be sure before I marry you that--that--fashionable clothes would +become me. But of course," regretfully, "you will understand I haven't a +gown of that sort. I once sat in Lady Crighton's room while her maid +dressed her for dinner: so I know all about it." + +She sighs, then looks at the sky, and--sighs again. + +"And do you know," she says, with charming _naivete_, not looking at +him, but biting a blade of grass in a distractingly pretty and somewhat +pensive fashion, "do you know her neck and arms are not a patch on +mine?" + +"You needn't tell me that. I'm positive they couldn't be named in the +same day," says Geoffrey, enthusiastically, who never in his life saw +Lady Crighton, or her neck or arms. + +"No, they are not. Geoffrey, people look much better when they are +beautifully dressed, don't they?" + +"Well, on the principle that fine feathers make fine birds, I suppose +they do," acknowledges Geoffrey, reluctantly. + +At this she glances with scorn upon the quakerish and somewhat quaint +gray gown in which she is clothed, and in which she is looking far +sweeter than she knows, for in her face lie "love enshrined and sweet +attractive grace." + +"Yet, in spite of all the fine feathers, no one ever crept into my heart +but my own Mona," says the young man, putting his hand beneath her chin, +which is soft and rounded as a baby's, and turning her face to his. He +hates to see the faint chagrin that lingers on it for a moment; for his +is one of those tender natures that cannot bear to see the thing it +loves endure the smallest torment. + +"Some women in the great world overdo it," he goes on, "and choose +things and colors utterly unsuited to their style. They are slaves to +fashion. But + + "'_My_ love in her attire doth show her wit; + It doth so well become her.'" + +"Ah, how you flatter!" says Mona. Nevertheless, being a woman, and the +flattery being directed to herself, she takes it kindly. + +"No, you must not think that. To wear anything that becomes you must be +the perfection of dressing. Why wear a Tam O'Shanter hat when one looks +hideous in it? And then too much study spoils effect: you know what +Herrick says:-- + + "'A careless shoe-string in whose tie + I see a wild civility, + Does more bewitch me than when art + Is too precise in every part.'" + +"How pretty that is! Yet I should like you to see me, if only for once, +as you have seen others," says Mona. + +"I should like it too. And it could be managed, couldn't it? I suppose I +could get you a dress." + +He says this quickly, yet fearfully. If she should take his proposal +badly, what shall he do? He stares with flattering persistency upon a +distant donkey that adorns a neighboring field, and calmly awaits fate. +It is for once kind to him. Mona, it is quite evident, fails to see any +impropriety in his speech. + +"Could you?" she says hopefully. "How?" + +Mr. Rodney, basely forsaking the donkey, returns to his mutton. "There +must be a dressmaker in Dublin," he says, "and we could write to her. +Don't you know one?" + +"_I_ don't, but I know Lady Mary and Miss Blake always get their things +from a woman called Manning." + +"Then Manning it shall be," says Geoffrey, gayly. "I'll run up to +Dublin, and if you give me your measure I'll bring a gown back to you." + +"Oh, no, don't," says Mona, earnestly. Then she stops short, and blushes +a faint sweet crimson. + +"But why?" demands he, dense as men will be at times. Then, as she +refuses to enlighten his ignorance, slowly the truth dawns upon him. + +"Do you mean that you would really miss me if I left you for only one +day?" he asks, delightedly. "Mona, tell me the truth." + +"Well, then, sure you know I would," confesses she, shyly but honestly. +Whereupon rapture ensues that lasts for a full minute. + +"Very well, then; I shan't leave you; but you shall have that dress all +the same," he says. "How shall we arrange about it?" + +"I can give you the size of my waist and my shoulders, and my length," +says Mona, thoughtfully, yet with a touch of inspiration. + +"And what color becomes you? Blue? that would suit your eyes, and it was +blue you used to wear last month." + +"Yes, blue looks very nice on me. Geoffrey, if Uncle Brian hears of +this, will he be angry?" + +"We needn't risk it. And it is no harm, darling, because you will soon +be my wife, and then I shall give you everything. When the dress comes +I'll send it up to you by my man, and you must manage the rest." + +"I'll see about it. And, oh, Geoffrey, I do hope you will like me in it, +and think me pretty," she says, anxiously, half fearful of this gown +that is meant to transform a "beggar maid" into a queen fit for "King +Cophetua." At least such is her reading of the part before her. + +And so it is arranged. And that evening Geoffrey indites a letter to +Mrs. Manning, Grafton Street, Dublin, that brings a smile to the lips of +that cunning modiste. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA DILIGENTLY WORK UP THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE; AND +HOW SUCCESS CROWNS THEIR EFFORTS. + + +In due course the wonderful gown arrives, and is made welcome at the +farm, where Geoffrey too puts in an appearance about two hours later. + +Mona is down at the gate waiting for him, evidently brimful of +information. + +"Well have you got it?" asks he, in a whisper. Mystery seems to encircle +them and to make heavy the very air they breathe. In truth, I think it +is the veil of secrecy that envelops their small intrigue that makes it +so sweet to them. They might be children, so delighted are they with the +success of their scheme. + +"Yes, I have got it," also in a subdued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it +is just too lovely! It's downright delicious; and satin, too! It +must"--reproachfully--"have cost a great deal, and after all you told me +about being _poor_! But," with a sudden change of tone, forgetting +reproach and extravagance and everything, "it is exactly the color I +love best, and what I have been dreaming of for years." + +"Put it on you," says Geoffrey. + +"What! _now?_" with some hesitation, yet plainly filled with an +overwhelming desire to show herself to him without loss of time in the +adorable gown. "If I should be seen! Well, never mind; I'll risk it. Go +down to the little green glade in the wood, and I'll be with you before +you can say Jack Robinson." + +She disappears, and Geoffrey, obedient to orders, lounges off to the +green glade, that now no longer owns rich coloring, but is strewn with +leaves from the gaunt trees that stand in solemn order like grave +sentries round it. + +He might have invoked Jack Robinson a score of times had he so wished, +he might even have gone for a very respectable walk, before his eyes are +again gladdened by a sight of Mona. Minutes had given place to minutes +many times, when, at length, a figure wrapped in a long cloak and with a +light woollen shawl covering her head comes quickly towards him across +the rustic bridge, and under the leafless trees to where he is standing. + +Glancing round fearfully for a moment, as though desirous of making sure +that no strange eyes are watching her movements, she lets the loose +cloak fall to the ground, and, taking with careful haste the covering +from her head, slips like Cinderella from her ordinary garments into all +the glories of a _fete_ gown. She steps a little to one side, and, +throwing up her head with a faint touch of coquetry that sits very +sweetly on her, glances triumphantly at Geoffrey, as though fully +conscious that she is looking exquisite as a dream. + +The dress is composed of satin of that peculiarly pale blue that in some +side-lights appears as white. It is opened at the throat, and has no +sleeves to speak of. As though some kindly fairy had indeed been at her +beck and call, and had watched with careful eyes the cutting of the +robe, it fits to a charm. Upon her head a little mob-cap, a very marvel +of blue satin and old lace, rests lovingly, making still softer the soft +tender face beneath it. + +There is a sparkle in Mona's eyes, a slight severing of her lips, that +bespeak satisfaction and betray her full of very innocent appreciation +of her own beauty. She stands well back, with her head held proudly up, +and with her hands lightly clasped before her. Her attitude is full of +unstudied grace. + +Her eyes, as I tell you, are shining like twin stars. Her whole soul is +possessed of this hope, that he for whom almost she lives must think her +good to look at. And good indeed she is, and very perfect; for in her +earnest face lies such inward godliness and sweet trust as make one feel +the better for only a bare glance at her. + +Geoffrey is quite dumb, and stands gazing at her surprised at the +amazing change a stuff, a color, can make in so short a time. Beautiful +she always is in his sight, but he wonders that until now it never +occurred to him what a sensation she is likely to create in the London +world. When at last he does give way to speech, driven to break his +curious silence by something in her face, he says nothing of the gown, +but only this. + +"Oh, Mona, will you always love me as you do now?" + +His tone is full of sadness and longing, and something akin to fear. He +has been much in the world, and has seen many of its evil ways, and this +is the result of his knowledge. As he gazes on and wonders at her +marvellous beauty, for an instant (a most unworthy instant) he distrusts +her. Yet surely never was more groundless doubt sustained, as one might +know to look upon her eyes and mouth, for in the one lies honest love, +and in the other firmness. + +Her face changes. He has made no mention of the treasured gown, has said +no little word of praise. + +"I have disappointed you," she says, tremulously, tears rising quickly. +"I am a failure! I am not like the others." + +"You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw in all my life," returns +Rodney, with some passion. + +"Then you are really pleased? I am just what you want me to be? Oh! how +you frightened me!" says the girl, laying her hand upon her heart with a +pretty gesture of relief. + +"Don't ask me to flatter you. You will get plenty to do that by and by," +says Geoffrey, rather jealously, rather bitterly. + +"'By and by' I shall be your wife," says Mona, archly, "and then my days +for receiving flattery will be at an end. Sure you needn't grudge me a +few pretty words now." + +What a world is to be opened up to her! How severe the test to which she +will be exposed! Does she really think the whole earth is peopled with +beings pure and perfect as herself? + +"Yes, that is true," he says, in a curious tone, in answer to her words, +his eyes fixed moodily upon the ground. Then suddenly he lifts his head, +and as his gaze meets hers some of the truth and sweetness that belong +to her springs from her to him and restores him once again to his proper +self. + +He smiles, and, turning, kneels before her in mock humility that savors +of very real homage. Taking her hand, he presses it to his lips. + +"Will your majesty deign to confer some slight sign of favor upon a +very devoted servant?" + +His looks betray his wish. And Mona, stooping, very willingly bestows +upon him one of the sweetest little kisses imaginable. + +"I doubt your queen lacks dignity," she says, with a quick blush, when +she has achieved her tender crime. + +"My queen lacks nothing," says Geoffrey. Then, as he feels the rising +wind that is soughing through the barren trees, he says, hurriedly, "My +darling, you will catch cold. Put on your wraps again." + +"Just in one moment," says the wilful beauty. "But I must first look at +myself altogether. I have only seen myself in little bits up to this, my +glass is so small." + +Running over to the river that flows swiftly but serenely a few yards +from her, she leans over the bank and gazes down lingeringly and with +love into the dark depths beneath that cast up to her her own fair +image. + +The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with +drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded +floor of the stream. + +"Yes, I _am_ pretty," she says, after a minute's pause, with a +long-drawn sigh of deepest satisfaction. Then she glances at Geoffrey. +"And for your sake I am glad of it Now, come here and stand beside me," +she goes on, presently, holding out her hand backwards as though loath +to lose sight of her own reflection. "Let me see how _you_ look in the +water." + +So he takes her hand, and together they lean over the brink and survey +themselves in Nature's glass. Lightly their faces sway to and fro as the +running water rushes across the pool,--sway, but do not part; they are +always together, as though in anticipation of that happy time when their +lives shall be one. It seems like a good omen; and Mona, in whose breast +rests a little of the superstition that lies innate in every Irish +heart, turns to her lover and looks at him. + +He, too, looks at her. The same thought fills them both. As they are +together there in the water, so (pray they) "may we be together in +life." This hope is sweet almost to solemnity. + +The short daylight fades; the wind grows higher; the whole scene is +curious, and very nearly fantastical. The pretty girl in her clinging +satin gown, and her gleaming neck and arms, bare and soft and white, and +the tiny lace-fringed cap that crowns her fairness. The gaunt trees +branching overhead that are showering down upon her all their fading +wealth of orange and crimson and russet-colored leaves, that serve to +throw out the glories of her dress. The brown-green sward is beneath +her, the river runs with noiseless mirth beside her, rushing with faint +music over sand and pebble to the ocean far below. Standing before her +is her lover, gazing at her with adoring eyes. + +Yet all things in this passing world know an end. In one short moment +the perfect picture is spoiled. A huge black dog, bursting through the +underwood, flings himself lovingly upon Mona, threatening every moment +to destroy her toilet. + +"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled +tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this +dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!" + +She tucks up her dignified train in a most undignified haste, while +Geoffrey covers up all the finery with the crimson shawl. The white +cloud is once more thrown over the dainty cap; all the pretty coloring +vanishes out of sight; and Mona, after one last lingering glance at +Geoffrey, follows its example. She, too, flies across the rural bridge +into the covert of her own small domain. + +It is over; the curtain is down; the charming transformation-scene has +reached its end, and the fairy-queen doffing her radiant robes, descends +once more to the level of a paltry mortal. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +HOW MONA, GROWING INQUISITIVE, ASKS QUESTIONS; AND HOW GEOFFREY, BEING +BROUGHT TO BAY, MAKES CONFESSIONS THAT BODE BUT EVIL TO HIS FUTURE +PEACE, AND BREED IMMEDIATE WAR. + + +"Oh! catch him! _do_ catch him!" cries Mona, "Look, there he is again! +Don't you see?" with growing excitement. "Over there, under that bush. +Why on earth can't you see him? Ha! there he is again! Little wretch! +Turn him back, Geoffrey; it is our last chance." + +She has crossed the rustic bridge that leads into the Moore plantations, +in hot pursuit of a young turkey that is evidently filled with a base +determination to spend his Sunday out. + +Geoffrey is rushing hither and thither, without his hat, and without his +temper, in a vain endeavor to secure the rebel and reduce him to order. +He is growing warm, and his breath is coming more quickly than is +exactly desirable; but, being possessed with the desire to conquer or +die, he still holds on. He races madly over the ground, crying "Shoo!" +every now and then (whatever that may mean) in a desperate tone, as +though impressed with the belief that this simple and apparently +harmless expletive must cow the foe. + +"Look at him, under that fern there!" exclaims Mona, in her clear +treble, that has always something sweet and plaintive in it. "On your +right--no! _not_ on your left. Sure you know your right, don't you?" +with a full, but unconscious, touch of scorn. "Hurry! hurry! or he will +be gone again. Was there ever such a hateful bird! With his good food in +the yard, and his warm house, and his mother crying for him! Ah! there +you have him! No!--yes! no! He is gone again!" + +"He isn't!" says Geoffrey, panting "I have him at last!" Whereupon he +emerges from a wilderness of ferns, drawing after him and holding up +triumphantly to the light the wandering bird, that looks more dead than +alive, with all its feathers drooping, and its breath coming in angry +cries. + +"Oh, you have him!" says Mona, with a beaming smile, that is not +reciprocated by the captured turkey. "Hold him tight: you have no idea +how artful he is. Sure I knew you'd get him, if any one could!" + +There is admiration blended with relief in her tone, and Geoffrey begins +to feel like a hero of Waterloo. + +"Now carry him over the bridge and put him down there, and he must go +home, whether he likes it or not," goes on Mona to her warrior, +whereupon that renowned person, armed with the shrieking turkey, crosses +the bridge. Having gained the other side, he places the angry bird on +its mother earth, and with a final and almost tender "Shoo!" sends him +scuttling along to the farmyard in the distance, where, no doubt, he is +received either with open arms and kisses, or with a sounding "spank," +as our American cousins would say, by his terrified mamma. + +He finds Mona on his return sitting on a bank, laughing and trying to +recover her breath. + +"I hardly think this is Sunday work," she says, lightly; "but the poor +little thing would have died if left out all night. Wasn't it well you +saw him?" + +"Most fortunate," says Rodney, with deep gravity. "I consider I have +been the means of preventing a public calamity. Why, that bird might +have haunted us later on." + +"Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have +all its feathers off, of course." + +"Certainly not," says Geoffrey: "I blush for you. I never yet heard of a +ghost that was not strictly decent. It would have had a winding sheet, +of course. Come, let us go for a walk." + +"To the old fort?" asks Mona, starting to her feet. + +"Anywhere you like. I'm sure we deserve some compensation for the awful +sermon that curate gave us this morning." + +So they start, in a lazy, happy-go-lucky fashion, for their walk, +conversing as they go, of themselves principally as all true lovers +will. + +But the fort, on this evening at least, is never reached Mona, coming to +a stile, seats himself comfortably on the top of it, and looks with mild +content around. + +"Are you going no farther?" asks Rodney, hoping sincerely she will say +"No." She does say it. + +"It is so nice here," she says, with a soft sigh, and a dreamy smile, +whereupon he too climbs and seats himself beside her. As they are now +situated, there is about half a yard between them of passable wall +crowned with green sods, across which they can hold sweet converse with +the utmost affability. The evening is fine; the heavens promise to be +fair; the earth beneath is calm and full of silence as becomes a Sabbath +eve; yet, alas! Mona strikes a chord that presently flings harmony to +the winds. + +"Tell me about your mother," she says, folding her hands easily in her +lap. "I mean,--what is she like? Is she cold, or proud, or stand-off?" +There is keen anxiety in her tone. + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rather taken back. "Cold" and "proud" he cannot +deny, even to himself, are words that suit his mother rather more than +otherwise. + +"I mean," says Mona, flushing a vivid scarlet, "is she stern?" + +"Oh, no," says Geoffrey, hastily, recovering himself just in time; +"she's all right, you know, my mother; and you'll like her awfully +when--when you know her, and when--when she knows you." + +"Will that take her long?" asks Mona, somewhat wistfully, feeling, +without understanding, some want in his voice. + +"I don't see how it could take any one long," says Rodney. + +"Ah! that is because you are a man, and because you love me," says this +astute reader of humanity. "But women are so different. Suppose--suppose +she _never_ gets to like me?" + +"Well, even that awful misfortune might be survived. We can live in our +own home 'at ease,' as the old song says, until she comes to her senses. +By and by, do you know you have never asked me about your future +home,--my own place, Leighton Hall? and yet it is rather well worth +asking about, because, though small, it is one of the oldest and +prettiest places in the county." + +"Leighton Hall," repeats she, slowly, fixing upon him her dark eyes that +are always so full of truth and honesty. "But you told me you were poor. +That a third son----" + +"Wasn't much!" interrupts Geoffrey, with an attempt at carelessness that +rather falls through beneath the gaze of those searching eyes. "Well, no +more he is, you know, as a rule, unless some kind relative comes to his +assistance." + +"But you told me no maiden aunt had ever come to your assistance," goes +on Mona, remorselessly. + +"In that I spoke the truth," says Mr. Rodney, with a shameless laugh, +"because it was an uncle who left me some money." + +"You have not been quite true with me," says Mona, in a curious way, +never removing her gaze and never returning his smile. "Are you rich, +then, if you are not poor?" + +"I'm a long way off being rich," says the young man, who is palpably +amused, in spite of a valiant effort to suppress all outward signs of +enjoyment. "I'm awfully poor when compared with some fellows. I dare say +I must come in for something when my other uncle dies, but at present I +have only fifteen hundred pounds a year." + +"_Only!_" says Mona. "Do you know, Mr. Moore has no more than that, and +we think him very rich indeed! No, you have not been open with me: you +should have told me. I haven't ever thought of you to myself as being a +rich man. Now I shall have to begin and think of you a lover again in +quite another light." She is evidently deeply aggrieved. + +"But, my darling child, I can't help the fact that George Rodney left me +the Hall," says Geoffrey, deprecatingly, reducing the space between them +to a mere nothing, and slipping his arm round her waist. "And if I was a +beggar on the face of the earth, I could not love you more than I do, +nor could you, I _hope_"--reproachfully--"love me better either." + +The reproachful ring in his voice does its intended work. The soft heart +throws out resentment, and once more gives shelter to gentle thoughts +alone. She even consents to Rodney's laying his cheek against hers, and +faintly returns the pressure of his hand. + +"Yet I think you should have told me," she whispers, as a last fading +censure. "Do you know you have made me very unhappy?" + +"Oh, no, I haven't, now," says Rodney, reassuringly "You don't look a +bit unhappy; you only look as sweet as an angel." + +"You never saw an angel, so you can't say," says Mona, still sadly +severe. "And I _am_ unhappy. How will your mother, Mrs. Rodney, like +your marrying me, when you might marry so many other people,--that Miss +Mansergh, for instance?" + +"Oh, nonsense!" says Rodney, who is in high good humor and can see no +rocks ahead. "When my mother sees you she will fall in love with you on +the spot, as will everybody else. But look here, you know, you mustn't +call her Mrs. Rodney!" + +"Why?" says Mona. "I couldn't well call her any thing else until I know +her." + +"That isn't her name at all," says Geoffrey. "My father was a baronet, +you know: she is Lady Rodney." + +"What!" says Mona And then she grows quite pale, and, slipping off the +stile, stands a few yards away from him. + +"That puts an end to everything," she says, in a dreadful little voice +that goes to his heart, "at once. I could never face any one with a +title. What will she say when she hears you are going to marry a +farmer's niece? It is shameful of you," says Mona, with as much +indignation as if the young man opposite to her, who is making strenuous +but vain efforts to speak, has just been convicted of some heinous +crime. "It is disgraceful! I wonder at you! That is twice you have +deceived me." + +"If you would only hear me----" + +"I have heard too much already. I won't listen to any more. 'Lady +Rodney!' I dare say"--with awful meaning in her tone--"_you_ have got a +title _too_!" Then, sternly, "Have you?" + +"No, no indeed. I give you my honor, no," says Geoffrey, very earnestly, +feeling that Fate has been more than kind to him in that she has denied +him a handle to his name. + +"You are sure?"--doubtfully. + +"Utterly certain." + +"And your brother?" + +"Jack is only Mr. Rodney too." + +"I don't mean him,"--severely: "I mean the brother you called 'Old +Nick'--_Old Nick_ indeed!" with suppressed anger. + +"Oh, he is only called Sir Nicholas. Nobody thinks much of that. A +baronet is really never of the slightest importance," says Geoffrey, +anxiously, feeling exactly as if he were making an apology for his +brother. + +"That is not correct," says Mona. "We have a baronet here, Sir Owen +O'Connor, and he is thought a great deal of. I know all about it. Even +Lady Mary would have married him if he had asked her, though his hair is +the color of an orange. Mr. Rodney,"--laying a dreadful stress upon the +prefix to his name,--"go back to England and"--tragically--"forget me?" + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," says Mr. Rodney, indignantly. "And if +you address me in that way again I shall cut my throat." + +"Much better do that"--gloomily--"than marry me Nothing comes of unequal +marriages but worry, and despair, and misery, and _death_," says Mona, +in a fearful tone, emphasizing each prophetic word with a dismal nod. + +"You've been reading novels," says Rodney, contemptuously. + +"No, I haven't," says Mona, indignantly. + +"Then you are out of your mind," says Rodney. + +"No, I am not. Anything but that; and to be rude"--slowly--"answers no +purpose. But I have some common sense, I hope." + +"I hate women with common sense. In plainer language it means no heart." + +"Now you speak sensibly. The sooner you begin to hate me the better." + +"A nice time to offer such advice as that," says Rodney, moodily. "But I +shan't take it. Mona,"--seizing her hands and speaking more in +passionate excitement than even in love,--"say at once you will keep +your word and marry me." + +"Nothing on earth shall bring me to say that," says Mona, solemnly. +"Nothing!" + +"Then don't," says Rodney, furiously, and flinging her hands from him, +he turns and strides savagely down the hill, and is lost to sight round +the corner. + +But, though "lost to sight," to memory he is most unpleasantly "dear." +Standing alone in the middle of the deserted field, Mona pulls to +pieces, in a jerky, fretful fashion, a blade of grass she has been idly +holding during the late warm discussion. She is honestly very much +frightened at what she has done, but obstinately declines to acknowledge +it even to her own heart. In a foolish but natural manner she tries to +deceive herself into the belief that what has happened has been much to +her own advantage, and it will be a strict wisdom to rejoice over it. + +"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a +petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I +have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it +lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't +so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly +happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my +life--before he came. And when he is _gone_"--she pauses, chokes back +with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and +with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he +flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, +as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by +your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward +glance, or _anything_! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he +will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious +country." + +She tells herself this lie without a blush, perhaps because she is so +pale at the bare thought that her eyes may never again be gladdened by +his presence, that the blood refuses to rise. + +A bell tinkles softly in the distance. The early dusk is creeping up +from behind the distant hills, that are purple with the soft and glowing +heather. The roar of the rushing waves comes from the bay that lies +behind those encircling hills, and falls like sound of saddest music on +her ear. Now comes + + Still evening on, and twilight gray + Has in her sober livery all things clad. + +And Mona, rousing herself from her unsatisfactory reverie, draws her +breath quickly and then moves homeward. + +But first she turns and casts a last lingering glance upon the sloping +hill down which her sweetheart, filled with angry thoughts, had gone. +And as she so stands, with her hand to her forehead, after a little +while a slow smile of conscious power comes to her lips and tarries +round them, as though fond of its resting-place. + +Her lips part. An expression that is half gladness, half amusement, +brightens her eyes. + +"I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at +the usual hour to-morrow, or,--a little earlier!" + +Then she gathers up her gown and runs swiftly back to the farm. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +HOW GEOFFREY RETURNS TO HIS ALLEGIANCE--HOW HE DISCOVERS HIS DIVINITY +DEEP IN THE PERFORMANCE OF SOME MYSTIC RITES WITHIN THE COOL PRECINCTS +OF HER TEMPLE--AND HOW HE SEEKS TO REDUCE HER TO REASON FROM THE TOP OF +AN INVERTED CHURN. + + +To-day--that "liberal worldling," that "gay philosopher"--is here; and +last night belongs to us only in so far as it deserves a place in our +memory or has forced itself there in spite of our hatred and repugnance. + +To Rodney, last night is one ever to be remembered as being a period +almost without end, and as a perfect specimen of how seven hours can be +made to feel like twenty-one. + +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, + + "Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand + Unbars the gates of light," + +tells himself that all may yet be right betwixt him and his love. + +His love at this moment--which is closing upon noon--is standing in her +cool dairy upon business thoughts intent yet with a certain look of +expectation and anxiety upon he face,--a _listening_ look may best +express it. + +To-morrow will be market-day in Bantry, to which the week's butter must +go; and now the churning is over, and the result of it lies cold and +rich and fresh beneath Mona's eyes. She herself is busily engaged +printing little pats off a large roll of butter that rests on the slab +before her; her sleeves are carefully tucked up, as on that first day +when Geoffrey saw her; and in defiance of her own heart--which knows +itself to be sad--she is lilting some little foolish lay, bright and +shallow as the October sunshine that floods the room, lying in small +silken patches on the walls and floor. + +In the distance a woman is bending over a keeler making up a huge mass +of butter into rolls, nicely squared and smoothed, to make them look +their best and handsomest to-morrow. + +"An' a nate color too," says this woman, who is bare-footed, beneath her +breath, regarding with admiration the yellow tint of the object on which +she is engaged. Two pullets, feathered like a partridge, are creeping +stealthily into the dairy, their heads turned knowingly on one side, +their steps slow and cautious; not even the faintest chirrup escapes +them, lest it be the cause of their instant dismissal. There is no +sound anywhere but the soft music that falls from Mona's lips. + +Suddenly a bell rings in the distance. This is the signal for the men to +cease from work and go to their dinners. It must be two o'clock. + +Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So +late!--the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign. + +The bell stops, and a loud knock at the hall-door takes its place. Was +ever sweeter sound heard anywhere? Mona draws her breath quickly, and +then as though ashamed of herself goes on stoically with her task. Yet +for all her stoicism her color comes and goes, and now she is pale, and +now "celestial, rosy red, love's proper hue," and now a little smile +comes up and irradiates her face. + +So he has come back to her. There is triumph in this thought and some +natural vanity, but above and beyond all else a great relief that lifts +from her the deadly fear that all night has been consuming her and has +robbed her of her rest. Now anxiety is at an end, and joy reigns, born +of the knowledge that by his speedy surrender he has proved himself her +own indeed, and she herself indispensable to his content. + +"'Tis the English gintleman, miss,--Misther Rodney. He wants to see ye," +says the fair Bridget, putting her head in at the doorway, and speaking +in a hushed and subdued tone. + +"Very well: show him in here," says Mona, very distinctly, going on with +the printing of her butter with a courage that deserves credit. There is +acrimony in her tone, but laughter in her eyes. While acknowledging a +faint soreness at her heart she is still amused at his prompt, and +therefore flattering, subjection. + +Rodney, standing on the threshold at the end of the small hall, can hear +distinctly all that passes. + +"Here, miss,--in the dairy? Law, Miss Mona! don't" + +"Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the +English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him +in at once." + +"But in that apron, miss, and wid yer arms bare-like, an' widout yer +purty blue bow; law, Miss Mona, have sinse, an' don't ye now." + +"Show Mr. Rodney in here, Bridget," says Mona unflinchingly, not looking +at the distressed maid, or indeed at anything but the unobservant +butter. And Bridget, with a sigh that strongly resembles the snort of a +war-horse, ushers Mr. Rodney into the dairy. + +"You?" says Mona, with extreme _hauteur_ and an unpleasant amount of +well-feigned astonishment. She does not deign to go to meet him, or even +turn her head altogether in his direction, but just throws a swift and +studiously unfriendly glance at him from under her long lashes. + +"Yes" replies he, slowly as though regretful that he cannot deny his own +identity. + +"And what has brought you?" demands she, not rudely or quickly, but as +though desirous of obtaining information on a subject that puzzles her. + +"An overwhelming desire to see you again," returns this wise young man, +in a tone that is absolutely abject. + +To this it is difficult to make a telling reply. Mona says nothing she +only turns her head completely away from him, as if to conceal +something. Is it a smile?--he cannot tell. And indeed presently, as +though to dispel all such idea, she sighs softly but audibly. + +At this Mr. Rodney moves a shade closer to her. + +"What a very charming dairy!" he says, mildly. + +"Very uncomfortable for you, I fear, after your long ride," says Mona, +coldly but courteously. "Why don't you go into the parlor? I am sure you +will find it pleasanter there." + +"I am sure I should not," says Rodney. + +"More comfortable, at least." + +"I am quite comfortable, thank you." + +"But you have nothing to sit on." + +"Neither have you." + +"Oh, I have my work to do; and besides, I often prefer standing." + +"So do I, often,--_very_ often," says Mr. Rodney, sadly still, but +genially. + +"Are you sure?"--with cold severity. "It is only two days ago since you +told me you loved nothing better than an easy-chair." + +"Loved nothing better than a--oh, how you must have misunderstood me!" +says Rodney, with mournful earnestness, liberally sprinkled with +reproach. + +"I have indeed misunderstood you in _many_ ways." This is unkind, and +the emphasis makes it even more so. "Norah, if the butter is finished, +you can go and feed the calves." There is a business-like air about her +whole manner eminently disheartening to a lover out of court. + +"Very good, miss; I'm going," says the woman, and with a last touch to +the butter she covers it over with a clean wet cloth and moves to the +yard door. The two chickens on the threshold, who have retreated and +advanced a thousand times, now retire finally with an angry +"cluck-cluck," and once more silence reigns. + +"We were talking of love, I think," says Rodney, innocently, as though +the tender passion as subsisting between the opposite sexes had been the +subject of the conversation. + +"Of love generally?--no," with a disdainful glance,--"merely of your +love of comfort." + +"Yes, quite so: that is exactly what I meant," returns he, agreeably. It +was _not_ what he meant; but that doesn't count. "How awfully clever you +are," he says, presently, alluding to her management of the little pats, +which, to say truth, are faring but ill at her hands. + +"Not clever," says Mona. "If I were clever I should not take for +granted--as I always do--that what people say they must mean. I myself +could not wear a double face." + +"That is just like me," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly--"the very image +of me." + +"Is it?"--witheringly. Then, with some impatience, "You will be far +happier in an arm-chair: do go into the parlor. There is really no +reason why you should remain here." + +"There is,--a reason not to be surpassed. And as to the parlor,"--in a +melancholy tone,--"I could not be happy there, or anywhere, just at +present. Unless, indeed,"--this in a very low but carefully distinct +tone,--"it be here!" + +A pause. Mona mechanically but absently goes on with her work, avoiding +all interchange of glances with her deceitful lover. The deceitful lover +is plainly meditating a fresh attack. Presently he overturns an empty +churn and seats himself on the top of it in a dejected fashion. + +"I never saw the easy-chair I could compare with this," he says, as +though to himself, his voice full of truth. + +This is just a little too much. Mona gives way. Standing well back from +her butter, she lets her pretty rounded bare arms fall lightly before +her to their full length, and as her fingers clasp each other she turns +to Rodney and breaks into a peal of laughter sweet as music. + +At this he would have drawn her into his arms, hoping her gayety may +mean forgiveness and free absolution for all things said and done the +day before; but she recoils from him. + +"No, no," she says; "all is different now, you know, and +you should never have come here again at all; but"--with charming +inconsequence--"_why_ did you go away last evening without bidding me +good-night?" + +"My heart was broken, and by you: that was why. How could you say the +cruel things you did? To tell me it would be better for me to cut my +throat than marry you! That was abominable of you, Mona, wasn't it now? +And to make me believe you meant it all, too!" says this astute young +man. + +"I did mean it. Of course I cannot marry you," says Mona, but rather +weakly. The night has left her in a somewhat wavering frame of mind. + +"If you can say that again now, in cold blood, after so many hours of +thought, you must be indeed heartless," says Rodney; "and"--standing +up--"I may as well go." + +He moves towards the door with "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," +as Goldsmith would say. + +"Well, well, wait for one moment," says Mona, showing the white feather +at last, and holding out to him one slim little hand. He seizes it with +avidity, and then, placing his arm round her waist with audacious +boldness, gives her an honest kiss, which she returns with equal +honesty. + +"Now let us talk no more nonsense," says Rodney, tenderly. "We belong to +each other, and always shall, and that is the solution of the whole +matter." + +"Is it?" says she, a little wistfully. "You think so now; but if +afterwards you should know regret, or----" + +"Oh, if--if--if!" interrupts he. "Is it that you are afraid for +yourself? Remember there is 'beggary in the love that can be reckoned.'" + +"That is true," says Mona; "but it does not apply to me; and it is for +you only I fear. Let me say just this: I have thought it all over; there +were many hours in which to think, because I could not sleep----" + +"Neither could I," puts in Geoffrey. "But it was hard on you, my +darling." + +"And this is what I would say: in one year from this I will marry you, +if"--with a faint tremble in her tone--"you then still care to marry me. +But not before." + +"A year! An eternity!" + +"No; only twelve months,"--hastily; "say no more now: my mind is quite +made up." + +"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?" + +"Ah! then I did not know all," says Mona. "That was your fault. No; if I +consent to do you this injury you shall at least have time to think it +over." + +"Do you distrust me?" says Rodney,--this time really hurt, because his +love for her is in reality deep and strong and thorough. + +"No,"--slowly,--"I do not. If I did, I should not love you as--as I do." + +"It is all very absurd," says Rodney, impatiently. "If a year, or two, +or twenty, were to go by, it would be all the same; I should love you +then as I love you to-day, and no other woman. Be reasonable, darling; +give up this absurd idea." + +"Impossible," says Mona. + +"Impossible is a word only to be found in the dictionary of fools. _You_ +are not a fool. This is a mere fad of yours and I think you hardly know +why you are insisting on it." + +"I do know," says Mona. "First, because I would have you weigh +everything carefully, and----" + +"Yes, and----" + +"You know your mother will object to me," says Mona, with an effort, +speaking hurriedly, whilst a little fleck of scarlet flames into her +cheeks. + +"Stuff!" says Mr. Rodney; "that is only piling Ossa upon Pelion: it will +bring you no nearer the clouds. Say you will go back to the old +arrangement and marry me next month, or at least the month after." + +"No." + +She stands away from him, and looks at him with a face so pale, yet so +earnest and intense, that he feels it will be unwise to argue further +with her just now. So instead he takes both her hands and draws her to +his side again. + +"Oh, Mona, if you could only know how wretched I was all last night," he +says; "I never put in such a bad time in my life." + +"Yes; I can understand you," said Mona, softly, "for I too was +miserable." + +"Do you recollect all you said, or one-half of it? You said it would be +well if I hated you." + +"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, +"perhaps I was right." + +"Now, that is nastier," says Geoffrey; "unsay it." + +"I will," says the girl, impulsively, with quick tears in her eyes. +"Don't hate me, my dearest, unless you wish to kill me; for that would +be the end of it." + +"I have a great mind to say something uncivil to you, if only to punish +you for your coldness," says Geoffrey, lightly, cheered by her evident +sincerity. "But I shall refrain, lest a second quarrel be the result, +and I have endured so much during these past few hours that + + 'As I am a Christian faithful man + I would not spend another such a night + Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.' + +From the hour I parted from you till I saw you again I felt downright +suicidal." + +"But you didn't cut your throat, after all," says Mona, with a wicked +little grimace. + +"Well, no; but I dare say I shall before I am done with you. Besides, it +occurred to me I might as well have a last look at you before consigning +my body to the grave." + +"And an unhallowed grave, too. And so you really felt miserable when +angry with me? How do you feel now?" She is looking up at him, with love +and content and an adorable touch of coquetry in her pretty face. + +"'I feel that I am happier than I know,'" quotes he, softly, folding her +closely to his heart. + +So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of butter and +the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild +breezes that belong to the dying day. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HOW GEOFFREY TELLS HOME SECRETS, AND HOW MONA COMMENTS THEREON--HOW +DEATH STALKS RAMPANT IN THEIR PATH--AND HOW, THOUGH GEOFFREY DECLINES TO +"RUN AWAY," HE STILL "LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY." + + +"And you really mustn't think us such very big people," says Geoffrey, +in a deprecating tone, "because we are any thing but that, and, in +fact,"--with a sharp contraction of his brow that betokens inward +grief,--"there is rather a cloud over us just now." + +"A cloud?" says Mona. And I think in her inmost heart she is rather glad +than otherwise that her lover's people are not on the top rung of the +ladder. + +"Yes,--in a regular hole, you know," says Mr. Rodney. "It is rather a +complicated story, but the truth is, my grandfather hated his eldest +son--my uncle who went to Australia--like poison, and when dying left +all the property--none of which was entailed--to his second son, my +father." + +"That was a little unfair, wasn't it?" says Mona. "Why didn't he divide +it?" + +"Well, that's just it," returns he. "But, you see, he didn't. He willed +the whole thing to my father. He had a long conversation with my mother +the very night before his death, in which he mentioned this will, and +where it was locked up, and all about it; yet the curious part of the +whole matter is this, that on the morning after his death, when they +made search for this will, it was nowhere to be found! Nor have we heard +tale or tidings of it ever since Though of the fact that it was duly +signed, sealed, and delivered there is no doubt." + +"How strange!" says Mona. "But how then did you manage?" + +"Well, just then it made little difference to us, as, shortly after my +grandfather went off the hooks, we received what we believed to be +authenticated tidings of my uncle's death." + +"Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested. + +"Well, belief, however strong, goes a short way sometimes. An uncommon +short way with us." + +"But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?" + +"No, it didn't: it made it all wrong. But for that lie we should not be +in the predicament in which we now find ourselves. You will understand +me better when I tell you that the other day a young man turned up who +declares himself to be my uncle George's son, and heir to his land and +title. That _was_ a blow. And, as this wretched will is not forthcoming, +I fear he will inherit everything. We are disputing it, of course, and +are looking high and low for the missing will that should have been +sought for at the first. But it's very shaky the whole affair." + +"It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he +could have hugged her on the spot. + +"It is very hard on Nick," he says disconsolately. + +"And he is your cousin, this strange young man?" + +"Yes, I suppose so," replies Mr. Rodney, reluctantly. "But he don't look +like it. Hang it, you know," exclaims he, vehemently, "one can stand a +good deal, but to have a fellow who wears carbuncle rings, and speaks of +his mother as the 'old girl,' call himself your cousin, is more than +flesh and blood can put up with: it's--it's worse than the lawsuit." + +"It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him +"Nick" now for the world. + +"Harder even than you know. He is engaged to one of the dearest little +girls possible, but of course if this affair terminates in favor of--" he +hesitates palpably, then says with an effort--"my cousin, the engagement +comes to an end." + +"But why?" says Mona. + +"Well, he won't be exactly a catch after that, you know," says Rodney, +sadly. "Poor old Nick! it will be a come-down for him after all these +years." + +"But do you mean to tell me the girl he loves will give him up just +because fortune is frowning on him?" asks Mona, slowly. "Sure she +couldn't be so mean as that." + +"It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which +amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know." + +"I _don't_ know," says Mona unconvinced. "I would go against all the +people in the world rather than be bad to you. And to forsake him, too, +at the very time when he will most want sympathy, at the very hour of +his great trouble. Oh! that is shameful! I shall not like her, I think." + + +"I am sure you will, notwithstanding. She is the gayest, brightest +creature imaginable, just such another as yourself. If it be true that +'birds of a feather flock together,' you and she must amalgamate. You +may not get on well with Violet Mansergh, who is somewhat reserved, but +I know you will be quite friends with Doatie." + +"What is her name?" + +"She is Lord Steyne's second daughter. The family name is Darling. Her +name is Dorothy." + +"A pretty name, too." + +"Yes, old-fashioned. She is always called Doatie Darling by her +familiars, which sounds funny. She is quite charming, and loved by every +one." + +"Yet she would renounce her love, would betray him for the sake of +filthy lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that." + +"It is the way of her world. There is more in training than one quite +knows. Now, you are altogether different. I know that; it is perhaps the +reason why you have made my heart your own. Do not think it flattery +when I tell you there are very few like you, Mona, in the world; but I +would have you be generous. Do not let your excellence make you harsh to +others. That is a common fault; and all people, darling, are not +charactered alike." + +"Am I harsh?" says Mona, wistfully. + +"No, you are not," says Geoffrey, grieved to the heart that he could +have used such a word towards her. "You are nothing that is not sweet +and adorable. And, besides all this, you are, I know, sincerity itself. +I feel (and am thankful for the knowledge) that were fate to 'steep me +in poverty to the very lips,' you would still be faithful to me." + +"I should be all the more faithful: it is then you would feel your need +of me," says Mona, simply. Then, as though puzzled, she goes on with a +little sigh, "In time perhaps, I shall understand it all, and how other +people feel, and--if it will please you, Geoffrey--I shall try to like +the girl you call Doatie." + +"I wish Nick didn't like her so much," says Geoffrey, sadly. "It will +cut him up more than all the rest, if he has to give her up." + +"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a +half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would +it--would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?" + +Rodney is deeply touched. + +"No, darling, no; I am afraid not," he says, very gently. But for the +poor child's tender earnestness and good faith, he could almost have +felt some faint amusement; but this offering of hers is to him a sacred +thing, and to treat her words as a jest is a thought far from him. +Indeed, to give wilful offence to any one, by either word or action, +would be very foreign to his nature. For if "he is gentil that doth +gentil dedis" be true, Rodney to his finger-tips is gentleman indeed. + +It is growing dusk; "the shades of night are falling fast," the cold +pale sun, that all day long has cast its chill October beams upon a +leafless world, has now sunk behind the distant hill, and the sad +silence of the coming night hath set her finger with deep touch upon +creation's brow. + +"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous +laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of +late? I seem to be always anticipating evil." + +Down from the mountain's top the shadows are creeping stealthily: all +around is growing dim, and vague, and mysterious, in the uncertain +light. + +"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears +daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued voice. "That murder at Oola, for +instance: that was horrible.' + +"Well but a murder at Oola isn't a murder here, you know," says Mr. +Rodney, airily. "Let us wait to be melancholy until it comes home to +ourselves,--which indeed, may be at any moment, your countrymen are of +such a very playful disposition. Do you remember what a lively time we +had of it the night we ran to Maxwell's assistance, and what an escape +he had?" + +"Ay! so he had, an escape _you_ will never know," says a hoarse voice at +this moment, that makes Mona's heart almost cease to beat. An instant +later, and two men jump up from the dark ditch in which they have been +evidently hiding, and confront Rodney with a look of savage satisfaction +upon their faces. + +At this first glance he recognizes them as being the two men with whom +Mona had attempted argument and remonstrance on the night elected for +Maxwell's murder. They are armed with guns, but wear no disguise, not +even the usual band of black crape across the upper half of the face. + +Rodney casts a quick glance up the road, but no human creature is in +sight; nor, indeed, were they here, would they have been of any use. For +who in these lawless days would dare defy or call in question the +all-powerful Land League? + +"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is +absolutely frozen with fear. + +"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He +fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he +speaks. + +"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be +so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he +can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast. + +"Stand back," says Ryan, savagely. "Stand back, I tell ye, unless ye +want a hole in yer own skin, for his last moment is come." + +"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and +almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever +treats a woman with roughness. + +"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this +English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll +teach him how to balk me of my prey a second time. D'ye think I didn't +know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is +in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for +it." + +Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the +elbow, holds her as in a vice. There is no escape, no hope! Finding +herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with +dilated eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes +in quick agonized gasps, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her +feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer +last hour has come." + +"Has it?" says Rodney, fiercely. "Then I'll make the most of it," and +before the other can find time to fire he flings himself upon him, and +grasps his throat with murderous force. + +In an instant they are locked in each other's arms. Ryan wrestles +violently, but is scarcely a match for Rodney, whose youth and training +tell, and who is actually fighting for dear life. In the confusion the +gun goes off, and the bullet, passing by Rodney's arm, tears away a +piece of the coat with it, and also part of the flesh. But this he +hardly knows till later on. + +To and fro they sway, and then both men fall heavily to the ground. +Presently they are on their feet again, but this time Rodney is master +of the unloaded gun. + +"Leave the girl alone, and come here," shouts Ryan furiously to Carthy, +who is still holding Mona captive. The blood is streaming from a large +cut on his forehead received in his fall. + +"Coward!" hisses Rodney between his teeth. His face is pale as death; +his teeth are clenched; his gray eyes are flaming fire. His hat has +fallen off in the struggle, and his coat, which is a good deal torn, +betrays a shirt beneath deeply stained with blood. He is standing back a +little from his opponent, with his head thrown up, and his fair hair +lying well back from his brow. + +"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, +but is full of reckless defiance. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square +accounts with you." + +Advancing with the empty gun in his hands, he raises it, and, holding it +by the barrel, brings it down with all his might upon his enemy's skull. +Ryan reels, staggers, and once more licks the dust. But the wretched +weapon--sold probably at the back of some miserable shebeen in Bantry +for any price ranging from five-and-six to one guinea--snaps in two at +this moment from the force of the blow, so leaving Rodney, spent and +weak with loss of blood, at the mercy of his second opponent. + +Carthy, having by this time freed himself from Mona's detaining +grasp,--who, seeing the turn affairs have taken, has clung to him with +all her strength, and so hampered his efforts to go to his companion's +assistance,--comes to the front. + +But a hand-to-hand encounter is not Mr. Carthy's forte. He prefers being +propped up by friends and acquaintances, and thinks a duel _a la mort_ a +poor speculation. Now, seeing his whilom accomplice stretched apparently +lifeless upon the ground, his courage (what he has of it), like Bob +Acres', oozes out through his palms, and a curious shaking, that surely +can't be fear, takes possession of his knees. + +Moreover, he has never before had a gun in his own keeping; and the +sensation, though novel, is not so enchanting as he had fondly hoped it +might have been. He is plainly shy about the managing of it, and in his +heart is not quite sure which end of it goes off. However, he lifts it +with trembling fingers, and deliberately covers Rodney. + +Tyro as he is, standing at so short a distance from his antagonist, he +could have hardly failed to blow him into bits, and probably would have +done so, but for one little accident. + +Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding +herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had +rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had +torn from its top a heavy stone. + +Now, turning back, she aims carefully for Carthy's head, and flings the +missile from her. A woman's eye in such cases is seldom sure, and now +the stone meant for his head falls short, and, hitting his arm, knocks +the gun from his nerveless fingers. + +This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves +in, and, regardless of the prostrate figure of his companion, jumps +hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is +rolling up from the bay. + +Rodney, lifting the gun, takes as sure aim as he can at the form of the +departing hero; but evidently the bullet misses its mark, as no sound of +fear or pain comes to disturb the utter silence of the evening. + +Then he turns to Mona. + +"You have saved my life," he says, in a tone that trembles for the first +time this evening, "my love! my brave girl! But what an ordeal for you!" + +"I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help +you," says Mona, passionately; "that was bitter." + +"What spirit, what courage, you displayed! At first I feared you would +faint----" + +"While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says +Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough +for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob, "There will be time to +_die_ later on." + +Here her eyes fall upon Ryan's motionless figure, and a shudder passes +over her. + +"Is he dead?" she asks, in a whisper, pointing without looking at their +late foe. Rodney, stooping, lays his hand on the ruffian's heart. + +"No, he breathes," he says. "He will live, no doubt. Vermin are hard to +kill. And if he does die," bitterly, "what matter? Dog! Let him die +there! The road is too good a place for him." + +"Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror +creeps over her, rendering her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. +"There may be others. Do not delay." + +In ignorance of the fact that Geoffrey has been hurt in the fray, she +lays her hand upon the injured arm. Instinctively he shrinks from the +touch. + +"What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet--I feel +it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of +horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are +hurt, wounded!" + +"It can't be much," says Geoffrey, who, to confess the truth, is by this +time feeling a little sick and faint. "I never knew I was touched till +now. Come, let us get back to the farm." + +"I wonder you do not hate me," says Mona, with a brokenhearted sob, +"when you remember I am of the same blood as these wretches." + +"Hate you!" replies he, with a smile of ineffable fondness, "my +preserver and my love!" + +She is comforted in a small degree by his words, but fear and depression +still hold her captive. She insists upon his leaning on her, and he, +seeing she is bent on being of some service to him, lays his hand +lightly on her shoulder, and so they go slowly homeward. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +HOW MONA PROVES HERSELF EQUAL--IF NOT SUPERIOR--TO DR. MARY WALKER; AND +HOW GEOFFREY, BY A BASE THREAT, CARRIES HIS POINT. + + +Old Brian Scully is in his parlor, and comes to meet them as they enter +the hall,--his pipe behind his back. + +"Come in, come in," he begins, cheerily, and then, catching sight of +Mona's pale face, stops short. "Why, what has come to ye?" cries he, +aghast, glancing from his niece to Rodney's discolored shirt and torn +coat; "what has happened?" + +"It was Tim Ryan," returns Mona, wearily, feeling unequal to a long +story just at present. + +"Eh, but this is bad news!" says old Scully, evidently terrified and +disheartened by his niece's words. "Where will it all end? Come in, +Misther Rodney: let me look at ye, boy. No, not a word out of ye now +till ye taste something. 'Tis in bits ye are; an' a good coat it was +this mornin'. There's the whiskey, Mona, agra, an' there's the wather. +Oh! the black villain! Let me examine ye, me son. Why, there's blood on +ye! Oh! the murthering thief!" + +So runs on the kindly farmer, smitten to the heart that such things +should be,--and done upon Rodney of all men. He walks round the young +man, muttering his indignation in a low tone, while helping him with +gentle care to remove his coat,--or at least what remains of that once +goodly garment that had for parent Mr. Poole. + +"Where's the docther at all, at all?" says he, forcing Geoffrey into a +chair, and turning to Biddy, who is standing open-mouthed in the +doorway, and who, though grieved, is plainly finding some pleasure in +the situation. Being investigated, she informs them the "docther" is +to-night on the top of Carrigfoddha Mountain, and, literally, "won't be +home until morning." + +"Now, what's to be done?" says old Brian, in despair. "I know, as well +as if ye tould me, it is Norry Flannigan! Just like those wimmen to be +always troublesome! Are ye sure Biddy?" + +"Troth I am, sir. I see him goin' wid me own two eyes not an hour ago, +in the gig an' the white horse, wid the wan eye an' the loose +tail,--that looks for all the world as if it was screwed on to him. An' +'tisn't Norry is callin' for him nayther (though I don't say but she'll +be on the way), but Larry Moloney the sweep. 'Tis a stitch he got this +morning, an' he's gone intirely this time, the people say. An' more's +the pity too, for a dacent sowl he was, an' more nor a mortial sweep." + +This eulogy on the departing Larry she delivers with much unction, and a +good deal of check apron in the corner of one eye. + +"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?" + +"Sure Miss Mona can," says Biddy, turning to her young mistress, and +standing in the doorway in her favorite position,--that is, with her +bare arms akimbo, and her head to one side like a magpie. "She's raal +clever at dhressin' an' doctherin' an' that." + +"Oh, no, I'm not clever," says Mona; "but"--nervously and with downcast +eyes, addressing Geoffrey--"I might perhaps be able to make you a little +more comfortable." + +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! + +She shrinks a little from the task, and would fain have evaded it +altogether; though there is happiness, too, in the thought that here is +an occasion on which she may be of real use to him. Will not the very +act itself bring her nearer to him? Is it not sweet to feel that it is +in her power to ease his pain? And is she not only doing what a tender +wife would gladly do for her husband? + +Still she hesitates, though betraying no vulgar awkwardness or silly +_mauvaise honte_. Indeed, the only sign of emotion she does show is a +soft slow blush, that, mounting quickly, tips even her little ears with +pink. + +"Let her thry," says old Brian, in his soft, Irish brogue, that comes +kindly from his tongue. "She's mighty clever about most things." + +"I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between +an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed +it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless +flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you +unhappy,--may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety. + +"No, it will not shock me," returns Mona, quietly; whereupon he sits +down, and Biddy puts a basin on the table, and Mona, with trembling +fingers, takes a scissors, and cuts away the shirt-sleeve from his +wounded arm. Then she bathes it. + +After a moment she turns deadly pale, and says, in a faint tone, "I know +I am hurting you: I _feel_ it." And in truth I believe the tender heart +does feel it, much more than he does. There is an expression that +amounts to agony in her beautiful eyes. + +"_You_ hurt me!" replies he, in a peculiar tone, that is not so peculiar +but it fully satisfies her. And then he smiles, and, seeing old Brian +has once more returned to the fire and his pipe, and Biddy has gone for +fresh water, he stoops over the reddened basin, and, in spite of all the +unromantic surroundings, kisses her as fondly as if roses and moonbeams +and dripping fountains and perfumed exotics were on every side. And +this, because true romance--that needs no outward fire to keep it +warm--is in his heart. + +And now Mona knows no more nervousness, but with a steady and practised +hand binds up his arm, and when all is finished pushes him gently +(_very_ gently) from her, and "with heart on her lips, and soul within +her eyes," surveys with pride her handiwork. + +"Now I hope you will feel less pain," she says, with modest triumph. + +"I feel no pain," returns he, gallantly. + +"Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his +knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days +when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, +very good." + +At this Mona and Geoffrey break into silent laughter, being overcome by +the insinuation about lying. + +"Come here an' sit down, lad," says old Scully, unknowing of their +secret mirth, "an' tell me all about it, from start to finish,--that +Ryan's a thundering rogue,--while Mona sees about a bed for ye." + +"Oh, no," says Rodney, hastily. "I have given quite too much trouble +already. I assure you I am quite well enough now to ride back again to +Bantry." + +"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,--"to-night! Oh, do you want +to kill me and yourself?" + +"She has reason," says the old man, earnestly and approvingly, rounding +his sentence after the French fashion, as the Irish so often will: "she +has said it," he goes on, "she always does say it; she has brains, has +my colleen. Ye don't stir out of this house to-night, Mr. Rodney; so +make up yer mind to it. With Tim Ryan abroad, an' probably picked up and +carried home by this time, the counthry will be all abroad, an' no safe +thravellin' for man or baste. Here's a cosey sate for ye by the fire: +sit down, lad, an' take life aisy." + +"If I was quite sure I shouldn't be dreadfully in the way," says +Geoffrey, turning to Mona, she being mistress of the ceremonies. + +"Be quite sure," returns she, smiling. + +"And to-morrow ye can go into Banthry an' prosecute that scoundrel +Ryan," says Scully, "an' have yer arm properly seen afther." + +"So I can," says Geoffrey. Then, not for any special reason, but +because, through very love of her, he is always looking at her, he turns +his eyes on Mona. She is standing by the table, with her head bent down. + +"Yes, to-morrow you can have your arm re-dressed," she says, in a low +tone, that savors of sadness; and then he knows she does not want him to +prosecute Ryan. + +"I think I'll let Ryan alone," he says, instantly, turning to her uncle +and addressing him solely, as though to prove himself ignorant of Mona's +secret wish. "I have given him enough to last him for some time." Yet +the girl reads him him through and through, and is deeply grateful to +him for this quick concession to her unspoken desire. + +"Well, well, you're a good lad at heart," says Scully, glad perhaps in +his inmost soul, as his countrymen always are and will be when a +compatriot cheats the law and escapes a just judgment. "Mona, look after +him for awhile, until I go an' see that lazy spalpeen of mine an' get +him to put a good bed undher Mr. Rodney's horse." + +When the old man has gone, Mona goes quietly up to her lover, and, +laying her hand upon his arm,--a hand that seems by some miraculous +means to have grown whiter of late,--says, gratefully,-- + +"I know why you said that about Ryan, and I thank you for it. I should +not like to think it was your word had transported him." + +"Yet, I am letting him go free that he may be the perpetrator of even +greater crimes." + +"You err, nevertheless, on the side of mercy, if you err at all; +and--perhaps there may be no other crimes. He may have had his lesson +this evening,--a lasting one. To-morrow I shall go to his cabin, +and----" + +"Now, once for all, Mona," interrupts he, with determination, "I +strictly forbid you ever to go to Ryan's cottage again." + +It is the first time he has ever used the tone of authority towards her, +and involuntarily she shrinks from him, and glances up at him from under +her long lashes in a half frightened, half-reproachful fashion, as might +an offended child. + +Following her, he takes both her hands, and, holding them closely, draws +her back to her former position beside him. + +"Forgive me: it was an ugly word," he says, "I take it back. I shall +never forbid you to do anything, Mona, if my doing so must bring that +look into your eyes. Yet surely there are moments in every woman's life +when the man who loves her, and whom she loves, may claim from her +obedience, when it is for her own good. However, let that pass. I now +entreat you not to go again to Ryan's cabin." + +Releasing her hands from his firm grasp, the girl lays them lightly +crossed upon his breast, and looks up at him with perfect trust,-- + +"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." + +There is both dignity and tenderness in her tone. She gazes at him +earnestly for a moment, and then suddenly slips one arm round his neck. + +"Geoffrey," she says with a visible effort. + +"Yes, darling." + +"I want you to do something for my sake." + +"I will do anything, my own." + +"It is for my sake; but it will break my heart." + +"Mona! what are you going to say to me?" + +"I want you to leave Ireland--not next month, or next week, but at once. +To-morrow, if possible." + +"My darling, why?" + +"Because you are not safe here: your life is in danger. Once Ryan is +recovered, he will not be content to see you living, knowing his life is +in your hands; every hour you will be in danger. Whatever it may cost +me, you must go." + +"That's awful nonsense, you know," says Rodney, lightly. "When he sees I +haven't taken any steps about arresting him, he will forget all about +it, and bear no further ill will." + +"You don't understand this people as I do. I tell you he will never +forgive his downfall the other night, or the thought that he is in your +power." + +"Well, at all events I shan't go one moment before I said I should," +says Rodney. + +"It is now my turn to demand obedience," says Mona, with a little wan +attempt at a smile. "Will you make every hour of my life unhappy? Can I +live in the thought that each minute may bring me evil news of you,--may +bring me tidings of your death?" Here she gives way to a passionate +burst of grief, and clings closer to him, as though with her soft arms +to shield him from all danger. Her tears touch him. + +"Well, I will go," he says, "on one condition,--that you come with me." + +"Impossible!" drawing back from him. "How could I be ready? and, +besides, I have said I will not marry you until a year goes by. How can +I break my word?" + +"That word should never have been said. It is better broken." + +"Oh, no." + +"Very well. I shall not ask you to break it. But I shall stay on here. +And if," says this artful young man, in a purposely doleful tone, +"anything _should_ happen, it will----" + +"Don't say it! don't!" cries Mona, in an agony, stopping his mouth with +her hand. "Do not! Yes, I give in. I will go with you. I will marry you +any time you like, the sooner the better,"--feverishly; "anything to +save your life!" + +This is hardly complimentary, but Geoffrey passes it over. + +"This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the +wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot. + +"Very well," says Mona, who is pale and thoughtful. + +And then old Brian comes in, and Geoffrey opens out to him this +newly-devized plan; and after a while the old farmer, with tears in his +eyes, and a strange quiver in his voice that cuts through Mona's heart, +gives his consent to it, and murmurs a blessing on this hasty marriage +that is to deprive him of all he best loves on earth. + +And so they are married, and last words are spoken, and adieux said, and +sad tears fall, and for many days her own land knows Mona no more. + +And that night, when she is indeed gone, a storm comes up from the sea, +and dashes the great waves inward upon the rocky coast. And triumphantly +upon their white bosoms the sea-mews ride, screaming loudly their wild +sweet song that mingles harmoniously with the weird music of the winds +and waves. + +And all the land is rich with angry beauty beneath the rays of the cold +moon, that + + "O'er the dark her silver mantle throws;" + +and the sobbing waves break themselves with impotent fury upon the giant +walls of granite that line the coast, and the clouds descend upon the +hills, and the sea-birds shriek aloud, and all nature seems to cry for +Mona. + +But to the hill of Carrickdhuve, to sit alone and gaze in loving silence +on the heaven-born grandeur of earth and sky and sea, comes Mona Scully +no more forever. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +HOW GEOFFREY WRITES A LETTER THAT POSSESSES ALL THE PROPERTIES OF +DYNAMITE--AND HOW CONFUSION REIGNS AT THE TOWERS. + + +In the house of Rodney there is mourning and woe. Horror has fallen upon +it, and something that touches on disgrace. Lady Rodney, leaning back in +her chair with her scented handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, sobs +aloud and refuses to be comforted. + +The urn is hissing angrily, and breathing forth defiance with all his +might. It is evidently possessed with the belief that the teapot has +done it some mortal injury, and is waging on it war to the knife. + +The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is positively +turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking +straight before it, in a very dignified fashion, at a martial row of +cups and saucers that are drawn up in battle-array and are only waiting +for the word of command to march upon the enemy. + +But this word comes not. In vain does the angry urn hiss. The teapot +holds aloft its haughty nose for naught. The cups and saucers range +themselves in military order all for nothing. Lady Rodney is dissolved +in tears. + +"Oh! Nicholas, it can't be true! it really _can't_!" she says, alluding +to the news contained in a letter Sir Nicholas is reading with a puzzled +brow. + +He is a tall young man, about thirty-two, yet looking younger, with a +somewhat sallow complexion, large dreamy brown eyes, and very fine sleek +black hair. He wears neither moustache nor whiskers, principally for the +very good reason that Nature has forgotten to supply them. For which +perhaps he should be grateful, as it would have been a cruel thing to +hide the excessive beauty of his mouth and chin and perfectly-turned +jaw. These are his chief charms, being mild and thoughtful, yet a trifle +firm, and in perfect accordance with the upper part of his face. He is +hardly handsome, but is certainly attractive. + +In manner he is somewhat indolent, silent, perhaps lazy. But there is +about him a subtle charm that endears him to all who know him. Perhaps +it is his innate horror of offending the feelings of any one, be he +great or small, and perhaps it is his inborn knowledge of humanity, and +the power he possesses (with most other sensitive people) of being able +to read the thoughts of those with whom he comes in contact, that +enables him to avoid all such offence. Perhaps it is his honesty, and +straightforwardness, and general, if inactive, kindliness of +disposition. + +He takes little trouble about anything, certainly none to make himself +popular, yet in all the countryside no man is so well beloved as he is. +It is true that a kindly word here, or a smile in the right place, does +more to make a man a social idol than substantial deeds of charity doled +out by an unsympathetic hand. This may be unjust; it is certainly +beyond dispute the fact. + +Just now his forehead is drawn up into a deep frown, as he reads the +fatal letter that has reduced his mother to a Niobe. Another young man, +his brother, Captain Rodney, who is two or three years younger than he, +is looking over his shoulder, while a slight, brown-haired, very +aristocratic looking girl is endeavoring, in a soft, modulated voice, to +convey comfort to Lady Rodney. + +Breakfast is forgotten; the rolls and the toast and the kidneys are +growing cold. Even her own special little square of home-made bread is +losing its crispness and falling into a dejected state, which shows +almost more than anything else could that Lady Rodney is very far gone +indeed. + +Violet is growing as nearly frightened as good breeding will permit at +the protracted sobbing, when Sir Nicholas speaks. + +"It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth +does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers +as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage +of the proceedings have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off +long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought +Geoffrey was that sort of fellow." + +"But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, +just a little impatiently. + +"Why, Geoffrey's been and gone and got married," says Jack Rodney, +pulling his long fair moustache, and speaking rather awkwardly. It has +been several times hinted to him, since his return from India, that, +Violet Mansergh being reserved for his brother Geoffrey, any of his +attentions in that quarter will be eyed by the family with disfavor. And +now to tell her of her quondam lover's defection is not pleasant. +Nevertheless he watches her calmly as he speaks. + +"Is that all?" says Violet, in a tone of surprise certainly, but as +certainly in one of relief. + +"No, it is _not_ all," breaks in Sir Nicholas. "It appears from this," +touching the bombshell, "that he has married a--a--young woman of very +inferior birth." + +"Oh! that is really shocking," says Violet, with a curl of her very +short upper lip. + +"I do hope she isn't the under-housemaid," said Jack, moodily. "It has +grown so awfully common. Three fellows this year married +under-housemaids, and people are tired of it now; one can't keep up the +excitement always. Anything new might create a diversion in his favor, +but he's done for if he has married another under-housemaid." + +"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a +brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a +common farmer's niece!" + +"Well, you know that's better than a farmer's common niece," says Jack, +consolingly. + +"What does he say about it?" asks Violet, who shows no sign whatever of +meaning to wear the willow for this misguided Benedict, but rather +exhibits all a woman's natural curiosity to know exactly what he has +said about the interesting event that has taken place. + +Sir Nicholas again applies himself to the deciphering of the detested +letter. "'He would have written before, but saw no good in making a fuss +beforehand,'" he reads slowly. + +"Well, there's good deal of sense in that," says Jack. + +"'Quite the loveliest girl in the world,' with a heavy stroke under the +'quite.' That's always so, you know: nothing new or striking about +that." Sir Nicholas all through is speaking in a tone uniformly moody +and disgusted. + +"It is a point in her favor nevertheless," says Jack, who is again +looking over his shoulder at the letter. + +"'She is charming at all points,'" goes on Sir Nicholas deliberately +screwing his glass into his eye, "'with a mind as sweet as her face.' +Oh, it is absurd!" says Sir Nicholas, impatiently. "He is evidently in +the last stage of imbecility. Hopelessly bewitched." + +"And a very good thing, too," puts in Jack, tolerantly: "it won't last, +you know, so he may as well have it strong while he is about it." + +"What do you know about it?" says Sir Nicholas, turning the tables in +the most unexpected fashion upon his brother, and looking decidedly +ruffled, for no reason that one can see, considering it is he himself is +condemning the whole matter so heartily. "As he is married to her, I +sincerely trust his affection for her may be deep and lasting, and not +misplaced. She may be a very charming girl." + +"She may," says Jack. "Well go on. What more does he say?" + +"'He will write again. And he is sure we shall all love her when we see +her.' That is another sentence that goes without telling. They are +always sure of that beforehand. They absolutely arrange our feelings for +us! I hope he will be as certain of it this time six months, for all our +sakes." + +"Poor girl! I feel honestly sorry for her," says Jack, with a mild sigh. +"What an awful ass he has made of himself!" + +"And 'he is happier now than he has ever been in all his life before.' +Pshaw!" exclaims Sir Nicholas, shutting up the letter impatiently. "He +is mad!" + +"Where does he write from?" asks Violet. + +"From the Louvre. They are in Paris." + +"He has been married a whole fortnight and never deigned to tell his own +mother of it until now," says Lady Rodney, hysterically. + +"A whole fortnight! And he is as much in love with her as ever! Oh! she +can't be half bad," says Captain Rodney, hopefully. + +"Misfortunes seem to crowd upon us," says Lady Rodney, bitterly. + +"I suppose she is a Roman Catholic," says Sir Nicholas musingly. + +At this Lady Rodney sits quite upright, and turns appealingly to Violet. +"Oh, Violet, I do hope not," she says. + +"Nearly all the Irish farmers are," returns Miss Mansergh, reluctantly. +"When I stay with Uncle Wilfrid in Westmeath, I see them all going to +mass every Sunday morning. Of course"--kindly--"there are a few +Protestants, but they are very few." + +"This is too dreadful!" moans Lady Rodney, sinking back again in her +chair, utterly overcome by this last crowning blow. She clasps her hands +with a deplorable gesture, and indeed looks the very personification of +disgusted woe. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, I shouldn't take that so much to heart," says Violet, +gently leaning over her. "Quite good people are Catholics now, you know. +It is, indeed, the fashionable religion, and rather a nice one when you +come to think of it." + +"I don't want to think of it," says her friend, desperately. + +"But do," goes on Violet, in her soft, even monotone, that is so exactly +suited to her face. "It is rather pleasant thinking. Confession, you +know, is so soothing; and then there are always the dear saints, with +their delightful tales of roses and lilies, and tears that turn into +drops of healing balm, and their bones that lie in little glass cases in +the churches abroad. It is all so picturesque and pretty, like an +Italian landscape. And it is so comfortable, too, to know that, no +matter how naughty we may be here, we can still get to heaven at last by +doing some great and charitable deed." + +"There is something in that, certainly," says Captain Rodney, with +feeling. "I wonder, now, what great and charitable deed I could do." + +"And then isn't it sweet to think," continues Violet, warming to her +subject, "that when one's friends are dead one can still be of some +service to them, in praying for their souls? It seems to keep them +always with one. They don't seem so lost to us as they would otherwise." + +"Violet, please do not talk like that; I forbid it," says Lady Rodney, +in a horrified tone. "Nothing could make me think well of anything +connected with this--this odious girl; and when you speak like that you +quite upset me. You will be having your name put in that horrid list of +perverts in the 'Whitehall Review' if you don't take care." + +"You really will, you know," says Captain Rodney, warningly; then, as +though ambitious of piling up the agony, he says, _sotto voce_, yet loud +enough to be heard, "I wonder if Geoff will go to mass with her?" + +"It is exactly what I expect to hear next," says Geoff's mother, with +the calmness of despair. + +Then there is silence for a full minute, during which Miss Mansergh +casts a reproachful glance at the irrepressible Jack. + +"Well, I hope he has married a good girl, at all events," says Sir +Nicholas, presently, with a sigh. But at this reasonable hope Lady +Rodney once more gives way to bitter sobs. + +"Oh, to think Geoffrey should marry 'a good girl'!" she says, weeping +sadly. "One would think you were speaking of a servant! Oh! it is _too_ +cruel!" Here she rises and makes for the door, but on the threshold +pauses to confront Sir Nicholas with angry eyes. "To hope the wretched +boy had married 'a good girl'!" she says, indignantly: "I never heard +such an inhuman wish from one brother to another!" + +She withers Sir Nicholas with a parting glance, and then quits the +room, Violet in her train, leaving her eldest son entirely puzzled. + +"What does she mean?" asks he of his brother, who is distinctly amused. +"Does she wish poor old Geoff had married a bad one? I confess myself at +fault." + +And so does Captain Rodney. + +Meantime, Violet is having rather a bad time in the boudoir. Lady Rodney +refuses to see light anywhere, and talks on in a disjointed fashion +about this disgrace that has befallen the family. + +"Of course I shall never receive her; that is out of the question, +Violet: I could not support it." + +"But she will be living only six miles from you, and the county will +surely call, and that will not be nice for you," says Violet. + +"I don't care about the county. It must think what it likes; and when it +knows her it will sympathize with me. Oh! what a name! Scully! Was there +ever so dreadful a name?" + +"It is not a bad name in Ireland. There are very good people of that +name: the Vincent Scullys,--everybody has heard of them," says Violet, +gently. But her friend will not consent to believe anything that may +soften the thought of Mona. The girl has entrapped her son, has basely +captured him and made him her own beyond redemption; and what words can +be bad enough to convey her hatred of the woman who has done this deed? + +"I meant him for you," she says, in an ill-advised moment, addressing +the girl who is bending over her couch assiduously and tenderly applying +eau-de-cologne to her temples. It is just a little too much. Miss +Mansergh fails to see the compliment in this remark. She draws her +breath a little quickly, and as the color comes her temper goes. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, you are really too kind," she says, in a tone soft +and measured as usual, but without the sweetness. In her heart there is +something that amounts as nearly to indignant anger as so thoroughly +well-bred and well regulated a girl can feel. "You are better, I think," +she says, calmly, without any settled foundation for the thought; and +then she lays down the perfume-bottle, takes up her handkerchief, and, +with a last unimportant word or two, walks out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HOW LADY RODNEY SPEAKS HER MIND--HOW GEOFFREY DOES THE SAME--AND HOW +MONA DECLARES HERSELF STRONG TO CONQUER. + + +It is the 14th of December, and "bitter chill." Upon all the lawns and +walks at the Towers, "Nature, the vicar of the almightie Lord," has laid +its white winding-sheet. In the long avenue the gaunt and barren +branches of the stately elms are bowed down with the weight of the snow, +that fell softly but heavily all last night, creeping upon the sleeping +world with such swift and noiseless wings that it recked not of its +visit till the chill beams of a wintry sun betrayed it. + +Each dark-green leaf in the long shrubberies bears its own sparkling +burden. The birds hide shivering in the lourestine--that in spite of +frost and cold is breaking into blossom,--and all around looks frozen. + + "Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, + And the winter winds are wearily sighing;" + + +yet there is grandeur, too, in the scene around, and a beauty scarcely +to be rivalled by June's sweetest efforts. + +Geoffrey, springing down from the dog-cart that has been sent to the +station to meet him, brushes the frost from his hair, and stamps his +feet upon the stone steps. + +Sir Nicholas, who has come out to meet him, gives him a hearty +hand-shake, and a smile that would have been charming if it had not been +funereal. Altogether, his expression in such as might suit the death-bed +of a beloved friend, His countenance is of an unseemly length, and he +plainly looks on Geoffrey as one who has fallen upon evil days. + +Nothing daunted, however, by this reception, Geoffrey returns his grasp +with interest, and, looking fresh and young and happy, runs past him, up +the stairs, to his mother's room, to beard--as he unfilially expresses +it--the lioness in her den. It is a very cosey den, and, though claws +maybe discovered in it, nobody at the first glance would ever suspect +it of such dangerous toys. Experience, however, teaches most things, and +Geoffrey has donned armor for the coming encounter. + +He had left Mona in the morning at the Grosvenor, and had run down to +have it out with his mother and get her permission to bring Mona to the +Towers to be introduced to her and his brothers. This he preferred to +any formal calling on their parts. + +"You see, our own house is rather out of repair from being untenanted +for so long, and will hardly be ready for us for a month or two," he +said to Mona: "I think I will run down to the Towers and tell my mother +we will go to her for a little while." + +Of course this was on the day after their return to England, before his +own people knew of their arrival. + +"I shall like that very much," Mona had returned, innocently, not +dreaming of the ordeal that awaited her,--because in such cases even the +very best men will be deceitful, and Geoffrey had rather led her to +believe that his mother would be charmed with her, and that she was most +pleased than otherwise at their marriage. + +When she made him this little trustful speech, however, he had felt some +embarrassment, and had turned his attention upon a little muddy boy who +was playing pitch-and-toss, irrespective of consequences, on the other +side of the way. + +And Mona had marked his embarrassment, and had quickly, with all the +vivacity that belongs to her race, drawn her own conclusions therefrom, +which were for the most part correct. + +But to Geoffrey--lest the telling should cause him unhappiness--she had +said nothing of her discovery; only when the morning came that saw him +depart upon his mission (now so well understood by her), she had kissed +him, and told him to "hurry, hurry, _hurry_ back to her," with a little +sob between each word. And when he was gone she had breathed an earnest +prayer, poor child, that all might yet be well, and then told herself +that, no matter what came, she would at least be a faithful, loving wife +to him. + +To her it is always as though he is devoid of name. It is always "he" +and "his" and "him," all through, as though no other man existed upon +earth. + + * * * * * + +"Well, mother?" says Geoffrey, when he has gained her room and received +her kiss, which is not exactly all it ought to be after a five months' +separation. He is her son, and of course she loves him, but--as she +tells herself--there are some things hard to forgive. + +"Of course it was a surprise to you," he says. + +"It was more than a 'surprise.' That is a mild word," says Lady Rodney. +She is looking at him, is telling herself what a goodly son he is, so +tall and strong and bright and handsome. He might have married almost +any one! And now--now----? No, she cannot forgive. "It was, and must +always be, a lasting grief," she goes on, in a low tone. + +This is a bad beginning. Mr. Rodney, before replying, judiciously gains +time, and makes a diversion by poking the fire. + +"I should have written to you about it sooner," he says at last, +apologetically, hoping half his mother's resentment arises from a sense +of his own negligence, "but I felt you would object, and so put it off +from day to day." + +"I heard of it soon enough," returns his mother, gloomily, without +lifting her eyes from the tiny feathered fire-screen she is holding. +"Too soon! That sort of thing seldom tarries. 'For evil news rides post, +while good news baits.'" + +"Wait till you see her," says Geoffrey, after a little pause, with full +faith in his own recipe. + +"I don't want to see her," is the unflinching and most ungracious reply. + +"My dear mother, don't say that," entreats the young man, earnestly, +going over to her and placing his arm round her neck. He is her favorite +son, of which he is quite aware, and so hopes on. "What is it you object +to?" + +"To everything! How could you think of bringing a daughter-in-law +of--of--her description to your mother?" + +"How can you describe her, when you have not seen her?" + +"She is not a lady," says Lady Rodney, as though that should terminate +the argument. + +"It entirely depends on what you consider a lady," says Geoffrey, +calmly, keeping his temper wonderfully, more indeed for Mona's sake than +his own. "You think a few grandfathers and an old name make one: I dare +say it does. It ought, you know; though I could tell you of several +striking exceptions to that rule. But I also believe in a nobility that +belongs alone to nature. And Mona is as surely a gentlewoman in thought +and deed as though all the blood of all the Howards was in her veins." + +"I did not expect you would say anything else," returns she, coldly. "Is +she quite without blood?" + +"Her mother was of good family, I believe." + +"You believe!" with ineffable disgust. "And have you not even taken the +trouble to make sure? How late in life you have developed a trusting +disposition!" + +"One might do worse than put faith in Mona," says, Geoffrey, quickly. +"She is worthy of all trust. And she is quite charming,--quite. And the +very prettiest girl I ever saw. You know you adore beauty, +mother,"--insinuatingly,--"and she is sure to create a _furor_ when +presented." + +"Presented!" repeats Lady Rodney, in a dreadful tone. "And would you +present a low Irish girl to your sovereign? And just now, too, when the +whole horrid nation is in such disrepute." + +"You mustn't call her names, you know; she is my wife," says Rodney, +gently, but with dignity,--"the woman I love and honor most on earth. +When you see her you will understand how the word 'low' could never +apply to her. She looks quite correct, and is perfectly lovely." + +"You are in love," returns his mother, contemptuously. "At present you +can see no fault in her; but later on when you come to compare her with +the other women in your own set, when you see them together, I only hope +you will see no difference between them, and feel no regret." + +She says this, however, as though it is her one desire he may know +regret, and feel a difference that be overwhelming. + +"Thank you," says Geoffrey, a little dryly, accepting her words as they +are said, not as he feels they are meant. + +Then there is another pause, rather longer than the last, Lady Rodney +trifles with the fan in a somewhat excited fashion, and Geoffrey gazes, +man-like, at his boots. At last his mother breaks the silence. + +"Is she--is she noisy?" she asks, in a faltering tone. + +"Well, she can laugh, if you mean that," says Geoffrey somewhat +superciliously. And then, as though overcome with some recollection in +which the poor little criminal who is before the bar bore a humorous +part, he lays his head down upon the mantelpiece and gives way to hearty +laughter himself. + +"I understand," says Lady Rodney, faintly, feeling her burden is +"greater than she can bear." "She is, without telling, a young woman who +laughs uproariously, at everything,--no matter what,--and takes good +care her vulgarity shall be read by all who run." + +Now, I can't explain why but I never knew a young man who was not +annoyed when the girl he loved was spoken of as a "young woman." +Geoffrey takes it as a deliberate insult. + +"There is a limit to everything,--even my patience," he says, not +looking at his mother. "Mona is myself, and even from you, my mother, +whom I love and reverence, I will not take a disparaging word of her." + +There is a look upon his face that recalls to her his dead father, and +Lady Rodney grows silent. The husband of her youth had been dear to her, +in a way, until age had soured him, and this one of all his three +children most closely resembled him, both in form and in feature; hence, +perhaps, her love for him. She lowers her eyes, and a slow blush--for +the blood rises with difficulty in the old--suffuses her face. + +And then Geoffrey, marking all this, is vexed within himself, and, going +over to her, lays his arm once more around her neck, and presses his +cheek to hers. + +"Don't let us quarrel," he says, lovingly. And this time she returns his +caress very fondly, though she cannot lose sight of the fact that he has +committed a social error not to be lightly overlooked. + +"Oh, Geoffrey, how could you do it?" she says, reproachfully, alluding +to his marriage,--"you whom I have so loved. What would your poor father +have thought had he lived to see this unhappy day? You must have been +mad." + +"Well, perhaps I was," says Geoffrey, easily: "we are all mad on one +subject or another, you know; mine may be Mona. She is an excuse for +madness, certainly. At all events, I know I am happy, which quite carries +out your theory, because, as Dryden says,-- + + 'There is a pleasure sure + In being mad, which none but madmen know.' + +I wish you would not take it so absurdly to heart. I haven't married an +heiress, I know; but the whole world does not hinge on money." + +"There was Violet," says Lady Rodney. + +"I wouldn't have suited her at all," says Geoffrey. "I should have bored +her to extinction, even if she had condescended to look at me, which I +am sure she never would." + +He is not sure of anything of the kind, but he says it nevertheless, +feeling he owes so much to Violet, as the conversation has drifted +towards her, and he feels she is placed--though unknown to herself--in a +false position. + +"I wish you had never gone to Ireland!" says Lady Rodney, deeply +depressed. "My heart misgave me when you went, though I never +anticipated such a climax to my fears. What possessed you to fall in +love with her?" + + "'She is pretty to walk with, + And witty to talk with, + And pleasant, too, to think on.'" + +quotes Geoffrey, lightly, "Are not these three reasons sufficient? If +not, I could tell you a score of others. I may bring her down to see +you?" + +"It will be very bitter to me," says Lady Rodney. + +"It will not: I promise you that; only do not be too prejudiced in her +disfavor. I want you to know her,--it is my greatest desire,--or I +should not say another word after your last speech, which is not what I +hoped to hear from you. Leighton, as you know, is out of repair, but if +you will not receive us we can spend the rest of the winter at Rome or +anywhere else that may occur to us." + +"Of course you must come here," says Lady Rodney, who is afraid of the +county and what it will say if it discovers she is at loggerheads with +her son and his bride. But there is no welcome in her tone. And +Geoffrey, greatly discouraged, yet determined to part friends with her +for Mona's sake,--and trusting to the latter's sweetness to make all +things straight in the future,--after a few more desultory remarks takes +his departure, with the understanding on both sides that he and his wife +are to come to the Towers on the Friday following to take up their +quarters there until Leighton Hall is ready to receive them. + +With mingled feelings he quits his home, and all the way up to London in +the afternoon train weighs with himself the momentous question whether +he shall or shall not accept the unwilling invitation to the Towers, +wrung from his mother. + +To travel here and there, from city to city and village to village, with +Mona, would be a far happier arrangement. But underlying all else is a +longing that the wife whom he adores and the mother whom he loves should +be good friends. + +Finally, he throws up the mental argument, and decides on letting things +take their course, telling himself it will be a simple matter to leave +the Towers at any moment, should their visit there prove unsatisfactory. +At the farthest, Leighton must be ready for them in a month or so. + +Getting back to the Grosvenor, he runs lightly up the stairs to the +sitting-room, and, opening the door very gently,--bent in a boyish +fashion on giving her a "rise,"--enters softly, and looks around for his +darling. + +At the farthest end of the room, near a window, lying back in an +arm-chair, lies Mona, sound asleep. + +One hand is beneath her cheek,--that is soft and moist as a child's +might be in innocent slumber,--the other is thrown above her head. She +is exquisite in her _abandon_, but very pale, and her breath comes +unevenly. + +Geoffrey, stooping over to wake her with a kiss, marks all this, and +also that her eyelids are tinged with pink, as though from excessive +weeping. + +Half alarmed, he lays his hand gently on her shoulder, and, as she +struggles quickly into life again, he draws her into his arms. + +"Ah, it is you!" cries she, her face growing glad again. + +"Yes; but you have been crying, darling! What has happened?" + +"Oh, nothing," says Mona, flushing. "I suppose I was lonely. Don't mind +me. Tell me all about yourself and your visit." + +"Not until you tell me what made you cry." + +"Sure you know I'd tell you if there was anything to tell," replies she, +evasively. + +"Then do so," returns he, quite gravely, not to be deceived by her very +open attempts at dissimulation. "What made you unhappy in my absence?" + +"If you must know, it is this," says Mona, laying her hand in his and +speaking very earnestly. "I am afraid I have done you an injury in +marrying you!" + +"Now, that is the first unkind thing you have ever said to me," retorts +he. + +"I would rather die than be unkind to you," says Mona, running her +fingers with a glad sense of appropriation through his hair. "But this +is what I mean; your mother will never forgive your marriage; she will +not love me, and I shall be the cause of creating dissension between her +and you." Again tears fill her eyes. + +"But there you are wrong. There need be no dissensions; my mother and I +are very good friends, and she expects us both to go to the Towers on +Friday next." + +Then he tells her all the truth about his interview with his mother, +only suppressing such words as would be detrimental to the cause he has +in hand, and might give her pain. + +"And when she sees you all will be well," he says, still clinging +bravely to his faith in this panacea for all evils. "Everything rests +with you.' + +"I will do my best," says Mona, earnestly; "but if I fail,--if after all +my efforts your mother still refuses to love me, how will it be then?" + +"As it is now; it need make no difference to us; and indeed I will not +make the trial at all if you shrink from it, or if it makes you in the +faintest degree unhappy." + +"I do not shrink from it," replies she, bravely: "I would brave anything +to be friends with your mother." + +"Very well, then: we will make the attempt," says he, gayly. "'Nothing +venture, nothing have.'" + +"And 'A dumb priest loses his benefice,'" quotes Mona, in her turn, +almost gayly too. + +"Yet remember, darling, whatever comes of it," says Rodney, earnestly, +"that you are more to me than all the world,--my mother included. So do +not let defeat--if we should be defeated--cast you down. Never forget +how I love you." In his heart he dreads for her the trial that awaits +her. + +"I do not," she says, sweetly. "I could not: it is my dearest +remembrance; and somehow it has made me strong to conquer, +Geoffrey,"--flushing, and raising herself to her full height, as though +already arming for action,--"I feel, I _know_, I shall in the end +succeed with your mother." + +She lifts her luminous eyes to his, and regards him fixedly as she +speaks, full of hopeful excitement. Her eyes have always a peculiar +fascination of their own, apart from the rest of her face. Once looking +at her, as though for the first time impressed with this idea, Geoffrey +had said to her, "I never look at your eyes that I don't feel a wild +desire to close them with a kiss." To which she had made answer in her +little, lovable way, and with a bewitching glance from the lovely orbs +in question, "If that is how you mean to do it, you may close them just +as often as ever you like." + +Now he takes advantage of this general permission, and closes them with +a soft caress. + +"She must be harder-hearted than I think her, if she can resist _you_," +he says, fondly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER THE TOWERS--AND HOW THEY ARE RECEIVED BY THE +INHABITANTS THEREOF. + + +The momentous Friday comes at last, and about noon Mona and Geoffrey +start for the Towers. They are not, perhaps, in the exuberant spirits +that should be theirs, considering they are going to spend their +Christmas in the bosom of their family,--at all events, of Geoffrey's +family which naturally for the future she must acknowledge as hers. They +are indeed not only silent, but desponding, and as they get out of the +train at Greatham and enter the carriage sent by Sir Nicholas to meet +them their hearts sink nearly into their boots, and for several minutes +no words pass between them. + +To Geoffrey perhaps the coming ordeal bears a deeper shade; as Mona +hardly understands all that awaits her. That Lady Rodney is a little +displeased at her son's marriage she can readily believe, but that she +has made up her mind beforehand to dislike her, and intends waging with +her war to the knife, is more than has ever entered into her gentle +mind. + +"Is it a long drive, Geoff?" she asks, presently, in a trembling tone, +slipping her hand into his in the old fashion. "About six miles. I say, +darling, keep up your spirits; if we don't like it, we can leave, you +know. But"--alluding to her subdued voice--"don't be imagining evil." + +"I don't think I am," says Mona; "but the thought of meeting people for +the first time makes me feel nervous. Is your mother tall, Geoffrey?" + +"Very." + +"And severe-looking? You said she was like you." + +"Well, so she is; and yet I suppose our expressions are dissimilar. Look +here," says Geoffrey, suddenly, as though compelled at the last moment +to give her a hint of what is coming. "I want to tell you about her,--my +mother I mean: she is all right, you know, in every way, and very +charming in general, but just at first one might imagine her a little +difficult!" + +"What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a +chromatic scale." + +"I mean she seems a trifle cold, unfriendly, and--er--that," says +Geoffrey. "Perhaps it would be a wise thing for you to make up your mind +what you will say to her on first meeting her. She will come up to you, +you know, and give you her hand like this," taking hers, "and----" + +"Yes, I know," said Mona, eagerly interrupting him. "And then she will +put her arms round me, and kiss me just like this," suiting the action +to the word. + +"Like _that_? Not a bit of it," says Geoffrey, who had given her two +kisses for her one: "you mustn't expect it. She isn't in the least like +that. She will meet you probably as though she saw you yesterday, and +say, 'How d'ye do? I'm afraid you have had a very long and cold drive.' +And then you will say----" + +A pause. + +"Yes, I shall say----" anxiously. + +"You--will--say----" Here he breaks down ignominiously, and confesses by +his inability to proceed that he doesn't in the least know what it is +she can say. + +"I know," says Mona, brightening, and putting on an air so different +from her own usual unaffected one as to strike her listener with awe. "I +shall say, 'Oh! thanks, quite too awfully much, don't you know? but +Geoffrey and I didn't find it a bit long, and we were as warm as wool +all the time.'" + +At this appalling speech Geoffrey's calculations fall through, and he +gives himself up to undisguised mirth. + +"If you say all that," he says, "there will be wigs on the green: that's +Irish, isn't it? or something like it, and very well applied too. The +first part of your speech sounded like Toole or Brough, I'm not sure +which." + +"Well, it _was_ in a theatre I heard it," confesses Mona, meekly: "it +was a great lord who said it on the stage, so I thought it would be all +right." + +"Great lords are not necessarily faultlessly correct, either on or off +the stage," says Geoffrey. "But, just for choice, I prefer them off it. +No, that will not do at all. When my mother addresses you, you are to +answer her back again in tones even colder than her own, and say----" + +"But, Geoffrey, why should I be cold to your mother? Sure you wouldn't +have me be uncivil to her, of all people?" + +"Not uncivil, but cool. You will say to her, 'It was rather better than +I anticipated, thank you.' And then, if you can manage to look bored, it +will be quite correct, so far, and you may tell yourself you have scored +one." + +"I may say that horrid speech, but I certainly can't pretend I was bored +during our drive, because I am not," says Mona. + +"I know that. If I was not utterly sure of it I should instantly commit +suicide by precipitating myself under the carriage-wheels," says +Geoffrey. "Still--'let us dissemble.' Now say what I told you." + +So Mrs. Rodney says, "It was rather better than I anticipated, thank +you," in a tone so icy that his is warm beside it. + +"But suppose she doesn't say a word about the drive?" says Mona, +thoughtfully. "How will it be then?" + +"She is safe to say something about it, and that will do for anything," +says Rodney, out of the foolishness of his heart. + +And now the horses draw up before a brilliantly-lighted hall, the doors +of which are thrown wide as though in hospitable expectation of their +coming. + +Geoffrey, leading his wife into the hall, pauses beneath a central +swinging lamp, to examine her critically. The footman who is in +attendance on them has gone on before to announce their coming: they are +therefore for the moment alone. + +Mona is looking lovely, a little pale perhaps from some natural +agitation, but her pallor only adds to the lustre of her great blue eyes +and lends an additional sweetness to the ripeness of her lips. Her hair +is a little loose, but eminently becoming, and altogether she looks as +like an exquisite painting as one can conceive. + +"Take off your hat," says Geoffrey, in a tone that gladdens her heart, +so full it is of love and admiration; and, having removed her hat, she +follows him though halls and one or two anterooms until they reach the +library, into which the man ushers them. + +It is a very pretty room, filled with a subdued light, and with a +blazing fire at one end. All bespeaks warmth, and home, and comfort, but +to Mona in her present state it is desolation itself. The three +occupants of the room rise as she enters, and Mona's heart dies within +her as a very tall statuesque woman, drawing herself up languidly from a +lounging-chair, comes leisurely up to her. There is no welcoming haste +in her movements, no gracious smile, for which her guest is thirsting, +upon her thin lips. + +She is dressed in black velvet, and has a cap of richest old lace upon +her head. To the quick sensibilities of the Irish girl it becomes known +without a word that she is not to look for love from this stately woman, +with her keen scrutinizing glance and cold unsmiling lips. + +A choking sensation, rising from her heart, almost stops Mona's breath; +her mouth feels parched and dry; her eyes widen. A sudden fear oppresses +her. How is it going to be in all the future? Is Geoffrey's--her own +husband's--mother to be her enemy? + +Lady Rodney holds out her hand, and Mona lays hers within it. + +"So glad you have come," says Lady Rodney, in a tone that belies her +words, and in a sweet silvery voice that chills the heart of her +listener. "We hardly thought we should see you so soon, the trains here +are so unpunctual. I hope the carriage was in time?" + +She waits apparently for an answer, at which Mona grows desperate. For +in reality she has heard not one word of the labored speech made to her, +and is too frightened to think of anything to say except the unfortunate +lesson learned in the carriage and repeated secretly so often since. She +looks round helplessly for Geoffrey; but he is laughing with his +brother, Captain Rodney, whom he has not seen since his return from +India, and so Mona, cast upon her own resources, says,-- + +"It was rather better than I anticipated, thank you," not in the +haughty tone adopted by her half an hour ago, but, in an unnerved and +frightened whisper. + +At this remarkable answer to a very ordinary and polite question, Lady +Rodney stares at Mona for a moment, and then turns abruptly away to +greet Geoffrey. Whereupon Captain Rodney, coming forward, tells Mona he +is glad to see her, kindly but carelessly; and then a young man, who has +been standing up to this silently upon the hearthrug, advances, and +takes Mona's hand in a warm clasp, and looks down upon her with very +friendly eyes. + +At his touch, at his glance, the first sense of comfort Mona has felt +since her entry into the room falls upon her. This man, at least, is +surely of the same kith and kin as Geoffrey, and to him her heart opens +gladly, gratefully. + +He has heard the remarkable speech made to his mother, and has drawn his +own conclusions therefrom. "Geoffrey has been coaching the poor little +soul, and putting absurd words into her mouth, with--as is usual in all +such cases--a very brilliant result." So he tells himself, and is, as we +know, close to the truth. + +He tells Mona she is very welcome, and, still holding her hand, draws +her over to the fire, and moves a big arm-chair in front of it, in which +he ensconces her, bidding her warm herself, and make herself (as he says +with a kindly smile that has still kinder meaning in it) "quite at +home." + +Then he stoops and unfastens her sealskin jacket, and takes it off her, +and in fact pays her all the little attentions that lie in his power. + +"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. + +"Yes," returns he with a smile. "I am Nicholas." He ignores the formal +title. "Geoffrey, I expect, spoke to you of me as 'old Nick;' he has +never called me anything else since we were boys." + +"He has often called you that; but,"--shyly,--"now that I have seen you, +I don't think the name suits you a bit." + +Sir Nicholas is quite pleased. There is a sort of unconscious flattery +in the gravity of her tone and expression that amuses almost as much as +it pleases him. What a funny child she is! and how unspeakably lovely! +Will Doatie like her? + +But there is yet another introduction to be gone through. From the +doorway Violet Mansergh comes up to Geoffrey clad in some soft pale +shimmering stuff, and holds out to him her hand. + +"What a time you have been away!" she says, with a pretty, slow smile, +that has not a particle of embarrassment or consciousness in it, though +she is quite aware that Jack Rodney is watching her closely. Perhaps, +indeed, she is secretly amused at his severe scrutiny. + +"You will introduce me to your wife?" she asks, after a few minutes, in +her even, _trainante_ voice, and is then taken up to the big arm-chair +before the fire, and is made known to Mona. + +"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes: of course we shall excuse your +dressing to-night," says Lady Rodney, addressing her son far more than +Mona, though the words presumably are meant for her. Whereupon Mona, +rising from her chair with a sigh of relief, follows Geoffrey out of the +room and upstairs. + +"Well?" says Sir Nicholas, as a deadly silence continues for some time +after their departure, "what do you think of her?" + +"She is painfully deficient; positively without brains," says Lady +Rodney, with conviction. "What was the answer she made me when I asked +about the carriage? Something utterly outside the mark." + +"She is not brainless; she was only frightened. It certainly was an +ordeal coming to a house for the first time to be, in effect, stared at. +And she is very young." + +"And perhaps unused to society," puts in Violet, mildly. As she speaks +she picks up a tiny feather that has clung to her gown, and lightly +blows it away from her into the air. + +"She looked awfully cut up, poor little thing," says Jack, kindly. "You +were the only one she opened her mind to, Nick What did she say? Did she +betray the ravings of a lunatic or the inanities of a fool?" + +"Neither." + +"Then, no doubt, she heaped upon you priceless gems of Irish wit in her +mother-tongue?" + +"She said very little; but she looks good and true. After all, Geoffrey +might have done worse." + +"Worse!" repeats his mother, in a withering tone. In this mood she is +not nice, and a very little of her suffices. + +"She is decidedly good to look at, at all events," says Nicholas, +shifting ground. "Don't you think so, Violet?" + +"I think she is the loveliest woman I ever saw," returns Miss Mansergh, +quietly, without enthusiasm, but with decision. If cold, she is just, +and above the pettiness of disliking a woman because she may be counted +more worthy of admiration than herself. + +"I am glad you are all pleased," says Lady Rodney, in a peculiar tone; +and then the gong sounds, and they all rise, as Geoffrey and Mona once +more make their appearance. Sir Nicholas gives his arm to Mona, and so +begins her first evening at the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +HOW MONA RISES BETIMES--AND HOW SHE ENCOUNTERS A STRANGER AMIDST THE +MORNING DEWS. + + +All through the night Mona scarcely shuts her eyes, so full is her mind +of troubled and perplexing thoughts. At last her brain grows so tired +that she cannot pursue any subject to its end, so she lies silently +awake, watching for the coming of the tardy dawn. + +At last, as she grows weary for wishing for it,-- + + "Morning fair + Comes forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray" + +and light breaks through shutter and curtain, and objects pale and +ghostly at first soon grow large and intimate. + + "Brown night retires; young day pours in apace, + And opens all a lawny prospect wide." + + +Naturally an early riser, Mona slips noiselessly from her bed, lest she +shall wake Geoffrey,--who is still sleeping the sleep of the just,--and, +going into his dressing-room, jumps into his bath, leaving hers for him. + +The general bath-room is to Geoffrey an abomination; nothing would +induce him to enter it. His own bath, and nothing but his own bath, can +content him. To have to make uncomfortable haste to be first, or else to +await shivering the good pleasure of your next-door neighbor, is +according to Mr. Rodney, a hardship too great for human endurance. + +Having accomplished her toilet without the assistance of a maid (who +would bore her to death), and without disturbing her lord and master, +she leaves her room, and, softly descending the stairs, bids the maid in +the hall below a "fair good-morning," and bears no malice in that the +said maid is so appalled by her unexpected appearance that she forgets +to give her back her greeting. She bestows her usual bonnie smile upon +this stricken girl, and then, passing by her, opens the hall door, and +sallies forth into the gray and early morning. + + "The first low fluttering breath of waking day + Stirs the wide air. Thin clouds of pearly haze + Float slowly o'er the sky, to meet the rays + Of the unrisen sun." + +But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and +for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up +the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a +path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it +until she loses herself in the lonely wood. + +The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no +vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see +some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and +are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen +monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful. + +Still, Mona is happy: the walk has done her good, and warmed her blood, +and brought a color soft and rich as carmine, to her cheeks. She has +followed the winding path for about an hour, briskly, and with a sense +of _bien-etre_ that only the young and godly can know, when suddenly she +becomes aware that some one was following her. + +She turns slowly, and finds her fellow-pedestrian is a young man clad in +a suit of very impossible tweed: she blushes hotly, not because he is a +young man, but because she has no hat on her head, having covered her +somewhat riotous hair with a crimson silk handkerchief she had found in +Geoffrey's room, just before starting. It covers her head completely, +and is tied under the chin Connemara fashion, letting only a few little +love-locks be seen, that roam across her forehead, in spite of all +injunctions to the contrary. + +Perhaps, could she only know how charmingly becoming this style of +headdress is to her flower-like face, she would not have blushed at all. + +The stranger is advancing slowly: he is swarthy, and certainly not +prepossessing. His hair is of that shade and texture that suggests +unpleasantly the negro. His lips are a trifle thick, his eyes like +sloes. There is, too, an expression of low cunning in these latter +features that breeds disgust in the beholder. + +He does not see Mona until he is within a yard of her, a thick bush +standing between him and her. Being always a creature of impulse, she +has stood still on seeing him, and is lost in wonder as to who he can +be. One hand is lifting up her gown, the other is holding together the +large soft white fleecy shawl that covers her shoulders, and is +therefore necessarily laid upon her breast. Her attitude is as +picturesque as it is adorable. + +The stranger, having come quite near, raises his head, and, seeing her, +starts naturally, and also comes to a standstill. For a full half-minute +he stares unpardonably, and then lifts his hat. Mona--who, as we have +seen, is not great in emergencies--fails to notice the rudeness, in her +own embarrassment, and therefore bows politely in return to his +salutation. + +She is still wondering vaguely who he can be, when he breaks the +silence. + +"It is an early hour to be astir," he says, awkwardly; then, finding she +makes no response, he goes on, still more awkwardly. "Can you tell me if +this path will lead me to the road for Plumston?" + +Plumston is a village near. The first remark may sound Too free and +easy, but his manner is decorous in the extreme. In spite of the fact +that her pretty head is covered with a silk handkerchief in lieu of a +hat, he acknowledges her "within the line," and knows instinctively that +her clothes, though simplicity itself, are perfect both in tint and in +texture. + +He groans within him that he cannot think of any speech bordering on the +Grandisonian, that may be politely addressed to this sylvan nymph; but +all such speeches fail him. Who can she be? Were ever eyes so liquid +before, or lips so full of feeling? + +"I am sorry I can tell you nothing," says Mona, shaking her head. "I was +never in this wood before; I know nothing of it." + +"_I_ should know all about it," says the stranger, with a curious +contraction of the muscles of his face, which it may be he means for a +smile. "In time I shall no doubt, but at present it is a sealed book to +me. But the future will break all seals as far at least as Rodney Towers +is concerned." + +Then she knows she is speaking to "the Australian," (as she has heard +him called), and, lifting her head, examines his face with renewed +interest. Not a pleasant face by any means, yet not altogether bad, as +she tells herself in the generosity of her heart. + +"I am a stranger; I know nothing," she says again, hardly knowing what +to say, and moving a little as though she would depart. + +"I suppose I am speaking to Mrs. Rodney," he says, guessing wildly, yet +correctly as it turns out, having heard, as all the country has besides, +that the bride is expected at the Towers during the week. He has never +all this time removed his black eyes from the perfect face before him +with its crimson headgear. He is as one fascinated, who cannot yet +explain where the fascination lies. + +"Yes, I am Mrs. Rodney," says Mona, feeling some pride in her wedded +name, in spite of the fact that two whole months have gone by since +first she heard it. At this question, though, as coming from a stranger, +she recoils a little within herself, and gathers up her gown more +closely with a gesture impossible to misunderstand. + +"You haven't asked me who I am," says the stranger, as though eager to +detain her at any cost, still without a smile, and always with his eyes +fixed upon her face. It seems as though he positively cannot remove +them, so riveted are they. + +"No;" she might in all truth have added, "because I did not care to +know," but what she does say (for incivility even to an enemy would be +impossible to Mona) is, "I thought perhaps you might not like it." + +Even this is a small, if unconscious, cut, considering what +objectionable curiosity he evinced about her name. But the Australian is +above small cuts, for the good reason that he seldom sees them. + +"I am Paul Rodney," he now volunteers,--"your husband's cousin, you +know. I suppose," with a darkening of his whole face, "now I have told +you who I am, it will not sweeten your liking for me." + +"I have heard of you," says Mona, quietly. Then, pointing towards that +part of the wood whither he would go, she says, coldly, "I regret I +cannot tell you where this path leads to. Good-morning." + +With this she inclines her head, and without another word goes back by +the way she has come. + +Paul Rodney, standing where she has left him, watches her retreating +figure until it is quite out of sight, and the last gleam of the crimson +silk handkerchief is lost in the distance, with a curious expression +upon his face. It is an odd mixture of envy, hatred, and admiration. If +there is a man on earth he hates with cordial hatred, it is Geoffrey +Rodney who at no time has taken the trouble to be even outwardly civil +to him. And to think this peerless creature is his wife! For thus he +designates Mona,--the Australian being a man who would be almost sure to +call the woman he admired a "peerless creature." + +When she is quite gone, he pulls himself together with a jerk, and draws +a heavy sigh, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, continues +his walk. + +At breakfast Mona betrays the fact that she has met Paul Rodney during +her morning ramble, and tells all that passed between him and her,--on +being closely questioned,--which news has the effect of bringing a cloud +to the brow of Sir Nicholas and a frown to that of his mother. + +"Such presumption, walking in our wood without permission," she says, +haughtily. + +"My dear mother, you forget the path leading from the southern gate to +Plumston Road has been open to the public for generations. He was at +perfect liberty to walk there." + +"Nevertheless, it is in very bad taste his taking advantage of that +absurd permission, considering how he is circumstanced with regard to +us," says Lady Rodney. "You wouldn't do it yourself, Nicholas, though +you find excuses for him." + +A very faint smile crosses Sir Nicholas's lips. + +"Oh, no, I shouldn't," he says, gently; and then the subject drops. + +And here perhaps it will be as well to explain the trouble that at this +time weighs heavily upon the Rodney family. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +HOW OLD SIR GEORGE HATED HIS FIRSTBORN--AND HOW HE MADE HIS WILL--AND +HOW THE EARTH SWALLOWED IT. + + +Now, old Sir George Rodney, grandfather of the present baronet, had two +sons, Geoffrey and George. Now, Geoffrey he loved, but George he hated. +And so great by years did this hatred grow that after a bit he sought +how he should leave the property away from his eldest-born, who was +George, and leave it to Geoffrey, the younger,--which was hardly fair; +for "what," says Aristotle, "is justice?--to give every man his own." +And surely George, being the elder, had first claim. The entail having +been broken during the last generation, he found this easy to +accomplish; and so after many days he made a will, by which the younger +son inherited all, to the exclusion of the elder. + +But before this, when things had gone too far between father and son, +and harsh words never to be forgotten on either side had been uttered, +George, unable to bear longer the ignominy of his position (being of a +wild and passionate yet withal generous disposition), left his home, to +seek another and happier one in foreign lands. + +Some said he had gone to India, others to Van Diemen's Land, but in +truth none knew, or cared to know, save Elspeth, the old nurse, who had +tended him and his father before him, and who in her heart nourished for +him an undying affection. + +There were those who said she clung to him because of his wonderful +likeness to the picture of his grandfather in the south gallery, Sir +Launcelot by name, who in choicest ruffles and most elaborate _queue_, +smiled gayly down upon the passers-by. + +For this master of the Towers (so the story ran) Elspeth, in her younger +days, had borne a love too deep for words, when she herself was soft and +rosy-cheeked, with a heart as tender and romantic as her eyes were blue, +and when her lips, were for all the world like "cherries ripe." + +But this, it may be, was all village slander, and was never borne out by +anything. And Elspeth had married the gardener's son, and Sir Launcelot +had married an earl's daughter; and when the first baby was born at the +"big house," Elspeth came to the Towers and nursed him as she would have +nursed her own little bairn, but that Death, "dear, beauteous Death, the +jewel of the just, shining nowhere but in the dark," sought and claimed +her own little one two days after its birth. + +After that she had never again left the family, serving it faithfully +while strength stayed with her, knowing all its secrets and all its old +legends, and many things, it may be, that the child she nursed at her +bosom never knew. + +For him--strange as it may seem--she had ever but little love. But when +he married, and George, the eldest boy, was given into her arms, and as +he grew and developed and showed himself day by day to be the very +prototype of his grandsire, she "took to him," as the servants said, and +clung to him--and afterwards to his memory--until her dying day. + +When the dark, wayward, handsome young man went away, her heart went +with him, and she alone perhaps knew anything of him after his +departure. To his father his absence was a relief; he did not disguise +it; and to his brother (who had married, and had then three children, +and had of late years grown estranged from him) the loss was not great. +Nor did the young madam,--as she was called,--the mother of our present +friends, lose any opportunity of fostering and keeping alive the ill +will and rancor that existed for him in his father's heart. + +So the grudge, being well watered, grew and flourished, and at last, as +I said, the old man made a will one night, in the presence of the +gardener and his nephew, who witnessed it, leaving all he +possessed--save the title and some outside property, which he did not +possess--to his younger son. And, having made this will, he went to his +bed, and in the cold night, all alone, he died there, and was found in +the morning stiff and stark, with the gay spring sunshine pouring in +upon him, while the birds sang without as though to mock death's power, +and the flowers broke slowly into life. + +But when they came to look for the will, lo! it was nowhere to be found. +Each drawer and desk and cabinet was searched to no avail. Never did the +lost document come to light. + +Day after day they sought in vain; but there came a morning when news of +the lost George's demise came to them from Australia, and then the +search grew languid and the will was forgotten. And they hardly took +pains even to corroborate the tidings sent them from that far-off land +but, accepting the rightful heir's death as a happy fact, ascended the +throne, and reigned peacefully for many years. + +And when Sir George died, Sir Nicholas, as we know, governed in his +stead, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell," until a small cloud came +out of the south, and grew and grew and waxed each day stronger, until +it covered all the land. + +For again news came from Australia that the former tidings of George +Rodney's death had been false; that he had only died a twelvemonth +since; that he had married almost on first going out, and that his son +was coming home to dispute Sir Nicholas's right to house and home and +title. + +And now where was the missing will? Almost all the old servants were +dead or scattered. The gardener and his nephew wore no more; even old +Elspeth was lying at rest in the cold churchyard, having ceased long +since to be even food for worms. Only her second nephew--who had lived +with her for years in the little cottage provided for her by the +Rodneys, when she was too old and infirm to do aught but sit and dream +of days gone by--was alive, and he, too, had gone to Australia on her +death and had not been heard of since. + +It was all terrible,--this young man coming and the thought that, no +matter how they might try to disbelieve in his story, still it might be +true. + +And then the young man came, and they saw that he was very dark, and +very morose, and very objectionable. But he seemed to have more money +than he quite know what to do with; and when he decided on taking a +shooting-box that then was vacant quite close to the Towers, their +indignation knew no bounds. And certainly it was execrable taste, +considering he came there with the avowed determination to supplant, as +lord and master, the present owner of the Towers, the turrets of which +he could see from his dining room windows. + +But, as he had money, some of the county, after the first spasm, rather +acknowledged him, as at least a cousin, if not _the_ cousin. And because +he was somewhat unusual, and therefore amusing, and decidedly liberal, +and because there was no disgrace attaching to him, and no actual reason +why he should not be received, many houses opened their doors to him. +All which was bitter as wormwood to Lady Rodney. + +Indeed, Sir Nicholas himself had been the very first to set the example. +In his curious, silent, methodical fashion, he had declared to his +mother (who literally detested the very mention of the Australian's +name, as she called him, looking upon him as a clean-born Indian might +look upon a Pariah) his intention of being civil to him all round, as he +was his father's brother's child; and as he had committed no sin, beyond +trying to gain his own rights, he would have him recognized, and treated +by every one, if not with cordiality, at least with common politeness. + +But yet there were those who did not acknowledge the new-comer, in spite +of his wealth and the romantic story attaching to him, and the +possibility that he might yet be proved to be the rightful baronet and +the possessor of all the goodly lands that spread for miles around. Of +these the Duchess of Lauderdale was one; but then she was always slow to +acknowledge new blood, or people unhappy enough to have a history. And +Lady Lilias Eaton was another; but she was a young and earnest disciple +of æstheticism, and gave little thought to anything save Gothic windows, +lilies, and unleavened bread. There were also many of the older families +who looked askance upon Paul Rodney, or looked through him, when brought +into contact with him, in defiance of Sir Nicholas's support, which +perhaps was given to this undesirable cousin more in pride than +generosity. + +And so matters stood when Mona came to the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +HOW FATE DEALS HARSHLY WITH MONA, AND HOW SHE DROOPS--AS MIGHT A +FLOWER--BENEATH ITS UNKINDLY TOUCH. + + +To gain Lady Rodney's friendship is a more difficult thing than Mona in +her ignorance had imagined, and she is determined to be ice itself to +her poor little guest. As for her love, when first Mona's eyes lit upon +her she abandoned all hope of ever gaining that. + +With Captain Rodney and Sir Nicholas she makes way at once, though she +is a little nervous and depressed, and not altogether like her usual gay +_insouciant_ self. She is thrown back upon herself, and, like a timid +snail, recoils sadly into her shell. + +Yet Nature, sooner or later, must assert itself; and after a day or two +a ringing laugh breaks from her, or a merry jest, that does Geoffrey's +heart good, and brings an answering laugh and jest to the lips of her +new brothers. + +Of Violet Mansergh--who is still at the Towers, her father being abroad +and Lady Rodney very desirous of having her with her--she knows little. +Violet is cold, but quite civil, as Englishwomen will be until they know +you. She is, besides, somewhat prejudiced against Mona, because--being +honest herself--she has believed all the false tales told her of the +Irish girl. These silly tales, in spite of her belief in her own +independence of thought, weigh upon her; and so she draws back from +Mona, and speaks little to her, and then of only ordinary topics, while +the poor child is pining for some woman to whom she can open her mind +and whom she may count as an honest friend "For talking with a friend," +says Addison, "is nothing else but thinking aloud." + +Of Lady Rodney's studied dislike Mona's sensitive nature could not long +remain in ignorance; yet, having a clear conscience, and not knowing in +what she has offended,--save in cleaving to the man she loves, even to +the extent of marrying him,--she keeps a calm countenance, and bravely +waits what time may bring. + +To quarrel with Geoffrey's people will be to cause Geoffrey silent but +acute regret, and so for his sake, to save him pain, she quietly bears +many things, and waits for better days. What is a month or two of +misery, she tells herself, but a sigh amidst the pleasures of one's +life? Yet I think it is the indomitable pluck and endurance of her race +that carries her successfully through all her troubles. + +Still, she grows a little pale and dispirited after a while, for + + "Dare, when it once is entered in the breast, + Will have the whole possession ere it rest." + +One day, speaking of Sir Nicholas to Lady Rodney, she had--as was most +natural--called him "Nicholas." But she had been cast back upon herself +and humiliated to the earth by his mother's look of cold disapproval and +the emphasis she had laid upon the "Sir" Nicholas when next speaking of +him. + +This had widened the breach more than all the rest, though Nicholas +himself, being quite fascinated by her, tries earnestly to make her +happy and at home with him. + +About a week after her arrival--she having expressed her admiration of +ferns the night before--he draws her hand through his arm and takes her +to his own special sanctum,--off which a fernery has been thrown, he +being an enthusiastic grower of that lovely weed. + +Mona is enchanted with the many varieties she sees that are unknown to +her, and, being very much not of the world, is not ashamed to express +her delight. Looking carefully through all, she yet notices that a tiny +one, dear to her, because common to her sweet Killarney, is not among +his collection. + +She tells him of it, and he is deeply interested; and when she proposes +to write and get him one from her native soil, he is glad as a schoolboy +promised a new bat, and her conquest of Sir Nicholas is complete. + +And indeed the thought of this distant fern is as dear to Mona as to +him. For to her comes a rush of tender joy, as she tells herself she may +soon be growing in this alien earth a green plant torn from her +fatherland. + +"But I hope you will not be disappointed when you see it," she says, +gently. "You have the real Killarney fern, Sir Nicholas, I can see; the +other, I speak of, though to me almost as lovely, is not a bit like it." + +She is very careful to give him his title ever since that encounter with +his mother. + +"I shall not be disappointed. I have read all about it," returns he, +enthusiastically. Then, as though the thought has just struck him, he +says,-- + +"Why don't you call me Nicholas, as Geoffrey does?" + +Mona hesitates, then says, shyly, with downcast eyes,-- + +"Perhaps Lady Rodney would not like it." + +Her face betrays more than she knows. + +"It doesn't matter in the least what any one thinks on this subject," +says Nicholas, with a slight frown, "I shall esteem it a very great +honor if you will call me by my Christian name. And besides, Mona, I +want you to try to care for me,--to love me, as I am your brother." + +The ready tears spring into Mona's eyes. She is more deeply, +passionately grateful to him for this small speech than he will ever +know. + +"Now, that is very kind of you," she says, lifting her eyes, humid with +tears, to his. "And I think it will take only a very little time to make +me love you!" + +After this, she and Sir Nicholas are even better friends than they have +been before,--a silent bond of sympathy seeming to exist between them. +With Captain Rodney, though he is always kind to her, she makes less +way, he being devoted to the society of Violet, and being besides of +such a careless disposition as prevents his noticing the wants of those +around,--which is perhaps another name for selfishness. + +Yet selfish is hardly the word to apply to Jack Rodney, because at heart +he is kindly and affectionate, and, if a little heedless and +indifferent, is still good _au fond_. He is light hearted and agreeable, +and singularly hopeful:-- + + "A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays + And confident to morrow." + +During the past month he has grown singularly domestic, and fond of home +and its associations. Perhaps Violet has something to do with this, with +her little calm thoroughbred face, and gentle manners, and voice low and +_trainante_. Yet it would be hard to be sure of this, Captain Rodney +being one of those who have "sighed to many," without even the saving +clause of having "loved but one." Yet with regard to Mona there is no +mistake about Jack Rodney's sentiments. He likes her well (could she +but know it) in all sincerity. + +Of course everybody that is anybody has called on the new Mrs. Rodney. +The Duchess of Lauderdale who is an old friend of Lady Rodney's, and who +is spending the winter at her country house to please her son the young +duke, who is entertaining a houseful of friends, is almost the first to +come. And Lady Lillias Eaton, the serious and earnest-minded young +æsthetic,--than whom nothing can be more coldly and artistically correct +according to her own school,--is perhaps the second: but to both, +unfortunately, Mona is "not at home." + +And very honestly, too, because at the time of their visits, when Lady +Rodney was entertaining them in the big drawing-room and uttering +platitudes and pretty lies by the score, she was deep in the recesses of +the bare brown wood, roaming hither and thither in search of such few +flowers as braved the wintry blasts. + +For all this Lady Rodney is devoutly thankful. She is glad of the girl's +absence. She has no desire to exhibit her, prejudice making Mona's few +defects to look monstrous in her eyes. Yet these same defects might +perhaps be counted on the fingers of one hand. + +There is, for example, her unavoidable touch of brogue, her little +gesture of intense excitement, and irrepressible exclamation when +anything is said that affects or interests her, and her laugh, which, if +too loud for ordinary drawing-room use, is yet so sweet and catching +that involuntarily it brings an answering laugh to the lips of those who +hear it. + +All these faults, and others of even less weight, are an abomination in +the eyes of Lady Rodney, who has fallen into a prim mould, out of which +it would now be difficult to extricate her. + +"There is a set of people whom I cannot bear," says Chalmers, "the pinks +of fashionable propriety, whose every word is precise, and whose every +movement is unexceptionable, but who, though versed in all the +categories of polite behavior, have not a particle of soul or cordiality +about them." + +Such folk Chalmers hated; and I agree with Chalmers. And of this class +is Lady Rodney, without charity or leniency for the shortcomings of +those around her. Like many religious people,--who are no doubt good in +their own way,--she fails to see any grace in those who differ from her +in thought and opinion. + +And by degrees, beneath her influence, Mona grows pale and _distrait_ +and in many respects unlike her old joyous self. Each cold, reproving +glance and sneering word,--however carefully concealed--falls like a +touch of ice upon her heart, chilling and withering her glad youth. Up +to this she has led a bird's life, gay, _insouciant_, free and careless. +Now her song seems checked, her sweetest notes are dying fast away +through lack of sympathy. She is "cribbed, cabined, and confined," +through no fault of her own, and grows listless and dispirited in her +captivity. + +And Geoffrey, who is blind to nothing that concerns her notices all +this, and secretly determines on taking her away from all this foolish +persecution, to London or elsewhere, until such time as their own home +shall be ready to receive them. + +But at this break in my history, almost as he forms this resolution, an +event occurs that brings friends to Mona, and changes _in toto_ the +aspect of affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +HOW MONA DANCES A COUNTRY DANCE BEFORE A HYPERCRITICAL AUDIENCE--AND HOW +MORE EYES THAN SHE WOTS OF MARK HER PERFORMANCE. + + +"I hope you have had a nice walk?" says Violet, politely, drawing her +skirts aside to make room for Mona, who had just come in. + +It is quite half-past six; and though there is no light in the room, +save the glorious flames given forth by the pine logs that lie on the +top of the coals, still one can see that the occupants of the apartment +are dressed for dinner. + +Miss Darling--Sir Nicholas's _fiancee_--and her brother are expected to +night; and so the household generally has dressed itself earlier than +usual to be in full readiness to receive them. + +Lady Rodney and Violet are sitting over the fire, and now Mona joins +them, gowned in the blue satin dress in which she had come to meet +Geoffrey, not so many months ago, in the old wood behind the farm. + +"Very nice," she says, in answer to Violet's question, sinking into the +chair that Miss Mansergh, by a small gesture, half languid, half kindly, +has pushed towards her, and which is close to Violet's own. "I went up +the avenue, and then out on the road for about half a mile." + +"It is a very late hour for any one to be on the public road," says +Lady Rodney, unpleasantly, quite forgetting that people, as a rule, do +not go abroad in pale-blue satin gowns, and that therefore some time +must have elapsed between Mona's return from her walk and the donning of +her present attire. And so she overreaches herself, as clever people +will do, at times. + +"It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite +daylight, or at least"--truthfully--"only the beginning of dusk." + +"I think the days are lengthening," says Violet, quietly, defending Mona +unconsciously, and almost without knowing why. Yet in her heart--against +her will as it were--she is making room for this Irish girl, who, with +her great appealing eyes and tender ways, is not to be resisted. + +"I had a small adventure," says Mona, presently, with suppressed gayety. +All her gayety of late has been suppressed. "Just as I came back to the +gate here, some one came riding by, and I turned to see who it was, at +which his horse--as though frightened by my sudden movement--shied +viciously, and then reared so near me as almost to strike me with his +fore-paws. I was frightened rather, because it was all so sudden, and +sprang to one side. Then the gentleman got down, and, coming to me, +begged my pardon. I said it didn't matter, because I was really +uninjured, and it was all my fault. But he seemed very sorry, and (it +was dusk as I told you, and I believe he is short sighted) stared at me +a great deal." + +"Well?" says Violet, who is smiling, and seems to see a joke where Mona +fails to see anything amusing. + +"When he was tired of staring, he said, 'I suppose I am speaking to----' +and then he stopped. 'Mrs. Rodney,' replied I; and then he raised his +hat, and bowed, and gave me his card. After that he mounted again, and +rode away." + +"But who was this gentleman?" says Lady Rodney, superciliously. "No +doubt some draper from the town." + +"No; he was not a draper," says Mona, gently, and without haste. + +"Whoever he was, he hardly excelled in breeding," says Lady Rodney; "to +ask your name without an introduction! I never heard of such a thing. +Very execrable form, indeed. In your place I should not have given it. +And to manage his horse so badly that he nearly ran you down. He could +hardly be any one we know. Some petty squire, no doubt." + +"No; not a petty squire," says Mona; "and I think you do know him. And +why should I be ashamed to tell my name to any one?" + +"The question was strictly in bad taste," says Lady Rodney again. "No +well-bred man would ask it. I can hardly believe I know him. He must +have been some impossible person." + +"He was the Duke of Lauderdale," says Mona, simply. "Here is his card." + +A pause. + +Lady Rodney is plainly disconcerted, but says nothing. Violet follows +suit, but more because she is thoroughly amused and on the point of +laughter, than from a desire to make matters worse. + +"I hope you had your hat on," says Lady Rodney, presently, in a severe +tone, meant to cover the defeat. She had once seen Mona with the crimson +silk handkerchief on her head,--Irish fashion,--and had expressed her +disapproval of all such uncivilized headdresses. + +"Yes; I wore my big Rubens hat, the one with----" + +"I don't care to hear about the contents of your wardrobe," interrupts +Lady Rodney, with a slight but unkind shrug. "I am glad, at least, you +were not seen in that objectionable headdress you so often affect." + +"Was it the Rubens hat with the long brown feather?" asks Violet, +sweetly, turning to Mona, as though compelled by some unknown force to +say anything that shall restore the girl to evenness of mind once more. + +"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a +smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests +there. + +"You told the duke who you were?" breaks in Lady Rodney at this moment, +who is in one of her worst moods. + +"Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney." + +"Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney, would have been more correct. You forget your +husband is the youngest son. When Captain Rodney marries, _his_ wife +will be Mrs. Rodney." + +"But surely until then Mona may lay claim to the title," says Violet, +quickly. + +"I do not wish to lay claim to anything," says Mona, throwing up her +head with a little proud gesture,--"least of all to what does not by +right belong to me. To be Mrs. Geoffrey is all I ask." + +She leans back in her chair, and brings her fingers together, clasping +them so closely that her very nails grow white. Her thin nostrils dilate +a little, and her breath comes quickly, but no angry word escapes her. +How can her lips give utterance to a speech that may wound the mother of +the man she loves! + +Violet, watching her, notes the tumult in her mind, and, seeing how her +will gains mastery over her desire, honors her for her self-control. + +Then Jack comes in, and Sir Nicholas, and later on Geoffrey. + +"No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is +exactly"--examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece--"one +hour before we can reasonably expect dinner." + +"And three-quarters. Don't deceive yourself, my dear fellow: they can't +be here one moment before a quarter to eight." + +"Then, in the meantime, Violet, I shall eat you," says Captain Rodney, +amiably, "just to take the edge off my appetite. You would be hardly +sufficient for a good meal!" He laughs and glances significantly at her +slight but charming figure, which is _petite_ but perfect, and then +sinks into a low chair near her. + +"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." + +"Does he mean going himself?" says Nicholas, idly. "He is here to-day, I +know, but one never knows where he may be to-morrow, he is so erratic." + +"He is a little difficult; but, on the whole, I think I like Sir Mark +better than most men," says Violet, slowly. + +Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for +dislike towards the man in question. + +"Lilian is such a dear girl," says Lady Rodney; "she is a very general +favorite. I have no doubt her dance will be a great success." + +"You are speaking of Lady Chetwoode? Was it her that called last week?" +asks Mona, timidly, forgetting grammar in her nervousness. + +"Yes; it was her that called last week," returns her amiable +mother-in-law, laying an unmistakable stress upon the pronoun. + +No one is listening, fortunately, to this gratuitous correction, or hot +words might have been the result. Sir Nicholas and Geoffrey are laughing +over some old story that has been brought to their recollection by this +idle chattering about the Chetwoodes' ball; Jack and Violet are deep in +some topic of their own. + +"Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," +says Sir Nicholas, alluding to the person the funny story had been +about. + +"You dance, of course," says Lady Rodney, turning to Mona, a little +ashamed, perhaps, of her late rudeness. + +"Oh, yes," says Mona, brightening even under this small touch of +friendliness. "I'm very fond of it, too. I can get through all the steps +without a mistake." + +At this extraordinary speech, Lady Rodney stares in bewilderment. + +"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone. + +"Eh?" says Mrs. Geoffrey. + +"You can waltz?" + +"Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's +country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," +moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord +with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did _you_ +ever dance a country dance?" + +"Never!" says Lady Rodney, in a stony fashion. "I don't even know what +you mean." + +"No?" arching her brows, and looking really sorry for her. "What a pity! +They all come quite naturally to me. I don't remember ever being taught +them. The music seemed to inspire me, and I really dance them very well. +Don't I Geoff?" + +"I never saw your equal," says Geoffrey, who, with Sir Nicholas, has +been listening to the last half of the conversation, and who is plainly +suppressing a strong desire to laugh. + +"Do you remember the evening you taught me the country dance that I said +was like an old-fashioned minuet? And what an apt pupil I proved! I +really think I could dance it now. By the by, my mother never saw one +danced. She"--apologetically--"has not been out much. Let us go through +one now for her benefit." + +"Yes, let us," says Mona, gayly. + +"Pray do not give yourselves so much trouble on my account," says Lady +Rodney, with intense but subdued indignation. + +"It won't trouble us, not a _bit_," says Mrs. Geoffrey, rising with +alacrity. "I shall love it, the floor is so nice and slippery. Can any +one whistle?" + +At this Sir Nicholas gives way and laughs out loud, whereon Mona laughs +too, though she reddens slightly, and says, "Well, of course the piano +will do, though the fiddle is best of all." + +"Violet, play us something," says Geoffrey, who has quite entered into +the spirit of the thing, and who doesn't mind his mothers "horrors" in +the least, but remembers how sweet Mona used to look when going slowly +and with that quaint solemn dignity of hers "through her steps." + +"I shall be charmed," says Violet; "but what is a country dance? Will +'Sir Roger' do?" + +"No. Play anything monotonous, that is slow and dignified besides, and +it will answer; in fact, anything at all," says Geoffrey, largely, at +which Violet smiles and seats herself at the piano. + +"Well, just wait till I tuck up the tail of my gown," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, airily flinging her pale-blue skirt over her white bare arm. + +"You may as well call it a train; people like it better," says Geoffrey. +"I'm sure I don't know why, but perhaps it sounds better." + +"There can be scarcely any question about that," says Lady Rodney, +unwilling to let any occasion pass that may permit a slap at Mona. + +"Yet the Princess D---- always calls her train a 'tail,'" says Violet, +turning on her piano-stool to make this remark, which is balm to Mona's +soul: after which she once more concentrates her thoughts on the +instrument before her, and plays some odd old-fashioned air that suits +well the dance of which they have been speaking. + +Then Geoffrey offers Mona his hand, and leads her to the centre of the +polished floor. There they salute each other in a rather Grandisonian +fashion, and then separate. + +The light from the great pine fire streams over all the room, throwing a +rich glow upon the scene, upon the girl's flushed and earnest face, and +large happy eyes, and graceful rounded figure, betraying also the grace +and poetry of her every movement. + +She stands well back from Geoffrey, and then, without any of the +foolish, unlovely bashfulness that degenerates so often into +awkwardness in the young, begins her dance. + +It is a very curious and obsolete, if singularly charming, performance, +full of strange bows, and unexpected turnings, and curtseys dignified +and deep. + +As she advances and retreats, with her _svelte_ figure drawn to its +fullest height, and her face eager and intent upon the business in hand, +and with her whole heart thrown apparently into the successful +accomplishment of her task, she is looking far lovelier than she herself +is at all aware. + +Even Lady Rodney for the moment has fallen a prey to her unpremeditated +charms, and is leaning forward anxiously watching her. Jack and Sir +Nicholas are enchanted. + +The shadows close them in on every side. Only the firelight illumines +the room, casting its most brilliant and ruddy rays upon its central +figures, until they look like beings conjured up from the olden times, +as they flit to and fro in the slow mysterious mazes of the dance. + +Mona's waxen arms gleam like snow in the uncertain light. Each movement +of hers is full of grace and _verve_. Her entire action is perfect. + + "Her feet beneath her petticoat + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they feared the light. + And, oh! she dances such a way, + No sun upon an Easter day + Is half so fine a sight." + +The music, soft and almost mournful, echoes through the room; the feet +keep time upon the oaken floor; weird-like the two forms move through +the settled gloom. + +The door at the farthest end of the room has been opened, and two people +who are as yet invisible stand upon the threshold, too surprised to +advance, too enthralled, indeed, by the sight before them to do so. + +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. + +"Oh, how pretty!" cries one of them from the shadow as though grieved +the dance has come so quickly to an end "How lovely!" + +At this voice every one starts! Mona, slipping her hand into Geoffrey's, +draws him to one side; Lady Rodney rises from her sofa, and Sir Nicholas +goes eagerly towards the door. + +"You have come!" cries he, in a tone Mona has never heard before, and +then--there is no mistake about the fact that he and the shadow have +embraced each other heartily. + +"Yes, we have indeed," says the same sweet voice again, which is the +merriest and softest voice imaginable, "and in very good time too, as it +seems. Nolly and I have been here for fully five minutes, and have been +so delighted with what we have seen that we positively could not stir. +Dear Lady Rodney, how d'ye do?" + +She is a very little girl, quite half a head shorter than Mona, and, now +that one can see her more plainly as she stands on the hearthrug, +something more than commonly pretty. + +Her eyes are large and blue, with a shade of green in them; her lips are +soft and mobile; her whole expression is _debonnaire_, yet full of +tenderness. She is brightness itself; each inward thought, be it of +grief or gladness, makes itself outwardly known in the constant changes +of her face. Her hair is cut above her forehead, and is quite golden, +yet perhaps it is a degree darker than the ordinary hair we hear +described as yellow. To me, to think of Dorothy Darling's head is always +to remind myself of that line in Milton's "Comus," where he speaks of + + "The loose train of thy amber-drooping hair." + +She is very sweet to look at, and attractive and lovable. + + "Her angel's face + As the great eye of heaven shined bright, + And made a sunshine in the shady place." + +Such is Nicholas's betrothed, to whom, as she gazes on her, all at once, +in the first little moment, Mona's whole soul goes out. + +She has shaken hands with everybody, and has kissed Lady Rodney, and is +now being introduced to Mona. + +"Your wife, Geoffrey?" she says, holding Mona's hand all the time, and +gazing at her intently. Then, as though something in Mrs. Geoffrey's +beautiful face attracts her strangely, she lifts her face and presses +her soft lips to Mona's cheek. + +A rush of hope and gladness thrills Mona's bosom at this gentle touch. +It is the very first caress she has ever received from one of Geoffrey's +friends or relations. + +"I think somebody might introduce me," says a plaintive voice from the +background, and Dorothy's brother, putting Dorothy a little to one side, +holds out his hand to Mona. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney?" he says, +pleasantly. "There's a dearth of etiquette about your husband that no +doubt you have discovered before this. He has evidently forgotten that +we are comparative strangers; but we sha'n't be long so, I hope?" + +"I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very +flattering haste. + +"You have come quite half an hour earlier than we expected you," says +Sir Nicholas, looking with fond satisfaction into Miss Darling's eyes. +"These trains are very uncertain." + +"It wasn't the train so much," says Doatie, with a merry laugh, "as +Nolly: we weren't any time coming, because he got out and took the reins +from Hewson, and after that I rather think he took it out of your bays, +Nicholas." + +"Well, I never met such a blab! I believe you'd peach on your +grandmother," says her brother, with supreme contempt. "I didn't do 'em +a bit of harm, Rodney I give you my word." + +"I'll take it," says Nicholas; "but, even if you did, I should still owe +you a debt of gratitude for bringing Doatie here thirty minutes before +we hoped for her." + +"Now make him your best curtsey, Dolly," says Mr. Darling, seriously; +"it isn't everyday you will get such a pretty speech as that." + +"And see what we gained by our haste," says Dorothy, smiling at Mona. +"You can't think what a charming sight it was. Like an old legend or a +fairy-tale. Was it a minuet you were dancing?" + +"Oh, no; only a country dance," says Mona, blushing. + +"Well, it was perfect: wasn't it, Violet?" + +"I wish I could have seen it better," returns Violet, "but, you see, I +was playing." + +"I wish I could have seen it forever," says Mr. Darling, gallantly, +addressing Mona; "but all good things have an end too soon. Do you +remember some lines like these? they come to me just now: + + When you do dance, I wish you + A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do + Nothing but that." + +"Yes, I recollect; they are from the 'Winter's Tale.' I think," says +Mona, shyly; "but you say too much for me." + +"Not half enough," says Mr. Darling, enthusiastically. + +"Don't you think, sir, you would like to get ready for dinner?" says +Geoffrey, with mock severity. "You can continue your attentions to my +wife later on,--at your peril." + +"I accept the risk," says Nolly, with much stateliness and forthwith +retires to make himself presentable. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HOW NOLLY HAVING MADE HIMSELF PRESENTABLE, TRIES ALSO TO MAKE HIMSELF +AGREEABLE--AND HOW HE SUCCEEDS. + + +Mr. Darling is a flaxen-haired young gentleman of about four-and-twenty, +with an open and ingenuous countenance, and a disposition cheerful to +the last degree. He is positively beaming with youth and good spirits, +and takes no pains whatever to suppress the latter; indeed, if so +sweet-tempered a youth could be said to have a fault, it lies in his +inability to hold his tongue. Talk he must, so talk he does,--anywhere +and everywhere, and under all circumstances. + +He succeeds in taking Mona down to dinner, and shows himself +particularly devoted through all the time they spend in the dining-room, +and follows her afterwards to the drawing-room, as soon as decency will +permit. He has, in fact, fallen a hopeless victim to Mona's charms, and +feels no shame in the thought that all the world must notice his +subjugation. On the contrary, he seems to glory in it. + +"I was in your country, the other day," he says, pushing Mona's skirts a +little to one side, and sinking on to the ottoman she has chosen as her +own resting-place. "And a very nice country it is." + +"Ah! were you really there!" says Mona, growing at once bright and +excited at the bare mention of her native land. At such moments she +falls again unconsciously into the "thens," and "sures," and "ohs!" and +"ahs!" of her Ireland. + +"Yes, I was indeed. Down in a small place cabled Castle-Connell, near +Limerick. Nice people in Limerick, but a trifle flighty, don't you +think? Fond of the merry blunderbuss, and all that, and with a decided +tendency towards midnight maraudings." + +"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona, +shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully +disloyal." + +"Well, that was just my luck, you see," says Darling "We have some +property there. And, as I am not of much account at home, 'my awful dad' +sent me over to Ireland to see why the steward didn't get in the rents. +Perhaps he hoped the natives might pepper me; but, if so, it didn't come +off. The natives, on the contrary, quite took to me, and adopted me on +the spot. I was nearly as good as an original son of Erin in a week." + +"But how did you manage to procure their good graces?" + +"I expect they thought me beneath their notice, and, as they wouldn't +hate me, they were forced to love me. Of course they treated the idea of +paying up as a good joke, and spoke a great deal about a most unpleasant +person called Griffith and his valuation, whatever that may be. So I saw +it was of no use, and threw it up,--my mission, I mean. I had capital +shooting, as far as partridges were concerned, but no one dreamed of +wasting a bullet upon me. They positively declined to insert a bit of +lead in my body. And, considering I expected some civility of the kind +on going over, I felt somewhat disappointed, and decidedly cheap." + +"We are not so altogether murderous as you seem to think," says Mona, +half apologetically. + +"Murderous! They are a delightful people, and the scenery is charming, +you know, all round. The Shannon is positively lovely. But they wouldn't +pay a farthing. And, 'pon my life, you know," says Mr. Darling, lightly, +"I couldn't blame 'em. They were as poor as poor could be, regular +out-at-elbows, you know, and I suppose they sadly wanted any money they +had. I told the governor so when I came back, but I don't think he +seemed to see it; sort of said _he_ wanted it too, and then went on to +make some ugly and most uncalled-for remarks about my tailor's bill, +which of course I treated with the contempt they deserved." + +"Well, but it was a little hard on your father, wasn't it?" says Mona, +gently. + +"Oh, it wasn't much," says the young man, easily; "and he needn't have +cut up so rough about it. I was a failure, of course, but I couldn't +help it; and, after all, I had a real good time in spite if everything, +and enjoyed myself when there down to the ground." + +"I am glad of that," says Mona, nicely, as he pauses merely through a +desire for breath, not from a desire for silence. + +"I had, really. There was one fellow, a perfect giant,--Terry O'Flynn +was his name,--and he and I were awful chums. We used to go shooting +together every day, and got on capitally. He was a tremendously big +fellow, could put me in his pocket, you know, and forget I was there +until I reminded him. He was a farmer's son, and a very respectable sort +of man. I gave him my watch when I was coming away, and he was quite +pleased. They don't have much watches, by the by, the lower classes, do +they." + +At this Mona breaks into a sweet but ringing laugh, that makes Lady +Rodney (who is growing sleepy, and, therefore, irritable) turn, and fix +upon her a cold, reproving glance. + +Geoffrey, too, raises his head and smiles, in sympathy with his wife's +burst of merriment, as does Miss Darling, who stops her conversation +with Sir Nicholas to listen to it. + +"What are you talking about?" asks Geoffrey, joining Mona and her +companion. + +"How could I help laughing," says Mona. "Mr. Darling has just expressed +surprise at the fact that the Irish peasantry do not as a rule possess +watches." Then suddenly her whole face changes from gayety to extreme +sorrow. "Alas! poor souls!" she says, mournfully, "they don't, as a +rule, have even meat!" + +"Well, I noticed that, too. There _did_ seem to be a great scarcity of +that raw material," answers Darling, lightly. "Yet they are a fine race +in spite of it. I'm going over again to see my friend Terry before very +long. He is the most amusing fellow, downright brilliant. So is his +hair, by the by,--the very richest crimson." + +"But I hope you were not left to spend your days with Terry?" says Mona, +smiling. + +"No. All the county people round when they heard of me--which, according +to my own mental calculations on the subject, must have been exactly +five minutes after my arrival--quite adopted me. You are a very +hospitable nation, Mrs. Rodney; nobody can deny that. Positively, the +whole time I was in Limerick I could have dined three times every day +had I so chosen." + +"Bless me!" says Geoffrey; "what an appalling thought! it makes me feel +faint." + +"Rather so. In their desire to feed me lay my only danger of death. But +I pulled through. And I liked every one I met,--really you know," to +Mona, "and no humbug. Yet I think the happiest days I knew over there +were those spent with Terry. It was rather a sell, though, having no +real adventure, particularly as I had promised one not only to myself +but to my friends when starting for Paddy-land. I beg your pardon a +thousand times! Ireland, I mean." + +"I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course." + +"I wish I was one!" says Mr. Darling, with considerable effusion. "I +envy the people who can claim nationality with you. I'd be a Paddy +myself to-morrow if I could, for that one reason." + +"What a funny boy you are!" says Mona, with a little laugh. + +"So they all tell me. And of course what every one says is true. We're +bound to be friends, aren't we?" rattles on Darling pleasantly. "Our +mutual love for Erin should be a bond between us." + +"I hope we shall be; I am sure we shall," returns Mona, quickly. It is +sweet to her to find a possible friend in this alien land. + +"Not a doubt of it," says Nolly, gayly. "Every one likes me, you know. +'To see me is to love me, and love but me forever,' and all that sort +of thing; we shall be tremendous friends in no time. The fact is, I'm +not worth hating; I'm neither useful nor ornamental, but I'm perfectly +harmless, and there is something in that, isn't there? Every one can't +say the same. I'm utterly certain _you_ can't," with a glance of +admiration. + +"Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and +bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young +man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except +perhaps Sir Nicholas. + +"That is out of my power," says Darling, whom the last speech--and +glance that accompanied it--has completely finished. "I only pray you of +your grace never to be unkind to me." + +"What a strange name yours is!--Nolly," says Mona, presently. + +"Well, I wasn't exactly born so," explains Mr. Darling, frankly; "Oliver +is my name. I rather fancy my own name, do you know; it is uncommon, at +all events. One don't hear it called round every corner, and it reminds +one of that 'bold bad man' the Protector. But they shouldn't have left +out the Cromwell. That would have been a finishing stroke. To hear one's +self announced as Oliver Cromwell Darling in a public room would have +been as good as a small fortune." + +"Better," says Mona, laughing gayly. + +"Yes, really, you know. I'm in earnest," declares Mr. Darling, laughing +too. He is quite delighted with Mona. To find his path through life +strewn with people who will laugh with him, or even at him, is his idea +of perfect bliss. So he chatters on to her until, bed-hour coming, and +candles being forced into notice, he is at length obliged to tear +himself away from her and follow the men to the smoking-room. + +Here he lays hands on Geoffrey. + +"By Jove, you know, you've about done it," he says, bestowing upon +Geoffrey's shoulder a friendly pat that rather takes the breath out of +that young man's body. "Gave you credit for more common sense. Why, such +a proceeding as this is downright folly. You are bound to pay for your +fun, you know, sooner or later." + +"Sir," says Mr. Rodney, taking no notice of this preamble, "I shall +trouble you to explain what you mean by reducing an inoffensive +shoulder-blade to powder." + +"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Nolly, absently. "But"--with sudden +interest--"do you know what you have done? You have married the +prettiest woman in England." + +"I haven't," says Geoffrey. + +"You have," says Nolly. + +"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are +wool-gathering." + +"Good gracious! he can't mean that he is tired of her already," exclaims +Mr. Darling, in an audible aside. "That would be too much even for our +times." + +At this Geoffrey gives way to mirth. He and Darling are virtually alone, +as Nicholas and Captain Rodney are talking earnestly about the impending +lawsuit in a distant corner. + +"My dear fellow, you have overworked your brain," he says, ironically: +"You don't understand me. I am not tired of her. I shall never cease to +bless the day I saw her,"--this with great earnestness,--"but you say I +have married the handsomest woman in England, and she is not English at +all." + +"Oh, well, what's the odds?" says Nolly. "Whether she is French, or +English, Irish or German, she has just the loveliest face I ever saw, +and the sweetest ways. You've done an awfully dangerous thing. You will +be Mrs. Rodney's husband in no time,--nothing else, and you positively +won't know yourself in a year after. Individuality lost. Name gone. +Nothing left but your four bones. You will be quite thankful for _them_, +even, after a bit." + +"You terrify me," says Geoffrey, with a grimace. "You think, then, that +Mona is pretty?" + +"Pretty doesn't express it. She is quite intense; and new style, too, +which of course is everything. You will present her next season, I +suppose? You must, you know, if only in the cause of friendship, as I +wouldn't miss seeing Mrs. Laintrie's and Mrs. Whelon's look of disgust +when your wife comes on the scene for worlds!" + +"Her eyes certainly are----" says Geoffrey. + +"She is all your fancy could possibly paint her; she is lovely and +divine. Don't try to analyze her charms, my dear Geoff. She is just the +prettiest and sweetest woman I ever met. She is young, in the 'very May +morn of delight,' yet there is nothing of that horrid shyness--that +_mauvaise honte_--about her that, as a rule, belongs to the 'freshness +of morning.' Her laugh is so sweet, so full of enjoyment." + +"If you mean me to repeat all this back again, you will find yourself +jolly well mistaken; because, understand at once, I sha'n't do it," says +Geoffrey. "I'm not going to have a hand in my undoing; and such +unqualified praise is calculated to turn any woman's head. Seriously, +though," says Geoffrey, laying his hands on Darling's shoulders, "I'm +tremendously glad you like her." + +"Don't!" says Darling, weakly. "Don't put it in that light. It's too +feeble. If you said I was madly in love with your wife you would be +nearer the mark, as insanity touches on it. I haven't felt so badly for +years. It is right down unlucky for me, this meeting with Mrs. Rodney." + +"Poor Mona!" says Geoffrey; "don't tell her about it, as remorse may +sadden her." + +"Look here," says Mr. Darling, "just try one of these, do. They are +South American cigarettes, and nearly as strong as the real thing, and +quite better: they are a new brand. Try 'em; they'll quite set you up." + +"Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +HOW MONA GOES TO HER FIRST BALL--AND HOW SHE FARES THEREAT. + + +It is the day of Lady Chetwoode's ball, or to be particular, for critics +"prove unkind" these times, it is the day to which belongs the night +that has been selected for Lady Chetwoode's ball; all which sounds very +like the metre of the house that Jack built. + +Well, never mind! This ball promises to be a great success. Everybody +who is anybody is going, from George Beatoun, who has only five hundred +pounds a year in the world, and the oldest blood in the county, to the +duchess, who "fancies" Lilian Chetwoode, and has, in fact, adopted her +as her last "rave." Nobody has been forgotten, nobody is to be +chagrined: to guard against this has cost both Sir Guy and Lilian +Chetwoode many an hour of anxious thought. + +To Mona, however, the idea of this dance is hardly pure nectar. It is +half a terror, half a joy. She is nervous, frightened, and a little +strange. It is the first time she has ever been to any large +entertainment, and she cannot help looking forward to her own _debut_ +with a longing mingled largely with dread. + +Now, as the hour approaches that is to bring her face to face with half +the county, her heart fails her, and almost with a sense of wonder she +contrasts her present life with the old one in her emerald isle, where +she lived happily, if with a certain dulness, in her uncle's farmhouse. + +All day long the rain has been pouring, pouring; not loudly or +boisterously, not dashing itself with passionate force against pane and +gable, but falling with a silent and sullen persistency. + +"No walks abroad to-night," says Mr. Darling, in a dismal tone, staring +in an injured fashion upon the drenched lawns and _pleasaunces_ outside. +"No Chinese lanterns, no friendly shrubberies,--_nothing_!" + +Each window presents an aspect in a degree more dreary than the +last,--or so it appears. The flower-beds are beaten down, and are +melancholy in the extreme. The laurels do nothing but drip drip, in a +sad aside, "making mournful music for the mind." Whilst up and down the +elm walk the dreary wind goes madly, sporting and playing with the +raindrops, as it rushes here and there. + +Indoors King Bore stalks rampant. Nobody seems in a very merry mood. +Even Nolly, who is generally game for anything, is a prey to despair. He +has, for the last hour, lost sight of Mona! + +"Let us do something, anything, to get rid of some of these interminable +hours," says Doatie, flinging her book far from her. It is not +interesting, and only helps to add insult to injury. She yawns as much +as breeding will permit, and then crosses her hands behind her dainty +head. "Oh! here comes Mona. Mona, I am so bored that I shall die +presently, unless you suggest a remedy." + +"Your brother is better at suggestions than I am," says Mona, gently, +who is always somewhat subdued when in the room with Lady Rodney. + +"Nolly, do you hear that? Come over to the fire directly, and cease +counting those hateful raindrops. Mona believes in you. Isn't that +joyful news? Now get out of your moody fit at once, like a dear boy." + +"I sha'n't," says Mr. Darling, in an aggrieved tone. "I feel slighted. +Mrs. Rodney has of _malice prepense_ secluded herself from public gaze +at least for an hour. I can't forget all _that_ in one moment." + +"Where have you been?" asks Lady Rodney, slowly turning her head to look +at Mona. "Out of doors?" Her tone is unpleasant. + +"No. In my own room," says Mona. + +"Oh, Nolly! do think of some plan to cheat the afternoon of an hour or +two," persists Doatie, eagerly. + +"I have it," says her brother with all the air of one who has discovered +a new continent. "Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs." + +At this Doatie turns her back on him, while Mona breaks into a peal of +silver laughter. + +"Would you not like to do that?" demands Nolly, sadly "I should. I'm +quite in the humor for it." + +"I am afraid we are not," says Violet, smiling too. "Think of something +else." + +"Well, if you all _will_ insist upon a change, and desire something more +lively, then,-- + + 'For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, + And tell sad stories of the death of kings.' + +Perhaps after all you are right, and that will be better It will be +rather effective, too, if uncomfortable, our all sitting on the polished +floor." + +"Fancy Nolly quoting Shakspeare," says Geoffrey, who has just entered, +and is now leaning over Mona's chair. He stoops and whispers something +in her ear that makes her flush and glance appealingly at Doatie. +Whereon Miss Darling, who is quick to sympathize, rises, and soon learns +what the whisper has been about. + +"Oh! how charming!" she cries, clapping her hands. "The very thing! Why +did we not think of it before? To teach Mona the last new step! It will +be delicious." Good-natured Doatie, as she says this, springs to her +feet and runs her hand into Mona's. "Come," she says. "Before to-night, +I promise you, you shall rival Terpsichore herself." + +"Yes, she certainly must learn before to-night," says Violet, with +sudden and unexpected interest, folding and putting away her work as +though bent on other employment. "Let us come into the ballroom." + +"Do you know no other dances but those--er--very Irish performances?" +asks Lady Rodney, in a supercilious tone, alluding to the country dance +Mona and Geoffrey had gone through on the night of Doatie's arrival. + +"No. I have never been to a ball in all my life," says Mona distinctly. +But she pales a little at the note of contempt in the other's voice. +Unconsciously she moves a few steps nearer to Geoffrey, and holds out +her hand to him in a childish entreating fashion. + +He clasps it and presses it lightly but fondly to his lips. His brow +darkens. The little stern expression, so seldom seen upon his kindly +face, but which is inherited from his father, creeps up now and alters +him preceptibly. + +"You mistake my mother," he says to Mona, in a peculiar tone, looking at +Lady Rodney, not at her. "My wife is, I am sure, the last person she +would choose to be rude to; though, I confess, her manner just now would +mislead most people." + +With the frown still on his forehead, he draws Mona's hand through his +arm, and leads her from the room. + +Lady Rodney has turned pale. Otherwise she betrays no sign of chagrin, +though in her heart she feels deeply the rebuke administered by this, +her favorite son. To have Mona be a witness of her defeat is gall and +wormwood to her. And silently, without any outward gesture, she +registers a vow to be revenged for the insult (as she deems it) that has +just been put upon her. + +Dorothy Darling, who has been listening anxiously to all that has +passed, and who is very grieved thereat, now speaks boldly. + +"I am afraid," she says to Lady Rodney, quite calmly, having a little +way of her own of introducing questionable topics without giving +offence,--"I am afraid you do not like Mona?" + +At this Lady Rodney flings down her guard and her work at the same time, +and rises to her feet. + +"Like her," she says, with suppressed vehemence. "How should I like a +woman who has stolen from me my son, and who can teach him to be rude +even to his own mother?" + +"Oh, Lady Rodney, I am sure she did not mean to do that." + +"I don't care what she meant; she has at all events done it. Like her! A +person who speaks of 'Jack Robinson,' and talks of the 'long and short +of it.' How could you imagine such a thing! As for you, Dorothy, I can +only feel regret that you should so far forget yourself as to rush into +a friendship with a young woman so thoroughly out of your own sphere." + +Having delivered herself of this speech, she sweeps from the room, +leaving Violet and Dorothy slightly nonplussed. + +"Well, I never heard anything so absurd!" says Doatie, presently, +recovering her breath, and opening her big eyes to their widest. "Such a +tirade, and all for nothing. If saying 'Jack Robinson' is a social +crime, I must be the biggest sinner living, as I say it just when I +like. I think Mona adorable, and so does every one else. Don't you?" + +"I am not sure. I don't fall in love with people at first sight. I am +slow to read character," says Violet, calmly. "You, perhaps, possess +that gift?" + +"Not a bit of it, my dear. I only say to myself, such and such a person +has kind eyes or a loving mouth, and then I make up my mind to them. I +am seldom disappointed; but as to reading or studying character, that +isn't in my line at all. It positively isn't in me. But don't you think +Lady Rodney is unjust to Mona?" + +"Yes, I think she is. But of course there are many excuses to be made +for her. An Irish girl of no family whatever, no matter how sweet, is +not the sort of person one would select as a wife for one's son. Come to +the ballroom. I want to make Mona perfect in dancing." + +"You want to make her a success to-night," says Dorothy, quickly. "I +know you do. You are a dear thing, Violet, if a little difficult. And I +verily believe you have fallen as great a victim to the charms of this +Irish siren 'without family' as any of us. Come, confess it." + +"There is nothing to confess. I think her very much to be liked, if you +mean that," says Violet, slowly. + +"She is a perfect pet," says Miss Darling, with emphasis, "and you know +it." + +Then they adjourn to the ballroom, and Sir Nicholas is pressed into the +service, and presently Jack Rodney, discovering where Violet is, drops +in too, and after a bit dancing becomes universal. Entering into the +spirit of the thing, they take their "preliminary canter" now, as Nolly +expresses it, as though to get into proper training for the Chetwoodes' +ball later on. And they all dance with Mona, and show a great desire +that she shall not be found wanting when called upon by the rank, +beauty, and fashion of Lauderdale to trip it on the "light fantastic +toe." + +Even Jack Rodney comes out of himself, and, conquering his habitual +laziness, takes her in hand, and, as being the best dancer present, _par +excellence_, teaches and tutors, and encourages her until Doatie cries +"enough," and protests with pathos she will have no more of it, as she +is not going to be cut out by Mona at all events in the dancing line. + +So the day wears to evening; and the rain ceases, and the sullen clouds +scud with a violent haste across the tired sky. Then the stars come out, +first slowly, one by one, as though timid early guests at the great +gathering, then with a brilliant rush, until all the sky, + + "Bespangled with those isles of light + So wildly, spiritually bright." + +shows promise of a fairer morrow. + +Mona, coming slowly downstairs, enters with lagging steps the library, +where tea is awaiting them before they start. + +She is gowned in a cream-colored satin that hangs in severe straight +lines, and clings to her lissom rounded figure as dew clings to a +flower. A few rows of tiny pearls clasp her neck. Upon her bosom some +Christmas roses, pure and white as her own soul, lie softly; a few more +nestle in her hair, which is drawn simply back and coiled in a loose +knot behind her head; she wears no earrings and very few bracelets. + +One of the latter, however, is worthy of note. It is a plain gold band +on which stands out a figure of Atalanta posed as when she started for +her famous race. It had been sent to her on her marriage by Mr. Maxwell, +in hearty remembrance, no doubt, of the night when she by her fleetness +had saved his life. + +She is looking very beautiful to-night. As she enters the room, nearly +every one stops talking, and careless of good breeding, stares at her. +There is a touch of purity about Mona that is perhaps one of her +chiefest charms. + +Even Lady Rodney can hardly take her eyes from the girl's face as she +advances beneath the full glare of the chandelier, utterly unconscious +of the extent of the beauty that is her rich gift. + +Sir Nicholas, going up to her, takes her by both hands, and leads her +gently beneath the huge bunch of mistletoe that still hangs from the +centre-lamp. Here, stooping, he embraces her warmly. Mona, coloring, +shrinks involuntarily a few steps backward. + +"Forgive me, my sister," says Nicholas, quickly. "Not the kiss, but the +fact that until now I never quite understood how very beautiful you +are!" + +Mona smiles brightly--as might any true woman--at so warm a compliment. +But Doatie, putting on a pathetic little _moue_ that just suits her baby +face, walks over to her _fiance_ and looks up at him with appealing +eyes. + +"Don't altogether forget _me_, Nicholas," she says, in her pretty +childish way, pretending (little rogue that she is) to be offended. + +"You, my own!" responds Nicholas, in a very low tone, that of course +means everything, and necessitates a withdrawal into the curtained +recess of the window, where whisperings may be unheard. + +Then the carriages are announced, and every one finishes his and her +tea, and many shawls are caught up and presently all are driving rapidly +beneath the changeful moon to Chetwoode. + +Now, strange as it may seem, the very moment Mona sets her foot upon the +polished ballroom floor, and sees the lights, and hears the music, and +the distant splashing of water in some unknown spot, and breathes the +breath of dying flowers, all fears, all doubts, vanish; and only a +passionate desire to dance, and be in unison with the sweet sounds that +move the air, overfills her. + +Then some one asks her to dance, and presently--with her face lit up +with happy excitement, and her heart throbbing--she is actually mingling +with the gay crowd that a moment since she has been envying. In and out +among the dancers they glide, Mona so happy that she barely has time for +thought, and so gives herself up entirely to the music to the exclusion +of her partner. He has but a small place in her enjoyment. Perhaps, +indeed, she betrays her satisfaction rather more than is customary or +correct in an age when the _nil admirari_ system reigns supreme. Yet +there are many in the room who unconsciously smile in sympathy with her +happy smile, and feel warmed by the glow of natural gladness that +animates her breast. + +After a little while, pausing beside a doorway, she casts an upward +glance at her companion. + +"I am glad you have at last deigned to take some small notice of me," +says he, with a faint touch of pique in his tone. And then, looking at +him again, she sees it is the young man who had nearly ridden over her +some time ago, and tells herself she has been just a little rude to his +Grace the Duke of Lauderdale. + +"And I went to the utmost trouble to get an introduction," goes on +Lauderdale, in an aggrieved voice; "because I thought you might not care +about that impromptu ceremony at the lodge-gate; and yet what do I +receive for my pains but disappointment? Have you quite forgotten me?" + +"No. Of course I remember you now," says Mona, taking all this nonsense +as quite _bona fide_ sense in a maddeningly fascinating fashion. "How +unkind I have been! But I was listening to the music, not to our +introduction, when Sir Nicholas brought you up to me, and--and that is +my only excuse." Then, sweetly, "You love music?" + +"Well, I do," says the duke. "But I say that perhaps as a means of +defence. If I said otherwise, you might think me fit only 'for treasons, +stratagems, and spoils.'" + +"Oh, no! you don't look like that," says Mona, with a heavenly smile. +"You do not seem like a man that could not be 'trusted.'" + +He is delighted with her ready response, her gayety, her sweetness, her +freshness; was there ever so fair a face? Every one in the room by this +time is asking who is the duke's partner, and Lady Chetwoode is beset +with queries. All the women, except a very few, are consumed with +jealousy; all the men are devoured with envy of the duke. Beyond all +doubt the pretty Irish bride is the rage of the hour. + +She chatters on gayly to the duke, losing sight of the fact of his rank, +and laughing and making merry with him as though he were one of the +ordinary friends of her life. And to Lauderdale, who is susceptible to +beauty and tired of adulation, such manner has its charm, and he is +perhaps losing his head a little, and is conning a sentence or two of a +slightly tender nature, when another partner coming up claims Mona, and +carries her away from what might prove dangerous quarters. + +"Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" +asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her. + +"That? Oh, that was the bride, Mrs. Rodney," replies he. "She is lovely, +if you like." + +"Oh, indeed!" says the duchess, with some faint surprise. Then she turns +to Lady Rodney, who is near her, and who is looking cold and +supercilious. "I congratulate you," she says, warmly. "What a face that +child has! How charming! How full of feeling! You are fortunate in +securing so fair a daughter." + +"Thank you," says Lady Rodney, coldly, letting her lids fall over her +eyes. + +"I am sorry I have missed her so often," says the duchess, who had been +told that Mona was out when she called on her the second time, and who +had been really not at home when Mona returned her calls. "But you will +introduce me to her soon, I hope." + +Just at this moment Mona comes up to them, smiling and happy. + +"Ah! here she is," says the duchess, looking at the girl's bright face +with much interest, and turning graciously towards Mona. And then +nothing remains but for Lady Rodney to get through the introduction as +calmly as she can, though it is sorely against her will, and the +duchess, taking her hand, says something very pretty to her, while the +duke looks on with ill-disguised admiration in his face. + +They are all standing in a sort of anteroom, curtained off, but only +partly concealed from the ballroom. Young Lady Chetwoode, who, as I have +said, is a special pet with the duchess, is present, with Sir Guy and +one or two others. + +"You must give me another dance, Mrs. Rodney, before your card is quite +full," says the duke, smiling. "If, indeed, I am yet in time." + +"Yes, quite in time," says Mona. Then she pauses, looking at him so +earnestly that he is compelled to return her gaze. "You shall have +another dance," she says, in her clear voice, that is perfectly distinct +to every one; "but you must not call me Mrs. Rodney: I am only Mrs. +Geoffrey!" + +A dead silence follows. Lady Rodney raises her head, scenting mischief +in the air. + +"No?" says Lauderdale, laughing. "But why, then? There is no other Mrs. +Rodney, is there?" + +"No. But there will be when Captain Rodney marries. And Lady Rodney says +I have no claim to the name at all. I am only Mrs. Geoffrey." + +She says it all quite simply, with a smile, and a quick blush that +arises merely from the effort of having to explain, not from the +explanation itself. There is not a touch of malice in her soft eyes or +on her parted lips. + +Lady Chetwoode looks at her fan and then at Sir Guy. The duchess, with a +grave expression, looks at Lady Rodney. Can her old friend have proved +herself unkind to this pretty stranger? Can she have already shown +symptoms of that tyrannical temper which, according to the duchess, is +Lady Rodney's chief bane? She says nothing, however, but, moving her fan +with a beckoning gesture, draws her skirts aside, and motions to Mona, +to seat herself beside her. + +Mona obeys, feeling no shrinking from the kindly stout lady who is +evidently bent on being "all things" to her. It does occur, perhaps, to +her laughter-loving mind that there is a paucity of nose about the +duchess, and a rather large amount of "too, too solid flesh;" but she +smothers all such iniquitous reflections, and commences to talk with her +gayly and naturally. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +HOW MONA INTERVIEWS THE DUCHESS--AND HOW SHE SUSTAINS CONVERSATION WITH +THE RODNEYS' EVIL GENIUS. + + +For some time they talk together, and then the duchess, fearing lest she +may be keeping Mrs. Geoffrey from the common amusement of a ballroom, +says, gently,-- + +"You are not dancing much?" + +"No," says Mona, shaking her head. "Not--not to-night. I shall soon." + +"But why not to-night?" asks her Grace, who has noticed with curiosity +the girl's refusal to dance with a lanky young man in a hussar uniform, +who had evidently made it the business of the evening to get introduced +to her. Indeed, for an hour he had been feasting his eyes upon her fresh +young beauty, and, having gone to infinite trouble to get presented to +her, had been rewarded for his trouble by a little friendly smile, a +shake of the head, and a distinct but kindly refusal to join in the mazy +dance. + +"But why?" asks the duchess. + +"Because"--with a quick blush--"I am not accustomed to dancing much. +Indeed, I only learned to-day, and I might not be able to dance with +every one." + +"But you were not afraid to dance with Lauderdale, my son?" says the +duchess, looking at her. + +"I should never be afraid of him," returns Mona. "He has kind eyes. He +is"--slowly and meditatively--"very like you." + +The duchess laughs. + +"He may be, of course," she says. "But I don't like to see a gay child +like you sitting still. You should dance everything for the night." + +"Well, as I say, I shall soon," returns Mona, brightening, "because +Geoffrey has promised to teach me." + +"If I were 'Geoffrey,' I think I shouldn't," says the duchess, +meaningly. + +"No?" raising an innocent face. "To much trouble, you think, perhaps. +But, bless you, Geoffrey wouldn't mind that, so long as he was giving me +pleasure." At which answer the duchess is very properly ashamed of both +her self and her speech. + +"I should think very few people would deem it a trouble to serve you," +she says, graciously. "And perhaps, after all, you don't much care about +dancing." + +"Yes, I do," says Mona, truthfully. "Just now, at least. +Perhaps"--sadly--"when I am your age I sha'n't." + +This is a _betise_ of the first water. And Lady Rodney, who can +hear--and is listening to--every word, almost groans aloud. + +The duchess, on the contrary, gives way to mirth, and, leaning back in +her chair, laughs softly but with evident enjoyment. Mona contemplates +her curiously, pensively. + +"What have I said?" she asks, half plaintively. "You laugh, yet I did +not mean to be funny. Tell me what I said." + +"It was only a little touch of nature," explains her Grace. "On that +congratulate yourself. Nature is at a discount these days. And I--I love +nature. It is so rare, a veritable philosopher's stone. You only told +me what my glass tells me daily,--that I am not so young as I once +was,--that, in fact, when sitting next pretty children like you, I am +quite old." + +"_Did_ I say all that?" asks Mrs. Geoffrey, with wide eyes. "Indeed, I +think you mistake. Old people have wrinkles, and they do not talk as you +do. And when one is sweet to look at, one is never old." + +To pay a compliment perfectly one must, I think, have at least a few +drops of Irish blood in one's veins. As a rule, the happy-go-lucky +people of Ireland can bring themselves to believe thoroughly, and +without hypocrisy, in almost anything for the time being,--can fling +themselves heart and soul into their flatteries, and come out of them +again as victors. And what other nation is capable of this? To make +sweet phrases is one thing; to look as if you felt or meant them is +quite another. + +The little suspicion of blarney trips softly and naturally from Mona's +tongue. She doesn't smile as she speaks, but looks with eyes full of +flattering conviction at the stout but comely duchess. And in truth it +may be that in Mona's eyes she is sweet to look at, in that she has been +kind and tender towards her in her manner. + +And the duchess is charmed, pleased beyond measure That faint touch +about the wrinkles was the happiest of the happy. Only that morning her +Grace, in spite of her unapproachable maid and unlimited care, had seen +an additional line around her mouth that had warned her of youth's +decline, and now to meet some one oblivious of this line is sweet to +her. + +"Then you didn't go out much in Ireland?" she says, thinking it more +graceful to change the conversation at this point. + +"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey. + +"Ah!" says the duchess, feeling puzzled. "Then perhaps they don't dance +in Ireland. + +"Yes, they do indeed, a great deal; at least I have heard so." + +"Then I suppose when there you were too young to go out?" pursues the +poor duchess, striving for information. + +"I wasn't," says Mona: "I went out a great deal. All day long I was in +the open air. That is what made my hands so brown last autumn." + +"Were they brown?" + +"As berries," says Mona, genially. + +"At least they are a pretty shape," says the duchess glancing at the +slim little hands lying gloved in their owner's lap. "But I don't think +you quite understood the 'going out' in the light that I did. I mean, +did you go much into society?" + +"There wasn't much society to go into," says Mona, "and I was only +fifteen when staying with Aunt Anastasia. She," confidentially, "made +rather a grand match for us, you know." (Lady Rodney grinds her teeth, +and tells herself she is on the point of fainting.) "She married the +Provost of Trinity College; but I don't think he did her any good. She +is the oddest old thing! Even to think of her now makes me laugh. You +should have seen her," says Mrs. Geoffrey, leaning back in her chair, +and giving way to her usual merry laugh, that rings like a peal of +silver bells, "with her wig that had little curls all over it, and her +big poke-bonnet like a coal-scuttle!" + +"Well, I really wish I had seen her," says the good-humored duchess, +smiling in sympathy, and beginning to feel herself more capable of +thorough enjoyment than she has been for years. "Was she witty, as all +Irish people are said to be?" + +"Oh, dear, no," says Mona, with an emphatic shake of her lovely head. +"She hadn't the least little bit of wit in her composition. She was as +solemn as an Eng----I mean a Spaniard (they are all solemn, are they +not?), and never made a joke in her life, but she was irresistibly comic +all the same." Then suddenly, "What a very pretty little woman that is +over there, and what a lovely dress!" + +"Very pretty indeed, and quite good taste and that. She's a Mrs. Lennox, +and her husband is our master of the hounds. She is always quite correct +in the matter of _clothes_." There is an awful reservation in her +Grace's tone, which is quite lost upon Mona. "But she is by no means +little in her own opinion, and in fact rather prides herself upon +her--er--form generally," concludes the duchess, so far at a loss for a +word as to be obliged to fall back upon slang. + +"Her form!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, surveying the tiny Mrs. Lennox from head +to foot in sheer wonderment. "She need hardly pride herself on that. She +hasn't much of it, has she?" + +"Yes,--in her own estimation," says the duchess, somewhat severely, +whose crowning horror is a frisky matron, to which title little Mrs. +Lennox may safely lay claim. + +"Well, I confess that puzzles me," says Mona, knitting her straight +brows and scanning the small lady before her with earnest eyes, who is +surrounded by at least a dozen men, with all of whom she is conversing +without any apparent effort. "I really think she is the smallest woman I +ever saw. Why, I am only medium height, but surely I could make two of +her. At least I have more figure, or form, as you call it, than she +has." + +The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, +amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young +woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, +and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English +tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently. + +"Yes, but we are all so different from the English. We have no pretty +fair hair in Ireland, or at least very little of it." + +"Do you admire our hair? And we are all so heartily tired of it," says +the duchess. "Well, tell me more about your own land. Are the women all +like you? In style, I mean. I have seen a few, of course, but not enough +to describe a whole." + +"Like me? Oh, no," says Mrs. Geoffrey. "Some of them are really +beautiful, like pictures. When I was staying with Aunt Anastasia--the +Provost's wife, you remember--I saw a great many pretty people. I saw a +great many students, too," says Mona, brightening, "and liked them very +much. They liked me, too." + +"How strange!" says the duchess, with an amused smile. "Are you quite +sure of that?" + +"Oh, quite. They used to take me all over the college, and sometimes to +the bands in the squares. They were very good to me." + +"They would be, of course," says the duchess. + +"But they were troublesome, very troublesome," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with +a retrospective sigh, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands +together on her lap. "You can't imagine what a worry they were at +times,--always ringing the college bell at the wrong hours, and getting +tight!" + +"Getting what?" asks the duchess, somewhat taken aback. + +"Tight,--screwed,--tipsy, you know," replies Mona, innocently. "Tight +was the word they taught me. I think they believed it sounded more +respectable than the others. And the Divinity boys were the worst. Shall +I tell you about them?" + +"Do," says the duchess. + +"Well, three of them used to come to see Aunt Anastasia; at least they +_said_ it was auntie, but they never spoke to her if they could help it, +and were always so glad when she went to sleep after dinner." + +"I think your Aunt Anastasia was very good to them," says the duchess. + +"But after a bit they grew very tiresome. When I tell you they all three +proposed to me every day for a week, you will understand me. Yet even +that we could have borne, though it was very expensive, because they +used to go about stealing my gloves and my ribbons, but when they took +to punching each other's heads about me auntie said I had better go to +Uncle Brian for a while: so I went; and there I met Geoffrey," with a +brilliant smile. + +"I think Geoffrey owes those Divinity boys more than he can ever pay," +says the duchess, very prettily. "You must come and see me soon, child. +I am an old woman, and seldom stir from home, except when I am +positively ordered out by Malcom, as I was to-night. Come next Thursday. +There are some charming trifles at the old Court that may amuse you, +though I may fail to do so." + +"I sha'n't want any trifles to amuse me, if you will talk to me," says +Mona. + +"Well, come early. And now go and dance with Mr. Darling. He has been +looking at me very angrily for the last three minutes. By the by," +putting up her glasses, "is that little girl in the lemon-colored gown +his sister?" + +"Yes; that is Sir Nicholas's Doatie Darling," returns Mona, with a light +laugh. And then Nolly leads her away, and, feeling more confident with +him, she is once again dancing as gayly as the best. + +"Your foot is plainly 'on your native heath,'" says Nolly, "though your +name may not be 'McGregor.' What on earth were you saying to that old +woman for the last four hours?" + +"It was only twenty minutes," says Mona. + +"Twenty minutes! By Jove, she must be more interesting than we thought," +says Mr. Darling, "if you can put it at that time. I thought she was +going to eat you, she looked so pleased with you. And no wonder, too:" +with a loud and a hearty sigh. + +"She was very nice to me," says Mona, "and is, I think, a very pleasant +old lady. She asked me to go and see her next Thursday." + +"Bless my stars!" says Nolly; "you _have_ been going it. That is the day +on which she will receive no one but her chief pets. The duchess, when +she comes down here, reverses the order of things. The rest have an 'at +home' day. She has a 'not at home' day." + +"Where are people when they are not at home?" asks Mona, simply. + +"That's the eighth wonder of the world," says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. +"It has never yet been discovered. Don't seek to pry too closely into +it; you might meet with a rebuff." + +"How sad Nicholas looks!" says Mona, suddenly. + +In a doorway, somewhat out of the crush, Sir Nicholas is standing. His +eyes are fixed on Dorothy, who is laughing with a gay and gallant +plunger in the distance. He is looking depressed and melancholy; a +shadow seems to have fallen into his dark eyes. + +"Now he is thinking of that horrid lawsuit again," says Nolly, +regretfully, who is a really good sort all round. "Let us go to him." + +"Yes; let me go to him," says Mona, quickly; "I shall know what to say +better than you." + +After a little time she succeeds in partially lifting the cloud that has +fallen on her brother. He has grown strangely fond of her, and finds +comfort in her gentle eyes and sympathetic mouth. Like all the rest, he +has gone down before Mona, and found a place for her in his heart. He is +laughing at some merry absurdity of hers, and is feeling braver, more +hopeful, when a little chill seems to pass over him, and, turning, he +confronts a tall dark young man who has come leisurely--but with a +purpose--to where he and Mona are standing. + +It is Paul Rodney. + +Sir Nicholas, just moving his glass from one eye to the other, says +"Good evening" to him, bending his head courteously, nay, very civilly, +though without a touch, or suspicion of friendliness. He does not put +out his hand, however, and Paul Rodney, having acknowledged his +salutation by a bow colder and infinitely more distant than his own, +turns to Mona. + +"You have not quite forgotten me, I hope, Mrs. Rodney. You will give me +one dance?" + +His eyes, black and faintly savage, seem to burn into hers. + +"No; I have not forgotten you," says Mona, shrinking away from him. As +she speaks she looks nervously at Nicholas. + +"Go and dance, my dear," he says, quickly, in a tone that decides her. +It is to please him, for his sake, she must do this thing; and so, +without any awkward hesitation, yet without undue haste, she turns and +lays her hand on the Australian's arm. A few minutes later she is +floating round the room in his arms, and, passing by Geoffrey, though +she sees him not, is seen by him. + +"Nicholas, what is the meaning of this?" says Geoffrey, a few moments +later, coming up with a darkening brow to where Nicholas is leaning +against a wall. "What has possessed Mona to give that fellow a dance? +She must be mad, or ignorant, or forgetful of everything. She was with +you: why did you not prevent it?" + +"My dear fellow, let well alone," says Nicholas, with his slow, peculiar +smile. "It was I induced Mona to dance with 'that fellow,' as you call +him. Forgive me this injury, if indeed you count it one." + +"I don't understand you," says Geoffrey, still rather hotly. + +"I think I hardly understand myself: yet I know I am possessed of a +morbid horror lest the county should think I am uncivil to this man +merely because he has expressed a hope that he may be able to turn me +out of doors. His hope may be a just one. I rather think it is: so it +pleased me that Mona should dance with him, if only to show the room +that he is not altogether tabooed by us." + +"But I wish it had been any one but Mona," says Geoffrey, still +agitated. + +"But who? Doatie will not dance with him, and Violet he never asks. I +fell back, then, upon the woman who has so little malice in her heart +that she could not be ungracious to any one. Against her will she read +my desire in my eyes, and has so far sacrificed herself for my sake. I +had no right to compel your wife to this satisfying of my vanity, yet I +could not resist it. Forget it; the dance will soon be over." + +"It seems horrible to me that Mona should be on friendly terms with +your enemy," says Geoffrey, passionately. + +"He is not my enemy. My dear boy, spare me a three-act drama. What has +the man done, beyond wearing a few gaudy rings, and some oppressive +neckties, that you should hate him as you do? It is unreasonable. And, +besides, he is in all probability your cousin. Parkins and Slow declare +they can find no flaw in the certificate of his birth; and--is not every +man at liberty to claim his own?" + +"If he claims my wife for another dance, I'll----" begins Geoffrey. + +"No, you won't," interrupts his brother, smiling. "Though I think the +poor child has done her duty now. Let him pass. It is he should hate me, +not I him." + +At this Geoffrey says something under his breath about Paul Rodney that +he ought not to say, looking the while at Nicholas with a certain light +in his blue eyes that means not only admiration but affection. + +Meantime, Mona, having danced as long as she desires with this enemy in +the camp, stops abruptly before a curtained entrance to a small +conservatory, into which he leads her before she has time to +remonstrate: indeed, there is no apparent reason why she should. + +Her companion is singularly silent. Scarce one word has escaped him +since she first laid her hand upon his arm, and now again dumbness, or +some hidden feeling, seals his lips. + +Of this Mona is glad. She has no desire to converse with him, and is +just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in that he declines to +speak with her, when he breaks the welcome silence. + +"Have they taught you to hate me already?" he asks, in a low, compressed +tone, that make her nerves assert themselves. + +"I have been taught nothing," she says, with a most successful grasp at +dignity. "They do not speak of you at the Towers,--at least, not +unkindly." She looks at him as she says this, but lowers her eyes as she +meets his. This dark, vehement young man almost frightens her. + +"Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," +exclaims he, with some growing excitement. + +"Why should I despise you?" asks she, slowly, opening her eyes. + +The simple query confounds him more than might a more elaborate one put +by a clever worldling. Why indeed? + +"I was thinking about this impending lawsuit," he stammers, uneasily. +"You know of it, of course? Yet why should I be blamed?" + +"No one blames you," says Mona; "yet it is hard that Nicholas should be +made unhappy." + +"Other people are unhappy, too," says the Australian, gloomily. + +"Perhaps they make their own unhappiness," says Mona, at random. "But +Nicholas has done nothing. He is good and gentle always. He knows no +evil thoughts. He wishes ill to no man." + +"Not even to me?" with a sardonic laugh. + +"Not even to you," very gravely. There is reproof in her tone. They are +standing somewhat apart, and her eyes have been turned from him. Now, as +she says this, she changes her position slightly, and looks at him very +earnestly. From the distant ballroom the sound of the dying music comes +sadly, sweetly; a weeping fountain in a corner mourns bitterly, as it +seems to Mona, tear by tear, perhaps for some lost nymph. + +"Well, what would you have me do?" demands he, with some passion. "Throw +up everything? Lands, title, position? It is more than could be expected +of any man." + +"Much more," says Mona; but she sighs as she says it, and a little look +of hopelessness comes into her face. It is so easy to read Mona's face. + +"You are right," he says, with growing vehemence: "no man would do it. +It is such a brilliant chance, such a splendid scheme----." He checks +himself suddenly. Mona looks at him curiously, but says nothing. In a +second he recovers himself, and goes on: "Yet because I will not +relinquish my just claim you look upon me with hatred and contempt." + +"Oh, no," says Mona, gently; "only I should like you better, of course, +if you were not the cause of our undoing." + +"'Our'? How you associate yourself with these Rodneys!" he says, +scornfully; "yet you are as unlike them as a dove is unlike a hawk. How +came you to fall into their nest? And so if I could only consent to +efface myself you would like me better,--tolerate me in fact? A poor +return for annihilation. And yet," impatiently, "I don't know. If I +could be sure that even my memory would be respected by you----." He +pauses and pushes back his hair from his brow. + +"Why could you not have stayed in Australia?" says Mona, with some +excitement. "You are rich; your home is there; you have passed all your +life up to this without a title, without the tender associations that +cling round Nicholas and that will cost him almost his life to part +with. You do not want them, yet you come here to break up our peace and +make us all utterly wretched." + +"Not you," says Paul, quickly. "What is it to you? It will not take a +penny out of your pocket. Your husband," with an evil sneer, "has his +income secured. I am not making you wretched." + +"You are," says Mona, eagerly. "Do you think," tears gathering in her +eyes, "that I could be happy when those I love are reduced to despair?" + +"You must have a large heart to include all of them," says Rodney with a +shrug. "Whom do you mean by 'those you love?' Not Lady Rodney, surely. +She is scarcely a person, I take it to inspire that sentiment in even +your tolerant breast. It cannot be for her sake you bear me such +illwill?" + +"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only +sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him." + +"Do you?" says her companion, staring at her, and drawing his breath a +little hard. "Then, even if he should lose to me lands, title, nay, all +he possesses, I should still count him a richer man than I am." + +"Oh, poor Nicholas!" says Mona sadly, "and poor little Doatie!" + +"You speak as if my victory was a foregone conclusion," says Rodney. +"How can you tell? He may yet gain the day, and I may be the outcast." + +"I hope with all my heart you will," says Mona. + +"Thank you," replies he stiffly; "yet, after all, I think I should bet +upon my own chance." + +"I am afraid you are right," says Mona. "Oh, why did you come over at +all?" + +"I am very glad I did," replies he, doggedly. "At least I have seen you. +They cannot take that from me. I shall always be able to call the +remembrance of your face my own." + +Mona hardly hears him. She is thinking of Nicholas's face as it was half +an hour ago when he had leaned against the deserted doorway and looked +at pretty Dorothy. + +Yet pretty Dorothy at her very best moments had never looked, nor ever +could look, as lovely as Mona appears now, as she stands with her hands +loosely clasped before her, and the divine light of pity in her eyes, +that are shining softly like twin stars. + +Behind her rises a tall shrub of an intense green, against which the +soft whiteness of her satin gown gleams with a peculiar richness. Her +gaze is fixed upon a distant planet that watches her solemnly through +the window from its seat in the far-off heaven, "silent, as if it +watch'd the sleeping earth." + +She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of +her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are +homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in +the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful +earth. + +A passionate admiration for her beauty and purity fills his breast: he +could have fallen at her feet and cried aloud to her to take pity upon +him, to let some loving thought for him--even him too--enter and find +fruitful soil within her heart. + +"Try not to hate me," he says, imploringly, in a broken voice, going +suddenly up to her and taking one of her hands in his. His grasp is so +hard as almost to hurt her. Mona awakening from her reverie, turns to +him with a start. Something in his face moves her. + +"Indeed, I do not hate you," she says impulsively. "Believe me, I do +not. But still I fear you." + +Some one is coming quickly towards them. Rodney, dropping Mona's hand, +looks hurriedly round, only to see Lady Rodney approaching. + +"Your husband is looking for you," she says to Mona, in an icy tone. +"You had better go to him. This is no place for you." + +Without vouchsafing a glance of recognition to the Australian, she +sweeps past, leaving them again alone. Paul laughs aloud. + +"'A haughty spirit comes before a fall,'" quotes he contemptuously. + +"I must go now. Good-night," says Mona, kindly if coldly. He escorts her +to the door of the conservatory There Lauderdale, who is talking with +some men, comes forward and offers her his arm to take her to the +carriage. And then adieux are said, and the duke accompanies her +downstairs, whilst Lady Rodney contents herself with one of her sons. + +It is a triumph, if Mona only knew it, but she is full of sad +reflections, and is just now wrapped up in mournful thoughts of Nicholas +and little Dorothy. Misfortune seems flying towards them on strong swift +wings. Can nothing stay its approach, or beat it back in time to effect +a rescue? If they fail to find the nephew of the old woman Elspeth in +Sydney, whither he is supposed to have gone, or if, on finding him they +fail to elicit any information from him on the subject of the lost will, +affairs may be counted almost hopeless. + +"Mona," says Geoffrey, to her suddenly, in a low whisper, throwing his +arm round her (they are driving home, alone in the small +night-brougham)--"Mona, do you know what you have done to-night? The +whole room went mad about you. They would talk of no one else. Do not +let them turn your head." + +"Turn it where, darling?" asks she, a little dreamily. + +"Away from me," returns he, with some emotion, tightening his clasp +around her. + +"From you? Was there ever such a dear silly old goose," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, with a faint, loving laugh. And then, with a small sigh full +of content, she forgets her cares for others for awhile, and, nestling +closer to him, lays her head upon his shoulder and rests there happily +until they reach the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +HOW THE CLOUD GATHERS--AND HOW NICHOLAS AND DOROTHY HAVE THEIR BAD +QUARTER OF AN HOUR. + + +The blow so long expected, yet so eagerly and hopefully scoffed at with +obstinate persistency, falls at last (all too soon) upon the Towers. +Perhaps it is not the very final blow that when it comes must shatter to +atoms all the old home-ties, and the tender links that youth has +forged, but it is certainly a cruel shaft, that touches the heart +strings, making them quiver. The first thin edge of the wedge has been +inserted: the sword trembles to its fall: _c'est le commencement de la +fin_. + +It is the morning after Lady Chetwoode's ball. Every one has got down to +breakfast. Every one is in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that +the rain is racing down the window-panes in torrents, and that the post +is late. + +As a rule it always is late, except when it is preternaturally early; +sometimes it comes at half-past ten, sometimes with the hot water. There +is a blessed uncertainty about its advent that keeps every one on the +tiptoe of expectation, and probably benefits circulation. + +The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an +unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still +with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out +Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to +be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with +only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is +merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power +could get in a word from any one else. + +"I am always so glad when the post doesn't arrive in time for +breakfast," Doatie is saying gayly. "Once those horrid papers come, +every one gets stupid and engrossed, and thinks it a positive injury to +have to say even 'yes' or 'no' to a civil question. Now see how sociable +we have been this morning, because that dear Jacob is late again. Ah! I +spoke too soon," as the door opens and a servant enters with a most +imposing pile of letters and papers. + +"Late again, Jermyn," says Sir Nicholas, lazily. + +"Yes, Sir Nicholas,--just an hour and a half. He desired me to say he +had had another 'dart' in his rheumatic knee this morning, so hoped you +would excuse him." + +"Poor old soul!" says Sir Nicholas. + +"Jolly old bore!" says Captain Rodney, though not unkindly. + +"Don't throw me over that blue envelope, Nick," says Nolly: "I don't +seem to care about it. I know it, I think it seems familiar. You may +have it, with my love. Mrs. Geoffrey, be so good as to tear it in two." + +Jack is laughing over a letter written by one of the fellows in India; +all are deep in their own correspondence. + +Sir Nicholas, having gone leisurely through two of his letters, opens a +third, and begins to peruse it rather carelessly. But hardly has he gone +half-way down the first page when his face changes; involuntarily his +fingers tighten over the luckless letter, crimping it out of all shape. +By a supreme effort he suppresses an exclamation. It is all over in a +moment. Then he raises his head, and the color comes back to his lips. +He smiles faintly, and, saying something about having many things to do +this morning, and that therefore he hopes they will forgive his running +away from them in such a hurry he rises and walks slowly from the room. + +Nobody has noticed that anything is wrong. Only Doatie turns very pale, +and glances nervously at Geoffrey, who answers her frightened look with +a perplexed one of his own. + +Then, as breakfast was virtually over before the letters came, they all +rise, and disperse themselves as fancy dictates. But Geoffrey goes alone +to where he knows he shall find Nicholas in his own den. + +An hour later, coming out of it again, feeling harassed and anxious, he +finds Dorothy walking restlessly up and down the corridor outside, as +though listening for some sound she pines to hear. Her pretty face, +usually so bright and _debonnaire_, is pale and sad. Her lips are +trembling. + +"May I not see Nicholas, if only for a moment?" she says, plaintively, +gazing with entreaty at Geoffrey. At which Nicholas, hearing from within +the voice that rings its changes on his heart from morn till eve, calls +aloud to her,-- + +"Come in, Dorothy. I want to speak to you." + +So she goes in, and Geoffrey, closing the door behind her, leaves them +together. + +She would have gone to him then, and tried to console him in her own +pretty fashion, but he motions her to stay where she is. + +"Do not come any nearer," he says, hastily, "I can tell it all to you +better, more easily, when I cannot see you." + +So Doatie, nervous and miserable, and with unshed tears in her eyes, +stands where he tells her, with her hand resting on the back of an +arm-chair, while he, going over to the window, deliberately turns his +face from hers. Yet even now he seems to find a difficulty in beginning. +There is a long pause; and then---- + +"They--they have found that fellow,--old Elspeth's nephew," he says in a +husky tone. + +"Where?" asks Doatie, eagerly. + +"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house." + +"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And----" + +"He says he knows nothing about any will." + +Another pause, longer than the last. + +"He denies all knowledge of it. I suppose he has been bought up by the +other side. And now what remains for us to do? That was our last chance, +and a splendid one, as there are many reasons for believing that old +Elspeth either burned or hid the will drawn up by my grandfather on the +night of his death; but it has failed us. Yet I cannot but think this +man Warden must know something of it. How did he discover Paul Rodney's +home? It has been proved, that old Elspeth was always in communication +with my uncle up to the hour of her death; she must have sent Warden to +Australia then, probably with this very will she had been so carefully +hiding for years. If so, it is beyond all doubt burned or otherwise +destroyed by this time. Parkins writes to me in despair." + +"This is dreadful!" says Doatie. "But"--brightening--"surely it is not +so bad as death or disgrace, is it?" + +"It means death to me," replies he, in a low tone. "It means that I +shall lose you." + +"Nicholas," cries she, a little sharply, "what is it you would say?" + +"Nay, hear me," exclaims he, turning for the first time to comfort her; +and, as he does, she notices the ravages that the last hour of anxiety +and trouble have wrought upon his face. He is looking thin and haggard, +and rather tired. All her heart goes out to him, and it is with +difficulty she restrains her desire to run to him and encircle him with +her soft arms. But something in his expression prevents her. + +"Hear me," he says, passionately: "if I am worsted in this fight--and I +see no ray of hope anywhere--I am a ruined man. I shall then have +literally only five hundred a year that I can call my own. No home; no +title. And such an income as that, to people bred as you and I have +been, means simply penury. All must be at an end between us, Dorothy. We +must try to forget that we have ever been more than ordinary friends." + +This tirade has hardly the effect upon Dorothy that might be desired. +She still stands firm, utterly unshaken by the storm that has just swept +over her (frail child though she is), and, except for a slight touch of +indignation that is fast growing within her eyes, appears unmoved. + +"You may try just as hard as ever you like," she says, with dignity: "I +_sha'n't_!" + +"So you think now; but by and by you will find the pressure too great, +and you will go with the tide. If I were to work for years and years, I +could scarcely at the end achieve a position fit to offer you. And I am +thirty-two, remember,--not a boy beginning life, with all the world and +time before him,--and you are only twenty. By what right should I +sacrifice your youth, your prospects? Some other man, some one more +fortunate, may perhaps----" + +Here he breaks down ignominiously, considering the amount of sternness +he had summoned to his aid when commencing, and, walking to the +mantelpiece, lays his arm on it, and his head upon his arms. + +"You insult me," says Dorothy, growing even whiter than she was before, +"when you speak to me of--of----" + +Then she, too, breaks down, and, going to him, deliberately lifts one of +his arms and lays it round her neck; after which she places both hers +gently round his, and so, having comfortably arranged herself, proceeds +to indulge in a hearty burst of tears. This is, without exception, the +very wisest course she could have taken, as it frightens the life out of +Nicholas, and brings him to a more proper frame of mind in no time. + +"Oh, Dorothy, don't do that! Don't, my dearest, my pet!" he entreats. "I +won't say another word, not one, if you will only stop." + +"You have said too much already, and there _sha'n't_ be an end of it, as +you declared just now," protests Doatie, vehemently, who declines to be +comforted just yet, and is perhaps finding some sorrowful enjoyment in +the situation. "I'll take very good care there sha'n't! And I won't let +you give me up. I don't care how poor you are. And I must say I think it +is very rude and heartless of you, Nicholas, to want to hand me over to +'some other man,' as if I was a book or a parcel! 'Some other man,' +indeed!" winds up Miss Darling, with a final sob and a heavy increase of +righteous wrath. + +"But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though +inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty and devotion. +"Your people won't hear of it." + +"Oh, yes, they will," returns Doatie, emphatically, "They will probably +hear a great deal of it! I shall speak of it morning, noon, and night, +until out of sheer vexation of spirit they will come in a body and +entreat you to remove me. Ah!" regretfully, "if only I had a fortune +now, how sweet it would be! I never missed it before. We are really very +unfortunate." + +"We are, indeed. But I think your having a fortune would only make +matters worse." Then he grows despairing once more. "Dorothy, it is +madness to think of it. I am speaking only wisdom, though you are angry +with me for it. Why encourage hope where there is none?" + +"Because 'the miserable hath no other medicine but only hope,'" quotes +she, very sadly. + +"Yet what does Feltham say? 'He that hopes too much shall deceive +himself at last' Your medicine is dangerous, darling. It will kill you +in the end. Just think, Dorothy, how could you live on five hundred a +year!" + +"Other people have done it,--do it every day," says Dorothy, stoutly. +She has dried her eyes, and is looking almost as pretty as ever. "We +might find a dear nice little house somewhere, Nicholas," this rather +vaguely, "might we not? with some furniture in Queen Anne's style. Queen +Anne, or what looks like her, is not so very expensive now, is she?" + +"No," says Nicholas, "she isn't; though I should consider her dear at +any price." He is a depraved young man who declines to see beauty in +ebony and gloom. "But," with a sigh, "I don't think you quite +understand, darling." + +"Oh, yes, I do," says Dorothy, with a wise shake of her blonde head; +"you mean that probably we shall not be able to order any furniture at +all. Well, even if it comes to sitting on one horrid kitchen deal chair +with you, Nicholas, I sha'n't mind it a scrap." She smiles divinely, and +with the utmost cheerfulness, as she says this. But then she has never +tried to sit on a deal chair, and it is a simple matter to conjure up a +smile when woes are imaginary. + +"You are an angel," says Nicholas. And, indeed, considering all things, +it is the least he could have said. "If we weather this storm, Dorothy," +he goes on, earnestly,--"if, by any chance, Fate should reinstate me +once more firmly in the position I have always held,--it shall be my +proudest remembrance that in my adversity you were faithful to me, and +were content to share my fortune, evil though it showed itself to be." + +They are both silent for a little while, and then Dorothy says, +softly,-- + +"Perhaps it will all come right at last. Oh! if some kind good fairy +would but come to our aid and help us to confound our enemies!" + +"I am afraid there is only one fairy on earth just now, and that is +you," says Nicholas, with a faint smile, smoothing back her pretty hair +with loving fingers, and gazing fondly into the blue eyes that have +grown so big and earnest during their discussion. + +"I mean a real fairy," says Dorothy, shaking her head "If she were to +come now this moment and say, 'Dorothy'----" + +"Dorothy," says a voice outside at this very instant, so exactly as +Doatie pauses that both she and Nicholas start simultaneously. + +"That is Mona's voice," says Doatie. "I must go. Finish your letters, +and come for me then, and we can go into the garden and talk it all over +again. Come in, Mona; I am here." + +She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently +searching for her everywhere. + +"Ah! now, I have disturbed you," says Mrs. Geoffrey, pathetically, to +whom lovers are a rare delight and a sacred study. "How stupid of me! +Sure you needn't have come out, when you knew it was only me. And of +course he wants you, poor dear fellow. I thought you were in the small +drawing-room, or I shouldn't have called you at all." + +"It doesn't matter. Come upstairs with me, Mona. I want to tell you all +about it," says Doatie. The reaction has set in, and she is again +tearful, and reduced almost to despair. + +"Alas! Geoffrey has told me everything," says Mona, "That is why I am +now seeking for you. I thought, I _knew_, you were unhappy, and I wanted +to tell you how I suffer with you." + +By this time they have reached Dorothy's room, and now, sitting down, +gaze mournfully at each other. Mona is so truly grieved that any one +might well imagine this misfortune, that is rendering the very air +heavy, in her own, rather than another's. And this wholesale sympathy, +this surrendering of her body and mind to a grief that does not touch +herself, is inexpressibly sweet to her poor little friend. + +Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts +out crying afresh. + +"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close +embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they +mend." + +"Not always," sobs Doatie. "I know how it will be. We shall be +separated,--torn asunder, and then after a while they will make me marry +somebody else; and in a weak moment I shall do it! And then I shall be +utterly wretched for ever and ever." + +"You malign yourself," says Mona. "It is all impossible. You will have +no such weak moment, or I do not know you. You will be faithful always, +until he can marry you, and, if he never can, why, then you can be +faithful too, and go to your grave with his image only in your heart +That is not so bad a thought, is it?" + +"N--ot very," says Doatie, dolefully. + +"And, besides, you can always see him, you know," goes on Mona, +cheerfully. "It is not as if death had stolen him from you. He will be +always somewhere; and you can look into his eyes, and read how his love +for you has survived everything. And perhaps, after some time, he may +distinguish himself in some way and gain a position far grander than +mere money or rank can afford, because you know he is wonderfully +clever." + +"He is," says Dorothy, with growing animation. + +"And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time +yet for a missing will or a--a--useful witness to turn up. That will," +says Mona, musingly, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think +so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come +to it. It may be discovered yet." + +She looks so full of belief in her own fancy that she inspires Doatie on +the spot with a similar faith. + +"Mona! There is no one so sweet or comforting as you are," she cries, +giving her a grateful hug. "I really think I do feel a little better +now." + +"That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success. + +Violet, coming in a few moments later, finds them still discussing the +all-important theme. + +"It is unfortunate for every one," says Violet, disconsolately, sinking +in a low chair. "Such a dear house, and to have it broken up and given +into the possession of such a creature as that." She shrugs her +shoulders with genuine disgust. + +"You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is +perfectly utter!--such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!" + +"I don't suppose any one will take the slightest notice of him," says +Violet: "that is one comfort." + +"I don't know that: Lilian Chetwoode made him welcome in her house last +night," says Doatie, a little bitterly. + +"That is because Nicholas will insist on proving to every one he bears +him no malice, and speaks of him persistently as his cousin. Well, he +may be his cousin; but there is a limit to everything," says Violet, +with a slight frown. + +"That is just what is so noble about Nicholas," returns Doatie, quickly. +"He supports him, simply because it is his own quarrel. After all, it +matters to nobody but Nicholas himself: no one else will suffer if that +odious black man conquers." + +"Yes, many will. Lady Rodney,--and--and Jack too. He also must lose by +it," says Violet, with suppressed warmth. + +"He may; but how little in comparison! Nobody need be thought of but my +poor Nicholas," persists Doatie, who has not read between the lines, and +fails therefore in putting a proper construction upon the faint delicate +blush that is warming Violet's cheek. + +But Mona has read, and understands perfectly. + +"I think every one is to be pitied; and Jack more than most,--after dear +Nicholas," she says, gently, with such a kindly glance at Violet as goes +straight to that young woman's heart, and grows and blossoms there +forever after. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +HOW DISCUSSION WAXES RIFE--AND HOW NICHOLAS, HAVING MADE A SUGGESTION +THAT IS BITTER TO THE EARS OF HIS AUDIENCE, YET CARRIES HIS POINT +AGAINST ALL OPPOSITION. + + +"The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night." The +dusk is slowly creeping up over all the land, the twilight is coming on +apace. As the day was, so is the gathering eve, sad and mournful, with +sounds of rain and sobbings of swift winds as they rush through the +barren beeches in the grove. The harbor bar is moaning many miles away, +yet its voice is borne by rude Boreas up from the bay to the walls of +the stately Towers, that neither rock nor shiver before the charges of +this violent son of "imperial Æolus." + +There is a ghostly tapping (as of some departed spirit who would fain +enter once again into the old halls so long forgotten) against the +window pane. Doubtless it is some waving branch flung hither and thither +by the cruel tempest that rages without. Shadows come and go; and eerie +thoughts oppress the breast:-- + + "Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, + Puts the wretch that lies in woe + In remembrance of a shroud." + +"What a wretched evening!" says Violet, with a little shiver. "Geoffrey, +draw the curtains closer." + +"A fit ending to a miserable day," says Lady Rodney, gloomily. + +"Night has always the effect of making bad look worse," says Doatie with +a sad attempt at cheerfulness. "Never mind; morning will soon be here +again." + +"But why should night produce melancholy?" says Nicholas, dreamily. "It +is but a reflection of the greater light, after all. What does Richter +call it? 'The great shadow and profile of day.' It is our own morbid +fancies that make us dread it." + +"Nevertheless, close the curtains, Geoffrey, and ask Lady Rodney if she +would not like tea now," says Violet, _sotto voce_. + +Somebody pokes the fire, until a crimson light streams through the room. +The huge logs are good-naturedly inclined, and burst their great sides +in an endeavor to promote more soothing thought. + +"As things are so unsettled, Nicholas, perhaps we had better put off our +dance," says Lady Rodney, presently. "It may only worry you, and +distress us all." + +"No. It will not worry me. Let us have our dance by all means," says +Nicholas, recklessly. "Why should we cave in, in such hot haste? It will +give us all something to think about. Why not get up tableaux? Our last +were rather a success. And to represent Nero fiddling, whilst Rome was +on fire, would be a very appropriate one for the present occasion." + +He laughs a little as he says this, but there is no mirth in his laugh. + +"Nicholas, come here," says Doatie, anxiously, from out the shadow in +which she is sitting, somewhat away from the rest. And Nicholas, going +to her finds comfort and grows calm again beneath the touch of the slim +little fingers she slips into his beneath the cover of the friendly +darkness, "I don't see why we shouldn't launch out into reckless +extravagance now our time threatens to be so short," says Jack, moodily. +"Let's us entertain our neighbors right royally before the end comes. +Why not wind up like the pantomimes, with showers of gold and rockets +and the gladsome noise of ye festive cracker?" + +"What nonsense some people are capable of talking!" says Violet, with a +little shrug. + +"Well, why not?" says Captain Rodney, undaunted by this small snub. "It +is far more difficult to talk than sense. Any fellow can do that. If I +were to tell you that Nolly is sound asleep, and that if he lurches even +half a degree more to the right he will presently be lost to sight among +the glowing embers" (Nolly rouses himself with a start), "you would +probably tell me I was a very silly fellow to waste breath over such a +palpable fact, but it would be sense nevertheless. I hope I haven't +disturbed you, Nolly? On such a night as this a severe scorching would +perhaps be a thing to be desired." + +"Thanks. I'll put it off for a night or two," says Nolly, sleepily. + +"Besides, I don't believe I _was_ talking nonsense," goes on Jack in an +aggrieved tone. "My last speech had very little folly in it. I feel the +time is fast approaching when we sha'n't have money even to meet our +tailors' bills." + +"'In the midst of life we are in debt,'" says Nolly, solemnly. Which is +the best thing he could have said, as it makes them all laugh in spite +of their pending misfortunes. + +"Nolly is waking up. I am afraid we sha'n't have that _auto da fe_, +after all," says Jack in a tone of rich disappointment. "I feel as if we +are going to be done out of a good thing." + +"What a day we're avin'," says Mr. Darling, disdaining to notice this +puerile remark. "It's been pouring since early dawn. I feel right down +cheap,--very nearly as depressed as when last night Nicholas stuck me +down to dance with the Æsthetic." + +"Lady Lilias Eaton, you mean?" asks Lady Rodney. "That reminds me we are +bound to go over there to-morrow. At least, some of us." + +"Mona must go," says Nicholas, quickly. "Lady Lilias made a point of it. +You will go, Mona?" + +"I should very much like to go," says Mona, gently, and with some +eagerness. She has been sitting very quietly with her hands before her, +hardly hearing what is passing around her,--lost, buried in thought. + +"Poor infant! It is her first essay," says Nolly, pitifully. + +"Wait till to-morrow evening, and see if you will feel as you do now. +Your cheerful complaisance in this matter is much to be admired. And +Nicholas should be grateful But I think you will find one dose of Lady +Lilias and her ancient Briton sufficient for your lifetime." + +"You used to be tremendous friends there at one time," says Geoffrey; +"never out of the house." + +"I used to stay there occasionally when old Lord Daintree was alive, if +you mean that," says Nolly, meekly. "As far as I can recollect, I was +always shipped there when naughty, or troublesome, or in the way at +home; and as a rule I was always in the way. There is a connection +between the Eatons and my mother, and Anadale saw a good deal of me off +and on during the holidays. It was a sort of rod in pickle, or dark +closet, that used to be held over my head when in disgrace." + +"Lilias must have been quite a child then," says Lady Rodney. + +"She was never a child: she was born quite grown up. But the ancient +Britons had not come into favor at that time: so she was a degree more +tolerable. Bless me," says Mr. Darling, with sudden animation, "what +horrid times I put in there. The rooms were ghastly enough to freeze the +blood in one's veins, and no candles would light 'em. The beds were all +four-posters, with heavy curtains round them, so high that one had to +get a small ladder to mount into bed. I remember one time--it was during +harvest, and the mowers were about--I suggested to Lord Daintree he +should get the men in to mow down the beds; but no one took any notice +of my proposal, so it fell to the ground. I was frightened to death, and +indeed was more in awe of the four-posters than of the old man, who +wasn't perhaps half bad." + +Dorothy from her corner laughs gayly. "Poor old Noll," she says: "it was +his unhappy childhood that blighted his later years and made him the +melancholy object he is." + +"Well, you know, it was much too much,--it was really," says Mr. +Darling, very earnestly. "Mrs. Geoffrey, won't you come to my rescue?". + +Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do +for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land +miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her +mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she +and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were +the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white +brow, and lets a little frown--born only of bewildered thought--contract +its fairness. + +"A scheme," he had said; and then in a moment the right words flash +across her brain. "A brilliant chance, a splendid scheme." What words +for an honest man to use! Could he be honest? Was there any flaw, any +damning clause anywhere in all this careful plot, so cleverly +constructed to bring ruin upon the heads of these people who have crept +into her tender heart? + +"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with +a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far +from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in +his tone. + +"No; very near you,--nearer than you think," says Mona, quick to notice +any variation in his tone, awaking from her reverie with a start, and +laying one of her hands over his. "Geoffrey," earnestly, "what is the +exact meaning of the word 'scheme'? Would an honest man (surely he would +not) talk of scheming?" Which absurd question only shows how unlearned +she yet is in the great lessons of life. + +"Well, that is rather a difficult question to answer," says Geoffrey. +"Monsieur de Lesseps, when dreaming out the Suez Canal, called it a +scheme; and he, I presume, is an honest man. Whereas, on the other side, +if a burglar were arranging to steal all your old silver, I suppose he +would call that a scheme too. What have you on the brain now, darling? +You are not going to defraud your neighbor, I hope." + +"It is very strange," says Mona, with a dissatisfied sigh, "but I'll +tell you all about it by and by." + +Instinct warns her of treachery; common sense belies the warning. To +which shall she give ear? + +"Shall we ask the Carsons to our dance, Nicholas?" asks his mother, at +this moment. + +"Ask any one you like,--any one, I mean, that is not quite impossible," +says Nicholas. + +"Edith Carson is very nearly so, I think." + +"Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?" +asks Mona, with some animation. + +"Yes. Girl with light, frizzy hair and green eye." + +"A strange girl, I thought, but very pretty. Yes--was it English she +talked?" + +"Of the purest," says Geoffrey. + +"What did she say, Mona?" inquired Doatie. + +"I am not sure that I can tell you,--at least not exactly as she said +it," says Mona, with hesitation. "I didn't quite understand her; but +Geoffrey asked her how she was enjoying herself, and she said it was +'fun all through;' and that she was amusing herself just then by hiding +from her partner, Captain Dunscombe, who was hunting for her 'all over +the shop,'--it was 'shop,' she said, wasn't it, Geoff? And that it did +her good to see him in a tearing rage, in fact on a regular 'champ,' +because it vexed Tricksy Newcombe, whose own particular he was in the +way of 'pals.'" + +Everybody laughs. In fact, Nolly roars. + +"Did she stop there?" he says: "that was unworthy of her. Breath for +once must have failed her, as nothing so trivial as want of words could +have influenced Miss Carson." + +"You should have seen Mona," says Geoffrey. "She opened her eyes and her +lips, and gazed fixedly upon the lively Edith. Curiosity largely mingled +with awe depicted itself upon her expressive countenance. She was +wondering whether she should have to conquer that extraordinary jargon +before being pronounced fit for polite society." + +"No, indeed," says Mona, laughing. "But it surely wasn't English, was +it? That is not the way everybody talks, surely." + +"Everybody," says Geoffrey; "that is, all specially nice people. You +won't be in the swim at all, unless you take to that sort of thing." + +"Then you are not a nice person yourself." + +"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I +trust to that and careful observation to reform me." + +"And I am to say 'pals' for friends, and call it pure English?" + +"It is not more extraordinary, surely, than calling a drunken young man +'tight,'" says Lady Rodney, with calm but cruel meaning. + +Mona blushes painfully. + +"Well, no; but that is pure Irish," says Geoffrey, unmoved. Mona, with +lowered head, turns her wedding-ring round and round upon her finger, +and repents bitterly that little slip of hers when talking with the +duchess last night. + +"If I must ask Edith Carson, I shall feel I am doing something against +my will," says Lady Rodney. + +"We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is +another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to." + +"Certainly dear. Who is it?" + +"Paul Rodney," replies he, very distinctly. + +"Nicholas!" cries his mother, faintly: "this is too much!" + +"Nevertheless, to oblige me," entreats he, hastily. + +"But this is morbid,--a foolish pride," protests she, passionately, +while all the others are struck dumb at this suggestion from Nicholas. +Is his brain failing? Is his intellect growing weak, that he should +propose such a thing? Even Doatie, who as a rule supports Nicholas +through evil report and good, sits silent and aghast at his proposition. + +"What has he done that he should be excluded?" demands Nicholas, a +little excitedly. "If he can prove a first right to claim this property, +is that a crime? He is our cousin: why should we be the only people in +the whole countryside to treat him with contempt? He has committed no +violation of the law, no vile sin has been laid to his charge beyond +this fatal one of wanting his own--and--and----" + +He pauses. In the darkness a loving, clinging hand has again crept into +his, full of sweet entreaty, and by a gentle pressure has reduced him to +calmness. + +"Ask him, if only to please me," he says, wearily. + +"Everything shall be just as you wish it, dearest," says his mother, +with unwonted tenderness, and then silence falls upon them all. + +The fire blazes up fiercely, and anon drops its flame and sinks into +insignificance once more. Again the words that bear some vague but as +yet undiscovered meaning haunt Mona's brain. "A splendid scheme." A vile +conspiracy, perhaps. Oh, that she might be instrumental in saving these +people from ruin, among whom her lot had been cast! But how weak her +arm! How insufficient her mind to cope with an emergency like this! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +HOW MONA GOES TO ANADALE--AND HOW SHE THERE SEES MANY THINGS AS YET TO +HER UNKNOWN. + + +About half-past two next day they start for Anadale. Not Violet, or +Captain Rodney, who have elected to go on a mission of their own, nor +Nicholas, who has gone up to London. + +The frost lies heavy on the ground; the whole road, and every bush and +tree, sparkle brilliantly, as though during the hours when darkness lay +upon the earth the dread daughter of Chaos, as she traversed the expanse +of the firmament in her ebony chariot, had dropped heaven's diamonds +upon the land. The wintry sunshine lighting them up makes soft and +glorious the midday. + +The hour is enchanting, the air almost mild; and every one feels half +aggrieved when the carriage, entering the lodge-gates, bears them +swiftly towards the massive entrance that will lead them into the house +and out of the cold. + +But before they reach the hall door Geoffrey feels it his duty to bestow +upon them a word or two of warning. + +"Now, look here," he says, impressively: "I hope nobody is going to +indulge in so much as a covert smile to-day." He glances severely at +Nolly, who is already wreathed in smiles. "Because the Æsthetic won't +have it. She wouldn't hear of it at any price. We must all be in tense! +If you don't understand what that means, Mona, you had better learn at +once. You are to be silent, rapt, lifted far above all the vulgar +commonplaces of life. You may, if you like, go into a rapture over a +colorless pebble, or shed tears of joy above a sickly lily; but avoid +ordinary admiration." + +"The only time I shed tears," says Mr. Darling, irrelevantly, "for many +years, was when I heard of the old chap's death. And they were drops of +rich content. Do you know I think unconsciously he impregnated her with +her present notions; because he was as like an 'ancient Briton' himself +before he died as if he had posed for it." + +"He was very eccentric, but quite correct," says Lady Rodney, +reprovingly. + +"He was a man who never took off his hat," begins Geoffrey. + +"But why?" asks Mona, in amaze. "Didn't he wear one?" + +"Yes, but he always doffed it; and he never put one on like ordinary +mortals, he always donned it. You can't think what a difference it +makes." + +"What a silly boy you are, Geoff!" says his wife, laughing. + +"Thank you, darling," replies he, meekly. + +"But what is Lady Lilias like? I did not notice her the other night," +says Mona. + +"She has got one nose and two eyes, just like every one else," says +Nolly. "That is rather disappointing, is it not? And she attitudinizes a +good deal. Sometimes she reclines full length upon the grass, with her +bony elbow well squared and her chin buried in her palm. Sometimes she +stands beside a sundial, with her head to one side, and a carefully +educated and very much superannuated peacock beside her. But I dare say +she will do the greyhound pose to-day. In summer she goes abroad with a +huge wooden fan with which she kills the bumble-bee as it floats by her. +And she gowns herself in colors that make one's teeth on edge. I am sure +it is her one lifelong regret that she must clothe herself at all, as +she has dreams of savage nakedness and a liberal use of the fetching +woad." + +"My dear Oliver!" protests Lady Rodney, mildly. + +"If she presses refreshments on you, Mona, say, 'No, thank you,' without +hesitation," says Geoffrey, with anxious haste, seeing they are drawing +near their journey's end. "Because if you don't she will compel you to +partake of metheglin and unleavened bread, which means sudden death. +Forewarned is forearmed. Nolly and I have done what we can for you." + +"Is she by herself? Is there nobody living with her?" asks Mona, +somewhat nervously. + +"Well, practically speaking, no. But I believe she has a sister +somewhere." + +"'Sister Anne,' you mean?" says Nolly. "Oh, ay! I have seen her, though +as a rule she is suppressed. She is quite all she ought to be, and +irreproachable in every respect--unapproachable, according to some. She +is a very good girl, and never misses a Saint's Day by any chance, never +eats meat on Friday, or butter in Lent, and always confesses. But she is +not of much account in the household, being averse to 'ye goode olde +times.'" + +At this point the house comes in view, and conversation languishes. The +women give a small touch to their furs and laces, the men indulge in a +final yawn that is to last them until the gates of Anadale close behind +them again. + +"There is no moat, and no drawbridge, and no eyelet-hole through which +to spy upon the advance of the enemy," says Darling, in an impressive +whisper, just as they turn the curve that leads into the big gravel +sweep before the hall door. "A drawback, I own; but even the very +greatest are not infallible." + +It is a lovely old castle, ancient and timeworn, with turrets rising in +unexpected places, and walls covered with drooping ivy, and gables dark +with age. + +A terrace runs all along one side of the house, which is exposed to view +from the avenue. And here, with a gaunt but handsome greyhound beside +her, stands a girl tall and slim, yet beautifully moulded. Her eyes are +gray, yet might at certain moments be termed blue. Her mouth is large, +but not unpleasing. Her hair is quite dark, and drawn back into a loose +and artistic coil behind. She is clad in an impossible gown of sage +green, that clings closely to her slight figure, nay, almost +desperately, as though afraid to lose her. + +One hand is resting lightly with a faintly theatrical touch upon the +head of the lean greyhound, the other is raised to her forehead as +though to shield her eyes from the bright sun. + +Altogether she is a picture, which, if slightly suggestive of +artificiality, is yet very nearly perfection. Mona is therefore +agreeably surprised, and, being--as all her nation is--susceptible to +outward beauty, feels drawn towards this odd young woman in sickly +green, with her canine friend beside her. + +Lady Lilias, slowly descending the stone steps with the hound Egbert +behind her, advances to meet Lady Rodney. She greets them all with a +solemn cordiality that impresses everybody but Mona, who is gazing +dreamily into the gray eyes of her hostess and wondering vaguely if her +lips have ever smiled. Her hostess in return is gazing at her, perhaps +in silent admiration of her soft loveliness. + +"You will come first and see Philippa?" she says, in a slow peculiar +tone that sounds as if it had been dug up and is quite an antique in its +own way. It savors of dust and feudal days. Every one says he or she +will be delighted, and all try to look as if the entire hope of their +existence is centred in the thought that they shall soon lay longing +eyes on Philippa,--whose name in reality is Anne, but who has been +rechristened by her enterprising sister. Anne is all very well for +everyday life, or for Bluebeard's sister-in-law; but Philippa is art of +the very highest description. So Philippa she is, poor soul, whether she +likes it or not. + +She has sprained her ancle, and is now lying on a couch in a small +drawing room as the Rodneys are ushered in. She is rather glad to see +them, as life with an "intense" sister is at times trying, and the +ritualistic curate is from home. So she smiles upon them, and manages to +look as amiable as plain people ever can look. + +The drawing-room is very much the same as the ordinary run of +drawing-rooms, at which Mona feels distinct disappointment, until, +glancing at Lady Lilias, she notices a shudder of disgust run through +her frame. + +"I really cannot help it," she explains to Mona, in her usual slow +voice, "it all offends me so. But Philippa must be humored. All these +glaring colors and hideous pieces of furniture take my breath away. And +the light----By and by you must come to some of my rooms; but first, if +you are not tired, I should like you to look at my garden; that is, if +you can endure the cold." + +They don't want to endure the cold; but what can they say? Politeness +forbids secession of any kind, and, after a few words with the saintly +Philippa, they follow their guide in all meekness through halls and +corridors out into the garden she most affects. + +And truly it is a very desirable garden, and well worth a visit. It is +like a thought from another age. + +Yew-trees--grown till they form high walls--are cut and shaped in prim +and perfect order, some like the walls of ancient Troy, some like steps +of stairs. Little doors are opened through them, and passing in and out +one walks on for a mile almost, until one loses one's way and grows +puzzled how to extricate one's self from so charming a maze. + +Here and there are basins of water on which lilies can lie and sleep +dreamily through a warm and sunny day. A sundial, old and green with +honorable age, uprears itself upon a chilly bit of sward. Near it lie +two gaudy peacocks sound asleep. All seems far from the world, drowsy, +careless, indifferent to the weals and woes of suffering humanity. + +"It is like the garden of the palace where the Sleeping Beauty dwelt," +whispers Mona to Nolly; she is delighted, charmed, lost in admiration. + +"You are doing it beautifully: keep it up," whispers he back: "she'll +give you something nice if you sustain that look for five minutes +longer. Now!--she is looking; hurry--make haste--put it on again!" + +"I am not pretending," says Mona, indignantly; "I am delighted: it is +the most enchanting place I ever saw. Really lovely." + +"I didn't think it was in you," declares Mr. Darling, with wild but +suppressed admiration. "You would make your fortune on the stage. Keep +it up, I tell you; it couldn't be better." + +"Is it possible you see nothing to admire?" says Mona, with intense +disgust. + +"I do. More than I can express. I see you," retorts he; at which they +both give way to merriment, causing Geoffrey, who is walking with Lady +Lilias, to dodge behind her back and bestow upon them an annihilating +glance that Nolly afterwards describes as a "lurid glare." + +The hound stalks on before them; the peacocks wake up and rend the air +with a discordant scream. Lady Lilias, coming to the sundial, leans her +arm upon it, and puts her head in the right position. A snail slowly +travelling across a broad ivy-leaf attracts her attention; she lifts it +slowly, leaf and all, and directs attention to the silvery trail it has +left behind it. + +"How tender! how touching!" she says, with a pensive smile, raising her +luminous eyes to Geoffrey: whether it is the snail, or the leaf, or the +slime, that is tender and touching, nobody knows; and nobody dares ask, +lest he shall betray his ignorance. Nolly, I regret to say, gives way to +emotion of a frivolous kind, and to cover it blows his nose sonorously. +Whereupon Geoffrey, who is super-naturally grave, asks Lady Lilias if +she will walk with him as far as the grotto. + +"How could you laugh?" says Mona, reproachfully. + +"How couldn't I?" replies he. "Come; let us follow it up to the bitter +end." + +"I never saw anything so clean as the walks," says Mona, presently: +"there is not a leaf or a weed to be seen, yet we have gone through so +many of them. How does she manage it?" + +"Don't you know?" says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. "It is a secret, but I +know you can be trusted. Every morning early she has them carefully +swept, with tea-leaves to keep down the dust, and if the tea is strong +it kills the weeds." + +Then they do the grotto, and then Lady Lilias once more leads the way +indoors. + +"I want you to see my own work," she says, going up markedly to Mona. "I +am glad my garden has pleased you. I could see by your eyes how well you +appreciated it. To see the beautiful in everything, that is the only +true religion." She smiles her careful absent smile again as she says +this, and gazes earnestly at Mona. Perhaps, being true to her religion, +she is noting "the beautiful" in her Irish guest. + +With Philippa they have some tea, and then again follow their +indefatigable hostess to a distant apartment that seems more or less to +jut out from the house, and was in olden days a tiny chapel or oratory. + +It has an octagon chamber of the most uncomfortable description, but no +doubt artistic, and above all praise, according to some lights. To +outsiders it presents a curious appearance, and might by the unlearned +be regarded as a jumble of all ages, a make-up of objectionable bits +from different centuries; but to Lady Lilias and her sympathizers it is +simply perfection. + +The furniture is composed of oak of the hardest and most severe. To sit +down would be a labor of anything but love. The chairs are strictly +Gothic. The table is a marvel in itself for ugliness and in utility. + +There are no windows; but in their place are four unpleasant slits about +two yards in length, let into the thick walls at studiously unequal +distances. These are filled up with an opaque substance that perhaps in +the Middle Ages was called glass. + +There is no grate, and the fire, which has plainly made up its mind not +to light, is composed of Yule-logs. The floor is shining with sand, +rushes having palled on Lady Lilias. + +Mona is quite pleased. All is new, which in itself is a pleasure to her, +and the sanded floor carries her back on the instant to the old parlor +at home, which was their "best" at the Farm. + +"This is nicer than anything," she says, turning in a state of childish +enthusiasm to Lady Lilias. "It is just like the floor in my uncle's +house at home." + +"Ah! indeed! How interesting!" says Lady Lilias, rousing into something +that very nearly borders on animation. "I did not think there was in +England another room like this." + +"Not in England, perhaps. When I spoke I was thinking of Ireland," says +Mona. + +"Yes?" with calm surprise. "I--I have heard of Ireland, of course. +Indeed, I regard the older accounts of it as very deserving of thought; +but I had no idea the more elevated aspirations of modern times had +spread so far. So this room reminds you of--your uncle's?" + +"Partly," says Mona. "Not altogether: there was always a faint odor of +pipes about Uncle Brian's room that does not belong to this." + +"Ah! Tobacco! First introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh," murmurs Lady +Lilias, musingly. "Too modern, but no doubt correct and in keeping. Your +uncle, then,"--looking at Mona,--"is beyond question an earnest student +of our faith." + +"A--student?" says Mona, in a degree puzzled. + +Doatie and Geoffrey have walked to a distant slit. Nolly is gazing +vacantly through another, trying feebly to discern the landscape +beyond. Lady Rodney is on thorns. They are all listening to what Mona is +going to say next. + +"Yes. A disciple, a searcher after truth," goes on Lady Lilias, in her +Noah's Ark tone. "By a student I mean one who studies, and arrives at +perfection--in time." + +"I don't quite know," says Mona, slowly, "but what Uncle Brian +principally studies is--pigs!" + +"Pigs!" repeats Lady Lilias, plainly taken aback. + +"Yes; pigs!" says Mona, sweetly. + +There is a faint pause,--so faint that Lady Rodney is unable to edge in +the saving clause she would fain have uttered. Lady Lilias, recovering +with wonderful spirit from so severe a blow, comes once more boldly to +the front. She taps her white taper fingers lightly on the table near +her, and says, apologetically,--the apology being meant for herself,-- + +"Forgive me that I showed surprise. Your uncle is more advanced than I +had supposed. He is right. Why should a pig be esteemed less lovely than +a stag? Nature in its entirety can know no blemish. The fault lies with +us. We are creatures of habit: we have chosen to regard the innocent pig +as a type of ugliness for generations, and now find it difficult to see +any beauty in it." + +"Well; there isn't much, is there?" says Mona, pleasantly. + +"No doubt education, and a careful study of the animal in question, +might betray much to us," says Lady Lilias. "We object to the uncovered +hide of the pig, and to his small eyes; but can they not see as well as +those of the fawn, or the delicate lapdog we fondle all day on our +knees? It is unjust that one animal should be treated with less regard +than another." + +"But you couldn't fondle a pig on your knees," says Mona, who is growing +every minute more and more mixed. + +"No, no; but it should be treated with courtesy. We were speaking of the +size of its eyes. Why should they be despised? Do we not often in our +ignorance and narrow mindedness cling to paltry things and ignore the +truly great? The tiny diamond that lies in the hollow of our hands is +dear and precious in our sight, whilst we fail to find beauty in the +huge boulder that is after all far more worthy of regard, with its +lights and shades, its grand ruggedness, and the soft vegetable matter +that decks its aged sides, rendering their roughness beautiful." + +Here she gets completely out of her depths, and stops to consider from +whence this train of thought sprung. The pig is forgotten,--indeed, to +get from pigs to diamonds and back again is not an easy matter,--and has +to be searched for again amidst the dim recesses of her brain, and if +possible brought to the surface. + +She draws up her tall figure to its utmost height, and gazes at the +raftered ceiling to see if inspiration can be drawn from thence. But it +fails her. + +"You were talking of pigs," says Mona, gently. + +"Ah! so I was," says Lady Lilias, with a sigh of relief: she is quite +too intense to feel any of the petty vexations of ordinary mortals, and +takes Mona's help in excellent part. "Yes, I really think there is +loveliness in a pig when surrounded by its offspring. I have seen them +once or twice, and I think the little pigs--the--the----" + +"Bonuvs," says Mona, mildly, going back naturally to the Irish term for +those interesting babies. + +"Eh?" says Lady Lilias. + +"Bonuvs," repeats Mona, a little louder, at which Lady Rodney sinks into +a chair, as though utterly overcome. Nolly and Geoffrey are convulsed +with laughter. Doatie is vainly endeavoring to keep them in order. + +"Oh, is that their name?--a pretty one too--if--er--somewhat difficult," +says Lady Lilias, courteously. "Well as I was saying, in spite of their +tails, they really are quite pretty." + +At this Mona laughs unrestrainedly; and Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, +says,-- + +"Dear Lady Lilias, I think we have at last nearly taken in all the +beauties of your charming room. I fear," with much suavity, "we must be +going." + +"Oh, not yet," says Lady Lilias, with the nearest attempt at +youthfulness she has yet made. "Mrs. Rodney has not half seen all my +treasures." + +Mrs. Rodney, however, has been foraging on her own account during this +brief interlude, and now brings triumphantly to light a little basin +filled with early snowdrops. + +"Snowdrops,--and so soon," she says, going up to Lady Lilias, and +looking quite happy over her discovery. "We have none yet at the +Towers." + +"Yes, they are pretty, but insignificant," says the Æsthete, +contemptuously. "Paltry children of the earth, not to be compared with +the lenten or the tiger lily, or the fiercer beauty of the sunflower, or +the hues of the unsurpassable thistle!" + +"I am very ignorant I know," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with her sunny smile, +"but I think I should prefer a snowdrop to a thistle." + +"You have not gone into it," says Lady Lilias, regretfully. "To you +Nature is as yet a blank. The exquisite purple of the stately thistle, +that by the scoffer is called dull, is not understood by you. Nor does +your heart swell beneath the influence of the rare and perfect green of +its leaves, which doubtless the untaught deemed soiled. To fully +appreciate the yieldings and gifts of earth is a power given only to +some." She bows her head, feeling a modest pride in the thought that she +belongs to the happy "some." "Ignorance," she says, sorrowfully, "is the +greatest enemy of our cause." + +"I am afraid you must class me with the ignorant," says Mona, shaking +her pretty head. "I know nothing at all about thistles, except that +donkeys love them!" + +_Is_ this, _can_ this be premeditated, or is it a fatal slip of the +tongue? Lady Rodney turns pale, and even Geoffrey and Nolly stand +aghast. Mona alone is smiling unconcernedly into Lady Lilias's eyes, and +Lady Lilias, after a brief second, smiles back at her. It is plain the +severe young woman in the sage-green gown has not even noticed the +dangerous remark. + +"You must come again very soon to see me," she says to Mona, and then +goes with her all along the halls and passages, and actually stands upon +the door-steps until they drive away. And Mona kisses hands gayly to her +as they turn the corner of the avenue, and then tells Geoffrey that she +thinks he has been very hard on Lady Lilias, because, though she is +plainly quite mad, poor thing, there is certainly nothing to be disliked +about her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +HOW MONA TAKES A WALK ABROAD--AND HOW SHE ASKS CROSS-QUESTIONS AND +RECEIVES CROOKED ANSWERS. + + +It is ten days later,--ten dreary, interminable days, that have +struggled into light, and sunk back again into darkness, leaving no +trace worthy of remembrance in their train. "Swift as swallows' wings" +they have flown, scarce breaking the air in their flight, so silently, +so evenly they have departed, as days will, when dull monotony marks +them for its own. + +To-day is cool, and calm, and bright. Almost one fancies the first faint +breath of spring has touched one's cheek, though as yet January has not +wended to its weary close, and no smallest sign of growth or vegetation +makes itself felt. + +The grass is still brown, the trees barren, no ambitious floweret +thrusts its head above the bosom of its mother earth,--except, indeed, +those "floures white and rede, such as men callen daisies," that always +seem to beam upon the world, no matter how the wind blows. + +Just now it is blowing softly, delicately, as though its fury of the +night before had been an hallucination of the brain. It is "a sweet and +passionate wooer," says Longfellow, and lays siege to "the blushing +leaf." There are no leaves for it to kiss to-day: so it bestows its +caresses upon Mona as she wanders forth, close guarded by her two stanch +hounds that follow at her heels. + +There is a strange hush and silence everywhere. The very clouds are +motionless in their distant homes. + + "There has not been a sound to-day + To break the calm of Nature: + Nor motion, I might almost say, + Of life, or living creature, + Of waving bough, or warbling bird, + Or cattle faintly lowing: + I could have half believed I heard + The leaves and blossoms growing." + +Indeed, no sound disturbs the sacred silence save the crisp rustle of +the dead leaves, as they are trodden into the ground. + +Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, +that is her special joy,--being of the garrulous and babbling order, +which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can +make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all +recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has +forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a +passionate roar to the ocean. + +Down from the cataract in the rocks above the water comes with a mighty +will, foaming, glistening, shouting a loud triumphant paen as it flings +itself into the arms of the vain brook beneath, that only yesterday-eve +was a stream, but to-day may well be deemed a river. + +Up high the rocks are overgrown with ferns, and drooping things, all +green and feathery, that hide small caves and picturesque crannies, +through which the bright-eyed Naiads might peep whilst holding back with +bare uplifted arms their amber hair, the better to gaze upon the +unconscious earth outside. + +A loose stone that has fallen from its home in the mountain-side above +uprears itself in the middle of this turbulent stream. But it is too far +from the edge, and Mona, standing irresolutely on the brink, pauses, as +though half afraid to take the step that must either land her safely on +the other side or else precipitate her into the angry little river. + +As she thus ponders within herself, Spice and Allspice, the two dogs, +set up a simultaneous howl, and immediately afterwards a voice says, +eagerly,-- + +"Wait, Mrs. Rodney. Let me help you across." + +Mona starts, and, looking up, sees the Australian coming quickly towards +her. + +"You are very kind. The river is greatly swollen," she says, to gain +time. Geoffrey, perhaps, will not like her to accept any civility at the +hands of this common enemy. + +"Not so much so that I cannot help you to cross over in safety, if you +will only trust yourself to me," replies he. + +Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause. + +"Is it worth so much thought?" he says, bitterly. "It surely will not +injure you fatally to lay your hand in mine for one instant." + +"You mistake me," says Mona, shocked at her own want of courtesy; and +then she extends to him her hand, and, setting her foot upon the huge +stone, springs lightly to his side. + +Once there she has to go with him down the narrow woodland path, there +being no other, and so paces on, silently, and sorely against her will. + +"Sir Nicholas has sent me an invitation for the 19th," he says, +presently, when the silence has become unendurable. + +"Yes," says Mona, devoutly hoping he is going to say he means to refuse +it. But such devout hope is wasted. + +"I shall go," he says, doggedly, as though divining her secret wish. + +"I am sure we shall all be very glad," she says, faintly, feeling +herself bound to make some remark. + +"Thanks!" returns he, with an ironical laugh. "How excellently your tone +agrees with your words?" + +Another pause. Mona is on thorns. Will the branching path, that may give +her a chance of escaping a further _tete-a-tete_ with him, never be +reached? + +"So Warden failed you?" he says, presently, alluding to old Elspeth's +nephew. + +"Yes,--so far," returns she, coldly. + +"It was a feeble effort," declares he, contemptuously striking with his +cane the trunks of the trees as he goes by them. + +"Yet I think Warden knows more than he cares to tell," says Mona, at a +venture. Why, she herself hardly knows. + +He turns, as though by an irrepressible impulse, to look keenly at her. +His scrutiny endures only for an instant. Then he says, with admirable +indifference,-- + +"You have grounds for saying so, of course?" + +"Perhaps I have. Do you deny I am in the right?" asks she, returning his +gaze undauntedly. + +He drops his eyes, and the low, sneering laugh she has learned to know +and to hate so much comes again to his lips. + +"It would be rude to deny that," he says, with a slight shrug. "I am +sure you are always in the right." + +"If I am, Warden surely knows more about the will than he has sworn to." + +"It is very probable,--if there ever was such a will. How should I know? +I have not cross-examined Warden on this or any other subject. He is an +overseer over my estate, a mere servant, nothing more." + +"Has he the will?" asks Mona, foolishly, but impulsively. + +"He may have, and a stocking full of gold, and the roc's egg, or +anything else, for aught I know. I never saw it. They tell me there was +an iniquitous and most unjust will drawn up some years ago by old Sir +George: that is all I know." + +"By your grandfather!" corrects Mona, in a peculiar tone. + +"Well, by my grandfather, if you so prefer it," repeats he, with much +unconcern. "It got itself, if it ever existed, irretrievably lost, and +that is all any one knows about it." + +Mona is watching him intently. + +"Yet I feel sure--I know," she says, tremulously, "you are hiding +something from me. Why do you not look at me when you answer my +questions?" + +At this his dark face flames, and his eyes instinctively, yet almost +against his will, seek hers. + +"Why?" he says, with suppressed passion. "Because, each time I do, I +know myself to be--what I am! Your truthful eyes are mirrors in which my +heart lies bare." With an effort he recovers himself, and, drawing his +breath quickly, grows calm again. "If I were to gaze at you as often as +I should desire, you would probably deem me impertinent," he says, with +a lapse into his former half-insolent tone. + +"Answer me," persists Mona, not heeding--nay, scarcely hearing--his last +speech. "You said once it would be difficult to lie to me. Do you know +anything of this missing will?" + +"A great deal. I should. I have heard of almost nothing else since my +arrival in England," replies he, slowly. + +"Ah! Then you refuse to answer me," says Mona, hastily, if somewhat +wearily. + +He makes no reply. And for a full minute no word is spoken between them. + +Then Mona goes on quietly,-- + +"That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never +forgotten since." + +He is plainly surprised. He is indeed glad. His face changes, as if by +magic, from sullen gloom to pleasurable anticipation. + +"You have remembered something that I said, for eleven days?" he says, +quickly. + +"Yes. When talking then of supplanting Sir Nicholas at the Towers, you +spoke of your project as a 'splendid scheme.' What did you mean by it? I +cannot get the words out of my head since. Is 'scheme' an honest word?" + +Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A +heavy frown sits on his brow. + +"You are not perhaps aware of it, but your tone is insulting," he +begins, huskily. "Were you a man I could give you an answer, now, here; +but as it is I am of course tied hand and foot. You can say to me what +you please. And I shall bear it. Think as badly of me as you will. I am +a schemer, a swindler, what you will!" + +"Even in my thoughts I never applied those words to you," says Mona, +earnestly. "Yet some feeling here"--laying her hand upon her +heart--"compels me to believe you are not dealing fairly by us." To her +there is untruth in every line of his face, in every tone of his voice. + +"You condemn me without a hearing, swayed by the influence of a +carefully educated dislike," retorts he: + + "'Alas for the rarity + Of Christian charity + Under the sun!' + +But I blame the people you have fallen among,--not you." + +"Blame no one," says Mona. "But if there is anything in your own heart +to condemn you, then pause before you go further in this matter of the +Towers." + +"I wonder _you_ are not afraid of going too far," he puts in, warningly, +his dark eyes flashing. + +"I am afraid of nothing," says Mona, simply. "I am not half so much +afraid as you were a few moments since, when you could not let your eyes +meet mine, and when you shrank from answering me a simple question. In +my turn I tell you to pause before going too far." + +"Your advice is excellent," says he, sneeringly. Then suddenly he stops +short before her, and breaks out vehemently,---- + +"Were I to fling up this whole business and resign my chance, and leave +these people in possession, what would I gain by it?" demands he. "They +have treated me from the beginning with ignominy and contempt. You alone +have treated me with common civility; and even you they have tutored to +regard me with averted eyes." + +"You are wrong," says Mona, coldly. "They seldom trouble themselves to +speak of you at all." This is crueller than she knows. + +"Why don't I hate you?" he says, with some emotion. "How bitterly unkind +even the softest, sweetest women can be! Yet there is something about +you that subdues me and renders hatred impossible. If I had never met +you, I should be a happier man." + +"How can you be happy with a weight upon your heart?" says Mona, +following out her own thoughts irrespective of his. "Give up this +project, and peace will return to you." + +"No, I shall pursue it to its end," returns, he, with slow malice, that +makes her heart grow cold, "until the day comes that shall enable me to +plant my heel upon these aristocrats and crush them out of recognition." + +"And after that what will remain to you?" asks she, pale but collected. +"It is bare comfort when hatred alone reigns in the heart. With such +thoughts in your breast what can you hope for?--what can life give you?" + +"Something," replies he, with a short laugh. "I shall at least see you +again on the 19th." + +He raises his hat, and, turning abruptly away, is soon lost to sight +round a curve in the winding pathway. He walks steadily and with an +unflinching air, but when the curve has hidden him from her eyes he +stops short, and sighs heavily. + +"To love such a woman as that, and be beloved by her, how it would +change a man's whole nature, no matter how low he may have sunk," he +says, slowly. "It would mean salvation! But as it is--No, I cannot draw +back now: it is too late." + +Meantime Mona has gone quickly back to the Towers her mind disturbed and +unsettled. Has she misjudged him? is it possible that his claim is a +just one after all, and that she has been wrong in deeming him one who +might defraud his neighbor? + +She is sad and depressed before she reaches the hall door, where she is +unfortunate enough to find a carriage just arrived, well filled with +occupants eager to obtain admission. + +They are the Carsons, mustered in force, and, if anything, a trifle more +noisy and oppressive than usual. + +"How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney? Is Lady Rodney at home? I hope so," says Mrs. +Carson, a fat, florid, smiling, impossible person of fifty. + +Now, Lady Rodney _is_ at home, but, having given strict orders to the +servants to say she is anywhere else they like,--that is, to tell as +many lies as will save her from intrusion,--is just now reposing calmly +in the small drawing-room, sleeping the sleep of the just, unmindful of +coming evil. + +Of all this Mona is unaware; though even were it otherwise I doubt if a +lie could come trippingly to her lips, or a nice evasion be balanced +there at a moment's notice. Such foul things as untruths are unknown to +her, and have no refuge in her heart. It is indeed fortunate that on +this occasion she knows no reason why her reply should differ from the +truth, because in that case I think she would stand still, and stammer +sadly, and grow uncomfortably red, and otherwise betray the fact that +she would lie if she knew how. + +As things are, however, she is able to smile pleasantly at Mrs. Carson, +and tell her in her soft voice that Lady Rodney is at home. + +"How fortunate!" says that fat woman, with her broad expansive grin that +leaves her all mouth, with no eyes or nose to speak of. "We hardly dared +hope for such good luck this charming day." + +She doesn't put any _g_ into her "charming," which, however, is neither +here or there, and is perhaps a shabby thing to take notice of at all. + +Then she and her two daughters quit the "coach," as Carson _pere_ insist +on calling the landau, and flutter through the halls, and across the +corridors, after Mona, until they reach the room that contains Lady +Rodney. + +Mona throws open the door, and the visitors sail in, all open-eyed and +smiling, with their very best company manners hung out for the day. + +But almost on the threshold they come to a full stop to gaze +irresolutely at one another, and then over their shoulders at Mona. She, +marking their surprise, comes hastily to the front, and so makes herself +acquainted with the cause of their delay. + +Overcome by the heat of the fire, her luncheon, and the blessed +certainty that for this one day at least no one is to be admitted to her +presence, Lady Rodney has given herself up a willing victim to the child +Somnus. Her book--that amiable assistant of all those that court +siestas--has fallen to the ground. Her cap is somewhat awry. Her mouth +is partly open, and a snore--gentle, indeed, but distinct and +unmistakable--comes from her patrician throat. + +It is a moment never to be forgotten! + +Mona, horror-stricken, goes quickly over to her, and touches her lightly +on the shoulder. + +"Mrs. Carson has come to see you," she says, in an agony of fear, giving +her a little shake. + +"Eh? What?" asks Lady Rodney, in a dazed fashion, yet coming back to +life with amazing rapidity. She sits up. Then in an instant the +situation explains itself to her; she collects herself, bestows one +glance of passionate anger upon Mona, and then rises to welcome Mrs. +Carson with her usual suave manner and bland smile, throwing into the +former an air meant to convey the flattering idea that for the past week +she has been living on the hope of seeing her soon again. + +She excuses her unwonted drowsiness with a little laugh, natural and +friendly, and begs them "not to betray her." Clothed in all this +sweetness she drops a word or two meant to crush Mona; but that hapless +young woman hears her not, being bent on explaining to Mrs. Carson that, +as a rule, the Irish peasantry do not go about dressed only in glass +beads, like the gay and festive Zulus, and that petticoats and breeches +are not utterly unknown. + +This is tough work, and takes her all her time, as Mrs. Carson, having +made up her mind to the beads, accepts it rather badly being undeceived, +and goes nearly so far as telling Mona that she knows little or nothing +about her own people. + +Then Violet and Doatie drop in, and conversation becomes general, and +presently the visit comes to an end, and the Carsons fade away, and Mona +is left to be bear the brunt of Lady Rodney's anger, which has been +steadily growing, instead of decreasing, during the past half-hour. + +"Are there no servants in my house," demands she, in a terrible tone, +addressing Mona a steely light coming into her blue eyes that Mona knows +and hates so well, "that you must feel it your duty to guide my visitors +to my presence?" + +"If I made a mistake I am sorry for it." + +"It was unfortunate Mona should have met them at the hall door,--Edith +Carson told me about it,--but it could not be helped," says Violet +calmly. + +"No, it couldn't be helped," says little Doatie. But their intervention +only appears to add fuel to the fire of Lady Rodney's wrath. + +"It _shall_ be helped," she says, in a low, but condensed tone. "For the +future I forbid any one in my house to take it upon them to say whether +I am in or out. I am the one to decide that. On what principle did you +show them in here?" she asks, turning to Mona, her anger increasing as +she remembers the rakish cap: "why did you not say, when you were +unlucky enough to find yourself face to face with them, that I was not +at home?" + +"Because you were at home," replies Mona, quietly, though in deep +distress. + +"That doesn't matter," says Lady Rodney: "it is a mere formula. If it +suited your purpose you could have said so--I don't doubt--readily +enough." + +"I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she +told the truth. + +"And to usher them in here! Into one of my most private rooms! Unlikely +people, like the Carsons, whom you have heard me speak of in disparaging +terms a hundred times! I don't know what you could have been thinking +about. Perhaps next time you will be kind enough to bring them to my +bedroom." + +"You misunderstand me," says Mona, with tears in her eyes. + +"I hardly think so. You can refuse to see people yourself when it suits +you. Only yesterday, when Mr. Boer, our rector, called, and I sent for +you, you would not come." + +"I don't like Mr. Boer," says Mona, "and it was not me he came to see." + +"Still, there was no necessity to insult him with such a message as you +sent. Perhaps," with unpleasant meaning, "you do not understand that to +say you are busy is rather more a rudeness than an excuse for one's +non-appearance." + +"It was true," says Mona: "I was writing letters for Geoffrey." + +"Nevertheless, you might have waived that fact, and sent down word you +had a headache." + +"But I hadn't a headache," says Mona, bending her large truthful eyes +with embarrassing earnestness upon Lady Rodney. + +"Oh, if you were determined--" returns she, with a shrug. + +"I was not determined: you mistake me," exclaims Mona, miserably. "I +simply hadn't a headache: I never had one in my life,--and I shouldn't +know how to get one!" + +At this point, Geoffrey--who has been hunting all the morning--enters +the room with Captain Rodney. + +"Why, what is the matter?" he says, seeing signs of the lively storm on +all their faces. Doatie explains hurriedly. + +"Look here," says Geoffrey. "I won't have Mona spoiled. If she hadn't a +headache, she hadn't, you know, and if you were at home, why, you were, +and that's all about it. Why should she tell a lie about it?" + +"What do you mean, Geoffrey?" demands his mother, with suppressed +indignation. + +"I mean that she shall remain just as she is. The world may be 'given to +lying,' as Shakspeare tells us, but I will not have Mona tutored into +telling fashionable falsehoods," says this intrepid young man facing his +mother without a qualm of a passing dread. "A lie of any sort is base, +and a prevarication is only a mean lie. She is truthful, let her stay +so. Why should she learn it is the correct thing to say she is not at +home when she is, or that she is suffering from a foolish megrim when +she isn't? I don't suppose there is much harm in saying either of these +things, as nobody ever believes them; but--let her remain as she is." + +"Is she also to learn that you are at liberty to lecture your own +mother?" asks Lady Rodney, pale with anger. + +"I am not lecturing anyone," replies he, looking very like her, now that +his face has whitened a little and a quick fire has lit itself within +his eyes. "I am merely speaking against a general practice. 'Dare to be +true: nothing can need a lie,' is a line that always returns to me. And, +as I love Mona better than anything on earth, I shall make it the +business of my life to see she is not made unhappy by any one." + +At this Mona lifts her head, and turns upon him eyes full of the +tenderest love and trust. She would have dearly liked to go to him, and +place her arms round his neck, and thank him with a fond caress for this +dear speech, but some innate sense of breeding restrains her. + +Any demonstration on her part just now may make a scene, and scenes are +ever abhorrent. And might she not yet further widen the breach between +mother and son by an ill-timed show of affection for the latter? + +"Still, sometimes, you know, it is awkward to adhere to the very letter +of the law," says Jack Rodney, easily. "Is there no compromise? I have +heard of women who have made a point of running into the kitchen-garden +when unwelcome visitors were announced, and so saved themselves and +their principles. Couldn't Mona do that?" + +This speech is made much of, and laughed at for no reason whatever +except that Violet and Doatie are determined to end the unpleasant +discussion by any means, even though it may be at the risk of being +deemed silly. After some careful management they get Mona out of the +room, and carry her away with them to a little den off the eastern hall, +that is very dear to them. + +"It is the most unhappy thing I ever heard of," begins Doatie, +desperately. "What Lady Rodney can see to dislike in you, Mona, I can't +imagine. But the fact is, she is hateful to you. Now, we," glancing at +Violet, "who are not particularly amiable, are beloved by her, whilst +you, who are all 'sweetness and light,' she detests most heartily." + +"It is true," says Violet, evenly. "Yet, dear Mona, I wish you could try +to be a little more like the rest of the world." + +"I want to very much," says poor Mona, her eyes filling with tears. +"But," hopelessly, "must I begin by learning to tell lies?" All this +teaching is very bitter to her. + +"Lies! Oh, fie!" says Doatie. "Who tells lies? Nobody, except the +naughty little boys in tracts, and they always break their legs off +apple-trees, or else get drowned on a Sunday morning. Now, we are not +drowned, and our legs are uninjured. No, a lie is a horrid thing,--so +low, and in such wretched taste. But there are little social fibs that +may be uttered,--little taradiddles,--that do no harm to anybody, and +that nobody believes in, but all pretend to, just for the sake of +politeness." + +Thus Doatie, looking preternaturally wise, but faintly puzzled at her +own view of the question. + +"It doesn't sound right," says Mona, shaking her head. + +"She doesn't understand," puts in Violet, quickly. "Mona, are you going +to see everybody that may choose to call upon you, good, bad, and +indifferent, from this till you die?" + +"I suppose so," says Mona lifting her brows. + +"Then I can only say I pity you," says Miss Mansergh, leaning back in +her chair, with the air of one who would say, "Argument here is in +vain." + +"I sha'n't want to see them, perhaps," says Mona, apologetically, "but +how shall I avoid it?" + +"Ah, now, that is more reasonable; now we are coming to it," says +Doatie, briskly. "We 'return to our muttons.' As Lady Rodney, in a very +rude manner, tried to explain to you, you will either say you are not at +home, or that you have a headache. The latter is not so good; it carries +more offence with it, but it comes in pretty well sometimes." + +"But, as I said to Lady Rodney, suppose I haven't a headache," retorts +Mona, triumphantly. + +"Oh, you are incorrigible!" says Doatie, leaning back in her chair in +turn, and tilting backward her little flower-like face, that looks as if +even the most harmless falsehood must be unknown to it. + +"Could you not imagine you had one?" she says, presently as a last +resource. + +"I could not," says Mona. "I am always quite well." She is standing +before them like a culprit called to the bar of justice. "I never had a +headache, or a toothache, or a nightmare, in my life." + +"Or an umbrella, you should add. I once knew a woman like that, but she +was not like you," says Doatie. "Well, if you are going to be as literal +as you now are, until you call for your shroud, I must say I don't envy +you." + +"Be virtuous and you'll be happy, but you won't have a good time," +quotes Violet; "you should take to heart that latest of copy-book +texts." + +"Oh, fancy receiving the Boers whenever they call!" says Doatie, +faintly, with a deep sigh that is almost a groan. + +"I sha'n't mind it very much," says Mona, earnestly. "It will be after +all, only one half hour out of my whole day." + +"You don't know what you are talking about," says Doatie, vehemently. +"Every one of those interminable half-hours will be a year off your +life. Mr. Boer is obnoxious, but Florence is simply insupportable. Wait +till she begins about the choir, and those hateful school-children, and +the parish subsidies; then you perhaps will learn wisdom, and grow +headaches if you have them not. Violet, what is it Jack calls Mr. Boer?" + +"Better not remember it," says Violet, but she smiles as she calls to +mind Jack's apt quotation. + +"Why not? it just suits him: 'A little, round, fat, oily man of----'" + +"Hush, Dorothy! It was very wrong of Jack," interrupts Violet. But Mona +laughs for the first time for many hours--which delights Doatie. + +"You and I appreciate Jack, if she doesn't, don't we, Mona?" she says, +with pretty malice, echoing Mona's merriment. After which the would-be +lecture comes to an end, and the three girls, clothing themselves in +furs, go for a short walk before the day quite closes in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +HOW THE TOWERS WAKES INTO LIFE--AND HOW MONA SHOWS THE LIBRARY TO PAUL +RODNEY. + + +Lights are blazing, fiddles are sounding; all the world is abroad +to-night. Even still, though the ball at the Towers has been opened long +since by Mona and the Duke of Lauderdale, the flickering light of +carriage-lamps is making the roads bright, by casting tiny rays upon the +frosted ground. + +The fourth dance has come to an end; cards are full; every one is +settling down to work in earnest; already the first touch of +satisfaction or of carefully-suppressed disappointment is making itself +felt. + +Mona, who has again been dancing with the duke, stopping near where the +duchess is sitting, the latter beckons her to her side by a slight wave +of her fan. To the duchess "a thing of beauty is a joy forever," and to +gaze on Mona's lovely face and admire her tranquil but brilliant smile +gives her a strange pleasure. + +"Come and sit by me. You can spare me a few minutes," she says, drawing +her ample skirts to one side. Mona, taking her hand from Lauderdale's +arm, drops into the proffered seat beside his mother, much to that young +man's chagrin, who, having inherited the material hankering after that +"delightful prejudice," as Theocritus terms beauty, is decidedly _epris_ +with Mrs. Geoffrey, and takes it badly being done out of his +_tete-a-tete_ with her. + +"Mrs. Rodney would perhaps prefer to dance, mother," he says, with some +irritation. + +"Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old +woman," says the duchess, equably. + +"I am not so sure of that," says Mona, with admirable tact and an +exquisite smile, "but I shouldn't mind spending an _hour_ with you." + +Lauderdale makes a little face, and tells himself secretly "all women +are liars," but the duchess is very pleased, and bends her friendliest +glance upon the pretty creature at her side, who possesses that greatest +of all charms, inability to notice the ravages of time. + +Perhaps another reason for Mona's having found such favor in the eyes of +"the biggest woman in our shire, sir," lies in the fact that she is in +many ways so totally unlike all the other young women with whom the +duchess is in the habit of associating. She is _naive_ to an +extraordinary degree, and says and does things that might appear _outre_ +in others, but are so much a part of Mona that it neither startles nor +offends one when she gives way to them. + +Just now, for example, a pause occurring in the conversation, Mona, +fastening her eyes upon her Grace's neck, says, with genuine +admiration,-- + +"What a lovely necklace you are wearing!" + +To make personal remarks, we all know, is essentially vulgar, is indeed +a breach of the commonest show of good breeding; yet somehow Mrs. +Geoffrey's tone does not touch on vulgarity, does not even belong to the +outermost skirts of ill-breeding. She has an inborn gentleness of her +own, that carries her safely over all social difficulties. + +The duchess is amused. + +"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." + +"Did he?" says Mona. "Geoffrey gave me these pearls," pointing to a +pretty string round her own white neck, "a month after we were married. +It seems quite a long time ago now," with a sigh and a little smile. +"But your opals are perfect. Just like the moonlight. By the by," as if +it has suddenly occurred to her, "did you ever see the lake by +moonlight? I mean from the mullioned window in the north gallery?" + +"The lake here? No," says the duchess. + +"Haven't you?" in surprise. "Why it is the most enchanting thing in the +world. Oh, you must see it: you will be delighted with it. Come with me, +and I will show it to you," says Mona, eagerly, rising from her seat in +her impulsive fashion. + +She is plainly very much in earnest, and has fixed her large expressive +eyes--lovely as loving--with calm expectancy upon the duchess. She has +altogether forgotten that she is a duchess (perhaps, indeed, has never +quite grasped the fact), and that she is an imposing and portly person +not accustomed to exercise of any description. + +For a moment her Grace hesitates, then is lost. It is to her a new +sensation to be taken about by a young woman to see things. Up to this, +it has been she who has taken the young women about to see things. But +Mona is so openly and genuinely anxious to bestow a favor upon her to do +her, in fact, a good turn, that she is subdued, sweetened, nay, almost +flattered, by this artless desire to please her for "love's sake" alone. + +She too rises, lays her hand on Mona's arm, and walks through the long +room, and past the county generally, to "see the lake by moonlight." Yet +it is not for the sake of gazing upon almost unrivalled scenery she +goes, but to please this Irish girl, whom so very few can resist. + +"Where has Mona taken the duchess?" asks Lady Rodney of Sir Nicholas +half an hour later. + +"She took her to see the lake. Mona, you know, raves about it, when the +moon lights it up. + +"She is very absurd, and more troublesome and unpleasant than anybody I +ever had in my house. Of course the duchess did not want to see the +water. She was talking to old Lord Dering about the drainage question, +and seemed quite happy, when that girl interfered. Common courtesy +compelled her, I suppose, to say yes to--Mona's--proposition." + +"I hardly think the duchess is the sort of woman to say yes when she +meant no," says Nicholas, with a half smile. "She went because it so +pleased her, and for no other reason. I begin to think, indeed, that +Lilian Chetwoode is rather out of it, and that Mona is the first +favorite at present. She has evidently taken the duchess by storm." + +"Why not say the duke too?" says his mother, with a cold glance, to whom +praise of Mona is anything but "cakes and ale." "Her flirtation with him +is very apparent. It is disgraceful. Every one is noticing and talking +about it. Geoffrey alone seems determined to see nothing! Like all +under-bred people, she cannot know satisfaction unless perched upon the +topmost rung of the ladder." + +"You are slightly nonsensical when on the subject of Mona," says Sir +Nicholas, with a shrug. "Intrigue and she could not exist in the same +atmosphere. She is to Lauderdale what she is to everyone else,--gay, +bright, and utterly wanting in self-conceit. I cannot understand how it +is that you alone refuse to acknowledge her charms. To me she is like a +little soft sunbeam floating here and there and falling into the hearts +of those around her, carrying light, and joy, and laughter, and merry +music with her as she goes." + +"You speak like a lover," says Lady Rodney, with an artificial laugh. +"Do you repeat all this to Dorothy? She must find it very interesting." + +"Dorothy and I are quite agreed about Mona," replies he, calmly. "She +likes her as much as I do. As to what you say about her encouraging +Lauderdale's attentions, it is absurd. No such evil thought could enter +her head." + +At this instant a soft ringing laugh, that once heard is not easily +forgotten, comes from an inner room, that is carefully curtained and +delicately lighted, and smites upon their ears. + +It is Mona's laugh. Raising their eyes, both mother and son turn their +heads hastily (and quite involuntarily) and gaze upon the scene beyond. +They are so situated that they can see into the curtained chamber and +mark the picture it contains. The duke is bending over Mona in a manner +that might perhaps be termed by an outsider slightly _empresse_, and +Mona is looking up at him, and both are laughing gayly,--Mona with all +the freshness of unchecked youth, the duke with such a thorough and +wholesome sense of enjoyment as he has not known for years. + +Then Mona rises, and they both come to the entrance of the small room, +and stand where Lady Rodney can overhear what they are saying. + +"Oh! so you can ride, then," says Lauderdale, alluding probably to the +cause of his late merriment. + +"Sure of course," says Mona. "Why, I used to ride the colts barebacked +at home." + +Lady Rodney shudders. + +"Sometimes I long again for a mad, wild gallop straight across country, +where nobody can see me,--such as I used to have," goes on Mona, half +regretfully. + +"And who allowed you to risk your life like that?" asks the duke, with +simple amazement. His sister before she married was not permitted to +cross the threshold without a guardian at her side. This girl is a +revelation. + +"No one," says Mona. "I had no need to ask permission for anything. I +was free to do what I wished." + +She looks up at him again with some fire in her eyes and a flush upon +her cheeks. Perhaps some of the natural lawlessness of her kindred is +making her blood warm. So standing, however, she is the very embodiment +of youth and love and sweetness, and so the duke admits. + +"Have you any sisters?" he asks, vaguely. + +"No. Nor brothers. Only myself. + + "'I am all the daughters of my father's house, + And all the brothers too!'" + +She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt +quotation from the one book she has studied very closely. + +The duke loses his head a little. + +"Do you know," he says, slowly, staring at her the while, "you are the +most beautiful woman I ever saw?" + +"Ah! so Geoffrey says," returns she, with a perfectly unembarrassed and +pleased little laugh, while a great gleam of tender love comes into her +eyes as she makes mention of her husband's name. "But I really am not +you know." + +This answer, being so full of thorough unconsciousness and childish +_naivete_, has the effect of reducing the duke to common sense once +more, and of making him very properly ashamed of himself. He feels, +however, rather out of it for a minute or two, which feeling renders him +silent and somewhat _distrait_. So Mona, flung upon her own resources, +looks round the room seeking for inspiration, and presently finds it. + +"What a disagreeable-looking man that is over there!" she says: "the man +with the shaggy beard, I mean, and the long hair." + +She doesn't want in the very least to know who he is, but thinks it her +duty to say something, as the silence being protracted grows +embarrassing. + +"The man with the mane? that is Griffith Blount. The most objectionable +person any one could meet, but tolerated because his tongue is so awful. +Do you know Colonel Graves? No! Well, he has a wife calculated to +terrify the bravest man into submission, and last year when he was going +abroad Blount met him, and asked him before a roomful 'if he was going +for pleasure, or if he was going to take his wife with him.' Neat, +wasn't it? But I don't remember hearing that Graves liked it." + +"It was very unkind," says Mona; "and he has a hateful face." + +"He has," says the duke. "But he has his reward, you know: nobody likes +him. By the by, what horrid bad times they are having in your +land!--ricks of hay burning nightly, cattle killed, everybody boycotted, +and small children speared!" + +"Oh, no, not that," says Mona. "Poor Ireland! Every one either laughs at +her or hates her. Though I like my adopted country, still I shall always +feel for old Erin what I could never feel for another land." + +"And quite right too," says Lauderdale. "You remember what Scott says: + + "'Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, + Who never to himself hath said, + This is my own, my native land!'" + +"Oh, yes, lots of 'em," says Mr. Darling, who has come suddenly up +beside them: "for instance, I don't believe I ever said it in all my +life, either to myself or to any one else. Are you engaged, Mrs. +Geoffrey? And if not, may I have this dance?" + +"With pleasure," says Mona. + + * * * * * + +Paul Rodney, true to his word, has put in an appearance, much to the +amazement of many in the room. Almost as Mona's dance with Nolly is at +an end, he makes his way to her, and asks her to give him the next. +Unfortunately, she is not engaged for it, and, being unversed in polite +evasions, she says yes, quietly, and is soon floating round the room +with him. + +After one turn she stops abruptly, near an entrance. + +"Tired?" says Rodney, fixing his black, gloomy eyes upon her. + +"A little," says Mona. It is perhaps the nearest approach to a +falsehood she has ever made. + +"Perhaps you would rather rest for a while. Do you know this is the +first time I have ever been inside the Towers?" He says this as one +might who is desirous of making conversation, yet there is a covert +meaning in his tone. Mona is silent. To her it seems a base thing that +he should have accepted the invitation at all. + +"I have heard the library is a room well worth seeing," goes on the +Australian, seeing she will not speak. + +"Yes; every one admires it. It is very old. You know one part of the +Towers is older than all the rest." + +"I have heard so. I should like to see the library," says Paul, looking +at her expectantly. + +"You can see it now if you wish," says Mona, quickly, the thought that +she may be able to entertain him in some fashion that will not require +conversation is dear to her. She therefore takes his arm, and leads him +out of the ballroom, and across the halls into the library, which is +brilliantly lighted, but just at this moment empty. + +I forget if I described it before, but it is a room quite perfect in +every respect, a beautiful room, oak-panelled from floor to ceiling, +with this peculiarity about it, that whereas three of the walls have +their panels quite long, without a break from top to bottom, the +fourth--that is, the one in which the fireplace has been inserted--has +the panels of a smaller size, cut up into pieces from about one foot +broad to two feet long. + +The Australian seems particularly struck with this fact. He stares in a +thoughtful fashion at the wall with the small panels, seeming blind to +the other beauties of the room. + +"Yes, it is strange why that wall should be different from the others," +Mona says, rather glad that he appears interested in something besides +herself. "But it is altogether quite a nice old room, is it not?" + +"It is," replies he, absently. Then, below his breath, "and well worth +fighting for." + +But Mona does not hear this last addition; she is moving a chair a +little to one side, and the faint noise it makes drowns the sound of his +voice. This perhaps is as well. + +She turns up one of the lamps, whilst Rodney still continues his +contemplation of the wall before him. Conversation languishes, then +dies. Mona, raising her hand to her lips, suppresses valiantly a yawn. + +"I hope you are enjoying yourself," she says, presently, hardly knowing +what else to say. + +"Enjoying myself?--No, I never do that," says Rodney, with unexpected +frankness. + +"You can hardly mean that?" says Mona, with some surprise. + +"I do. Just now," looking at her, "I am perhaps as near enjoyment as I +can be. But I have not danced before to-night. Nor should I have danced +at all had you been engaged. I have forgotten what it is to be +light-hearted." + +"But surely there must be moments when----" + +"I never have such moments," interrupts he moodily. + +"Dear me! what a terribly unpleasant young man!" thinks Mona, at her +wits' end to know what to say next. Tapping her fingers in a perplexed +fashion on the table nearest her, she wonders when he will cease his +exhaustive survey of the walls and give her an opportunity of leaving +the room. + +"But this is very sad for you, isn't it?" she says, feeling herself in +duty bound to say something. + +"I dare say it is; but the fact remains. I don't know what is the matter +with me. It is a barren feeling,--a longing, it may be, for something I +can never obtain." + +"All that is morbid," says Mona: "you should try to conquer it. It is +not healthy." + +"You speak like a book," says Rodney, with an unlovely laugh; "but +advice seldom cures. I only know that I have learned what stagnation +means. I may alter in time, of course, but just at present I feel that + + 'My night has no eve, + And my day has no morning.' + +At home--in Sydney, I mean--the life was different. It was free, +unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better." + +"Then why don't you go back?" suggests Mona, simply. + +"Because I have work to do here," retorts he, grimly. "Yet ever since I +first set foot on this soil, contentment has gone from me. Abroad a man +lives, here he exists. There, he carries his life in his hand, and +trusts to his revolver rather than to the most learned of counsels, but +here all is on another footing." + +"It is to be regretted you cannot like England, as you have made up your +mind to live in it; and yet I think----" She pauses. + +"Yes--you think; go on," says Rodney, gazing at her attentively. + +"Well, then, I think it is only _just_ you should be unhappy," says +Mona, with some vehemence. "Those who seek to scatter misery broadcast +among their fellows should learn to taste of it themselves." + +"Why do you accuse me of such a desire?" asks he, paling beneath her +indignation, and losing courage because of the unshed tears that are +gleaming in her eyes. + +"When you gain your point and find yourself master here, you will know +you have made not only one, but many people miserable." + +"You seem to take my success in this case as a certainty," he says, with +a frown. "I may fail." + +"Oh, that I could believe so!" says Mona, forgetful of manners, +courtesy, everything, but the desire to see those she loves restored to +peace. + +"You are candor itself," returns he, with a short laugh, shrugging his +shoulders. "Of course I am bound to hope your wish may be fulfilled. And +yet I doubt it. I am nearer my object to-night than I have ever been +before; and," with a sardonic smile, "yours has been the hand to help me +forward." + +Mona starts, and regards him fixedly in a puzzled, uncertain manner. +What he can possibly mean is unknown to her; but yet she is aware of +some inward feeling, some instinct such as animals possess, that warns +her to beware of him. She shrinks from him, and in doing so a slight +fold of her dress catches in the handle of a writing-table, and detains +her. + +Paul, dropping on his knees before her, releases her gown; the fold is +in his grasp, and still holding it he looks up at her, his face pale and +almost haggard. + +"If I were to resign all hope of gaining the Towers, if I were to +consent to leave your people still in possession," he says, +passionately, but in a low tone, "should I earn one tender thought in +your heart? Speak, Mona! speak!" + +I am sure at even this supreme moment it never enters Mona's brain that +the man is actually making love to her. A deep pity for him fills her +mind. He is unhappy, justly so, no doubt, but yet unhappy. A sure +passport to her heart. + +"I do not think unkindly of you," she says, gently, but coldly. "And do +as your conscience dictates, and you will gain not only my respect, but +that of all men." + +"Bah!" he says, impatiently, rising from the ground and turning away. +Her answer has frozen him again, has dried up the momentary desire for +her approbation above all others that only a minute ago had agitated his +breast. + +At this moment Geoffrey comes into the room and up to Mona. He takes no +notice whatever of her companion, "Mona, will you come and sing us +something?" he says, as naturally as though the room is empty. "Nolly +has been telling the duchess about your voice, and she wants to hear +you. Anything simple, darling,"--seeing she looks a little distressed at +the idea: "you sing that sort of thing best." + +"I hardly think our dance is ended yet, Mrs. Rodney," says the +Australian, defiantly, coming leisurely forward, his eyes bent somewhat +insolently upon Geoffrey. + +"You will come, Mona, to oblige the duchess," says Geoffrey, in exactly +as even a tone as if the other had never spoken. Not that he cares in +the very least about the duchess; but he is determined to conquer here, +and is also desirous that all the world should appreciate and admire the +woman he loves. + +"I will come, of course," says Mona, nervously, "but I am afraid she +will be disappointed. You will excuse me, Mr. Rodney, I am sure," +turning graciously to Paul, who is standing with folded arms in the +background. + +"Yes, I excuse _you_," he says, with a curious stress upon the pronoun, +and a rather strained smile. The room is filling with other people, the +last dance having plainly come to an end. Geoffrey, taking Mona's arm, +leads her into the hall. + +"Dance no more to-night with that fellow," he says quickly, as they get +outside. + +"No?" Then, "Not if you dislike it of course. But Nicholas made a point +of my being nice to him. I did not know you would object to my dancing +with him." + +"Well, you know it now. I do object," says Geoffrey, in a tone he has +never used to her before. Not that it is unkind or rude, but cold and +unlover-like. + +"Yes, I know it now!" returns she, softly, yet with the gentle dignity +that always belongs to her. Her lips quiver, but she draws herself up to +her fullest height, and, throwing up her head, walks with a gait that is +almost stately into the presence of the duchess. + +"You wish me to sing to you," she says, gently, yet so unsmilingly that +the duchess wonders what has come to the child. "It will give me +pleasure if I can give _you_ pleasure, but my voice is not worth +thinking about." + +"Nevertheless, let me hear it," says the duchess. "I cannot forget that +your face is musical." + +Mona, sitting down to the piano, plays a few chords in a slow, plaintive +fashion, and then begins. Paul Rodney has come to the doorway, and is +standing there gazing at her, though she knows it not. The ballroom is +far distant, so far that the sound of the band does not break upon the +silence of the room in which they are assembled. A hush falls upon the +listeners as Mona's fresh, pathetic, tender voice rises into the air. + +It is an old song she chooses, and simple as old, and sweet as simple. I +almost forget the words now, but I know it runs in this wise: + + Oh, hame, hame--hame fain wad I be, + Hame, hame to my ain countrie, + +and so on. + +It touches the hearts of all who hear it as she sings it and brings +tears to the eyes of the duchess. So used the little fragile daughter to +sing who is now chanting in heaven! + +There is no vehement applause as Mona takes her fingers from the keys, +but every one says, "Thank you," in a low tone. Geoffrey, going up to +her, leans over her chair and whispers, with some agitation,-- + +"You did not mean it, Mona, did you? You are content here with me?--you +have no regret?" + +At which Mona turns round to him a face very pale, but full of such love +as should rejoice the heart of any man, and says, tremulously,-- + +"Darling, do you need an answer?" + +"Then why did you choose that song?" + +"I hardly know." + +"I was hateful to you just now, and most unjust." + +"Were you? I have forgotten it," replies she, smiling happily, the color +coming back to her cheeks. Whereupon Paul Rodney's brows contract, and +with a muttered curse he turns aside and leaves the room, and then the +house, without another word or backward glance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +HOW GEOFFREY DINES OUT, AND HOW MONA FARES DURING HIS ABSENCE. + + +"Must you really go, Geoffrey?--really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking +the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in +the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock. + +"Yes, really. Horrid bore, isn't it?--but county dinners must be +attended, and Nicholas will do nothing. Besides, it isn't fair to ask +him just now, dear old fellow, when he has so much upon his mind." + +"But _you_ have something on your mind, too. You have _me_. Why doesn't +Jack go?" + +"Well, I rather think he has Violet on his mind. Did you ever see +anything so spooney as they looked all through dinner yesterday and +luncheon to-day? I didn't think it was in Violet." + +"Did she never look at you like that?" asks Mona, maliciously; "in the +early days, I mean, before--before----" + +"I fell a victim to your charms? No. Jack has it all to himself as far +as I'm concerned. Well, I must be off, you know. It is a tremendous +drive, and I'll barely do it in time. I shall be back about two in the +morning." + +"Not until two?" says Mona, growing miserable again. + +"I can't well get away before that, you know, as Wigley is a good way +off. But I'll try all I know. And, after all," says Geoffrey, with a +view to cheering her, "it isn't as bad as if I was ordered off +somewhere for a week, is it?" + +"A week? I should be _dead_ when you came back," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, +with some vehemence, and a glance that shows she can dissolve into tears +at a moment's notice. + +"Some fellows go away for months," says Geoffrey, still honestly bent on +cheering her, but unfortunately going the wrong way to work. + +"Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves," says Mona, with much +indignation. "Months indeed!" + +"Why, they can't help it," explains he. "They are sent half the time." + +"Then the people who send them should be ashamed! But what about the +other half of their time that they spend from home?" + +"Oh, I don't know: that was a mere figure of speech," says Mr. Rodney, +who is afraid to say such absences are caused by an innate love of +freedom and a vile desire for liberty at any cost, and has nothing else +handy. "Now don't stay moping up here when I go, but run downstairs and +find the girls and make yourself happy with them." + +"Happy?" reproachfully. "I shan't know a happy moment until I see you +again!" + +"Nor I, till I see you," says Geoffrey, earnestly, actually believing +what he says himself. + +"I shall do nothing but look at the clock and listen for the sound of +the horse's feet." + +"Mona, you musn't do that. Now, I shall be really annoyed if you insist +on sitting up for me and so lose a good night's rest. Now, don't, +darling. It will only take it out of you, and make you pale and languid +next day." + +"But I shall be more content so; and even if I went to bed I could not +sleep. Besides, I shall not be companionless when the small hours begin +to creep upon me." + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey. + +"No; I shall have him with me: but, hush! It is quite a secret," placing +her finger on her lips. + +"'Him'?--whom?"--demands her husband, with pardonable vivacity. + +"My own old pet," says Mrs. Geoffrey, still mysteriously, and with the +fondest smile imaginable. + +"Good gracious, Mona, whom do you mean?" asks he, aghast both at her +look and tone. + +"Why, Spice, of course," opening her eyes. "Didn't you know. Why, what +else could I mean?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure; but really the way you expressed yourself, +and----Yes, of course, Spice will be company, the very best company for +you." + +"I think I shall have Allspice too," goes on Mona. "But say nothing. +Lady Rodney, if she knew it, would not allow it for a moment. But +Jenkins" (the old butler) "has promised to manage it all for me, and to +smuggle my dear dogs up to my room without any one being in the least +the wiser." + +"If you have Jenkins on your side you are pretty safe," says Geoffrey. +"My mother is more afraid of Jenkins than you would be of a +land-leaguer. Well, good-by again. I must be off." + +"What horse are you taking?" asks she, holding him. + +"Black Bess." + +"Oh, Geoffrey, do you want to break my heart? Sure you know he is the +most vicious animal in the whole stables. Take any horse but that." + +"Well, if only to oblige you, I'll take Truant." + +"What! the horrid brute that puts back his ears and shows the white of +his eyes! Geoffrey, once for all, I desire you to have nothing to do +with him." + +"Anything to please you," says Geoffrey, who is laughing by this time. +"May I trust my precious bones to Mazerin? He is quite fifteen, has only +one eye, and a shameless disregard for the whip." + +"Ye--es; he will do," says Mona, after a second's careful thought, and +even now reluctantly. + +"I think I see myself behind Mazerin, at this time of day," says Mr. +Rodney, heartlessly. "You don't catch me at it, if I know it. I'm not +sure what horse I shall have, but I trust to Thomas to give me a good +one. For the last time, good-by, you amiable young goose, and don't +expect me till I come." + +So saying, he embraces her warmly, and, running downstairs, jumps into +the dog-cart, and drives away behind the "vicious Black Bess." + +Mona watches him from her window, as far as the curve in the avenue will +permit, and, having received and returned his farewell wave of the hand, +sits down, and taking out her handkerchief, indulges in a good cry. + +It is the first time since their marriage that she and Geoffrey have +been parted, and it seems to her a hard thing that such partings should +be. A sense of desolation creeps over her,--a sense of loneliness she +has never known before. + +Then she remembers her promise to go down to the girls and abstain from +fretting, and, rising bravely, she bathes her eyes, and goes down the +marble staircase through the curtained alcove towards the small +drawing-room, where one of the servants tells her, the family is +assembled. + +The door of the room she is approaching is wide open, and inside, as +Mona draws nearer, it becomes apparent that some one is talking very +loudly, and with much emphasis, and as though determined not to be +silenced. Argument is plainly the order of the hour. + +As Mona comes still nearer, the words of the speaker reach her, and sink +into her brain. It is Lady Rodney who is holding forth, and what she +says floats lightly to Mona's ears. She is still advancing, unmindful of +anything but the fact that she cannot see Geoffrey again for more hours +than she cares to count, when the following words become clear to her, +and drive the color from her cheeks,-- + +"And those dogs forever at her heels!--positively, she is half a savage. +The whole thing is in keeping, and quite detestable. How can you expect +me to welcome a girl who is without family and absolutely penniless? +Why, I am convinced that misguided boy bought her even her trousseau!" + +Mona has no time to hear more; pale, but collected, she walks +deliberately into the room and up to Lady Rodney. + +"You are mistaken in one point," she says, slowly. "I may be savage, +penniless, without family,--but I bought my own trousseau. I do not say +this to excuse myself, because I should not mind taking anything from +Geoffrey; but I think it a pity you should not know the truth. I had +some money of my own,--very little, I allow, but enough to furnish me +with wedding garments." + +Her coming is a thunderbolt, her speech lightning. Lady Rodney changes +color, and is for once utterly disconcerted. + +"I beg your pardon," she manages to say. "Of course had I known you were +listening at the door I should not have said what I did,"--this last +with a desire to offend. + +"I was not listening at the door," says Mona, with dignity, yet with +extreme difficulty: some hand seems clutching at her heart-strings, and +he who should have been near to succor her is far away. "I never," +haughtily, "listened at a door in all my life. _I_ should not understand +how to do it." Her Irish blood is up, and there is a distinct emphasis +upon the pronoun. "You have wronged me twice!" + +Her voice falters. Instinctively she looks round for help. She feels +deserted,--alone. No one speaks. Sir Nicholas and Violet, who are in the +room, are as yet almost too shocked to have command of words; and +presently the silence becomes unbearable. + +Two tears gather, and roll slowly down Mona's white cheeks. And then +somehow her thoughts wander back to the old farmhouse at the side of the +hill, with the spreading trees behind it, and to the sanded floor and +the cool dairy, and the warmth of the love that abounded there, and the +uncle, who, if rough, was at least ready to believe her latest +action--whatever it might be--only one degree more perfect than the one +that went before it. + +She turns away in a desolate fashion, and moves towards the door; but +Sir Nicholas, having recovered from his stupefaction by this time, +follows her, and placing his arm round her, bends over her tenderly, and +presses her face against his shoulder. + +"My dearest child, do not take things so dreadfully to heart," he says, +entreatingly and soothingly: "it is all a mistake; and my mother will, I +know, be the first to acknowledge herself in error." + +"I regret--" begins Lady Rodney, stonily; but Mona by a gesture stays +her. + +"No, no," she says, drawing herself up and speaking with a touch of +pride that sits very sweetly on her; "I beg you will say nothing. Mere +words could not cure the wound you have inflicted." + +She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound +lies here," and once more turns to the door. + +Violet, rising, flings from her the work she has been amusing herself +with, and, with a gesture of impatience very foreign to her usual +reserve goes up to Mona, and, slipping her arm round her, takes her +quietly out of the room. + +Up the stairs she takes her and into her own room, without saying a +word. Then she carefully turns the key in the door, and, placing Mona in +a large and cosey arm-chair, stands opposite to her, and thus begins,-- + +"Now listen, Mona," she says, in her low voice, that even now, when she +is somewhat excited, shows no trace of heat or haste, "for I shall speak +to you plainly. You must make up your mind to Lady Rodney. It is the +common belief that mere birth will refine most people; but those who +cling to that theory will surely find themselves mistaken. Something +more is required: I mean the nobility of soul that Nature gives to the +peasant as well as the peer. This, Lady Rodney lacks; and at heart, in +sentiment, she is--at times--coarse. May I say what I like to you?" + +"You may," says Mona, bracing herself for the ordeal. + +"Well, then, I would ask you to harden your heart, because she will say +many unpleasant things to you, and will be uncivil to you, simply +because she has taken it into her head that you have done her an injury +in that you have married Geoffrey! But do you take no notice of her +rudeness; ignore her, think always of the time that is coming when your +own home will be ready for you, and where you can live with Geoffrey +forever, without fear of a harsh word or an unkind glance. There must be +comfort in this thought." + +She glances anxiously at Mona, who is gazing into the fire with a slight +frown upon her brow, that looks sadly out of place on that smooth white +surface. At Violet's last words it flies away, not to return. + +"Comfort? I think of nothing else," she says, dreamily. + +"On no account quarrel with Lady Rodney. Bear for the next few weeks +(they will quickly pass) anything she may say, rather than create a +breach between mother and son. You hear me, Mona?" + +"Yes, I hear you. But must you say this? Have I ever sought a quarrel +with--Geoffrey's mother?" + +"No, no, indeed. You have behaved admirably where most women would have +ignominiously failed. Let that thought console you. To have a perfect +temper, such as yours, should be in itself a source of satisfaction. And +now bathe your eyes, and make yourself look even prettier than usual. A +difficult matter, isn't it?" with a friendly smile. + +Mona smiles too in return, though still heavy at heart. + +"Have you any rose-water?" goes on Miss Mansergh in her matter-of-fact +manner. "No? A good sign that tears and you are enemies. Well, I have, +and so I shall send it to you in a moment. You will use it?" + +"Oh, yes, thank you," says Mona, who is both surprised and carried away +by the other's unexpected eloquence. + +"And now a last word, Mona. When you come down to dinner to-night (and +take care you are a little late), be gay, merry, wild with spirits, +anything but depressed, whatever it may cost you. And if in the +drawing-room, later on, Lady Rodney should chance to drop her +handkerchief, or that eternal knitting, do not stoop to pick it up. If +her spectacles are on a distant table, forget to see them. A nature such +as hers could not understand a nature such as yours. The more anxious +you may seem to please, the more determined she will be not to be +pleased." + +"But you like Lady Rodney?" says Mona, in a puzzled tone. + +"Very much indeed. But her faults are obvious, and I like you too. I +have said more to you of her than I have ever yet said to human being; +why, I know not, because you are (comparatively speaking) a stranger to +me, whilst she is my very good friend. Yet so it rests. You will, I +know, keep faith with me." + +"I am glad you know that," says Mona. Then, going nearer to Violet, she +lays her hand upon her arm and regards her earnestly. The tears are +still glistening in her eyes. + +"I don't think I should mind it if I did not feel so much alone. If I +had a place in your hearts," she says. "You all like me, I know, but I +want to be loved." Then, tremulously, "Will you _try_ to love me?" + +Violet looks at her criticizingly, then she smiles, and, placing her +hand beneath Mrs. Geoffrey's chin, turns her face more to the fading +light. + +"Yes, that is just your greatest misfortune," she says, meditatively. +"Love at any price. You would die out of the sunshine, or spoil, which +would be worse. You will never be quite happy, I think; and yet +perhaps," with a faint sigh, "you get your own good out of your life, +after all,--happiness more intense, if briefer, than we more material +people can know. There, shall I tell you something? I think you have +gained more love in a short time than any other person I ever knew. You +have conquered me, at least; and, to tell you the truth," with a slight +grimace, "I was quite determined not to like you. Now lie down, and in a +minute or two I shall send Halkett to you with the rose-water." + +For the first time she stoops forward and presses her lips to Mona's +warmly, graciously. Then she leaves her, and, having told her maid to +take the rose-water to Mrs. Rodney, goes downstairs again to the +drawing-room. + +Sir Nicholas is there, silent, but angry, as Violet knows by the frown +upon his brow. With his mother he never quarrels, merely expressing +disapproval by such signs as an unwillingness to speak, and a stern +grave line that grows upon his lips. + +"Of course you are all against me," Lady Rodney is saying, in a rather +hysterical tone. "Even you, Violet, have taken up that girl's cause!" +She says this expectantly, as though calling on her ally for support. +But for once the ally fails her. Miss Mansergh maintains an unflinching +silence, and seats herself in her low wicker chair before the fire with +all the air of one who has made up her mind to the course she intends to +pursue, and is not be enticed from it. + +"Oh, yes, no doubt I am in the wrong, because I cannot bring myself to +adore a vulgar girl who all day long shocks me with her Irishisms," goes +on Lady Rodney, almost in tears, born of vexation. "A girl who says, +'Sure you know I didn't' or 'Ah, did ye, now,' or 'Indeed I won't, +then!' every other minute. It is too much. What you all see in her I +can't imagine. And you too, Violet, you condemn me, I can see." + +"Yes, I think you are quite and altogether in the wrong," says Miss +Mansergh, in her cool manner, and without any show of hesitation, +selecting carefully from the basket near her the exact shade of peacock +blue she will require for the cornflower she is working. + +Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, sails with offended dignity from the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +HOW MONA, GHOST-LIKE, FLITS THROUGH THE OLD TOWERS AT MIDNIGHT--HOW THE +MOON LIGHTS HER WAY--AND HOW SHE MEETS ANOTHER GHOST MORE FORMIDABLE +THAN HERSELF. + + +Jenkins, the antediluvian butler, proves himself a man of his word. +There are, evidently, "no two ways" about Jenkins. "Seeking the +seclusion that her chamber grants" about ten o'clock to-night, after a +somewhat breezy evening with her mother-in-law, Mona descries upon her +hearthrug, dozing blissfully, two huge hounds, that raise their sleepy +tails and heads to welcome her, with the utmost condescension, as she +enters her room. + +Spice and Allspice are having a real good time opposite her bedroom +fire, and, though perhaps inwardly astonished at their promotion from a +distant kennel to the sleeping-apartment of their fair mistress, are far +too well-bred to betray any vulgar exaltation at the fact. + +Indeed, it is probably a fear lest she shall deem them unduly elated +that causes them to hesitate before running to greet her with their +usual demonstrative joy. Then politeness gets the better of pride, and, +rising with a mighty effort, they stretch themselves, yawn, and, going +up to her, thrust their soft muzzles into her hands and look up at her +with their great, liquid, loving eyes. They rub themselves against her +skirts, and wag their tails, and give all other signs of loyalty and +devotion. + +Mona, stooping, caresses them fondly. They are a part of her old life, +and dear, therefore, to her own faithful heart. Having partly undressed, +she sits down upon the hearthrug with them, and, with both their big +heads upon her lap, sits staring into the fire, trying to while away +with thought the hours that must elapse before Geoffrey can return to +her again. + +It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the +dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting +their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. +Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into +eternity; midnight is at hand! + +At the sound of the twelfth stroke the hounds stir uneasily, and sigh, +and, opening wide their huge jaws, yawn again. Mona pats them +reassuringly: and, flinging some fresh logs upon the fire, goes back +once more to her old position, with her chin in the palm of one hand, +whilst the other rests on the sleek head of Spice. + +Castles within the fire grow grand and tall, and then crumble into dust; +castles in Mona's brain fare likewise. The shadows dance upon the walls; +silently imperceptibly, the minutes flit away. + +One o'clock chimes the tiny timepiece on the mantelshelf; outside the +sound is repeated somewhere in the distance in graver, deeper tones. + +Mona shivers. Getting up from her lowly position, she draws back the +curtains of her window and looks out upon the night. It is brilliant +with moonlight, clear as day, full of that hallowed softness, that +peaceful serenity, that belongs alone to night. + +She is enchanted, and stands there for a minute or two spellbound by the +glory of the scene before her. Then a desire to see her beloved lake +from the great windows in the northern gallery takes possession of her. +She will go and look at it, and afterwards creep on tiptoe to the +library, seize the book she had been reading before dinner, and make her +way back again to her room without any one being in the least the wiser. +Anything will be better than sitting here any longer, dreaming dismal +day-dreams. + +She beckons to the dogs, and they, coming up to her, follow her out of +the room and along the corridor outside their soft velvet paws making no +sound upon the polished floor. She has brought with her no lamp. Just +now, indeed, it would be useless, such "a wide and tender light," does +heaven's lamp fling upon floor and ceiling, chamber and corridor. + +The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The +oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a +picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land. + +Sinking into the cushioned embrasure of the window, Mona sits entranced, +drinking in the beauty that is balm to her imaginative mind. The two +dogs, with a heavy sigh, shake themselves, and then drop with a soft +thud upon the ground at her feet,--her pretty arched feet that are half +naked and white as snow: their blue slippers being all too loose for +them. + +Below is the lake, bathed in moonshine. A gentle wind has arisen, and +little wavelets silver-tinged are rolling inward, breaking themselves +with tender sobs upon the shore. + + "The floor of heaven + Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold." + +The floor itself is pale, nay, almost blue. A little snow is sifted +lightly on branch, and grass, and ivied wall. Each object in the +sleeping world is quite distinct. + + "All things are calm, and fair, and passive; earth + Looks as if lulled upon an angel's lap + Into a breathless, dewy sleep; so still + That we can only say of things, they be." + +The cold seems hardly to touch Mona, so wrapped she is in the beauties +of the night. There is at times a solemn indefinable pleasure in the +thought that we are awake whilst all the world sleepeth; that we alone +are thinking, feeling, holding high communion with our own hearts and +our God. + +The breeze is so light that hardly a trembling of the leafless branches +breaks the deadly silence that reigns all round: + + "A lone owl's hoot, + The waterfall's faint drip, + Alone disturb the stillness of the scene," + +Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from +her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards +the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the +walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs +through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, +and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth +from those ghastly visors?--surely a clank of supernatural armor smote +upon her ear just then! + +She hastens her steps, and runs down hurriedly into the hall below, +which is almost as light as day. Turning aside, she makes for the +library, and now (and not till now) remembers she has no light, and that +the library, its shutters carefully closed every night by the invaluable +Jenkins himself, is of necessity in perfect darkness. + +Must she go back for a candle? Must she pass again all those belted +knights upon the staircase and in the upper gallery? No! rather will she +brave the darkness of the more congenial library, and--but soft--what is +that? Surely a tiny gleam of light is creeping to her feet from beneath +the door of the room towards which she wends her way. + +It is a light, not of stars or of moonbeams, but of a _bona fide_ lamp, +and as such is hailed by Mona, with joy. Evidently the thoughtful +Jenkins has left it lighted there for Geoffrey's benefit when he +returns. And very thoughtful, too, it is of him. + +All the servants have received orders to go to bed, and on no account to +sit up for Mr. Rodney, as he can let himself in in his own way,--a habit +of his for many years. Doubtless, then, one of them had placed this lamp +in the library with some refreshments for him, should he require them. + +So thinks Mona, and goes steadily on to the library, dreading nothing, +and inexpressibly cheered by the thought that gloom at least does not +await her there. + +Pushing open the door very gently, she enters the room, the two dogs at +her heels. + +At first the light of the lamp--so unlike the pale transparent purity of +the moonbeams--puzzles her sight; she advances a few steps +unconsciously, treading lightly, as she has done all along, lest she +shall wake some member of the household, and then, passing her hand over +her eyes, looks leisurely up. The fire is nearly out. She turns her head +to the right, and then--_then_--she utters a faint scream, and grasps +the back of a chair to steady herself. + +Standing with his back to her (being unaware of her entrance), looking +at the wall with the smaller panels that had so attracted him the night +of the dance, is Paul Rodney! + +Starting convulsively at the sound of her cry, he turns, and, drawing +with lightning rapidity a tiny pistol from his pocket, raises his arm, +and deliberately covers her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +HOW MONA STANDS HER GROUND--HOW PAUL RODNEY BECOMES HER PRISONER--AND +HOW GEOFFREY ON HIS RETURN HOME MEETS WITH A WARM RECEPTION. + + +For a second Mona's courage fails her, and then it returns with +threefold force. In truth, she is nearer death at this moment than she +herself quite knows. + +"Put down your pistol, sir," she says, hastily. "Would you fire on a +woman?" Her tone, though hurried, is not oppressed with fear. She even +advances a few steps in his direction. Her words, her whole manner, fill +him with admiration. The extreme courage she betrays is, indeed worthy +of any man's laudation, but the implied trust in his chivalry touches +Paul Rodney more than anything has ever had power to touch him before. + +He lowers the weapon at her command, but says nothing. Indeed, what is +there to say? + +"Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of +mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go +off. + +Again he obeys her. + +"Now, perhaps, you will explain why you are here?" says Mrs. Geoffrey, +speaking as sternly as her soft voice will permit. "How did you get in?" + +"Through the window. I was passing, and found it open." There is some +note in his voice that might well be termed mocking. + +"Open at this hour of the morning?" + +"Wide open." + +"And the lamp, did you find it burning?" + +"Brilliantly." + +He lifts his head here, and laughs aloud, a short, unmirthful laugh. + +"You are lying, sir," says Mona, contemptuously. + +"Yes, deliberately," returns he, with wilful recklessness. + +He moves as though to take up the pistol again; but Mona is beforehand +with him, and, closing her fingers round it, holds it firmly. + +"Do you think you are stronger than I am?" he says, amusement blended +with the old admiration in his eyes. + +"No, but they are," she says, pointing to her two faithful companions, +who are staring hungrily at Rodney and evidently only awaiting the word +from Mona to fling themselves upon him. + +She beckons to them, and, rising slowly, they advance towards Rodney, +who involuntarily moves back a little. And in truth they are formidable +foes, with their bloodshot eyes, and bristling coats, and huge jaws +that, being now parted, show the gleaming teeth within. + +"On guard," says Mona, whereupon both the brutes crouch upon the ground +right before Rodney, and fix him seriously and menacingly with their +eyes. + +"You are certainly too strong for me," says Rodney, with a frown and a +peculiar smile. + +"As you have refused to explain your presence here to me, you shall +remain where you now are until help arrives," says Mona, with evident +determination. + +"I am content to stay here until the day dawns, if you keep me company," +replies he, easily. + +"Insolence, sir, is perhaps another part of your _role_," returns she, +with cold but excessive anger. + +She is clad in a long white dressing-gown, loose, yet clinging, that +betrays each curve of her _svelte_, lissom figure. It is bordered with +swansdown, and some rich white lace, that sits high to her neck and +falls over her small hands. Her hair is drawn back into a loose knot, +that looks as if it would tumble down her back should she shake her +head. She is pale, and her eyes are peculiarly large and dark from +excitement. They are fixed upon Rodney with a gaze that belies all idea +of fear, and her lips are compressed and somewhat dangerous. + +"Is truth insolence?" asks Rodney. "If so, I demand your pardon. My +speech, no doubt, was a _betise_, yet it came from my heart." + +"Do not trouble yourself to make any further excuse," says Mona, icily. + +"Pray sit down," says Rodney, politely: "if you insist on spending your +evening with me, let me at least know that you are comfortable." Again +the comicality of the whole proceeding strikes him, and he laughs aloud. +He takes, too, a step forward, as if to get her a chair. + +"Do not stir," says Mona, hastily, pointing to the bloodhounds. Allspice +has risen--so has the hair on his back--and is looking thunder-claps at +Paul. A low growl breaks from him. He is plainly bent upon reducing to +reason whosoever shall dispute the will of his beloved mistress. "The +dogs know their orders, and will obey me. Down, Allspice, down. You will +do well, sir, to remain exactly where you are," continues Mona. + +"Then get a chair for yourself, at least, as you will not permit me to +go to your aid," he entreats. "I am your prisoner,--perhaps," in a low +tone, "the most willing captive that ever yet was made." + +He hardly realizes the extent of his subjection,--is blind to the +extreme awkwardness of the situation. Of Geoffrey's absence, and the +chance that he may return at any moment, he is altogether ignorant. + +Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with +her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes +lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediæval saint. So thinks +Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his +brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect. + +The moments come and go. The fire is dying out. No sound but that of the +falling cinders comes to disturb the stillness that reigns within the +library. Mona is vaguely, wondering what the end of it all will be. And +then at last the silence is broken. A noise upon the gravel outside, a +quick rush up the balcony steps; some one emerges from the gloom of the +night, and comes into the room through the open window. Mona utters a +passionate cry of relief and joy. It is Geoffrey! + +Perhaps, just at first, surprise is too great to permit of his feeling +either astonishment or indignation. He looks from Paul Rodney to Mona, +and then from Mona back to Rodney. After that his gaze does not wander +again. Mona, running to him, throws herself into his arms, and there he +holds her closely, but always with his eyes fixed upon the man he deems +his enemy. + +As for the Australian, he has grown pale indeed, but is quite +self-possessed, and the usual insolent line round his mouth has +deepened. The dogs have by no means relaxed their vigil, but still +crouch before him, ready for their deadly spring at any moment. It is a +picture, almost a lifeless one, so motionless are all those that help to +form it. The fading fire, the brilliant lamp, the open window with the +sullen night beyond, Paul Rodney standing upon the hearthrug with folded +arms, his dark insolent face lighted up with the excitement of what is +yet to come, gazing defiantly at his cousin, who is staring back at him, +pale but determined. And then Mona, in her soft white gown, somewhat in +the foreground, with one arm (from which the loose sleeve of the +dressing-gown has fallen back, leaving the fair rounded flesh to be +seen) thrown around her husband's neck, is watching Rodney with an +expression on her face that is half haughtiness, half nervous dread. Her +hair has loosened, and is rippling over her shoulders, and down far +below her waist; with her disengaged hand she is holding it back from +her ear, hardly knowing how picturesque and striking is her attitude, +and how it betrays each perfect curve of her lovely figure. + +"Now, sir speak," she says, at length in rather tremulous tones growing +fearful of the lengthened silence. There is a dangerous vibration in the +arm that Geoffrey has round her, that gives her warning to make some +change in the scene as soon as possible. + +For an instant Rodney turns his eyes on her, and then goes back to his +sneering examination of Geoffrey. Between them the two dogs still lie, +quiet but eager. + +"Call off the dogs," says Geoffrey to Mona, in a low tone; "there is no +longer any necessity for them. And tell me how you come to be here, at +this hour, with this--fellow." + +Mona calls off the dogs. They rise unwillingly, and, walking into a +distant corner, sit there, as though still awaiting a chance of taking +some active part in the coming fray. After which Mona, in a few words, +explains the situation to Geoffrey. + +"You will give me an explanation at once," says Geoffrey, slowly, +addressing his cousin. "What brought you here?" + +"Curiosity, as I have already told Mrs. Rodney," returns he, lightly. +"The window was open, the lamp burning. I walked in to see the old +room." + +"Who is your accomplice?" asks Geoffrey, still with studied calmness. + +"You are pleased to talk conundrums," says Rodney, with a shrug. "I +confess my self sufficiently dull to have never guessed one." + +"I shall make myself plainer. What servant did you bribe to leave the +window open for you at this hour?" + +For a brief instant the Australian's eyes flash fire; then he lowers his +lids, and laughs quite easily. + +"You would turn a farce into a tragedy," he says, mockingly, "Why should +I bribe a servant to let me see an old room by midnight?" + +"Why, indeed, unless you wished to possess yourself of something in the +old room?" + +"Again I fail to understand," says Paul; but his very lips grow livid. +"Perhaps for the second time, and with the same delicacy you used at +first, you will condescend to explain." + +"Is it necessary?" says Geoffrey, very insolently in his turn. "I think +not. By the by, is it your usual practice to prowl round people's houses +at two o'clock in the morning? I thought all such festive habits were +confined to burglars, and blackguards of that order." + +"We are none of us infallible," says Rodney, in a curious tone, and +speaking as if with difficulty. "You see, even you erred. Though I am +neither burglar nor blackguard, I, too enjoy a walk at midnight." + +"Liar!" says Geoffrey between his teeth, his eyes fixed with deadly +hatred upon his cousin. "Liar--and thief!" He goes a few steps nearer +him, and then waits. + +"Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A +murderous light creeps into his eyes. + +Mona, seeing it, moves away from Geoffrey, and, going stealthily up to +the table, lays her hand upon the pistol, that is still lying where last +she left it. With a quick gesture, and unseen she covers it with a +paper, and then turns her attention once more upon the two men. + +"Ay, thief!" repeats Geoffrey, in a voice low but fierce, "It was not +without a purpose you entered this house to-night, alone and uninvited. +Tell your story to any one foolish enough to believe you. I do not. What +did you hope to find? What help towards the gaining of your unlawful +cause?" + +"Thief!" interrupts Rodney, repeating the vile word again, as though +deaf to everything but this degrading accusation. Then there is a faint +pause, and then---- + +Mona never afterwards could say which man was the first to make the +attack, but in a second they are locked in each other's arms in a deadly +embrace. A desire to cry aloud, to summon help, takes hold of her, but +she beats it down, some inward feeling, clear, yet undefined, telling +her that publicity on such a matter as this will be eminently +undesirable. + +Geoffrey is the taller man of the two, but Paul the more lithe and +sinewy. For a moment they sway to and fro; then Geoffrey, getting his +fingers upon his cousin's throat, forces him backward. + +The Australian struggles for a moment. Then, finding Geoffrey too many +for him, he looses one of his hands, and, thrusting it between his shirt +and waistcoat, brings to light a tiny dagger, very flat, and lightly +sheathed. + +Fortunately this dagger refuses to be shaken from its hold. Mona, +feeling that fair play is at an end, and that treachery is asserting +itself, turns instinctively to her faithful allies the bloodhounds, who +have risen, and, with their hair standing straight on their backs, are +growling ominously. + +Cold, and half wild with horror, she yet retains her presence of mind, +and, beckoning to one of the dogs, says imperiously, "At him, Spice!" +pointing to Paul Rodney. + +Like a flash of lightning, the brute springs forward, and, flinging +himself upon Rodney, fastens his teeth upon the arm of the hand that +holds the dagger. + +The extreme pain, and the pressure--the actual weight--of the powerful +animal, tell. Rodney falls back, and with an oath staggers against the +mantelpiece. + +"Call off that dog," cries Geoffrey, turning savagely to Mona. +Whereupon, having gained her purpose, Mona bids the dog lie down, and +the faithful brute, exquisitely trained, and unequal to disobedience, +drops off his foe at her command and falls crouching to the ground, yet +with his eyes red and bloodshot, and his breath coming in parting gasps +that betray the wrath he would gladly gratify. + +The dagger has fallen to the carpet in the struggle, and Mona, picking +it up, flings it far from her into the darksome night through the +window. Then she goes up to Geoffrey, and laying her hand upon his +breast, turns to confront their cousin. + +Her hair is falling like a veil all round her; through it she looks out +at Rodney with eyes frightened and imploring. + +"Go, Paul!" she says, with vehement entreaty, the word passing her lips +involuntarily. + +Geoffrey does not hear her. Paul does. And as his own name, coming from +her lips, falls upon his ear, a great change passes over his face. It is +ashy pale; his lips are bloodless; his eyes are full of rage and undying +hatred: but at her voice it softens, and something that is quite +indescribable, but is perhaps pain and grief and tenderness and despair +combined, comes into it. Her lips--the purest and sweetest under +heaven--have deigned to address him as one not altogether outside the +pale of friendship,--of common fellowship. In her own divine charity and +tenderness she can see good in others who are not (as he acknowledges to +himself with terrible remorse) worthy to touch the very hem of her white +skirts. + +"Go," she says, again, entreatingly, still with her hand on Geoffrey's +breast, as though to keep him back, but with her eyes on Paul. + +It is a command. With a last lingering glance at the woman who has +enthralled him, he steps out through the window on to the balcony, and +in another moment is lost to sight. + +Mona, with a beating heart, but with a courage that gives calmness to +her outward actions, closes the window, draws the shutters together, +bars them, and then goes back to Geoffrey, who has not moved since +Rodney's departure. + +"Tell me again how it all happened," he says, laying his hands on her +shoulders. And then she goes through it again, slowly, carefully. + +"He was standing just there," she says, pointing to the spot where first +she had seen Paul when she entered the library, "with his face turned to +the panels, and his hand up like this," suiting the action to the word. +"When I came in, he turned abruptly. Can he be eccentric?--odd? +Sometimes I have thought that----" + +"No; eccentricity is farther from him than villainy. But, my darling, +what a terrible ordeal for you to come in and find him here! Enough to +frighten you to death, if you were any one but my own brave girl." + +"The dogs gave me courage. And was it not well I did bring them? How +strange that I should have wished for them so strongly to-night! That +time when he drew out the dagger!--my heart failed me then, and but for +Spice what would have been the end of it?" She shudders. "And yet," she +says, with sudden passion, "even then I knew what I should have done. I +had his pistol. I myself would have shot him, if the worst came to the +worst. Oh, to think that that man may yet reign here in this dear old +house, and supplant Nicholas!" + +Her eyes fill with tears. + +"He may not,--there is a faint chance,--but of course the title is gone, +as he has proved his birth beyond dispute." + +"What could he have wanted? When I came in, he turned pale and levelled +the pistol at me. I was frightened, but not much. When I desired him, he +laid down the pistol directly, and then I seized it. And then----" + +Her eyes fall upon the hearthrug. Half under the fender a small piece of +crumpled paper attracts her notice. Still talking, she stoops +mechanically and picks it up, smooths it, and opens it. + +"Why, what is this?" she says, a moment later; "and what a curious hand! +Not a gentleman's surely." + +"One of Thomas's _billet-doux_, no doubt," says Geoffrey, dreamily, +alluding to the under-footman, but thinking of something else. + +"No, no; I think not. Come here, Geoffrey; do. It is the queerest +thing,--like a riddle. See!" + +He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In +an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon +it,-- + +"7--4. Press top corner,--right hand." + +This is all. The paper is old, soiled, and has apparently made large +acquaintance with pockets. It looks, indeed, as if much travel and +tobacco are not foreign to it. Geoffrey, taking it from Mona, holds it +from him at full length, with amiable superciliousness, between his +first finger and thumb. + +"Thomas has plainly taken to hieroglyphics,--if it be Thomas," he says. +"I can fancy his pressing his young woman's right hand, but her 'top +corner' baffles me. If I were Thomas, I shouldn't hanker after a girl +with a 'top corner;' but there is no accounting for tastes. It really is +curious, though, isn't it?" As he speaks he looks at Mona; but Mona, +though seemingly returning his gaze, is for the first time in her life +absolutely unmindful of his presence. + +Slowly she turns her head away from him, and, as though following out a +train of thought, fixes her eyes upon the panelled wall in front of her. + +"It is illiterate writing, certainly; and the whole concern dilapidated +to the last degree," goes on Rodney, still regarding the soiled paper +with curiosity mingled with aversion. "Any objection to my putting it in +the fire?" + +"'7--4,'" murmurs she, absently, still staring intently at the wall. + +"It looks like the production of a lunatic,--a very dangerous +lunatic,--an _habitue_ of Colney Hatch," muses Geoffrey, who is growing +more and more puzzled with the paper's contents the oftener he reads it. + +"'Top corner,--right hand,'" goes on Mona, taking no heed of him, and +speaking in the same low, mysterious, far-off tone. + +"Yes, exactly; you have it by heart; but what does it mean, and what are +you staring at that wall for?" asks he, hopelessly, going to her side. + +"It means--the missing will," returns she, in a voice that would have +done credit to a priestess of Delphi. As she delivers this oracular +sentence, she points almost tragically towards the wall in question. + +"Eh!" says Geoffrey, starting, not so much at the meaning of her words +as at the words themselves. Have the worry and excitement of the last +hour unsettled her brain! + +"My dear child, don't talk like that," he says, nervously: "you're done +up, you know. Come to bed." + +"I sha'n't go to bed at all," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, excitedly. "I +shall never go to bed again, I think, until all this is cleared up. +Geoffrey, bring me over that chair." + +She motions impatiently with her hand, and Geoffrey, being compelled to +it by her vehemence, draws a high chair close to that part of the wall +that seems to have claimed her greatest attention. + +Springing up on it, she selects a certain panel, and, laying one hand on +it as if to make sure it is the one she wants, counts carefully six more +from it to the next wall, and three from it to the floor. I think I have +described these panels before as being one foot broad and two feet long. + +Having assured herself that the panel selected is the one she requires, +she presses her fingers steadily against the upper corner on the side +farthest from the fire. Expectation lies in every line of her face, yet +she is doomed to disappointment. No result attends her nervous pressure, +but distinct defeat. The panel is inexorable. Nothing daunted, she moves +her hand lower down, and tries again. Again failure crushes her; after +which she makes one last attempt, and, touching the very uppermost +corner, presses hard. + +Success at last rests with her. Slowly the panel moves, and, sliding to +one side, displays to view a tiny cupboard that for many years has been +lost sight of by the Rodney family. It is very small, about half a foot +in depth, with three small shelves inside. But, alas! these shelves are +empty. + +Geoffrey utters an exclamation, and Mona, after one swift comprehensive +glance at the rifled cupboard, bursts into tears. The bitter +disappointment is more than she can bear. + +"Oh! it isn't here! He has stolen it!" cries she, as one who can admit +of no comfort. "And I felt so sure I should find it myself. That was +what he was doing when I came into the room. Ah, Geoffrey, sure you +didn't malign him when you called him a thief." + +"What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly +distressed at her apparent grief. + +"He has stolen the will. Taken it away. That paper you hold must have +fallen from him, and contains the directions about finding the right +panel. Ah! what shall we do now?" + +"You are right: I see it now," says Geoffrey, whitening a little, +"Warden wrote that paper, no doubt," glancing at the dirty bit of +writing that has led to the discovery. "He evidently had his knowledge +from old Elspeth, who must have known of this secret hiding-place from +my great-grandfather. My father, I am convinced, knew nothing of it. +Here, on the night of my grandfather's death, the old woman must have +hidden the will, and here it has remained ever since until to-night. +Yet, after all, this is mere supposition," says Geoffrey. "We are taking +for granted what may prove a myth. The will may never been placed here, +and he himself----" + +"It _was_ placed here; I feel it, I know it," says Mona, solemnly, +laying her hand upon the panel. Her earnestness impresses him. He wakes +into life. + +"Then that villain, that scoundrel, has it now in his possession," he +says, quickly. "If I go after him, even yet I may come up with him +before he reaches his home, and compel him to give it up." + +As he finishes he moves towards the window, as though bent upon putting +his words into execution at once, but Mona hastily stepping before him, +gets between it and him, and, raising her hand, forbids his approach. + +"You may compel him to murder you," she says, feverishly, "or, in your +present mood, you may murder him. No, you shall not stir from this +to-night." + +"But--" begins he, impatiently, trying gently to put her to one side. + +"I will not listen," she interrupts, passionately. "I know how you both +looked a while ago. I shall never forget it; and to meet again now, with +fresh cause for hatred in your hearts, would be----No. There is crime +in the very air of to-night." + +She winds her arms, around him, seeing he is still determined to go, +and, throwing back her head, looks into his face. + +"Besides, you are going on a fool's errand," she says, speaking rapidly, +as though to gain time. "He has reached his own place long ago. Wait +until the morning, I entreat you, Geoffrey. I--" her lips tremble, her +breath comes fitfully--"I can bear no more just now." + +A sob escapes her, and falls heavily on Geoffrey's heart. He is not +proof against a woman's tears,--as no true man ever is,--especially +_her_ tears, and so he gives in at once. + +"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, +with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done." + +"To-day, you mean: you will only have to wait a few short hours," she +says, gratefully. "Let us leave this hateful room," with a shudder. "I +shall never be able to enter it again without thinking of this night and +all its horrors." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +HOW MONA KEEPS HER OWN COUNSEL--AND HOW AT MIDDAY SHE RECEIVES A NOTE. + + +Sleep, even when she does get to bed, refuses to settle upon Mona's +eyelids. During the rest of the long hours that mark the darkness she +lies wide awake, staring upon vacancy, and thinking ceaselessly until + + "Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, + Comes furrowing all the Orient into gold." + +Then she rises upon her elbow, and notices how the light comes through +the chinks of the shutters. It must be day indeed. The dreary night has +fled affrighted; the stars hide their diminished rays. Surely + + "Yon gray lines + That fret the clouds are messengers of day." + +There is relief in the thought. She springs from her bed, clothes +herself rapidly, and descends to the breakfast room. Yet the day thus +begun appears to her singularly unattractive. Her mind is full of care. +She has persuaded Geoffrey to keep silence about all that last night +produced, and wait, before taking further steps. But wait for what? She +herself hardly knows what it is she hopes for. + +She makes various attempts at thinking it out. She places her pretty +hands upon her prettier brows, under the mistaken impression common to +most people that this attitude is conducive to the solution of +mysteries; but with no result. Things will not arrange themselves. + +To demand the will from Paul Rodney without further proof that it is in +his possession than the fact of having discovered by chance a secret +cupboard is absurd; yet not to demand it seems madness. To see him, to +reason with him, to accuse him of it, is her one desire; yet she can +promise herself no good from such an interview. She sighs as she thus +seeks aimlessly to see a satisfactory termination to all her +meditations. + +She is _distraite_ and silent all the morning, taking small notice of +what goes on around her. Geoffrey, perplexed too, in spirit, wanders +vaguely from pillar to post, unable to settle to anything,--bound by +Mona to betray no hint of what happened in the library some hours ago, +yet dying to reveal the secret of the panel-cupboard to somebody. + +Nolly is especially and oppressively cheerful. He is blind to the +depression that marks Mona and Geoffrey for its own, and quite outdoes +himself in geniality and all-round amiability. + +Violet has gone to the stables to bestow upon her bonny brown mare her +usual morning offering of bread; Jack, of course, has gone with her. + +Geoffrey is nowhere just at this moment. Doatie and Nicholas are sitting +hand in hand and side by side in the library, discussing their own cruel +case, and wondering for the thousandth time whether--if the worst comes +to the worst (of which, alas! there now seems little doubt)--her father +will still give his consent to their marriage, and, if so, how they +shall manage to live on five hundred pounds a year, and whether it may +not be possible for Nicholas to get something or other to do (on this +subject they are vague) that may help "to make the crown a pound." + +Mona is sitting in the morning-room, the faithful and ever lively Nolly +at her side. According to his lights, she is "worth a ship-load of the +whole lot," and as such he haunts her. But to-day she fails him. She is +absent, depressed, weighed down with thought,--anything but congenial. +She forgets to smile in the right place, says, "Yes" when courtesy +requires "No," and is deaf to his gayest sallies. + +When he has told her a really good story.--quite true, and all about the +æsthetic, Lady Lilias, who has declared her intention of calling this +afternoon, and against whose wearing society he is strenuously warning +her,--and when she has shown no appreciation of the wit contained +therein, he knows there is something--as he himself describes +it--"rotten in the state of Denmark." + +"You are not well, are you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" he says, sympathetically, +getting up from his own chair to lean tenderly over the back of hers. +Nolly is nothing if not affectionate, where women are concerned. It +gives him no thought or trouble to be attentive to them, as in his soul +he loves them all,--in the abstract,--from the dairymaid to the duchess, +always provided they are pretty. + +"You are wrong: I am quite well," says Mona, smiling, and rousing +herself. + +"Then you have something on your mind. You have not been your usual +perfect self all the morning." + +"I slept badly last night; I hardly slept at all," she says, +plaintively, evading direct reply. + +"Oh, well, that's it," says Mr. Darling, somewhat relieved. "I'm an +awful duffer not to have guessed that Geoffrey's being out would keep you +awake." + +"Yes, I could not sleep. Watching and waiting destroy all chance of +slumber." + +"Lucky he," says Nolly, fervently, "to know there is somebody who longs +for his return when he is abroad; to feel that there are eyes that will +mark his coming, and look brighter when he comes, and all that sort of +thing. Nobody ever cares about _my_ coming," says Mr. Darling, with deep +regret, "except to lament it." + +"How melancholy!" says Mona, with a nearer approach to brightness than +she has shown all day. + +"Yes. I'm not much," confesses Mr. Darling, blandly. "Others are more +fortunate. I'm like 'the man in the street,' subject to all the winds of +heaven. Why, it would almost tempt a man to stay away from home +occasionally to know there was some one longing for his return. It would +positively encourage him to dine out whenever he got the chance." + +"I pity your wife," says Mona, almost severely. + +"Oh, now, Mrs. Geoffrey, come--I say--how cruel yon can be!" + +"Well, do not preach such doctrine to Geoffrey," she says, with +repentance mixed with pathos. + +"I shall do only what you wish," returns he, chivalrously, arranging the +cushion that adorns the back of her chair. + +The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an +end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one +of the maids,--not her own,--who hands her a sealed note. + +"From whom?" demands Mona, lazily, seeing the writing is unknown to her. + +"I really don't know, ma'am. Mitchell gave it to me," says the girl, in +an injured tone. Now, Mitchell is Lady Rodney's maid. + +"Very good," says Mona, indifferently, after which the woman, having +straightened a cushion or two, takes her departure. + +Mona, sinking languidly into a chair, turns the note over and over +between her fingers, whilst wondering in a disjointed fashion as to whom +it can be from. She guesses vaguely at the writer of it, as people will +when they know a touch of the hand and a single glance can solve the +mystery. + +Then she opens the letter, and reads as follows: + +"In spite of all that has passed, I do entreat you to meet me at three +o'clock this afternoon at the river, beneath the chestnut-tree. Do not +refuse. Let no shrinking from the society of such as I am deter you from +granting me this first and last interview, as what I have to say +concerns not you, but those you love. I feel the more sure you will +accede to this request because of the heavenly pity in your eyes last +night, and the grace that moved you to address me as you did. I shall +wait for you until four o'clock. But let me not wait in vain.--P. R." + +So runs the letter. + +"The man is eccentric, no matter what Geoffrey may say," is Mona's first +thought, when she has perused it carefully for the second time. Then the +belief that it may have something to do with the restoration of the lost +will takes possession of her, and makes her heart beat wildly. Yes, she +will go; she will keep this appointment whatever comes of it. + +She glances at her watch. It is now a quarter past three; so there is no +time to be lost. She must hasten. + +Hurriedly she gets into her furs, and, twisting some soft black lace +around her throat, runs down the stairs, and, opening the hall door +without seeing any one, makes her way towards the appointed spot. + +It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and +little flowers are springing everywhere. + + "Daisies pied, and violets blue, + And lady-smocks all silver white, + And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue + Do paint the meadows with delight." + +Each bank and root of mossy tree is studded with pale primroses that +gleam like stars when the morning rises to dim their lustre. My lady's +straw-bed spreads its white carpet here and there; the faint twitter of +birds is in the air, with "liquid lapse of murmuring streams;" every +leaf seems bursting into life, the air is keen but soft, the clouds rest +lightly on a ground of spotless blue; the world is awake, and mad with +youthful glee as + + "Spring comes slowly up this way" + +Every flower has opened wide its pretty eye, because the sun, that so +long has been a stranger, has returned to them, and is gazing down upon +them with ardent love. They--fond nurslings of an hour--accept his tardy +attentions, and, though, still chilled and _desolee_ because of the sad +touches of winter that still remain, gaze with rapt admiration at the +great Phoebus, as he sits enthroned above. + +Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and +place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the +beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and +compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place +appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face +Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she +comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she +looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream +rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite +attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon +her. + +"I have come," she says, simply, feeling herself growing pale, yet quite +self-possessed, and strong in a determination not to offer him her hand. + +"Yes. I thank you for your goodness," returns he, slowly. + +Then follows an uncomfortable silence. + +"You have something important to say to me," says Mona, presently, +seeing he will not speak: "at least, so your letter led me to believe." + + +"It is true; I have." Then some other train of thought seems to rush +upon him; and he goes on in a curious tone that is half mocking, yet +wretched above every other feeling; "You had the best of me last night, +had you not? And yet," with a sardonic laugh. "I'm not so sure, either. +See here." + +Slowly he draws from his pocket a paper, folded neatly, that looks like +some old parchment. Mona draws her breath quickly, and turns first +crimson with emotion, then pale as death. Opening it at a certain page, +he points out to her the signature of George Rodney, the old baronet. + +"Give it to me!" cries she, impulsively, her voice, trembling. "It is +the missing will. You found it last night. It belongs to Nicholas. You +must--nay," softly, beseechingly, "you _will_ give it to me." + +"Do you know all you ask? By relinquishing this iniquitous deed I give +up all hope of ever gaining this place,--this old house that even to me +seems priceless. You demand much. Yet on one condition it shall be +yours." + +"And the condition?" asks she, eagerly, going closer to him. What is it +that she would not do to restore happiness to those she has learned to +love so well? + +"A simple one." + +"Name it!" exclaims she, seeing he still hesitates. + +He lays his hands lightly on her arm, yet his touch seems to burn +through her gown into her very flesh. He stoops towards her. + +"For one kiss this deed shall be yours," he whispers, "to do what you +like with it." + +Mona starts violently, and draws back; shame and indignation cover her. +Her breath comes in little gasps. + +"Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, +fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt. + +"You have heard me," retorts he, coldly, angered to the last degree by +the extreme horror and disgust she has evinced at his proposal. He +deliberately replaces the precious paper in his pocket, and turns as if +to go. + +"Oh, stay?" she says, faintly, detaining him both by word and gesture. + +He turns to her again. + +She covers her eyes with her hands, and tries vainly to decide on what +is best for her to do. In all the books she has ever read the young +woman placed in her position would not have hesitated at all. As if +reared to the situation, she would have thrown up her head, and +breathing defiance upon the tempter, would have murmured to the +sympathetic air, "Honor above everything," and so, full of dignity, +would have moved away from her discomfited companion, her nose high in +the air. She would think it a righteous thing that all the world should +suffer rather than one tarnish, however slight, should sully the +brightness of her fame. + +For the first time Mona learns she is not like this well-regulated young +woman. She falls lamentably short of such excellence. She cannot bring +herself to think the world of those she loves well lost for any +consideration whatever. And after all--this horrid condition--it would +be over in a moment. And she could run home with the coveted paper, and +bathe her face in sweet cold water. And then again she shudders. Could +she bathe the remembrance of the insult from her heart? + +She presses her hands still closer against her eyes, as though to shut +out from her own mind the hatefulness of such a thought. And then, with +a fresh effort, she brings herself back once more to the question that +lies before her. + +Oh, if by this one act of self-sacrifice she could restore the Towers +with all its beauty and richness to Nicholas, and--and his mother,--how +good a thing it would be! But will Geoffrey ever forgive her? Ah, sure +when she explains the matter to him, and tells him how and why she did +it, and how her heart bled in the doing of it, he will put his arms +round her and pardon her sin. Nay, more, he may see how tender is the +longing that compels her to the deed. + +She uncovers her eyes, and glances for a bare instant at Rodney. Then +once more the heavily-fringed lids close upon the dark-blue eyes, as if +to hide the anguish in them, and in a smothered voice she says, with +clenched teeth and a face like marble, "Yes, you may kiss me,--if you +will." + +There is a pause. In shrinking doubt she awaits the moment that shall +make him take advantage of her words. But that moment never comes. In +vain she waits. At length she lifts her eyes, and he, flinging the +parchment at her feet, cries, roughly,-- + +"There! take it. _I_ can be generous too." + +"But," begins Mona, feebly, hardly sure of her blessed release. + +"Keep your kiss," exclaims he, savagely, "since it cost you such an +effort to give it, and keep the parchment too. It is yours because of my +love for you." + +Ashamed of his vehemence, he stoops, and, raising the will from the +ground, presents it to her courteously. "Take it: it is yours," he says. +Mona closes her fingers on it vigorously, and by a last effort of grace +suppresses the sigh of relief that rises from her heart. + +Instinctively she lowers her hand as though to place the document in the +inside pocket of her coat, and in doing so comes against something that +plainly startles her. + +"I quite forgot it," she says, coloring with sudden fear, and then +slowly, cautiously, she draws up to view the hated pistol he had left in +the library the night before. She holds it out to him at arm's length, +as though it is some noisome reptile, as doubtless indeed she considers +it. "Take it," she says; "take it quickly. I brought it to you, meaning +to return it. Good gracious! fancy my forgetting it! Why, it might have +gone off and killed me, and I should have been none the wiser." + +"Well, I think you would, for a moment or two at least," returns he, +smiling grimly, and dropping the dangerous little toy with some +carelessness into his own pocket. + +"Oh, do take care!" cries Mona, in an agony: "it is loaded. If you throw +it about in that rough fashion, it will certainly go off and do you some +injury." + +"Blow me to atoms, perhaps, or into some region unknown," says he, +recklessly. "A good thing, too. Is life so sweet a possession that one +need quail before the thought of resigning it?" + +"You speak as one might who has no aim in life, says Mona, looking at +him with sincere pity. When Mona looks piteous she is at her best. Her +eyes grow large, her sweet lips tremulous, her whole face pathetic. The +_role_ suits her. Rodney's heart begins to beat with dangerous rapidity. +It is quite on the cards that a man of his reckless, untrained, +dare-devil disposition should fall madly in love with a woman _sans peur +et sans reproche_. + +"An aim!" he says, bitterly. "I think I have found an end to my life +where most fellows find a beginning." + +"By and you will think differently," says Mona, believing he alludes to +his surrender of the Rodney property "You will get over this +disappointment." + +"I shall,--when death claims me," replies he. + +"Nay, now," says Mona, sweetly, "do not talk like that. It grieves me. +When you have formed a purpose worth living for, the whole world will +undergo a change for you. What is dark now will seem light then; and +death will be an enemy, a thing to battle with, to fight with +desperately until one's latest breath. In the meantime," nervously, +"_do_ be cautious about that horrid weapon: won't you, now?" + +"You ask me no questions about last night," he says, suddenly; "and +there is something I must say to you. Get rid of that fellow Ridgway, +the under-gardener. It was he opened the library window for me. He is +untrustworthy, and too fond of filthy lucre ever to come to good. I +bribed him." + +He is now speaking with some difficulty, and is looking, not at her, but +at the pattern he is drawing on the soft loam at his feet. + +"Bribed him?" says Mona, in an indescribable tone. + +"Yes. I knew about the secret panel from Warden, old Elspeth's nephew, +who alone, I think, knew of its existence. I was determined to get the +will. It seemed to me," cries he, with sudden excitement, "no such great +crime to do away with an unrighteous deed that took from an elder son +(without just cause) his honest rights, to bestow them upon the younger. +What had my father done? Nothing! His brother, by treachery and base +subterfuge, supplanted him, and obtained his birthright, while he, my +father, was cast out, disinherited, without a hearing." + +His passion carries Mona along with it. + +"It was unjust, no doubt; it sounds so," she says, faintly. Yet even as +she speaks she closes her little slender fingers resolutely upon the +parchment that shall restore happiness to Nicholas and dear pretty +Dorothy. + +"To return to Ridgway," says Paul Rodney, pulling himself up abruptly. +"See him yourself, I beg of you, as a last favor, and dismiss him. Send +him over to me: I will take him back with me to Australia and give him a +fresh start in life. I owe him so much, as I was the first to tempt him +into the wrong path; yet I doubt whether he would have kept straight +even had he not met me. He is _mauvais sujet_ all through." + +"Surely," thinks Mona to herself, "this strange young man is not +altogether bad. He has his divine touches as well as another." + +"I will do as you ask," she says, wondering when the interview will come +to an end. + +"After all, I am half glad Nicholas is not to be routed," he says, +presently, with some weariness in his tone. "The game wasn't worth the +candle; I should never have been able to do the _grand seigneur_ as he +does it. I suppose I am not to the manner born. Besides, I bear _him_ no +malice." + +His tone, his emphasis on the pronoun, is significant. + +"Why should you bear malice to any one?" says Mona uneasily. + +"Your husband called me 'thief.' I have not forgotten that," replies he, +gloomily, the dark blood of his mother's race rushing to his cheek. "I +shall remember that insult to my dying day. And let him remember _this_, +that if ever I meet him again, alone, and face to face, I shall kill him +for that word only." + +"Oh, no! no!" says Mona, shrinking from him. "Why cherish such revenge +in your heart? Would you kill me too, that you speak like this? Fling +such thoughts far from you, and strive after good. Revenge is the food +of fools." + +"Well, at least I sha'n't have many more opportunities of meeting him," +says Rodney. "I shall leave this country as soon as I can. Tell Nicholas +to keep the title with the rest. I shall never use it. And now," growing +very pale, "it only remains to say good-by." + +"Good-by," says Mona, softly, giving him her hand. He keeps it fast in +both his own. Just at this moment it dawns upon her for the first time +that this man loves her with a love surpassing that of most. The +knowledge does not raise within her breast--as of course it should +do--feelings of virtuous indignation: indeed, I regret to say that my +heroine feels nothing but a deep and earnest pity, that betrays itself +in her expressive face. + +"Last night you called me Paul. Do you remember? Call me it again, for +the last time," he entreats, in a low tone. "I shall never forget what I +felt then. If ever in the future you hear good of me, believe it was +through you it sprung to life. Till my dying day your image will remain +with me. Say now, 'Good-by, Paul,' before I go." + +"Good by, dear Paul," says Mona, very gently, impressed by his evident +grief and earnestness. + +"Good-by, my--my beloved--cousin," he says, in a choked voice. I think +the last word is an afterthought. He is tearing himself from all he +holds most sacred upon earth, and the strain is terrible. He moves +resolutely a a few yards away from her, as though determined to put +space between him and her; yet then he pauses, and, as though powerless +to withdraw from her presence, returns again, and, flinging himself on +his knees before her, presses a fold of her gown to his lips with +passionate despair. + +"It is forever!" he says, incoherently. "Oh, Mona, at least--_at least_ +promise you will always think kindly of me." + +"Always--indeed, always!" says Mona, with tears in her eyes; after +which, with a last miserable glance, he strides away, and is lost to +sight among the trees. + +Then Mrs. Geoffrey turns quickly, and runs home at the top of her speed. +She is half sad, yet half exultant, being filled to the very heart with +the knowledge that life, joy, and emancipation from present evil lie in +her pocket. This thought crowns all others. + +As she comes to the gravel walk that leads from the shrubberies to the +sweep before the hall door, she encounters the disgraced Ridgway, doing +something or other to one of the shrubs that has come to grief during +the late bad weather. + +He touches his hat to her, and bids her a respectful "good afternoon," +but for once she is blind to his salutation. Nevertheless, she stops +before him, and, in a clear voice, says, coldly,-- + +"For the future your services will not be required here. Your new +master, Mr. Paul Rodney, whom you have chosen to obey in preference to +those in whose employ you have been, will give you your commands from +this day. Go to him, and after this try to be faithful." + +The boy--he is little more--cowers beneath her glance. He changes color, +and drops the branch he holds. No excuse rises to his lips. To attempt a +lie with those clear eyes upon him would be worse than useless. He turns +abruptly away, and is dead to the Towers from this moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +HOW CONVERSATION GROWS RIFE AT THE TOWERS--AND HOW MONA ASSERTS +HERSELF--AND HOW LADY RODNEY LICKS THE DUST. + + +"Where can Mona be?" says Doatie, suddenly. + +We must go back one hour. Lady Lilias Eaton has come and gone. It is now +a quarter to five, and Violet is pouring out tea in the library. + +"Yes; where is Mona?" says Jack, looking up from the cup she has just +given him. + +"I expect I know more than most about her," says Nolly, who is enjoying +himself immensely among the sponge, and the plum-cakes. "I told her the +Æsthetic was likely to call this afternoon, and advised her strongly to +make her escape while she could." + +"She evidently took your advice," says Nicholas. + +"Well, I went rather minutely into it, you know. I explained to her how +Lady Lilias was probably going to discuss the new curfew-bell in all its +bearings; and I hinted gloomily at the 'Domesday Book.' _That_ fetched +her. She vamoosed on the spot." + +"Nothing makes me so hungry as Lady Lilias," says Doatie, comfortably. +She is lying back in a huge arm-chair that is capable of holding three +like her, and is devouring bread and butter like a dainty but starved +little fairy. Nicholas, sitting beside her, is holding her tea-cup, her +own special tea-cup of gaudy Sèvres. "She is very trying, isn't she, +Nicholas? What a dazzling skin she has!--the very whitest I ever saw." + +"Well, that is in her favor, I really think," says Violet, in her most +unprejudiced manner. "If she were to leave off her rococo toilettes, and +take to Elise or Worth like other people, and give up posing, and try to +behave like a rational being, she might almost be called handsome." + +No one seconds this rash opinion. There is a profound silence. Miss +Mansergh looks mildly round for support, and, meeting Jack's eyes, stops +there. + +"Well, really, you know, yes. I think there _is_ something special about +her," he says, feeling himself in duty bound to say something. + +"So there is; something specially awful," responds Nolly, pensively. +"She frightens me to death. She has an 'eye like a gimlet.' When I call +to mind the day my father inveigled me into the library and sort of told +me I couldn't do better than go in for Lilias, my knees give way beneath +me and smite each other with fear. I shudder to think what part in her +mediæval programme would have been allotted to me." + +"You would have been her henchman,--is that right, Nicholas?--or her +_varlet_," says Dorothy, with conviction, "And you would have had to +stain your skin, and go round with a cross-bow, and with your mouth +widened from ear to ear to give you the correct look. All æsthetic +people have wide mouths, have they not, Nicholas?" + +"Bless me, what an enthralling picture!" says Mr. Darling. "You make me +regret all I have lost. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I say, +Dolly, you are eating nothing. Have some more bread-and-butter or cake, +old girl. You don't half take care of yourself." + +"Well, do you know, I think I will take another bit of cake," says +Doatie, totally unabashed. "And--cut it thick. After all, Noll, I don't +believe Lilias would ever marry you, or any other man: she wouldn't know +what to do with you." + +"It is very good of you to say that," says Nolly, meekly but gratefully. +"It gives me great support. You honestly believe, then, that I may +escape?" + +"Just fancy the Æsthetic with a husband, and a baby on her knee." + +"Like 'Loraine Loraine Loree,'" says Violet, laughing. + +"Did she have both together on her knee?" asks Dorothy, vaguely. "She +must have found it heavy." + +"Oh, one at a time," says Nolly. "She couldn't do it all at once. Such a +stretch of fancy requires thought." + +At this moment, Geoffrey--who has been absent--saunters into the room, +and, after a careless glance around, says, lightly, as if missing +something,-- + +"Where is Mona?" + +"Well, we thought you would know," says Lady Rodney, speaking for the +first time. + +"Yes. Where is she?" says Doatie: "that is just what we all want to know. +She won't get any tea if she doesn't come presently, because Nolly is +bent on finishing it. Nolly," with plaintive protest, "don't be greedy." + +"We thought she was with you," says Captain Rodney, idly. + +"She is out," says Lady Rodney, in a compressed tone. + +"Is she? It is too late for her to be out," returns Geoffrey, thinking +of the chill evening air. + +"Quite too late," acquiesces his mother, meaningly. "It is, to say the +least of it, very strange, very unseemly. Out at this hour, and +alone,--if, indeed, she is alone!" + +Her tone is so unpleasant and so significant that silence falls upon the +room. Geoffrey says nothing. Perhaps he alone among them fails to +understand the meaning of her words. He seems lost in thought. So lost, +that the others, watching him, wonder secretly what the end of his +meditations will bring forth: yet, one and all, they mistake him: no +doubt of Mona ever has, or ever will, I think, cross his mind. + +Lady Rodney regards him curiously, trying to read his downcast face. Has +the foolish boy at last been brought to see a flaw in his idol of clay? + +Nicholas is looking angry. Jack, sinking into a chair near Violet, says, +in a whisper, that "it is a beastly shame his mother cannot let Mona +alone. She seems, by Jove! bent on turning Geoffrey against her." + +"It is cruel," says Violet, with suppressed but ardent ire. + +"If--if _you_ loved a fellow, would anything turn you against him?" asks +he, suddenly, looking her full in the face. + +And she answers,-- + +"Nothing. Not all the talking in the wide world," with a brilliant +blush, but with steady earnest eyes. + +Nolly, mistrustful of Geoffrey's silence, goes up to him, and, laying +his hands upon his shoulders, says, quietly,-- + +"Mrs. Geoffrey is incapable of making any mistake. How silent you are, +old fellow!" + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rousing himself and smiling genially. "A mistake? +Oh, no. She never makes mistakes. I was thinking of something else. But +she really ought to be in now, you know; she will catch her death of +cold." + +The utter want of suspicion in his tone drives Lady Rodney to open +action. To do her justice, dislike to Mona has so warped her judgment +that she almost believes in the evil she seeks to disseminate about her. + +"You are wilfully blind," she says, flushing hotly, and smoothing with +nervous fingers an imaginary wrinkle from her gown. "Of course I +explained matters as well as I could to Mitchell, but it was very +awkward, and very unpleasant, and servants are never deceived." + +"I hardly think I follow you," says Geoffrey, in a frozen tone. "In +regard to what would you wish your servants deceived?" + +"Of course it is quite the correct thing your taking it in this way," +goes on his mother, refusing to be warned, and speaking with +irritation,--"the only course left open; but it is rather absurd with +_me_. We have all noticed your wife's extraordinary civility to that +shocking young man. Such bad taste on her part, considering how he +stands with regard to us, and the unfortunate circumstances connected +with him. But no good ever comes of unequal marriages." + +"Now, once for all, mother--" begins Nicholas, vehemently, but Geoffrey, +with a gesture, silences him. + +"I am perfectly content, nay more than content, with the match I have +made," he says, haughtily; "and if you are alluding to Paul Rodney, I +can only say I have noticed nothing reprehensible in Mona's treatment of +him." + +"You are very much to be admired," says his mother, in an abominable +tone. + +"I see no reason why she should not talk to any man she pleases. I know +her well enough to trust her anywhere, and am deeply thankful for such +knowledge. In fact," with some passion, sudden but subdued, "I feel as +though in discussing her in this cold-blooded fashion I am doing her +some grievous wrong." + +"It almost amounts to it," says Nicholas, with a frown. + +"Besides, I do not understand what you mean," says Geoffrey, still +regarding his mother with angry eyes "Why connect Mona's absence with +Paul Rodney?" + +"I shall tell you," exclaims she, in a higher tone, her pale-blue eyes +flashing. "Two hours ago my own maid received a note from Paul Rodney's +man directed to your wife. When she read it she dressed herself and went +from this house in the direction of the wood. If you cannot draw your +own conclusions from these two facts, you must be duller or more +obstinate than I give you credit for." + +She ceases, her work accomplished. The others in the room grow weak with +fear, as they tell themselves that things are growing too dreadful to be +borne much longer. When the silence is quite insupportable, poor little +Dorothy struggles to the front. + +"Dear Lady Rodney," she says, in a tremulous tone, "are you quite sure +the note was from that--that man?" + +"Quite sure," returns her future mother-in law, grimly. "I never speak, +Dorothy, without foundation for what I say." + +Dorothy, feeling snubbed, subsides into silence and the shadow that +envelopes the lounge on which she is sitting. + +To the surprise of everybody, Geoffrey takes no open notice of his +mother's speech. He does not give way to wrath, nor does he open his +lips on any subject. His face is innocent of anger, horror, or distrust. +It changes, indeed, beneath the glow of the burning logs but in a manner +totally unexpected. An expression that might even be termed hope lights +it up. Like this do his thoughts run: "Can it be possible that the +Australian has caved in, and, fearing publicity after last night's +_fiasco_, surrendered the will to Mona?" + +Possessed with this thought,--which drowns all others,--he clasps his +hands behind his back and saunters to the window. "Shall he go and meet +Mona and learn the truth at once? Better not, perhaps; she is such a +clever child that it is as well to let her achieve victory without +succor of any sort." + +He leans against the window and looks out anxiously upon the darkening +twilight. His mother watches him with curious eyes. Suddenly he +electrifies the whole room by whistling in a light and airy fashion his +favorite song from "Madame Favart." It is the "Artless Thing," and +nothing less, and he whistles it deliberately and dreamily from start to +finish. + +It seems such a direct running commentary on Mona's supposed ill deed +that every one--as by a single impulse--looks up. Nolly and Jack Rodney +exchange covert glances. But for the depression that reigns all round, I +think these two would have given way to frivolous merriment. + +"By Jove, you know, it is odd," says Geoffrey, presently, speaking as +one might who has for long been following out a train of thought by no +means unpleasant, "his sending for her, and that: there must be +something in it. Rodney didn't write to her for nothing. It must have +been to----" Here he checks himself abruptly, remembering his promise to +Mona to say nothing about the scene in the library. "It certainly means +something," he winds up, a little tamely. + +"No doubt," returns his mother, sneeringly. + +"My dear mother," says Geoffrey, coming back to the firelight, "what you +would insinuate is too ridiculous to be taken any notice of." Every +particle of his former passion has died from his voice, and he is now +quite calm, nay cheerful. + +"But at the same time I must ask you to remember you are speaking of my +wife." + +"I do remember it," replies she, bitterly. + +Just at this moment a light step running up the stairs outside and +across the veranda makes itself heard. Every one looks expectant, and +the slight displeasure dies out of Geoffrey's face. A slender, graceful +figure appears at the window, and taps lightly. + +"Open the window, Geoff," cries Mona, eagerly, and as he obeys her +commands she steps into the room with a certain touch of haste about her +movements, and looks round upon them earnestly,--some peculiar +expression, born of a glad thought, rendering her lovely face even more +perfect than usual. + +There is a smile upon her lips; her hands are clasped behind her. + +"I am so glad you have come, darling," says little Dorothy, taking off +her hat, and laying it on a chair near her. + +Geoffrey removes the heavy lace that lies round her throat, and then +leads her up to the hearthrug nearly opposite to his mother's arm-chair. + +"Where have you been, Mona?" he asks, quietly, gazing into the great +honest liquid eyes raised so willingly to his own. + +"You shall guess," says Mrs. Geoffrey, gayly, with a little laugh. "Now, +where do you think?" + +Geoffrey says nothing. But Sir Nicholas, as though impulsively, says,-- + +"In the wood?" + +Perhaps he is afraid for her. Perhaps it is a gentle hint to her that +the truth will be best. Whatever it may be, Mona understands him not at +all. His mother glances up sharply. + +"Why, so I was," says Mona, opening her eyes with some surprise, and +with an amused smile. "What a good guess, and considering how late the +hour is, too!" + +She smiles again. Lady Rodney, watching her intently, tells herself if +this is acting it is the most perfectly done thing she ever saw in her +life, either on the stage or off it. + +Geoffrey's arm slips from his wife's shoulders to her rounded waist. + +"Perhaps, as you have been so good at your first guess you will try +again," says Mona, still addressing Nicholas, and speaking in a tone of +unusual light-heartedness, but so standing that no one can see why her +hands are so persistently clasped behind her back. "Now tell me who I +was with." + +This is a thunderbolt. They all start guiltily, and regard Mona with +wonder. What is she going to say next? + +"So," she says, mockingly, laughing at Nicholas, "you cannot play the +seer any longer? Well, I shall tell you. I was with Paul Rodney!" + +She is plainly quite enchanted with the sensation she is creating, +though she is far from comprehending how complete that sensation is. +Something in her expression appeals to Doatie's heart and makes her +involuntarily go closer to her. Her face is transfigured. It is full of +love and unselfish joy and happy exultation: always lovely, there is at +this moment something divine about her beauty. + +"What have you got behind your back?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, going up +to her. + +She flushes, opens her lips as if to speak, and yet is dumb,--perhaps +through excess of emotion. + +"Mona, it is not--it cannot be--but is it?" asks he incoherently. + +"The missing will? Yes--yes--_yes_!" cries she, raising the hand that is +behind her, and holding it high above her head with the will held +tightly in it. + +It is a supreme moment. A deadly silence falls upon the room, and then +Dorothy bursts into tears. In my heart I believe she feels as much +relief at Mona's exculpation as at the discovery of the desired deed. + +Mona, turning not to Nicholas or to Doatie or to Geoffrey but to Lady +Rodney, throws the paper into her lap. + +"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. + +"Quite sure," says Mona, and then she laughs aloud--a sweet, joyous +laugh,--and clasps her hands together with undisguised delight and +satisfaction. + +Geoffrey, who has tears in his eyes, takes her in his arms and kisses +her once softly, before them all. + +"My best beloved," he says, with passionate fondness, beneath his +breath; but she hears him, and wonders vaguely but gladly at his tone, +not understanding the rush of tenderness that almost overcomes him as he +remembers how his mother--whom she has been striving with all her power +to benefit--has been grossly maligning and misjudging her. Truly she is +too good for those among whom her lot has been cast. + +"It is like a fairy-tale," says Violet, with unwonted excitement. "Oh, +Mona, tell us how you managed it." + +"Well, just after luncheon Letitia, your maid, brought me a note. I +opened it. It was from Paul Rodney, asking me to meet him at three +o'clock, as he had something of importance to say that concerned not me +but those I loved. When he said _that_," says Mona, looking round upon +them all with a large, soft, comprehensive glance, and a sweet smile, "I +knew he meant _you_. So I went. I got into my coat and hat, and ran all +the way to the spot he had appointed,--the big chestnut-tree near the +millstream: you know it, Geoff, don't you?" + +"Yes, I know it," says Geoffrey. + +"He was there before me, and almost immediately he drew the will from +his pocket, and said he would give it to me if--if--well, he gave it to +me," says Mrs. Geoffrey, changing color as she remembers her merciful +escape. "And he desired me to tell you, Nicholas, that he would never +claim the title, as it was useless to him and it sits so sweetly on you. +And then I clutched the will, and held it tightly, and ran all the way +back with it, and--and that's all!" + +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. + +"Why have you taken all this trouble about us?" says Lady Rodney, +leaning forward to look at the girl anxiously, her voice low and +trembling. + +At this Mona, being a creature of impulse, grows once more pale and +troubled. + +"It was for you," she says, hanging her head. "I thought if I could do +something to make you happier, you might learn to love me a little!" + +"I have wronged you," says Lady Rodney, in a low tone, covering her face +with her hands. + +"Go to her," says Geoffrey, and Mona, slipping from his embrace, falls +on her knees at his mother's feet. With one little frightened hand she +tries to possess herself of the fingers that shield the elder woman's +face. + +"It is too late," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone. "I have said so +many things about you, that--that----" + +"I don't care what you have said," interrupts Mona, quickly. She has her +arms round Lady Rodney's waist by this time, and is regarding her +beseechingly. + +"There is too much to forgive," says Lady Rodney, and as she speaks two +tears roll down her cheeks. This evidence of emotion from her is worth a +torrent from another. + +"Let there be no talk of forgiveness between you and me," says Mona, +very sweetly, after which Lady Rodney fairly gives way, and placing her +arms round the kneeling girl, draws her to her bosom and kisses her +tenderly. + +Every one is delighted. Perhaps Nolly and Jack Rodney are conscious of a +wild desire to laugh, but if so, they manfully suppress it, and behave +as decorously as the rest. + +"Now I am quite, quite happy," says Mona, and, rising from her knees, +she goes back again to Geoffrey, and stands beside him. "Tell them all +about last night," she says, looking up at him, "and the secret +cupboard." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +HOW THE RODNEYS MAKE MERRY OVER THE SECRET PANEL--HOW GEOFFREY QUESTIONS +MONA--AND HOW, WHEN JOY IS AT ITS HIGHEST EVIL TIDINGS SWEEP DOWN UPON +THEM. + + +At the mention of the word "secret" every one grows very much alive at +once. Even Lady Rodney dries her tears and looks up expectantly. + +"Yes, Geoffrey and I have made a discovery,--a most important one,--and +it has lain heavy on our breasts all day. Now tell them everything about +last night, Geoff, from beginning to end." + +Thus adjured,--though in truth he requires little pressing, having been +devoured with a desire since early dawn to reveal the hidden knowledge +that is in his bosom,--Geoffrey relates to them the adventure of the +night before. Indeed, he gives such a brilliant coloring to the tale +that every one is stricken dumb with astonishment, Mona herself perhaps +being the most astonished of all. However, like a good wife, she makes +no comments, and contradicts his statements not at all, so that +(emboldened by her evident determination not to interfere with anything +he may choose to say) he gives them such a story as absolutely brings +down the house,--metaphorically speaking. + +"A secret panel! Oh, how enchanting! do, _do_ show it to me!" cries +Doatie Darling, when this marvellous recital has come to an end. "If +there is one thing I adore, it is a secret chamber, or a closet in a +house, or a ghost." + +"You may have the ghosts all to yourself. I sha'n't grudge them to you. +I'll have the cupboards," says Nicholas, who has grown at least ten +years younger during the last hour. "Mona, show us this one." + +Mona, drawing a chair to the panelled wall, steps up on it, and, +pressing her finger on the seventh panel, it slowly rolls back, +betraying the vacuum behind. + +They all examine it with interest, Nolly being specially voluble on the +occasion. + +"And to think we all sat pretty nearly every evening within a yard or +two of that blessed will, and never knew anything about it!" he says, at +last, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. + +"Yes, that is just what occurred to me," says Mona, nodding her head +sympathetically. + +"No? did it?" says Nolly, sentimentally. "How--how awfully satisfactory +it is to know we both thought alike on even one subject!" + +Mona, after a stare of bewilderment that dies at its birth, gives way to +laughter: she is still standing on the chair, and looking down on Nolly, +who is adoring her in the calm and perfectly open manner that belongs to +him. + +Just then Dorothy says,-- + +"Shut it up tight again, Mona, and let _me_ try to open it." And, Mona +having closed the panel again and jumped down off the chair, Doatie +takes her place, and, supported by Nicholas, opens and shuts the secret +door again and again to her heart's content. + +"It is quite simple: there is no deception," says Mr. Darling, +addressing the room, with gracious encouragement in his tone, shrugging +his shoulders and going through all the airs and graces that belong to +the orthodox French showman. + +"It is quite necessary you should know all about it," says Nicholas, in +a low tone, to Dorothy, whom he is holding carefully, as though under +the mistaken impression that young women if left on chairs without +support invariably fall off them. "As the future mistress here, you +ought to be up to every point connected with the old place." + +Miss Darling blushes. It is so long since she has given way to this +weakness that now she does it warmly and generously, as though to make +up for other opportunities neglected. She scrambles down off the chair, +and, going up to Mona, surprises that heroine of the hour by bestowing +upon her a warm though dainty hug. + +"It is all your doing. How wretched we should have been had we never +seen you!" she says, with tears of gratitude in her eyes. + +Altogether it is a very exciting and pleasurable moment. + +The panel is as good as a toy to them. They all open it by turns, and +wonder over it, and rejoice in it. But Geoffrey, taking Mona aside, says +curiously, and a little gravely,-- + +"Tell me why you hesitated in your speech a while ago. Talking of +Rodney's giving you the will, you said he offered to give it you +if--if----What did the 'if' mean?" + +"Come over to the window, and I will tell you," says Mrs. Geoffrey. +"He--he--you must take no notice of it, Geoffrey, but he wanted to kiss +me. He offered me the will for one kiss, and----" + +"You didn't get possession of it in that way?" asks he, seizing her +hands and trying to read her face. + +"Oh, no! But listen to my story. When he saw how I hated his proposal, +he very generously forgave the price, and let me have the document a +free gift. That was rather good of him, was it not? because men like +having their own way, you know." + +"Very self-denying of him, indeed," says Geoffrey, with a slight sneer, +and a sigh of relief. + +"Had I given in, would you have been very angry?" asks she regarding him +earnestly. + +"Very." + +"Then what a mercy it is I didn't do it!" says Mona, naively. "I was +very near it, do you know? I had actually said 'Yes,' because I could +not make up my mind to lose the deed, when he let me off the bargain. +But, if he had persisted, I tell you honestly I am quite sure I should +have let him kiss me." + +"Mona, don't talk like that," says Geoffrey, biting his lips. + +"Well, but, after all, one can't be much of a friend if one can't +sacrifice one's self sometimes for those one loves," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +reproachfully. "You would have done it yourself in my place!" + +"What! kiss the Australian? I'd see him--very well--that is--ahem! I +certainly would not, you know," says Mr. Rodney. + +"Well, I suppose I am wrong," says Mona, with a sigh. "Are you very +angry with me, Geoff? Would you ever have forgiven me if I had done it?" + +"I should," says Geoffrey, pressing her hands. "You would always be to +me the best and truest woman alive. But--but I shouldn't have liked it." + +"Well, neither should I!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, with conviction. "I should +perfectly have hated it. But I should never have forgiven myself if he +had gone away with the will." + +"It is quite a romance," says Jack Rodney: "I never heard anything like +it before off the stage." He is speaking to the room generally. "I doubt +if any one but you, Mona, would have got the will out of him. He hates +the rest of us like poison." + +"But--bless me!--how awfully he must be in love with you to resign the +Towers for your sake!" says Nolly, suddenly giving words to the thought +that has been tormenting him for some time. + +As this is the idea that has haunted every one since the disclosure, and +that they each and all have longed but feared to discuss, they now +regard Nolly with admiration,--all save Lady Rodney, who, remembering +her unpleasant insinuations of an hour ago, moves uneasily in her chair, +and turns an uncomfortable crimson. + +Mona is, however, by no means disconcerted; she lifts her calm eyes to +Nolly's, and answers him without even a blush. + +"Do you know it never occurred to me until this afternoon?" she says, +simply; "but now I think--I may be mistaken, but I really do think he +fancies himself in love with me. A very silly fancy, of course." + +"He must adore you; and no wonder, too," says Mr. Darling, so +emphatically that every one smiles, and Jack, clapping him on the back, +says,-- + +"Well done, Nolly! Go it again, old chap!" + +"Oh, Mona, what courage you showed! Just imagine staying in the library +when you found yourself face to face with a person you never expected to +see, and in the dead of night, with every one sound asleep! In your case +I should either have fainted or rushed back to my bedroom again as fast +as my feet could carry me; and I believe," says Dorothy, with +conviction, "I should so far have forgotten myself as to scream every +inch of the way." + +"I don't believe you would," says Mona. "A great shock sobers one. I +forgot to be frightened until it was all over. And then the dogs were a +great support." + +"When he held the pistol to your forehead, didn't you scream then?" asks +Violet. + +"To my forehead?" says Mona, puzzled; and then she glances at Geoffrey, +remembering that this was one of the slight variations with which he +adorned his tale. + +"No, she didn't," interposes he, lightly. "She never funked it for a +moment: she's got any amount of pluck. He didn't exactly press it +against her forehead, you know; but," airily, "it is all the same +thing." + +"When you got the pistol so cleverly into your own possession, why on +earth didn't you shoot him?" demands Mr. Darling, gloomily, who +evidently feels bloodthirsty when he thinks of the Australian and his +presumptuous admiration for the peerless Mona. + +"Ah! sure you know I wouldn't do that, now," returns she, with a +stronger touch of her native brogue than she has used for many a day; at +which they all laugh heartily, even Lady Rodney chiming in as easily as +though the day had never been when she had sneered contemptuously at +that selfsame Irish tongue. + +"Well, 'All's well that ends well,'" says Captain Rodney, thoughtlessly. +"If that delectable cousin of ours would only sink into the calm and +silent grave now, we might even have the title back without fear of +dispute, and find ourselves just where we began." + +It is at this very moment the library door is suddenly flung open, and +Jenkins appears upon the threshold, with his face as white as nature +will permit, and his usually perfect manner much disturbed. "Sir +Nicholas, can I speak to you for a moment?" he says, with much +excitement, growing positively apoplectic in his endeavor to be calm. + +"What is it, Jenkins? Speak!" says Lady Rodney, rising from her chair, +and staying him, as he would leave the room, by an imperious gesture. + +"Oh, my lady, if I must speak," cries the old man, "but it is terrible +news to tell without a word of warning. Mr. Paul Rodney is dying: he +shot himself half an hour ago, and is lying now at Rawson's Lodge in the +beech wood." + +Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward. + +"Shot himself! How?" she says, hoarsely, her bosom rising and falling +tumultuously. "Jenkins, answer me." + +"Tell us, Jenkins," says Nicholas, hastily. + +"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going +home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and +injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is +with him, says there is no hope." + +"No hope!" says Mona, with terrible despair in her voice: "then I have +killed him. It was I returned him that pistol this evening. It is my +fault,--mine. It is I have caused his death." + +This thought seems to overwhelm her. She raises her hands to her head, +and an expression of keenest anguish creeps into her eyes. She sways a +little, and would have fallen, but that Jack Rodney, who is nearest to +her at this moment, catches her in his arms. + +"Mona," says Nicholas, roughly, laying his hand on her shoulder, and +shaking her slightly, "I forbid you talking like that. It is nobody's +fault. It is the will of God. It is morbid and sinful of you to let such +a thought enter your head." + +"So it is really, Mrs. Geoffrey, you know," says Nolly, placing his hand +on her other shoulder to give her a second shake. "Nick's quite right. +Don't take it to heart; don't now. You might as well say the gunsmith +who originally sold him the fatal weapon is responsible for this +unhappy event, as--as that you are." + +"Besides, it may be an exaggeration," suggests Geoffrey "he may not be +so bad as they say." + +"I fear there is no doubt of it, sir," says Jenkins, respectfully, who +in his heart of hearts looks upon this timely accident as a direct +interposition of Providence. "And the messenger who came (and who is now +in the hall, Sir Nicholas, if you would wish to question him) says Dr. +Bland sent him up to let you know at once of the unfortunate +occurrence." + +Having said all this without a break, Jenkins feels he has outdone +himself, and retires on his laurels. + +Nicholas, going into the outer hall, cross-examines the boy who has +brought the melancholy tidings, and, having spoken to him for some time, +goes back to the library with a face even graver than it was before. + +"The poor fellow is calling for you, Mona, incessantly," he says. "It +remains with you to decide whether you will go to him or not. Geoffrey, +_you_ should have a voice in this matter, and I think she ought to go." + +"Oh, Mona, do go--do," entreats Doatie, who is in tears. "Poor, poor +fellow! I wish now I had not been so rude to him." + +"Geoffrey, will you take me to him?" says Mona, rousing herself. + +"Yes. Hurry, darling. If you think you can bear it, you should lose no +time. Minutes even, I fear, are precious in this case." + +Then some one puts on her again the coat she had taken off such a short +time since, and some one else puts on her sealskin cap and twists her +black lace round her white throat, and then she turns to go on her sad +mission. All their joy is turned to mourning, their laughter to tears. + +Nicholas, who had left the room again, returns now, bringing with him a +glass of wine, which he compels her to swallow, and then, pale and +frightened, but calmer than she was before, she leaves the house, and +starts with Geoffrey for the gamekeeper's lodge, where lies the man they +had so dreaded, impotent in the arms of death. + +Night is creeping up over the land. Already in the heavens the pale +crescent moon just born rides silently,-- + + "Wi' the auld moon in hir arme," + +A deep hush has fallen upon everything. The air is cold and piercing. +Mona shivers, and draws even closer to Geoffrey, as, mute, yet full of +saddest thought, they move through the leafless wood. + +As they get within view of the windows of Rawson's cottage, they are met +by Dr. Bland, who has seen them coming, and has hurried out to receive +them. + +"Now, this is kind,--very kind," says the little man, approvingly, +shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he +is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad +case,--very--very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in." + +He draws Mrs. Geoffrey's hand through his arm, and goes towards the +lodge. + +"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely. + +"None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage +has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, +poor boy!" + +"Oh! can nothing be done?" asks Mona, turning to him eyes full of +entreaty. + +"My dear, what I could do, I have done," says the little man, patting +her hand in his kind fatherly fashion; "but he has gone beyond human +skill. And now one thing: you have come here, I know, with the tender +thought of soothing his last hours: therefore I entreat you to be calm +and very quiet. Emotion will only distress him, and, if you feel too +nervous, you know--perhaps--eh?" + +"I shall not be too nervous," says Mona, but her face blanches afresh +even as she speaks; and Geoffrey sees it. + +"If it is too much for you, darling, say so," whispers he; "or shall I +go with you?" + +"It is better she should go alone," says Dr. Bland. "He would be quite +unequal to two; and besides,--pardon me,--from what he has said to me I +fear there were unpleasant passages between you and him." + +"There were," confesses Geoffrey, reluctantly, and in a low tone. "I +wish now from my soul it had been otherwise. I regret much that has +taken place." + +"We all have regrets at times, dear boy, the very best of us," says the +little doctor, blowing his nose: "who among us is faultless? And really +the circumstances were very trying for you,--very--eh? Yes, of course +one understands, you know; but death heals all divisions, and he is +hurrying to his last account, poor lad, all too soon." + +They have entered the cottage by this time, and are standing in the tiny +hall. + +"Open that door, Mrs. Geoffrey," says the doctor pointing to his right +hand. "I saw you coming, and have prepared him for the interview. I +shall be just here, or in the next room, if you should want me. But I +can do little for him more than I have done." + +"You will be near too, Geoffrey?" murmurs Mona, falteringly. + +"Yes, yes; I promise for him," says Dr. Bland. "In fact, I have +something to say to your husband that must be told at once." + +Then Mona, opening the door indicated to her by the doctor, goes into +the chamber beyond, and is lost to their view for some time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +HOW MONA COMFORTS PAUL RODNEY--HOW NIGHT AND DEATH DESCEND TOGETHER--AND +HOW PAUL RODNEY DISPOSES OF HIS PROPERTY. + + +On a low bed, with his eyes fastened eagerly upon the door, lies Paul +Rodney, the dews of death already on his face. + +There is no disfigurement about him to be seen, no stain of blood, no +ugly mark; yet he is touched by the pale hand of the destroyer, and is +sinking, dying, withering beneath it. He has aged at least ten years +within the last fatal hour, while in his eyes lies an expression so full +of hungry expectancy and keen longing as amounts almost to anguish. + +As Mona advances to his side, through the gathering gloom of fast +approaching night, pale almost as he is, and trembling in every limb, +this miserable anxiety dies out of his face, leaving behind it a rest +and peace unutterable. + +To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face +with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,--the breaking +of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be +looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to +receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. +His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the +grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the +earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate +but the last change of all. + +"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never +understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?" + +"You have come," he says, with a quick sigh that be speaks relief. "I +knew you would. I felt it; yet I feared. Oh, what comfort to see you +again!" + +Mona tries to say something,--anything that will be kind and +sympathetic,--but words fail her. Her lips part, but no sound escapes +them. The terrible reality of the moment terrifies and overcomes her. + +"Do not try to make me any commonplace speeches," says Rodney, marking +her hesitation. He speaks hastily, yet with evident difficulty. "I am +dying. Nothing, can alter that. But death has brought you to my side +again, so I cannot repine." + +"But to find you like this"--begins Mona. And then overcome by grief and +agitation, she covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. + +"Mona! Are you crying for me?" says Paul Rodney, as though surprised. +"Do not. Your tears hurt me more than this wound that has done me to +death." + +"Oh, if I had not given you that pistol," sobs Mona, who cannot conquer +the horror of the thought that she has helped him to his death, "you +would be alive and strong now." + +"Yes,--and miserable! you forget to add that. Now everything seems +squared. In the grave neither grief nor revenge can find a place. And as +for you, what have you to do with my fate?--nothing. What should you not +return to me my own? and why should I not die by the weapon I had dared +to level against yourself? There is a justice in it that smacks of +Sadlers' Wells." + +He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has +forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder +than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,--because +the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his +lips in its stead. + +"Listen to me," he goes on, in a lower key, and with some slight signs +of exhaustion. "I am glad to die,--unfeignedly glad: therefore rejoice +with me! Why should you waste a tear on such as I am? Do you remember +how I told you (barely two hours ago) that my life had come to an end +where other fellows hope to begin theirs? I hardly knew myself how +prophetic my words would prove." + +"It is terrible, terrible," says Mona, piteously sinking on her knees +beside the bed. One of his hands is lying outside the coverlet, and, +with a gesture full of tender regret, she lays her own upon it. + +"Are you in pain?" she says, in a low, fearful tone. "Do you suffer +much?" + +"I suffer nothing: I have no pain now. I am inexpressibly, happy," +replies he, with a smile radiant, though languid. Forgetful of his +unfortunate state, he raises his other hand, and, bringing it across the +bed, tries to place it on Mona's. But the action is too much for him. +His face takes a leaden hue, more ghastly than its former pallor, and, +in spite of an heroic effort to suppress it, a deep groan escapes him. + +"Ah!" says Mona, springing to her feet, and turning to the door, as +though to summon aid; but he stops her by a gesture. + +"No, it is nothing. It will be over in a moment," gasps he. "Give me +some brandy, and help me to cheat Death of his prey for a little time, +if it be possible." + +Seeing brandy, on a table near, she pours a little into a glass with a +shaking hand, and passing her arm beneath his neck, holds it to his +parched lips. + +It revives him somewhat. And presently the intenser pallor dies away, +and speech returns to him. + +"Do not call for assistance," he whispers, imploringly. "They can do me +no good. Stay with me. Do not forsake me. Swear you will remain with me +to--to the end." + +"I promise you faithfully," says Mona. + +"It is too much to ask, but I dread being alone," he goes on, with a +quick shudder of fear and repulsion. "It is a dark and terrible journey +to take, with no one near who loves one, with no one to feel a single +regret when one has departed." + +"_I_ shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down +her cheeks. + +"Give me your hand again," says Rodney, after a pause; and when she +gives it to him he says, "Do you know this is the nearest approach to +real happiness I have ever known in all my careless, useless life? What +is it Shakspeare says about the folly of loving 'a bright particular +star'? I always think of you when that line comes to my mind. You are +the star; mine is the folly." + +He smiles again, but Mona is too sad to smile in return. + +"How did it happen?" she asks, presently. + +"I don't know myself. I wandered in a desultory fashion through the wood +on leaving you, not caring to return home just then, and I was thinking +of--of you, of course--when I stumbled against something (they tell me +it was a gnarled root that had thrust itself above ground), and then +there was a report, and a sharp pang; and that was all. I remember +nothing. The gamekeeper found me a few minutes later, and had me brought +here." + +"You are talking too much," says Mona, nervously. + +"I may as well talk while I can: soon you will not be able to hear me, +when the grass is growing over me," replies he, recklessly. "It was +hardly worth my while to deliver you up that will, was it? Is not Fate +ironical? Now it is all as it was before I came upon the scene, and +Nicholas has the title without dispute. I wish we had been better +friends,--he at least was civil to me,--but I was reared with hatred in +my heart towards all the Rodneys; I was taught to despise and fear them +as my natural enemies, from my cradle." + +Then, after a pause, "Where will they bury me?" he asks, suddenly. "Do +you think they will put me in the family vault?" He seems to feel some +anxiety on this point. + +"Whatever you wish shall be done," says Mona earnestly, knowing she can +induce Nicholas to accede to any request of hers. + +"Are you sure?" asks he, his face brightening. "Remember how they have +drawn back from me. I was their own first-cousin,--the son of their +father's brother,--yet they treated me as the veriest outcast." + +Then Mona says, in a trembling voice and rather disconnectedly, because +of her emotion, "Be quite sure you shall be--buried--where all the other +baronets of Rodney lie at rest." + +"Thank you," murmurs he, gratefully. There is evidently comfort in the +thought. Then after a moment or two he goes on again, as though +following out a pleasant idea: "Some day, perhaps, that vault will hold +you too; and there at least we shall meet again, and be side by side." + +"I wish you would not talk of being buried," says Mona, with a sob. +"There is no comfort in the tomb: _there_ our dust may mingle, but in +_heaven_ our souls shall meet, I trust,--I hope." + +"Heaven," repeats he, with a sigh. "I have forgotten to think of +heaven." + +"Think of it now, Paul,--now before it is too late," entreats she, +piteously. "Try to pray: there is always mercy." + +"Pray for me!" says he, in a low tone, pressing her hand. So on her +knees, in a subdued voice, sad but earnest, she repeats what prayers she +can remember out of the grand Service that belongs to us. One or two +sentences from the Litany come to her; and then some words rise from her +own heart, and she puts up a passionate supplication to heaven that the +passing soul beside her, however erring, may reach some haven where rest +remaineth! + +Some time elapses before he speaks again, and Mona is almost hoping he +may have fallen into a quiet slumber, when he opens his eyes and says, +regretfully,-- + +"What a different life mine might have been had I known you earlier!" +Then, with a faint flush, that vanishes almost as it comes, as though +without power to stay, he says, "Did your husband object to your coming +here?" + +"Geoffrey? Oh, no. It was he who brought me. He bade me hasten lest you +should even imagine me careless about coming. And--and--he desired me to +say how he regrets the harsh words he uttered and the harsher thoughts +he may have entertained towards you. Forgive him, I implore you, and die +in peace with him and all men." + +"Forgive him!" says Rodney. "Surely, however unkind the thoughts he may +have cherished for me, I must forget and forgive them now, seeing all he +has done for me. Has he not made smooth my last hours? Has he not lent +me you? Tell him I bear him no ill will." + +"I will tell him," says Mona. + +He is silent for a full minute; then he says,-- + +"I have given a paper to Dr. Bland for you: it will explain what I wish. +And, Mona, there are some papers in my room: will you see to them for me +and have them burned?" + +"I will burn them with my own hands," says Mona. + +"How comforting you are!--how you understand," he says, with a quick +sigh. "There is something else: that fellow Ridgway, who opened the +window for me, he must be seen to. Let him have the money mentioned in +the paper, and send him to my mother: she will look after him for my +sake. My poor mother!" he draws his breath quickly. + +"Shall I write to her?" asks Mona, gently. "Say what you wish done." + +"It would be kind of you," says he, gratefully. "She will want to know +all, and you will do it more tenderly than the others. Do not dwell upon +my sins; and say I died--happy. Let her too have a copy of the paper Dr. +Bland has now." + +"I shall remember," says Mona, not knowing what the paper contains. "And +who am I, that I should dwell upon the sins of another? Are you tired, +Paul? How fearfully pale you are looking!" + +He is evidently quite exhausted. His brow is moist, his eyes are sunken, +his lips more pallid, more death-like than they were before. In little +painful gasps his breath comes fitfully. Then all at once it occurs to +Mona that though he is looking at her he does not see her. His mind has +wandered far away to those earlier days when England was unknown and +when the free life of the colony was all he desired. + +As Mona gazes at him half fearfully, he raises himself suddenly on his +elbow, and says, in a tone far stronger than he has yet used,-- + +"How brilliant the moonlight is to-night! See--watch"--eagerly--"how the +shadows chase each other down the Ranger's Hill!" + +Mona looks up startled. The faint rays of the new-born moon are indeed +rushing through the casement, and are flinging themselves languidly upon +the opposite wall, but they are pale and wan, as moonlight is in its +infancy, and anything but brilliant. Besides, Rodney's eyes are turned +not on them, but on the door that can be seen just over Mona's head, +where no beams disport themselves, however weakly. + +"Lie down: you will hurt yourself again," she says, trying gently to +induce him to return to his former recumbent position; but he resists +her. + +"Who has taken my orders about the sheep?" he says, in a loud voice, and +in an imperious tone, his eyes growing bright but uncertain. "Tell +Grainger to see to it. My father spoke about it again only yesterday. +The upper pastures are fresher--greener----" + +His voice breaks: with a groan he sinks back again upon his pillow. + +"Mona, are you still there?" he says, with a return to consciousness: +"did I dream, or did my father speak to me? How the night comes on!" He +sighs wearily. "I am so tired,--so worn out: if I could only sleep!" he +murmurs, faintly. + +Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man +waketh! + +His breath grows fainter, his eyelids close. + + * * * * * + +Some one comes in with a lamp, and places it on a distant table, where +its rays cannot distress the dying man. + +Dr. Bland, coming into the room, goes up to the bedside and feels his +pulse, and tries to put something between his lips, but he refuses to +take anything. + +"It will strengthen you," he says, persuasively. + +"No, it is of no use: it only wearies me. My best medicine, my only +medicine, is here," returns Paul, feebly pressing Mona's hand. He is +answering the doctor, but he does not look at him. As he speaks, his +gaze is riveted upon Mona. + +Dr. Bland, putting down the glass, forbears to torment him further, and +moves away; Geoffrey, who has also come in, takes his place. Bending +over the dying man, he touches him lightly on the shoulder. + +Paul turns his head, and as he sees Geoffrey a quick spasm that betrays +fear crosses his face. + +"Do not take her away yet,--not yet," he says, in a faint whisper. + +"No, no. She will stay," says Geoffrey, hurriedly: "I only want to tell +you, my dear fellow, how grieved I am for you, and how gladly I would +undo many things--if I could." + +The other smiles faintly. He is evidently glad because of Geoffrey's +words, but speech is now very nearly impossible to him. His attempt to +rise, to point out the imaginary moonlight to Mona, has greatly wasted +his small remaining stock of life, and now but a thin partition, frail +and broken, lies between him and that inexorable Rubicon we all must one +day pass. + +Then he turns his head away again to let his eyes rest on Mona, as +though nowhere else can peace or comfort be found. + +Geoffrey, moving to one side, stands where he can no longer be seen, +feeling instinctively that the ebbing life before him finds its sole +consolation in the thought of Mona. She is all he desires. From her he +gains courage to face the coming awful moment, when he shall have to +clasp the hand of Death and go forth with him to meet the great unknown. + +Presently he closes his fingers upon hers, and looking up, she sees his +lips are moving, though no sound escapes them. Leaning over him, she +bends her face to his and whispers softly,-- + +"What is it?" + +"It is nearly over," he gasps, painfully. "Say good-by to me. Do not +quite forget me, not utterly. Give me some small place in your memory, +though--so unworthy." + +"I shall not forget; I shall always remember," returns she, the tears +running down her cheeks; and then, through divine pity, and perhaps +because Geoffrey is here to see her, she stoops and lays her lips upon +his forehead. + +Never afterwards will she forget the glance of gratitude that meets +hers, and that lights up all his face, even his dim eyes, as she grants +him this gentle pitiful caress. + +"Pray for me," he says. + +And then she falls upon her knees again, and Geoffrey in the background, +though unseen, kneels too; and Mona, in a broken voice, because she is +crying very bitterly now, whispers some words of comfort for the dying. + +The minutes go by slowly, slowly; a clock from some distant steeple +chimes the hour. The soft pattering of rain upon the walk outside, and +now upon the window-pane, is all the sound that can be heard. + +In the death-chamber silence reigns. No one moves, their very breathing +seems hushed. Paul Rodney's eyes are closed. No faintest movement +disturbs the slumber into which he seems to have fallen. + +Thus half an hour goes by. Then Geoffrey, growing uneasy, raises his +head and looks at Mona. From where he sits the bed is hidden from him, +but he can see that she is still kneeling beside it, her hand in +Rodney's, her face hidden in the bedclothes. + +The doctor at this instant returns to the room, and, going on tiptoe (as +though fearful of disturbing the sleeper) to where Mona is kneeling, +looks anxiously at Rodney. But, alas! no sound of earth will evermore +disturb the slumber of the quiet figure upon which he gazes. + +The doctor, after a short examination of the features (that are even now +turning to marble), knits his brows, and, going over to Geoffrey, +whispers something into his ear while pointing to Mona. + +"At once," he says, with emphasis. + +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. + +"Come," he says, gently. + +"Oh, not yet!" entreats faithful Mona, in a miserable tone; "not _yet_. +Remember what I said. I promised to remain with him until the very end." + +"You have kept your promise," returns he, solemnly, pressing her face +still closer against his chest. + +A strong shudder runs through her frame; she grows a little heavier in +his embrace. Seeing she has fainted, he lifts her in his arms and +carries her out of the room. + + * * * * * + +Later on, when they open the paper that had been given by the dead man +into the keeping of Dr. Bland, and which proves to be his will, duly +signed and witnessed by the gamekeeper and his son, they find he has +left to Mona all of which he died possessed. It amounts to about two +thousand a year; of which one thousand is to come to her at once, the +other on the death of his mother. + +To Ridgway, the under-gardener, he willed three hundred pounds, "as some +small compensation for the evil done to him," so runs the document, +written in a distinct but trembling hand. And then follow one or two +bequests to those friends he had left in Australia and some to the few +from whom he had received kindness in colder England. + +No one is forgotten by him; though once "he is dead and laid in grave" +he is forgotten by most. + +They put him to rest in the family vault, where his ancestors lie side +by side,--as Mona promised him,--and write Sir Paul Rodney over his +head, giving him in death the title they would gladly have withheld from +him in life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +HOW MONA DEFENDS THE DEAD--AND HOW LADY LILIAS EATON WAXES ELOQUENT. + + +As hour follows upon hour, even the most poignant griefs grow less. +Nature sooner or later will come to the rescue, and hope "springing +eternal" will cast despair into the background. Paul Rodney's death +being rather more a shock than a grief to the inmates of the Towers, the +remembrance of it fades from their minds with a rapidity that astonishes +even themselves. + +Mona, as is only natural, clings longest to the memory of that terrible +day when grief and gladness had been so closely blended, when tragedy +followed so fast upon their comedy that laughter and tears embraced each +other and gloom overpowered their sunshine. Yet even she brightens up, +and is quite herself again by the time the "merry month of May" comes +showering down upon them all its wealth of blossom, and music of glad +birds, as they chant in glade and dell. + +Yet in her heart the erring cousin is not altogether forgotten. There +are moments in every day when she recalls him to her mind, nor does she +ever pass the huge tomb where his body lies at rest, awaiting the last +trump, without a kindly thought of him and a hope that his soul is safe +in heaven. + +The county has behaved on the occasion somewhat disgracefully, and has +declared itself to a man--without any reservation--unfeignedly glad of +the chance that has restored Sir Nicholas to his own again. Perhaps what +they just do _not_ say is that they are delighted Paul Rodney shot +himself: this might sound brutal, and one must draw the line somewhere, +and a last remnant of decency compels them to draw it at this point. But +it is the thinnest line possible, and easily stepped across. + +Even the duchess refuses to see anything regrettable in the whole +affair, and expresses herself to Lady Rodney on the subject of her +nephew's death in terms that might almost be called congratulatory. She +has been listened to in silence, of course, and with a deprecating shake +of the head, but afterwards Lady Rodney is unable to declare to herself +that the duchess has taken anything but a sound common-sense view of the +matter. + +In her own heart, and in the secret recesses of her chamber, Nicholas's +mother blesses Mona for having returned the pistol that February +afternoon to the troublesome young man (who is so well out of the way), +and has entertained a positive affection for the roots of trees ever +since the sad (?) accident. + +But these unholy thoughts belong to her own breast alone, and are hidden +carefully out of sight, lest any should guess at them. + +The duke calling at the Towers about a month after Paul Rodney's death, +so far forgets himself as to say to Mona, who is present,-- + +"Awful luck, your getting rid of that cousin, eh? Such an uncomfortable +fellow, don't you know, and so uncommonly in the way." + +At which Mona had turned her eyes upon him,--eyes that literally flashed +rebuke, and had told him slowly, but with meaning, that he should +remember the dead could not defend themselves, and that she, for one, +had not as yet learned to regard the death of any man as "awful luck." + +"Give you my word," said the duke afterwards to a select assembly, "when +she looked at me then out of her wonderful Irish eyes, and said all that +with her musical brogue, I never felt so small in all my life. Reg'lar +went into my boots, you know, and stayed there. But she is, without +chaff or that, she really _is_ the most charming woman I ever met." + +Lady Lilias Eaton, too, had been rather fine upon the Rodney ups and +downs. The history of the Australian's devotion had been as a revelation +to her. She had actually come out of herself, and had neglected the +Ancient Britons for a full day and a half,--on the very highest +authority,--merely to talk about Paul Rodney. Surely "nothing in his +life became him like the leaving it:" of all those who would scarcely +speak to him when living, not one but converses of him familiarly now he +is dead. + +"So very strange, so unparalleled in this degenerate age," says Lady +Lilias to Lady Rodney speaking of the will episode generally, and with +as near an approach to enthusiasm as it is possible to her to produce, +"A secret panel? How interesting! We lack that at Anadale. Pray, dear +Lady Rodney, do tell me all about it again." + +Whereupon Lady Rodney, to whom the whole matter is "cakes and ale," does +tell it all over again, relating every incident from the removal of the +will from the library by Paul, to his surrender of it next day to Mona. + +Lady Lilias is delighted. + +"It is quite perfect, the whole story. It reminds me of the ballads +about King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table." + +"Which? the stealing of the will?" asks Lady Rodney, innocently. She +knows nothing about the Ancient Britons, and abhors the very sound of +their name, regarding them as indecent, immoral people, who went about +insufficiently clothed. Of King Arthur and his round knights (as she +_will_ call them, having once got so hopelessly mixed on the subject as +to disallow of her ever being disentangled again) she knows even less, +beyond what Tennyson has taught her. + +She understands, indeed, that Sir Launcelot was a very naughty +young man, who should not have been received in respectable +houses,--especially as he had no money to speak of,--and that Sir Modred +and Sir Gawain, had they lived in this critical age, would undoubtedly +have been pronounced bad form and expelled from decent clubs. And, +knowing this much, she takes it for granted that the stealing of a will +or more would be quite in their line: hence her speech. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, no," cries the horrified Æsthetic, rather losing +faith in her hostess. "I mean about his resigning lands and heritage, +position, title, everything--all that a man holds most dear, for a mere +sentiment. And then it was so nice of him to shoot himself, and leave +her all his money. Surely you must see that?" + +She has actually forgotten to pose, and is leaning forward quite +comfortably with her arms crossed on her knees. I am convinced she has +not been so happy for years. + +Lady Rodney is somewhat shocked, at this view of the case. + +"You must understand," she says emphatically, "he did not shoot himself +purposely. It was an accident,--a pure accident." + +"Well, yes, so they say," returns her visitor, airily who is plainly +determined not to be done out of a good thing, and insists on bringing +in deliberate suicide as a fit ending to this enthralling tale. "And of +course it is very nice of every one, and quite right too. But there is +no doubt, I think, that he loved her. You will pardon me, Lady Rodney, +but I am convinced he adored Mrs. Geoffrey." + +"Well, he may have," admits Lady Rodney, reluctantly, who has grown +strangely jealous of Mona's reputation of late. As she speaks she colors +faintly. "I must beg you to believe," she says, "that Mona up to the +very last was utterly unaware of his infatuation." + +"Why, of course; of course. One can see that at a glance. And if it were +otherwise the whole story would be ruined,--would instantly become tame +and commonplace,--would be, indeed," says Lady Lilias, with a massive +wave of her large white hand, "I regret to say, an occurrence of +everyday life. The singular beauty that now attaches to it would +disappear. It is the fact that his passion was unrequited, +unacknowledged, and that yet he was content to sacrifice his life for +it, that creates its charm." + +"Yes, I dare say," says Lady Rodney, who is now wondering when this +high-flown visitor will take her departure. + +"It is like a romaunt of the earlier and purer days of chivalry," goes +on Lady Lilias, in her most prosy tone. "Alas! where are they now?" She +pauses for an answer to this difficult question, being in her very +loftiest strain of high art depression. + +"Eh?" says Lady Rodney, rousing from a day-dream. "I don't know, I'm +sure; but I'll see about it; I'll make inquiries." + +In thought she had been miles away, and has just come back to the +present with a start of guilt at her own neglect of her guest. She +honestly believes, in her confusion, that Lady Lilias has been making +some inquiries about the secret panel, and therefore makes her +extraordinary remark with the utmost _bonhommie_ and cheerfulness. + +It is quite too much for the Æsthetic. + +"I don't think you _can_ make an inquiry about the bygone days of +chivalry," she says, somewhat stiffly, and, having shaken the hand of +her bewildered friend, and pecked gently at her cheek, she sails out of +the room, disheartened, and wounded in spirit. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +HOW MONA REFUSES A GALLANT OFFER--AND HOW NOLLY VIEWS LIFE THROUGH THE +BRANCHES OF A PORTUGAL LAUREL. + + +Once again they are all at the Towers. Doatie and her brother--who had +returned to their own home during March and April--have now come back +again to Lady Rodney, who is ever anxious to welcome these two with open +arms. It is to be a last visit from Doatie as a "graceful maiden with a +gentle brow," as Mary Howitt would certainly have called her, next month +having been decided upon as the most fitting for transforming Dorothy +Darling into Dorothy Lady Rodney. In this thought both she and her +betrothed are perfectly happy. + +Mona and Geoffrey have gone to their own pretty house, and are happy +there as they deserve to be,--Mona proving the most charming of +chatelaines, so naive, so gracious, so utterly unaffected, as to win all +hearts. Indeed, there is not in the county a more popular woman than +Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney. + +Yet much of their time is spent at the Towers. Lady Rodney can hardly do +without Mona now, the pretty sympathetic manner and comprehensive glance +and gentle smile having worked their way at last, and found a home in +the heart that had so determinedly hardened itself against her. + +As to Jack and Violet, they have grown of late into a sort of moral +puzzle that nobody can solve. For months they have been gazing at and +talking to each other, have apparently seen nothing but each other, no +matter how many others may be present; and yet it is evident that no +understanding exists between them, and that no formal engagement has +been arrived at. + +"Why on earth," says Nolly, "can't they tell each other, what they have +told the world long ago, that they adore each other? It is so jolly +senseless, don't you know?" + +"I wonder when you will adore any one, Nolly," says Geoffrey, idly. + +"I do adore somebody," returns that ingenuous youth, staring openly at +Mona, who is taking up the last stitch dropped by Lady Rodney in the +little scarlet silk sock she is knitting for Phyllis Carrington's boy. + +"That's me," says Mona, glancing at him archly from under her long +lashes. + +"Now, how did you find it out? who told you?" asks Mr. Darling, with +careful surprise. "Yes, it is true; I don't seek to deny it. The +hopeless passion I entertain for you is dearer to me than any other more +successful affection can ever be. I worship a dream,--an idea,--and am +happier in my maddest moments than others when most same. + +"Bless me, Nolly, you are not going to be ill, are you?" says Geoffrey. +"Such a burst of eloquence is rare." + +"There are times, I confess," goes on Mr. Darling, disposing of +Geoffrey's mundane interruption by a contemptuous wave of the hand, +"when light breaks in upon me, and a joyful, a thrice-blessed +termination to my dream presents itself. For instance, if Geoffrey could +only be brought to see things as they are, and have the grace to quit +this mortal globe and soar to worlds unknown, I should then fling myself +at your feet, and----" + +"Oh--well--don't," interrupts Mrs. Geoffrey, hastily. + +"Eh! you don't mean to say that after all my devotion you would then +refuse me?" asks Mr. Darling, with some disgust. + +"Yes, you, and every other man," says Mona, smiling, and raising her +loving eyes to her husband. + +"I think, sir, after that you may consider yourself flattened," says +Geoffrey, with a laugh. + +"I shall go away," declares Nolly; "I shall go aboard,--at least as far +as the orchard;" then, with a complete change of tone, "By the by, Mrs. +Geoffrey, will you come for a walk? Do: the day is 'heavenly fair.'" + +"Well, not just now, I think," says Mona, evasively. + +"Why not?" persuasively: "it will do you a world of good." + +"Perhaps then a little later on I shall go," returns Mona, who, like all +her countrywomen, detests giving a direct answer, and can never bring +herself to say a decided "no" to any one. + +"As you evidently need support, I'll go with you as far as the stables," +says Geoffrey, compassionately, and together they leave the room, +keeping company until they gain the yard, when Geoffrey turns to the +right and makes for the stables, leaving Nolly to wend his solitary way +to the flowery orchard. + + * * * * * + +It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely +feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow +luxurious calm." + + "Earth putteth on the borrow'd robes of heaven, + And sitteth in a Sabbath of still rest; + And silence swells into a dreamy sound, + That sinks again to silence. + The runnel hath + Its tune beneath the trees, + And through the woodlands swell + The tender trembles of the ringdove's dole." + +The Rodneys are, for the most part, in the library, the room dearest to +them. Mona is telling Doatie's fortune on cards, Geoffrey and Nicholas +are discussing the merits and demerits of a new mare, Lady Rodney in +still struggling with the crimson sock,--when the door is opened, and +Nolly entering adds himself to the group. + +His face is slightly flushed, his whole manner full of importance. He +advances to where the two girls are sitting, and stops opposite Mona. + +"I'll tell you all something," he says, "though I hardly think I ought, +if you will swear not to betray me." + +This speech has the effect of electricity. They all start; with one +consent they give the desired oath. The cards fall to the ground, the +fortune forgotten; the mare becomes of very secondary importance; +another stitch drops in the fated sock. + +"They've done it at last," says Mr. Darling, in a low, compressed voice. +"It is an accomplished fact. I heard 'em myself!" + +As he makes this last extraordinary remark he looks over his left +shoulder, as though fearful of being overheard. + +"Who?" "What?" say Mona and Dorothy, in one breath. + +"Why, Jack and Violet, of course. They've had it out. They are engaged!" + +"No!" says Nicholas; meaning, "How very delightful!" + +"And you heard them? Nolly, explain yourself," says his sister, +severely. + +"I'm going to," says Nolly, "if you will just give me time. Oh, what a +day I've been havin', and how dear! You know I told you I was going to +the orchard for a stroll and with a view to profitable meditation. Well, +I went. At the upper end of the garden there are, as you know, some +Portugal laurels, from which one can get a splendid survey of the +country, and in an evil moment it occurred to me that I should like to +climb one of them and look at the Chetwoode Hills. I had never got +higher than a horse's back since my boyhood, and visions of my earlier +days, when I was young and innocent, overcame me at that----" + +"Oh, never mind your young and innocent days: we never heard of them," +says Dorothy, impatiently. "Do get on to it." + +"I did get on to it, if you mean the laurel," says Nolly with calm +dignity. "I climbed most manfully, and, beyond slipping all down the +trunk of the tree twice, and severely barking my shins, I sustained no +actual injury." + +"What on earth is a shin?" puts in Geoffrey, _sotto voce_. + +"Part of your leg, just below your knee," returns Mr. Darling, +undaunted. "Well, when I got up at last, I found a capital place to sit +in, with a good branch to my back, and I was so pleased with myself and +my exploit that I really think--the day is warm, you know--I fell +asleep. At least I can remember nothing until voices broke upon my ear +right below me." + +Here Mona and Dorothy grow suddenly deeply interested, and lean forward. + +"I parted the leaves of the laurel with cautious hand and looked down. +At my very feet were Jack and Violet, and"--mysteriously--"she was +pinning a flower into his coat!" + +"Is that all?" says Mona, with quick contempt, seeing him pause. "Why, +there is nothing in that! I pinned a flower into _your_ coat only +yesterday." + +The _naivete_ of this speech is not to be surpassed. + +Nolly regards her mournfully. + +"I think you needn't be unkinder to me than you can help!" he says, +reproachfully. "However, to continue. There's a way of doing things, you +know, and the time Violet took to arrange that flower is worthy of +mention; and when at last it was settled to her satisfaction, Jack +suddenly took her hands in his, just like this, Mrs. Geoffrey," going on +his knees before Mona, and possessing himself of both her hands, "and +pressed them against his heart, like this and said he----" + +Nolly pauses. + +"Oh, Nolly, what?" says Mona; "do tell us." She fixes her eyes on his. + +"'What darling little hands you have!'" begins Nolly, quite innocently. + +"Well, really!" says Mona, mistaking him. She moves back with a +heightened color, disengages her hands from his and frowns slightly. + +"I wasn't alluding to your hands; though I might," says Nolly, +pathetically. "I was only going to tell you what Jack said to Violet. +'What darling little hands you have!' he whispered, with the very +silliest expression on his face I ever saw in my life; 'the prettiest +hands in the world. I wish they were mine.' 'Gracious powers!' said I to +myself, 'I'm in for it;' and I was as near falling off the branch of the +tree right into their arms as I could be. The shock was too great. I +suppressed a groan with a manful determination to 'suffer and be +strong,' and----" + +"Never mind all that," says Doatie: "what did she say?" + +By this time both Nicholas and Geoffrey are quite convulsed with +delight. + +"Yes, go on, Noll: what did she say?" repeats Geoffrey, the most +generous encouragement in his tone. They have all, with a determination +worthy of a better cause, made up their minds to forget that they are +listening to what was certainly never meant for them to hear. Or perhaps +consideration for Nolly compels them to keep their ears open, as that +young man is so overcome by the thought of what he has unwillingly gone +through, and the weight of the secret that is so disagreeably his, that +it has become a necessity with him to speak or die; but I believe myself +it is more curiosity than pity prompts their desire for information on +the subject in hand. + +"I didn't listen," says Nolly, indignantly. "What do you take me for? I +crammed my fingers into my ears, and shut my eyes tight, and wished with +all my heart I had never been born. If you wish very hard for anything, +they say you will get it. So I thought if I threw my whole soul into +that wish just then I might get it, and find presently I never _had_ +been born. So I threw in my whole soul; but it didn't come off. I was as +lively as possible after ten minutes' hard wishing. Then I opened my +eyes again and looked,--simply to see if I oughtn't to look,--and there +they were still; and he had his arm round her, and her head was on his +shoulder, and----" + +"Oh, Nolly!" says Dorothy, hastily. + +"Well, it wasn't my fault, was it? _I_ had nothing to do with it. She +hadn't her head on _my_ shoulder, had she? and it wasn't _my_ arm was +round her," says Mr. Darling losing patience a little. + +"I don't mean that; but how could you look?" + +"Well, I like that!" says her brother. "And pray what was to happen if I +didn't? I gave 'em ten minutes; quite sufficient law, I think. If they +couldn't get it over in that time, they must have forgotten their native +tongue. Besides, I wanted to get down; the forked seat in the laurel was +not all my fancy had painted it in the beginning, and how was I to know +when they were gone unless I looked? Why, otherwise I might be there +now. I might be there until next week," winds up Mr. Darling, with +increasing wrath. + +"It is true," puts in Mona. "How could he tell when the coast was clear +for his escape, unless he took a little peep?" + +"Go on, Nolly," says Nicholas. + +"Well, Violet was crying (not loudly, you know, but quite comfortably): +so then I thought I had been mistaken, and that probably she had a +toothache, or a headache, or something, and that the foregoing speech +was mere spooning; and I rather lost faith in the situation, when +suddenly he said, 'Why do you cry?' And what do you think was her +answer? 'Because I am so happy.' Now, fancy any one crying because she +was happy!" says Mr. Darling, with fine disgust. "I always laugh when +I'm happy. And I think it rather a poor thing to dissolve into tears +because a man asks you to marry him: don't you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. I have never thought about it. Did I cry, +Geoffrey, when----" hesitates Mrs. Geoffrey, with a laugh, and a faint +sweet blush. + +"N--o. As far as I can remember," says Geoffrey, thoughtfully, pulling +his moustache, "you were so overcome with delight at the unexpected +honor I did you, that----" + +"Oh, I dare say," Nicholas, ironically. "You get out!" + +"What else did they say, Nolly?" asks Dorothy, in a wheedling tone. + +"If they could only hear us now!" murmurs Geoffrey, addressing no one in +particular. + +"Go on, Nolly," says Doatie. + +"You see, I was so filled with the novelty of the idea that it is the +correct thing to weep when seated on your highest pinnacle of bliss, +that I forgot to put my fingers in my ears again for a few moments, so I +heard him say, 'Are you sure you love me?' whereupon she said, 'Are +_you_ quite sure you love _me_?' with lots of emphasis. That finished +me! Did you ever hear such stuff in your life?" demands Mr. Darling, +feeling justly incensed. "When they have been gazing into each other's +eyes and boring us all to death with their sentimentality for the last +three months, they coolly turn round and ask each other if they are sure +they are in love!" + +"Nolly, you have no romance in your nature," says Nicholas, severely. + +"No, I haven't, if that's romance. Of course there was nothing for it +but to shut my eyes again and resign myself to my fate. I wonder I'm +not dead," says Nolly, pathetically. "I never put in such a time +in my life. Well, another quarter of an hour went by, and then I +cautiously opened my eyes and looked again, and--would you believe +it?"--indignantly,--"there they were still!" + +"It is my opinion that you looked and listened all the time; and it was +shamefully mean of you," says Dorothy. + +"I give you my honor I didn't. I neither saw nor heard but what I tell +you. Why, if I had listened I could fill a volume with their nonsense. +Three-quarters of an hour it lasted. How a fellow can take forty-five +minutes to say, 'Will you marry me?' passes my comprehension. Whenever +_I_ am going to do that sort of thing, which of course," looking at +Mona, "will be never now, on account of what you said to me some time +since,--but if ever I should be tempted, I shall get it over in twenty +seconds precisely: that will even give me time to take her hand and get +through the orthodox embrace." + +"But perhaps she will refuse you," says Mona, demurely. + +"No such luck. But look here, I never suffered such agony as I did in +that laurel. It's the last tree I'll ever climb. I knew if I got down +they would never forgive me to their dying day, and as I was I felt like +a condemned criminal." + +"Or like the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' There _is_ +something cherubic about you, do you know Nolly, when one comes to think +of it. But finish your tale." + +"There isn't much more; but yet the cream of the joke remains," says +Nolly, laughing heartily. "They seemed pretty jolly by that time, and he +was speaking. 'I was afraid you would refuse me,' he said, in an +imbecile tone. 'I always thought you liked Geoffrey best.' 'Geoffrey!' +said Violet. (Oh, Mrs. Geoffrey, if you could have heard her voice!) +'How could you think so! Geoffrey is all very well in his way, and of +course I like him very much, but he is not to be compared with you.' 'He +is very handsome,' said Jack, fishing for compliments in the most +indecent manner. 'Handsome! Oh, no,' said Violet. (You really _should_ +have heard her, Mrs. Geoffrey!) 'I don't think so. Passably +good-looking, I allow, but not--not like _you_!' Ha, ha, ha!" + +"Nolly, you are inventing," says Mrs. Geoffrey, sternly. + +"No; on my word, no," says Nolly, choking with laughter, in which he is +joined by all but Mona. "She said all that, and lots more!" + +"Then she doesn't know what she is talking about," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +indignantly. "The idea of comparing Geoffrey with Jack!" + +At this the laughter grows universal, Geoffrey and Nicholas positively +distinguishing themselves in this line, when just at the very height of +their mirth the door opens, and Violet enters, followed by Captain +Rodney. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +HOW NOLLY DECLINES TO REPEAT HIS STORY--HOW JACK RODNEY TELLS ONE +INSTEAD--AND HOW THEY ALL SHOW THEIR SURPRISE ABOUT WHAT THEY KNEW +BEFORE. + + +As they enter, mirth ceases. A remarkable silence falls upon the group. +Everybody looks at anything but Violet and her companion. + +These last advance in a leisurely manner up the room, yet with somewhat +of the sneaking air of those who are in the possession of embarrassing +news that must be told before much time goes by. The thought of this +perhaps deadens their perception and makes them blind to the fact that +the others are unnaturally quiet. + +"It has been such a charming day," says Violet, at last, in a rather +mechanical tone. Yet, in spite of its stiltedness, it breaks the spell +of consternation and confusion that has bound the others in its chains, +and restores them to speech. + +They all smile, and say, "Yes, indeed," or "Oh, yes, indeed," or plain +"Yes," in a breath. They all feel intensely obliged to Violet for her +very ordinary little remark. + +Then it is enchanting to watch the _petit soins_, the delicate little +attentions that the women in a carefully suppressed fashion lavish upon +the bride-elect,--as she already is to them. There is nothing under +heaven so dear to a woman's heart as a happy love-affair,--except, +indeed, it be an unhappy one. Just get a woman to understand you have +broken or are breaking (the last is the best) your heart about any one, +and she will be your friend on the spot. It is so unutterably sweet to +her to be a _confidante_ in any secret where Dan Cupid holds first +place. + +Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little +black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned. + +"Yes, sit there," she says, a new note of tender sympathy in her tone, +keeping her hand on Violet's shoulder as the latter makes some faint +polite effort to rise again. "You must indeed. It is such a dear, cosey, +comfortable little chair." + +Why it has become suddenly necessary that Violet should be made cosey +and comfortable she omits to explain. + +Then Dorothy, going up to the new-comer, removes her hat from her head, +and pats her cheeks, and tells her with one of her loveliest smiles that +she has "such a delicious color, dearest! just like a wee bit of fresh +apple-blossom!" + +Apple-blossom suggests the orchard, whereon Violet reddens perceptibly, +and Nolly grows cold with fright, and feels a little more will make him +faint. + +Lastly, Lady Rodney comes to the front with,-- + +"You have not tired yourself, dear, I hope. The day has been so +oppressively warm, more like July than May. Would you like your tea now, +Violet? We can have it half an hour earner if you wish." + +All these evidences of affection Violet notices in a dreamy, far-off +fashion: she is the happier because of them; yet she only appreciates +them languidly, being filled with one absorbing thought, that dulls all +others. She accepts the chair, the compliment, and the tea with grace, +but with somewhat vague gratitude. + +To Jack his brothers are behaving with the utmost _bonhommie_. They have +called him "old fellow" twice, and once Geoffrey has slapped him on the +back with a heartiness well meant, and no doubt encouraging, but trying. + +And Jack is greatly pleased with them, and, seeing everything just now +through a rose-colored veil, tells him self he is specially blessed in +his own people, and that Geoffrey and old Nick are two of the decentest +old men alive. Yet he too is a little _distrait_, being lost in an +endeavor to catch Violet's eyes,--which eyes refuse persistently to be +so caught. + +Nolly alone of all the group stands aloof, joining not at all in the +unspoken congratulations, and feeling indeed like nothing but the guilty +culprit that he is. + +"How you were all laughing when we came in!" says Violet, presently: "we +could hear you all along the corridor. What was it about?" + +Everybody at this smiles involuntarily,--everybody, that is, except +Nolly, who feels faint again, and turns a rich and lively crimson. + +"It was some joke, of course?" goes on Violet, not having received any +answer to her first question. + +"It was," says Nicholas, feeling a reply can no longer be shirked. Then +he says, "Ahem!" and turns his glance confidingly upon the carpet. + +But Geoffrey to whom the situation has its charm, takes up the broken +thread. + +"It was one of Nolly's good things," he says, genially. "And you know +what he is capable of when he likes! It was funny to the last +degree,--calculated to set any 'table in a roar.'--Give it to us again, +Nolly--it bears repeating.--Ask him to tell it to you, Violet." + +"Yes, do, Nolly," says Violet. + +"Go on, Noll," exclaims Dorothy, in her most encouraging tone. "Let +Violet hear it. _She_ will understand it." + +"I would, of course, with pleasure," stammers the unfortunate +Nolly,--"only perhaps Violet heard it before!" + +"Well, really, do you know, I think she did!" says Mona, so demurely +that they all smile again. + +"I call this beastly mean," says Mr. Darling to Geoffrey in an indignant +aside. "You all gave your oaths to secrecy before I began, and now you +are determined to betray me, I call it right-down shabby. And I sha'n't +forget it to any of you, let me tell you that." + +"My dear fellow, you can't have forgotten it so soon," says Geoffrey, +pretending to misunderstand this vehement whisper. "Don't be shy! or +shall I refresh your memory? It was, you remember, about----" + +"Oh, yes--yes--I know; it doesn't matter; (I'll pay you out for this"), +says Nolly, savagely, in an aside. + +"Well, I do like a good story," says Violet, carelessly. + +"Then Nolly's last will suit you down to the ground," says Nicholas. +"Besides its wit, it possesses the rare quality of being strictly true. +It really occurred. It is founded on fact. He himself vouches for the +truth of it." + +"Oh, go on; do," says Mr. Darling, in a second aside, who is by this +time a brilliant purple from fear and indignation. + +"Let's have it," says Jack, waking up from his reverie, having found it +impossible to compel Violet's eyes to meet his. + +"It is really nothing," says Nolly, feverishly. "You have all heard it +before." + +"I said so," murmurs Mona, meekly. + +"It is quite an old story," goes on Nolly. + +"It is, in fact, the real and original 'old, old story," says Geoffrey, +innocently, smiling mildly at the leg of a distant table. + +"If you are bent on telling 'em, do it all at once," whispers Nolly, +casting a withering glance at the smiling Geoffrey. "It will save time +and trouble." + +"I never saw any one feel the heat so much as our Oliver," says +Geoffrey, pleasantly. "His complexion waxeth warm." + +"Would you like a fan, Nolly?" says Mona, with a laugh, yet really with +a kindly view to rescuing him from his present dilemma. "Do you think +you could find me mine? I fancy I left it in the morning-room." + +"I am sure I could," says Nolly, bestowing upon her a grateful glance, +after which he starts upon his errand with suspicious alacrity. + +"How odd Nolly is at times!" says Violet, yet without any very great +show of surprise. She is still wrapped in her own dream of delight, and +is rather indifferent to objects in which but yesterday she would have +felt an immediate interest. "But, Nicholas, what was his story about? He +seems quite determined not to impart it to me." + +"A mere nothing," says Nicholas, airily; "we were merely chaffing him a +little, because you know what a mess he makes of anything of that sort +he takes in hand." + +"But what was the subject of it?" + +"Oh--well--those thirty-five charming compatriots of Mona's who +are now in the House of Commons, or, rather, out of it. It was a +little tale that related to their expulsion the other night by the +Speaker--and--er--other things." + +"If it was a political quip," says Violet, "I shouldn't care about it." + +This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but +singularly lucky. + +"It wasn't _all_ politics, of course," he says carefully. + +Whereupon every one thinks he is a bold and daring man thus to risk +fortune again. + +It is at this particular moment that Violet, inadvertently raising her +head, lets her eyes meet Jack Rodney's. On which that young man--being +prompt in action--goes quickly up to her, and in sight of the assembled +multitude takes her hand in his. + +"Violet, you may as well tell them all now as at any other time," he +says, persuasively. + +"Oh, no, not now," pleads Violet, hastily. She rises hurriedly from her +seat, and lays her disengaged hand on his lips. For once in her life she +loses sight of her self-possession, and a blush, warm and rich as +carmine, mantles on her cheek. + +This fond coloring, suiting the exigencies of the moment suits her +likewise. Never before has she looked so entirely pretty. Her lips +tremble, her eyes grow pathetic. And Captain Rodney, already deeply in +love, grows one degree more impressed with the fact of his own good +fortune in having secured so enviable a bride. + +Passing his arm round her, he draws her closer to him. + +"Mother, Violet has promised to marry me," he says abruptly. "Haven't +you, Violet?" + +And Violet says, "Yes," obediently, and then the tears come into her +eyes, and a smile is born upon her lips, so sweet, so new, as compels +Doatie to whisper to Mona, a little later on, that she "didn't think it +was in Violet to look like that." + +Here of course everybody says the most charming thing he or she can +think of at a moment's notice; and then they all kiss Violet, and Nolly, +coming back at this auspicious instant with the fan and recovered +temper, joins in the general congratulations, and actually kisses her +too, though Geoffrey whispers "traitor" to him in an awful tone, as he +goes forward to do it. + +"It is the sweetest thing that could have happened," says Dorothy, +enthusiastically. "Now Mona and you and I will be real sisters." + +"What a surprise it all is!" says Geoffrey, hypocritically. + +"Yes, isn't it?" says Dorothy, quite in good faith; "though I don't know +after all why it should be; we could see for ourselves; we knew all +about it long ago!" + +"Yes, _long_ ago," says Geoffrey, with animation. "Quite an hour ago." + +"Oh! hardly!" says Violet with a soft laugh and another blush. "How +could you?" + +"A little bird whispered it to us," explains Geoffrey, lightly. Then, +taking pity on Nolly's evident agony, he goes on "that is, you know, we +guessed it; you were so long absent, and--and that." + +There is something deplorably lame about this exposition, when you take +into consideration the fact that the new lovers have been, during the +past two months, _always_ absent from the rest of the family, as a rule. + +But Violet is content. + +"It is like a fairy-tale, and quite as pretty," says little Dorothy, who +is quite safe to turn out an inveterate matchmaker when a few more years +have rolled over her sunny head. + +"Or like Nolly's story that he declines telling me," says Violet, with a +laugh. + +"Well, really, now you say it," says Geoffrey, as though suddenly struck +with a satisfactory idea, "it is uncommonly like Nolly's tale: when you +come to compare one with the other they sound almost similar." + +"What! How could Jack or I resemble an Irish member?" asks she, with a +little grimace. + +"Everything has its romantic side," says Geoffrey, "even an Irish +member, I dare say. And when you do induce Nolly to favor you with his +last joke, you will see that it is positively bristling with romance." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +HOW WEDDING-BELLS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE--HOW LOVE ENCOMPASSES +MONA--AND HOW AT LAST FAREWELL IS SPOKEN. + + +And now what remains to be told? But little, I think! For my gentle Mona +has reached that haven where she would be! + +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. + +Mona is happier than words can say. She is up to her eyes in the +business, that business sweetest to a woman's soul, the ordering and +directing and general management of a trousseau. In her case she is +doubly blessed, because she has the supervizing of two! + +Her sympathy is unbounded, her temper equal to the most trying occasion, +her heart open to the most petty grievances; she is to the two girls an +unfailing source of comfort, a refuge where they may unrebuked pour out +the indignation against their dressmakers that seems to rage unceasingly +within their breasts. + +Indeed, as Dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "How +we should possibly have got on without you, Mona, I shudder to +contemplate." + +Geoffrey happening to be present when this flattering remark is made, +Violet turns to him and says impulsively,-- + +"Oh, Geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to Ireland and met Mona? Because +if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to +marry each other, and then what would have become of poor Jack?" + +"What, indeed?" says Geoffrey, tragically. "Worse still, what would have +become of poor Mona?" + +"What is it you would say?" exclaims Mona, threatingly, turning towards +him a lovely face she vainly tries to clothe with anger. + +"It is insupportable such an insinuation," says the lively Doatie. +"Violet, Mona's cause is ours: what shall we do with him?" + +"'Brain him with his lady's fan!'" quotes Violet, gayly, snatching up +Mona's fan that lies on a _prie-dieu_ near, and going up to Geoffrey. + +So determined is her aspect that Geoffrey shows the white feather, and, +crying "_mea culpa_," beats a hasty retreat. + +From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but +flounces, frills, and furbelows,--three _f_'s that are considered at the +Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. +Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste +in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is +concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such +things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is +not long."--As, for instance:-- + +"Mona, do you think Elise is right? she is so very positive; are you +sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" Or-- + +"Dearest Mona, I must interrupt you again. Are you very busy? No? Oh, +then do come and look at the last bonnet Madame Verot has just sent. She +says there will be nothing to equal it this season. But," in a +heart-broken voice, "I cannot bring myself to think it becoming." + +Lady Rodney, too, is quite happy. Everything has come right; all is +smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending +fear. With Paul Rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and Mona's +greatness of heart has subdued the former. She has conquered and laid +her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have +fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors +flying. + +Yet does she not triumph over her beaten foe; nay, so different is it +with her that she reaches forth her hand to raise her again, and strives +by every tender means in her power to obliterate all memory of the +unpleasant past. + +And Lady Rodney is very willing that it should be obliterated. Just now, +indeed, it is a favorite theory of hers that she could never have been +really uncivil to dear Mona (she is always "dear Mona" of late days) +but for the terrible anxiety that lay upon her, caused by the Australian +and the missing will, and the cruel belief that soon Nicholas would be +banished from the home where he had reigned so long as master. Had +things gone happily with her, her mind would not have been so warped, +and she would have learned at once to understand and appreciate the +sweetness of the dear girl's character! And so on. + +Mona accepts this excuse for bygone injustice, and even encourages her +mother-in-law to enlarge upon it,--seeing how comfortable it is to her +so to do,--and furthermore tries hard in her own kind heart to believe +in it also. + +She is perhaps as near being angry with Geoffrey as she can be when one +day he pooh-poohs this charitable thought and gives it as his belief +that worry had nothing to do with it, and that his mother behaved +uncommonly badly all through, and that sheer obstinacy and bad temper +was the cause of the whole matter. + +"She had made up her mind that you would be insupportable, and she +couldn't forgive you because you weren't," says that astute young man, +with calm conviction. "Don't you be taken in, Mona." + +But Mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may +object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of +Lady Rodney. + +"In company with so divine a face, no rancorous thoughts could live," +said the duke on one memorable occasion, alluding to Mona, which speech +was rather a lofty soat for His Grace, he being for the most part of the +earth, earthy. + +Yet in this he spoke the truth, echoing Spenser (though unconsciously), +where he says,---- + + "So every spirit, as it is most pure + And hath in it the more of heavenly light. + So it the fairer bodie doth procure + To habit in. + For of the soule the bodie forme doth take, + For soule is forme and doth the bodie make." + +With Lady Rodney she will, I think, be always the favorite daughter. She +is quite her right hand now. She can hardly get on without her, and +tells herself her blankest days are those when Mona and Geoffrey return +to their own home, and the Towers no longer echoes to the musical laugh +of old Brian Scully's niece, or to the light footfall of her pretty +feet. Violet and Dorothy will no doubt be dear; but Mona, having won it +against much odds, will ever hold first place in her affections. + +After all, she has proved a great success. She has fought her fight, and +gained her victory; but the conquered has deep reason to be grateful to +her victor. + +Where would they all be now but for her timely entry into the library on +that night never to be forgotten, and her influence over the poor dead +and gone cousin? Even in the matter of fortune she has not been +behindhand, Paul Rodney's death having enriched her beyond all +expectation. Without doubt, therefore, there is good reason to rejoice +over Mrs. Geoffrey. + +To this name, given to her in such an unkindly spirit, Mona clings with +singular pertinacity. Once when Nolly has called her by it in Lady +Rodney's hearing, the latter raises her head, and a remorseful light +kindles in her eyes; and when Mr. Darling has taken himself away she +turns entreatingly to Mona, and, with a warm accession of coloring, +says, earnestly,-- + +"My dear, I behaved badly to you in that matter. Let me tell Oliver to +call you Mrs. Rodney for the future. It is your proper name." + +But Mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to +alter the _sobriquet_ given her so long ago now. With much gentleness +she tells Lady Rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her +than any other could ever be; that to be Mrs. Geoffrey is the utmost +height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only +cause her pain and a vague sense of loss. + +So after this earnest protest no more is ever said to her apon the +subject, and Mrs. Geoffrey she is now to her mends, and Mrs. Geoffrey, I +think, she will remain to the end of the chapter. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Geoffrey, by Duchess + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. GEOFFREY *** + +***** This file should be named 35384-8.txt or 35384-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/3/8/35384/ + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Geoffrey + +Author: Duchess + +Release Date: February 25, 2011 [EBook #35384] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. GEOFFREY *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>MRS. GEOFFREY.</h1> + +<h2>BY THE DUCHESS,</h2> + +<h3>AUTHOR OF "PHYLLIS," "MOLLY BAWN," "AIRY FAIRY LILIAN," ETC., ETC.</h3> + + +<h3>CHICAGO AND NEW YORK:<br /> +BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers.</span></h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. HOW GEOFFREY DECLARES HIS INTENTION OF SPENDING THE AUTUMN IN IRELAND.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. HOW GEOFFREY GOES TO IRELAND AND WHAT HE SEES THERE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. HOW GEOFFREY'S HEART IS CLAIMED BY CUPID AS A TARGET, AND HOW MONA +STOOPS TO CONQUER.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER A CABIN AND SEE ONE OF THE RESULTS OF +PARNELL'S ELOQUENCE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. HOW MONA BETRAYS WHAT MAKES GEOFFREY JEALOUS, AND HOW AN APPOINTMENT IS +MADE THAT IS ALL MOON-SHINE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. HOW THE MYSTIC MOONBEAMS THROW THEIR RAYS ON MONA; AND HOW GEOFFREY, +JEALOUS OF THEIR ADMIRATION, DESIRES TO CLAIM HER AS HIS OWN.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA FALL INTO STRANGE COMPANY AND HOW THEY PROFIT BY +IT; AND HOW MONA, OUTSTRIPPING WICKED VENGEANCE, SAVES A LIFE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA PLAN A TRANSFORMATION SCENE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA DILIGENTLY WORK UP THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE; AND +HOW SUCCESS CROWNS THEIR EFFORTS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. HOW MONA, GROWING INQUISITIVE, ASKS QUESTIONS; AND HOW GEOFFREY, BEING +BROUGHT TO BAY, MAKES CONFESSIONS THAT BODE BUT EVIL TO HIS FUTURE +PEACE, AND BREED IMMEDIATE WAR.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. HOW GEOFFREY RETURNS TO HIS ALLEGIANCE—HOW HE DISCOVERS HIS DIVINITY +DEEP IN THE PERFORMANCE OF SOME MYSTIC RITES WITHIN THE COOL PRECINCTS +OF HER TEMPLE—AND HOW HE SEEKS TO REDUCE HER TO REASON FROM THE TOP OF AN INVERTED CHURN.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. HOW GEOFFREY TELLS HOME SECRETS, AND HOW MONA COMMENTS THEREON—HOW +DEATH STALKS RAMPANT IN THEIR PATH—AND HOW, THOUGH GEOFFREY DECLINES TO +"RUN AWAY," HE STILL "LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY."</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. HOW MONA PROVES HERSELF EQUAL—IF NOT SUPERIOR—TO DR. MARY WALKER; AND +HOW GEOFFREY, BY A BASE THREAT, CARRIES HIS POINT.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. HOW GEOFFREY WRITES A LETTER THAT POSSESSES ALL THE PROPERTIES OF +DYNAMITE—AND HOW CONFUSION REIGNS AT THE TOWERS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. HOW LADY RODNEY SPEAKS HER MIND—HOW GEOFFREY DOES THE SAME—AND HOW +MONA DECLARES HERSELF STRONG TO CONQUER.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER THE TOWERS—AND HOW THEY ARE RECEIVED BY THE +INHABITANTS THEREOF.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. HOW MONA RISES BETIMES—AND HOW SHE ENCOUNTERS A STRANGER AMIDST THE +MORNING DEWS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. HOW OLD SIR GEORGE HATED HIS FIRSTBORN—AND HOW HE MADE HIS WILL—AND +HOW THE EARTH SWALLOWED IT.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. HOW FATE DEALS HARSHLY WITH MONA, AND HOW SHE DROOPS—AS MIGHT A +FLOWER—BENEATH ITS UNKINDLY TOUCH.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. HOW MONA DANCES A COUNTRY DANCE BEFORE A HYPERCRITICAL AUDIENCE—AND HOW +MORE EYES THAN SHE WOTS OF MARK HER PERFORMANCE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. HOW NOLLY HAVING MADE HIMSELF PRESENTABLE, TRIES ALSO TO MAKE HIMSELF +AGREEABLE—AND HOW HE SUCCEEDS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII. HOW MONA GOES TO HER FIRST BALL—AND HOW SHE FARES THEREAT.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. HOW MONA INTERVIEWS THE DUCHESS—AND HOW SHE SUSTAINS CONVERSATION WITH +THE RODNEYS' EVIL GENIUS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. HOW THE CLOUD GATHERS—AND HOW NICHOLAS AND DOROTHY HAVE THEIR BAD +QUARTER OF AN HOUR.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. HOW DISCUSSION WAXES RIFE—AND HOW NICHOLAS, HAVING MADE A SUGGESTION +THAT IS BITTER TO THE EARS OF HIS AUDIENCE, YET CARRIES HIS POINT AGAINST ALL OPPOSITION.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. HOW MONA GOES TO ANADALE—AND HOW SHE THERE SEES MANY THINGS AS YET TO +HER UNKNOWN.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. HOW MONA TAKES A WALK ABROAD—AND HOW SHE ASKS CROSS-QUESTIONS AND +RECEIVES CROOKED ANSWERS.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. HOW THE TOWERS WAKES INTO LIFE—AND HOW MONA SHOWS THE LIBRARY TO PAUL +RODNEY.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX. HOW GEOFFREY DINES OUT, AND HOW MONA FARES DURING HIS ABSENCE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX. HOW MONA, GHOST-LIKE, FLITS THROUGH THE OLD TOWERS AT MIDNIGHT—HOW THE +MOON LIGHTS HER WAY—AND HOW SHE MEETS ANOTHER GHOST MORE FORMIDABLE THAN HERSELF.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI. HOW MONA STANDS HER GROUND—HOW PAUL RODNEY BECOMES HER PRISONER—AND +HOW GEOFFREY ON HIS RETURN HOME MEETS WITH A WARM RECEPTION.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII. HOW MONA KEEPS HER OWN COUNSEL—AND HOW AT MIDDAY SHE RECEIVES A NOTE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII. HOW CONVERSATION GROWS RIFE AT THE TOWERS—AND HOW MONA ASSERTS +HERSELF—AND HOW LADY RODNEY LICKS THE DUST.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV. HOW THE RODNEYS MAKE MERRY OVER THE SECRET PANEL—HOW GEOFFREY QUESTIONS +MONA—AND HOW, WHEN JOY IS AT ITS HIGHEST EVIL TIDINGS SWEEP DOWN UPON THEM.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV. HOW MONA COMFORTS PAUL RODNEY—HOW NIGHT AND DEATH DESCEND TOGETHER—AND +HOW PAUL RODNEY DISPOSES OF HIS PROPERTY.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI. HOW MONA DEFENDS THE DEAD—AND HOW LADY LILIAS EATON WAXES ELOQUENT.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII. HOW MONA REFUSES A GALLANT OFFER—AND HOW NOLLY VIEWS LIFE THROUGH THE +BRANCHES OF A PORTUGAL LAUREL.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII. HOW NOLLY DECLINES TO REPEAT HIS STORY—HOW JACK RODNEY TELLS ONE +INSTEAD—AND HOW THEY ALL SHOW THEIR SURPRISE ABOUT WHAT THEY KNEW BEFORE.</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. HOW WEDDING-BELLS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE—HOW LOVE ENCOMPASSES +MONA—AND HOW AT LAST FAREWELL IS SPOKEN.</a><br /><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>MRS. GEOFFREY</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY DECLARES HIS INTENTION OF SPENDING THE AUTUMN IN IRELAND.</h3> + + +<p>"I don't see why I shouldn't put in a month there very comfortably," +says Geoffrey, indolently, pulling the ears of a pretty, saucy little +fat terrier that sits blinking at him, with brown eyes full of love, on +a chair close by. "And it will be something new to go to Ireland, at all +events. It is rather out of the running these times, so probably will +prove interesting; and at least there is a chance that one won't meet +every town acquaintance round every corner. That's the worry of going +abroad, and I'm heartily sick of the whole thing."</p> + +<p>"You will get murdered," says his mother, quite as indolently, half +opening her eyes, which are gray as Geoffrey's own. "They always kill +people, with things they call pikes, or burn them out of house and home, +over there, without either rhyme or reason."</p> + +<p>"They certainly must be a lively lot, if all one hears is true," says +Geoffrey, with a suppressed yawn.</p> + +<p>"You are not really going there, Geoff?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, really."</p> + +<p>"To what part of Ireland?"</p> + +<p>"Somewhere beyond Bantry; you have heard of Bantry Bay?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say! I am not sure," says Lady Rodney, pettishly, who is +rather annoyed at the idea of his going to Ireland, having other plans +in view for him.</p> + +<p>"Ever heard of Botany Bay?" asks he, idly; but, this question being +distinctly frivolous, she takes no notice of it. "Well, it's in +Ireland," he goes on, after a slight but dignified pause. "You have +heard of the Emerald Isle, I suppose? It's the country where they grow +potatoes, and say 'bedad'; and Bantry is somewhere south, I think. I'm +never very sure about anything: that's one of my charms."</p> + +<p>"A very doubtful charm."</p> + +<p>"The name of the place I mean to stay at—my own actual property—is +called Coolnagurtheen," goes on Geoffrey, heedless of her censure.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Coolnagurtheen."</p> + +<p>"I always said you were clever," says his mother, languidly; "now I +believe it. I don't think if I lived forever I should be able to +pronounce such a sad word as that. Do—do the natives speak like that?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you when I come back," says Geoffrey,—"if I ever do."</p> + +<p>"So stupid of your uncle to leave you a property in such a country!" +says Lady Rodney, discontentedly. "But very like him, certainly. He was +never happy unless he was buying land in some uninhabitable place. There +was that farm in Wallachia,—your cousin Jane nearly died of chagrin +when she found it was left to her, and the lawyers told her she should +take it, whether she liked it or not. Wallachia! I don't know where it +is, but I am sure it is close to the Bulgarian atrocities!"</p> + +<p>"Our 'pretty Jane,' on occasions, can talk as much nonsense as—as any +woman I ever met," says Geoffrey,—the hesitation being full of filial +reverence; "and that may be called, I think, unqualified praise."</p> + +<p>"Better give up the Irish plan, dear, and come with Nichols and me to +the Nugents. They are easy-going people, and will suit you."</p> + +<p>"Free-and-easy-going would be a more appropriate term, from all I have +heard."</p> + +<p>"The shooting there is capital," says his mother, turning a deaf ear to +his muttered interruption, "and I don't believe there is anything in +Ireland, not even birds."</p> + +<p>"There are landlords, at least; and very excellent shooting they are, if +all accounts be true," says Geoffrey, with a grin,—"to say nothing of +the partridge and grouse. Besides, it will be an experience; and a man +should say 'how d'ye do?' to his tenants sometimes."</p> + +<p>"If you are going to preach to me on that subject, of course I have +nothing more to say. But I wish you would come with me to the Nugents."</p> + +<p>"My dear mother, there is hardly anything I wouldn't do for you; but the +Nugent scheme wouldn't suit at all. That girl of the Cheviots is sure to +be there,—you know how fond Bessie Nugent is of her?—and I know she is +bent on marrying me."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! Would you have me believe you are afraid of her?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid of her; I was never so afraid of any one before. I have +made it the business of my life to avoid her ever since last New Year's +Day, when some kind fellow told me it was leap-year. You know I never +yet said 'No' to any one, and I shouldn't dare begin by saying it to +Miss Cheviot. She has such a stony glare, and such a profusion of nose!"</p> + +<p>"And a profusion of gold, too," says Lady Rodney, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I hope she has, poor soul: she will want it," says Geoffrey, feelingly; +and then he falls to whistling the "Two Obadiahs" softly, yet with a +relish, beneath his breath.</p> + +<p>"How long do you intend to banish yourself from civilized life?"</p> + +<p>"A month, I dare say. Longer, if I like it; shorter, if I don't. By the +by, you told me the other day it was the dream of your life to see me in +Parliament, now that 'Old Dick' has decided on leading a sedentary +existence,—a very stupid decision on his part, by the way, so clever as +he is."</p> + +<p>"He is not strong, you see: a little thing knocks him up, and he is too +impressionable for a public career. But you are different."</p> + +<p>"You think I am not impressionable? Well, time will tell. I shouldn't +care about going into the House unless I went there primed and loaded +with a real live grievance, Now, why should I not adopt the Irish? +Consider the case as it stands: I go and see them; I come home, raving +about them and their wretched condition, their cruel landlords, their +noble endurance, magnificent physique, patient suffering, honest +revenge, and so forth. By Jove! I feel as if I could do it already, +even before I've seen them," says Mr. Rodney, with an irreverent laugh.</p> + +<p>"Well don't go to Dublin, at all events," says her mother, plaintively. +"It's wretched form."</p> + +<p>"Is it? I always heard it was rather a jolly sort of little place, once +you got into it—well."</p> + +<p>"What a partisan you do make!" says Lady Rodney, with a faint laugh. +"Perhaps after all we should consider Ireland the end and aim of all +things. I dare say when you come back you will be more Irish than the +Irish."</p> + +<p>"It is a good thing to be in earnest over every matter, however trivial. +As I am going to Ireland, you will advise me to study the people, would +you not?"</p> + +<p>"By all means study them, if you are really bent on this tiresome +journey. It may do you good. You will at least be more ready to take my +advice another time."</p> + +<p>"What a dismal view you take of my trip! Perhaps, in spite of your +forebodings, I shall enjoy myself down to the ground, and weep copiously +on leaving Irish soil."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps. I hope you won't get into a mess there, and make me more +unhappy than I am. We are uncomfortable enough without that. You know +you are always doing something bizarre,—something rash and uncommon!"</p> + +<p>"How nice!" says Geoffrey, with a careless smile. "Your 'faint praise' +fails 'to damn'! Why, one is nothing nowadays if not eccentric. Well," +moving towards the door, with the fox-terrier at his heels, "I shall +start on Monday. That will get me down in time for the 12th. Shall I +send you up any birds?"</p> + +<p>"Thanks, dear; you are always good," murmurs Lady Rodney, who has ever +an eye to the main chance.</p> + +<p>"If there are any," says Geoffrey, with a twinkle in his eye.</p> + +<p>"If there are any," repeats she, unmoved.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY GOES TO IRELAND AND WHAT HE SEES THERE.</h3> + + +<p>It is early morn. "The first low breath of waking day stirs the wide +air." On bush and tree and opening flower the dew lies heavily, like +diamonds glistening in the light of the round sun. Thin clouds of pearly +haze float slowly o'er the sky to meet its rays; and</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Envious streaks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Geoffrey, with his gun upon his shoulder, trudges steadily onward +rejoicing in the freshness of the morning air.</p> + +<p>To his right lies Bantry Bay, that now is spreading itself out in all +its glory to catch the delicate hues of the sky above. They rush to +greet it, and, sinking deep down into its watery embrace, lie there all +day rocked to and fro by the restless ocean.</p> + +<p>From the hills the scent of the heather is wafted towards him, filling +him with a subtle keen sense of youth and gladness and the absolute joy +of living. His good dog is at his heels; a boy—procured from some +neighboring cabin, and warranted not to wear out, however long the +journey to be undertaken or how many miles to travel—carries his bag +beside him.</p> + +<p>Game as yet is not exactly plentiful: neither yesterday nor the day +before could it be said that birds flock to his gun; there is, indeed, a +settled uncertainty as to whether one may or may not have a good day's +sport. And yet perhaps this very uncertainty gives an additional +excitement to the game.</p> + +<p>Here and there a pack is discovered, so unexpectedly as to be doubly +welcome. And sometimes a friendly native will tell him of some quiet +corner where "his honor" will surely find some birds, "an be able in the +evenin' to show raison for his blazin'." It is a somewhat wild life, but +a pleasant one, and perhaps, on the whole, Mr. Rodney finds Ireland an +agreeable take-in, and the inhabitants of it by no means as eccentric or +as bloodthirsty as he has been led to believe. He has read innumerable +works on the Irish peasantry, calculated to raise laughter in the +breasts of those who claim the Emerald Isle as their own,—works written +by people who have never seen Ireland, or, having seen it, have thought +it a pity to destroy the glamour time has thrown over it, and so reduce +it to commonplaceness.</p> + +<p>He is, for instance, surprised, and indeed somewhat relieved, when he +discovers that the drivers of the jaunting-cars that take him on his +shooting-expeditions are not all modern Joe Millers, and do not let off +witty remarks, like bombshells, every two minutes.</p> + +<p>He is perhaps disappointed in that every Irish cloak does not conceal a +face beautiful as a houri's. And he learns by degrees that only one in +ten says "bedad," and that "och murther?" is an expression almost +extinct.</p> + +<p>They appear a kindly, gentle, good-humored people,—easily led, no doubt +(which is their undoing), but generous to the heart's core; a people who +can speak English fluently (though with a rich brogue) and more +grammatically than the Sassenachs themselves (of their own class), +inasmuch as they respect their aspirates and never put an <i>h</i> in or +leave one out in the wrong place.</p> + +<p>The typical Irishman, in whom Lever delighted, with his knee-breeches +and long-tailed coat, his pig under one arm and his shillalah under the +other, is literally nowhere! The caubeen and the dhudheen which we are +always hearing about may indeed be seen, but they are very usual objects +in all lands, if one just alters the names, and scarcely create +astonishment in the eyes of the on-looker.</p> + +<p>The dhudheen is an institution, no doubt, but the owner of it, as a +rule, is not to be found seated on a five-barred gate, with a shamrock +pinned in his hat and a straw in his mouth, singing "Rory O'More" or +"Paddy O'Rafferty," as the case may be. On the contrary, poor soul, he +is found by Geoffrey either digging up his potatoes or stocking his turf +for winter use.</p> + +<p>Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is +comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying +<i>perdu</i> in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn +stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or +reason.</p> + +<p>Rodney, with the boy at his side, is covering ground in a state of +blissful uncertainty. He may be a mile from home, or ten miles, for all +he knows, and the boy seems none the wiser.</p> + +<p>"Where are we now?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, stopping and facing "the +boy."</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir."</p> + +<p>"But you said you knew the entire locality,—couldn't be puzzled within +a radius of thirty miles. How far are we from home?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, sir. I never was abroad before, an' I'm dead bate now, +an' the bag's like lead."</p> + +<p>"You're a nice boy, you are!" says Mr. Rodney; "Here, give me the bag! +Perhaps you would like me to carry you too; but I shan't, so you needn't +ask me. Are you hungry?"</p> + +<p>"No," says the boy valiantly; but he looks hungry, and Geoffrey's heart +smites him, the more in that he himself is starving likewise.</p> + +<p>"Come a little farther," he says, gently, slinging the heavy bag across +his own shoulders. "There must be a farmhouse somewhere."</p> + +<p>There is. In the distance, imbedded in trees, lies an extensive +farmstead, larger and more home-like than any he has yet seen.</p> + +<p>"Now, then, cheer up, Paddy!" he says to the boy: "yonder lies an oasis +in our howling wilderness."</p> + +<p>Whereat the boy smiles and grins consumedly, as though charmed with his +companion's metaphor, though in reality he understands it not at all.</p> + +<p>As they draw still nearer, Geoffrey becomes aware that the farmyard +before him is rich with life. Cocks are crowing, geese are cackling, and +in the midst of all this life stands a girl with her back turned to the +weary travellers.</p> + +<p>"Wait here," says Geoffrey to his squire, and, going forward, rests the +bag upon a low wall, and waits until the girl in question shall turn her +head. When she does move he is still silent, for, behold, <i>she</i> has +turned <i>his</i> head!</p> + +<p>She is country bred, and clothed in country garments, yet her beauty is +too great to be deniable. She is not "divinely tall," but rather of +medium height, with an oval face, and eyes of "heaven's own blue." Their +color changes too, and deepens, and darkens, and grows black and purple, +as doth the dome above us. Her mouth is large, but gracious, and full of +laughter mixed with truth and firmness. There is no feature that can so +truly express character as the mouth. The eyes can shift and change, but +the mouth retains its expression always.</p> + +<p>She is clad in a snowy gown of simple cotton, that sits loosely to her +lissom figure yet fails to disguise the beauty of it. A white kerchief +lies softly on her neck. She has pulled up her sleeves, so that her arms +are bare,—her round, soft, naked arms that in themselves are a perfect +picture. She is standing with her head well thrown back, and her +hands—full of corn—lifted high in the air, as she cries aloud, "Cooee! +Cooee!" in a clear musical voice.</p> + +<p>Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons—brown and white +and bronze and gray—come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, +and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her +head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more +adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery +resting-place upon her bosom.</p> + +<p>"What greedy little things!" cries she aloud, with the merriest laugh in +the world. "Sure you can't eat more than enough, can you? an' do your +best! Oh, Brownie," reproachfully, "what a selfish bird you are!"</p> + +<p>Here Geoffrey comes forward quietly, and lifts his hat to her with all +the air of a man who is doing homage to a princess. It has occurred to +him that perhaps this peerless being in the cotton gown will feel some +natural chagrin on being discovered by one of the other sex with her +sleeves tucked up. But in this instance his knowledge of human nature +receives a severe shock.</p> + +<p>Far from being disconcerted, this farmyard goddess is not even ashamed +(as indeed how could she be?) of her naked arms, and, coming up to him, +rests them upon the upper rung of the entrance-gate and surveys him +calmly if kindly.</p> + +<p>"What can I do for you?" she asks, gently.</p> + +<p>"I think," says Geoffrey, slightly disconcerted by the sweet leisure of +her gaze, "I have lost my way. I have been walking since sunrise, and I +want you to tell me where I am."</p> + +<p>"You are at Mangle Farm," returns she. Then, judging by the blank +expression on his face that her words bring him no comfort, she +continues with a smile, "That doesn't seem to help you much, does it?"</p> + +<p>He returns her smile in full,—<i>very</i> full. "I confess it doesn't help +me at all," he says. "Mangle Farm, I am sure, is the most attractive +spot on earth, but it tells me nothing about latitude or longitude. Give +me some further help."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me where you come from, and perhaps I may be able." She +speaks softly, but quickly, as do all the Irish, and with a brogue +musical but unmistakable.</p> + +<p>"I am staying at a shooting-lodge called Coolnagurtheen. Do you know +where that is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course," returns she, with a sudden accession of animation. "I +have often seen it. That is where the young English gentleman is staying +for the shooting."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. And I am the young English gentleman," says Geoffrey, +lifting his hat again by way of introduction.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, are you?" asks she, raising her pretty brows. Then she smiles +involuntarily, and the pink flush in her rounded cheeks grows a shade +deeper. Yet she does not lower her eyes, or show the slightest touch of +confusion. "I might have guessed it," she says, after a minute's survey +of the tall gray-coated young man before her. "You are not a bit like +the others down here."</p> + +<p>"Am I not?" says he, humbly, putting on his carefully crestfallen air +that has generally been found so highly successful. "Tell me my fault."</p> + +<p>"I will—when I find it," returns she, with an irrepressible glance, +full of native but innocent coquetry, from her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>At this moment one of the pigeons—a small, pretty thing, +bronze-tinged—flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a +tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though +imploring more corn.</p> + +<p>"Would you bite me?" murmurs she, fondly, as the bird flies off again +alarmed at the presence of the tall stranger, who already is busy +comparing most favorably the face of its mistress with the faces of all +the fashionable beauties London has been raving about for eighteen +months. "Every morning they torment me like this," she says, turning to +Geoffrey, with a little pleasant confidential nod.</p> + +<p>"He looked as if he wanted to eat you; and I'm sure I don't wonder at +it," says Geoffrey, making the addition to his speech in a lower key.</p> + +<p>"And have you walked from Coolnagurtheen this morning? Why, it is eight +miles from this," says she, taking no notice of his last speech. "You +could have had no breakfast!"</p> + +<p>"Not yet; but I suppose there must be a village near here, and an inn, +and I want you to direct me how to get to it. I am giving you a great +deal of trouble," remorsefully, "but my boy knows nothing."</p> + +<p>He points as he speaks to the ignorant Paddy, who is sitting on the +ground with his knees between his hands, crooning a melancholy ditty.</p> + +<p>"The village is two miles farther on. I think you had better come in and +breakfast here. Uncle will be very glad to see you," she says, +hospitably. "And you must be tired."</p> + +<p>He hesitates. He <i>is</i> tired, and hungry too; there is no denying. Even +as he hesitates, a girl coming out to the door-step puts her hand over +her eyes, and shouts pleasantly from afar to her mistress,—</p> + +<p>"Miss Mona, come in; the tay will be cold, an' the rashers all spoiled, +an' the masther's callin' for ye."</p> + +<p>"Come, hurry," says Mona, turning to Geoffrey, with a light laugh that +seems to spring from her very heart. "Would you have the 'tay' get cold +while you are making up your mind? I at least must go."</p> + +<p>She moves from him.</p> + +<p>"Then thank you, and I shall go with you, if you will allow me," says +Geoffrey, hurriedly, as he sees her disappearing.</p> + +<p>"Tell your boy to go to the kitchen," says Mona, thoughtfully, and, +Paddy being disposed of, she and Geoffrey go on to the house.</p> + +<p>They walk up a little gravelled path, on either side of which trim beds +of flowers are cut, bordered with stiff box. All sorts of pretty, +sweetly-smelling old wild blossoms are blooming in them, as gayly as +though they have forgotten the fact that autumn is rejoicing in all its +matured beauty. Crimson and white and purple asters stand calmly gazing +towards the sky; here a flaming fuchsia droops its head, and there, +apart from all the rest, smiles an enchanting rose.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That like a virgin queen salutes the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dew-diadem'd."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Behind the house rises a thick wood,—a "solemn wood," such as Dickens +loved to write of, with its lights and shades and every-varying tints. A +gentle wind is rushing through it now; the faint murmur of some "hidden +brook," singing its "quiet tune," fall upon the ear; some happy birds +are warbling in the thickets. It is a day whose beauty may be felt.</p> + +<p>"I have no card but my name is Geoffrey Rodney," says the young man, +turning to his companion.</p> + +<p>"And mine is Mona Scully," returns she, with the smile that seems part +of her lips, and which already has engraven itself on Mr. Rodney's +heart. "Now, I suppose, we know each other."</p> + +<p>They walk up two steps, and enter a small hall, and then he follows her +into a room opening off it, in which breakfast lies prepared.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>An old man, rugged but kindly-featured, rises on his entrance, and gazes +at him expectantly. Mona, going up to him, rests her hand upon his arm, +and, indicating Geoffrey by a gesture, says, in a low tone,—</p> + +<p>"He has lost his way. He is tired, and I have asked him to have some +breakfast. He is the English gentleman who is living at Coolnagurtheen."</p> + +<p>"You're kindly welcome, sir," says the old man, bowing with the slow and +heavy movement that belongs to the aged. There is dignity and warmth, +however, in the salute, and Geoffrey accepts with pleasure the toil-worn +hand his host presents to him a moment later. The breakfast is good, +and, though composed of only country fare, is delicious to the young +man, who has been walking since dawn, and whose appetite just now would +have astonished those dwelling in crowded towns and living only on their +excitements.</p> + +<p>The house, is home-like, sweet, and one which might perhaps day by day +grow dearer to the heart; and this girl, this pretty creature who every +now and then turns her eyes on Geoffrey, as though glad in a kindly +fashion to see him there, seems a necessary part of the whole,—her +gracious presence rendering it each moment sweeter and more desirable. +"My precept to all who build is," says Cicero, "that the owner should be +an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner."</p> + +<p>Mona pours out the tea—which is excellent—and puts in the cream—which +is a thing to dream of—with a liberal hand. She smiles at Geoffrey +across the sugar-bowl, and chatters to him over the big bowl of flowers +that lies in the centre of the table. Not a hothouse bouquet faultlessly +arranged, by any means, but a great, tender, happy, straggling bunch of +flowers that seem to have fallen into their places of their own accord, +regardless of coloring, and fill the room with their perfume.</p> + +<p>His host going to the window when breakfast is at an end, Geoffrey +follows him; and both look out upon the little garden before them that +is so carefully and lovingly tended.</p> + +<p>"It is all her doing," says the old man,—"Mona's, I mean. She loves +those flowers more than anything on earth, I think. Her mother was the +same; but she wasn't half the lass that Mona is. Never a mornin' in the +cowld winter but she goes out there to see if the frost hasn't killed +some of 'em the night before."</p> + +<p>"There is hardly any taste so charming or so engrossing as that for +flowers," says Geoffrey, making this trite little speech, that sounds +like a copy-book, in his most engaging style. "My mother and cousin do a +great deal of that sort of thing when at home."</p> + +<p>"Ay, it looks pretty and gives the child something to do." There is a +regretful ring in his tone that induces Geoffrey to ask the next +question.</p> + +<p>"Does she—does Miss Scully find country life unsatisfying? Has she not +lived here always?"</p> + +<p>"Law, no, sir," says the old man, with a loud and hearty laugh. "I think +if ye could see the counthry girls round here, an' compare 'em with my +Mona, you'd see that for yerself. She's as fine as the queen to them. +Her mother, you see, was the parson's daughter down here; tiptop she +was, and purty as a fairy, but mighty delicate; looked as if a march +wind would blow her into heaven. Dan—he was a brother of mine, an' a +solicitor in Dublin. You've been there, belike?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I stopped there for two or three days on my way down here. +Well—and—your brother?" He cannot to himself explain the interest he +feels in this story.</p> + +<p>"Dan? He was a fine man, surely; six feet in his stockin', he was, an' +eyes like a woman's. He come down here an' met her, an' she married him. +Nothing would stop her, though the parson was fit to be tied about it. +An' of course he was no match for her,—father bein' only a bricklayer +when he began life,—but still I will say Dan was a fine man, an' one to +think about; an' no two ways in him, an' <i>that</i> soft about the heart. He +worshipped the ground she walked on; an' four years after their marriage +she told me herself she never had an ache in her heart since she married +him. That was fine tellin', sir, wasn't it? Four years, mind ye. Why, +when Mary was alive (my wife, sir) we had a shindy twice a week, reg'lar +as clockwork. We wouldn't have known ourselves without it; but, however, +that's nayther here nor there," says Mr. Scully, pulling himself up +short. "An' I ask yer pardon, sir, for pushing private matters on ye +like this."</p> + +<p>"But you have interested me," says Geoffrey, seating himself on the +broad sill of the window, as though preparing for a long dissertation on +matters still unknown. "Pray tell me how your brother and his lovely +wife—who evidently was as wise and true as she was lovely—got on."</p> + +<p>Mr. Rodney's face being of that rare kind that is as tender as it is +manly, and by right of its beauty demands confidence, the old man (who +dearly loves his own voice) is encouraged to proceed.</p> + +<p>"They didn't get on for long," he says, mournfully,—and what voice is +so full of melancholy as the Irish voice when it sinks into sadness? +"When the little one—Mona—was barely five years old, they went to +ground; Mount Jerome got them. Fever it was; and it carried 'em both off +just while ye'd have time to look round ye. Poor souls, they went to the +blessed land together. Perhaps the Holy Virgin knew they would have got +on badly without each other anywhere."</p> + +<p>"And the child,—Miss Mona?" asks Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"She went to live in Anthrim with her mother's sister. Later she got to +Dublin, to her aunt there,—another of the parson's daughters,—who +married the Provost in Thrinity; a proud sort he was, an' awful tiresome +with his Greeks an' his Romans, an' not the height of yer thumb," says +Mr. Scully, with ineffable contempt. "I went to Dublin one day about +cattle, and called to see me niece; an' she took to me, bless her, an' +I brought her down with me for change of air, for her cheeks were whiter +than a fleece of wool, an' she has stayed ever since. Dear soul! I hope +she'll stay forever. She is welcome."</p> + +<p>"She must be a great comfort to you," says Geoffrey from his heart.</p> + +<p>"She is that. More than I can say. An' keeps things together, too. She +is clever like her father, an' he was on the fair way to make a fortune. +Ay, I always say it, law is the thing that pays in Ireland. A good sound +fight sets them up. But I'm keeping you, sir, and your gun is waitin' +for ye. If you haven't had enough of me company by this," with another +jolly laugh, "I'll take ye down to a field hard by, an' show ye where I +saw a fine young covey only yesternight."</p> + +<p>"I—I should like to say good-by to Miss Mona, and thank her for all her +goodness to me, before going," says the young man, rising somewhat +slowly.</p> + +<p>"Nay, you can say all that on your way back, an' get a half-shot into +the bargain," says old Scully, heartily. "You'll hardly beat the potheen +I can give ye." He winks knowingly, pats Rodney kindly on the shoulder, +and leads the way out of the house. Yet I think Geoffrey would willingly +have bartered potheen, partridge, and a good deal more, for just one +last glance at Mona's beautiful face before parting. Cheered, however, +by the prospect that he may see her before night falls, he follows the +farmer into the open air.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY'S HEART IS CLAIMED BY CUPID AS A TARGET, AND HOW MONA +STOOPS TO CONQUER.</h3> + + +<p>It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no +new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees +are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and +richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before +them.</p> + +<p>Great cascades of water are rushing from the high hills, tumbling, +hurrying, with their own melodious music, into the rocky basins that +kind nature has built to receive them. The soothing voices of the air +are growing louder, more full of strength; the branches of the elms bow +down before them; the gentle wind, "a sweet and passionate wooer," +kisses the blushing leaf with perhaps a fiercer warmth than it did a +month agone.</p> + +<p>It is in the spring—so we have been told—that "a young man's fancy +lightly turns to thoughts of love;" yet it is in the autumn that <i>our</i> +young man takes to this pleasing if somewhat unsatisfactory amusement.</p> + +<p>Not that he himself is at all aware of the evil case into which he has +fallen. He feels not the arrow in his heart, or the tender bands that +slowly but surely are winding themselves around him,—steel bands, +decked out and hidden by perfumed flowers. As yet he feels no pang; and, +indeed, were any one to even hint at such a thing, he would have laughed +aloud at the idea of his being what is commonly termed "in love."</p> + +<p>That he—who has known so many seasons, and passed through the practised +hands of some of the prettiest women this world can afford, heart-whole, +and without a scratch—should fall a victim to the innocent wiles of a +little merry Irish girl of no family whatever, seems too improbable even +of belief, however lovely beyond description this girl may be (and is), +with her wistful, laughing, mischievous Irish eyes, and her mobile lips, +and her disposition half angelic, half full of fire and natural +coquetry.</p> + +<p>Beauty, according to Ovid, is "a favor bestowed by the gods;" +Theophrastus says it is "a silent cheat;" and Shakspeare tells us it</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Is but a vain and doubtful good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A flower that dieth when first it 'gins to bud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A brittle glass that's broken presently,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mere beauty of form and feature will fade indeed, but Mona's beauty lies +not altogether in nose or eyes or mouth, but rather in her soul, which +compels her face to express its lightest meaning. It is in her +expression, which varies with each passing thought, changing from "grave +to gay, from lively to severe," as the soul within speaks to it, that +her chief charm dwells. She is never quite the same for two minutes +running,—which is the surest safeguard against satiety. And as her soul +is pure and clean, and her face is truly the index to her mind, all it +betrays but endears her to and makes richer him who reads it.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her infinite variety."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Whenever these lines come to me I think of Mona.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It is midday, and Geoffrey, gun in hand, is idly stalking through the +sloping wood that rises behind Mangle Farm. The shooting he has had +since his arrival in Ireland, though desultory,—perhaps because of +it,—has proved delightful in his sight. Here coveys come upon one +unawares, rising out of fields when least expected, and therefore when +discovered possess all the novelty of a gigantic surprise. Now and then +he receives kindly warning of birds seen "over night" in some particular +corner, and an offer to escort him to the scene of action without beat +of drum.</p> + +<p>As for instance, in the morning his man assails him with the news that +Micky Brian or Dinny Collins (he has grown quite familiar with the +gentry around) "is without, an' would like to spake wid him." Need I +remark that he has widely hired his own particular attendant from among +the gay and festive youths of Bantry?</p> + +<p>Whereupon he goes "without," which means to his own hall-door that +always stands wide open, and there acknowledges the presence of Mickey +or Dinny, as the case may be, with a gracious nod. Mickey instantly +removes his caubeen and tells "his honor" (regardless of the fact that +his honor can tell this for himself) that "it is a gran' fine day," +which as a rule is the first thing an Irish person will always say on +greeting you, as though full of thankfulness to the powers above, in +that sweet weather has been given.</p> + +<p>Then follows a long-winded speech on the part of Mickey about birds in +general and grouse in particular, finishing up with the announcement +that he can tell where the finest covey seen this season lies hidden.</p> + +<p>"An' the biggest birds, an' as full o' corn as iver ye see, the rogues!"</p> + +<p>At this his honor requests Mickey to step into the hall, and with his +own hands administers to him a glass of whiskey, which mightily pleases +the son of Erin, though he plainly feels it his duty to make a face at +it as he swallows it off neat. And then Geoffrey sallies forth and goes +for the promised covey, followed closely by the excited Mickey, and, +having made account of most of them, presses backsheesh into the hands +of his informant, and sends him home rejoicing.</p> + +<p>For the most part these bonnie brown birds have found their way into +Miss Mona's pantry, and are eaten by that little gourmand with the rarer +pleasure that in her secret heart she knows that the giver of them is +not blind to the fact that her eyes are faultless and her nose pure +Greek.</p> + +<p>Just at this moment he is coming down through brake and furze, past +tangling blackberry-bushes that are throwing out leaves of brilliant +crimson and softest yellow, and over rustling leaves, towards the farm +that holds his divinity.</p> + +<p>Ill luck has attended his efforts to-day, or else his thoughts have been +wandering in the land where love holds sway, because he is empty-handed. +The bonnie brown bird has escaped him, and no gift is near to lay at +Mona's shrine.</p> + +<p>As he reaches the broad stream that divides him from the land he would +reach, he pauses and tries to think of any decent excuse that may enable +him to walk with a bold front up to the cottage door. But no such excuse +presents itself. Memory proves false. It refuses to assist him. He is +almost in despair.</p> + +<p>He tries to persuade himself that there is nothing strange or uncommon +in calling upon Wednesday to inquire with anxious solicitude about the +health of a young woman whom he had seen happy and robust on Tuesday. +But the trial is not successful, and he is almost on the point of +flinging up the argument and going home again, when his eye lights upon +a fern small but rare, and very beautiful, that growing on a high rock +far above him, overhangs the stream.</p> + +<p>It is a fern for which Mona has long been wishing. Oh! happy thought! +She has expressed for it the keenest admiration. Oh! blissful +remembrance! She has not one like it in all her collection. Oh! +certainty full of rapture.</p> + +<p>Now will he seize this blessed opportunity, and, laden with the spoils +of war, approach her dwelling (already she is "she"), and triumphantly, +albeit humbly, lay the fern at her feet, and so perchance gain the right +to bask for a few minutes in the sunshine of her presence.</p> + +<p>No sooner thought than done! Laying his gun carefully upon the ground, +he looks around him to see by what means he shall gain possession of +this lucky fern which is growing, deeply rooted in its native soil, far +above him.</p> + +<p>A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is +not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is +indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it +must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and +then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern +can be seen.</p> + +<p>It is rather beyond his reach, but he is determined not to be outdone. +Of course by stepping into the water and climbing the slimy rock that +holds the desired treasure, it can be gained; but with a lazy desire to +keep his boots dry, he clings to his present position, regardless of the +fact that bruised flesh (if nothing worse) will probably be the result +of his daring.</p> + +<p>He has stooped very much over indeed. His hand is on the fern; he has +safely carefully extracted it, roots and all (one would think I was +speaking of a tooth! but this is by the way), from its native home, when +cr-r-k goes something; the branch on which he rests betrays him, and +smashing hurls him head downwards into the swift but shallow stream +below.</p> + +<p>A very charming vision clad in Oxford shirting, and with a great white +hat tied beneath her rounded chin with blue ribbons,—something in the +style of a Sir Joshua Reynolds,—emerges from among the low-lying firs +at this moment. Having watched the (seemingly) light catastrophe from +afar, and being apparently amused by it, she now gives way to +unmistakable mirth and laughs aloud. When Mona laughs, she does it with +all her heart, the correct method of suppressing all emotion, be it of +joy or sorrow,—regarding it as a recreation permitted only to the +vulgar,—being as yet unlearned by her. Therefore her expression of +merriment rings gayly and unchecked through the old wood.</p> + +<p>But presently, seeing the author of her mirth does not rise from his +watery resting-place, her smile fades, a little frightened look creeps +into her eyes, and, hastening forward, she reaches the bank of the +stream and gazes into it. Rodney is lying face downwards in the water, +his head having come with some force against the sharp edge of a stone +against which it is now resting.</p> + +<p>Mona turns deadly pale, and then instinctively loosening the strings of +her hat flings it from her. A touch of determination settles upon her +lips, so prone to laughter at other times. Sitting on the bank, she +draws off her shoes and stockings, and with the help of an alder that +droops to the river's brim lowers herself into the water.</p> + +<p>The stream, though insignificant, is swift. Placing her strong young +arms, that are rounded and fair as those of any court dame, beneath +Rodney, she lifts him, and, by a supreme effort, and by right of her +fresh youth and perfect health, draws him herself to land.</p> + +<p>In a minute or two the whole affair proves itself a very small thing +indeed, with little that can be termed tragical about it. Geoffrey comes +slowly back to life, and in the coming breathes her name. Once again he +is trying to reach the distant fern; once again it eludes his grasp. He +has it; no, he hasn't; yet, he has. Then at last he wakes to the fact +that he has indeed <i>got it</i> in earnest, and that the blood is flowing +from a slight wound in the back of his head, which is being staunched by +tender fingers, and that he himself is lying in Mona's arms.</p> + +<p>He sighs, and looks straight into the lovely frightened eyes bending +over him. Then the color comes with a sudden rush back into his cheeks +as he tells himself she will look upon him as nothing less than a "poor +creature" to lose consciousness and behave like a silly girl for so +slight a cause. And something else he feels. Above and beyond everything +is a sense of utter happiness, such as he has never known before, a +thrill of rapture that has in it something of peace, and that comes from +the touch of the little brown hand that rests so lightly on his head.</p> + +<p>"Do not stir. Your head is badly cut, an' it bleeds still," says Mona, +with a shoulder. "I cannot stop it. Oh, what shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Who got me out of the water?" asks he, lazily, pretending (hypocrite +that he is) to be still overpowered with weakness. "And when did you +come?"</p> + +<p>"Just now," returns she, with some hesitation, and a rich accession of +coloring, that renders her even prettier than she was a moment since. +Because</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"From every blush that kindles in her cheeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ten thousand little loves and graces spring."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Her confusion, however, and the fact that no one else is near, betrays +the secret she fain would hide.</p> + +<p>"Was it you?" asks he, raising himself on his elbow to regard her +earnestly, though very loath to quit the spot where late he has been +tenant. "You? Oh, Mona!"</p> + +<p>It is the first time he has ever called her by her Christian name +without a prefix. The tears rise to her eyes. Feeling herself +discovered, she makes her confession slowly, without looking at him, and +with an air of indifference so badly assumed as to kill the idea of her +ever attaining prominence upon the stage.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was I," she says. "And why shouldn't I? Is it to see you drown +I would? I—I didn't want you to find out; but"—quickly—"I would do +the same for <i>any one</i> at <i>any</i> time. You know that."</p> + +<p>"I am sure you would," says Geoffrey, who has risen to his feet and has +taken her hand. "Nevertheless, though, as you say, I am but one in the +crowd,—and, of course, nothing to you,—I am very glad you did it for +me."</p> + +<p>With a little touch of wilfulness, perhaps pride, she withdraws her +hand.</p> + +<p>"I dare say," she says, carelessly, purposely mistaking his meaning: "it +must have been cold lying there."</p> + +<p>"There are things that chill one more than water," returns he, slightly +offended by her tone.</p> + +<p>"You are all wet. Do go home and change your clothes," says Mona, who is +still sitting on the grass with her gown spread carefully around her. +"Or perhaps"-reluctantly—"it will be better for you to go to the farm, +where Bridget will look after you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; so I shall, if you will come with me."</p> + +<p>"Don't mind me," says Miss Scully, hastily. "I shall follow you by and +by."</p> + +<p>"By and by will suit me down to the ground," declares he, easily. "The +day is fortunately warm: damp clothes are an advantage rather than +otherwise."</p> + +<p>Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind +being evidently great with thought.</p> + +<p>"I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to +the farm, and—stay there."</p> + +<p>"Well, come with me, and I'll stay till you turn me out.'</p> + +<p>"I can't," faintly.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" in a surprised tone.</p> + +<p>"Because—I prefer staying here."</p> + +<p>"Oh! if you mean by that you want to get rid of me, you might have said +so long ago, without all this hinting," says Mr. Rodney, huffily, +preparing to beat an indignant retreat.</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean that, and I never hint," exclaims Mona, angrily; "and if +you insist on the truth, if I must explain to you what I particularly +desire to keep secret, you——"</p> + +<p>"You are hurt!" interrupts he, with passionate remorse. "I see it all +now. Stepping into that hateful stream to save me, you injured yourself +severely. You are in pain,—you suffer; whilst I——"</p> + +<p>"I am in no pain," says Mona, crimson with shame and mortification. "You +mistake everything. I have not even a scratch on me; and—I have no +shoes or stockings on me either, if you must know all!"</p> + +<p>She turns from him wrathfully; and Geoffrey, disgusted with himself, +steps back and makes no reply. With any other woman of his acquaintance +he might perhaps at this juncture have made a mild request that he might +be allowed to assist in the lacing or buttoning of her shoes; but with +this strange little Irish girl all is different. To make such a remark +would be, he feels, to offer her a deliberate insult.</p> + +<p>"There, do go away!" says this woodland goddess. "I am sick of you and +your stupidity."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure I don't wonder," says Geoffrey, very humbly. "I beg your +pardon a thousand times; and—good-by, Miss Mona."</p> + +<p>She turns involuntarily, through the innate courtesy that belongs to her +race, to return his parting salutation, and, looking at him, sees a tiny +spot of blood trickling down his forehead from the wound received awhile +since.</p> + +<p>On the instant all is forgotten,—chagrin, shame, shoes and stockings, +everything! Springing to her little naked feet, she goes to him, and, +raising her hand, presses her handkerchief against the ugly stain.</p> + +<p>"It has broken out again!" she says, nervously. "I am sure—I am +certain—it is a worst wound than you imagine. Ah! do go home, and get +it dressed."</p> + +<p>"But I shouldn't like any one to touch it except you," says Mr. Rodney, +truthfully. "Even now, as your fingers press it, I feel relief."</p> + +<p>"Do you really?" asks Mona, earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Honestly, I do."</p> + +<p>"Then just turn your back for one moment," says Mona simply, "and when +my shoes and stockings are on I'll go home with you an' bathe it. Now, +don't turn round, for your life!"</p> + +<p>"'Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?'" quotes Mr. +Rodney; and, Mona having got into her shoes, she tells him he is at +liberty to follow her across the rustic bridge lower down, that leads +from the wood into Mangle Farm.</p> + +<p>"You have spoiled your gown on my account," says Geoffrey, surveying her +remorsefully; "and such a pretty gown, too. I don't think I ever saw you +looking sweeter than you look to-day. And now your dress is ruined, and +it is all my fault!"</p> + +<p>"How dare you find a defect in my appearance?" says Mona, with her old +gay laugh. "You compel me to retaliate. Just look at yourself. Did you +ever see such a regular pickle as you are?"</p> + +<p>In truth he is. So when he has acknowledged the melancholy fact, they +both laugh, with the happy enjoyment of youth, at their own +discomfiture, and go back to the cottage good friends once more.</p> + +<p>On the middle of the rustic bridge before mentioned he stops her, to +say, unexpectedly,—</p> + +<p>"Do you know by what name I shall always call you in my thoughts?"</p> + +<p>To which she answers, "No. How should I? But tell me."</p> + +<p>"'Bonnie Lesley:' the poet says of her what I think of you."</p> + +<p>"And what do you think of me?" She has grown a little pale, but her eyes +have not left his.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To see her is to love her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And love but her forever;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For nature made her what she is,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ne'er made sie anither,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>quotes Geoffrey, in a low tone, that has something in it almost +startling, so full is it of deep and earnest feeling.</p> + +<p>Mona is the first to recover herself.</p> + +<p>"That is a pretty verse," she says, quietly. "But I do not know the +poem. I should like to read it."</p> + +<p>Her tone, gentle but dignified, steadies him.</p> + +<p>"I have the book that contains it at Coolnagurtheen," he says, somewhat +subdued. "Shall I bring it to you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You may bring it to me—to-morrow," returns she, with the +faintest hesitation, which but enhances the value of the permission, +whereon his heart once more knows hope and content.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER A CABIN AND SEE ONE OF THE RESULTS OF +PARNELL'S ELOQUENCE.</h3> + + +<p>But when to-morrow comes it brings to him a very different Mona from the +one he saw yesterday. A pale girl, with great large sombrous eyes and +compressed lips, meets him, and places her hand in his without a word.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" asks he, quick to notice any change in her.</p> + +<p>"Oh! haven't you heard?" cries she. "Sure the country is ringing with +it. Don't you know that they tried to shoot Mr. Moore last night?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind +Mangle Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course; but I heard, too, how he escaped his would-be +assassin."</p> + +<p>"He did, yes; but poor Tim Maloney, the driver of the car on which he +was, he was shot through the heart, instead of him! Oh, Mr. Rodney," +cries the girl, passionate emotion both in her face and voice, "what can +be said of those men who come down to quiet places such as this was, to +inflame the minds of poor ignorant wretches, until they are driven to +bring down murder on their souls! It is cruel! It is unjust! And there +seems no help for us. But surely in the land where justice reigns +supreme, retribution will fall upon the right heads."</p> + +<p>"I quite forgot about the driver," says Geoffrey, beneath his breath. +This remark is unfortunate. Mona turns upon him wrathfully.</p> + +<p>"No doubt," she says scornfully. "The gentleman escaped, the man doesn't +count! Perhaps, indeed, he has fulfilled his mission now he has shed his +ignoble blood for his superior! Do you know it is partly such thoughts +as these that have driven our people to desperation! One law for the +poor, another for the rich! Friendship for the great, contempt for the +needy."</p> + +<p>She pauses, catching her breath with a little sob.</p> + +<p>"Who is uttering seditious language now?" asks he, reproachfully. "No, +you wrong me. I had, indeed, forgotten for the moment all about that +unfortunate driver. You must remember I am a stranger here. The peasants +are unknown to me. I cannot be expected to feel a keen interest in each +one individually. In fact, had Mr. Moore been killed instead of poor +Maloney, I shouldn't have felt it a bit the more, though he was the +master and the other the man. I can only suffer with those I know and +love."</p> + +<p>The "poor Maloney" has done it. She forgives him; perhaps because—sweet +soul—harshness is always far from her.</p> + +<p>"It is true," she says, sadly. "I spoke in haste because my heart is +sore for my country, and I fear for what we may yet live to see. But of +course I could not expect you to feel with me."</p> + +<p>This cuts him to the heart.</p> + +<p>"I do feel with you," he says, hastily. "Do not believe otherwise." +Then, as though impelled to it, he says in a low tone, though very +distinctly, "I would gladly make your griefs mine, if you would make my +joys yours."</p> + +<p>This is a handsome offer, all things considered, but Mona turns a deaf +ear to it. She is standing on her door-step at this moment, and now +descends until she reaches the tiny gravelled path.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" asks Rodney, afraid lest his last speech has +offended her. She has her hat on,—a big Gainsborough hat, round which +soft Indian muslin is clinging, and in which she looks nothing less than +adorable.</p> + +<p>"To see poor Kitty Maloney, his widow. Last year she was my servant. +This year she married; and now—here is the end of everything—for her."</p> + +<p>"May I go with you?" asks he, anxiously. "These are lawless times, and I +dare say Maloney's cabin will be full of roughs. You will feel happier +with some man beside you whom you can trust."</p> + +<p>At the word "trust" she lifts her eyes and regards him somewhat +steadfastly. It is a short look, yet a very long one, and tells more +than she knows. Even while it lasts he swears to himself an oath that he +never to his life's end breaks.</p> + +<p>"Come, then," she says, slowly, "if you will. Though I am not afraid. +Why should I be? Do you forget that I am one of themselves? My father +and I belong to the people."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together some yards from the +cabin, whispering and gesticulating violently, as is "their nature to."</p> + +<p>The man, seeing Mona, breaks from the woman, and comes up to her.</p> + +<p>"Go back again, miss," he says, with much excitement. "They've brought +him home, an' he's bad to look at. I've seed him, an' it's given me a +turn I won't forget in a hurry. Go home, I tell ye. 'Tis a sight not fit +for the eyes of the likes of you."</p> + +<p>"Is he there?" asks Mona, pointing with trembling fingers to the house.</p> + +<p>"Ay, where else?" answers the woman, sullenly who has joined them. "They +brought him back to the home he will never rouse again with step or +voice. 'Tis cold he is, an' silent this day."</p> + +<p>"Is—is he covered?" murmurs Mona, with difficulty, growing pale, and +shrinking backwards. Instinctively she lays her hand on Rodney's arm, as +though desirous of support. He, laying his own hand upon hers, holds it +in a warm and comforting clasp.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Go back the way ye came," says the man again, with growing excitement. +"This is no place for ye. There is ill luck in yonder house. His soul +won't rest in peace, sent out of him like that. If ye go in now, ye'll +be sorry for it. 'Tis a thing ye'll be thinkin' an' dhramin' of till +you'll be wishin' the life out of yer cursed body!"</p> + +<p>A little foam has gathered round his lips, and his eyes are wild. +Geoffrey, by a slight movement, puts himself between Mona and this man, +who is evidently besides himself with some inward fear and horror.</p> + +<p>"What are ye talkin' about? Get out, ye spalpeen," says the woman, with +an outward show of anger, but a warning frown meant for the man alone. +"Let her do as she likes. Is it spakin' of fear ye are to Dan Scully's +daughter?"</p> + +<p>"Come home, Mona; be advised by me," says Geoffrey, gently, as the man +skulks away, walking in a shambling, uncertain fashion, and with a +curious trick of looking every now and then over his shoulder, as though +expecting to see an unwelcome follower.</p> + +<p>"No, no; this is not a time to forsake one in trouble," says Mona, +faithfully, but with a long, shivering sigh. "I need see nothing, but I +<i>must</i> speak to Kitty."</p> + +<p>She walks deliberately forward and enters the cabin, Geoffrey closely +following her.</p> + +<p>A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is +a large room (if so it can be called), possessed of no flooring but the +bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a +huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, +emitting the strong aromatic perfume that belongs to it. Near it +crouches an old woman with her blue-checked apron thrown above her head, +who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn +breath—that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a +desert shore—brings her old withered palms together with a gesture +indicative of despair.</p> + +<p>Opposite to her is a pig, sitting quite erect, and staring at her +blankly, without the slightest regard to etiquette or nice feeling. He +is plainly full of anxiety, yet without power to express it, except in +so far as his tail may aid him, which is limp and prostrate, its very +curl being a thing of the past. If any man has impugned the sagacity of +pigs, that man has erred!</p> + +<p>In the background partly hidden by the gathering gloom, some fifteen +men, and one or two women, are all huddled together, whispering eagerly, +with their faces almost touching. The women, though in a great +minority, are plainly having the best of it.</p> + +<p>But Mona's eyes see nothing but one object only.</p> + +<p>On the right side of the fireplace, lying along the wall, is a rude +stretcher,—or what appears to be such,—on which, shrouded decently in +a white cloth, lies something that chills with mortal fear the heart, as +it reminds it of that to which we all some day must come. Beneath the +shroud the murdered man lies calmly sleeping, his face smitten into the +marble smile of death.</p> + +<p>Quite near to the poor corpse, a woman sits, young, apparently, and with +a handsome figure, though now it is bent and bowed with grief. She is +dressed in the ordinary garb of the Irish peasant, with a short gown +well tucked up, naked feet, and the sleeves of her dress pushed upwards +until they almost reach the shoulder, showing the shapely arm and the +small hand that, as a rule, belong to the daughters of Erin and betray +the existence of the Spanish blood that in days gone by mingled with +theirs.</p> + +<p>Her face is hidden; it is lying on her arms, and they are cast, in the +utter recklessness and abandonment of her grief, across the feet of him +who, only yesterday, had been her "man,"—her pride and her delight.</p> + +<p>Just as Mona crosses the threshold, a man, stepping from among the group +that lies in shadow, approaching the stretcher, puts forth his hand, as +though he would lift the sheet and look upon what it so carefully +conceals. But the woman, springing like a tigress to her feet, turns +upon him, and waves him back with an imperious gesture.</p> + +<p>"Lave him alone!" cries she; "take yer hands off him! He's dead, as ye +well know, the whole of ye. There's no more ye can do to him. Then lave +his poor body to the woman whose heart is broke for the want of him!"</p> + +<p>The man draws back hurriedly, and the woman once more sinks back into +her forlorn position.</p> + +<p>"Kitty, can I do anything for you?" asks Mona, in a gentle whisper, +bending over her and taking the hand that lies in her lap between both +her own, with a pressure full of gentle sympathy. "I know there is +nothing I can <i>say</i> but can I <i>do</i> nothing to comfort you?"</p> + +<p>"Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly, I know," says the woman, wearily. +"But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. +He's dead, ye see!"</p> + +<p>The inference is full of saddest meaning. Even Geoffrey feels the tears +rise unbidden to his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, +and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor +cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it.</p> + +<p>Mona, turning, confronts the frightened group in the corner, both men +and women, with a face changed and aged by grief and indignation.</p> + +<p>Her eyes have grown darker; her mouth is stern. To Rodney, who is +watching her anxiously, she seems positively transformed. What a +terrible power lies within her slight frame to feel both good and evil! +What sad days may rest in store for this girl, whose face can whiten at +a passing grievance, and whose hands can tremble at a woe in which only +a dependant is concerned! Both sorrow and joy must be to her as giants, +strong to raise or lower her to highest elevations or lowest depths.</p> + +<p>"Oh, what a day is this!" cries she, with quivering lips. "See the ruin +you have brought upon this home, that only yestermorn was full of life +and gladness! Is this what has come of your Land League, and your Home +Rulers, and your riotous meetings? Where is the soul of this poor man, +who was hurried to his last account without his priest, and without a +prayer for pardon on his lips? And how shall the man who slew him dare +to think on his own soul?"</p> + +<p>No one answers; the very moanings of the old crone in the chimney-corner +are hushed as the clear young voice rings through the house, and then +stops abruptly, as though its owner is overcome with emotion. The men +move back a little, and glance uneasily and with some fear at her from +under their brows.</p> + +<p>"Oh, the shameful thought that all the world should be looking at us +with horror and disgust, as a people too foul for anything but +annihilation! And what is it you hope to gain by all this madness? Do +you believe peace, or a blessing from the holy heavens, could fall and +rest on a soil soaked in blood and red with crime? I tell you no; but +rather a curse will descend, and stay with you, that even Time itself +will be powerless to lift."</p> + +<p>Again she pauses, and one of the men, shuffling his feet nervously, and +with his eyes bent upon the floor, says, in a husky tone,—</p> + +<p>"Sure, now, you're too hard on us, Miss Mona. We're innocent of it. Our +hands are clean as yer own. We nivir laid eyes on him since yesterday +till this blessed minit. Ye should remember that, miss."</p> + +<p>"I know what you would say; and yet I do denounce you all, both men and +boys,—yes, and the women too,—because, though your own actual hands +may be free of blood, yet knowing the vile assassin who did this deed, +there is not one of you but would extend to him the clasp of +good-fellowship and shield him to the last,—a man who, fearing to meet +another face to face, must needs lie in ambush for him behind a wall, +and shoot his victim without giving him one chance of escape! Mr. Moore +walks through his lands day by day, unprotected and without arms: why +did this man not meet him there, and fight him fairly, to the death, if, +indeed, he felt that for the good of his country he should die! No! +there was danger in that thought," says Mona, scornfully: "it is a safer +thing to crouch out of sight and murder at one's will."</p> + +<p>"Then why does he prosecute the poor? We can't live; yet he won't lower +the rints," says a sullen voice from the background.</p> + +<p>"He did lower them. He, too, must live; and, at all events, no +persecution can excuse murder," says Mona, undaunted. "And who was so +good to you as Mr. Moore last winter, when the famine raged round here? +Was not his house open to you all? Were not many of your children fed by +him? But that is all forgotten now; the words of a few incendiaries have +blotted out the remembrance of years of steady friendship. Gratitude +lies not with you. I, who am one of you, waste my time in speaking. For +a very little matter you would shoot me too, no doubt!"</p> + +<p>This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A +young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,—</p> + +<p>"I don't think ye have any call to say that to us, Miss Mona. 'Tisn't +fair like, when ye know in yer own heart that we love the very sight of +ye, and the laste sound of yer voice!"</p> + +<p>Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened by this speech, as +might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, +quench the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and +passionate.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you do," she says, sadly. "And I, too,—you know how dear you +all are to me; and it is just that that makes my heart so sore. But it +is too late to warn. The time is past when words might have availed."</p> + +<p>Turning sorrowfully away, she drops some silver into the poor widow's +lap; whereon Geoffrey, who has been standing close to her all the time, +covers it with two sovereigns.</p> + +<p>"Send down to the Farm, and I will give you some brandy," says Mona to a +woman standing by, after a lengthened gaze at the prostrate form of +Kitty, who makes no sign of life. "She wants it." Laying her hand on +Kitty's shoulder, she shakes her gently. "Rouse yourself," she says, +kindly, yet with energy. "Try to think of something,—anything except +your cruel misfortune."</p> + +<p>"I have only one thought," says the woman, sullenly, "I can't betther +it. An' that is, that it was a bitther day when first I saw the light."</p> + +<p>Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head +despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side.</p> + +<p>For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is +wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking +at her, he discovers she is crying,—bitterly, though quietly. The +reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Mona, it has all been too much for you," exclaims he, with deep +concern.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; that poor, poor woman! I cannot get her face out of my head. +How forlorn! how hopeless! She has lost all she cared for; there is +nothing to fall back upon. She loved him; and to have him so cruelly +murdered for no crime, and to know that he will never again come in the +door, or sit by her hearth, or light his pipe by her fire,—oh, it is +horrible! It is enough to kill her!" says Mona, somewhat disconnectedly.</p> + +<p>"Time will soften her grief," says Rodney, with an attempt at soothing. +"And she is young; she will marry again, and form new ties."</p> + +<p>"Indeed she will not;" says Mona indignantly. "Irish peasants very +seldom do that. She will, I am sure, be faithful forever to the memory +of the man she loved."</p> + +<p>"Is that the fashion here? If—if you loved a man, would you be faithful +to him forever?"</p> + +<p>"But how could I help it?" says Mona, simply. "Oh, what a wretched state +this country is in! turmoil and strife from morning till night. And yet +to talk to those very people, to mix with them, they seem such +courteous, honest, lovable creatures!"</p> + +<p>"I don't think the gentleman in the flannel jacket, who spoke about the +reduction of 'rints,' looked very lovable," says Mr. Rodney, without a +suspicion of a smile; "and—I suppose my sight is failing—but I confess +I didn't see much courtesy in his eye or his upper lip. I don't think I +ever saw so much upper lip before, and now that I have seen it I don't +admire it. I shouldn't single him out as a companion for a lonely road. +But no doubt I wrong him."</p> + +<p>"Larry Doolin is not a very pleasant person, I acknowledge that," says +Mona, regretfully; "but he is only one among a number. And for the most +part, I maintain, they are both kind and civil. Do you know," with +energy, "after all I believe England is most to blame for all this evil +work? We are at heart loyal: you must agree with me in this, when you +remember how enthusiastically they received the queen when, years ago, +she condescended to pay us a flying visit, never to be repeated. And how +gladly we welcomed the Prince of Wales, and how the other day all +Ireland petted and made much of the Duke of Connaught! I was in Dublin +when he was there; and I know there was no feeling towards him but +loyalty and affection. I am sure," earnestly, "if you asked him he would +tell the same story."</p> + +<p>"I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with +<i>empressement</i>. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer +to you."</p> + +<p>"We should be all good subjects enough, if things were on a friendlier +footing," says Mona, too absorbed in her own grievance to notice Mr. +Rodney's suppressed but evident enjoyment of her conversation. "But when +you despise us, you lead us to hate you."</p> + +<p>"I never heard such awful language," says Rodney. "To tell me to my face +that you hate me. Oh, Miss Mona! How have I merited such a speech?"</p> + +<p>"You know what I mean," says Mona, reproachfully. "You needn't pretend +you don't. And it is quite true that England does despise us."</p> + +<p>"What a serious accusation! and one I think slightly unfounded. We don't +despise this beautiful island or its people. We even admit that you +possess a charm to which we can lay no claim. The wit, the verve, the +pure gayety that springs direct from the heart that belongs to you, we +lack. We are a terrible prosy, heavy lot capable of only one idea at a +time. How can you say we despise you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you do," says Mona, with a little obstinate shake of her head. +"You call us dirty, for one thing."</p> + +<p>"Well, but is that altogether a falsehood? Pigs and smoke and live fowls +and babies are, I am convinced, good things in their own way and when +well at a distance. But, under the roof with one and in an apartment a +few feet square, I don't think I seem to care about them, and I'm sure +they can't tend towards cleanliness."</p> + +<p>"I admit all that. But how can they help it, when they have no money and +when there are always the dear children? I dare say we are dirty, but so +are other nations, and no one sneers at them as they sneer at us. Are we +dirtier than the canny Scots on whom your queen bestows so much of her +society? Tell me that!"</p> + +<p>There is triumph in her eye, and a malicious sparkle, and just a touch +of rebellion.</p> + +<p>"What a little patriot!" says Rodney, pretending fear and stepping back +from her. "Into what dangerous company have I fallen! And with what an +accent you say '<i>your</i> queen'! Do you then repudiate her? Is she not +yours as well? Do you refuse to acknowledge her?"</p> + +<p>"Why should I? She never comes near us, never takes the least notice of +us. She treats us as though we were a detested branch grafted on, and +causing more trouble than we are worth, yet she will not let us go."</p> + +<p>"I don't wonder at that. If I were the queen I should not let you go +either. And so you throw her over? Unhappy queen! I do not envy her, +although she sits upon so great a throne. I would not be cast off by you +for the wealth of all the Indies."</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are my friend," says Mona, sweetly. Then, returning to the +charge, "Perhaps after all it is not so much her fault as that of +others. Evil counsellors work mischief in all ages."</p> + +<p>"'A Daniel come to judgment!' So sage a speech is wonderful from one so +young. In my opinion, you ought to go into Parliament yourself, and +advocate the great cause. Is it with the present government that you +find fault?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A government which, knowing not true wisdom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that +it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'A council made of such as dare not speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And could not if they durst,'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>because your part of it takes care to make itself heard."</p> + +<p>"How I wish it didn't!" says Mona, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>The tears are still lingering on her lashes; her mouth is sad. Yet at +this instant, even as Geoffrey is gazing at her and wondering how he +shall help to dispel the cloud of sorrow that sits upon her brow, her +whole expression changes. A merry gleam comes into her wet eyes, her +lips widen and lose their lachrymose look, and then suddenly she throws +up her head and breaks into a gay little laugh.</p> + +<p>"Did you see the pig," she says, "sitting up by the fireplace? All +through I couldn't take my eyes off him. He struck me as so comical. +There he sat blinking his small eyes and trying to look sympathetic. I +am convinced he knew all about it. I never saw so solemn a pig."</p> + +<p>She laughs again with fresh delight at her own thought. That pig in the +cabin has come back to her, filling her with amusement. Geoffrey regards +her with puzzled eyes. What a strange temperament is this, where smiles +and tears can mingle!</p> + +<p>"What a curious child you are!" he says, at length. "You are never the +same for two minutes together."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps that is what makes me so nice," retorts Miss Mona, saucily, the +sense of fun still full upon her, making him a small grimace, and +bestowing upon him a bewitching glance from under her long dark lashes, +that lie like shadows on her cheeks.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA BETRAYS WHAT MAKES GEOFFREY JEALOUS, AND HOW AN APPOINTMENT IS +MADE THAT IS ALL MOON-SHINE.</h3> + + +<p>"Yes, it certainly is a charm," says Geoffrey slowly "but it puzzles me. +I cannot be gay one moment and sad the next. Tell me how you manage it."</p> + +<p>"I can't, because I don't know myself. It is my nature. However +depressed I may feel at one instant, the next a passing thought may +change my tears into a laugh. Perhaps that is why we are called fickle; +yet it has nothing to do with it: it is a mere peculiarity of +temperament, and a rather merciful gift, for which we should be +grateful, because, though we return again to our troubles, still the +moment or two of forgetfulness soothes us and nerves us for the +conflict. I speak, of course, of only minor sorrows; such a grief as +poor Kitty's admits of no alleviation. It will last for her lifetime."</p> + +<p>"Will it?" says Geoffrey, oddly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. One can understand that," replies she, gravely, not heeding the +closeness of his regard. "Many things affect me curiously," she goes on, +dreamily,—"sad pictures and poetry and the sound of sweet music."</p> + +<p>"Do you sing?" asks he, through mere force of habit, as she pauses.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The answer is so downright, so unlike the usual "a little," or "oh, +nothing to signify," or "just when there is nobody else," and so on, +that Geoffrey is rather taken back.</p> + +<p>"I am not a musician," she goes on, evenly, "but some people admire my +singing very much. In Dublin they liked to hear me, when I was with Aunt +Anastasia; and you know a Dublin audience is very critical."</p> + +<p>"But you have no piano?"</p> + +<p>"Yes I have: aunty gave me hers when I was leaving town. It was no use +to her and I loved it. I was at school in Portarlington for nearly three +years, and when I came back from it I didn't care for Anastasia's +friends, and found my only comfort in my music. I am telling you +everything am I not," with a wistful smile, "and perhaps I weary you?"</p> + +<p>"Weary me! no, indeed. That is one of the very few unkind things you +have ever said to me. How could I weary of your voice? Go on; tell me +where you keep this magical piano."</p> + +<p>"In my own room. You have not seen that yet. But it belongs to myself +alone, and I call it my den, because in it I keep everything that I hold +most precious. Some time I will show it to you."</p> + +<p>"Show it to me to-day," says he, with interest.</p> + +<p>"Very well, if you wish."</p> + +<p>"And you will sing me something?"</p> + +<p>"If you like. Are you fond of singing!"</p> + +<p>"Very. But for myself I have no voice worth hearing. I sing, you know, a +little, which is my misfortune, not my fault; don't you think so?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; because if you can sing at all—that is correctly, and without +false notes—you must feel music and love it."</p> + +<p>"Well for my part I hate people who sing a little. I always wish it was +even less. I hold that they are a social nuisance, and ought to be put +down by law. My eldest brother Nick sings really very well,—a charming +tenor, you know, good enough to coax the birds off the bushes. He does +all that sort of <i>dilettante</i> business,—paints, and reads tremendously +about things dead and gone, that can't possibly advantage anybody. +Understands old china as well as most people (which isn't saying much), +and I think—but as yet this statement is unsupported—I think he writes +poetry."</p> + +<p>"Does he really?" asks Mona, with eyes wide open. "I am sure if I ever +meet your brother Nick I shall be dreadfully afraid of him."</p> + +<p>"Don't betray me, at all events. He is a touchy sort of fellow, and +mightn't like to think I knew that about him. Jack, my second brother, +sings too. He is coming home from India directly, and is an awfully good +sort, though I think I should rather have old Nick after all."</p> + +<p>"You have two brothers older than you?" asks Mona, meditatively.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I am that most despicable of all things, a third son."</p> + +<p>"I have heard of it. A third son would be poor, of course, and—and +worldly people would not think so much of him as of others. Is that so?"</p> + +<p>She pauses. But for the absurdity of the thing, Mr. Rodney would swear +there is hope in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Your description is graphic," he answers, lightly, "if faintly unkind; +but when is the truth civil? You are right. Younger sons, as a rule, are +not run after. Mammas do not hanker after them, or give them their +reserve smiles, or pull their skirts aside to make room for them upon +small ottomans."</p> + +<p>"That betrays the meanness of the world," says Mona, slowly and with +indignation. "Has not Geoffrey just declared himself to be a younger +son?"</p> + +<p>"Does it? I was bred in a different belief. In my world the mighty do no +wrong; and a third son is nowhere. He is shunted; handed on; if +possible, scotched. The sun is not made for <i>him</i>, or the first waltz, +or caviare, or the 'sweet shady side' of anything. In fact, he 'is the +man of no account' with a vengeance!"</p> + +<p>"What a shame!" says Mona, angrily. Then she changes her note, and says, +with a soft, low, mocking laugh, "How I pity you!"</p> + +<p>"Thanks. I shall try to believe you, though your mirth is somewhat out +of place, and has a tendency towards heartlessness." (He is laughing +too.) "Yet there have been instances," goes on Mr. Rodney, still +smiling, while watching her intently, "when maiden aunts have taken a +fancy to third sons, and have died leaving them lots of tin."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Tin,—money," explains he.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say. Yes, sometimes: but—" she hesitates, and this time the +expression of her face cannot be misunderstood: dejection betrays itself +in every line—"but it is not so with you, is it? No aunt has left you +anything?"</p> + +<p>"No,—no aunt," returns Rodney, speaking the solemn truth, yet conveying +a lie: "I have not been blessed with maiden aunts wallowing in coin."</p> + +<p>"So I thought," exclaims Mona, with a cheerful nod, that under other +circumstances should be aggravating, so full of content it is. "At first +I fea—I thought you were rich, but afterwards I guessed it was your +brothers' ground you were shooting over. And Bridget told me, too. She +said you could not be well off, you had so many brothers. But I like you +all the better for that," says Mona, in a tone that actually savors of +protection, slipping her little brown hand through his arm in a kindly, +friendly, lovable fashion.</p> + +<p>"Do you?" says Rodney. He is strangely moved; he speaks quietly, but his +heart is beating quickly, and Cupid's dart sinks deeper in its wound.</p> + +<p>"Is your brother, Mr. Rodney, like you?" asks Mona presently.</p> + +<p>He has never told her that his eldest brother is a baronet. Why he +hardly knows, yet now he does not contradict her when she alludes to him +as Mr. Rodney. Some inward feeling prevents him. Perhaps he understands +instinctively that such knowledge will but widen the breach that already +exists between him and the girl who now walks beside him with a happy +smile upon her flower-like face.</p> + +<p>"No; he is not like me," he says, abruptly: "he is a much better fellow. +He is, besides, tall and rather lanky, with dark eyes and hair. He is +like my father, they tell me; I am like my mother."</p> + +<p>At this Mona turns her gaze secretly upon him. She studies his hair, his +gray eyes, his irregular nose,—that ought to have known better,—and +his handsome mouth, so resolute, yet so tender, that his fair moustache +only half conceals. The world in general acknowledges Mr. Rodney to be a +well-looking young man of ordinary merits, but in Mona's eyes he is +something more than all this; and I believe the word "ordinary," as +applied to him, would sound offensive in her ears.</p> + +<p>"I think I should like your mother," she says, naively and very sweetly, +lifting her eyes steadily to his. "She is handsome, of course; and is +she good as she is beautiful?"</p> + +<p>Flattery goes a long way with most men, but in this instance the subtle +poison touches Mr. Rodney even more than it pleases him. He presses the +hand that rests upon his arm an eighth of an inch nearer to his heart +than it was before, if that be possible.</p> + +<p>"My mother is a real good sort when you know her," he says, evasively; +"but she's rather rough on strangers. However, she is always all there, +you know, so far as manners go, and that."</p> + +<p>Miss Mona looks puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where +would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?"</p> + +<p>She says this in such perfect good faith that Mr. Rodney roars with +laughter.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you may not know it," says he, "but you are simply perfection!"</p> + +<p>"So Mr. Moore says," returns she, smiling.</p> + +<p>Had she put out all her powers of invention with a view to routing him +with slaughter, she could not have been more successful than she is with +this small unpremeditated speech. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, +he could not have betrayed more thorough and complete discomfiture.</p> + +<p>He drops her arm, and looks as though he is prepared to drop her +acquaintance also, at a moment's notice.</p> + +<p>"What has Mr. Moore to do with you?" he asks, haughtily. "Who is he, +that he should so speak to you?"</p> + +<p>"He is our landlord," says Mona, calmly, but with uplifted brows, +stopping short in the middle of the road to regard him with +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"And thinks you perfection?" in an impossible tone, losing both his head +and his temper completely. "He is rich, I suppose; why don't you marry +him?"</p> + +<p>Mona turns pale.</p> + +<p>"To ask the question is a rudeness," she says, steadily, though her +heart is cold and hurt. "Yet I will answer you. In our country, and in +our class," with an amount of inborn pride impossible to translate, "we +do not marry a man because he is 'rich,' or in other words, sell +ourselves for gold."</p> + +<p>Having said this, she turns her back upon him contemptuously, and walks +towards her home.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, Mona," he says, with deep entreaty. "I confess my fault. +How could I speak to you as I did! I implore your pardon. Great sinner +as I am, surely I shall not knock for forgiveness at your sweet heart in +vain!"</p> + +<p>"Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him +eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for +Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to +see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as +Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!"</p> + +<p>But that Mr. Rodney is still oppressed with the fear that he has +mortally offended her, he could have laughed out loud at this childish +speech; but anxiety helps him to restrain his mirth. Nevertheless he +feels an unholy joy as he thinks on Mr. Moore's bald pate, his "too, too +solid flesh," and his "many days."</p> + +<p>"Yet he dares to admire you?" is what he does say, after a decided +pause.</p> + +<p>"Sure they all admire me," says Miss Mona, with an exasperating smile, +meant to wither.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Rodney is determined to "have it out with her," as he himself +would say, before consenting to fade away out of her sight.</p> + +<p>"But he wants to marry you. I know he does. Tell me the truth about +that," he says, with flattering vehemence.</p> + +<p>"Certainly I shall not. It would be very mean, and I wonder at you to +ask the question," says Mona, with a great show of virtuous indignation. +"Besides," mischievously, "if you know, there is no necessity to tell +you anything."</p> + +<p>"Yet answer me," persists he, very earnestly.</p> + +<p>"I can't," says Mona; "it would be very unfair; and besides," +petulantly, "it is all too absurd. Why, if Mr. Moore were to ask me to +marry him ten thousand times again, I should never say anything but +'no.'"</p> + +<p>Unconsciously she has betrayed herself. He hears the word "again" with a +strange sinking of the heart. Others, then, are desirous of claiming +this wild flower for their own.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mona, do you mean that?" he says. But Mona, who is very justly +incensed, declines to answer him with civility.</p> + +<p>"I begin to think our English cousins are not famous for their +veracity," she says, with some scorn. "You seem to doubt every one's +word; or is it mine in particular? Yet I spoke the truth. I do not want +to marry any one."</p> + +<p>Here she turns and looks him full in the face; and something—it may be +in the melancholy of his expression—so amuses her that (laughter being +as natural to her lips as perfume to a flower) she breaks into a sunny +smile, and holds out to him her hand in token of amity.</p> + +<p>"How could you be so absurd about that old Moore?" she says, lightly. +"Why he has got nothing to recommend him except his money; and what +good," with a sigh, "does that do him, unless to get him murdered!"</p> + +<p>"If he is as fat as you say, he will be a good mark for a bullet," says +Mr. Rodney, genially, almost—I am ashamed to say—hopefully. "I should +think they would easily pot him one of these dark night that are coming. +By this time I suppose he feels more like a grouse than a man, +eh?—'I'll die game' should be his motto."</p> + +<p>"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," says Mona, with a shudder. "It +isn't at all nice of you; and especially when you know how miserable I +am about my poor country."</p> + +<p>"It is a pity anything should be said against Ireland," says Rodney, +cleverly; "it is such a lovely little spot."</p> + +<p>"Do you really like it?" asks she, plainly delighted.</p> + +<p>"I should rather think so. Who wouldn't? I went to Glengariffe the other +day, and can hardly fancy anything more lovely than its pure waters, and +its purple hills that lie continued in the depths beneath."</p> + +<p>"I have been there. And at Killarney, but only once, though we live so +near."</p> + +<p>"That has nothing to do with it," says Rodney. "The easier one can get +to a place the more one puts off going. I knew a fellow once, and he +lived all his time in London, and I give you my word he had never seen +the Crystal Palace. With whom did you go to Killarney?"</p> + +<p>"With Lady Mary. She was staying at the castle there; it was last year, +and she asked me to go with her. I was delighted. And it was so +pleasant, and everything so—so like heaven. The lakes are delicious, so +calm, so solitary, so full of thought. Lady Mary is old, but young in +manner, and has read and travelled so much, and she likes me," says +Mona, naively. "And I like her. Do you know her?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Mary Crighton? Yes, I have met her. An old lady with corkscrew +ringlets, patches, and hoops? She is quite <i>grande dame</i>, and witty, +like all you Irish people."</p> + +<p>"She is very seldom at home, but I think I like her better than any one +I ever met."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" says Geoffrey, in a tone that means much.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—better than all the women I ever met," corrects Mona, but without +placing the faintest emphasis upon the word "women," which omission +somehow possesses its charm in Rodney's eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall go and judge of Killarney myself some day," he says, +idly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you must indeed," says the little enthusiast, brightening. +"It is more than lovely. How I wish I could go with you!"</p> + +<p>She looks at him as she says this, fearlessly, honestly, and without a +suspicion of coquetry.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could!" says Geoffrey from his heart.</p> + +<p>"Well, I can't, you know," with a sigh. "But no matter: you will enjoy +the scenery even more by yourself."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I shall," says Geoffrey, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, we have both seen the bay," says Mona, cheerfully,—"Bantry Bay I +mean: so we can talk about that. Yet indeed"—seriously—"you cannot be +said to have seen it properly, as it is only by moonlight its full +beauty can be appreciated. Then, with its light waves sparkling beneath +the gleam of the stars, and the moon throwing a path across it that +seems to go on and on, until it reaches heaven, it is more satisfying +than a happy dream. Do you see that hill up yonder?" pointing to an +elevation about a mile distant: "there I sometimes sit when the moon is +full, and watch the bay below. There is a lovely view from that spot."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could see it!" says Geoffrey, longingly.</p> + +<p>"Well so you can," returns she, kindly. "Any night when there is a good +moon come to me and I will go with you to Carrickdhuve—that is the name +of the hill—and show you the bay."</p> + +<p>She looks at him quite calmly, as one might who sees nothing in the fact +of accompanying a young man to the top of a high mountain after +nightfall. And in truth she does see nothing in it. If he wishes to see +the bay she loves so well, of course he must see it; and who so +competent to point out to him all its beauties as herself?</p> + +<p>"I wonder when the moon will be full," says Geoffrey, making this +ordinary remark in an everyday tone that does him credit, and speaks +well for his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, as well as for his +power of discerning character. He makes no well-turned speeches about +the bay being even more enchanting under such circumstances, or any +orthodox compliment that might have pleased a woman versed in the +world's ways.</p> + +<p>"We must see," says Mona, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>They have reached the farm again by this time, and Geoffrey, taking up +the guns he had left behind the hall door,—or what old Scully is +pleased to call the front door in contradistinction to the back door, +through which he is in the habit of making his exits and +entrances,—holds out his hand to bid her good-by.</p> + +<p>"Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, +"while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty."</p> + +<p>It strikes Geoffrey as part of the innate sweetness and genuineness of +her disposition that, after all the many changes of thought that have +passed through her brain on their return journey, her first concern on +entering her own doors is for the poor unhappy creature in the cabin up +yonder.</p> + +<p>"Don't be long," he says, impulsively, as she disappears down a passage.</p> + +<p>"I won't, then. Sure you can live alone with yourself for one minute," +returns she, in very fine Irish; and, with a parting smile, sweet as +nectar and far more dangerous, she goes.</p> + +<p>When she is gone, Geoffrey walks impatiently up and down the small hall, +conflicting emotions robbing him of the serenity that usually attends +his footsteps. He is happy, yet full of a secret gnawing uneasiness that +weighs upon him daily, hourly. Near Mona—when in her presence—a +gladness that amounts almost to perfect happiness is his; apart from her +is unrest. Love, although he is but just awakening to the fact, has laid +his chubby hands upon him, and now holds him in thrall; so that no +longer for him is that most desirable thing content,—which means +indifference. Rather is he melancholy now and then, and inclined to look +on life apart from Mona as a doubtful good.</p> + +<p>For what, after all, is love, but</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">"A madness most discreet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A choking gall, and a preserving sweet?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There are, too, dispassionate periods, when he questions the wisdom of +giving his heart to a girl lowly born as Mona undoubtedly is, at least +on her father's side. And, indeed, the little drop of blue blood +inherited from her mother is so faint in hue as to be scarcely +recognizable by those inclined to cavil.</p> + +<p>And these he knows will be many: there would be first his mother, and +then Nick, with a silent tongue but brows uplifted, and after them +Violet, who in the home circle is regarded as Geoffrey's "affinerty," +and who last year was asked to Rodney Towers for the express purpose +(though she knew it not) of laying siege to his heart and bestowing upon +him in return her hand and—fortune. To do Lady Rodney justice, she was +never blind to the fortune!</p> + +<p>Yet Violet, with her pretty, slow, <i>trainante</i> voice and perfect manner, +and small pale attractive face, and great eyes that seem too earnest for +the fragile body to which they belong, is as naught before Mona, whose +beauty is strong and undeniable, and whose charm lies as much in inward +grace as in outward loveliness.</p> + +<p>Though uncertain that she regards him with any feeling stronger than +that of friendliness (because of the strange coldness that she at times +affects, dreading perhaps lest he shall see too quickly into her tender +heart), yet instinctively he knows that he is welcome in her sight, and +that "the day grows brighter for his coming." Still, at times this +strange coldness puzzles him, not understanding that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"No lesse was she in secret heart affected,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that she masked it in modestie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For feare she should of lightnesse be detected."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For many days he had not known "that his heart was darkened with her +shadow." Only yesterday he might perhaps have denied his love for her, +so strange, so uncertain, so undreamt of, is the dawning of a first +great attachment. One looks upon the object that attracts, and finds the +deepest joy in looking, yet hardly realizes the great truth that she has +become part of one's being, not to be eradicated until death or change +come to the rescue.</p> + +<p>Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly—and certainly more tenderly—than +any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when +he says,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The first sound in the song of love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that mysterious instrument, the soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And play the prelude of our fate."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For Geoffrey the prelude has been played, and now at last he knows it. +Up and down the little hall he paces, his hands behind his back, as his +wont when deep in day-dreams, and asks himself many a question hitherto +unthought of. Can he—shall he—go farther in this matter? Then this +thought presses to the front beyond all others:—"Does she—will +she—ever love me?"</p> + +<p>"Now, hurry, Bridget," says Mona's low soft voice,—that "excellent +thing in woman." "Don't be any time. Just give that to Kitty, and say +one prayer, and be back in ten minutes."</p> + +<p>"Law, Miss Mona, ye needn't tell me; sure I'm flyin' I'll be there an' +back before ye'll know I'm gone." This from the agile Biddy, as +(exhilarated with the knowledge that she is going to see a corpse) she +rushes up the road.</p> + +<p>"Now come and see my own room," says Mona, going up to Rodney, and, +slipping her hand into his in a little trustful fashion that is one of +her many, loving ways, she leads him along the hall to a door opposite +the kitchen. This she opens, and with conscious pride draws him after +her across its threshold. So holding him, she might at this moment have +drawn him to the world's end,—wherever that may be!</p> + +<p>It is a very curious little room they enter,—yet pretty, withal, and +suggestive of care and affection, and certainly not one to be laughed +at. Each object that meets the view seems replete with pleasurable +memory,—seems part of its gentle mistress. There are two windows, +small, and with diamond panes like the parlor, and in the far end is a +piano. There are books, and some ornaments, and a huge bowl of +sweetly-smelling flowers on the centre-table, and a bracket or two +against the walls. Some loose music is lying on a chair.</p> + +<p>"Now I am here, you will sing me something," says Geoffrey, presently.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what kind of songs you like best," says Mona, dreamily, +letting her fingers run noiselessly over the keys of the Collard. "If +you are like me, you like sad ones."</p> + +<p>"Then I am like you?" returns he, quickly.</p> + +<p>"Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and +forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all +her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and +then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and +looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work.</p> + +<p>"You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has +finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a +question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. +And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me +one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you."</p> + +<p>"I am not going to suffer," says Mona, lightly. "Sorrow only falls on +every second generation; and you know poor mother was very unhappy at +one time: therefore I am free. You will call that superstition, but," +with a grave shake of her head, "it is quite true."</p> + +<p>"I hope it is," says Geoffrey; "though, taking your words for gospel, it +rather puts me out in the cold. My mother seems to have had rather a +good time all through, devoid of anything that might be termed trouble."</p> + +<p>"But she lost her husband," says Mona, gently.</p> + +<p>"Well, she did. I don't remember about that, you know. I was quite a +little chap, and hustled out of sight if I said 'boo.' But of course +she's got over all that, and is as jolly as a sand-boy now," says +Geoffrey, gayly. (If only Lady Rodney could have heard him comparing her +to a "sand-boy"!)</p> + +<p>"Poor thing!" says Mona, sympathetically, which sympathy, by the by, is +utterly misplaced, as Lady Rodney thought her husband, if anything, an +old bore, and three months after his death confessed to herself that she +was very glad he was no more.</p> + +<p>"Where do you get your music?" asks Geoffrey, idly, wondering how +"London Bridge" has found its way to this isolated spot, as he thinks of +the shops in the pretty village near, where Molloy and Adams, and their +attendant sprite called Weatherley, are unknown.</p> + +<p>"The boys send it to me. Anything new that comes out, or anything they +think will suit my voice, they post to me at once."</p> + +<p>"The boys!" repeats he, mystified.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the students, I mean. When with aunty in Dublin I knew ever so +many of them, and they were very fond of me."</p> + +<p>"I dare say," says Mr. Rodney, with rising ire.</p> + +<p>"Jack Foster and Terry O'Brien write to me very often," goes on Mona, +unconsciously. "And indeed they all do occasionally, at Christmas, you +know, and Easter and Midsummer, just to ask me how I am, and to tell me +how they have got through their exams. But it is Jack and Terry, for the +most part, who send me the music."</p> + +<p>"It is very kind of them, I'm sure," says Geoffrey, unreasonably +jealous, as, could he only have seen the said Terry's shock head of red +hair, his fears of rivalry would forever have been laid at rest. "But +they are favored friends. You can take presents from them, and yet the +other day when I asked you if you would like a little gold chain to hang +to your mother's watch, you answered me 'that you did not require it' in +such a tone as actually froze me and made me feel I had said something +unpardonably impertinent."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Mona, shocked at this interpretation of her manner. "I +did not mean all that; only I really did not require it; at +least"—truthfully—"not <i>much</i>. And, besides, a song is not like a gold +chain; and you are quite different from them; and besides, +again,"—growing slightly confused, yet with a last remnant of +courage,—"there is no reason why you should give me anything. Shall +I"—hurriedly—"sing something else for you?"</p> + +<p>And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that +awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice +rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely +melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and +pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a +"p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her +heart dictates.</p> + +<p>When she has finished, Geoffrey says "thank you" in a low tone. He is +thinking of the last time when some one else sang to him, and of how +different the whole scene was from this. It was at the Towers, and the +hour with its dying daylight, rises before him. The subdued light of the +summer eve, the open window, the perfume of the drowsy flowers, the girl +at the piano with her small drooping head and her perfectly trained and +very pretty voice, the room, the soft silence, his mother leaning back +in her crimson velvet chair, beating time to the music with her long +jewelled, fingers,—all is remembered.</p> + +<p>It was in the boudoir they were sitting, and Violet was dressed in some +soft gray dress that shone and turned into palest pearl as she moved. It +was his mother's boudoir, the room she most affects, with its crimson +and gray coloring and its artistic arrangements, that blend so +harmoniously, and are so tremendously becoming to the complexion when +the blinds are lowered. How pretty Mona would look in a gray and crimson +room? how——</p> + +<p>"What are you thinking of?" asks Mona, softly, breaking in upon his +soliloquy.</p> + +<p>"Of the last time I heard any one sing," returns he, slowly. "I was +comparing that singer very unfavorably with you. Your voice is so unlike +what one usually hears in drawing-rooms."</p> + +<p>He means highest praise. She accepts his words as a kind rebuke.</p> + +<p>"Is that a compliment?" she says, wistfully. "Is it well to be unlike +all the world? Yet what you say is true, no doubt. I suppose I am +different from—from all the other people you know."</p> + +<p>This is half a question; and Geoffrey, answering it from his heart, +sinks even deeper into the mire.</p> + +<p>"You are indeed," he says, in a tone so grateful that it ought to have +betrayed to her his meaning. But grief and disappointment have seized +upon her.</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen +upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that—that last singer?" she +asks, in a subdued voice.</p> + +<p>"At home," returns he. He is gazing out of the window, with his hands +clasped behind his back, and does not pay so much attention to her words +as is his wont.</p> + +<p>"Is your home very beautiful?" asks she, timidly, looking at him the +more earnestly in that he seems rapt in contemplation of the valley that +spreads itself before him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, very beautiful," he answers, thinking of the stately oaks and aged +elms and branching beeches that go so far to make up the glory of the +ivied Towers.</p> + +<p>"How paltry this country must appear in comparison with your own!" goes +on the girl, longing for a contradiction, and staring at her little +brown hands, the fingers of which are twining and intertwining nervously +with one another, "How glad you will be to get back to your own home!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, very glad," returns he, hardly knowing what he says. He has gone +back again to his first thoughts,—his mother's boudoir, with its old +china, and its choice water-colors that line the walls, and its delicate +Italian statuettes. In his own home—which is situated about fourteen +miles from the Towers, and which is rather out of repair through years +of disuse—there are many rooms. He is busy now trying to remember them, +and to decide which of them would look best decked out in crimson and +gray, or blue and silver: he hardly knows which would suit her best. +Perhaps, after all——</p> + +<p>"How strange it is!" says Mona's voice, that has now a faint shade of +sadness in it. "How people come and go in one's lives, like the waves of +the restless sea, now breaking at one's feet, now receding, now——"</p> + +<p>"Only to return," interrupts he, quickly. "And—to break at your feet? +to break one's heart, do you mean? I do not like your simile."</p> + +<p>"You jest," says Mona, full of calm reproach. "I mean how strangely +people fall into one's lives and then out again!" She hesitates. Perhaps +something in his face warns her, perhaps it is the weariness of her own +voice that frightens her, but at this moment her whole expression +changes, and a laugh, forced but apparently full of gayety, comes from +her lips. It is very well done indeed, yet to any one but a jealous +lover her eyes would betray her. The usual softness is gone from them, +and only a well-suppressed grief and a pride that cannot be suppressed +take its place.</p> + +<p>"Why should they fall out again?" says Rodney, a little angrily, hearing +only her careless laugh, and—man-like—ignoring stupidly the pain in +her lovely eyes. "Unless people choose to forget."</p> + +<p>"One may choose to forget, but one may not be able to accomplish it. To +forget or to remember is not in one's own power."</p> + +<p>"That is what fickle people say. But what one feels one remembers."</p> + +<p>"That is true, for a time, with some. <i>Forever</i> with others."</p> + +<p>"Are you one of the others?"</p> + +<p>She makes him no answer.</p> + +<p>"Are <i>you</i>?" she says, at length, after a long silence.</p> + +<p>"I think so, Mona. There is one thing I shall never get."</p> + +<p>"Many things, I dare say," she says, nervously, turning from him.</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak of people dropping out of your life?"</p> + +<p>"Because, of course, you will, you must. Your world is not mine."</p> + +<p>"You could make it yours."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand," she says, very proudly, throwing up her head with +a charming gesture. "And, talking of forgetfulness, do you know what +hour it is?"</p> + +<p>"You evidently want to get rid of me," says Rodney, discouraged, taking +up his hat. He takes up her hand, too, and holds it warmly, and looks +long and earnestly into her face.</p> + +<p>"By the by," he says, once more restored to something like hope, as he +notes her drooping lids and changing color and how she hides from his +searching gaze her dark, blue, Irish eyes, that, as somebody has so +cleverly expressed it, seem "rubbed into her head with a dirty finger," +so marked lie the shadows beneath them, that enhance and heighten their +beauty,—"by the by, you told me you had a miniature of your mother in +your desk, and you promised to show it to me." He merely says this with +a view to gaining more time, and not from any overwhelming desire to see +the late Mrs. Scully.</p> + +<p>"It is here," says Mona, rather pleased at his remembering this promise +of hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to open a secret drawer, in +which lies the picture in question.</p> + +<p>It is a very handsome picture, and Geoffrey duly admires it; then it is +returned to its place, and Mona, opening the drawer next to it, shows +him some exquisite ferns dried and gummed on paper.</p> + +<p>"What a clever child you are!" says Geoffrey, with genuine admiration. +"And what is here?" laying his hand on the third drawer.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do not open that—do not!" says Mona, hastily, in an agony of fear, +to judge by her eyes, laying a deterring hand upon his arm.</p> + +<p>"And why not this or any other drawer?" says Rodney, growing pale. Again +jealousy, which is a demon, rises in his breast, and thrusts out all +gentler feelings. Her allusion to Mr. Moore, most innocently spoken, +and, later on, her reference to the students, have served to heighten +within him angry suspicion.</p> + +<p>"Do not!" says Mona, again, as though fresh words are impossible to her, +drawing her breath quickly. Her evident agitation incenses him to the +last degree. Opening the drawer impulsively, he gazes at its contents.</p> + +<p>Only a little withered bunch of heather, tied by a blade of grass! +Nothing more!</p> + +<p>Rodney's heart throbs with passionate relief, yet shame covers him; for +he himself, one day, had given her that heather, tied, as he remembers, +with that selfsame grass; and she, poor child, had kept it ever since. +She had treasured it, and laid it aside, apart from all other objects, +among her most sacred possessions, as a thing beloved and full of tender +memories; and his had been the hand to ruthlessly lay bare this hidden +secret of her soul.</p> + +<p>He is overcome with contrition, and would perhaps have said something +betraying his scorn of himself, but she prevents him.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she says, with cheeks colored to a rich carmine, and flashing +eyes, and lips that quiver in spite of all her efforts at control, "that +is the bit of heather you gave me, and that is the grass that tied it. I +kept it because it reminded me of a day when I was happy. Now," +bitterly, "I no longer care for it: for the future it can only bring +back to me an hour when I was grieved and wounded."</p> + +<p>Taking up the hapless heather, she throws it on the ground, and, in a +fit of childish spleen, lays her foot upon it and tramples it out of all +recognition. Yet, even as she does so, the tears gather in her eyes, +and, resting there unshed, transfigure her into a lovely picture that +might well be termed "Beauty in Distress." For this faded flower she +grieves, as though it were, indeed, a living thing that she has lost.</p> + +<p>"Go!" she says, in a choked voice, and with a little passionate sob, +pointing to the door. "You have done mischief enough." Her gesture is at +once imperious and dignified. Then in a softer voice, that tells of +sorrow, and with a deep sigh, "At least," she says, "I believed in your +honor!"</p> + +<p>The reproach is terrible, and cuts him to the heart. He picks up the +poor little bruised flower, and holds it tenderly in his hand.</p> + +<p>"How can I go," he says, without daring to look at her, "until, at +least, I <i>ask</i> for forgiveness?" He feels more nervous, more crushed in +the presence of this little wounded Irish girl with her pride and her +grief, than he has ever felt in the presence of an offended fashionable +beauty full of airs and caprices. "Mona, love makes one cruel: I ask you +to remember that, because it is my only excuse," he says, warmly. "Don't +condemn me altogether; but forgive me once more."</p> + +<p>"I am always forgiving you, it seems to me," says Mona, coldly, turning +from him with a frown. "And as for that heather," facing him again, with +eyes shamed but wrathful, "I just kept it because—because—oh, because +I didn't like to throw it away! That was all!"</p> + +<p>Her meaning, in spite of her, is clear; but Geoffrey doesn't dare so +much as to think about it. Yet in his heart he knows that he is glad +because of her words.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't think I supposed you kept it for any other purpose," he +says, quite solemnly, and in such a depressed tone that Mona almost +feels sorry for him.</p> + +<p>He has so far recovered his courage that he has taken her hand, and is +now holding it in a close grasp; and Mona, though a little frown still +lingers on her low, broad forehead, lets her hand so lie without a +censure.</p> + +<p>"Mona, <i>do</i> be friends with me," he says at last, desperately, driven to +simplicity of language through his very misery. There is a humility in +this speech that pleases her.</p> + +<p>"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was +foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't +signify, not in the least. But—but," the blood mounting to her brow, +"if ever you speak of it again,—if ever you even <i>mention</i> the word +'heather,'—I shall <i>hate you</i>!"</p> + +<p>"That word shall never pass my lips again in your company,—never, I +swear!" says he, "until you give me leave. My darling," in a low tone, +"if you could only know how vexed I am about the whole affair, and my +unpardonable conduct! Yet, Mona, I will not hide from you that this +little bit of senseless heather has made me happier than I have ever +been before."</p> + +<p>Stooping, he presses his lips to her hand for the first time. The caress +is long and fervent.</p> + +<p>"Say I am quite forgiven," he pleads, earnestly, his eyes on hers.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I forgive you," she says, almost in a whisper, with a seriousness +that amounts to solemnity.</p> + +<p>Still holding her hand, as though loath to quit it, he moves towards the +door; but before reaching it she slips away from him, and says "Good-by" +rather coldly.</p> + +<p>"When am I to see you again?" says Rodney, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh not for ever so long," returns she, with much and heartless +unconcern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Certainly not until Friday," she +goes on, carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his spirits once more rise +into the seventh heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or perhaps some day +next week," she says, unkindly.</p> + +<p>"If on Friday night there is a good moon," says Rodney, boldly, "will +you take me, as you promised, to see the Bay?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if it is fine," says Mona, after a faint hesitation.</p> + +<p>Then she accompanies him to the door, but gravely, and not with her +accustomed gayety. Standing on the door-step he looks at her, and, as +though impelled to ask the question because of her extreme stillness, he +says, "Of what are you thinking?"</p> + +<p>"I am thinking that the man we saw before going into Kitty's cabin is +the murderer!" she says, with a strong shudder.</p> + +<p>"I thought so all along," says Geoffrey, gravely.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE MYSTIC MOONBEAMS THROW THEIR RAYS ON MONA; AND HOW GEOFFREY, +JEALOUS OF THEIR ADMIRATION, DESIRES TO CLAIM HER AS HIS OWN.</h3> + + +<p>Friday is fine, and towards nightfall grows still milder, until it seems +that even in the dawn of October a summer's night may be born.</p> + +<p>The stars are coming out one by one,—slowly, tranquilly, as though +haste has got no part with them. The heavens are clothed in azure. A +single star, that sits apart from all the rest, is twinkling and +gleaming in its blue nest, now throwing out a pale emerald ray, now a +blood-red fire, and anon a touch of opal, faint and shadowy, yet more +lovely in its vagueness than all the rest, until verily it resembles "a +diamond in the sky."</p> + +<p>Geoffrey coming to the farm somewhat early in the evening, Mona takes +him round to the yard, where two dogs, hitherto unseen by Geoffrey, lie +chained. They are two splendid bloodhounds, that, as she approaches, +rise to their feet, and, lifting their massive heads, throw out into the +night-air a deep hollow bay that bespeaks welcome.</p> + +<p>"What lovely creatures!" says Geoffrey, who has a passion for animals: +they seem to acknowledge him as a friend. As Mona looses them from their +den, they go to him, and, sniffing round him, at last open their great +jaws into a satisfied yawn, and, raising themselves, rest their paws +upon his breast and rub their faces contentedly against his.</p> + +<p>"Now you are their friend forever," says Mona, in a pleased tone. "Once +they do that, they mean to tell you they have adopted you. And they like +very few people: so it is a compliment."</p> + +<p>"I feel it keenly," says Rodney, caressing the handsome creatures as +they crouch at his feet. "Where did you get them?"</p> + +<p>"From Mr. Moore." A mischievous light comes into her face as she says +this, and she laughs aloud. "But, I assure you, not as a love-token. He +gave them to me when they were quite babies, and I reared them myself. +Are they not lovely? I call them? 'Spice' and 'Allspice,' because one +has a quicker temper than the other."</p> + +<p>"The names are original, at all events," says Geoffrey,—"which is a +great charm. One gets so tired of 'Rags and Tatters,' 'Beer and +Skittles,' 'Cakes and Ale,' and so forth, where pairs are in question, +whether they be dogs or ponies."</p> + +<p>"Shall we set out now?" says Mona; and she calls "Mickey, Mickey," at +the top of her strong young lungs.</p> + +<p>The man who manages the farm generally—and is a plague and a blessing +at the same time to his master—appears round a corner, and declares, +respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, +if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit."</p> + +<p>And in truth the "claning" occupies a very short period,—or else Mona +and Geoffrey heed not the parting moments. For sometimes</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unsoiled and swift, and of a silken sound."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I'm ready now, miss, if you are," says Mickey from the background, with +the utmost <i>bonhommie</i>, and in a tone that implies he is quite willing +not to be ready, if it so pleases her, for another five minutes or so, +or even, if necessary, to efface himself altogether. He is a stalwart +young Hibernian, with rough hair and an honest face, and gray eyes, +merry and cunning, and so many freckles that he looks like a turkey-egg.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I am quite ready," says Mona, starting somewhat guiltily. And +then they pass out through the big yard-gate, with the two dogs at their +heels, and their attendant squire, who brings up the rear with a soft +whistle that rings through the cool night-air and tells the listening +stars that the "girl he loves is his dear," and his "own, his artless +Nora Creana."</p> + +<p>Geoffrey and Mona go up the road with the serenader behind them, and, +turning aside, she guiding, mount a stile, and, striking across a field, +make straight for the high hill that conceals the ocean from the farm. +Over many fields they travel, until at length they reach the mountain's +summit and gaze down upon the beauteous scene below.</p> + +<p>The very air is still. There is no sound, no motion, save the coming and +going of their own breath as it rises quickly from their hearts, filled +full of passionate admiration for the loveliness before them.</p> + +<p>From the high hill on which they stand, steep rocks descend until they +touch the water's edge, which lies sleeping beneath them, lulled into +slumber by the tranquil moon as she comes forth "from the slow opening +curtains of the clouds."</p> + +<p>Far down below lies the bay, calm and placid. Not a ripple, not a sigh +comes to disturb its serenity or mar the perfect beauty of the silver +pathway thrown so lightly upon it by the queen of heaven. It falls there +so clear, so unbroken, that almost one might deem it possible to step +upon it, and so walk onwards to the sky that melts into it on the far +horizon.</p> + +<p>The whole firmament is of a soft azure, flecked here and there with +snowy clouds tipped with palest gray. A little cloud—the tenderest veil +of mist—hangs between earth and sky.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The moon is up; it is the dawn of night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands by her side one bold, bright, steady star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Star of her heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mother of stars! the heavens look up to thee."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Mona is looking up to it now, with a rapt, pensive gaze, her great blue +eyes gleaming beneath its light. She is sitting upon the side of the +hill, with her hands clasped about her knees, a thoughtful expression on +her lovely face. At each side of her, sitting bolt upright on their huge +haunches, are the dogs, as though bent on guarding her against all +evil.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, although in reality deeply impressed by the grandeur of all +the surroundings, yet cannot keep his eyes from Mona's face, her pretty +attitude, her two mighty defenders. She reminds him in some wise of Una +and the lion, though the idea is rather far-fetched; and he hardly dares +speak to her, lest he shall break the spell that seems to lie upon her.</p> + +<p>She herself destroys it presently.</p> + +<p>"Do you like it?" she asks, gently, bringing her gaze back from the +glowing heavens, to the earth, which is even more beautiful.</p> + +<p>"The praise I heard of it, though great, was too faint," he answers her, +with such extreme sincerity in his tone as touches and gladdens the +heart of the little patriot at his feet. She smiles contentedly, and +turns her eyes once more with lazy delight upon the sea, where each +little point and rock is warmed with heavenly light. She nods softly to +herself, but says nothing.</p> + +<p>To her there is nothing strange or new, either in the hour or the place. +Often does she come here in the moonlight with her faithful attendant +and her two dogs, to sit and dream away a long sweet hour brimful of +purest joy, whilst drinking in the plaintive charm that Nature as a rule +flings over her choicest paintings.</p> + +<p>To him, however, all is different; and the hour is fraught with a +tremulous joy, and with a vague sweet longing that means love as yet +untold.</p> + +<p>"This spot always brings to my mind the thoughts of other people," says +Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poetry: are you?"</p> + +<p>"Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed +in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?"</p> + +<p>"I have read so few," she says, wistfully, and with hesitation. Then, +shyly, "I have so few to read. I have a Longfellow, and a Shakspeare, +and a Byron: that is all."</p> + +<p>"Byron?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do +you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?"</p> + +<p>"I think I like no poet half so well. You mistake me," replies he, +ashamed of his own surprise at her preference for his lordship beneath +the calm purity of her eyes. "But—only—it seemed to me Longfellow +would be more suited to you."</p> + +<p>"Well, so I do love him. And just then it was of him I was thinking: +when I looked up to the sky his words came back to me. You remember what +he says about the moon rising 'over the pallid sea and the silvery mist +of the meadows,' and how,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That is so sweet, I think."</p> + +<p>"I remember it; and I remember, too, who watched all that: do you?" he +asks, his eyes fixed upon hers.</p> + +<p>"Yes; Gabriel—poor Gabriel and Evangeline," returns she, too wrapped up +in recollections of that sad and touching tale to take to heart his +meaning:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat the lovers, and whispered together.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>That is the part you mean, is it not? I know all that poem very nearly +by heart."</p> + +<p>He is a little disappointed by the calmness of her answer.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was of them I thought," he says, turning his head away,—"of +the—lovers. I wonder if <i>their</i> evening was as lovely as <i>ours</i>?"</p> + +<p>Mona makes no reply.</p> + +<p>"Have you ever read Shelley?" asks he, presently, puzzled by the extreme +serenity of her manner.</p> + +<p>She shakes her head.</p> + +<p>"Some of his ideas are lovely. You would like his poetry, I think."</p> + +<p>"What does he say about the moon?" asks Mona, still with her knees in +her embrace, and without lifting her eyes from the quiet waters down +below.</p> + +<p>"About the moon? Oh, many things. I was not thinking of the moon," with +faint impatience; "yet, as you ask me, I can remember one thing he says +about it."</p> + +<p>"Then tell it to me," says Mona.</p> + +<p>So at her bidding he repeats the lines slowly, and in his best manner, +which is very good:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The cold chaste moon, the queen of heaven's bright isles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which ever is transformed, yet still the same,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And warms, but not illumines."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He finishes; but, to his amazement, and a good deal to his chagrin, on +looking at Mona he finds she is wreathed in smiles,—nay, is in fact +convulsed with silent laughter.</p> + +<p>"What is amusing you?" asks he, a trifle stiffly.—To give way to +recitation, and then find your listener in agonies of suppressed mirth, +isn't exactly a situation one would hanker after.</p> + +<p>"It was the last line," says Mona, in explanation, clearly ashamed of +herself, yet unable wholly to subdue her merriment. "It reminded me so +much of that speech about tea, that they always use at temperance +meetings; they call it the beverage 'that cheers but not inebriates.' +You said 'that warms but not illumines,' and it sounded exactly like it. +Don't you see!"</p> + +<p>He doesn't see.</p> + +<p>"You aren't angry, are you?" says Mona, now really contrite. "I couldn't +help it, and it <i>was</i> like it, you know."</p> + +<p>"Angry? no!" he says, recovering himself, as he notices the penitence on +the face upraised to his.</p> + +<p>"And do say it is like it," says Mona, entreatingly.</p> + +<p>"It is, the image of it," returns he, prepared to swear to anything she +may propose And then he laughs too, which pleases her, as it proves he +no longer bears in mind her evil deed; after which, feeling she still +owes him something, she suddenly intimates to him that he may sit down +on the grass close beside her. He seems to find no difficulty in swiftly +following up this hint, and is soon seated as near to her as +circumstances will allow.</p> + +<p>But on this picture, the beauty of which is undeniable, Mickey (the +barbarian) looks with disfavor.</p> + +<p>"If he's goin' to squat there for the night,—an' I see ivery prospect +of it," says Mickey to himself,—"what on airth's goin' to become of +me?"</p> + +<p>Now, Mickey's idea of "raal grand" scenery is the kitchen fire. Bays and +rocks and moonlight, and such like comfortless stuff, would be +designated by him as "all my eye an' Betty Martin." He would consider +the bluest water that ever rolled a poor thing if compared to the water +that boiled in the big kettle, and sadly inferior to such cold water as +might contain a "dhrop of the crather." So no wonder he views with +dismay Mr. Rodney's evident intention of spending another half hour or +so on the top of Carrick dhuve.</p> + +<p>Patience has its limits. Mickey's limit comes quickly When five more +minutes have passed, and the two in his charge still make no sign, he +coughs respectfully but very loudly behind his hand. He waits in anxious +hope for the result of this telling man[oe]uvre, but not the faintest +notice is taken of it. Both Mona and Geoffrey are deaf to the pathetic +appeal sent straight from his bronchial tubes.</p> + +<p>Mickey, as he grows desperate, grows bolder. He rises to speech.</p> + +<p>"Av ye plaze, miss, will ye soon be comin'?"</p> + +<p>"Very soon, Mickey," says Mona, without turning her head. But, though +her words are satisfactory, her tone is not. There is a lazy ring in it +that speaks of anything but immediate action. Mickey disbelieves in it.</p> + +<p>"I didn't make up the mare, miss, before comin' out wid ye," he says, +mildly, telling this lie without a blush.</p> + +<p>"But it is early yet, Mickey, isn't it?" says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Awfully early," puts in Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"It is, miss; I know it, sir; but if the old man comes out an' finds the +mare widout her bed, there'll be all the world to pay, an' he'll be +screechin' mad."</p> + +<p>"He won't go into the stable to-night," says Mona, comfortably.</p> + +<p>"He might, miss. It's the very time you'd wish him aisy in his mind that +he gets raal troublesome. An' I feel just as if he was in the stable +this blessid minit lookin' at the poor baste, an' swearin' he'll have +the life uv me."</p> + +<p>"And I feel just as if he had gone quietly to bed," says</p> + +<p>Mona, pleasantly, turning away.</p> + +<p>But Mickey is not to be outdone. "An' there's the pigs, miss," he begins +again, presently.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter with them?" says Mona, with some pardonable +impatience.</p> + +<p>"I didn't give them their supper yet, miss; an' it's very bad for the +young ones to be left starvin'. It's on me mind, miss, so that I can't +even enjoy me pipe, and it's fresh baccy I have an' all, an' it might as +well be dust for what comfort I get from it. Them pigs is callin' for me +now like Christians: I can a'most hear them."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't think deafness is in your family," says Geoffrey, genially.</p> + +<p>"No, sir; it isn't, sir. We're none of us hard of hearin' glory be +to——. Miss Mona," coaxingly, "sure, it's only a step to the house: +wouldn't Misther Rodney see ye home now, just for wanst?"</p> + +<p>"Why, yes, of course he can," says Mona, without the smallest +hesitation. She says it quite naturally, and as though it was the most +usual thing in the world for a young man to see a young woman home, +through dewy fields and beneath "mellow moons," at half-past ten at +night. It is now fully nine, and she cannot yet bear to turn her back +upon the enchanting scene before her. Surely in another hour or so it +will be time enough to think of home and all other such prosaic facts.</p> + +<p>"Thin I may go, miss?" says Mickey.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, you may go," says Mona. Geoffrey says nothing. He is looking +at her with curiosity, in which deep love is mingled. She is so utterly +unlike all other women he has ever met, with their petty affectations +and mock modesties, their would-be hesitations and their final +yieldings. She has no idea she is doing anything that all the world of +women might not do, and can see no reason why she should distrust her +friend just because he is a man.</p> + +<p>Even as Geoffrey is looking at her, full of tender thought, one of the +dogs, as though divining the fact that she is being left somewhat alone, +lays its big head upon her shoulder, and looks at her with large loving +eyes. Turning to him in response, she rubs her soft cheek slowly up and +down against his. Geoffrey with all his heart envies the dog. How she +seems to love it! how it seems to love her!</p> + +<p>"Mickey, if you are going, I think you may as well take the dogs with +you," says Mona: "they, too, will want their suppers. Go, Spice, when I +desire you. Good-night, Allspice; dear darling,—see how he clings to +me."</p> + +<p>Finally the dogs are called off, and reluctantly accompany the jubilant +Mickey down the hill.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you are tired of staying here," says Mona, with compunction, +turning to Geoffrey, "and would like to go home? I suppose every one +cannot love this spot as I do. Yes," rising, "I am selfish. Do come +home."</p> + +<p>"Tired!" says Geoffrey, hastily. "No, indeed. What could tire of +anything so divine? If it is your wish, it is mine also, that we should +stay here for a little while longer." Then, struck by the intense relief +in her face, he goes on: "How you do enjoy the beauties of Nature! Do +you know I have been studying you since you came here, and I could see +how your whole soul was wrapped in the glory of the surrounding +prospect? You had no thoughts left for other objects,—not even one for +me. For the first time," softly, "I learned to be jealous of inanimate +things."</p> + +<p>"Yet I was not so wholly engrossed as you imagine," she says, seriously. +"I thought of you many times. For one thing, I felt glad that you could +see this place with my eyes. But I have been silent, I know; +and—and——"</p> + +<p>"How Rome and Spain would enchant you," he says watching her face +intently, "and Switzerland, with its lakes and mountains!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But I shall never see them."</p> + +<p>"Why not? You will go there, perhaps when you are married."</p> + +<p>"No," with a little flickering smile, that has pain and sorrow in it; +"for the simple reason that I shall never marry."</p> + +<p>"But why?" persists he.</p> + +<p>"Because"—the smile has died away now, and she is looking down upon +him, as he lies stretched at her feet in the uncertain moonlight, with +an expression sad but earnest,—"because, though I am only a farmer's +niece, I cannot bear farmers, and, of course, other people would not +care for me."</p> + +<p>"That is absurd," says Rodney; "and your own words refute you. That man +called Moore cared for you, and very great impertinence it was on his +part."</p> + +<p>"Why, you never even saw him," says Mona, opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>"No; but I can fancy him, with his horrid bald head. Now, you know," +holding up his hand to stop her as she is about to speak, "you know you +said he hadn't a hair left on it."</p> + +<p>"Well, he was different," says Mona, giving in ignominiously. "I +couldn't care for him either; but what I said is true all the same. +Other people would not like me."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't they?" says Rodney, leaning on his elbow as the argument waxes +warmer; "then all I can say is, I never met any 'other people.'"</p> + +<p>"You have met only them, I suppose, as you belong to them."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me that <i>I</i> don't care for you?" says Rodney, +quickly.</p> + +<p>Mona evades a reply.</p> + +<p>"How cold it is!" she says, rising, with a little shiver. "Let us go +home."</p> + +<p>If she had been nurtured all her life in the fashionable world, she +could scarcely have made a more correct speech. Geoffrey is puzzled, nay +more, discomfited. Just in this wise would a woman in his own set answer +him, did she mean to repel his advances for the moment. He forgets that +no tinge of worldliness lurks in Mona's nature, and feels a certain +amount of chagrin that she should so reply to him.</p> + +<p>"If you wish," he says, in a courteous tone, but one full of coldness; +and so they commence their homeward journey.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have been pleased to-night," says Mona, shyly, abashed by +his studied silence. "But," nervously, "Killarney is even more +beautiful. You must go there."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I mean to,—before I return to England."</p> + +<p>She starts perceptibly, which is balm to his heart.</p> + +<p>"To England!" she repeats, with a most mournful attempt at unconcern, +"Will—will that be soon?"</p> + +<p>"Not very soon. But some time, of course, I must go."</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," she says, in a voice from which all joy has flown. "And +it is only natural; you will be happier there." She is looking straight +before her. There is no quiver in her tone; her lips do not tremble; yet +he can see how pale she has grown beneath the vivid moonlight.</p> + +<p>"Is that what you think?" he says, earnestly. "Then for once you are +wrong. I have never been—I shall hardly be again—happier than I have +been in Ireland."</p> + +<p>There is a pause. Mona says nothing, but taking out the flower that has +lain upon her bosom all night, pulls it to pieces petal by petal. And +this is unlike Mona, because flowers are dear to her as sunshine is to +them.</p> + +<p>At this moment they come to a high bank, and Geoffrey, having helped +Mona to mount it, jumps down at the other side, and holds out his arms +to assist her to descend. As she reaches the ground, and while his arms +are still round her, she says, with a sudden effort, and without lifting +her eyes, "There is very good snipe-shooting here at Christmas."</p> + +<p>The little pathetic insinuation is as perfect as it is touching.</p> + +<p>"Is there? Then I shall certainly return for it," says Geoffrey, who is +too much of a gentleman to pretend to understand all her words seem to +imply. "It is really no journey from this to England."</p> + +<p>"I should think it a long journey," says Mona, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, you won't," says Rodney, absently. In truth, his mind is +wandering to that last little speech of hers, and is trying to unravel +it.</p> + +<p>Mona looks at him. How oddly he has expressed himself! "You won't," he +said, instead of "you wouldn't." Does he then deem it possible she will +ever be able to cross to that land that calls him son? She sighs, and, +looking down at her little lean sinewy hands, clasps and unclasps them +nervously.</p> + +<p>"Why need you go until after Christmas?" she says, in a tone so low that +he can barely hear her.</p> + +<p>"Mona! Do you want me to stay?" asks he, suddenly, taking her hands in +his. "Tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>"I do," returns she, tremulously.</p> + +<p>"But why?—why? Is it because you love me? Oh, Mona! If it is that! At +times I have thought so, and yet again I have feared you do not love me +as—as I love you."</p> + +<p>"You love me?" repeats she, faintly.</p> + +<p>"With all my heart," says Rodney, fervently. And, indeed, if this be so, +she may well count herself in luck, because it is a very good and true +heart of which he speaks.</p> + +<p>"Don't say anything more," says the girl, almost passionately, drawing +back from him as though afraid of herself. "Do not. The more you say +now, the worse it will be for me by and by, when I have to think. +And—and—it is all quite impossible."</p> + +<p>"But why, darling? Could you not be happy as my wife?"</p> + +<p>"Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender +seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I +am not fit to be that, and——"</p> + +<p>"Look here," says Geoffrey, with decision, "I will have no 'buts,' and I +prefer taking my answer from your eyes than from your lips. They are +kinder. You are going to marry me, you know, and that is all about it. +<i>I</i> shall marry <i>you</i>, whether you like it or not, so you may as well +give in with a good grace. And I'll take you to see Rome and all the +places we have been talking about, and we shall have a real good old +time. Why don't you look up and speak to me, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Because I have nothing to say," murmurs the girl, in a frozen +tone,—"nothing." Then passionately, "I will not be selfish. I will not +do this thing."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean you will not marry me?" asks he, letting her go, and moving +back a step or two, a frown upon his forehead. "I confess I do not +understand you."</p> + +<p>"Try, <i>try</i> to understand me," entreats she, desperately, following him +and laying her hand upon his arm. "It is only this. It would not make +you happy,—not <i>afterwards</i>, when you could see the difference between +me and the other women you have known. You are a gentleman; I am only a +farmer's niece." She says this bravely, though it is agony to her proud +nature to have to confess it.</p> + +<p>"If that is all," says Geoffrey, with a light laugh, laying his hand +over the small brown one that still rests upon his arm, "I think it need +hardly separate us. You are, indeed, different from all the other women +I have met in my life,—which makes me sorry for all the other women. +You are dearer and sweeter in my eyes than any one I have ever known! Is +not this enough? Mona, are you sure no other reason prevents your +accepting me? Why do you hesitate?" He has grown a little pale in his +turn, and is regarding her with intense and jealous earnestness. Why +does she not answer him? Why does she keep her eyes—those honest +telltales—so obstinately fixed upon the ground? Why does she show no +smallest sign of yielding?</p> + +<p>"Give me my answer," he says, sternly.</p> + +<p>"I have given it," returns she, in a low tone,—so low that he has to +bend to hear it. "Do not be angry with me, do not—I——"</p> + +<p>"'Who excuses himself, accuses himself,'" quotes Geoffrey. "I want no +reasons for your rejection. It is enough that I know you do not care for +me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! it is not that! you must know it is not that," says Mona, in +deep grief. "It is that I <i>cannot</i> marry you!"</p> + +<p>"Will not, you mean!"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I <i>will</i> not," returns she, with a last effort at +determination, and the most miserable face in the world.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you <i>will</i> not," says Mr. Rodney, wrathfully.</p> + +<p>"I—will—not," says Mona, brokenly.</p> + +<p>"Then I don't believe you!" breaks out Geoffrey, angrily. "I am positive +you want to marry me; and just because of some wretched fad you have got +into your head you are determined to make us both wretched."</p> + +<p>"I have nothing in my head," says Mona, tearfully.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you can have much, certainly," says Mr. Rodney, with the +grossest rudeness, "when you can let a few ridiculous scruples interfere +with both our happiness." Then, resentfully, "Do you hate me?"</p> + +<p>No answer.</p> + +<p>"Say so, if you do: it will be honester. If you don't," threateningly, +"I shall of course think the contrary."</p> + +<p>Still no answer.</p> + +<p>She has turned away from him, grieved and frightened by his vehemence, +and, having plucked a leaf from the hedge near her, is trifling absently +with it as it lies upon her little trembling palm.</p> + +<p>It is a drooping blackberry-leaf from a bush near where she is standing, +that has turned from green into a warm and vivid crimson. She examines +it minutely, as though lost in wonder at its excessive beauty, for +beautiful exceedingly it is, clothed in the rich cloak that Autumn's +generosity has flung upon it; yet I think, she for once is blind to its +charms.</p> + +<p>"I think you had better come home," says Geoffrey, deeply angered with +her. "You must not stay here catching cold."</p> + +<p>A little soft woollen shawl of plain white has slipped from her throat +and fallen to the ground, unheeded by her in her great distress. Lifting +it almost unwillingly, he comes close to her, and places it round her +once again. In so doing he discovers that tears are running down her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mona, what is this?" exclaims he, his manner changing on the +instant from indignation and coldness to warmth and tenderness. "You are +crying? My darling girl! There, lay your head on my shoulder, and let us +forget we have ever quarrelled. It is our first dispute; let it be our +last. And, after all," comfortably, "it is much better to have our +quarrels before marriage than after."</p> + +<p>This last insinuation, he flatters himself, is rather cleverly +introduced.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I could be quite, <i>quite</i> sure you would never regret it!" says +Mona, wistfully.</p> + +<p>"I shall never regret anything, as long as I have you!" says Rodney. "Be +assured of that."</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well +off, I should never consent,—never!"</p> + +<p>"No, of course not," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly! "as a rule, girls +nowadays can't endure men with money."</p> + +<p>This is "sarkassum;" but Mona comprehends it not.</p> + +<p>Presently, seeing she is again smiling and looking inexpressibly happy, +for laughter comes readily to her lips, and tears, as a rule, make no +long stay with her,—ashamed, perhaps, to disfigure the fair "windows of +her soul," that are so "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"—"So you will +come to England with me, after all?" he says, quite gayly.</p> + +<p>"I would go to the world's end with you," returns she, gently. "Ah! I +think you knew that all along."</p> + +<p>"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 <i>dear</i> love! I should have known that under no +circumstances could you be untruthful."</p> + +<p>At his words, a glad light springs to life within her wonderful eyes. +She is so pleased and proud that he should so speak of her.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Mona," says the young man, sorrowfully, "you are too good +for me,—a fellow who has gone racketing all over the world for years. +I'm not half worthy of you."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you?" says Mona, in her tender fashion, that implies so kind a +doubt. Raising one hand (the other is imprisoned), she draws his face +down to her own. "I wouldn't have you altered in any way," she says; +"not in the smallest matter. As you are, you are so dear to me you could +not be dearer; and I love you now, and I shall always love you, with all +my heart and soul."</p> + +<p>"My sweet angel!" says her lover, pressing her to his heart. And when he +says this he is not so far from the truth, for her tender simplicity and +perfect faith and trust bring her very near to heaven!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA FALL INTO STRANGE COMPANY AND HOW THEY PROFIT BY +IT; AND HOW MONA, OUTSTRIPPING WICKED VENGEANCE, SAVES A LIFE.</h3> + + +<p>"Is it very late?" says Mona, awaking from her happy dreams with a +start.</p> + +<p>"Not very," says Geoffrey. "It seems only just now that Mickey and the +dogs left us." Together they examine his watch, by the light of the +moon, and see that it is quite ten o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it is dreadfully late!" says Mona, with much compunction. "Come, +let us hurry."</p> + +<p>"Well, just one moment," says Geoffrey, detaining her, "let us finish +what we were saying. Would you rather go to the East or to Rome?"</p> + +<p>"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——"</p> + +<p>"Who on earth are you speaking to?" says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"To you!" with surprise.</p> + +<p>"I am not Mr. Rodney: Jack is that. Can't you call me anything else?"</p> + +<p>"What else?" says Mona, shyly.</p> + +<p>"Call me Geoffrey."</p> + +<p>"I always think of you as Geoffrey," whispers she, with a swift, sweet, +upward glance; "but to say it is so different. Well," bravely, "I'll +try. Dear, dear, <i>dear</i> Geoffrey, I want to tell you I would be as happy +with you in Wicklow as in Rome."</p> + +<p>"I know that," says Geoffrey, "and the knowledge makes me more happy +than I can say. But to Rome you shall go, whatever it may cost. And then +we shall return to England to our own home. And then—little rebel that +you are—you must begin to look upon yourself as an English subject, and +accept the queen as your gracious sovereign."</p> + +<p>"I need no queen when I have got a king," says the girl, with ready wit +and great tenderness.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey raises her hand to his lips. "<i>Your</i> king is also your slave," +he says, with a fond smile.</p> + +<p>Then they move on once more, and go down the road that leads towards the +farm.</p> + +<p>Again she has grown silent, as though oppressed with thought; and he too +is mute, but all his mind is crowded with glad anticipations of what the +near future is to give him. He has no regrets, no fears. At length, +struck by her persistent taciturnity, he says, "What is it, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still +tormenting herself with unseen evils,—"if ever I should see discontent +in your eyes, how would it be with me then?"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk like a penny illustrated," says Mr. Rodney in a very +superior tone. "If ever you do see all you seem to anticipate, just tell +yourself I am a cur, and despise me accordingly. But I think you are +paying both yourself and me very bad compliments when you talk like +that. Do try to understand that you are very beautiful, and far superior +to the general run of women, and that I am only pretty well so far as +men go."</p> + +<p>At this they both laugh heartily, and Mona returns no more to the +lachrymose mood that has possessed her for the last five minutes.</p> + +<p>The moon has gone behind a cloud, the road is almost wrapped in complete +gloom, when a voice, coming from apparently nowhere, startles them, and +brings them back from visions of impossible bliss to the present very +possible world.</p> + +<p>"Hist, Miss Mona! hist!" says this voice close at Mona's ear. She starts +violently.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Paddy," she says, as a small figure, unkempt, and only half clad, +creeps through the hedge and stops short in her path.</p> + +<p>"Don't go on, miss," says the boy, with much excitement. "Don't ye. I +see ye coming', an', no matter what they do to me, I says to myself, +I'll warn her surely. They're waitin' for the agint below, an' maybe +they might mistake ye for some one else in the dark, an' do ye some +harm."</p> + +<p>"Who are they waiting for?" says Mona, anxiously.</p> + +<p>"For the agint, miss. Oh, if ye tell on me now they'll kill me. Maxil, +ye know; me lord's agint."</p> + +<p>"Waiting—for what? Is it to shoot him?" asks the girl, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, miss. Oh, Miss Mona, if ye bethray me now 'twill be all up wid me. +Fegs an' intirely, miss, they'll murdher me out uv hand."</p> + +<p>"I won't betray you," she says. "You may trust me. Where are they +stationed?"</p> + +<p>"Down below in the hollow, miss,—jist behind the hawthorn-bush. Go home +some other way, Miss Mona: they're bint on blood."</p> + +<p>"And, if so, what are you doing here?" says Mona, reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"On'y watchin', miss, to see what they'd do," confesses he, shifting +from one foot to the other, and growing palpably confused beneath her +searching gaze.</p> + +<p>"Is it murder you want to see?" asks she slowly, in a horrified tone. +"Go home, Paddy. Go home to your mother." Then, changing her censuring +manner to one of entreaty, she says, softly, "Go, because I ask you."</p> + +<p>"I'm off, miss," says the miscreant, and, true to his word, darts +through the hedge again like a shaft from a bow, and, scurrying through +the fields, is soon lost to sight.</p> + +<p>"Come with me," says Mona to Rodney; and with an air of settled +determination, and a hard look on her usually mobile lips, she moves +deliberately towards the hawthorn-bush, that is about a quarter of a +mile distant.</p> + +<p>"Mona," says Rodney, divining her intent, "stay you here while I go and +expostulate with these men. It is late, darling, and their blood is up, +and they may not listen to you. Let me speak to them."</p> + +<p>"You do not understand them," returns she, sadly. "And I do. Besides, +they will not harm me. There is no fear of that. I am not at all afraid +of them. And—I <i>must</i> speak to them."</p> + +<p>He knows her sufficiently well to refrain from further expostulation, +and just accompanies her silently along the lonely road.</p> + +<p>"It is I,—Mona Scully," she calls aloud, when she is within a hundred +yards of the hiding-place. "Tim Ryan, come here: I want you."</p> + +<p>It is a mere guess on her part,—supported certainly by many tales she +has heard of this Ryan of late, but a guess nevertheless. It proves, +however, to be a correct one. A man, indistinct, but unmistakable, shows +himself on the top of the wall, and pulls his forelock through force of +habit.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here, Tim?" says Mona, bravely, calmly, "at this +hour, and with—yes, do not seek to hide it from me—a gun! And you too, +Carthy," peering into the darkness to where another man, less plucky +than Ryan lies concealed. "Ah! you may well wish to shade your face, +since it is evil you have in your heart this night."</p> + +<p>"Do ye mane to inform on us?" says Ryan, slowly, who is "a man of a +villanous countenance," laying his hand impulsively upon his gun, and +glancing at her and Rodney alternately with murder in his eyes. It is a +critical moment. Rodney, putting out his hand, tries to draw her behind +him.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not afraid," says the girl, resisting his effort to put +himself before her; and when he would have spoken she puts up her hands, +and warns him to keep silence.</p> + +<p>"You should know better than to apply the word 'informer' to one of my +blood," she says, coldly, speaking to Ryan, without a tremor in her +voice.</p> + +<p>"I know that," says the man, sullenly. "But what of him?" pointing to +Rodney, the ruffianly look still on his face. "The Englishman, I mane. +Is he sure? It's a life, for a life afther all, when everything is +towld."</p> + +<p>He handles the gun again menacingly. Mona, though still apparently calm, +whitens perceptibly beneath the cold penetrating rays of the "pale-faced +moon" that up above in "heaven's ebon vault, studded with stars +unutterably bright," looks down upon her perhaps with love and pity.</p> + +<p>"Tim," she says, "what have I ever done to you that you should seek to +make me unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"I have nothing to do with you. Go your ways. It is with him I have to +settle," says the man, morosely.</p> + +<p>"But <i>I</i> have to do with him," says Mona, distinctly.</p> + +<p>At this, in spite of everything, Rodney laughs lightly, and, taking her +hand in his, draws it through his arm. There is love and trust and great +content in his laugh.</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says Ryan; while the other man whom she has called Carthy—and who +up to this has appeared desirous of concealing himself from view—now +presses forward and regards the two with lingering scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"Why, what have you to do with her?" says Ryan, addressing Rodney, a +gleam of something that savors of amusement showing itself even in his +ill-favored face. For an Irishman, under all circumstances, dearly loves +"a courting, a <i>bon-mot</i>, and a broil."</p> + +<p>"This much," says Rodney, laughing again: "I am going to marry her, with +her leave."</p> + +<p>"If that be so, she'll make you keep from splittin' on us," says the +man. "So now go; we've work in hand to-night not fit for her eyes."</p> + +<p>Mona shudders.</p> + +<p>"Tim," she says, distractedly, "do not bring murder on your soul. Oh, +Tim, think it over while there is yet time. I have heard all about it; +and I would ask you to remember that it is not Mr. Maxwell's fault that +Peggy Madden was evicted, but the fault of his master. If any one must +be shot, it ought to be Lord Crighton" (as his lordship is at this +moment safe in Constantinople, she says this boldly), "and not his paid +servant."</p> + +<p>"I dare say we'll get at the lord by an' by" says Ryan, untouched. "Go +yer ways, will ye? an' quick too. Maybe if ye thry me too far, ye'll +learn to rue this night."</p> + +<p>Seeing further talk is useless, Mona slips her hand into Rodney's and +leads him down the road.</p> + +<p>But when they have turned a corner and are quite out of sight and +hearing, Rodney stops short and says, hurriedly,—</p> + +<p>"Mona, can you manage to get home by some short way by yourself? Because +I must return. I must stand by this man they are going to murder. I must +indeed, darling. Forgive me that I desert you here and at such an hour, +but I see you are safe in the country, and five minutes will take you to +the farm, and I cannot let his life be taken without striking a blow for +him."</p> + +<p>"And did you think I was content to let him die" says Mona, +reproachfully. "No! There is a chance for him still, and I will explain +it to you. It is early yet. He seldom passes here before eleven, and it +is but a little after ten. I know the hour he usually returns, because +he always goes by our gate, and often I bid him good-night in the +summer-time. Come with me," excitedly. "I can lead you by a cross-path +to the Ballavacky road, by which he must come, and, if we overtake him +before he reaches that spot, we can save his life. Come; do not delay!"</p> + +<p>She turns through a broken gap into a ploughed field, and breaks into a +quick run.</p> + +<p>"If we hurry we must meet his car there, and can send him back into +Bantry, and so save him."</p> + +<p>All this she breathes forth in disjointed sentences as she rushes, like +a light-footed deer, across the ploughed land into the wet grass +beyond.</p> + +<p>Over one high bank, across a stile, through another broken gap, on to a +wall, straight and broad, up which Rodney pulls her, carefully taking +her down in his arms at the other side.</p> + +<p>Still onward,—lightly, swiftly: now in sight of the boundless sea, now +diving down into the plain, without faintness or despondency, or any +other feeling but a passionate determination to save a man's life.</p> + +<p>Rodney's breath is coming more quickly, and he is conscious of a desire +to stop and pull himself together—if only for a minute—before bracing +himself for a second effort. But to Mona, with her fresh and perfect +health, and lithe and lissom body, and all the rich young blood that +surges upward in her veins, excitement serves but to make her more +elastic; and with her mind strung to its highest pitch, and her hot +Irish blood aflame, she runs easily onward, until at length the road is +reached that is her goal.</p> + +<p>Springing upon the bank that skirts the road on one side, she raises her +hands to her head, and listens with all her might for the sound of +wheels in the distance.</p> + +<p>But all is still.</p> + +<p>Oh, if they should be too late! If Maxwell has passed and gone down the +other road, and is perhaps now already "done to death" by the cruel +treacherous enemy that lieth in wait for him!</p> + +<p>Her blood heated by her swift run grows cold again as this thought comes +to her,—forced to the front by the fact that "all the air a solemn +stillness holds," and that no sound makes itself heard save the faint +sighing of the night-wind in the woods up yonder, and the "lone and +melancholy voice" of the sea, a mile away, as it breaks upon the silent +shore.</p> + +<p>These sounds, vague and harmonious as they are, yet full of mystery and +unexplained sadness, but serve to heighten the fear that chills her +heart.</p> + +<p>Rodney, standing beside her, watches her anxiously. She throws up her +head, and pushes back her hair, and strains her eyes eagerly into the +darkness, that not all the moonbeams can make less than night.</p> + +<p>Alas! alas! what foul deed may even now be doing while she stands here +powerless to avert it,—her efforts all in vain! How richly shines the +sweet heaven, studded with its stars! how cool, how fragrant, is the +breeze! How the tiny wavelets move and sparkle in the glorious bay +below. How fair a world it is to hold such depths of sin! Why should not +rain and storms and howling tempest mark a night so——</p> + +<p>But hark! What is this that greets her ear? The ring of horse's feet +upon the quiet road!</p> + +<p>The girl clasps her hands passionately, and turns her eyes on Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Mona, it is—it must be!" says Geoffrey, taking her hand; and so they +both stand, almost breathless, on the high bank, listening intently.</p> + +<p>Now they can hear the sound of wheels; and presently a light tax-cart +swings round the corner, drawn by a large, bony, bay mare, and in which +sits a heavy-looking, elderly man, in a light overcoat.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Maxwell! Mr. Maxwell!" cries Mona, as he approaches them; and the +heavy man, drawing up, looks round at her with keen surprise, bending +his head a little forward, as though the better to pierce the gloom.</p> + +<p>"Miss Scully, is it you?" he says, at length; "and here at this hour?"</p> + +<p>"Go back to Bantry," says Mona, not heeding his evident surprise, "at +once,—<i>now</i>. Do not delay. There are those waiting for you on the +Tullymore road who will take your life. I have run all this way to warn +you. Oh, go back, while there is yet time!"</p> + +<p>"Do you mean they want to shoot me?" says Maxwell, in a hurried tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know it! Oh, do not wait to ask questions, but go. Even now they +may have suspected my purpose, and may be coming here to prevent your +ever returning."</p> + +<p>Each moment of delay only helps to increase her nervous excitement.</p> + +<p>"But who are they? and where?" demands the agent, completely taken +aback.</p> + +<p>"I can tell you no more; I will not; and you must never ask me. It is +enough that I speak the truth, and that I have been able to save your +life."</p> + +<p>"How can I thank you?" says Maxwell, "for all——"</p> + +<p>"Some other day you can do that. Now go," says Mona, imperiously, waving +her hand.</p> + +<p>But Maxwell still lingers, looking first at her and then very intently +at her companion.</p> + +<p>"It is late," he says. "You should be at home, child. Who am I, that +you should do me so great a service?" Then, turning quietly to Rodney, +"I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir," he says, gravely; +"but I entreat you to take Miss Scully safely back to the Farm without +delay."</p> + +<p>"You may depend upon me," says Rodney, lifting his hat, and respecting +the elder man's care for the well-being of his beloved, even in the +midst of his own immediate danger. Then, in another moment, Maxwell has +turned his horse's head, and is soon out of sight.</p> + +<p>The whole scene is at an end. A life has been saved. And they two, Mona +and Geoffrey, are once more alone beneath the "earnest stars."</p> + +<p>"Take me down," says Mona, wearily, turning to her lover, as the last +faint ring of the horse's feet dies out on the breeze.</p> + +<p>"You are tired," says he, tenderly.</p> + +<p>"A little, now it is all over. Yet I must make great haste homeward. +Uncle Brian will be uneasy about me if he discovers my absence, though +he knew I was going to the Bay. Come, we must hurry."</p> + +<p>So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, +meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her +home.</p> + +<p>Here they behold the faithful Biddy, craning her long neck up and down +the road, and filled with wildest anxiety.</p> + +<p>"Oh, may I niver agin see the light," cries this excitable damsel, +rushing out to Mona, "if I iver hoped to lay eyes on yer face again! +Where were ye at all, darlin'? An' I breakin' me heart wid fear for ye. +Did ye know Tim Ryan was out to-night? When I heerd tell of that from +that boy of the Cantys', I thought I'd have dhropped. 'Tis no good he's +up to. Come in, asthore: you must be near kilt with the cowld."</p> + +<p>"No; I am quite warm," says Mona, in a low, sad tone.</p> + +<p>"'Tis I've bin prayin' for ye," says Biddy, taking her mistress's hand +and kissing it fondly. "On me bended knees I was with the blessid beads +for the last two hours. An' shure I've had me reward, now I see ye safe +home agin. But indeed, Miss Mona, 'tis a sore time I've had uv it."</p> + +<p>"And Uncle Brian?" asks Mona, fearfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I got the ould man to bed hours ago; for I knew if he stayed up +that he'd get mortial wearin', an' be the death of us if he knew ye were +out so late. An' truth to say, Miss Mona," changing her tone from one of +extreme joy and thankfulness to another of the deepest censure, "'twas +the world an' all of bad behavior to be galavantin' out at this hour."</p> + +<p>"The night was so lovely,—so mild," says Mona, faintly, concealment in +any form being new to her, and very foreign to her truthful nature; "and +I knew Mickey would tell you it was all right."</p> + +<p>"An' what brought him home, the murdherin' scamp," says Miss Bridget, +with more vehemence than politeness, "instid of stayin' wid ye to see ye +came to no harm?"</p> + +<p>"He had to see the mare made up, and the pigs fed," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Is that what he towld ye? Oh, the blaggard!" says Bridget. "An' nary +sign did he do since his return, but sit be the fire an' smoke his +dhudheen. Oh, be the powers of Moll Kelly, but I'll pay him out for his +lies? He's soakin' it now, anyhow, as I sint him up to the top of the +hill agin, to see what had become of ye."</p> + +<p>"Bridget," says Mona, "will you go in and get me a cup of tea before I +go to bed? I am tired."</p> + +<p>"I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she +walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on +Geoffrey's arm.</p> + +<p>"Promise me you will not go back to Coolnagurtheen to-night?" she says, +earnestly. "At the inn, down in the village, they will give you a bed."</p> + +<p>"But, my dearest, why? There is not the slightest danger now, and my +horse is a good one, and I sha'n't be any time getting——"</p> + +<p>"I won't hear of it!" says Mona, interrupting him vehemently. "You would +have to go up <i>that road</i> again," with a strong shudder. "I shall not go +indoors until you give me your honor you will stay in the village +to-night."</p> + +<p>Seeing the poor child's terrible fear and anxiety, and that she is +completely overwrought, he gives way, and lets her have the desired +promise.</p> + +<p>"Now, that is good of you," she says, gratefully, and then, as he stoops +to kiss her, she throws her arms around his neck and bursts into tears.</p> + +<p>"You are worn out, my love, my sweetheart," says Geoffrey, very +tenderly, speaking to her as though she is in years the child that, in +her soul, she truly is. "Come, Mona, you will not cry on this night of +all others that has made me yours and you mine! If this thought made you +as happy as it makes me, you <i>could</i> not cry. Now lift your head, and +let me look at you. There! you have given yourself to me, darling, and +there is a good life, I trust, before us; so let us dwell on that, and +forget all minor evils. Together we can defy trouble!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is a thought to dry all tears," she says, very sweetly, +checking her sobs and raising her face, on which is dawning an adorable +smile. Then, sighing heavily,—a sigh of utter exhaustion,—"You have +done me good," she says. "I shall sleep now; and you my dearest, will be +safe. Good-night until to-morrow!"</p> + +<p>"How many hours there are in the night that we never count!" says +Geoffrey, impatiently. "Good-night, Mona! To-morrow's dawn I shall call +my dearest friend."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA PLAN A TRANSFORMATION SCENE.</h3> + + +<p>Time, with lovers, "flies with swallows' wings;" they neither feel nor +heed it as it passes, so all too full of haste the moments seem. They +are to them replete with love and happiness and sweet content. To-day is +an accomplished joy, and to-morrow will dawn for no other purpose but to +bring them together. So they think and so they believe.</p> + +<p>Rodney has interviewed the old man, her uncle; has told him of his great +and lasting love for this pearl among women; has described in a very few +words, and without bombast, his admiration for Mona; and Brian Scully +(though with sufficient national pride to suppress all undue delight at +the young man's proposal) has given a hearty consent to their union, and +is in reality flattered and pleased beyond measure at this match for +"his girl." For, no matter how the Irish may rebel against landlordism +and aristocracy in general, deep down in their hearts lies rooted an +undying fealty to old blood.</p> + +<p>To his mother, however, he has sent no word of Mona, knowing only too +well how the news of his approaching marriage with this "outer +barbarian" (as she will certainly deem his darling) will be received. It +is not cowardice that holds his pen, as, were all the world to kneel at +his feet and implore him or bribe him to renounce his love, all such +pleading and bribing would be in vain. It is that, knowing argument to +be useless, he puts off the evil hour that may bring pain to his mother +to the last moment.</p> + +<p>When she knows Mona she will love her,—who could help it? so he argues; +and for this reason he keeps silence until such time as, his marriage +being a <i>fait accompli</i>, hopeless expostulation will be of no avail, and +will, therefore, be suppressed.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the hours go by "laden with golden grain." Every day makes +Mona dearer and more dear, her sweet and guileless nature being one +calculated to create, with growing knowledge, an increasing admiration +and tenderness. Indeed, each happy afternoon spent with her serves but +to forge another link in the chain that binds him to her.</p> + +<p>To-day is "so cool, so calm, so bright," that Geoffrey's heart grows +glad within him as he walks along the road that leads to the farm, his +gun upon his shoulder, his trusty dog at his heels.</p> + +<p>All through the air the smell of heather, sweet and fragrant, reigns. +Far down, miles away, the waves rush inland, glinting and glistening in +the sunlight.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Blue roll the waters, blue the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreads like an ocean hung on high."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The birds, as though once more led by the balmy mildness of the day into +the belief that summer has not yet forsaken them, are singing in the +topmost branches of the trees, from which, with every passing breeze, +the leaves fall lightly.</p> + +<p>From the cabins pale wreaths of smoke rise slowly, scarce stirred by the +passing wind. Going by one of these small tenements, before which the +inevitable pig is wallowing in an unsavory pool, a voice comes to him, +fresh and joyous, and plainly full of pleasure, that thrills through his +whole being. It is to him what no other voice ever has been, or ever can +be again. It is Mona's voice!</p> + +<p>Again she calls to him from within.</p> + +<p>"Is it you?" she says. "Come in here, Geoffrey. I want you."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She is sitting before a spinning-wheel, and is deftly drawing the wool +through her fingers; brown little fingers they are, but none the less +dear in his sight.</p> + +<p>"I'm here," she cries, in the glad happy tones that have been ringing +their changes in his heart all day.</p> + +<p>An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in +its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which +boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home +presently from their work.</p> + +<p>"What luck to find you here," says Geoffrey, stooping over the +industrious spinner, and (after the slightest hesitation) kissing her +fondly in spite of the presence of the old woman, who is regarding them +with silent curiosity, largely mingled with admiration. The ancient dame +sees plainly nothing strange in this embrace of Geoffrey's but rather +something sweet and to be approved. She smiles amiably, and nods her old +head, and mumbles some quaint Irish phrase about love and courtship and +happy youth, as though the very sight of these handsome lovers fills her +withered breast with glad recollections of bygone days, when she, too, +had her "man" and her golden hopes. For deep down in the hearts of all +the sons and daughters of Ireland, whether they be young or old, is a +spice of romance living and inextinguishable.</p> + +<p>Rising, the old dame takes a chair, dusts it, and presents it to the +stranger, with a courtesy and a wish that he will make himself welcome. +Then she goes back again to the chimney-corner, and taking up the +bellows, blows the fire beneath the potatoes, turning her back in this +manner upon the young people with a natural delicacy worthy of better +birth and better education.</p> + +<p>Mona, who has blushed rosy red at his kiss, is now beaming on her lover, +and has drawn back her skirts to admit of his coming a little closer to +her. He is not slow to avail himself of this invitation, and is now +sitting with his arm thrown across the back of the wooden chair that +holds Mona, and with eyes full of heartfelt gladness fixed upon her.</p> + +<p>"You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, +idly, gazing at her rather dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Except that my hair is rolled up, and is too dark, isn't it? I have +read about her, and I once saw a picture of Marguerite in the Gallery in +Dublin, and it was very beautiful. I remember it brought tears to my +eyes, and Aunt Anastasia said I was too fanciful to be happy. Her story +is a very sad one, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Very. And you are not a bit like her, after all," says Geoffrey, with +sudden compunction, "because you are going to be as happy as the days +are long, if I can make you so."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What a darling you are!" says Rodney, in a low tone; and then something +else follows, that, had she seen it, would have caused the weatherbeaten +old person at the fire another thrill of tender recollection.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?" asks Geoffrey, presently, when they have returned +to everyday life.</p> + +<p>"I am spinning flax for Betty, because she has rheumatism in her poor +shoulder, and can do nothing, and this much flax must be finished by a +certain time. I have nearly got through my portion now," says Mona; "and +then we can go home."</p> + +<p>"When I bring you to my home," says Geoffrey, "I shall have you painted +just in that gown, and with a spinning-wheel before you; and it shall be +hung in the gallery among the other—very inferior—beauties."</p> + +<p>"Where?" says Mona, looking up quickly.</p> + +<p>"Oh! at home, you know," says Mr. Rodney, quickly, discovering his +mistake. For the moment he had forgotten his former declaration of +poverty, or, at least, his consenting silence, when she had asked him +about it.</p> + +<p>"In the National Gallery, do you mean?" asks Mona, with a pretty, +puzzled frown on her brow. "Oh, no, Geoffrey; I shouldn't like that at +all. To be stared at by everybody,—it wouldn't be nice, would it?"</p> + +<p>Rodney laughs, in an inward fashion, biting his lip and looking down.</p> + +<p>"Very well; you sha'n't be put there," he says. "But nevertheless you +must be prepared for the fact that you will undoubtedly be stared at by +the common herd, whether you are in the National Gallery or out of it."</p> + +<p>"But why?" says Mona, trying to read his face. "Am I so different from +other people?"</p> + +<p>"Very different," says Rodney.</p> + +<p>"That is what I am afraid of always," says Mona, a little wistfully.</p> + +<p>"Don't be afraid. It is quite the correct thing to be eccentric +nowadays. One is nowhere if not bizarre," says Rodney, laughing; "so I +dare say you will find yourself the very height of fashion."</p> + +<p>"Now I think you are making fun of me," says Mona, smiling sweetly; and, +lifting her hand, she pinches his ear lightly, and very softly, lest she +should hurt him.</p> + +<p>Here the old woman at the fire, who has been getting up and down from +her three-legged stool during the past few minutes, and sniffing at the +pot in an anxious manner, gives way to a loud sigh of relief. Lifting +the pot from its crook, she lays it on the earthen floor.</p> + +<p>Then she strains the water from it, and looks with admiration upon its +steaming contents. "The murphies" (as, I fear, she calls the potatoes) +are done to a turn.</p> + +<p>"Maybe," says Betty Corcoran, turning in a genial fashion to Mona and +Geoffrey, "ye'd ate a pratie, would ye, now? They're raal nice an' +floury. Ye must be hungry, Miss Mona, afther all the work ye've gone +through; an' if you an' your gintleman would condescind to the like of +my dinner, 'tis ready for ye, an' welcome ye are to it. Do, now!" +heartily. "The praties is gran' this year,—praises be for all mercies. +Amen."</p> + +<p>"They <i>do</i> look nice," says Mona, "and I <i>am</i> hungry. If we won't be a +great trouble to you, Betty," with graceful Hesitation, "I think we +should like some."</p> + +<p>"Arrah! throuble is it?" says Betty, scornfully. "Tisn't throuble I'm +thinkin' of anyway, when you're by."</p> + +<p>"Will you have something to eat Geoffrey?" says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says Geoffrey, "but——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, do, alannah!" says the old lady, standing with one hand upon her +hips and the other holding tightly a prodigious "Champion." "'Twill set +ye up afther yer walk."</p> + +<p>"Then, thank you, Mrs. Corcoran, I <i>will</i> have a potato," says Rodney, +gratefully, honest hunger and the knowledge that it will please Mona to +be friendly with "her people," as she calls them, urging him on. "I'm as +hungry as I can be," he says.</p> + +<p>"So ye are, bless ye both!" says old Betty, much delighted, and +forthwith, going to her dresser, takes down two plates, and two knives +and forks, of pattern unknown and of the purest pot-metal, after which +she once more returns to the revered potatoes.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"It might be that ye'd take a dhrop of new milk, too," says Betty, "on +hospitable thoughts intent," placing before her visitors a little jug of +milk she has all day been keeping apart, poor soul! for her own +delectation.</p> + +<p>Not knowing this, Mona and Geoffrey (whose flask is empty) accept the +proffered milk, and make merry over their impromptu feast, while in the +background, the old woman smiles upon them and utters little kindly +sentences.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later, having bidden their hostess a hearty farewell, they +step out into the open air and walk towards the farm.</p> + +<p>"You have never told me how many people are in your house?" says Mona, +presently. "Tell me now. I know about your mother, and," shyly, "about +Nicholas; but is there any one else?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Jack is home by this time, I suppose,—that's my second brother; +at least he was expected yesterday; and Violet Mansergh is very often +there; and as a rule, you know, there is always somebody; and that's +all."</p> + +<p>The description is graphic, certainly.</p> + +<p>"Is—is Violet Mansergh a pretty girl?" asks Mona, grasping +instinctively at the fact that any one called Violet Mansergh may be a +possible rival.</p> + +<p>"Pretty? No. But she dresses very swagger, and always looks nice, and +is generally correct all through," replies Mr. Rodney, easily.</p> + +<p>"I know," says Mona, sadly.</p> + +<p>"She's the girl my mother wanted me to marry, you know," goes on Rodney, +unobservant, as men always are, of the small signals of distress hung +out by his companion.</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I <i>don't</i> +know, because you never told me before."</p> + +<p>"I thought I did," says Geoffrey, waking slowly to a sense of the +situation.</p> + +<p>"Well, you didn't," says Mona. "Are you engaged to her?"</p> + +<p>"If I was, how could I ask you to marry me?" returns he, in a tone so +hurt that she grows abashed.</p> + +<p>"I hope she isn't in love with you," she says, slowly.</p> + +<p>"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She +cares for me just about as much as I care for her,—which means exactly +nothing."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad," says Mona, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Because I could not bear to think any one was made unhappy by me. It +would seem as though some evil eye was resting on our love," says Mona, +raising her thoughtful, earnest eyes to his. "It must be a sad thing +when our happiness causes the misery of others."</p> + +<p>"Yet even were it so you would love me, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"I shall always love you," says the girl, with sweet seriousness, +"better than my life. But in that case I should always, too have a +regret."</p> + +<p>"There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and +I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, +except yourself."</p> + +<p>"I am indeed dear to you, I think," says Mona, softly and thankfully, +growing a little pale through the intensity of her emotion.</p> + +<p>"'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee,'" replies he, quite as +softly.</p> + +<p>Then she is pleased, and slips her hand into his, and goes along the +quiet road, beside him with a heart in which high jubilee holds sway.</p> + +<p>"Now tell me something else," she says, after a little bit. "Do all the +women you know dress a great deal?"</p> + +<p>"Some of them; not all. I know a considerable few who dress so little +that they might as well leave it alone."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mona, innocently, and stares at him with an expression so +full of bewilderment, being puzzled by his tone more than his words, +that presently Mr. Rodney becomes conscious of a feeling akin to shame. +Some remembrance of a line that speaks of "a soul as white as heaven" +comes to him, and he makes haste to hide the real meaning of his words.</p> + +<p>"I mean, some of them dress uncommon badly," he says, with much +mendacity and more bad grammar.</p> + +<p>"Now, do they?" says Mona. "I thought they always wore lovely clothes. +In books they always do; but I was too young when with Aunt Anastasia in +Dublin to go out. Somehow, what one imagines is sure to be wrong. I +remember," laughing, "when I firmly believed the queen never was seen +without her crown on her head."</p> + +<p>"Well, it always <i>is</i> on her head," says Mr. Rodney, at which ridiculous +joke they both laugh as gayly as though it were a <i>bon-mot</i> of the first +water. That "life is thorny, and youth is vain" has not as yet occurred +to either of these two. Nay, more, were you even to name this thought to +them, they would rank it as flat blasphemy, and you a false +prophet—love and laughter being, up to this, the burden of their song.</p> + +<p>Yet after a moment or two the smile fades from Mona's mobile lip that +ever looks as if, in the words of the old song, "some bee had stung it +newly," and a pensive expression takes its place.</p> + +<p>"I think I'd like to see myself in a regular evening gown," she say, +wistfully.</p> + +<p>"So should I," says Rodney, eagerly, but incorrectly; "at least, not +myself, but you,—in something handsome, you know, open at the neck, and +with your pretty arms bare, as they were the first day I saw you."</p> + +<p>"How you remember that, now!" says Mona, with a heavenly smile, and a +faint pressure of the fingers that still rest in his. "Yes, I should +like to be sure before I marry you that—that—fashionable clothes would +become me. But of course," regretfully, "you will understand I haven't a +gown of that sort. I once sat in Lady Crighton's room while her maid +dressed her for dinner: so I know all about it."</p> + +<p>She sighs, then looks at the sky, and—sighs again.</p> + +<p>"And do you know," she says, with charming <i>naivete</i>, not looking at +him, but biting a blade of grass in a distractingly pretty and somewhat +pensive fashion, "do you know her neck and arms are not a patch on +mine?"</p> + +<p>"You needn't tell me that. I'm positive they couldn't be named in the +same day," says Geoffrey, enthusiastically, who never in his life saw +Lady Crighton, or her neck or arms.</p> + +<p>"No, they are not. Geoffrey, people look much better when they are +beautifully dressed, don't they?"</p> + +<p>"Well, on the principle that fine feathers make fine birds, I suppose +they do," acknowledges Geoffrey, reluctantly.</p> + +<p>At this she glances with scorn upon the quakerish and somewhat quaint +gray gown in which she is clothed, and in which she is looking far +sweeter than she knows, for in her face lie "love enshrined and sweet +attractive grace."</p> + +<p>"Yet, in spite of all the fine feathers, no one ever crept into my heart +but my own Mona," says the young man, putting his hand beneath her chin, +which is soft and rounded as a baby's, and turning her face to his. He +hates to see the faint chagrin that lingers on it for a moment; for his +is one of those tender natures that cannot bear to see the thing it +loves endure the smallest torment.</p> + +<p>"Some women in the great world overdo it," he goes on, "and choose +things and colors utterly unsuited to their style. They are slaves to +fashion. But</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'<i>My</i> love in her attire doth show her wit;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It doth so well become her.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Ah, how you flatter!" says Mona. Nevertheless, being a woman, and the +flattery being directed to herself, she takes it kindly.</p> + +<p>"No, you must not think that. To wear anything that becomes you must be +the perfection of dressing. Why wear a Tam O'Shanter hat when one looks +hideous in it? And then too much study spoils effect: you know what +Herrick says:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'A careless shoe-string in whose tie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see a wild civility,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does more bewitch me than when art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is too precise in every part.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"How pretty that is! Yet I should like you to see me, if only for once, +as you have seen others," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"I should like it too. And it could be managed, couldn't it? I suppose I +could get you a dress."</p> + +<p>He says this quickly, yet fearfully. If she should take his proposal +badly, what shall he do? He stares with flattering persistency upon a +distant donkey that adorns a neighboring field, and calmly awaits fate. +It is for once kind to him. Mona, it is quite evident, fails to see any +impropriety in his speech.</p> + +<p>"Could you?" she says hopefully. "How?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Rodney, basely forsaking the donkey, returns to his mutton. "There +must be a dressmaker in Dublin," he says, "and we could write to her. +Don't you know one?"</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't, but I know Lady Mary and Miss Blake always get their things +from a woman called Manning."</p> + +<p>"Then Manning it shall be," says Geoffrey, gayly. "I'll run up to +Dublin, and if you give me your measure I'll bring a gown back to you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, don't," says Mona, earnestly. Then she stops short, and blushes +a faint sweet crimson.</p> + +<p>"But why?" demands he, dense as men will be at times. Then, as she +refuses to enlighten his ignorance, slowly the truth dawns upon him.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean that you would really miss me if I left you for only one +day?" he asks, delightedly. "Mona, tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, sure you know I would," confesses she, shyly but honestly. +Whereupon rapture ensues that lasts for a full minute.</p> + +<p>"Very well, then; I shan't leave you; but you shall have that dress all +the same," he says. "How shall we arrange about it?"</p> + +<p>"I can give you the size of my waist and my shoulders, and my length," +says Mona, thoughtfully, yet with a touch of inspiration.</p> + +<p>"And what color becomes you? Blue? that would suit your eyes, and it was +blue you used to wear last month."</p> + +<p>"Yes, blue looks very nice on me. Geoffrey, if Uncle Brian hears of +this, will he be angry?"</p> + +<p>"We needn't risk it. And it is no harm, darling, because you will soon +be my wife, and then I shall give you everything. When the dress comes +I'll send it up to you by my man, and you must manage the rest."</p> + +<p>"I'll see about it. And, oh, Geoffrey, I do hope you will like me in it, +and think me pretty," she says, anxiously, half fearful of this gown +that is meant to transform a "beggar maid" into a queen fit for "King +Cophetua." At least such is her reading of the part before her.</p> + +<p>And so it is arranged. And that evening Geoffrey indites a letter to +Mrs. Manning, Grafton Street, Dublin, that brings a smile to the lips of +that cunning modiste.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA DILIGENTLY WORK UP THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE; AND +HOW SUCCESS CROWNS THEIR EFFORTS.</h3> + + +<p>In due course the wonderful gown arrives, and is made welcome at the +farm, where Geoffrey too puts in an appearance about two hours later.</p> + +<p>Mona is down at the gate waiting for him, evidently brimful of +information.</p> + +<p>"Well have you got it?" asks he, in a whisper. Mystery seems to encircle +them and to make heavy the very air they breathe. In truth, I think it +is the veil of secrecy that envelops their small intrigue that makes it +so sweet to them. They might be children, so delighted are they with the +success of their scheme.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have got it," also in a subdued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it +is just too lovely! It's downright delicious; and satin, too! It +must"—reproachfully—"have cost a great deal, and after all you told me +about being <i>poor</i>! But," with a sudden change of tone, forgetting +reproach and extravagance and everything, "it is exactly the color I +love best, and what I have been dreaming of for years."</p> + +<p>"Put it on you," says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"What! <i>now?</i>" with some hesitation, yet plainly filled with an +overwhelming desire to show herself to him without loss of time in the +adorable gown. "If I should be seen! Well, never mind; I'll risk it. Go +down to the little green glade in the wood, and I'll be with you before +you can say Jack Robinson."</p> + +<p>She disappears, and Geoffrey, obedient to orders, lounges off to the +green glade, that now no longer owns rich coloring, but is strewn with +leaves from the gaunt trees that stand in solemn order like grave +sentries round it.</p> + +<p>He might have invoked Jack Robinson a score of times had he so wished, +he might even have gone for a very respectable walk, before his eyes are +again gladdened by a sight of Mona. Minutes had given place to minutes +many times, when, at length, a figure wrapped in a long cloak and with a +light woollen shawl covering her head comes quickly towards him across +the rustic bridge, and under the leafless trees to where he is standing.</p> + +<p>Glancing round fearfully for a moment, as though desirous of making sure +that no strange eyes are watching her movements, she lets the loose +cloak fall to the ground, and, taking with careful haste the covering +from her head, slips like Cinderella from her ordinary garments into all +the glories of a <i>fete</i> gown. She steps a little to one side, and, +throwing up her head with a faint touch of coquetry that sits very +sweetly on her, glances triumphantly at Geoffrey, as though fully +conscious that she is looking exquisite as a dream.</p> + +<p>The dress is composed of satin of that peculiarly pale blue that in some +side-lights appears as white. It is opened at the throat, and has no +sleeves to speak of. As though some kindly fairy had indeed been at her +beck and call, and had watched with careful eyes the cutting of the +robe, it fits to a charm. Upon her head a little mob-cap, a very marvel +of blue satin and old lace, rests lovingly, making still softer the soft +tender face beneath it.</p> + +<p>There is a sparkle in Mona's eyes, a slight severing of her lips, that +bespeak satisfaction and betray her full of very innocent appreciation +of her own beauty. She stands well back, with her head held proudly up, +and with her hands lightly clasped before her. Her attitude is full of +unstudied grace.</p> + +<p>Her eyes, as I tell you, are shining like twin stars. Her whole soul is +possessed of this hope, that he for whom almost she lives must think her +good to look at. And good indeed she is, and very perfect; for in her +earnest face lies such inward godliness and sweet trust as make one feel +the better for only a bare glance at her.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey is quite dumb, and stands gazing at her surprised at the +amazing change a stuff, a color, can make in so short a time. Beautiful +she always is in his sight, but he wonders that until now it never +occurred to him what a sensation she is likely to create in the London +world. When at last he does give way to speech, driven to break his +curious silence by something in her face, he says nothing of the gown, +but only this.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mona, will you always love me as you do now?"</p> + +<p>His tone is full of sadness and longing, and something akin to fear. He +has been much in the world, and has seen many of its evil ways, and this +is the result of his knowledge. As he gazes on and wonders at her +marvellous beauty, for an instant (a most unworthy instant) he distrusts +her. Yet surely never was more groundless doubt sustained, as one might +know to look upon her eyes and mouth, for in the one lies honest love, +and in the other firmness.</p> + +<p>Her face changes. He has made no mention of the treasured gown, has said +no little word of praise.</p> + +<p>"I have disappointed you," she says, tremulously, tears rising quickly. +"I am a failure! I am not like the others."</p> + +<p>"You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw in all my life," returns +Rodney, with some passion.</p> + +<p>"Then you are really pleased? I am just what you want me to be? Oh! how +you frightened me!" says the girl, laying her hand upon her heart with a +pretty gesture of relief.</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me to flatter you. You will get plenty to do that by and by," +says Geoffrey, rather jealously, rather bitterly.</p> + +<p>"'By and by' I shall be your wife," says Mona, archly, "and then my days +for receiving flattery will be at an end. Sure you needn't grudge me a +few pretty words now."</p> + +<p>What a world is to be opened up to her! How severe the test to which she +will be exposed! Does she really think the whole earth is peopled with +beings pure and perfect as herself?</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is true," he says, in a curious tone, in answer to her words, +his eyes fixed moodily upon the ground. Then suddenly he lifts his head, +and as his gaze meets hers some of the truth and sweetness that belong +to her springs from her to him and restores him once again to his proper +self.</p> + +<p>He smiles, and, turning, kneels before her in mock humility that savors +of very real homage. Taking her hand, he presses it to his lips.</p> + +<p>"Will your majesty deign to confer some slight sign of favor upon a +very devoted servant?"</p> + +<p>His looks betray his wish. And Mona, stooping, very willingly bestows +upon him one of the sweetest little kisses imaginable.</p> + +<p>"I doubt your queen lacks dignity," she says, with a quick blush, when +she has achieved her tender crime.</p> + +<p>"My queen lacks nothing," says Geoffrey. Then, as he feels the rising +wind that is soughing through the barren trees, he says, hurriedly, "My +darling, you will catch cold. Put on your wraps again."</p> + +<p>"Just in one moment," says the wilful beauty. "But I must first look at +myself altogether. I have only seen myself in little bits up to this, my +glass is so small."</p> + +<p>Running over to the river that flows swiftly but serenely a few yards +from her, she leans over the bank and gazes down lingeringly and with +love into the dark depths beneath that cast up to her her own fair +image.</p> + +<p>The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with +drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded +floor of the stream.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I <i>am</i> pretty," she says, after a minute's pause, with a +long-drawn sigh of deepest satisfaction. Then she glances at Geoffrey. +"And for your sake I am glad of it Now, come here and stand beside me," +she goes on, presently, holding out her hand backwards as though loath +to lose sight of her own reflection. "Let me see how <i>you</i> look in the +water."</p> + +<p>So he takes her hand, and together they lean over the brink and survey +themselves in Nature's glass. Lightly their faces sway to and fro as the +running water rushes across the pool,—sway, but do not part; they are +always together, as though in anticipation of that happy time when their +lives shall be one. It seems like a good omen; and Mona, in whose breast +rests a little of the superstition that lies innate in every Irish +heart, turns to her lover and looks at him.</p> + +<p>He, too, looks at her. The same thought fills them both. As they are +together there in the water, so (pray they) "may we be together in +life." This hope is sweet almost to solemnity.</p> + +<p>The short daylight fades; the wind grows higher; the whole scene is +curious, and very nearly fantastical. The pretty girl in her clinging +satin gown, and her gleaming neck and arms, bare and soft and white, and +the tiny lace-fringed cap that crowns her fairness. The gaunt trees +branching overhead that are showering down upon her all their fading +wealth of orange and crimson and russet-colored leaves, that serve to +throw out the glories of her dress. The brown-green sward is beneath +her, the river runs with noiseless mirth beside her, rushing with faint +music over sand and pebble to the ocean far below. Standing before her +is her lover, gazing at her with adoring eyes.</p> + +<p>Yet all things in this passing world know an end. In one short moment +the perfect picture is spoiled. A huge black dog, bursting through the +underwood, flings himself lovingly upon Mona, threatening every moment +to destroy her toilet.</p> + +<p>"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled +tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this +dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!"</p> + +<p>She tucks up her dignified train in a most undignified haste, while +Geoffrey covers up all the finery with the crimson shawl. The white +cloud is once more thrown over the dainty cap; all the pretty coloring +vanishes out of sight; and Mona, after one last lingering glance at +Geoffrey, follows its example. She, too, flies across the rural bridge +into the covert of her own small domain.</p> + +<p>It is over; the curtain is down; the charming transformation-scene has +reached its end, and the fairy-queen doffing her radiant robes, descends +once more to the level of a paltry mortal.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA, GROWING INQUISITIVE, ASKS QUESTIONS; AND HOW GEOFFREY, BEING +BROUGHT TO BAY, MAKES CONFESSIONS THAT BODE BUT EVIL TO HIS FUTURE +PEACE, AND BREED IMMEDIATE WAR.</h3> + + +<p>"Oh! catch him! <i>do</i> catch him!" cries Mona, "Look, there he is again! +Don't you see?" with growing excitement. "Over there, under that bush. +Why on earth can't you see him? Ha! there he is again! Little wretch! +Turn him back, Geoffrey; it is our last chance."</p> + +<p>She has crossed the rustic bridge that leads into the Moore plantations, +in hot pursuit of a young turkey that is evidently filled with a base +determination to spend his Sunday out.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey is rushing hither and thither, without his hat, and without his +temper, in a vain endeavor to secure the rebel and reduce him to order. +He is growing warm, and his breath is coming more quickly than is +exactly desirable; but, being possessed with the desire to conquer or +die, he still holds on. He races madly over the ground, crying "Shoo!" +every now and then (whatever that may mean) in a desperate tone, as +though impressed with the belief that this simple and apparently +harmless expletive must cow the foe.</p> + +<p>"Look at him, under that fern there!" exclaims Mona, in her clear +treble, that has always something sweet and plaintive in it. "On your +right—no! <i>not</i> on your left. Sure you know your right, don't you?" +with a full, but unconscious, touch of scorn. "Hurry! hurry! or he will +be gone again. Was there ever such a hateful bird! With his good food in +the yard, and his warm house, and his mother crying for him! Ah! there +you have him! No!—yes! no! He is gone again!"</p> + +<p>"He isn't!" says Geoffrey, panting "I have him at last!" Whereupon he +emerges from a wilderness of ferns, drawing after him and holding up +triumphantly to the light the wandering bird, that looks more dead than +alive, with all its feathers drooping, and its breath coming in angry +cries.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you have him!" says Mona, with a beaming smile, that is not +reciprocated by the captured turkey. "Hold him tight: you have no idea +how artful he is. Sure I knew you'd get him, if any one could!"</p> + +<p>There is admiration blended with relief in her tone, and Geoffrey begins +to feel like a hero of Waterloo.</p> + +<p>"Now carry him over the bridge and put him down there, and he must go +home, whether he likes it or not," goes on Mona to her warrior, +whereupon that renowned person, armed with the shrieking turkey, crosses +the bridge. Having gained the other side, he places the angry bird on +its mother earth, and with a final and almost tender "Shoo!" sends him +scuttling along to the farmyard in the distance, where, no doubt, he is +received either with open arms and kisses, or with a sounding "spank," +as our American cousins would say, by his terrified mamma.</p> + +<p>He finds Mona on his return sitting on a bank, laughing and trying to +recover her breath.</p> + +<p>"I hardly think this is Sunday work," she says, lightly; "but the poor +little thing would have died if left out all night. Wasn't it well you +saw him?"</p> + +<p>"Most fortunate," says Rodney, with deep gravity. "I consider I have +been the means of preventing a public calamity. Why, that bird might +have haunted us later on."</p> + +<p>"Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have +all its feathers off, of course."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," says Geoffrey: "I blush for you. I never yet heard of a +ghost that was not strictly decent. It would have had a winding sheet, +of course. Come, let us go for a walk."</p> + +<p>"To the old fort?" asks Mona, starting to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Anywhere you like. I'm sure we deserve some compensation for the awful +sermon that curate gave us this morning."</p> + +<p>So they start, in a lazy, happy-go-lucky fashion, for their walk, +conversing as they go, of themselves principally as all true lovers +will.</p> + +<p>But the fort, on this evening at least, is never reached Mona, coming to +a stile, seats himself comfortably on the top of it, and looks with mild +content around.</p> + +<p>"Are you going no farther?" asks Rodney, hoping sincerely she will say +"No." She does say it.</p> + +<p>"It is so nice here," she says, with a soft sigh, and a dreamy smile, +whereupon he too climbs and seats himself beside her. As they are now +situated, there is about half a yard between them of passable wall +crowned with green sods, across which they can hold sweet converse with +the utmost affability. The evening is fine; the heavens promise to be +fair; the earth beneath is calm and full of silence as becomes a Sabbath +eve; yet, alas! Mona strikes a chord that presently flings harmony to +the winds.</p> + +<p>"Tell me about your mother," she says, folding her hands easily in her +lap. "I mean,—what is she like? Is she cold, or proud, or stand-off?" +There is keen anxiety in her tone.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rather taken back. "Cold" and "proud" he cannot +deny, even to himself, are words that suit his mother rather more than +otherwise.</p> + +<p>"I mean," says Mona, flushing a vivid scarlet, "is she stern?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Geoffrey, hastily, recovering himself just in time; +"she's all right, you know, my mother; and you'll like her awfully +when—when you know her, and when—when she knows you."</p> + +<p>"Will that take her long?" asks Mona, somewhat wistfully, feeling, +without understanding, some want in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I don't see how it could take any one long," says Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Ah! that is because you are a man, and because you love me," says this +astute reader of humanity. "But women are so different. Suppose—suppose +she <i>never</i> gets to like me?"</p> + +<p>"Well, even that awful misfortune might be survived. We can live in our +own home 'at ease,' as the old song says, until she comes to her senses. +By and by, do you know you have never asked me about your future +home,—my own place, Leighton Hall? and yet it is rather well worth +asking about, because, though small, it is one of the oldest and +prettiest places in the county."</p> + +<p>"Leighton Hall," repeats she, slowly, fixing upon him her dark eyes that +are always so full of truth and honesty. "But you told me you were poor. +That a third son——"</p> + +<p>"Wasn't much!" interrupts Geoffrey, with an attempt at carelessness that +rather falls through beneath the gaze of those searching eyes. "Well, no +more he is, you know, as a rule, unless some kind relative comes to his +assistance."</p> + +<p>"But you told me no maiden aunt had ever come to your assistance," goes +on Mona, remorselessly.</p> + +<p>"In that I spoke the truth," says Mr. Rodney, with a shameless laugh, +"because it was an uncle who left me some money."</p> + +<p>"You have not been quite true with me," says Mona, in a curious way, +never removing her gaze and never returning his smile. "Are you rich, +then, if you are not poor?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a long way off being rich," says the young man, who is palpably +amused, in spite of a valiant effort to suppress all outward signs of +enjoyment. "I'm awfully poor when compared with some fellows. I dare say +I must come in for something when my other uncle dies, but at present I +have only fifteen hundred pounds a year."</p> + +<p>"<i>Only!</i>" says Mona. "Do you know, Mr. Moore has no more than that, and +we think him very rich indeed! No, you have not been open with me: you +should have told me. I haven't ever thought of you to myself as being a +rich man. Now I shall have to begin and think of you a lover again in +quite another light." She is evidently deeply aggrieved.</p> + +<p>"But, my darling child, I can't help the fact that George Rodney left me +the Hall," says Geoffrey, deprecatingly, reducing the space between them +to a mere nothing, and slipping his arm round her waist. "And if I was a +beggar on the face of the earth, I could not love you more than I do, +nor could you, I <i>hope</i>"—reproachfully—"love me better either."</p> + +<p>The reproachful ring in his voice does its intended work. The soft heart +throws out resentment, and once more gives shelter to gentle thoughts +alone. She even consents to Rodney's laying his cheek against hers, and +faintly returns the pressure of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Yet I think you should have told me," she whispers, as a last fading +censure. "Do you know you have made me very unhappy?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I haven't, now," says Rodney, reassuringly "You don't look a +bit unhappy; you only look as sweet as an angel."</p> + +<p>"You never saw an angel, so you can't say," says Mona, still sadly +severe. "And I <i>am</i> unhappy. How will your mother, Mrs. Rodney, like +your marrying me, when you might marry so many other people,—that Miss +Mansergh, for instance?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nonsense!" says Rodney, who is in high good humor and can see no +rocks ahead. "When my mother sees you she will fall in love with you on +the spot, as will everybody else. But look here, you know, you mustn't +call her Mrs. Rodney!"</p> + +<p>"Why?" says Mona. "I couldn't well call her any thing else until I know +her."</p> + +<p>"That isn't her name at all," says Geoffrey. "My father was a baronet, +you know: she is Lady Rodney."</p> + +<p>"What!" says Mona And then she grows quite pale, and, slipping off the +stile, stands a few yards away from him.</p> + +<p>"That puts an end to everything," she says, in a dreadful little voice +that goes to his heart, "at once. I could never face any one with a +title. What will she say when she hears you are going to marry a +farmer's niece? It is shameful of you," says Mona, with as much +indignation as if the young man opposite to her, who is making strenuous +but vain efforts to speak, has just been convicted of some heinous +crime. "It is disgraceful! I wonder at you! That is twice you have +deceived me."</p> + +<p>"If you would only hear me——"</p> + +<p>"I have heard too much already. I won't listen to any more. 'Lady +Rodney!' I dare say"—with awful meaning in her tone—"<i>you</i> have got a +title <i>too</i>!" Then, sternly, "Have you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no indeed. I give you my honor, no," says Geoffrey, very earnestly, +feeling that Fate has been more than kind to him in that she has denied +him a handle to his name.</p> + +<p>"You are sure?"—doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"Utterly certain."</p> + +<p>"And your brother?"</p> + +<p>"Jack is only Mr. Rodney too."</p> + +<p>"I don't mean him,"—severely: "I mean the brother you called 'Old +Nick'—<i>Old Nick</i> indeed!" with suppressed anger.</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is only called Sir Nicholas. Nobody thinks much of that. A +baronet is really never of the slightest importance," says Geoffrey, +anxiously, feeling exactly as if he were making an apology for his +brother.</p> + +<p>"That is not correct," says Mona. "We have a baronet here, Sir Owen +O'Connor, and he is thought a great deal of. I know all about it. Even +Lady Mary would have married him if he had asked her, though his hair is +the color of an orange. Mr. Rodney,"—laying a dreadful stress upon the +prefix to his name,—"go back to England and"—tragically—"forget me?"</p> + +<p>"I shall do nothing of the kind," says Mr. Rodney, indignantly. "And if +you address me in that way again I shall cut my throat."</p> + +<p>"Much better do that"—gloomily—"than marry me Nothing comes of unequal +marriages but worry, and despair, and misery, and <i>death</i>," says Mona, +in a fearful tone, emphasizing each prophetic word with a dismal nod.</p> + +<p>"You've been reading novels," says Rodney, contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't," says Mona, indignantly.</p> + +<p>"Then you are out of your mind," says Rodney.</p> + +<p>"No, I am not. Anything but that; and to be rude"—slowly—"answers no +purpose. But I have some common sense, I hope."</p> + +<p>"I hate women with common sense. In plainer language it means no heart."</p> + +<p>"Now you speak sensibly. The sooner you begin to hate me the better."</p> + +<p>"A nice time to offer such advice as that," says Rodney, moodily. "But I +shan't take it. Mona,"—seizing her hands and speaking more in +passionate excitement than even in love,—"say at once you will keep +your word and marry me."</p> + +<p>"Nothing on earth shall bring me to say that," says Mona, solemnly. +"Nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Then don't," says Rodney, furiously, and flinging her hands from him, +he turns and strides savagely down the hill, and is lost to sight round +the corner.</p> + +<p>But, though "lost to sight," to memory he is most unpleasantly "dear." +Standing alone in the middle of the deserted field, Mona pulls to +pieces, in a jerky, fretful fashion, a blade of grass she has been idly +holding during the late warm discussion. She is honestly very much +frightened at what she has done, but obstinately declines to acknowledge +it even to her own heart. In a foolish but natural manner she tries to +deceive herself into the belief that what has happened has been much to +her own advantage, and it will be a strict wisdom to rejoice over it.</p> + +<p>"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a +petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I +have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it +lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't +so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly +happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my +life—before he came. And when he is <i>gone</i>"—she pauses, chokes back +with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and +with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he +flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, +as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by +your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward +glance, or <i>anything</i>! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he +will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious +country."</p> + +<p>She tells herself this lie without a blush, perhaps because she is so +pale at the bare thought that her eyes may never again be gladdened by +his presence, that the blood refuses to rise.</p> + +<p>A bell tinkles softly in the distance. The early dusk is creeping up +from behind the distant hills, that are purple with the soft and glowing +heather. The roar of the rushing waves comes from the bay that lies +behind those encircling hills, and falls like sound of saddest music on +her ear. Now comes</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Still evening on, and twilight gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has in her sober livery all things clad.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And Mona, rousing herself from her unsatisfactory reverie, draws her +breath quickly and then moves homeward.</p> + +<p>But first she turns and casts a last lingering glance upon the sloping +hill down which her sweetheart, filled with angry thoughts, had gone. +And as she so stands, with her hand to her forehead, after a little +while a slow smile of conscious power comes to her lips and tarries +round them, as though fond of its resting-place.</p> + +<p>Her lips part. An expression that is half gladness, half amusement, +brightens her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at +the usual hour to-morrow, or,—a little earlier!"</p> + +<p>Then she gathers up her gown and runs swiftly back to the farm.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY RETURNS TO HIS ALLEGIANCE—HOW HE DISCOVERS HIS DIVINITY +DEEP IN THE PERFORMANCE OF SOME MYSTIC RITES WITHIN THE COOL PRECINCTS +OF HER TEMPLE—AND HOW HE SEEKS TO REDUCE HER TO REASON FROM THE TOP OF +AN INVERTED CHURN.</h3> + + +<p>To-day—that "liberal worldling," that "gay philosopher"—is here; and +last night belongs to us only in so far as it deserves a place in our +memory or has forced itself there in spite of our hatred and repugnance.</p> + +<p>To Rodney, last night is one ever to be remembered as being a period +almost without end, and as a perfect specimen of how seven hours can be +made to feel like twenty-one.</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Unbars the gates of light,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>tells himself that all may yet be right betwixt him and his love.</p> + +<p>His love at this moment—which is closing upon noon—is standing in her +cool dairy upon business thoughts intent yet with a certain look of +expectation and anxiety upon he face,—a <i>listening</i> look may best +express it.</p> + +<p>To-morrow will be market-day in Bantry, to which the week's butter must +go; and now the churning is over, and the result of it lies cold and +rich and fresh beneath Mona's eyes. She herself is busily engaged +printing little pats off a large roll of butter that rests on the slab +before her; her sleeves are carefully tucked up, as on that first day +when Geoffrey saw her; and in defiance of her own heart—which knows +itself to be sad—she is lilting some little foolish lay, bright and +shallow as the October sunshine that floods the room, lying in small +silken patches on the walls and floor.</p> + +<p>In the distance a woman is bending over a keeler making up a huge mass +of butter into rolls, nicely squared and smoothed, to make them look +their best and handsomest to-morrow.</p> + +<p>"An' a nate color too," says this woman, who is bare-footed, beneath her +breath, regarding with admiration the yellow tint of the object on which +she is engaged. Two pullets, feathered like a partridge, are creeping +stealthily into the dairy, their heads turned knowingly on one side, +their steps slow and cautious; not even the faintest chirrup escapes +them, lest it be the cause of their instant dismissal. There is no +sound anywhere but the soft music that falls from Mona's lips.</p> + +<p>Suddenly a bell rings in the distance. This is the signal for the men to +cease from work and go to their dinners. It must be two o'clock.</p> + +<p>Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So +late!—the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign.</p> + +<p>The bell stops, and a loud knock at the hall-door takes its place. Was +ever sweeter sound heard anywhere? Mona draws her breath quickly, and +then as though ashamed of herself goes on stoically with her task. Yet +for all her stoicism her color comes and goes, and now she is pale, and +now "celestial, rosy red, love's proper hue," and now a little smile +comes up and irradiates her face.</p> + +<p>So he has come back to her. There is triumph in this thought and some +natural vanity, but above and beyond all else a great relief that lifts +from her the deadly fear that all night has been consuming her and has +robbed her of her rest. Now anxiety is at an end, and joy reigns, born +of the knowledge that by his speedy surrender he has proved himself her +own indeed, and she herself indispensable to his content.</p> + +<p>"'Tis the English gintleman, miss,—Misther Rodney. He wants to see ye," +says the fair Bridget, putting her head in at the doorway, and speaking +in a hushed and subdued tone.</p> + +<p>"Very well: show him in here," says Mona, very distinctly, going on with +the printing of her butter with a courage that deserves credit. There is +acrimony in her tone, but laughter in her eyes. While acknowledging a +faint soreness at her heart she is still amused at his prompt, and +therefore flattering, subjection.</p> + +<p>Rodney, standing on the threshold at the end of the small hall, can hear +distinctly all that passes.</p> + +<p>"Here, miss,—in the dairy? Law, Miss Mona! don't"</p> + +<p>"Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the +English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him +in at once."</p> + +<p>"But in that apron, miss, and wid yer arms bare-like, an' widout yer +purty blue bow; law, Miss Mona, have sinse, an' don't ye now."</p> + +<p>"Show Mr. Rodney in here, Bridget," says Mona unflinchingly, not looking +at the distressed maid, or indeed at anything but the unobservant +butter. And Bridget, with a sigh that strongly resembles the snort of a +war-horse, ushers Mr. Rodney into the dairy.</p> + +<p>"You?" says Mona, with extreme <i>hauteur</i> and an unpleasant amount of +well-feigned astonishment. She does not deign to go to meet him, or even +turn her head altogether in his direction, but just throws a swift and +studiously unfriendly glance at him from under her long lashes.</p> + +<p>"Yes" replies he, slowly as though regretful that he cannot deny his own +identity.</p> + +<p>"And what has brought you?" demands she, not rudely or quickly, but as +though desirous of obtaining information on a subject that puzzles her.</p> + +<p>"An overwhelming desire to see you again," returns this wise young man, +in a tone that is absolutely abject.</p> + +<p>To this it is difficult to make a telling reply. Mona says nothing she +only turns her head completely away from him, as if to conceal +something. Is it a smile?—he cannot tell. And indeed presently, as +though to dispel all such idea, she sighs softly but audibly.</p> + +<p>At this Mr. Rodney moves a shade closer to her.</p> + +<p>"What a very charming dairy!" he says, mildly.</p> + +<p>"Very uncomfortable for you, I fear, after your long ride," says Mona, +coldly but courteously. "Why don't you go into the parlor? I am sure you +will find it pleasanter there."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I should not," says Rodney.</p> + +<p>"More comfortable, at least."</p> + +<p>"I am quite comfortable, thank you."</p> + +<p>"But you have nothing to sit on."</p> + +<p>"Neither have you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I have my work to do; and besides, I often prefer standing."</p> + +<p>"So do I, often,—<i>very</i> often," says Mr. Rodney, sadly still, but +genially.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?"—with cold severity. "It is only two days ago since you +told me you loved nothing better than an easy-chair."</p> + +<p>"Loved nothing better than a—oh, how you must have misunderstood me!" +says Rodney, with mournful earnestness, liberally sprinkled with +reproach.</p> + +<p>"I have indeed misunderstood you in <i>many</i> ways." This is unkind, and +the emphasis makes it even more so. "Norah, if the butter is finished, +you can go and feed the calves." There is a business-like air about her +whole manner eminently disheartening to a lover out of court.</p> + +<p>"Very good, miss; I'm going," says the woman, and with a last touch to +the butter she covers it over with a clean wet cloth and moves to the +yard door. The two chickens on the threshold, who have retreated and +advanced a thousand times, now retire finally with an angry +"cluck-cluck," and once more silence reigns.</p> + +<p>"We were talking of love, I think," says Rodney, innocently, as though +the tender passion as subsisting between the opposite sexes had been the +subject of the conversation.</p> + +<p>"Of love generally?—no," with a disdainful glance,—"merely of your +love of comfort."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite so: that is exactly what I meant," returns he, agreeably. It +was <i>not</i> what he meant; but that doesn't count. "How awfully clever you +are," he says, presently, alluding to her management of the little pats, +which, to say truth, are faring but ill at her hands.</p> + +<p>"Not clever," says Mona. "If I were clever I should not take for +granted—as I always do—that what people say they must mean. I myself +could not wear a double face."</p> + +<p>"That is just like me," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly—"the very image +of me."</p> + +<p>"Is it?"—witheringly. Then, with some impatience, "You will be far +happier in an arm-chair: do go into the parlor. There is really no +reason why you should remain here."</p> + +<p>"There is,—a reason not to be surpassed. And as to the parlor,"—in a +melancholy tone,—"I could not be happy there, or anywhere, just at +present. Unless, indeed,"—this in a very low but carefully distinct +tone,—"it be here!"</p> + +<p>A pause. Mona mechanically but absently goes on with her work, avoiding +all interchange of glances with her deceitful lover. The deceitful lover +is plainly meditating a fresh attack. Presently he overturns an empty +churn and seats himself on the top of it in a dejected fashion.</p> + +<p>"I never saw the easy-chair I could compare with this," he says, as +though to himself, his voice full of truth.</p> + +<p>This is just a little too much. Mona gives way. Standing well back from +her butter, she lets her pretty rounded bare arms fall lightly before +her to their full length, and as her fingers clasp each other she turns +to Rodney and breaks into a peal of laughter sweet as music.</p> + +<p>At this he would have drawn her into his arms, hoping her gayety may +mean forgiveness and free absolution for all things said and done the +day before; but she recoils from him.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she says; "all is different now, you know, and +you should never have come here again at all; but"—with charming +inconsequence—"<i>why</i> did you go away last evening without bidding me +good-night?"</p> + +<p>"My heart was broken, and by you: that was why. How could you say the +cruel things you did? To tell me it would be better for me to cut my +throat than marry you! That was abominable of you, Mona, wasn't it now? +And to make me believe you meant it all, too!" says this astute young +man.</p> + +<p>"I did mean it. Of course I cannot marry you," says Mona, but rather +weakly. The night has left her in a somewhat wavering frame of mind.</p> + +<p>"If you can say that again now, in cold blood, after so many hours of +thought, you must be indeed heartless," says Rodney; "and"—standing +up—"I may as well go."</p> + +<p>He moves towards the door with "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," +as Goldsmith would say.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, wait for one moment," says Mona, showing the white feather +at last, and holding out to him one slim little hand. He seizes it with +avidity, and then, placing his arm round her waist with audacious +boldness, gives her an honest kiss, which she returns with equal +honesty.</p> + +<p>"Now let us talk no more nonsense," says Rodney, tenderly. "We belong to +each other, and always shall, and that is the solution of the whole +matter."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" says she, a little wistfully. "You think so now; but if +afterwards you should know regret, or——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, if—if—if!" interrupts he. "Is it that you are afraid for +yourself? Remember there is 'beggary in the love that can be reckoned.'"</p> + +<p>"That is true," says Mona; "but it does not apply to me; and it is for +you only I fear. Let me say just this: I have thought it all over; there +were many hours in which to think, because I could not sleep——"</p> + +<p>"Neither could I," puts in Geoffrey. "But it was hard on you, my +darling."</p> + +<p>"And this is what I would say: in one year from this I will marry you, +if"—with a faint tremble in her tone—"you then still care to marry me. +But not before."</p> + +<p>"A year! An eternity!"</p> + +<p>"No; only twelve months,"—hastily; "say no more now: my mind is quite +made up."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! then I did not know all," says Mona. "That was your fault. No; if I +consent to do you this injury you shall at least have time to think it +over."</p> + +<p>"Do you distrust me?" says Rodney,—this time really hurt, because his +love for her is in reality deep and strong and thorough.</p> + +<p>"No,"—slowly,—"I do not. If I did, I should not love you as—as I do."</p> + +<p>"It is all very absurd," says Rodney, impatiently. "If a year, or two, +or twenty, were to go by, it would be all the same; I should love you +then as I love you to-day, and no other woman. Be reasonable, darling; +give up this absurd idea."</p> + +<p>"Impossible," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Impossible is a word only to be found in the dictionary of fools. <i>You</i> +are not a fool. This is a mere fad of yours and I think you hardly know +why you are insisting on it."</p> + +<p>"I do know," says Mona. "First, because I would have you weigh +everything carefully, and——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and——"</p> + +<p>"You know your mother will object to me," says Mona, with an effort, +speaking hurriedly, whilst a little fleck of scarlet flames into her +cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Stuff!" says Mr. Rodney; "that is only piling Ossa upon Pelion: it will +bring you no nearer the clouds. Say you will go back to the old +arrangement and marry me next month, or at least the month after."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>She stands away from him, and looks at him with a face so pale, yet so +earnest and intense, that he feels it will be unwise to argue further +with her just now. So instead he takes both her hands and draws her to +his side again.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mona, if you could only know how wretched I was all last night," he +says; "I never put in such a bad time in my life."</p> + +<p>"Yes; I can understand you," said Mona, softly, "for I too was +miserable."</p> + +<p>"Do you recollect all you said, or one-half of it? You said it would be +well if I hated you."</p> + +<p>"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, +"perhaps I was right."</p> + +<p>"Now, that is nastier," says Geoffrey; "unsay it."</p> + +<p>"I will," says the girl, impulsively, with quick tears in her eyes. +"Don't hate me, my dearest, unless you wish to kill me; for that would +be the end of it."</p> + +<p>"I have a great mind to say something uncivil to you, if only to punish +you for your coldness," says Geoffrey, lightly, cheered by her evident +sincerity. "But I shall refrain, lest a second quarrel be the result, +and I have endured so much during these past few hours that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'As I am a Christian faithful man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not spend another such a night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>From the hour I parted from you till I saw you again I felt downright +suicidal."</p> + +<p>"But you didn't cut your throat, after all," says Mona, with a wicked +little grimace.</p> + +<p>"Well, no; but I dare say I shall before I am done with you. Besides, it +occurred to me I might as well have a last look at you before consigning +my body to the grave."</p> + +<p>"And an unhallowed grave, too. And so you really felt miserable when +angry with me? How do you feel now?" She is looking up at him, with love +and content and an adorable touch of coquetry in her pretty face.</p> + +<p>"'I feel that I am happier than I know,'" quotes he, softly, folding her +closely to his heart.</p> + +<p>So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of butter and +the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild +breezes that belong to the dying day.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY TELLS HOME SECRETS, AND HOW MONA COMMENTS THEREON—HOW +DEATH STALKS RAMPANT IN THEIR PATH—AND HOW, THOUGH GEOFFREY DECLINES TO +"RUN AWAY," HE STILL "LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY."</h3> + + +<p>"And you really mustn't think us such very big people," says Geoffrey, +in a deprecating tone, "because we are any thing but that, and, in +fact,"—with a sharp contraction of his brow that betokens inward +grief,—"there is rather a cloud over us just now."</p> + +<p>"A cloud?" says Mona. And I think in her inmost heart she is rather glad +than otherwise that her lover's people are not on the top rung of the +ladder.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—in a regular hole, you know," says Mr. Rodney. "It is rather a +complicated story, but the truth is, my grandfather hated his eldest +son—my uncle who went to Australia—like poison, and when dying left +all the property—none of which was entailed—to his second son, my +father."</p> + +<p>"That was a little unfair, wasn't it?" says Mona. "Why didn't he divide +it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's just it," returns he. "But, you see, he didn't. He willed +the whole thing to my father. He had a long conversation with my mother +the very night before his death, in which he mentioned this will, and +where it was locked up, and all about it; yet the curious part of the +whole matter is this, that on the morning after his death, when they +made search for this will, it was nowhere to be found! Nor have we heard +tale or tidings of it ever since Though of the fact that it was duly +signed, sealed, and delivered there is no doubt."</p> + +<p>"How strange!" says Mona. "But how then did you manage?"</p> + +<p>"Well, just then it made little difference to us, as, shortly after my +grandfather went off the hooks, we received what we believed to be +authenticated tidings of my uncle's death."</p> + +<p>"Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested.</p> + +<p>"Well, belief, however strong, goes a short way sometimes. An uncommon +short way with us."</p> + +<p>"But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?"</p> + +<p>"No, it didn't: it made it all wrong. But for that lie we should not be +in the predicament in which we now find ourselves. You will understand +me better when I tell you that the other day a young man turned up who +declares himself to be my uncle George's son, and heir to his land and +title. That <i>was</i> a blow. And, as this wretched will is not forthcoming, +I fear he will inherit everything. We are disputing it, of course, and +are looking high and low for the missing will that should have been +sought for at the first. But it's very shaky the whole affair."</p> + +<p>"It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he +could have hugged her on the spot.</p> + +<p>"It is very hard on Nick," he says disconsolately.</p> + +<p>"And he is your cousin, this strange young man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so," replies Mr. Rodney, reluctantly. "But he don't look +like it. Hang it, you know," exclaims he, vehemently, "one can stand a +good deal, but to have a fellow who wears carbuncle rings, and speaks of +his mother as the 'old girl,' call himself your cousin, is more than +flesh and blood can put up with: it's—it's worse than the lawsuit."</p> + +<p>"It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him +"Nick" now for the world.</p> + +<p>"Harder even than you know. He is engaged to one of the dearest little +girls possible, but of course if this affair terminates in favor of—" he +hesitates palpably, then says with an effort—"my cousin, the engagement +comes to an end."</p> + +<p>"But why?" says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Well, he won't be exactly a catch after that, you know," says Rodney, +sadly. "Poor old Nick! it will be a come-down for him after all these +years."</p> + +<p>"But do you mean to tell me the girl he loves will give him up just +because fortune is frowning on him?" asks Mona, slowly. "Sure she +couldn't be so mean as that."</p> + +<p>"It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which +amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know."</p> + +<p>"I <i>don't</i> know," says Mona unconvinced. "I would go against all the +people in the world rather than be bad to you. And to forsake him, too, +at the very time when he will most want sympathy, at the very hour of +his great trouble. Oh! that is shameful! I shall not like her, I think."</p> + + +<p>"I am sure you will, notwithstanding. She is the gayest, brightest +creature imaginable, just such another as yourself. If it be true that +'birds of a feather flock together,' you and she must amalgamate. You +may not get on well with Violet Mansergh, who is somewhat reserved, but +I know you will be quite friends with Doatie."</p> + +<p>"What is her name?"</p> + +<p>"She is Lord Steyne's second daughter. The family name is Darling. Her +name is Dorothy."</p> + +<p>"A pretty name, too."</p> + +<p>"Yes, old-fashioned. She is always called Doatie Darling by her +familiars, which sounds funny. She is quite charming, and loved by every +one."</p> + +<p>"Yet she would renounce her love, would betray him for the sake of +filthy lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that."</p> + +<p>"It is the way of her world. There is more in training than one quite +knows. Now, you are altogether different. I know that; it is perhaps the +reason why you have made my heart your own. Do not think it flattery +when I tell you there are very few like you, Mona, in the world; but I +would have you be generous. Do not let your excellence make you harsh to +others. That is a common fault; and all people, darling, are not +charactered alike."</p> + +<p>"Am I harsh?" says Mona, wistfully.</p> + +<p>"No, you are not," says Geoffrey, grieved to the heart that he could +have used such a word towards her. "You are nothing that is not sweet +and adorable. And, besides all this, you are, I know, sincerity itself. +I feel (and am thankful for the knowledge) that were fate to 'steep me +in poverty to the very lips,' you would still be faithful to me."</p> + +<p>"I should be all the more faithful: it is then you would feel your need +of me," says Mona, simply. Then, as though puzzled, she goes on with a +little sigh, "In time perhaps, I shall understand it all, and how other +people feel, and—if it will please you, Geoffrey—I shall try to like +the girl you call Doatie."</p> + +<p>"I wish Nick didn't like her so much," says Geoffrey, sadly. "It will +cut him up more than all the rest, if he has to give her up."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a +half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would +it—would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?"</p> + +<p>Rodney is deeply touched.</p> + +<p>"No, darling, no; I am afraid not," he says, very gently. But for the +poor child's tender earnestness and good faith, he could almost have +felt some faint amusement; but this offering of hers is to him a sacred +thing, and to treat her words as a jest is a thought far from him. +Indeed, to give wilful offence to any one, by either word or action, +would be very foreign to his nature. For if "he is gentil that doth +gentil dedis" be true, Rodney to his finger-tips is gentleman indeed.</p> + +<p>It is growing dusk; "the shades of night are falling fast," the cold +pale sun, that all day long has cast its chill October beams upon a +leafless world, has now sunk behind the distant hill, and the sad +silence of the coming night hath set her finger with deep touch upon +creation's brow.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous +laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of +late? I seem to be always anticipating evil."</p> + +<p>Down from the mountain's top the shadows are creeping stealthily: all +around is growing dim, and vague, and mysterious, in the uncertain +light.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears +daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued voice. "That murder at Oola, for +instance: that was horrible.'</p> + +<p>"Well but a murder at Oola isn't a murder here, you know," says Mr. +Rodney, airily. "Let us wait to be melancholy until it comes home to +ourselves,—which indeed, may be at any moment, your countrymen are of +such a very playful disposition. Do you remember what a lively time we +had of it the night we ran to Maxwell's assistance, and what an escape +he had?"</p> + +<p>"Ay! so he had, an escape <i>you</i> will never know," says a hoarse voice at +this moment, that makes Mona's heart almost cease to beat. An instant +later, and two men jump up from the dark ditch in which they have been +evidently hiding, and confront Rodney with a look of savage satisfaction +upon their faces.</p> + +<p>At this first glance he recognizes them as being the two men with whom +Mona had attempted argument and remonstrance on the night elected for +Maxwell's murder. They are armed with guns, but wear no disguise, not +even the usual band of black crape across the upper half of the face.</p> + +<p>Rodney casts a quick glance up the road, but no human creature is in +sight; nor, indeed, were they here, would they have been of any use. For +who in these lawless days would dare defy or call in question the +all-powerful Land League?</p> + +<p>"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is +absolutely frozen with fear.</p> + +<p>"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He +fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he +speaks.</p> + +<p>"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be +so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he +can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Stand back," says Ryan, savagely. "Stand back, I tell ye, unless ye +want a hole in yer own skin, for his last moment is come."</p> + +<p>"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and +almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever +treats a woman with roughness.</p> + +<p>"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this +English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll +teach him how to balk me of my prey a second time. D'ye think I didn't +know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is +in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for +it."</p> + +<p>Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the +elbow, holds her as in a vice. There is no escape, no hope! Finding +herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with +dilated eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes +in quick agonized gasps, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her +feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer +last hour has come."</p> + +<p>"Has it?" says Rodney, fiercely. "Then I'll make the most of it," and +before the other can find time to fire he flings himself upon him, and +grasps his throat with murderous force.</p> + +<p>In an instant they are locked in each other's arms. Ryan wrestles +violently, but is scarcely a match for Rodney, whose youth and training +tell, and who is actually fighting for dear life. In the confusion the +gun goes off, and the bullet, passing by Rodney's arm, tears away a +piece of the coat with it, and also part of the flesh. But this he +hardly knows till later on.</p> + +<p>To and fro they sway, and then both men fall heavily to the ground. +Presently they are on their feet again, but this time Rodney is master +of the unloaded gun.</p> + +<p>"Leave the girl alone, and come here," shouts Ryan furiously to Carthy, +who is still holding Mona captive. The blood is streaming from a large +cut on his forehead received in his fall.</p> + +<p>"Coward!" hisses Rodney between his teeth. His face is pale as death; +his teeth are clenched; his gray eyes are flaming fire. His hat has +fallen off in the struggle, and his coat, which is a good deal torn, +betrays a shirt beneath deeply stained with blood. He is standing back a +little from his opponent, with his head thrown up, and his fair hair +lying well back from his brow.</p> + +<p>"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, +but is full of reckless defiance. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square +accounts with you."</p> + +<p>Advancing with the empty gun in his hands, he raises it, and, holding it +by the barrel, brings it down with all his might upon his enemy's skull. +Ryan reels, staggers, and once more licks the dust. But the wretched +weapon—sold probably at the back of some miserable shebeen in Bantry +for any price ranging from five-and-six to one guinea—snaps in two at +this moment from the force of the blow, so leaving Rodney, spent and +weak with loss of blood, at the mercy of his second opponent.</p> + +<p>Carthy, having by this time freed himself from Mona's detaining +grasp,—who, seeing the turn affairs have taken, has clung to him with +all her strength, and so hampered his efforts to go to his companion's +assistance,—comes to the front.</p> + +<p>But a hand-to-hand encounter is not Mr. Carthy's forte. He prefers being +propped up by friends and acquaintances, and thinks a duel <i>a la mort</i> a +poor speculation. Now, seeing his whilom accomplice stretched apparently +lifeless upon the ground, his courage (what he has of it), like Bob +Acres', oozes out through his palms, and a curious shaking, that surely +can't be fear, takes possession of his knees.</p> + +<p>Moreover, he has never before had a gun in his own keeping; and the +sensation, though novel, is not so enchanting as he had fondly hoped it +might have been. He is plainly shy about the managing of it, and in his +heart is not quite sure which end of it goes off. However, he lifts it +with trembling fingers, and deliberately covers Rodney.</p> + +<p>Tyro as he is, standing at so short a distance from his antagonist, he +could have hardly failed to blow him into bits, and probably would have +done so, but for one little accident.</p> + +<p>Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding +herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had +rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had +torn from its top a heavy stone.</p> + +<p>Now, turning back, she aims carefully for Carthy's head, and flings the +missile from her. A woman's eye in such cases is seldom sure, and now +the stone meant for his head falls short, and, hitting his arm, knocks +the gun from his nerveless fingers.</p> + +<p>This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves +in, and, regardless of the prostrate figure of his companion, jumps +hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is +rolling up from the bay.</p> + +<p>Rodney, lifting the gun, takes as sure aim as he can at the form of the +departing hero; but evidently the bullet misses its mark, as no sound of +fear or pain comes to disturb the utter silence of the evening.</p> + +<p>Then he turns to Mona.</p> + +<p>"You have saved my life," he says, in a tone that trembles for the first +time this evening, "my love! my brave girl! But what an ordeal for you!"</p> + +<p>"I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help +you," says Mona, passionately; "that was bitter."</p> + +<p>"What spirit, what courage, you displayed! At first I feared you would +faint——"</p> + +<p>"While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says +Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough +for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob, "There will be time to +<i>die</i> later on."</p> + +<p>Here her eyes fall upon Ryan's motionless figure, and a shudder passes +over her.</p> + +<p>"Is he dead?" she asks, in a whisper, pointing without looking at their +late foe. Rodney, stooping, lays his hand on the ruffian's heart.</p> + +<p>"No, he breathes," he says. "He will live, no doubt. Vermin are hard to +kill. And if he does die," bitterly, "what matter? Dog! Let him die +there! The road is too good a place for him."</p> + +<p>"Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror +creeps over her, rendering her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. +"There may be others. Do not delay."</p> + +<p>In ignorance of the fact that Geoffrey has been hurt in the fray, she +lays her hand upon the injured arm. Instinctively he shrinks from the +touch.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet—I feel +it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of +horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are +hurt, wounded!"</p> + +<p>"It can't be much," says Geoffrey, who, to confess the truth, is by this +time feeling a little sick and faint. "I never knew I was touched till +now. Come, let us get back to the farm."</p> + +<p>"I wonder you do not hate me," says Mona, with a brokenhearted sob, +"when you remember I am of the same blood as these wretches."</p> + +<p>"Hate you!" replies he, with a smile of ineffable fondness, "my +preserver and my love!"</p> + +<p>She is comforted in a small degree by his words, but fear and depression +still hold her captive. She insists upon his leaning on her, and he, +seeing she is bent on being of some service to him, lays his hand +lightly on her shoulder, and so they go slowly homeward.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA PROVES HERSELF EQUAL—IF NOT SUPERIOR—TO DR. MARY WALKER; AND +HOW GEOFFREY, BY A BASE THREAT, CARRIES HIS POINT.</h3> + + +<p>Old Brian Scully is in his parlor, and comes to meet them as they enter +the hall,—his pipe behind his back.</p> + +<p>"Come in, come in," he begins, cheerily, and then, catching sight of +Mona's pale face, stops short. "Why, what has come to ye?" cries he, +aghast, glancing from his niece to Rodney's discolored shirt and torn +coat; "what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"It was Tim Ryan," returns Mona, wearily, feeling unequal to a long +story just at present.</p> + +<p>"Eh, but this is bad news!" says old Scully, evidently terrified and +disheartened by his niece's words. "Where will it all end? Come in, +Misther Rodney: let me look at ye, boy. No, not a word out of ye now +till ye taste something. 'Tis in bits ye are; an' a good coat it was +this mornin'. There's the whiskey, Mona, agra, an' there's the wather. +Oh! the black villain! Let me examine ye, me son. Why, there's blood on +ye! Oh! the murthering thief!"</p> + +<p>So runs on the kindly farmer, smitten to the heart that such things +should be,—and done upon Rodney of all men. He walks round the young +man, muttering his indignation in a low tone, while helping him with +gentle care to remove his coat,—or at least what remains of that once +goodly garment that had for parent Mr. Poole.</p> + +<p>"Where's the docther at all, at all?" says he, forcing Geoffrey into a +chair, and turning to Biddy, who is standing open-mouthed in the +doorway, and who, though grieved, is plainly finding some pleasure in +the situation. Being investigated, she informs them the "docther" is +to-night on the top of Carrigfoddha Mountain, and, literally, "won't be +home until morning."</p> + +<p>"Now, what's to be done?" says old Brian, in despair. "I know, as well +as if ye tould me, it is Norry Flannigan! Just like those wimmen to be +always troublesome! Are ye sure Biddy?"</p> + +<p>"Troth I am, sir. I see him goin' wid me own two eyes not an hour ago, +in the gig an' the white horse, wid the wan eye an' the loose +tail,—that looks for all the world as if it was screwed on to him. An' +'tisn't Norry is callin' for him nayther (though I don't say but she'll +be on the way), but Larry Moloney the sweep. 'Tis a stitch he got this +morning, an' he's gone intirely this time, the people say. An' more's +the pity too, for a dacent sowl he was, an' more nor a mortial sweep."</p> + +<p>This eulogy on the departing Larry she delivers with much unction, and a +good deal of check apron in the corner of one eye.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Sure Miss Mona can," says Biddy, turning to her young mistress, and +standing in the doorway in her favorite position,—that is, with her +bare arms akimbo, and her head to one side like a magpie. "She's raal +clever at dhressin' an' doctherin' an' that."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I'm not clever," says Mona; "but"—nervously and with downcast +eyes, addressing Geoffrey—"I might perhaps be able to make you a little +more comfortable."</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>She shrinks a little from the task, and would fain have evaded it +altogether; though there is happiness, too, in the thought that here is +an occasion on which she may be of real use to him. Will not the very +act itself bring her nearer to him? Is it not sweet to feel that it is +in her power to ease his pain? And is she not only doing what a tender +wife would gladly do for her husband?</p> + +<p>Still she hesitates, though betraying no vulgar awkwardness or silly +<i>mauvaise honte</i>. Indeed, the only sign of emotion she does show is a +soft slow blush, that, mounting quickly, tips even her little ears with +pink.</p> + +<p>"Let her thry," says old Brian, in his soft, Irish brogue, that comes +kindly from his tongue. "She's mighty clever about most things."</p> + +<p>"I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between +an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed +it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless +flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you +unhappy,—may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety.</p> + +<p>"No, it will not shock me," returns Mona, quietly; whereupon he sits +down, and Biddy puts a basin on the table, and Mona, with trembling +fingers, takes a scissors, and cuts away the shirt-sleeve from his +wounded arm. Then she bathes it.</p> + +<p>After a moment she turns deadly pale, and says, in a faint tone, "I know +I am hurting you: I <i>feel</i> it." And in truth I believe the tender heart +does feel it, much more than he does. There is an expression that +amounts to agony in her beautiful eyes.</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> hurt me!" replies he, in a peculiar tone, that is not so peculiar +but it fully satisfies her. And then he smiles, and, seeing old Brian +has once more returned to the fire and his pipe, and Biddy has gone for +fresh water, he stoops over the reddened basin, and, in spite of all the +unromantic surroundings, kisses her as fondly as if roses and moonbeams +and dripping fountains and perfumed exotics were on every side. And +this, because true romance—that needs no outward fire to keep it +warm—is in his heart.</p> + +<p>And now Mona knows no more nervousness, but with a steady and practised +hand binds up his arm, and when all is finished pushes him gently +(<i>very</i> gently) from her, and "with heart on her lips, and soul within +her eyes," surveys with pride her handiwork.</p> + +<p>"Now I hope you will feel less pain," she says, with modest triumph.</p> + +<p>"I feel no pain," returns he, gallantly.</p> + +<p>"Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his +knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days +when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, +very good."</p> + +<p>At this Mona and Geoffrey break into silent laughter, being overcome by +the insinuation about lying.</p> + +<p>"Come here an' sit down, lad," says old Scully, unknowing of their +secret mirth, "an' tell me all about it, from start to finish,—that +Ryan's a thundering rogue,—while Mona sees about a bed for ye."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Rodney, hastily. "I have given quite too much trouble +already. I assure you I am quite well enough now to ride back again to +Bantry."</p> + +<p>"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,—"to-night! Oh, do you want +to kill me and yourself?"</p> + +<p>"She has reason," says the old man, earnestly and approvingly, rounding +his sentence after the French fashion, as the Irish so often will: "she +has said it," he goes on, "she always does say it; she has brains, has +my colleen. Ye don't stir out of this house to-night, Mr. Rodney; so +make up yer mind to it. With Tim Ryan abroad, an' probably picked up and +carried home by this time, the counthry will be all abroad, an' no safe +thravellin' for man or baste. Here's a cosey sate for ye by the fire: +sit down, lad, an' take life aisy."</p> + +<p>"If I was quite sure I shouldn't be dreadfully in the way," says +Geoffrey, turning to Mona, she being mistress of the ceremonies.</p> + +<p>"Be quite sure," returns she, smiling.</p> + +<p>"And to-morrow ye can go into Banthry an' prosecute that scoundrel +Ryan," says Scully, "an' have yer arm properly seen afther."</p> + +<p>"So I can," says Geoffrey. Then, not for any special reason, but +because, through very love of her, he is always looking at her, he turns +his eyes on Mona. She is standing by the table, with her head bent down.</p> + +<p>"Yes, to-morrow you can have your arm re-dressed," she says, in a low +tone, that savors of sadness; and then he knows she does not want him to +prosecute Ryan.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll let Ryan alone," he says, instantly, turning to her uncle +and addressing him solely, as though to prove himself ignorant of Mona's +secret wish. "I have given him enough to last him for some time." Yet +the girl reads him him through and through, and is deeply grateful to +him for this quick concession to her unspoken desire.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, you're a good lad at heart," says Scully, glad perhaps in +his inmost soul, as his countrymen always are and will be when a +compatriot cheats the law and escapes a just judgment. "Mona, look after +him for awhile, until I go an' see that lazy spalpeen of mine an' get +him to put a good bed undher Mr. Rodney's horse."</p> + +<p>When the old man has gone, Mona goes quietly up to her lover, and, +laying her hand upon his arm,—a hand that seems by some miraculous +means to have grown whiter of late,—says, gratefully,—</p> + +<p>"I know why you said that about Ryan, and I thank you for it. I should +not like to think it was your word had transported him."</p> + +<p>"Yet, I am letting him go free that he may be the perpetrator of even +greater crimes."</p> + +<p>"You err, nevertheless, on the side of mercy, if you err at all; +and—perhaps there may be no other crimes. He may have had his lesson +this evening,—a lasting one. To-morrow I shall go to his cabin, +and——"</p> + +<p>"Now, once for all, Mona," interrupts he, with determination, "I +strictly forbid you ever to go to Ryan's cottage again."</p> + +<p>It is the first time he has ever used the tone of authority towards her, +and involuntarily she shrinks from him, and glances up at him from under +her long lashes in a half frightened, half-reproachful fashion, as might +an offended child.</p> + +<p>Following her, he takes both her hands, and, holding them closely, draws +her back to her former position beside him.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me: it was an ugly word," he says, "I take it back. I shall +never forbid you to do anything, Mona, if my doing so must bring that +look into your eyes. Yet surely there are moments in every woman's life +when the man who loves her, and whom she loves, may claim from her +obedience, when it is for her own good. However, let that pass. I now +entreat you not to go again to Ryan's cabin."</p> + +<p>Releasing her hands from his firm grasp, the girl lays them lightly +crossed upon his breast, and looks up at him with perfect trust,—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>There is both dignity and tenderness in her tone. She gazes at him +earnestly for a moment, and then suddenly slips one arm round his neck.</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey," she says with a visible effort.</p> + +<p>"Yes, darling."</p> + +<p>"I want you to do something for my sake."</p> + +<p>"I will do anything, my own."</p> + +<p>"It is for my sake; but it will break my heart."</p> + +<p>"Mona! what are you going to say to me?"</p> + +<p>"I want you to leave Ireland—not next month, or next week, but at once. +To-morrow, if possible."</p> + +<p>"My darling, why?"</p> + +<p>"Because you are not safe here: your life is in danger. Once Ryan is +recovered, he will not be content to see you living, knowing his life is +in your hands; every hour you will be in danger. Whatever it may cost +me, you must go."</p> + +<p>"That's awful nonsense, you know," says Rodney, lightly. "When he sees I +haven't taken any steps about arresting him, he will forget all about +it, and bear no further ill will."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand this people as I do. I tell you he will never +forgive his downfall the other night, or the thought that he is in your +power."</p> + +<p>"Well, at all events I shan't go one moment before I said I should," +says Rodney.</p> + +<p>"It is now my turn to demand obedience," says Mona, with a little wan +attempt at a smile. "Will you make every hour of my life unhappy? Can I +live in the thought that each minute may bring me evil news of you,—may +bring me tidings of your death?" Here she gives way to a passionate +burst of grief, and clings closer to him, as though with her soft arms +to shield him from all danger. Her tears touch him.</p> + +<p>"Well, I will go," he says, "on one condition,—that you come with me."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!" drawing back from him. "How could I be ready? and, +besides, I have said I will not marry you until a year goes by. How can +I break my word?"</p> + +<p>"That word should never have been said. It is better broken."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no."</p> + +<p>"Very well. I shall not ask you to break it. But I shall stay on here. +And if," says this artful young man, in a purposely doleful tone, +"anything <i>should</i> happen, it will——"</p> + +<p>"Don't say it! don't!" cries Mona, in an agony, stopping his mouth with +her hand. "Do not! Yes, I give in. I will go with you. I will marry you +any time you like, the sooner the better,"—feverishly; "anything to +save your life!"</p> + +<p>This is hardly complimentary, but Geoffrey passes it over.</p> + +<p>"This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the +wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot.</p> + +<p>"Very well," says Mona, who is pale and thoughtful.</p> + +<p>And then old Brian comes in, and Geoffrey opens out to him this +newly-devized plan; and after a while the old farmer, with tears in his +eyes, and a strange quiver in his voice that cuts through Mona's heart, +gives his consent to it, and murmurs a blessing on this hasty marriage +that is to deprive him of all he best loves on earth.</p> + +<p>And so they are married, and last words are spoken, and adieux said, and +sad tears fall, and for many days her own land knows Mona no more.</p> + +<p>And that night, when she is indeed gone, a storm comes up from the sea, +and dashes the great waves inward upon the rocky coast. And triumphantly +upon their white bosoms the sea-mews ride, screaming loudly their wild +sweet song that mingles harmoniously with the weird music of the winds +and waves.</p> + +<p>And all the land is rich with angry beauty beneath the rays of the cold +moon, that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O'er the dark her silver mantle throws;"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and the sobbing waves break themselves with impotent fury upon the giant +walls of granite that line the coast, and the clouds descend upon the +hills, and the sea-birds shriek aloud, and all nature seems to cry for +Mona.</p> + +<p>But to the hill of Carrickdhuve, to sit alone and gaze in loving silence +on the heaven-born grandeur of earth and sky and sea, comes Mona Scully +no more forever.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY WRITES A LETTER THAT POSSESSES ALL THE PROPERTIES OF +DYNAMITE—AND HOW CONFUSION REIGNS AT THE TOWERS.</h3> + + +<p>In the house of Rodney there is mourning and woe. Horror has fallen upon +it, and something that touches on disgrace. Lady Rodney, leaning back in +her chair with her scented handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, sobs +aloud and refuses to be comforted.</p> + +<p>The urn is hissing angrily, and breathing forth defiance with all his +might. It is evidently possessed with the belief that the teapot has +done it some mortal injury, and is waging on it war to the knife.</p> + +<p>The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is positively +turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking +straight before it, in a very dignified fashion, at a martial row of +cups and saucers that are drawn up in battle-array and are only waiting +for the word of command to march upon the enemy.</p> + +<p>But this word comes not. In vain does the angry urn hiss. The teapot +holds aloft its haughty nose for naught. The cups and saucers range +themselves in military order all for nothing. Lady Rodney is dissolved +in tears.</p> + +<p>"Oh! Nicholas, it can't be true! it really <i>can't</i>!" she says, alluding +to the news contained in a letter Sir Nicholas is reading with a puzzled +brow.</p> + +<p>He is a tall young man, about thirty-two, yet looking younger, with a +somewhat sallow complexion, large dreamy brown eyes, and very fine sleek +black hair. He wears neither moustache nor whiskers, principally for the +very good reason that Nature has forgotten to supply them. For which +perhaps he should be grateful, as it would have been a cruel thing to +hide the excessive beauty of his mouth and chin and perfectly-turned +jaw. These are his chief charms, being mild and thoughtful, yet a trifle +firm, and in perfect accordance with the upper part of his face. He is +hardly handsome, but is certainly attractive.</p> + +<p>In manner he is somewhat indolent, silent, perhaps lazy. But there is +about him a subtle charm that endears him to all who know him. Perhaps +it is his innate horror of offending the feelings of any one, be he +great or small, and perhaps it is his inborn knowledge of humanity, and +the power he possesses (with most other sensitive people) of being able +to read the thoughts of those with whom he comes in contact, that +enables him to avoid all such offence. Perhaps it is his honesty, and +straightforwardness, and general, if inactive, kindliness of +disposition.</p> + +<p>He takes little trouble about anything, certainly none to make himself +popular, yet in all the countryside no man is so well beloved as he is. +It is true that a kindly word here, or a smile in the right place, does +more to make a man a social idol than substantial deeds of charity doled +out by an unsympathetic hand. This may be unjust; it is certainly +beyond dispute the fact.</p> + +<p>Just now his forehead is drawn up into a deep frown, as he reads the +fatal letter that has reduced his mother to a Niobe. Another young man, +his brother, Captain Rodney, who is two or three years younger than he, +is looking over his shoulder, while a slight, brown-haired, very +aristocratic looking girl is endeavoring, in a soft, modulated voice, to +convey comfort to Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>Breakfast is forgotten; the rolls and the toast and the kidneys are +growing cold. Even her own special little square of home-made bread is +losing its crispness and falling into a dejected state, which shows +almost more than anything else could that Lady Rodney is very far gone +indeed.</p> + +<p>Violet is growing as nearly frightened as good breeding will permit at +the protracted sobbing, when Sir Nicholas speaks.</p> + +<p>"It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth +does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers +as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage +of the proceedings have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off +long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought +Geoffrey was that sort of fellow."</p> + +<p>"But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, +just a little impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Why, Geoffrey's been and gone and got married," says Jack Rodney, +pulling his long fair moustache, and speaking rather awkwardly. It has +been several times hinted to him, since his return from India, that, +Violet Mansergh being reserved for his brother Geoffrey, any of his +attentions in that quarter will be eyed by the family with disfavor. And +now to tell her of her quondam lover's defection is not pleasant. +Nevertheless he watches her calmly as he speaks.</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" says Violet, in a tone of surprise certainly, but as +certainly in one of relief.</p> + +<p>"No, it is <i>not</i> all," breaks in Sir Nicholas. "It appears from this," +touching the bombshell, "that he has married a—a—young woman of very +inferior birth."</p> + +<p>"Oh! that is really shocking," says Violet, with a curl of her very +short upper lip.</p> + +<p>"I do hope she isn't the under-housemaid," said Jack, moodily. "It has +grown so awfully common. Three fellows this year married +under-housemaids, and people are tired of it now; one can't keep up the +excitement always. Anything new might create a diversion in his favor, +but he's done for if he has married another under-housemaid."</p> + +<p>"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a +brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a +common farmer's niece!"</p> + +<p>"Well, you know that's better than a farmer's common niece," says Jack, +consolingly.</p> + +<p>"What does he say about it?" asks Violet, who shows no sign whatever of +meaning to wear the willow for this misguided Benedict, but rather +exhibits all a woman's natural curiosity to know exactly what he has +said about the interesting event that has taken place.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas again applies himself to the deciphering of the detested +letter. "'He would have written before, but saw no good in making a fuss +beforehand,'" he reads slowly.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's good deal of sense in that," says Jack.</p> + +<p>"'Quite the loveliest girl in the world,' with a heavy stroke under the +'quite.' That's always so, you know: nothing new or striking about +that." Sir Nicholas all through is speaking in a tone uniformly moody +and disgusted.</p> + +<p>"It is a point in her favor nevertheless," says Jack, who is again +looking over his shoulder at the letter.</p> + +<p>"'She is charming at all points,'" goes on Sir Nicholas deliberately +screwing his glass into his eye, "'with a mind as sweet as her face.' +Oh, it is absurd!" says Sir Nicholas, impatiently. "He is evidently in +the last stage of imbecility. Hopelessly bewitched."</p> + +<p>"And a very good thing, too," puts in Jack, tolerantly: "it won't last, +you know, so he may as well have it strong while he is about it."</p> + +<p>"What do you know about it?" says Sir Nicholas, turning the tables in +the most unexpected fashion upon his brother, and looking decidedly +ruffled, for no reason that one can see, considering it is he himself is +condemning the whole matter so heartily. "As he is married to her, I +sincerely trust his affection for her may be deep and lasting, and not +misplaced. She may be a very charming girl."</p> + +<p>"She may," says Jack. "Well go on. What more does he say?"</p> + +<p>"'He will write again. And he is sure we shall all love her when we see +her.' That is another sentence that goes without telling. They are +always sure of that beforehand. They absolutely arrange our feelings for +us! I hope he will be as certain of it this time six months, for all our +sakes."</p> + +<p>"Poor girl! I feel honestly sorry for her," says Jack, with a mild sigh. +"What an awful ass he has made of himself!"</p> + +<p>"And 'he is happier now than he has ever been in all his life before.' +Pshaw!" exclaims Sir Nicholas, shutting up the letter impatiently. "He +is mad!"</p> + +<p>"Where does he write from?" asks Violet.</p> + +<p>"From the Louvre. They are in Paris."</p> + +<p>"He has been married a whole fortnight and never deigned to tell his own +mother of it until now," says Lady Rodney, hysterically.</p> + +<p>"A whole fortnight! And he is as much in love with her as ever! Oh! she +can't be half bad," says Captain Rodney, hopefully.</p> + +<p>"Misfortunes seem to crowd upon us," says Lady Rodney, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"I suppose she is a Roman Catholic," says Sir Nicholas musingly.</p> + +<p>At this Lady Rodney sits quite upright, and turns appealingly to Violet. +"Oh, Violet, I do hope not," she says.</p> + +<p>"Nearly all the Irish farmers are," returns Miss Mansergh, reluctantly. +"When I stay with Uncle Wilfrid in Westmeath, I see them all going to +mass every Sunday morning. Of course"—kindly—"there are a few +Protestants, but they are very few."</p> + +<p>"This is too dreadful!" moans Lady Rodney, sinking back again in her +chair, utterly overcome by this last crowning blow. She clasps her hands +with a deplorable gesture, and indeed looks the very personification of +disgusted woe.</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Rodney, I shouldn't take that so much to heart," says Violet, +gently leaning over her. "Quite good people are Catholics now, you know. +It is, indeed, the fashionable religion, and rather a nice one when you +come to think of it."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to think of it," says her friend, desperately.</p> + +<p>"But do," goes on Violet, in her soft, even monotone, that is so exactly +suited to her face. "It is rather pleasant thinking. Confession, you +know, is so soothing; and then there are always the dear saints, with +their delightful tales of roses and lilies, and tears that turn into +drops of healing balm, and their bones that lie in little glass cases in +the churches abroad. It is all so picturesque and pretty, like an +Italian landscape. And it is so comfortable, too, to know that, no +matter how naughty we may be here, we can still get to heaven at last by +doing some great and charitable deed."</p> + +<p>"There is something in that, certainly," says Captain Rodney, with +feeling. "I wonder, now, what great and charitable deed I could do."</p> + +<p>"And then isn't it sweet to think," continues Violet, warming to her +subject, "that when one's friends are dead one can still be of some +service to them, in praying for their souls? It seems to keep them +always with one. They don't seem so lost to us as they would otherwise."</p> + +<p>"Violet, please do not talk like that; I forbid it," says Lady Rodney, +in a horrified tone. "Nothing could make me think well of anything +connected with this—this odious girl; and when you speak like that you +quite upset me. You will be having your name put in that horrid list of +perverts in the 'Whitehall Review' if you don't take care."</p> + +<p>"You really will, you know," says Captain Rodney, warningly; then, as +though ambitious of piling up the agony, he says, <i>sotto voce</i>, yet loud +enough to be heard, "I wonder if Geoff will go to mass with her?"</p> + +<p>"It is exactly what I expect to hear next," says Geoff's mother, with +the calmness of despair.</p> + +<p>Then there is silence for a full minute, during which Miss Mansergh +casts a reproachful glance at the irrepressible Jack.</p> + +<p>"Well, I hope he has married a good girl, at all events," says Sir +Nicholas, presently, with a sigh. But at this reasonable hope Lady +Rodney once more gives way to bitter sobs.</p> + +<p>"Oh, to think Geoffrey should marry 'a good girl'!" she says, weeping +sadly. "One would think you were speaking of a servant! Oh! it is <i>too</i> +cruel!" Here she rises and makes for the door, but on the threshold +pauses to confront Sir Nicholas with angry eyes. "To hope the wretched +boy had married 'a good girl'!" she says, indignantly: "I never heard +such an inhuman wish from one brother to another!"</p> + +<p>She withers Sir Nicholas with a parting glance, and then quits the +room, Violet in her train, leaving her eldest son entirely puzzled.</p> + +<p>"What does she mean?" asks he of his brother, who is distinctly amused. +"Does she wish poor old Geoff had married a bad one? I confess myself at +fault."</p> + +<p>And so does Captain Rodney.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Violet is having rather a bad time in the boudoir. Lady Rodney +refuses to see light anywhere, and talks on in a disjointed fashion +about this disgrace that has befallen the family.</p> + +<p>"Of course I shall never receive her; that is out of the question, +Violet: I could not support it."</p> + +<p>"But she will be living only six miles from you, and the county will +surely call, and that will not be nice for you," says Violet.</p> + +<p>"I don't care about the county. It must think what it likes; and when it +knows her it will sympathize with me. Oh! what a name! Scully! Was there +ever so dreadful a name?"</p> + +<p>"It is not a bad name in Ireland. There are very good people of that +name: the Vincent Scullys,—everybody has heard of them," says Violet, +gently. But her friend will not consent to believe anything that may +soften the thought of Mona. The girl has entrapped her son, has basely +captured him and made him her own beyond redemption; and what words can +be bad enough to convey her hatred of the woman who has done this deed?</p> + +<p>"I meant him for you," she says, in an ill-advised moment, addressing +the girl who is bending over her couch assiduously and tenderly applying +eau-de-cologne to her temples. It is just a little too much. Miss +Mansergh fails to see the compliment in this remark. She draws her +breath a little quickly, and as the color comes her temper goes.</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Rodney, you are really too kind," she says, in a tone soft +and measured as usual, but without the sweetness. In her heart there is +something that amounts as nearly to indignant anger as so thoroughly +well-bred and well regulated a girl can feel. "You are better, I think," +she says, calmly, without any settled foundation for the thought; and +then she lays down the perfume-bottle, takes up her handkerchief, and, +with a last unimportant word or two, walks out of the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW LADY RODNEY SPEAKS HER MIND—HOW GEOFFREY DOES THE SAME—AND HOW +MONA DECLARES HERSELF STRONG TO CONQUER.</h3> + + +<p>It is the 14th of December, and "bitter chill." Upon all the lawns and +walks at the Towers, "Nature, the vicar of the almightie Lord," has laid +its white winding-sheet. In the long avenue the gaunt and barren +branches of the stately elms are bowed down with the weight of the snow, +that fell softly but heavily all last night, creeping upon the sleeping +world with such swift and noiseless wings that it recked not of its +visit till the chill beams of a wintry sun betrayed it.</p> + +<p>Each dark-green leaf in the long shrubberies bears its own sparkling +burden. The birds hide shivering in the lourestine—that in spite of +frost and cold is breaking into blossom,—and all around looks frozen.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the winter winds are wearily sighing;"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div> + +<p>yet there is grandeur, too, in the scene around, and a beauty scarcely +to be rivalled by June's sweetest efforts.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, springing down from the dog-cart that has been sent to the +station to meet him, brushes the frost from his hair, and stamps his +feet upon the stone steps.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas, who has come out to meet him, gives him a hearty +hand-shake, and a smile that would have been charming if it had not been +funereal. Altogether, his expression in such as might suit the death-bed +of a beloved friend, His countenance is of an unseemly length, and he +plainly looks on Geoffrey as one who has fallen upon evil days.</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted, however, by this reception, Geoffrey returns his grasp +with interest, and, looking fresh and young and happy, runs past him, up +the stairs, to his mother's room, to beard—as he unfilially expresses +it—the lioness in her den. It is a very cosey den, and, though claws +maybe discovered in it, nobody at the first glance would ever suspect +it of such dangerous toys. Experience, however, teaches most things, and +Geoffrey has donned armor for the coming encounter.</p> + +<p>He had left Mona in the morning at the Grosvenor, and had run down to +have it out with his mother and get her permission to bring Mona to the +Towers to be introduced to her and his brothers. This he preferred to +any formal calling on their parts.</p> + +<p>"You see, our own house is rather out of repair from being untenanted +for so long, and will hardly be ready for us for a month or two," he +said to Mona: "I think I will run down to the Towers and tell my mother +we will go to her for a little while."</p> + +<p>Of course this was on the day after their return to England, before his +own people knew of their arrival.</p> + +<p>"I shall like that very much," Mona had returned, innocently, not +dreaming of the ordeal that awaited her,—because in such cases even the +very best men will be deceitful, and Geoffrey had rather led her to +believe that his mother would be charmed with her, and that she was most +pleased than otherwise at their marriage.</p> + +<p>When she made him this little trustful speech, however, he had felt some +embarrassment, and had turned his attention upon a little muddy boy who +was playing pitch-and-toss, irrespective of consequences, on the other +side of the way.</p> + +<p>And Mona had marked his embarrassment, and had quickly, with all the +vivacity that belongs to her race, drawn her own conclusions therefrom, +which were for the most part correct.</p> + +<p>But to Geoffrey—lest the telling should cause him unhappiness—she had +said nothing of her discovery; only when the morning came that saw him +depart upon his mission (now so well understood by her), she had kissed +him, and told him to "hurry, hurry, <i>hurry</i> back to her," with a little +sob between each word. And when he was gone she had breathed an earnest +prayer, poor child, that all might yet be well, and then told herself +that, no matter what came, she would at least be a faithful, loving wife +to him.</p> + +<p>To her it is always as though he is devoid of name. It is always "he" +and "his" and "him," all through, as though no other man existed upon +earth.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"Well, mother?" says Geoffrey, when he has gained her room and received +her kiss, which is not exactly all it ought to be after a five months' +separation. He is her son, and of course she loves him, but—as she +tells herself—there are some things hard to forgive.</p> + +<p>"Of course it was a surprise to you," he says.</p> + +<p>"It was more than a 'surprise.' That is a mild word," says Lady Rodney. +She is looking at him, is telling herself what a goodly son he is, so +tall and strong and bright and handsome. He might have married almost +any one! And now—now——? No, she cannot forgive. "It was, and must +always be, a lasting grief," she goes on, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>This is a bad beginning. Mr. Rodney, before replying, judiciously gains +time, and makes a diversion by poking the fire.</p> + +<p>"I should have written to you about it sooner," he says at last, +apologetically, hoping half his mother's resentment arises from a sense +of his own negligence, "but I felt you would object, and so put it off +from day to day."</p> + +<p>"I heard of it soon enough," returns his mother, gloomily, without +lifting her eyes from the tiny feathered fire-screen she is holding. +"Too soon! That sort of thing seldom tarries. 'For evil news rides post, +while good news baits.'"</p> + +<p>"Wait till you see her," says Geoffrey, after a little pause, with full +faith in his own recipe.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to see her," is the unflinching and most ungracious reply.</p> + +<p>"My dear mother, don't say that," entreats the young man, earnestly, +going over to her and placing his arm round her neck. He is her favorite +son, of which he is quite aware, and so hopes on. "What is it you object +to?"</p> + +<p>"To everything! How could you think of bringing a daughter-in-law +of—of—her description to your mother?"</p> + +<p>"How can you describe her, when you have not seen her?"</p> + +<p>"She is not a lady," says Lady Rodney, as though that should terminate +the argument.</p> + +<p>"It entirely depends on what you consider a lady," says Geoffrey, +calmly, keeping his temper wonderfully, more indeed for Mona's sake than +his own. "You think a few grandfathers and an old name make one: I dare +say it does. It ought, you know; though I could tell you of several +striking exceptions to that rule. But I also believe in a nobility that +belongs alone to nature. And Mona is as surely a gentlewoman in thought +and deed as though all the blood of all the Howards was in her veins."</p> + +<p>"I did not expect you would say anything else," returns she, coldly. "Is +she quite without blood?"</p> + +<p>"Her mother was of good family, I believe."</p> + +<p>"You believe!" with ineffable disgust. "And have you not even taken the +trouble to make sure? How late in life you have developed a trusting +disposition!"</p> + +<p>"One might do worse than put faith in Mona," says, Geoffrey, quickly. +"She is worthy of all trust. And she is quite charming,—quite. And the +very prettiest girl I ever saw. You know you adore beauty, +mother,"—insinuatingly,—"and she is sure to create a <i>furor</i> when +presented."</p> + +<p>"Presented!" repeats Lady Rodney, in a dreadful tone. "And would you +present a low Irish girl to your sovereign? And just now, too, when the +whole horrid nation is in such disrepute."</p> + +<p>"You mustn't call her names, you know; she is my wife," says Rodney, +gently, but with dignity,—"the woman I love and honor most on earth. +When you see her you will understand how the word 'low' could never +apply to her. She looks quite correct, and is perfectly lovely."</p> + +<p>"You are in love," returns his mother, contemptuously. "At present you +can see no fault in her; but later on when you come to compare her with +the other women in your own set, when you see them together, I only hope +you will see no difference between them, and feel no regret."</p> + +<p>She says this, however, as though it is her one desire he may know +regret, and feel a difference that be overwhelming.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says Geoffrey, a little dryly, accepting her words as they +are said, not as he feels they are meant.</p> + +<p>Then there is another pause, rather longer than the last, Lady Rodney +trifles with the fan in a somewhat excited fashion, and Geoffrey gazes, +man-like, at his boots. At last his mother breaks the silence.</p> + +<p>"Is she—is she noisy?" she asks, in a faltering tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, she can laugh, if you mean that," says Geoffrey somewhat +superciliously. And then, as though overcome with some recollection in +which the poor little criminal who is before the bar bore a humorous +part, he lays his head down upon the mantelpiece and gives way to hearty +laughter himself.</p> + +<p>"I understand," says Lady Rodney, faintly, feeling her burden is +"greater than she can bear." "She is, without telling, a young woman who +laughs uproariously, at everything,—no matter what,—and takes good +care her vulgarity shall be read by all who run."</p> + +<p>Now, I can't explain why but I never knew a young man who was not +annoyed when the girl he loved was spoken of as a "young woman." +Geoffrey takes it as a deliberate insult.</p> + +<p>"There is a limit to everything,—even my patience," he says, not +looking at his mother. "Mona is myself, and even from you, my mother, +whom I love and reverence, I will not take a disparaging word of her."</p> + +<p>There is a look upon his face that recalls to her his dead father, and +Lady Rodney grows silent. The husband of her youth had been dear to her, +in a way, until age had soured him, and this one of all his three +children most closely resembled him, both in form and in feature; hence, +perhaps, her love for him. She lowers her eyes, and a slow blush—for +the blood rises with difficulty in the old—suffuses her face.</p> + +<p>And then Geoffrey, marking all this, is vexed within himself, and, going +over to her, lays his arm once more around her neck, and presses his +cheek to hers.</p> + +<p>"Don't let us quarrel," he says, lovingly. And this time she returns his +caress very fondly, though she cannot lose sight of the fact that he has +committed a social error not to be lightly overlooked.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Geoffrey, how could you do it?" she says, reproachfully, alluding +to his marriage,—"you whom I have so loved. What would your poor father +have thought had he lived to see this unhappy day? You must have been +mad."</p> + +<p>"Well, perhaps I was," says Geoffrey, easily: "we are all mad on one +subject or another, you know; mine may be Mona. She is an excuse for +madness, certainly. At all events, I know I am happy, which quite carries +out your theory, because, as Dryden says,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'There is a pleasure sure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In being mad, which none but madmen know.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I wish you would not take it so absurdly to heart. I haven't married an +heiress, I know; but the whole world does not hinge on money."</p> + +<p>"There was Violet," says Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't have suited her at all," says Geoffrey. "I should have bored +her to extinction, even if she had condescended to look at me, which I +am sure she never would."</p> + +<p>He is not sure of anything of the kind, but he says it nevertheless, +feeling he owes so much to Violet, as the conversation has drifted +towards her, and he feels she is placed—though unknown to herself—in a +false position.</p> + +<p>"I wish you had never gone to Ireland!" says Lady Rodney, deeply +depressed. "My heart misgave me when you went, though I never +anticipated such a climax to my fears. What possessed you to fall in +love with her?"</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'She is pretty to walk with,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And witty to talk with,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pleasant, too, to think on.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>quotes Geoffrey, lightly, "Are not these three reasons sufficient? If +not, I could tell you a score of others. I may bring her down to see +you?"</p> + +<p>"It will be very bitter to me," says Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"It will not: I promise you that; only do not be too prejudiced in her +disfavor. I want you to know her,—it is my greatest desire,—or I +should not say another word after your last speech, which is not what I +hoped to hear from you. Leighton, as you know, is out of repair, but if +you will not receive us we can spend the rest of the winter at Rome or +anywhere else that may occur to us."</p> + +<p>"Of course you must come here," says Lady Rodney, who is afraid of the +county and what it will say if it discovers she is at loggerheads with +her son and his bride. But there is no welcome in her tone. And +Geoffrey, greatly discouraged, yet determined to part friends with her +for Mona's sake,—and trusting to the latter's sweetness to make all +things straight in the future,—after a few more desultory remarks takes +his departure, with the understanding on both sides that he and his wife +are to come to the Towers on the Friday following to take up their +quarters there until Leighton Hall is ready to receive them.</p> + +<p>With mingled feelings he quits his home, and all the way up to London in +the afternoon train weighs with himself the momentous question whether +he shall or shall not accept the unwilling invitation to the Towers, +wrung from his mother.</p> + +<p>To travel here and there, from city to city and village to village, with +Mona, would be a far happier arrangement. But underlying all else is a +longing that the wife whom he adores and the mother whom he loves should +be good friends.</p> + +<p>Finally, he throws up the mental argument, and decides on letting things +take their course, telling himself it will be a simple matter to leave +the Towers at any moment, should their visit there prove unsatisfactory. +At the farthest, Leighton must be ready for them in a month or so.</p> + +<p>Getting back to the Grosvenor, he runs lightly up the stairs to the +sitting-room, and, opening the door very gently,—bent in a boyish +fashion on giving her a "rise,"—enters softly, and looks around for his +darling.</p> + +<p>At the farthest end of the room, near a window, lying back in an +arm-chair, lies Mona, sound asleep.</p> + +<p>One hand is beneath her cheek,—that is soft and moist as a child's +might be in innocent slumber,—the other is thrown above her head. She +is exquisite in her <i>abandon</i>, but very pale, and her breath comes +unevenly.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, stooping over to wake her with a kiss, marks all this, and +also that her eyelids are tinged with pink, as though from excessive +weeping.</p> + +<p>Half alarmed, he lays his hand gently on her shoulder, and, as she +struggles quickly into life again, he draws her into his arms.</p> + +<p>"Ah, it is you!" cries she, her face growing glad again.</p> + +<p>"Yes; but you have been crying, darling! What has happened?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," says Mona, flushing. "I suppose I was lonely. Don't mind +me. Tell me all about yourself and your visit."</p> + +<p>"Not until you tell me what made you cry."</p> + +<p>"Sure you know I'd tell you if there was anything to tell," replies she, +evasively.</p> + +<p>"Then do so," returns he, quite gravely, not to be deceived by her very +open attempts at dissimulation. "What made you unhappy in my absence?"</p> + +<p>"If you must know, it is this," says Mona, laying her hand in his and +speaking very earnestly. "I am afraid I have done you an injury in +marrying you!"</p> + +<p>"Now, that is the first unkind thing you have ever said to me," retorts +he.</p> + +<p>"I would rather die than be unkind to you," says Mona, running her +fingers with a glad sense of appropriation through his hair. "But this +is what I mean; your mother will never forgive your marriage; she will +not love me, and I shall be the cause of creating dissension between her +and you." Again tears fill her eyes.</p> + +<p>"But there you are wrong. There need be no dissensions; my mother and I +are very good friends, and she expects us both to go to the Towers on +Friday next."</p> + +<p>Then he tells her all the truth about his interview with his mother, +only suppressing such words as would be detrimental to the cause he has +in hand, and might give her pain.</p> + +<p>"And when she sees you all will be well," he says, still clinging +bravely to his faith in this panacea for all evils. "Everything rests +with you.'</p> + +<p>"I will do my best," says Mona, earnestly; "but if I fail,—if after all +my efforts your mother still refuses to love me, how will it be then?"</p> + +<p>"As it is now; it need make no difference to us; and indeed I will not +make the trial at all if you shrink from it, or if it makes you in the +faintest degree unhappy."</p> + +<p>"I do not shrink from it," replies she, bravely: "I would brave anything +to be friends with your mother."</p> + +<p>"Very well, then: we will make the attempt," says he, gayly. "'Nothing +venture, nothing have.'"</p> + +<p>"And 'A dumb priest loses his benefice,'" quotes Mona, in her turn, +almost gayly too.</p> + +<p>"Yet remember, darling, whatever comes of it," says Rodney, earnestly, +"that you are more to me than all the world,—my mother included. So do +not let defeat—if we should be defeated—cast you down. Never forget +how I love you." In his heart he dreads for her the trial that awaits +her.</p> + +<p>"I do not," she says, sweetly. "I could not: it is my dearest +remembrance; and somehow it has made me strong to conquer, +Geoffrey,"—flushing, and raising herself to her full height, as though +already arming for action,—"I feel, I <i>know</i>, I shall in the end +succeed with your mother."</p> + +<p>She lifts her luminous eyes to his, and regards him fixedly as she +speaks, full of hopeful excitement. Her eyes have always a peculiar +fascination of their own, apart from the rest of her face. Once looking +at her, as though for the first time impressed with this idea, Geoffrey +had said to her, "I never look at your eyes that I don't feel a wild +desire to close them with a kiss." To which she had made answer in her +little, lovable way, and with a bewitching glance from the lovely orbs +in question, "If that is how you mean to do it, you may close them just +as often as ever you like."</p> + +<p>Now he takes advantage of this general permission, and closes them with +a soft caress.</p> + +<p>"She must be harder-hearted than I think her, if she can resist <i>you</i>," +he says, fondly.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER THE TOWERS—AND HOW THEY ARE RECEIVED BY THE +INHABITANTS THEREOF.</h3> + + +<p>The momentous Friday comes at last, and about noon Mona and Geoffrey +start for the Towers. They are not, perhaps, in the exuberant spirits +that should be theirs, considering they are going to spend their +Christmas in the bosom of their family,—at all events, of Geoffrey's +family which naturally for the future she must acknowledge as hers. They +are indeed not only silent, but desponding, and as they get out of the +train at Greatham and enter the carriage sent by Sir Nicholas to meet +them their hearts sink nearly into their boots, and for several minutes +no words pass between them.</p> + +<p>To Geoffrey perhaps the coming ordeal bears a deeper shade; as Mona +hardly understands all that awaits her. That Lady Rodney is a little +displeased at her son's marriage she can readily believe, but that she +has made up her mind beforehand to dislike her, and intends waging with +her war to the knife, is more than has ever entered into her gentle +mind.</p> + +<p>"Is it a long drive, Geoff?" she asks, presently, in a trembling tone, +slipping her hand into his in the old fashion. "About six miles. I say, +darling, keep up your spirits; if we don't like it, we can leave, you +know. But"—alluding to her subdued voice—"don't be imagining evil."</p> + +<p>"I don't think I am," says Mona; "but the thought of meeting people for +the first time makes me feel nervous. Is your mother tall, Geoffrey?"</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"And severe-looking? You said she was like you."</p> + +<p>"Well, so she is; and yet I suppose our expressions are dissimilar. Look +here," says Geoffrey, suddenly, as though compelled at the last moment +to give her a hint of what is coming. "I want to tell you about her,—my +mother I mean: she is all right, you know, in every way, and very +charming in general, but just at first one might imagine her a little +difficult!"</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a +chromatic scale."</p> + +<p>"I mean she seems a trifle cold, unfriendly, and—er—that," says +Geoffrey. "Perhaps it would be a wise thing for you to make up your mind +what you will say to her on first meeting her. She will come up to you, +you know, and give you her hand like this," taking hers, "and——"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know," said Mona, eagerly interrupting him. "And then she will +put her arms round me, and kiss me just like this," suiting the action +to the word.</p> + +<p>"Like <i>that</i>? Not a bit of it," says Geoffrey, who had given her two +kisses for her one: "you mustn't expect it. She isn't in the least like +that. She will meet you probably as though she saw you yesterday, and +say, 'How d'ye do? I'm afraid you have had a very long and cold drive.' +And then you will say——"</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I shall say——" anxiously.</p> + +<p>"You—will—say——" Here he breaks down ignominiously, and confesses by +his inability to proceed that he doesn't in the least know what it is +she can say.</p> + +<p>"I know," says Mona, brightening, and putting on an air so different +from her own usual unaffected one as to strike her listener with awe. "I +shall say, 'Oh! thanks, quite too awfully much, don't you know? but +Geoffrey and I didn't find it a bit long, and we were as warm as wool +all the time.'"</p> + +<p>At this appalling speech Geoffrey's calculations fall through, and he +gives himself up to undisguised mirth.</p> + +<p>"If you say all that," he says, "there will be wigs on the green: that's +Irish, isn't it? or something like it, and very well applied too. The +first part of your speech sounded like Toole or Brough, I'm not sure +which."</p> + +<p>"Well, it <i>was</i> in a theatre I heard it," confesses Mona, meekly: "it +was a great lord who said it on the stage, so I thought it would be all +right."</p> + +<p>"Great lords are not necessarily faultlessly correct, either on or off +the stage," says Geoffrey. "But, just for choice, I prefer them off it. +No, that will not do at all. When my mother addresses you, you are to +answer her back again in tones even colder than her own, and say——"</p> + +<p>"But, Geoffrey, why should I be cold to your mother? Sure you wouldn't +have me be uncivil to her, of all people?"</p> + +<p>"Not uncivil, but cool. You will say to her, 'It was rather better than +I anticipated, thank you.' And then, if you can manage to look bored, it +will be quite correct, so far, and you may tell yourself you have scored +one."</p> + +<p>"I may say that horrid speech, but I certainly can't pretend I was bored +during our drive, because I am not," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"I know that. If I was not utterly sure of it I should instantly commit +suicide by precipitating myself under the carriage-wheels," says +Geoffrey. "Still—'let us dissemble.' Now say what I told you."</p> + +<p>So Mrs. Rodney says, "It was rather better than I anticipated, thank +you," in a tone so icy that his is warm beside it.</p> + +<p>"But suppose she doesn't say a word about the drive?" says Mona, +thoughtfully. "How will it be then?"</p> + +<p>"She is safe to say something about it, and that will do for anything," +says Rodney, out of the foolishness of his heart.</p> + +<p>And now the horses draw up before a brilliantly-lighted hall, the doors +of which are thrown wide as though in hospitable expectation of their +coming.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, leading his wife into the hall, pauses beneath a central +swinging lamp, to examine her critically. The footman who is in +attendance on them has gone on before to announce their coming: they are +therefore for the moment alone.</p> + +<p>Mona is looking lovely, a little pale perhaps from some natural +agitation, but her pallor only adds to the lustre of her great blue eyes +and lends an additional sweetness to the ripeness of her lips. Her hair +is a little loose, but eminently becoming, and altogether she looks as +like an exquisite painting as one can conceive.</p> + +<p>"Take off your hat," says Geoffrey, in a tone that gladdens her heart, +so full it is of love and admiration; and, having removed her hat, she +follows him though halls and one or two anterooms until they reach the +library, into which the man ushers them.</p> + +<p>It is a very pretty room, filled with a subdued light, and with a +blazing fire at one end. All bespeaks warmth, and home, and comfort, but +to Mona in her present state it is desolation itself. The three +occupants of the room rise as she enters, and Mona's heart dies within +her as a very tall statuesque woman, drawing herself up languidly from a +lounging-chair, comes leisurely up to her. There is no welcoming haste +in her movements, no gracious smile, for which her guest is thirsting, +upon her thin lips.</p> + +<p>She is dressed in black velvet, and has a cap of richest old lace upon +her head. To the quick sensibilities of the Irish girl it becomes known +without a word that she is not to look for love from this stately woman, +with her keen scrutinizing glance and cold unsmiling lips.</p> + +<p>A choking sensation, rising from her heart, almost stops Mona's breath; +her mouth feels parched and dry; her eyes widen. A sudden fear oppresses +her. How is it going to be in all the future? Is Geoffrey's—her own +husband's—mother to be her enemy?</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney holds out her hand, and Mona lays hers within it.</p> + +<p>"So glad you have come," says Lady Rodney, in a tone that belies her +words, and in a sweet silvery voice that chills the heart of her +listener. "We hardly thought we should see you so soon, the trains here +are so unpunctual. I hope the carriage was in time?"</p> + +<p>She waits apparently for an answer, at which Mona grows desperate. For +in reality she has heard not one word of the labored speech made to her, +and is too frightened to think of anything to say except the unfortunate +lesson learned in the carriage and repeated secretly so often since. She +looks round helplessly for Geoffrey; but he is laughing with his +brother, Captain Rodney, whom he has not seen since his return from +India, and so Mona, cast upon her own resources, says,—</p> + +<p>"It was rather better than I anticipated, thank you," not in the +haughty tone adopted by her half an hour ago, but, in an unnerved and +frightened whisper.</p> + +<p>At this remarkable answer to a very ordinary and polite question, Lady +Rodney stares at Mona for a moment, and then turns abruptly away to +greet Geoffrey. Whereupon Captain Rodney, coming forward, tells Mona he +is glad to see her, kindly but carelessly; and then a young man, who has +been standing up to this silently upon the hearthrug, advances, and +takes Mona's hand in a warm clasp, and looks down upon her with very +friendly eyes.</p> + +<p>At his touch, at his glance, the first sense of comfort Mona has felt +since her entry into the room falls upon her. This man, at least, is +surely of the same kith and kin as Geoffrey, and to him her heart opens +gladly, gratefully.</p> + +<p>He has heard the remarkable speech made to his mother, and has drawn his +own conclusions therefrom. "Geoffrey has been coaching the poor little +soul, and putting absurd words into her mouth, with—as is usual in all +such cases—a very brilliant result." So he tells himself, and is, as we +know, close to the truth.</p> + +<p>He tells Mona she is very welcome, and, still holding her hand, draws +her over to the fire, and moves a big arm-chair in front of it, in which +he ensconces her, bidding her warm herself, and make herself (as he says +with a kindly smile that has still kinder meaning in it) "quite at +home."</p> + +<p>Then he stoops and unfastens her sealskin jacket, and takes it off her, +and in fact pays her all the little attentions that lie in his power.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Yes," returns he with a smile. "I am Nicholas." He ignores the formal +title. "Geoffrey, I expect, spoke to you of me as 'old Nick;' he has +never called me anything else since we were boys."</p> + +<p>"He has often called you that; but,"—shyly,—"now that I have seen you, +I don't think the name suits you a bit."</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas is quite pleased. There is a sort of unconscious flattery +in the gravity of her tone and expression that amuses almost as much as +it pleases him. What a funny child she is! and how unspeakably lovely! +Will Doatie like her?</p> + +<p>But there is yet another introduction to be gone through. From the +doorway Violet Mansergh comes up to Geoffrey clad in some soft pale +shimmering stuff, and holds out to him her hand.</p> + +<p>"What a time you have been away!" she says, with a pretty, slow smile, +that has not a particle of embarrassment or consciousness in it, though +she is quite aware that Jack Rodney is watching her closely. Perhaps, +indeed, she is secretly amused at his severe scrutiny.</p> + +<p>"You will introduce me to your wife?" she asks, after a few minutes, in +her even, <i>trainante</i> voice, and is then taken up to the big arm-chair +before the fire, and is made known to Mona.</p> + +<p>"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes: of course we shall excuse your +dressing to-night," says Lady Rodney, addressing her son far more than +Mona, though the words presumably are meant for her. Whereupon Mona, +rising from her chair with a sigh of relief, follows Geoffrey out of the +room and upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Well?" says Sir Nicholas, as a deadly silence continues for some time +after their departure, "what do you think of her?"</p> + +<p>"She is painfully deficient; positively without brains," says Lady +Rodney, with conviction. "What was the answer she made me when I asked +about the carriage? Something utterly outside the mark."</p> + +<p>"She is not brainless; she was only frightened. It certainly was an +ordeal coming to a house for the first time to be, in effect, stared at. +And she is very young."</p> + +<p>"And perhaps unused to society," puts in Violet, mildly. As she speaks +she picks up a tiny feather that has clung to her gown, and lightly +blows it away from her into the air.</p> + +<p>"She looked awfully cut up, poor little thing," says Jack, kindly. "You +were the only one she opened her mind to, Nick What did she say? Did she +betray the ravings of a lunatic or the inanities of a fool?"</p> + +<p>"Neither."</p> + +<p>"Then, no doubt, she heaped upon you priceless gems of Irish wit in her +mother-tongue?"</p> + +<p>"She said very little; but she looks good and true. After all, Geoffrey +might have done worse."</p> + +<p>"Worse!" repeats his mother, in a withering tone. In this mood she is +not nice, and a very little of her suffices.</p> + +<p>"She is decidedly good to look at, at all events," says Nicholas, +shifting ground. "Don't you think so, Violet?"</p> + +<p>"I think she is the loveliest woman I ever saw," returns Miss Mansergh, +quietly, without enthusiasm, but with decision. If cold, she is just, +and above the pettiness of disliking a woman because she may be counted +more worthy of admiration than herself.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you are all pleased," says Lady Rodney, in a peculiar tone; +and then the gong sounds, and they all rise, as Geoffrey and Mona once +more make their appearance. Sir Nicholas gives his arm to Mona, and so +begins her first evening at the Towers.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA RISES BETIMES—AND HOW SHE ENCOUNTERS A STRANGER AMIDST THE +MORNING DEWS.</h3> + + +<p>All through the night Mona scarcely shuts her eyes, so full is her mind +of troubled and perplexing thoughts. At last her brain grows so tired +that she cannot pursue any subject to its end, so she lies silently +awake, watching for the coming of the tardy dawn.</p> + +<p>At last, as she grows weary for wishing for it,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Morning fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and light breaks through shutter and curtain, and objects pale and +ghostly at first soon grow large and intimate.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Brown night retires; young day pours in apace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And opens all a lawny prospect wide."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<p>Naturally an early riser, Mona slips noiselessly from her bed, lest she +shall wake Geoffrey,—who is still sleeping the sleep of the just,—and, +going into his dressing-room, jumps into his bath, leaving hers for him.</p> + +<p>The general bath-room is to Geoffrey an abomination; nothing would +induce him to enter it. His own bath, and nothing but his own bath, can +content him. To have to make uncomfortable haste to be first, or else to +await shivering the good pleasure of your next-door neighbor, is +according to Mr. Rodney, a hardship too great for human endurance.</p> + +<p>Having accomplished her toilet without the assistance of a maid (who +would bore her to death), and without disturbing her lord and master, +she leaves her room, and, softly descending the stairs, bids the maid in +the hall below a "fair good-morning," and bears no malice in that the +said maid is so appalled by her unexpected appearance that she forgets +to give her back her greeting. She bestows her usual bonnie smile upon +this stricken girl, and then, passing by her, opens the hall door, and +sallies forth into the gray and early morning.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The first low fluttering breath of waking day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirs the wide air. Thin clouds of pearly haze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Float slowly o'er the sky, to meet the rays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the unrisen sun."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and +for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up +the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a +path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it +until she loses herself in the lonely wood.</p> + +<p>The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no +vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see +some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and +are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen +monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful.</p> + +<p>Still, Mona is happy: the walk has done her good, and warmed her blood, +and brought a color soft and rich as carmine, to her cheeks. She has +followed the winding path for about an hour, briskly, and with a sense +of <i>bien-etre</i> that only the young and godly can know, when suddenly she +becomes aware that some one was following her.</p> + +<p>She turns slowly, and finds her fellow-pedestrian is a young man clad in +a suit of very impossible tweed: she blushes hotly, not because he is a +young man, but because she has no hat on her head, having covered her +somewhat riotous hair with a crimson silk handkerchief she had found in +Geoffrey's room, just before starting. It covers her head completely, +and is tied under the chin Connemara fashion, letting only a few little +love-locks be seen, that roam across her forehead, in spite of all +injunctions to the contrary.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, could she only know how charmingly becoming this style of +headdress is to her flower-like face, she would not have blushed at all.</p> + +<p>The stranger is advancing slowly: he is swarthy, and certainly not +prepossessing. His hair is of that shade and texture that suggests +unpleasantly the negro. His lips are a trifle thick, his eyes like +sloes. There is, too, an expression of low cunning in these latter +features that breeds disgust in the beholder.</p> + +<p>He does not see Mona until he is within a yard of her, a thick bush +standing between him and her. Being always a creature of impulse, she +has stood still on seeing him, and is lost in wonder as to who he can +be. One hand is lifting up her gown, the other is holding together the +large soft white fleecy shawl that covers her shoulders, and is +therefore necessarily laid upon her breast. Her attitude is as +picturesque as it is adorable.</p> + +<p>The stranger, having come quite near, raises his head, and, seeing her, +starts naturally, and also comes to a standstill. For a full half-minute +he stares unpardonably, and then lifts his hat. Mona—who, as we have +seen, is not great in emergencies—fails to notice the rudeness, in her +own embarrassment, and therefore bows politely in return to his +salutation.</p> + +<p>She is still wondering vaguely who he can be, when he breaks the +silence.</p> + +<p>"It is an early hour to be astir," he says, awkwardly; then, finding she +makes no response, he goes on, still more awkwardly. "Can you tell me if +this path will lead me to the road for Plumston?"</p> + +<p>Plumston is a village near. The first remark may sound Too free and +easy, but his manner is decorous in the extreme. In spite of the fact +that her pretty head is covered with a silk handkerchief in lieu of a +hat, he acknowledges her "within the line," and knows instinctively that +her clothes, though simplicity itself, are perfect both in tint and in +texture.</p> + +<p>He groans within him that he cannot think of any speech bordering on the +Grandisonian, that may be politely addressed to this sylvan nymph; but +all such speeches fail him. Who can she be? Were ever eyes so liquid +before, or lips so full of feeling?</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I can tell you nothing," says Mona, shaking her head. "I was +never in this wood before; I know nothing of it."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> should know all about it," says the stranger, with a curious +contraction of the muscles of his face, which it may be he means for a +smile. "In time I shall no doubt, but at present it is a sealed book to +me. But the future will break all seals as far at least as Rodney Towers +is concerned."</p> + +<p>Then she knows she is speaking to "the Australian," (as she has heard +him called), and, lifting her head, examines his face with renewed +interest. Not a pleasant face by any means, yet not altogether bad, as +she tells herself in the generosity of her heart.</p> + +<p>"I am a stranger; I know nothing," she says again, hardly knowing what +to say, and moving a little as though she would depart.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I am speaking to Mrs. Rodney," he says, guessing wildly, yet +correctly as it turns out, having heard, as all the country has besides, +that the bride is expected at the Towers during the week. He has never +all this time removed his black eyes from the perfect face before him +with its crimson headgear. He is as one fascinated, who cannot yet +explain where the fascination lies.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am Mrs. Rodney," says Mona, feeling some pride in her wedded +name, in spite of the fact that two whole months have gone by since +first she heard it. At this question, though, as coming from a stranger, +she recoils a little within herself, and gathers up her gown more +closely with a gesture impossible to misunderstand.</p> + +<p>"You haven't asked me who I am," says the stranger, as though eager to +detain her at any cost, still without a smile, and always with his eyes +fixed upon her face. It seems as though he positively cannot remove +them, so riveted are they.</p> + +<p>"No;" she might in all truth have added, "because I did not care to +know," but what she does say (for incivility even to an enemy would be +impossible to Mona) is, "I thought perhaps you might not like it."</p> + +<p>Even this is a small, if unconscious, cut, considering what +objectionable curiosity he evinced about her name. But the Australian is +above small cuts, for the good reason that he seldom sees them.</p> + +<p>"I am Paul Rodney," he now volunteers,—"your husband's cousin, you +know. I suppose," with a darkening of his whole face, "now I have told +you who I am, it will not sweeten your liking for me."</p> + +<p>"I have heard of you," says Mona, quietly. Then, pointing towards that +part of the wood whither he would go, she says, coldly, "I regret I +cannot tell you where this path leads to. Good-morning."</p> + +<p>With this she inclines her head, and without another word goes back by +the way she has come.</p> + +<p>Paul Rodney, standing where she has left him, watches her retreating +figure until it is quite out of sight, and the last gleam of the crimson +silk handkerchief is lost in the distance, with a curious expression +upon his face. It is an odd mixture of envy, hatred, and admiration. If +there is a man on earth he hates with cordial hatred, it is Geoffrey +Rodney who at no time has taken the trouble to be even outwardly civil +to him. And to think this peerless creature is his wife! For thus he +designates Mona,—the Australian being a man who would be almost sure to +call the woman he admired a "peerless creature."</p> + +<p>When she is quite gone, he pulls himself together with a jerk, and draws +a heavy sigh, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, continues +his walk.</p> + +<p>At breakfast Mona betrays the fact that she has met Paul Rodney during +her morning ramble, and tells all that passed between him and her,—on +being closely questioned,—which news has the effect of bringing a cloud +to the brow of Sir Nicholas and a frown to that of his mother.</p> + +<p>"Such presumption, walking in our wood without permission," she says, +haughtily.</p> + +<p>"My dear mother, you forget the path leading from the southern gate to +Plumston Road has been open to the public for generations. He was at +perfect liberty to walk there."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, it is in very bad taste his taking advantage of that +absurd permission, considering how he is circumstanced with regard to +us," says Lady Rodney. "You wouldn't do it yourself, Nicholas, though +you find excuses for him."</p> + +<p>A very faint smile crosses Sir Nicholas's lips.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, I shouldn't," he says, gently; and then the subject drops.</p> + +<p>And here perhaps it will be as well to explain the trouble that at this +time weighs heavily upon the Rodney family.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW OLD SIR GEORGE HATED HIS FIRSTBORN—AND HOW HE MADE HIS WILL—AND +HOW THE EARTH SWALLOWED IT.</h3> + + +<p>Now, old Sir George Rodney, grandfather of the present baronet, had two +sons, Geoffrey and George. Now, Geoffrey he loved, but George he hated. +And so great by years did this hatred grow that after a bit he sought +how he should leave the property away from his eldest-born, who was +George, and leave it to Geoffrey, the younger,—which was hardly fair; +for "what," says Aristotle, "is justice?—to give every man his own." +And surely George, being the elder, had first claim. The entail having +been broken during the last generation, he found this easy to +accomplish; and so after many days he made a will, by which the younger +son inherited all, to the exclusion of the elder.</p> + +<p>But before this, when things had gone too far between father and son, +and harsh words never to be forgotten on either side had been uttered, +George, unable to bear longer the ignominy of his position (being of a +wild and passionate yet withal generous disposition), left his home, to +seek another and happier one in foreign lands.</p> + +<p>Some said he had gone to India, others to Van Diemen's Land, but in +truth none knew, or cared to know, save Elspeth, the old nurse, who had +tended him and his father before him, and who in her heart nourished for +him an undying affection.</p> + +<p>There were those who said she clung to him because of his wonderful +likeness to the picture of his grandfather in the south gallery, Sir +Launcelot by name, who in choicest ruffles and most elaborate <i>queue</i>, +smiled gayly down upon the passers-by.</p> + +<p>For this master of the Towers (so the story ran) Elspeth, in her younger +days, had borne a love too deep for words, when she herself was soft and +rosy-cheeked, with a heart as tender and romantic as her eyes were blue, +and when her lips, were for all the world like "cherries ripe."</p> + +<p>But this, it may be, was all village slander, and was never borne out by +anything. And Elspeth had married the gardener's son, and Sir Launcelot +had married an earl's daughter; and when the first baby was born at the +"big house," Elspeth came to the Towers and nursed him as she would have +nursed her own little bairn, but that Death, "dear, beauteous Death, the +jewel of the just, shining nowhere but in the dark," sought and claimed +her own little one two days after its birth.</p> + +<p>After that she had never again left the family, serving it faithfully +while strength stayed with her, knowing all its secrets and all its old +legends, and many things, it may be, that the child she nursed at her +bosom never knew.</p> + +<p>For him—strange as it may seem—she had ever but little love. But when +he married, and George, the eldest boy, was given into her arms, and as +he grew and developed and showed himself day by day to be the very +prototype of his grandsire, she "took to him," as the servants said, and +clung to him—and afterwards to his memory—until her dying day.</p> + +<p>When the dark, wayward, handsome young man went away, her heart went +with him, and she alone perhaps knew anything of him after his +departure. To his father his absence was a relief; he did not disguise +it; and to his brother (who had married, and had then three children, +and had of late years grown estranged from him) the loss was not great. +Nor did the young madam,—as she was called,—the mother of our present +friends, lose any opportunity of fostering and keeping alive the ill +will and rancor that existed for him in his father's heart.</p> + +<p>So the grudge, being well watered, grew and flourished, and at last, as +I said, the old man made a will one night, in the presence of the +gardener and his nephew, who witnessed it, leaving all he +possessed—save the title and some outside property, which he did not +possess—to his younger son. And, having made this will, he went to his +bed, and in the cold night, all alone, he died there, and was found in +the morning stiff and stark, with the gay spring sunshine pouring in +upon him, while the birds sang without as though to mock death's power, +and the flowers broke slowly into life.</p> + +<p>But when they came to look for the will, lo! it was nowhere to be found. +Each drawer and desk and cabinet was searched to no avail. Never did the +lost document come to light.</p> + +<p>Day after day they sought in vain; but there came a morning when news of +the lost George's demise came to them from Australia, and then the +search grew languid and the will was forgotten. And they hardly took +pains even to corroborate the tidings sent them from that far-off land +but, accepting the rightful heir's death as a happy fact, ascended the +throne, and reigned peacefully for many years.</p> + +<p>And when Sir George died, Sir Nicholas, as we know, governed in his +stead, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell," until a small cloud came +out of the south, and grew and grew and waxed each day stronger, until +it covered all the land.</p> + +<p>For again news came from Australia that the former tidings of George +Rodney's death had been false; that he had only died a twelvemonth +since; that he had married almost on first going out, and that his son +was coming home to dispute Sir Nicholas's right to house and home and +title.</p> + +<p>And now where was the missing will? Almost all the old servants were +dead or scattered. The gardener and his nephew wore no more; even old +Elspeth was lying at rest in the cold churchyard, having ceased long +since to be even food for worms. Only her second nephew—who had lived +with her for years in the little cottage provided for her by the +Rodneys, when she was too old and infirm to do aught but sit and dream +of days gone by—was alive, and he, too, had gone to Australia on her +death and had not been heard of since.</p> + +<p>It was all terrible,—this young man coming and the thought that, no +matter how they might try to disbelieve in his story, still it might be +true.</p> + +<p>And then the young man came, and they saw that he was very dark, and +very morose, and very objectionable. But he seemed to have more money +than he quite know what to do with; and when he decided on taking a +shooting-box that then was vacant quite close to the Towers, their +indignation knew no bounds. And certainly it was execrable taste, +considering he came there with the avowed determination to supplant, as +lord and master, the present owner of the Towers, the turrets of which +he could see from his dining room windows.</p> + +<p>But, as he had money, some of the county, after the first spasm, rather +acknowledged him, as at least a cousin, if not <i>the</i> cousin. And because +he was somewhat unusual, and therefore amusing, and decidedly liberal, +and because there was no disgrace attaching to him, and no actual reason +why he should not be received, many houses opened their doors to him. +All which was bitter as wormwood to Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>Indeed, Sir Nicholas himself had been the very first to set the example. +In his curious, silent, methodical fashion, he had declared to his +mother (who literally detested the very mention of the Australian's +name, as she called him, looking upon him as a clean-born Indian might +look upon a Pariah) his intention of being civil to him all round, as he +was his father's brother's child; and as he had committed no sin, beyond +trying to gain his own rights, he would have him recognized, and treated +by every one, if not with cordiality, at least with common politeness.</p> + +<p>But yet there were those who did not acknowledge the new-comer, in spite +of his wealth and the romantic story attaching to him, and the +possibility that he might yet be proved to be the rightful baronet and +the possessor of all the goodly lands that spread for miles around. Of +these the Duchess of Lauderdale was one; but then she was always slow to +acknowledge new blood, or people unhappy enough to have a history. And +Lady Lilias Eaton was another; but she was a young and earnest disciple +of æstheticism, and gave little thought to anything save Gothic windows, +lilies, and unleavened bread. There were also many of the older families +who looked askance upon Paul Rodney, or looked through him, when brought +into contact with him, in defiance of Sir Nicholas's support, which +perhaps was given to this undesirable cousin more in pride than +generosity.</p> + +<p>And so matters stood when Mona came to the Towers.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW FATE DEALS HARSHLY WITH MONA, AND HOW SHE DROOPS—AS MIGHT A +FLOWER—BENEATH ITS UNKINDLY TOUCH.</h3> + + +<p>To gain Lady Rodney's friendship is a more difficult thing than Mona in +her ignorance had imagined, and she is determined to be ice itself to +her poor little guest. As for her love, when first Mona's eyes lit upon +her she abandoned all hope of ever gaining that.</p> + +<p>With Captain Rodney and Sir Nicholas she makes way at once, though she +is a little nervous and depressed, and not altogether like her usual gay +<i>insouciant</i> self. She is thrown back upon herself, and, like a timid +snail, recoils sadly into her shell.</p> + +<p>Yet Nature, sooner or later, must assert itself; and after a day or two +a ringing laugh breaks from her, or a merry jest, that does Geoffrey's +heart good, and brings an answering laugh and jest to the lips of her +new brothers.</p> + +<p>Of Violet Mansergh—who is still at the Towers, her father being abroad +and Lady Rodney very desirous of having her with her—she knows little. +Violet is cold, but quite civil, as Englishwomen will be until they know +you. She is, besides, somewhat prejudiced against Mona, because—being +honest herself—she has believed all the false tales told her of the +Irish girl. These silly tales, in spite of her belief in her own +independence of thought, weigh upon her; and so she draws back from +Mona, and speaks little to her, and then of only ordinary topics, while +the poor child is pining for some woman to whom she can open her mind +and whom she may count as an honest friend "For talking with a friend," +says Addison, "is nothing else but thinking aloud."</p> + +<p>Of Lady Rodney's studied dislike Mona's sensitive nature could not long +remain in ignorance; yet, having a clear conscience, and not knowing in +what she has offended,—save in cleaving to the man she loves, even to +the extent of marrying him,—she keeps a calm countenance, and bravely +waits what time may bring.</p> + +<p>To quarrel with Geoffrey's people will be to cause Geoffrey silent but +acute regret, and so for his sake, to save him pain, she quietly bears +many things, and waits for better days. What is a month or two of +misery, she tells herself, but a sigh amidst the pleasures of one's +life? Yet I think it is the indomitable pluck and endurance of her race +that carries her successfully through all her troubles.</p> + +<p>Still, she grows a little pale and dispirited after a while, for</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dare, when it once is entered in the breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will have the whole possession ere it rest."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>One day, speaking of Sir Nicholas to Lady Rodney, she had—as was most +natural—called him "Nicholas." But she had been cast back upon herself +and humiliated to the earth by his mother's look of cold disapproval and +the emphasis she had laid upon the "Sir" Nicholas when next speaking of +him.</p> + +<p>This had widened the breach more than all the rest, though Nicholas +himself, being quite fascinated by her, tries earnestly to make her +happy and at home with him.</p> + +<p>About a week after her arrival—she having expressed her admiration of +ferns the night before—he draws her hand through his arm and takes her +to his own special sanctum,—off which a fernery has been thrown, he +being an enthusiastic grower of that lovely weed.</p> + +<p>Mona is enchanted with the many varieties she sees that are unknown to +her, and, being very much not of the world, is not ashamed to express +her delight. Looking carefully through all, she yet notices that a tiny +one, dear to her, because common to her sweet Killarney, is not among +his collection.</p> + +<p>She tells him of it, and he is deeply interested; and when she proposes +to write and get him one from her native soil, he is glad as a schoolboy +promised a new bat, and her conquest of Sir Nicholas is complete.</p> + +<p>And indeed the thought of this distant fern is as dear to Mona as to +him. For to her comes a rush of tender joy, as she tells herself she may +soon be growing in this alien earth a green plant torn from her +fatherland.</p> + +<p>"But I hope you will not be disappointed when you see it," she says, +gently. "You have the real Killarney fern, Sir Nicholas, I can see; the +other, I speak of, though to me almost as lovely, is not a bit like it."</p> + +<p>She is very careful to give him his title ever since that encounter with +his mother.</p> + +<p>"I shall not be disappointed. I have read all about it," returns he, +enthusiastically. Then, as though the thought has just struck him, he +says,—</p> + +<p>"Why don't you call me Nicholas, as Geoffrey does?"</p> + +<p>Mona hesitates, then says, shyly, with downcast eyes,—</p> + +<p>"Perhaps Lady Rodney would not like it."</p> + +<p>Her face betrays more than she knows.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter in the least what any one thinks on this subject," +says Nicholas, with a slight frown, "I shall esteem it a very great +honor if you will call me by my Christian name. And besides, Mona, I +want you to try to care for me,—to love me, as I am your brother."</p> + +<p>The ready tears spring into Mona's eyes. She is more deeply, +passionately grateful to him for this small speech than he will ever +know.</p> + +<p>"Now, that is very kind of you," she says, lifting her eyes, humid with +tears, to his. "And I think it will take only a very little time to make +me love you!"</p> + +<p>After this, she and Sir Nicholas are even better friends than they have +been before,—a silent bond of sympathy seeming to exist between them. +With Captain Rodney, though he is always kind to her, she makes less +way, he being devoted to the society of Violet, and being besides of +such a careless disposition as prevents his noticing the wants of those +around,—which is perhaps another name for selfishness.</p> + +<p>Yet selfish is hardly the word to apply to Jack Rodney, because at heart +he is kindly and affectionate, and, if a little heedless and +indifferent, is still good <i>au fond</i>. He is light hearted and agreeable, +and singularly hopeful:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And confident to morrow."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>During the past month he has grown singularly domestic, and fond of home +and its associations. Perhaps Violet has something to do with this, with +her little calm thoroughbred face, and gentle manners, and voice low and +<i>trainante</i>. Yet it would be hard to be sure of this, Captain Rodney +being one of those who have "sighed to many," without even the saving +clause of having "loved but one." Yet with regard to Mona there is no +mistake about Jack Rodney's sentiments. He likes her well (could she +but know it) in all sincerity.</p> + +<p>Of course everybody that is anybody has called on the new Mrs. Rodney. +The Duchess of Lauderdale who is an old friend of Lady Rodney's, and who +is spending the winter at her country house to please her son the young +duke, who is entertaining a houseful of friends, is almost the first to +come. And Lady Lillias Eaton, the serious and earnest-minded young +æsthetic,—than whom nothing can be more coldly and artistically correct +according to her own school,—is perhaps the second: but to both, +unfortunately, Mona is "not at home."</p> + +<p>And very honestly, too, because at the time of their visits, when Lady +Rodney was entertaining them in the big drawing-room and uttering +platitudes and pretty lies by the score, she was deep in the recesses of +the bare brown wood, roaming hither and thither in search of such few +flowers as braved the wintry blasts.</p> + +<p>For all this Lady Rodney is devoutly thankful. She is glad of the girl's +absence. She has no desire to exhibit her, prejudice making Mona's few +defects to look monstrous in her eyes. Yet these same defects might +perhaps be counted on the fingers of one hand.</p> + +<p>There is, for example, her unavoidable touch of brogue, her little +gesture of intense excitement, and irrepressible exclamation when +anything is said that affects or interests her, and her laugh, which, if +too loud for ordinary drawing-room use, is yet so sweet and catching +that involuntarily it brings an answering laugh to the lips of those who +hear it.</p> + +<p>All these faults, and others of even less weight, are an abomination in +the eyes of Lady Rodney, who has fallen into a prim mould, out of which +it would now be difficult to extricate her.</p> + +<p>"There is a set of people whom I cannot bear," says Chalmers, "the pinks +of fashionable propriety, whose every word is precise, and whose every +movement is unexceptionable, but who, though versed in all the +categories of polite behavior, have not a particle of soul or cordiality +about them."</p> + +<p>Such folk Chalmers hated; and I agree with Chalmers. And of this class +is Lady Rodney, without charity or leniency for the shortcomings of +those around her. Like many religious people,—who are no doubt good in +their own way,—she fails to see any grace in those who differ from her +in thought and opinion.</p> + +<p>And by degrees, beneath her influence, Mona grows pale and <i>distrait</i> +and in many respects unlike her old joyous self. Each cold, reproving +glance and sneering word,—however carefully concealed—falls like a +touch of ice upon her heart, chilling and withering her glad youth. Up +to this she has led a bird's life, gay, <i>insouciant</i>, free and careless. +Now her song seems checked, her sweetest notes are dying fast away +through lack of sympathy. She is "cribbed, cabined, and confined," +through no fault of her own, and grows listless and dispirited in her +captivity.</p> + +<p>And Geoffrey, who is blind to nothing that concerns her notices all +this, and secretly determines on taking her away from all this foolish +persecution, to London or elsewhere, until such time as their own home +shall be ready to receive them.</p> + +<p>But at this break in my history, almost as he forms this resolution, an +event occurs that brings friends to Mona, and changes <i>in toto</i> the +aspect of affairs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA DANCES A COUNTRY DANCE BEFORE A HYPERCRITICAL AUDIENCE—AND HOW +MORE EYES THAN SHE WOTS OF MARK HER PERFORMANCE.</h3> + + +<p>"I hope you have had a nice walk?" says Violet, politely, drawing her +skirts aside to make room for Mona, who had just come in.</p> + +<p>It is quite half-past six; and though there is no light in the room, +save the glorious flames given forth by the pine logs that lie on the +top of the coals, still one can see that the occupants of the apartment +are dressed for dinner.</p> + +<p>Miss Darling—Sir Nicholas's <i>fiancee</i>—and her brother are expected to +night; and so the household generally has dressed itself earlier than +usual to be in full readiness to receive them.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney and Violet are sitting over the fire, and now Mona joins +them, gowned in the blue satin dress in which she had come to meet +Geoffrey, not so many months ago, in the old wood behind the farm.</p> + +<p>"Very nice," she says, in answer to Violet's question, sinking into the +chair that Miss Mansergh, by a small gesture, half languid, half kindly, +has pushed towards her, and which is close to Violet's own. "I went up +the avenue, and then out on the road for about half a mile."</p> + +<p>"It is a very late hour for any one to be on the public road," says +Lady Rodney, unpleasantly, quite forgetting that people, as a rule, do +not go abroad in pale-blue satin gowns, and that therefore some time +must have elapsed between Mona's return from her walk and the donning of +her present attire. And so she overreaches herself, as clever people +will do, at times.</p> + +<p>"It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite +daylight, or at least"—truthfully—"only the beginning of dusk."</p> + +<p>"I think the days are lengthening," says Violet, quietly, defending Mona +unconsciously, and almost without knowing why. Yet in her heart—against +her will as it were—she is making room for this Irish girl, who, with +her great appealing eyes and tender ways, is not to be resisted.</p> + +<p>"I had a small adventure," says Mona, presently, with suppressed gayety. +All her gayety of late has been suppressed. "Just as I came back to the +gate here, some one came riding by, and I turned to see who it was, at +which his horse—as though frightened by my sudden movement—shied +viciously, and then reared so near me as almost to strike me with his +fore-paws. I was frightened rather, because it was all so sudden, and +sprang to one side. Then the gentleman got down, and, coming to me, +begged my pardon. I said it didn't matter, because I was really +uninjured, and it was all my fault. But he seemed very sorry, and (it +was dusk as I told you, and I believe he is short sighted) stared at me +a great deal."</p> + +<p>"Well?" says Violet, who is smiling, and seems to see a joke where Mona +fails to see anything amusing.</p> + +<p>"When he was tired of staring, he said, 'I suppose I am speaking to——' +and then he stopped. 'Mrs. Rodney,' replied I; and then he raised his +hat, and bowed, and gave me his card. After that he mounted again, and +rode away."</p> + +<p>"But who was this gentleman?" says Lady Rodney, superciliously. "No +doubt some draper from the town."</p> + +<p>"No; he was not a draper," says Mona, gently, and without haste.</p> + +<p>"Whoever he was, he hardly excelled in breeding," says Lady Rodney; "to +ask your name without an introduction! I never heard of such a thing. +Very execrable form, indeed. In your place I should not have given it. +And to manage his horse so badly that he nearly ran you down. He could +hardly be any one we know. Some petty squire, no doubt."</p> + +<p>"No; not a petty squire," says Mona; "and I think you do know him. And +why should I be ashamed to tell my name to any one?"</p> + +<p>"The question was strictly in bad taste," says Lady Rodney again. "No +well-bred man would ask it. I can hardly believe I know him. He must +have been some impossible person."</p> + +<p>"He was the Duke of Lauderdale," says Mona, simply. "Here is his card."</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney is plainly disconcerted, but says nothing. Violet follows +suit, but more because she is thoroughly amused and on the point of +laughter, than from a desire to make matters worse.</p> + +<p>"I hope you had your hat on," says Lady Rodney, presently, in a severe +tone, meant to cover the defeat. She had once seen Mona with the crimson +silk handkerchief on her head,—Irish fashion,—and had expressed her +disapproval of all such uncivilized headdresses.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I wore my big Rubens hat, the one with——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care to hear about the contents of your wardrobe," interrupts +Lady Rodney, with a slight but unkind shrug. "I am glad, at least, you +were not seen in that objectionable headdress you so often affect."</p> + +<p>"Was it the Rubens hat with the long brown feather?" asks Violet, +sweetly, turning to Mona, as though compelled by some unknown force to +say anything that shall restore the girl to evenness of mind once more.</p> + +<p>"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a +smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests +there.</p> + +<p>"You told the duke who you were?" breaks in Lady Rodney at this moment, +who is in one of her worst moods.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney."</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney, would have been more correct. You forget your +husband is the youngest son. When Captain Rodney marries, <i>his</i> wife +will be Mrs. Rodney."</p> + +<p>"But surely until then Mona may lay claim to the title," says Violet, +quickly.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish to lay claim to anything," says Mona, throwing up her +head with a little proud gesture,—"least of all to what does not by +right belong to me. To be Mrs. Geoffrey is all I ask."</p> + +<p>She leans back in her chair, and brings her fingers together, clasping +them so closely that her very nails grow white. Her thin nostrils dilate +a little, and her breath comes quickly, but no angry word escapes her. +How can her lips give utterance to a speech that may wound the mother of +the man she loves!</p> + +<p>Violet, watching her, notes the tumult in her mind, and, seeing how her +will gains mastery over her desire, honors her for her self-control.</p> + +<p>Then Jack comes in, and Sir Nicholas, and later on Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is +exactly"—examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece—"one +hour before we can reasonably expect dinner."</p> + +<p>"And three-quarters. Don't deceive yourself, my dear fellow: they can't +be here one moment before a quarter to eight."</p> + +<p>"Then, in the meantime, Violet, I shall eat you," says Captain Rodney, +amiably, "just to take the edge off my appetite. You would be hardly +sufficient for a good meal!" He laughs and glances significantly at her +slight but charming figure, which is <i>petite</i> but perfect, and then +sinks into a low chair near her.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Does he mean going himself?" says Nicholas, idly. "He is here to-day, I +know, but one never knows where he may be to-morrow, he is so erratic."</p> + +<p>"He is a little difficult; but, on the whole, I think I like Sir Mark +better than most men," says Violet, slowly.</p> + +<p>Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for +dislike towards the man in question.</p> + +<p>"Lilian is such a dear girl," says Lady Rodney; "she is a very general +favorite. I have no doubt her dance will be a great success."</p> + +<p>"You are speaking of Lady Chetwoode? Was it her that called last week?" +asks Mona, timidly, forgetting grammar in her nervousness.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it was her that called last week," returns her amiable +mother-in-law, laying an unmistakable stress upon the pronoun.</p> + +<p>No one is listening, fortunately, to this gratuitous correction, or hot +words might have been the result. Sir Nicholas and Geoffrey are laughing +over some old story that has been brought to their recollection by this +idle chattering about the Chetwoodes' ball; Jack and Violet are deep in +some topic of their own.</p> + +<p>"Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," +says Sir Nicholas, alluding to the person the funny story had been +about.</p> + +<p>"You dance, of course," says Lady Rodney, turning to Mona, a little +ashamed, perhaps, of her late rudeness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," says Mona, brightening even under this small touch of +friendliness. "I'm very fond of it, too. I can get through all the steps +without a mistake."</p> + +<p>At this extraordinary speech, Lady Rodney stares in bewilderment.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Mrs. Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"You can waltz?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's +country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," +moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord +with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did <i>you</i> +ever dance a country dance?"</p> + +<p>"Never!" says Lady Rodney, in a stony fashion. "I don't even know what +you mean."</p> + +<p>"No?" arching her brows, and looking really sorry for her. "What a pity! +They all come quite naturally to me. I don't remember ever being taught +them. The music seemed to inspire me, and I really dance them very well. +Don't I Geoff?"</p> + +<p>"I never saw your equal," says Geoffrey, who, with Sir Nicholas, has +been listening to the last half of the conversation, and who is plainly +suppressing a strong desire to laugh.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember the evening you taught me the country dance that I said +was like an old-fashioned minuet? And what an apt pupil I proved! I +really think I could dance it now. By the by, my mother never saw one +danced. She"—apologetically—"has not been out much. Let us go through +one now for her benefit."</p> + +<p>"Yes, let us," says Mona, gayly.</p> + +<p>"Pray do not give yourselves so much trouble on my account," says Lady +Rodney, with intense but subdued indignation.</p> + +<p>"It won't trouble us, not a <i>bit</i>," says Mrs. Geoffrey, rising with +alacrity. "I shall love it, the floor is so nice and slippery. Can any +one whistle?"</p> + +<p>At this Sir Nicholas gives way and laughs out loud, whereon Mona laughs +too, though she reddens slightly, and says, "Well, of course the piano +will do, though the fiddle is best of all."</p> + +<p>"Violet, play us something," says Geoffrey, who has quite entered into +the spirit of the thing, and who doesn't mind his mothers "horrors" in +the least, but remembers how sweet Mona used to look when going slowly +and with that quaint solemn dignity of hers "through her steps."</p> + +<p>"I shall be charmed," says Violet; "but what is a country dance? Will +'Sir Roger' do?"</p> + +<p>"No. Play anything monotonous, that is slow and dignified besides, and +it will answer; in fact, anything at all," says Geoffrey, largely, at +which Violet smiles and seats herself at the piano.</p> + +<p>"Well, just wait till I tuck up the tail of my gown," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, airily flinging her pale-blue skirt over her white bare arm.</p> + +<p>"You may as well call it a train; people like it better," says Geoffrey. +"I'm sure I don't know why, but perhaps it sounds better."</p> + +<p>"There can be scarcely any question about that," says Lady Rodney, +unwilling to let any occasion pass that may permit a slap at Mona.</p> + +<p>"Yet the Princess D—— always calls her train a 'tail,'" says Violet, +turning on her piano-stool to make this remark, which is balm to Mona's +soul: after which she once more concentrates her thoughts on the +instrument before her, and plays some odd old-fashioned air that suits +well the dance of which they have been speaking.</p> + +<p>Then Geoffrey offers Mona his hand, and leads her to the centre of the +polished floor. There they salute each other in a rather Grandisonian +fashion, and then separate.</p> + +<p>The light from the great pine fire streams over all the room, throwing a +rich glow upon the scene, upon the girl's flushed and earnest face, and +large happy eyes, and graceful rounded figure, betraying also the grace +and poetry of her every movement.</p> + +<p>She stands well back from Geoffrey, and then, without any of the +foolish, unlovely bashfulness that degenerates so often into +awkwardness in the young, begins her dance.</p> + +<p>It is a very curious and obsolete, if singularly charming, performance, +full of strange bows, and unexpected turnings, and curtseys dignified +and deep.</p> + +<p>As she advances and retreats, with her <i>svelte</i> figure drawn to its +fullest height, and her face eager and intent upon the business in hand, +and with her whole heart thrown apparently into the successful +accomplishment of her task, she is looking far lovelier than she herself +is at all aware.</p> + +<p>Even Lady Rodney for the moment has fallen a prey to her unpremeditated +charms, and is leaning forward anxiously watching her. Jack and Sir +Nicholas are enchanted.</p> + +<p>The shadows close them in on every side. Only the firelight illumines +the room, casting its most brilliant and ruddy rays upon its central +figures, until they look like beings conjured up from the olden times, +as they flit to and fro in the slow mysterious mazes of the dance.</p> + +<p>Mona's waxen arms gleam like snow in the uncertain light. Each movement +of hers is full of grace and <i>verve</i>. Her entire action is perfect.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Her feet beneath her petticoat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like little mice, stole in and out,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As if they feared the light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, oh! she dances such a way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No sun upon an Easter day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is half so fine a sight."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The music, soft and almost mournful, echoes through the room; the feet +keep time upon the oaken floor; weird-like the two forms move through +the settled gloom.</p> + +<p>The door at the farthest end of the room has been opened, and two people +who are as yet invisible stand upon the threshold, too surprised to +advance, too enthralled, indeed, by the sight before them to do so.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how pretty!" cries one of them from the shadow as though grieved +the dance has come so quickly to an end "How lovely!"</p> + +<p>At this voice every one starts! Mona, slipping her hand into Geoffrey's, +draws him to one side; Lady Rodney rises from her sofa, and Sir Nicholas +goes eagerly towards the door.</p> + +<p>"You have come!" cries he, in a tone Mona has never heard before, and +then—there is no mistake about the fact that he and the shadow have +embraced each other heartily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, we have indeed," says the same sweet voice again, which is the +merriest and softest voice imaginable, "and in very good time too, as it +seems. Nolly and I have been here for fully five minutes, and have been +so delighted with what we have seen that we positively could not stir. +Dear Lady Rodney, how d'ye do?"</p> + +<p>She is a very little girl, quite half a head shorter than Mona, and, now +that one can see her more plainly as she stands on the hearthrug, +something more than commonly pretty.</p> + +<p>Her eyes are large and blue, with a shade of green in them; her lips are +soft and mobile; her whole expression is <i>debonnaire</i>, yet full of +tenderness. She is brightness itself; each inward thought, be it of +grief or gladness, makes itself outwardly known in the constant changes +of her face. Her hair is cut above her forehead, and is quite golden, +yet perhaps it is a degree darker than the ordinary hair we hear +described as yellow. To me, to think of Dorothy Darling's head is always +to remind myself of that line in Milton's "Comus," where he speaks of</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The loose train of thy amber-drooping hair."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She is very sweet to look at, and attractive and lovable.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"Her angel's face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the great eye of heaven shined bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And made a sunshine in the shady place."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Such is Nicholas's betrothed, to whom, as she gazes on her, all at once, +in the first little moment, Mona's whole soul goes out.</p> + +<p>She has shaken hands with everybody, and has kissed Lady Rodney, and is +now being introduced to Mona.</p> + +<p>"Your wife, Geoffrey?" she says, holding Mona's hand all the time, and +gazing at her intently. Then, as though something in Mrs. Geoffrey's +beautiful face attracts her strangely, she lifts her face and presses +her soft lips to Mona's cheek.</p> + +<p>A rush of hope and gladness thrills Mona's bosom at this gentle touch. +It is the very first caress she has ever received from one of Geoffrey's +friends or relations.</p> + +<p>"I think somebody might introduce me," says a plaintive voice from the +background, and Dorothy's brother, putting Dorothy a little to one side, +holds out his hand to Mona. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney?" he says, +pleasantly. "There's a dearth of etiquette about your husband that no +doubt you have discovered before this. He has evidently forgotten that +we are comparative strangers; but we sha'n't be long so, I hope?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very +flattering haste.</p> + +<p>"You have come quite half an hour earlier than we expected you," says +Sir Nicholas, looking with fond satisfaction into Miss Darling's eyes. +"These trains are very uncertain."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't the train so much," says Doatie, with a merry laugh, "as +Nolly: we weren't any time coming, because he got out and took the reins +from Hewson, and after that I rather think he took it out of your bays, +Nicholas."</p> + +<p>"Well, I never met such a blab! I believe you'd peach on your +grandmother," says her brother, with supreme contempt. "I didn't do 'em +a bit of harm, Rodney I give you my word."</p> + +<p>"I'll take it," says Nicholas; "but, even if you did, I should still owe +you a debt of gratitude for bringing Doatie here thirty minutes before +we hoped for her."</p> + +<p>"Now make him your best curtsey, Dolly," says Mr. Darling, seriously; +"it isn't everyday you will get such a pretty speech as that."</p> + +<p>"And see what we gained by our haste," says Dorothy, smiling at Mona. +"You can't think what a charming sight it was. Like an old legend or a +fairy-tale. Was it a minuet you were dancing?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no; only a country dance," says Mona, blushing.</p> + +<p>"Well, it was perfect: wasn't it, Violet?"</p> + +<p>"I wish I could have seen it better," returns Violet, "but, you see, I +was playing."</p> + +<p>"I wish I could have seen it forever," says Mr. Darling, gallantly, +addressing Mona; "but all good things have an end too soon. Do you +remember some lines like these? they come to me just now:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When you do dance, I wish you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing but that."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Yes, I recollect; they are from the 'Winter's Tale.' I think," says +Mona, shyly; "but you say too much for me."</p> + +<p>"Not half enough," says Mr. Darling, enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"Don't you think, sir, you would like to get ready for dinner?" says +Geoffrey, with mock severity. "You can continue your attentions to my +wife later on,—at your peril."</p> + +<p>"I accept the risk," says Nolly, with much stateliness and forthwith +retires to make himself presentable.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW NOLLY HAVING MADE HIMSELF PRESENTABLE, TRIES ALSO TO MAKE HIMSELF +AGREEABLE—AND HOW HE SUCCEEDS.</h3> + + +<p>Mr. Darling is a flaxen-haired young gentleman of about four-and-twenty, +with an open and ingenuous countenance, and a disposition cheerful to +the last degree. He is positively beaming with youth and good spirits, +and takes no pains whatever to suppress the latter; indeed, if so +sweet-tempered a youth could be said to have a fault, it lies in his +inability to hold his tongue. Talk he must, so talk he does,—anywhere +and everywhere, and under all circumstances.</p> + +<p>He succeeds in taking Mona down to dinner, and shows himself +particularly devoted through all the time they spend in the dining-room, +and follows her afterwards to the drawing-room, as soon as decency will +permit. He has, in fact, fallen a hopeless victim to Mona's charms, and +feels no shame in the thought that all the world must notice his +subjugation. On the contrary, he seems to glory in it.</p> + +<p>"I was in your country, the other day," he says, pushing Mona's skirts a +little to one side, and sinking on to the ottoman she has chosen as her +own resting-place. "And a very nice country it is."</p> + +<p>"Ah! were you really there!" says Mona, growing at once bright and +excited at the bare mention of her native land. At such moments she +falls again unconsciously into the "thens," and "sures," and "ohs!" and +"ahs!" of her Ireland.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I was indeed. Down in a small place cabled Castle-Connell, near +Limerick. Nice people in Limerick, but a trifle flighty, don't you +think? Fond of the merry blunderbuss, and all that, and with a decided +tendency towards midnight maraudings."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona, +shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully +disloyal."</p> + +<p>"Well, that was just my luck, you see," says Darling "We have some +property there. And, as I am not of much account at home, 'my awful dad' +sent me over to Ireland to see why the steward didn't get in the rents. +Perhaps he hoped the natives might pepper me; but, if so, it didn't come +off. The natives, on the contrary, quite took to me, and adopted me on +the spot. I was nearly as good as an original son of Erin in a week."</p> + +<p>"But how did you manage to procure their good graces?"</p> + +<p>"I expect they thought me beneath their notice, and, as they wouldn't +hate me, they were forced to love me. Of course they treated the idea of +paying up as a good joke, and spoke a great deal about a most unpleasant +person called Griffith and his valuation, whatever that may be. So I saw +it was of no use, and threw it up,—my mission, I mean. I had capital +shooting, as far as partridges were concerned, but no one dreamed of +wasting a bullet upon me. They positively declined to insert a bit of +lead in my body. And, considering I expected some civility of the kind +on going over, I felt somewhat disappointed, and decidedly cheap."</p> + +<p>"We are not so altogether murderous as you seem to think," says Mona, +half apologetically.</p> + +<p>"Murderous! They are a delightful people, and the scenery is charming, +you know, all round. The Shannon is positively lovely. But they wouldn't +pay a farthing. And, 'pon my life, you know," says Mr. Darling, lightly, +"I couldn't blame 'em. They were as poor as poor could be, regular +out-at-elbows, you know, and I suppose they sadly wanted any money they +had. I told the governor so when I came back, but I don't think he +seemed to see it; sort of said <i>he</i> wanted it too, and then went on to +make some ugly and most uncalled-for remarks about my tailor's bill, +which of course I treated with the contempt they deserved."</p> + +<p>"Well, but it was a little hard on your father, wasn't it?" says Mona, +gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, it wasn't much," says the young man, easily; "and he needn't have +cut up so rough about it. I was a failure, of course, but I couldn't +help it; and, after all, I had a real good time in spite if everything, +and enjoyed myself when there down to the ground."</p> + +<p>"I am glad of that," says Mona, nicely, as he pauses merely through a +desire for breath, not from a desire for silence.</p> + +<p>"I had, really. There was one fellow, a perfect giant,—Terry O'Flynn +was his name,—and he and I were awful chums. We used to go shooting +together every day, and got on capitally. He was a tremendously big +fellow, could put me in his pocket, you know, and forget I was there +until I reminded him. He was a farmer's son, and a very respectable sort +of man. I gave him my watch when I was coming away, and he was quite +pleased. They don't have much watches, by the by, the lower classes, do +they."</p> + +<p>At this Mona breaks into a sweet but ringing laugh, that makes Lady +Rodney (who is growing sleepy, and, therefore, irritable) turn, and fix +upon her a cold, reproving glance.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, too, raises his head and smiles, in sympathy with his wife's +burst of merriment, as does Miss Darling, who stops her conversation +with Sir Nicholas to listen to it.</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" asks Geoffrey, joining Mona and her +companion.</p> + +<p>"How could I help laughing," says Mona. "Mr. Darling has just expressed +surprise at the fact that the Irish peasantry do not as a rule possess +watches." Then suddenly her whole face changes from gayety to extreme +sorrow. "Alas! poor souls!" she says, mournfully, "they don't, as a +rule, have even meat!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I noticed that, too. There <i>did</i> seem to be a great scarcity of +that raw material," answers Darling, lightly. "Yet they are a fine race +in spite of it. I'm going over again to see my friend Terry before very +long. He is the most amusing fellow, downright brilliant. So is his +hair, by the by,—the very richest crimson."</p> + +<p>"But I hope you were not left to spend your days with Terry?" says Mona, +smiling.</p> + +<p>"No. All the county people round when they heard of me—which, according +to my own mental calculations on the subject, must have been exactly +five minutes after my arrival—quite adopted me. You are a very +hospitable nation, Mrs. Rodney; nobody can deny that. Positively, the +whole time I was in Limerick I could have dined three times every day +had I so chosen."</p> + +<p>"Bless me!" says Geoffrey; "what an appalling thought! it makes me feel +faint."</p> + +<p>"Rather so. In their desire to feed me lay my only danger of death. But +I pulled through. And I liked every one I met,—really you know," to +Mona, "and no humbug. Yet I think the happiest days I knew over there +were those spent with Terry. It was rather a sell, though, having no +real adventure, particularly as I had promised one not only to myself +but to my friends when starting for Paddy-land. I beg your pardon a +thousand times! Ireland, I mean."</p> + +<p>"I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course."</p> + +<p>"I wish I was one!" says Mr. Darling, with considerable effusion. "I +envy the people who can claim nationality with you. I'd be a Paddy +myself to-morrow if I could, for that one reason."</p> + +<p>"What a funny boy you are!" says Mona, with a little laugh.</p> + +<p>"So they all tell me. And of course what every one says is true. We're +bound to be friends, aren't we?" rattles on Darling pleasantly. "Our +mutual love for Erin should be a bond between us."</p> + +<p>"I hope we shall be; I am sure we shall," returns Mona, quickly. It is +sweet to her to find a possible friend in this alien land.</p> + +<p>"Not a doubt of it," says Nolly, gayly. "Every one likes me, you know. +'To see me is to love me, and love but me forever,' and all that sort +of thing; we shall be tremendous friends in no time. The fact is, I'm +not worth hating; I'm neither useful nor ornamental, but I'm perfectly +harmless, and there is something in that, isn't there? Every one can't +say the same. I'm utterly certain <i>you</i> can't," with a glance of +admiration.</p> + +<p>"Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and +bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young +man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except +perhaps Sir Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"That is out of my power," says Darling, whom the last speech—and +glance that accompanied it—has completely finished. "I only pray you of +your grace never to be unkind to me."</p> + +<p>"What a strange name yours is!—Nolly," says Mona, presently.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wasn't exactly born so," explains Mr. Darling, frankly; "Oliver +is my name. I rather fancy my own name, do you know; it is uncommon, at +all events. One don't hear it called round every corner, and it reminds +one of that 'bold bad man' the Protector. But they shouldn't have left +out the Cromwell. That would have been a finishing stroke. To hear one's +self announced as Oliver Cromwell Darling in a public room would have +been as good as a small fortune."</p> + +<p>"Better," says Mona, laughing gayly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, really, you know. I'm in earnest," declares Mr. Darling, laughing +too. He is quite delighted with Mona. To find his path through life +strewn with people who will laugh with him, or even at him, is his idea +of perfect bliss. So he chatters on to her until, bed-hour coming, and +candles being forced into notice, he is at length obliged to tear +himself away from her and follow the men to the smoking-room.</p> + +<p>Here he lays hands on Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, you know, you've about done it," he says, bestowing upon +Geoffrey's shoulder a friendly pat that rather takes the breath out of +that young man's body. "Gave you credit for more common sense. Why, such +a proceeding as this is downright folly. You are bound to pay for your +fun, you know, sooner or later."</p> + +<p>"Sir," says Mr. Rodney, taking no notice of this preamble, "I shall +trouble you to explain what you mean by reducing an inoffensive +shoulder-blade to powder."</p> + +<p>"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Nolly, absently. "But"—with sudden +interest—"do you know what you have done? You have married the +prettiest woman in England."</p> + +<p>"I haven't," says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"You have," says Nolly.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are +wool-gathering."</p> + +<p>"Good gracious! he can't mean that he is tired of her already," exclaims +Mr. Darling, in an audible aside. "That would be too much even for our +times."</p> + +<p>At this Geoffrey gives way to mirth. He and Darling are virtually alone, +as Nicholas and Captain Rodney are talking earnestly about the impending +lawsuit in a distant corner.</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, you have overworked your brain," he says, ironically: +"You don't understand me. I am not tired of her. I shall never cease to +bless the day I saw her,"—this with great earnestness,—"but you say I +have married the handsomest woman in England, and she is not English at +all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, what's the odds?" says Nolly. "Whether she is French, or +English, Irish or German, she has just the loveliest face I ever saw, +and the sweetest ways. You've done an awfully dangerous thing. You will +be Mrs. Rodney's husband in no time,—nothing else, and you positively +won't know yourself in a year after. Individuality lost. Name gone. +Nothing left but your four bones. You will be quite thankful for <i>them</i>, +even, after a bit."</p> + +<p>"You terrify me," says Geoffrey, with a grimace. "You think, then, that +Mona is pretty?"</p> + +<p>"Pretty doesn't express it. She is quite intense; and new style, too, +which of course is everything. You will present her next season, I +suppose? You must, you know, if only in the cause of friendship, as I +wouldn't miss seeing Mrs. Laintrie's and Mrs. Whelon's look of disgust +when your wife comes on the scene for worlds!"</p> + +<p>"Her eyes certainly are——" says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"She is all your fancy could possibly paint her; she is lovely and +divine. Don't try to analyze her charms, my dear Geoff. She is just the +prettiest and sweetest woman I ever met. She is young, in the 'very May +morn of delight,' yet there is nothing of that horrid shyness—that +<i>mauvaise honte</i>—about her that, as a rule, belongs to the 'freshness +of morning.' Her laugh is so sweet, so full of enjoyment."</p> + +<p>"If you mean me to repeat all this back again, you will find yourself +jolly well mistaken; because, understand at once, I sha'n't do it," says +Geoffrey. "I'm not going to have a hand in my undoing; and such +unqualified praise is calculated to turn any woman's head. Seriously, +though," says Geoffrey, laying his hands on Darling's shoulders, "I'm +tremendously glad you like her."</p> + +<p>"Don't!" says Darling, weakly. "Don't put it in that light. It's too +feeble. If you said I was madly in love with your wife you would be +nearer the mark, as insanity touches on it. I haven't felt so badly for +years. It is right down unlucky for me, this meeting with Mrs. Rodney."</p> + +<p>"Poor Mona!" says Geoffrey; "don't tell her about it, as remorse may +sadden her."</p> + +<p>"Look here," says Mr. Darling, "just try one of these, do. They are +South American cigarettes, and nearly as strong as the real thing, and +quite better: they are a new brand. Try 'em; they'll quite set you up."</p> + +<p>"Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA GOES TO HER FIRST BALL—AND HOW SHE FARES THEREAT.</h3> + + +<p>It is the day of Lady Chetwoode's ball, or to be particular, for critics +"prove unkind" these times, it is the day to which belongs the night +that has been selected for Lady Chetwoode's ball; all which sounds very +like the metre of the house that Jack built.</p> + +<p>Well, never mind! This ball promises to be a great success. Everybody +who is anybody is going, from George Beatoun, who has only five hundred +pounds a year in the world, and the oldest blood in the county, to the +duchess, who "fancies" Lilian Chetwoode, and has, in fact, adopted her +as her last "rave." Nobody has been forgotten, nobody is to be +chagrined: to guard against this has cost both Sir Guy and Lilian +Chetwoode many an hour of anxious thought.</p> + +<p>To Mona, however, the idea of this dance is hardly pure nectar. It is +half a terror, half a joy. She is nervous, frightened, and a little +strange. It is the first time she has ever been to any large +entertainment, and she cannot help looking forward to her own <i>debut</i> +with a longing mingled largely with dread.</p> + +<p>Now, as the hour approaches that is to bring her face to face with half +the county, her heart fails her, and almost with a sense of wonder she +contrasts her present life with the old one in her emerald isle, where +she lived happily, if with a certain dulness, in her uncle's farmhouse.</p> + +<p>All day long the rain has been pouring, pouring; not loudly or +boisterously, not dashing itself with passionate force against pane and +gable, but falling with a silent and sullen persistency.</p> + +<p>"No walks abroad to-night," says Mr. Darling, in a dismal tone, staring +in an injured fashion upon the drenched lawns and <i>pleasaunces</i> outside. +"No Chinese lanterns, no friendly shrubberies,—<i>nothing</i>!"</p> + +<p>Each window presents an aspect in a degree more dreary than the +last,—or so it appears. The flower-beds are beaten down, and are +melancholy in the extreme. The laurels do nothing but drip drip, in a +sad aside, "making mournful music for the mind." Whilst up and down the +elm walk the dreary wind goes madly, sporting and playing with the +raindrops, as it rushes here and there.</p> + +<p>Indoors King Bore stalks rampant. Nobody seems in a very merry mood. +Even Nolly, who is generally game for anything, is a prey to despair. He +has, for the last hour, lost sight of Mona!</p> + +<p>"Let us do something, anything, to get rid of some of these interminable +hours," says Doatie, flinging her book far from her. It is not +interesting, and only helps to add insult to injury. She yawns as much +as breeding will permit, and then crosses her hands behind her dainty +head. "Oh! here comes Mona. Mona, I am so bored that I shall die +presently, unless you suggest a remedy."</p> + +<p>"Your brother is better at suggestions than I am," says Mona, gently, +who is always somewhat subdued when in the room with Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Nolly, do you hear that? Come over to the fire directly, and cease +counting those hateful raindrops. Mona believes in you. Isn't that +joyful news? Now get out of your moody fit at once, like a dear boy."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't," says Mr. Darling, in an aggrieved tone. "I feel slighted. +Mrs. Rodney has of <i>malice prepense</i> secluded herself from public gaze +at least for an hour. I can't forget all <i>that</i> in one moment."</p> + +<p>"Where have you been?" asks Lady Rodney, slowly turning her head to look +at Mona. "Out of doors?" Her tone is unpleasant.</p> + +<p>"No. In my own room," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nolly! do think of some plan to cheat the afternoon of an hour or +two," persists Doatie, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I have it," says her brother with all the air of one who has discovered +a new continent. "Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs."</p> + +<p>At this Doatie turns her back on him, while Mona breaks into a peal of +silver laughter.</p> + +<p>"Would you not like to do that?" demands Nolly, sadly "I should. I'm +quite in the humor for it."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid we are not," says Violet, smiling too. "Think of something +else."</p> + +<p>"Well, if you all <i>will</i> insist upon a change, and desire something more +lively, then,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell sad stories of the death of kings.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Perhaps after all you are right, and that will be better It will be +rather effective, too, if uncomfortable, our all sitting on the polished +floor."</p> + +<p>"Fancy Nolly quoting Shakspeare," says Geoffrey, who has just entered, +and is now leaning over Mona's chair. He stoops and whispers something +in her ear that makes her flush and glance appealingly at Doatie. +Whereon Miss Darling, who is quick to sympathize, rises, and soon learns +what the whisper has been about.</p> + +<p>"Oh! how charming!" she cries, clapping her hands. "The very thing! Why +did we not think of it before? To teach Mona the last new step! It will +be delicious." Good-natured Doatie, as she says this, springs to her +feet and runs her hand into Mona's. "Come," she says. "Before to-night, +I promise you, you shall rival Terpsichore herself."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she certainly must learn before to-night," says Violet, with +sudden and unexpected interest, folding and putting away her work as +though bent on other employment. "Let us come into the ballroom."</p> + +<p>"Do you know no other dances but those—er—very Irish performances?" +asks Lady Rodney, in a supercilious tone, alluding to the country dance +Mona and Geoffrey had gone through on the night of Doatie's arrival.</p> + +<p>"No. I have never been to a ball in all my life," says Mona distinctly. +But she pales a little at the note of contempt in the other's voice. +Unconsciously she moves a few steps nearer to Geoffrey, and holds out +her hand to him in a childish entreating fashion.</p> + +<p>He clasps it and presses it lightly but fondly to his lips. His brow +darkens. The little stern expression, so seldom seen upon his kindly +face, but which is inherited from his father, creeps up now and alters +him preceptibly.</p> + +<p>"You mistake my mother," he says to Mona, in a peculiar tone, looking at +Lady Rodney, not at her. "My wife is, I am sure, the last person she +would choose to be rude to; though, I confess, her manner just now would +mislead most people."</p> + +<p>With the frown still on his forehead, he draws Mona's hand through his +arm, and leads her from the room.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney has turned pale. Otherwise she betrays no sign of chagrin, +though in her heart she feels deeply the rebuke administered by this, +her favorite son. To have Mona be a witness of her defeat is gall and +wormwood to her. And silently, without any outward gesture, she +registers a vow to be revenged for the insult (as she deems it) that has +just been put upon her.</p> + +<p>Dorothy Darling, who has been listening anxiously to all that has +passed, and who is very grieved thereat, now speaks boldly.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," she says to Lady Rodney, quite calmly, having a little +way of her own of introducing questionable topics without giving +offence,—"I am afraid you do not like Mona?"</p> + +<p>At this Lady Rodney flings down her guard and her work at the same time, +and rises to her feet.</p> + +<p>"Like her," she says, with suppressed vehemence. "How should I like a +woman who has stolen from me my son, and who can teach him to be rude +even to his own mother?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lady Rodney, I am sure she did not mean to do that."</p> + +<p>"I don't care what she meant; she has at all events done it. Like her! A +person who speaks of 'Jack Robinson,' and talks of the 'long and short +of it.' How could you imagine such a thing! As for you, Dorothy, I can +only feel regret that you should so far forget yourself as to rush into +a friendship with a young woman so thoroughly out of your own sphere."</p> + +<p>Having delivered herself of this speech, she sweeps from the room, +leaving Violet and Dorothy slightly nonplussed.</p> + +<p>"Well, I never heard anything so absurd!" says Doatie, presently, +recovering her breath, and opening her big eyes to their widest. "Such a +tirade, and all for nothing. If saying 'Jack Robinson' is a social +crime, I must be the biggest sinner living, as I say it just when I +like. I think Mona adorable, and so does every one else. Don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. I don't fall in love with people at first sight. I am +slow to read character," says Violet, calmly. "You, perhaps, possess +that gift?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit of it, my dear. I only say to myself, such and such a person +has kind eyes or a loving mouth, and then I make up my mind to them. I +am seldom disappointed; but as to reading or studying character, that +isn't in my line at all. It positively isn't in me. But don't you think +Lady Rodney is unjust to Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think she is. But of course there are many excuses to be made +for her. An Irish girl of no family whatever, no matter how sweet, is +not the sort of person one would select as a wife for one's son. Come to +the ballroom. I want to make Mona perfect in dancing."</p> + +<p>"You want to make her a success to-night," says Dorothy, quickly. "I +know you do. You are a dear thing, Violet, if a little difficult. And I +verily believe you have fallen as great a victim to the charms of this +Irish siren 'without family' as any of us. Come, confess it."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to confess. I think her very much to be liked, if you +mean that," says Violet, slowly.</p> + +<p>"She is a perfect pet," says Miss Darling, with emphasis, "and you know +it."</p> + +<p>Then they adjourn to the ballroom, and Sir Nicholas is pressed into the +service, and presently Jack Rodney, discovering where Violet is, drops +in too, and after a bit dancing becomes universal. Entering into the +spirit of the thing, they take their "preliminary canter" now, as Nolly +expresses it, as though to get into proper training for the Chetwoodes' +ball later on. And they all dance with Mona, and show a great desire +that she shall not be found wanting when called upon by the rank, +beauty, and fashion of Lauderdale to trip it on the "light fantastic +toe."</p> + +<p>Even Jack Rodney comes out of himself, and, conquering his habitual +laziness, takes her in hand, and, as being the best dancer present, <i>par +excellence</i>, teaches and tutors, and encourages her until Doatie cries +"enough," and protests with pathos she will have no more of it, as she +is not going to be cut out by Mona at all events in the dancing line.</p> + +<p>So the day wears to evening; and the rain ceases, and the sullen clouds +scud with a violent haste across the tired sky. Then the stars come out, +first slowly, one by one, as though timid early guests at the great +gathering, then with a brilliant rush, until all the sky,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Bespangled with those isles of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So wildly, spiritually bright."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>shows promise of a fairer morrow.</p> + +<p>Mona, coming slowly downstairs, enters with lagging steps the library, +where tea is awaiting them before they start.</p> + +<p>She is gowned in a cream-colored satin that hangs in severe straight +lines, and clings to her lissom rounded figure as dew clings to a +flower. A few rows of tiny pearls clasp her neck. Upon her bosom some +Christmas roses, pure and white as her own soul, lie softly; a few more +nestle in her hair, which is drawn simply back and coiled in a loose +knot behind her head; she wears no earrings and very few bracelets.</p> + +<p>One of the latter, however, is worthy of note. It is a plain gold band +on which stands out a figure of Atalanta posed as when she started for +her famous race. It had been sent to her on her marriage by Mr. Maxwell, +in hearty remembrance, no doubt, of the night when she by her fleetness +had saved his life.</p> + +<p>She is looking very beautiful to-night. As she enters the room, nearly +every one stops talking, and careless of good breeding, stares at her. +There is a touch of purity about Mona that is perhaps one of her +chiefest charms.</p> + +<p>Even Lady Rodney can hardly take her eyes from the girl's face as she +advances beneath the full glare of the chandelier, utterly unconscious +of the extent of the beauty that is her rich gift.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas, going up to her, takes her by both hands, and leads her +gently beneath the huge bunch of mistletoe that still hangs from the +centre-lamp. Here, stooping, he embraces her warmly. Mona, coloring, +shrinks involuntarily a few steps backward.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me, my sister," says Nicholas, quickly. "Not the kiss, but the +fact that until now I never quite understood how very beautiful you +are!"</p> + +<p>Mona smiles brightly—as might any true woman—at so warm a compliment. +But Doatie, putting on a pathetic little <i>moue</i> that just suits her baby +face, walks over to her <i>fiance</i> and looks up at him with appealing +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't altogether forget <i>me</i>, Nicholas," she says, in her pretty +childish way, pretending (little rogue that she is) to be offended.</p> + +<p>"You, my own!" responds Nicholas, in a very low tone, that of course +means everything, and necessitates a withdrawal into the curtained +recess of the window, where whisperings may be unheard.</p> + +<p>Then the carriages are announced, and every one finishes his and her +tea, and many shawls are caught up and presently all are driving rapidly +beneath the changeful moon to Chetwoode.</p> + +<p>Now, strange as it may seem, the very moment Mona sets her foot upon the +polished ballroom floor, and sees the lights, and hears the music, and +the distant splashing of water in some unknown spot, and breathes the +breath of dying flowers, all fears, all doubts, vanish; and only a +passionate desire to dance, and be in unison with the sweet sounds that +move the air, overfills her.</p> + +<p>Then some one asks her to dance, and presently—with her face lit up +with happy excitement, and her heart throbbing—she is actually mingling +with the gay crowd that a moment since she has been envying. In and out +among the dancers they glide, Mona so happy that she barely has time for +thought, and so gives herself up entirely to the music to the exclusion +of her partner. He has but a small place in her enjoyment. Perhaps, +indeed, she betrays her satisfaction rather more than is customary or +correct in an age when the <i>nil admirari</i> system reigns supreme. Yet +there are many in the room who unconsciously smile in sympathy with her +happy smile, and feel warmed by the glow of natural gladness that +animates her breast.</p> + +<p>After a little while, pausing beside a doorway, she casts an upward +glance at her companion.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have at last deigned to take some small notice of me," +says he, with a faint touch of pique in his tone. And then, looking at +him again, she sees it is the young man who had nearly ridden over her +some time ago, and tells herself she has been just a little rude to his +Grace the Duke of Lauderdale.</p> + +<p>"And I went to the utmost trouble to get an introduction," goes on +Lauderdale, in an aggrieved voice; "because I thought you might not care +about that impromptu ceremony at the lodge-gate; and yet what do I +receive for my pains but disappointment? Have you quite forgotten me?"</p> + +<p>"No. Of course I remember you now," says Mona, taking all this nonsense +as quite <i>bona fide</i> sense in a maddeningly fascinating fashion. "How +unkind I have been! But I was listening to the music, not to our +introduction, when Sir Nicholas brought you up to me, and—and that is +my only excuse." Then, sweetly, "You love music?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I do," says the duke. "But I say that perhaps as a means of +defence. If I said otherwise, you might think me fit only 'for treasons, +stratagems, and spoils.'"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! you don't look like that," says Mona, with a heavenly smile. +"You do not seem like a man that could not be 'trusted.'"</p> + +<p>He is delighted with her ready response, her gayety, her sweetness, her +freshness; was there ever so fair a face? Every one in the room by this +time is asking who is the duke's partner, and Lady Chetwoode is beset +with queries. All the women, except a very few, are consumed with +jealousy; all the men are devoured with envy of the duke. Beyond all +doubt the pretty Irish bride is the rage of the hour.</p> + +<p>She chatters on gayly to the duke, losing sight of the fact of his rank, +and laughing and making merry with him as though he were one of the +ordinary friends of her life. And to Lauderdale, who is susceptible to +beauty and tired of adulation, such manner has its charm, and he is +perhaps losing his head a little, and is conning a sentence or two of a +slightly tender nature, when another partner coming up claims Mona, and +carries her away from what might prove dangerous quarters.</p> + +<p>"Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" +asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her.</p> + +<p>"That? Oh, that was the bride, Mrs. Rodney," replies he. "She is lovely, +if you like."</p> + +<p>"Oh, indeed!" says the duchess, with some faint surprise. Then she turns +to Lady Rodney, who is near her, and who is looking cold and +supercilious. "I congratulate you," she says, warmly. "What a face that +child has! How charming! How full of feeling! You are fortunate in +securing so fair a daughter."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," says Lady Rodney, coldly, letting her lids fall over her +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry I have missed her so often," says the duchess, who had been +told that Mona was out when she called on her the second time, and who +had been really not at home when Mona returned her calls. "But you will +introduce me to her soon, I hope."</p> + +<p>Just at this moment Mona comes up to them, smiling and happy.</p> + +<p>"Ah! here she is," says the duchess, looking at the girl's bright face +with much interest, and turning graciously towards Mona. And then +nothing remains but for Lady Rodney to get through the introduction as +calmly as she can, though it is sorely against her will, and the +duchess, taking her hand, says something very pretty to her, while the +duke looks on with ill-disguised admiration in his face.</p> + +<p>They are all standing in a sort of anteroom, curtained off, but only +partly concealed from the ballroom. Young Lady Chetwoode, who, as I have +said, is a special pet with the duchess, is present, with Sir Guy and +one or two others.</p> + +<p>"You must give me another dance, Mrs. Rodney, before your card is quite +full," says the duke, smiling. "If, indeed, I am yet in time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, quite in time," says Mona. Then she pauses, looking at him so +earnestly that he is compelled to return her gaze. "You shall have +another dance," she says, in her clear voice, that is perfectly distinct +to every one; "but you must not call me Mrs. Rodney: I am only Mrs. +Geoffrey!"</p> + +<p>A dead silence follows. Lady Rodney raises her head, scenting mischief +in the air.</p> + +<p>"No?" says Lauderdale, laughing. "But why, then? There is no other Mrs. +Rodney, is there?"</p> + +<p>"No. But there will be when Captain Rodney marries. And Lady Rodney says +I have no claim to the name at all. I am only Mrs. Geoffrey."</p> + +<p>She says it all quite simply, with a smile, and a quick blush that +arises merely from the effort of having to explain, not from the +explanation itself. There is not a touch of malice in her soft eyes or +on her parted lips.</p> + +<p>Lady Chetwoode looks at her fan and then at Sir Guy. The duchess, with a +grave expression, looks at Lady Rodney. Can her old friend have proved +herself unkind to this pretty stranger? Can she have already shown +symptoms of that tyrannical temper which, according to the duchess, is +Lady Rodney's chief bane? She says nothing, however, but, moving her fan +with a beckoning gesture, draws her skirts aside, and motions to Mona, +to seat herself beside her.</p> + +<p>Mona obeys, feeling no shrinking from the kindly stout lady who is +evidently bent on being "all things" to her. It does occur, perhaps, to +her laughter-loving mind that there is a paucity of nose about the +duchess, and a rather large amount of "too, too solid flesh;" but she +smothers all such iniquitous reflections, and commences to talk with her +gayly and naturally.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA INTERVIEWS THE DUCHESS—AND HOW SHE SUSTAINS CONVERSATION WITH +THE RODNEYS' EVIL GENIUS.</h3> + + +<p>For some time they talk together, and then the duchess, fearing lest she +may be keeping Mrs. Geoffrey from the common amusement of a ballroom, +says, gently,—</p> + +<p>"You are not dancing much?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Mona, shaking her head. "Not—not to-night. I shall soon."</p> + +<p>"But why not to-night?" asks her Grace, who has noticed with curiosity +the girl's refusal to dance with a lanky young man in a hussar uniform, +who had evidently made it the business of the evening to get introduced +to her. Indeed, for an hour he had been feasting his eyes upon her fresh +young beauty, and, having gone to infinite trouble to get presented to +her, had been rewarded for his trouble by a little friendly smile, a +shake of the head, and a distinct but kindly refusal to join in the mazy +dance.</p> + +<p>"But why?" asks the duchess.</p> + +<p>"Because"—with a quick blush—"I am not accustomed to dancing much. +Indeed, I only learned to-day, and I might not be able to dance with +every one."</p> + +<p>"But you were not afraid to dance with Lauderdale, my son?" says the +duchess, looking at her.</p> + +<p>"I should never be afraid of him," returns Mona. "He has kind eyes. He +is"—slowly and meditatively—"very like you."</p> + +<p>The duchess laughs.</p> + +<p>"He may be, of course," she says. "But I don't like to see a gay child +like you sitting still. You should dance everything for the night."</p> + +<p>"Well, as I say, I shall soon," returns Mona, brightening, "because +Geoffrey has promised to teach me."</p> + +<p>"If I were 'Geoffrey,' I think I shouldn't," says the duchess, +meaningly.</p> + +<p>"No?" raising an innocent face. "To much trouble, you think, perhaps. +But, bless you, Geoffrey wouldn't mind that, so long as he was giving me +pleasure." At which answer the duchess is very properly ashamed of both +her self and her speech.</p> + +<p>"I should think very few people would deem it a trouble to serve you," +she says, graciously. "And perhaps, after all, you don't much care about +dancing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do," says Mona, truthfully. "Just now, at least. +Perhaps"—sadly—"when I am your age I sha'n't."</p> + +<p>This is a <i>betise</i> of the first water. And Lady Rodney, who can +hear—and is listening to—every word, almost groans aloud.</p> + +<p>The duchess, on the contrary, gives way to mirth, and, leaning back in +her chair, laughs softly but with evident enjoyment. Mona contemplates +her curiously, pensively.</p> + +<p>"What have I said?" she asks, half plaintively. "You laugh, yet I did +not mean to be funny. Tell me what I said."</p> + +<p>"It was only a little touch of nature," explains her Grace. "On that +congratulate yourself. Nature is at a discount these days. And I—I love +nature. It is so rare, a veritable philosopher's stone. You only told +me what my glass tells me daily,—that I am not so young as I once +was,—that, in fact, when sitting next pretty children like you, I am +quite old."</p> + +<p>"<i>Did</i> I say all that?" asks Mrs. Geoffrey, with wide eyes. "Indeed, I +think you mistake. Old people have wrinkles, and they do not talk as you +do. And when one is sweet to look at, one is never old."</p> + +<p>To pay a compliment perfectly one must, I think, have at least a few +drops of Irish blood in one's veins. As a rule, the happy-go-lucky +people of Ireland can bring themselves to believe thoroughly, and +without hypocrisy, in almost anything for the time being,—can fling +themselves heart and soul into their flatteries, and come out of them +again as victors. And what other nation is capable of this? To make +sweet phrases is one thing; to look as if you felt or meant them is +quite another.</p> + +<p>The little suspicion of blarney trips softly and naturally from Mona's +tongue. She doesn't smile as she speaks, but looks with eyes full of +flattering conviction at the stout but comely duchess. And in truth it +may be that in Mona's eyes she is sweet to look at, in that she has been +kind and tender towards her in her manner.</p> + +<p>And the duchess is charmed, pleased beyond measure That faint touch +about the wrinkles was the happiest of the happy. Only that morning her +Grace, in spite of her unapproachable maid and unlimited care, had seen +an additional line around her mouth that had warned her of youth's +decline, and now to meet some one oblivious of this line is sweet to +her.</p> + +<p>"Then you didn't go out much in Ireland?" she says, thinking it more +graceful to change the conversation at this point.</p> + +<p>"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says the duchess, feeling puzzled. "Then perhaps they don't dance +in Ireland.</p> + +<p>"Yes, they do indeed, a great deal; at least I have heard so."</p> + +<p>"Then I suppose when there you were too young to go out?" pursues the +poor duchess, striving for information.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't," says Mona: "I went out a great deal. All day long I was in +the open air. That is what made my hands so brown last autumn."</p> + +<p>"Were they brown?"</p> + +<p>"As berries," says Mona, genially.</p> + +<p>"At least they are a pretty shape," says the duchess glancing at the +slim little hands lying gloved in their owner's lap. "But I don't think +you quite understood the 'going out' in the light that I did. I mean, +did you go much into society?"</p> + +<p>"There wasn't much society to go into," says Mona, "and I was only +fifteen when staying with Aunt Anastasia. She," confidentially, "made +rather a grand match for us, you know." (Lady Rodney grinds her teeth, +and tells herself she is on the point of fainting.) "She married the +Provost of Trinity College; but I don't think he did her any good. She +is the oddest old thing! Even to think of her now makes me laugh. You +should have seen her," says Mrs. Geoffrey, leaning back in her chair, +and giving way to her usual merry laugh, that rings like a peal of +silver bells, "with her wig that had little curls all over it, and her +big poke-bonnet like a coal-scuttle!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I really wish I had seen her," says the good-humored duchess, +smiling in sympathy, and beginning to feel herself more capable of +thorough enjoyment than she has been for years. "Was she witty, as all +Irish people are said to be?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, no," says Mona, with an emphatic shake of her lovely head. +"She hadn't the least little bit of wit in her composition. She was as +solemn as an Eng——I mean a Spaniard (they are all solemn, are they +not?), and never made a joke in her life, but she was irresistibly comic +all the same." Then suddenly, "What a very pretty little woman that is +over there, and what a lovely dress!"</p> + +<p>"Very pretty indeed, and quite good taste and that. She's a Mrs. Lennox, +and her husband is our master of the hounds. She is always quite correct +in the matter of <i>clothes</i>." There is an awful reservation in her +Grace's tone, which is quite lost upon Mona. "But she is by no means +little in her own opinion, and in fact rather prides herself upon +her—er—form generally," concludes the duchess, so far at a loss for a +word as to be obliged to fall back upon slang.</p> + +<p>"Her form!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, surveying the tiny Mrs. Lennox from head +to foot in sheer wonderment. "She need hardly pride herself on that. She +hasn't much of it, has she?"</p> + +<p>"Yes,—in her own estimation," says the duchess, somewhat severely, +whose crowning horror is a frisky matron, to which title little Mrs. +Lennox may safely lay claim.</p> + +<p>"Well, I confess that puzzles me," says Mona, knitting her straight +brows and scanning the small lady before her with earnest eyes, who is +surrounded by at least a dozen men, with all of whom she is conversing +without any apparent effort. "I really think she is the smallest woman I +ever saw. Why, I am only medium height, but surely I could make two of +her. At least I have more figure, or form, as you call it, than she +has."</p> + +<p>The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, +amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young +woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, +and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English +tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but we are all so different from the English. We have no pretty +fair hair in Ireland, or at least very little of it."</p> + +<p>"Do you admire our hair? And we are all so heartily tired of it," says +the duchess. "Well, tell me more about your own land. Are the women all +like you? In style, I mean. I have seen a few, of course, but not enough +to describe a whole."</p> + +<p>"Like me? Oh, no," says Mrs. Geoffrey. "Some of them are really +beautiful, like pictures. When I was staying with Aunt Anastasia—the +Provost's wife, you remember—I saw a great many pretty people. I saw a +great many students, too," says Mona, brightening, "and liked them very +much. They liked me, too."</p> + +<p>"How strange!" says the duchess, with an amused smile. "Are you quite +sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, quite. They used to take me all over the college, and sometimes to +the bands in the squares. They were very good to me."</p> + +<p>"They would be, of course," says the duchess.</p> + +<p>"But they were troublesome, very troublesome," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with +a retrospective sigh, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands +together on her lap. "You can't imagine what a worry they were at +times,—always ringing the college bell at the wrong hours, and getting +tight!"</p> + +<p>"Getting what?" asks the duchess, somewhat taken aback.</p> + +<p>"Tight,—screwed,—tipsy, you know," replies Mona, innocently. "Tight +was the word they taught me. I think they believed it sounded more +respectable than the others. And the Divinity boys were the worst. Shall +I tell you about them?"</p> + +<p>"Do," says the duchess.</p> + +<p>"Well, three of them used to come to see Aunt Anastasia; at least they +<i>said</i> it was auntie, but they never spoke to her if they could help it, +and were always so glad when she went to sleep after dinner."</p> + +<p>"I think your Aunt Anastasia was very good to them," says the duchess.</p> + +<p>"But after a bit they grew very tiresome. When I tell you they all three +proposed to me every day for a week, you will understand me. Yet even +that we could have borne, though it was very expensive, because they +used to go about stealing my gloves and my ribbons, but when they took +to punching each other's heads about me auntie said I had better go to +Uncle Brian for a while: so I went; and there I met Geoffrey," with a +brilliant smile.</p> + +<p>"I think Geoffrey owes those Divinity boys more than he can ever pay," +says the duchess, very prettily. "You must come and see me soon, child. +I am an old woman, and seldom stir from home, except when I am +positively ordered out by Malcom, as I was to-night. Come next Thursday. +There are some charming trifles at the old Court that may amuse you, +though I may fail to do so."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't want any trifles to amuse me, if you will talk to me," says +Mona.</p> + +<p>"Well, come early. And now go and dance with Mr. Darling. He has been +looking at me very angrily for the last three minutes. By the by," +putting up her glasses, "is that little girl in the lemon-colored gown +his sister?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is Sir Nicholas's Doatie Darling," returns Mona, with a light +laugh. And then Nolly leads her away, and, feeling more confident with +him, she is once again dancing as gayly as the best.</p> + +<p>"Your foot is plainly 'on your native heath,'" says Nolly, "though your +name may not be 'McGregor.' What on earth were you saying to that old +woman for the last four hours?"</p> + +<p>"It was only twenty minutes," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes! By Jove, she must be more interesting than we thought," +says Mr. Darling, "if you can put it at that time. I thought she was +going to eat you, she looked so pleased with you. And no wonder, too:" +with a loud and a hearty sigh.</p> + +<p>"She was very nice to me," says Mona, "and is, I think, a very pleasant +old lady. She asked me to go and see her next Thursday."</p> + +<p>"Bless my stars!" says Nolly; "you <i>have</i> been going it. That is the day +on which she will receive no one but her chief pets. The duchess, when +she comes down here, reverses the order of things. The rest have an 'at +home' day. She has a 'not at home' day."</p> + +<p>"Where are people when they are not at home?" asks Mona, simply.</p> + +<p>"That's the eighth wonder of the world," says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. +"It has never yet been discovered. Don't seek to pry too closely into +it; you might meet with a rebuff."</p> + +<p>"How sad Nicholas looks!" says Mona, suddenly.</p> + +<p>In a doorway, somewhat out of the crush, Sir Nicholas is standing. His +eyes are fixed on Dorothy, who is laughing with a gay and gallant +plunger in the distance. He is looking depressed and melancholy; a +shadow seems to have fallen into his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"Now he is thinking of that horrid lawsuit again," says Nolly, +regretfully, who is a really good sort all round. "Let us go to him."</p> + +<p>"Yes; let me go to him," says Mona, quickly; "I shall know what to say +better than you."</p> + +<p>After a little time she succeeds in partially lifting the cloud that has +fallen on her brother. He has grown strangely fond of her, and finds +comfort in her gentle eyes and sympathetic mouth. Like all the rest, he +has gone down before Mona, and found a place for her in his heart. He is +laughing at some merry absurdity of hers, and is feeling braver, more +hopeful, when a little chill seems to pass over him, and, turning, he +confronts a tall dark young man who has come leisurely—but with a +purpose—to where he and Mona are standing.</p> + +<p>It is Paul Rodney.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas, just moving his glass from one eye to the other, says +"Good evening" to him, bending his head courteously, nay, very civilly, +though without a touch, or suspicion of friendliness. He does not put +out his hand, however, and Paul Rodney, having acknowledged his +salutation by a bow colder and infinitely more distant than his own, +turns to Mona.</p> + +<p>"You have not quite forgotten me, I hope, Mrs. Rodney. You will give me +one dance?"</p> + +<p>His eyes, black and faintly savage, seem to burn into hers.</p> + +<p>"No; I have not forgotten you," says Mona, shrinking away from him. As +she speaks she looks nervously at Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"Go and dance, my dear," he says, quickly, in a tone that decides her. +It is to please him, for his sake, she must do this thing; and so, +without any awkward hesitation, yet without undue haste, she turns and +lays her hand on the Australian's arm. A few minutes later she is +floating round the room in his arms, and, passing by Geoffrey, though +she sees him not, is seen by him.</p> + +<p>"Nicholas, what is the meaning of this?" says Geoffrey, a few moments +later, coming up with a darkening brow to where Nicholas is leaning +against a wall. "What has possessed Mona to give that fellow a dance? +She must be mad, or ignorant, or forgetful of everything. She was with +you: why did you not prevent it?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, let well alone," says Nicholas, with his slow, peculiar +smile. "It was I induced Mona to dance with 'that fellow,' as you call +him. Forgive me this injury, if indeed you count it one."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you," says Geoffrey, still rather hotly.</p> + +<p>"I think I hardly understand myself: yet I know I am possessed of a +morbid horror lest the county should think I am uncivil to this man +merely because he has expressed a hope that he may be able to turn me +out of doors. His hope may be a just one. I rather think it is: so it +pleased me that Mona should dance with him, if only to show the room +that he is not altogether tabooed by us."</p> + +<p>"But I wish it had been any one but Mona," says Geoffrey, still +agitated.</p> + +<p>"But who? Doatie will not dance with him, and Violet he never asks. I +fell back, then, upon the woman who has so little malice in her heart +that she could not be ungracious to any one. Against her will she read +my desire in my eyes, and has so far sacrificed herself for my sake. I +had no right to compel your wife to this satisfying of my vanity, yet I +could not resist it. Forget it; the dance will soon be over."</p> + +<p>"It seems horrible to me that Mona should be on friendly terms with +your enemy," says Geoffrey, passionately.</p> + +<p>"He is not my enemy. My dear boy, spare me a three-act drama. What has +the man done, beyond wearing a few gaudy rings, and some oppressive +neckties, that you should hate him as you do? It is unreasonable. And, +besides, he is in all probability your cousin. Parkins and Slow declare +they can find no flaw in the certificate of his birth; and—is not every +man at liberty to claim his own?"</p> + +<p>"If he claims my wife for another dance, I'll——" begins Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"No, you won't," interrupts his brother, smiling. "Though I think the +poor child has done her duty now. Let him pass. It is he should hate me, +not I him."</p> + +<p>At this Geoffrey says something under his breath about Paul Rodney that +he ought not to say, looking the while at Nicholas with a certain light +in his blue eyes that means not only admiration but affection.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Mona, having danced as long as she desires with this enemy in +the camp, stops abruptly before a curtained entrance to a small +conservatory, into which he leads her before she has time to +remonstrate: indeed, there is no apparent reason why she should.</p> + +<p>Her companion is singularly silent. Scarce one word has escaped him +since she first laid her hand upon his arm, and now again dumbness, or +some hidden feeling, seals his lips.</p> + +<p>Of this Mona is glad. She has no desire to converse with him, and is +just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in that he declines to +speak with her, when he breaks the welcome silence.</p> + +<p>"Have they taught you to hate me already?" he asks, in a low, compressed +tone, that make her nerves assert themselves.</p> + +<p>"I have been taught nothing," she says, with a most successful grasp at +dignity. "They do not speak of you at the Towers,—at least, not +unkindly." She looks at him as she says this, but lowers her eyes as she +meets his. This dark, vehement young man almost frightens her.</p> + +<p>"Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," +exclaims he, with some growing excitement.</p> + +<p>"Why should I despise you?" asks she, slowly, opening her eyes.</p> + +<p>The simple query confounds him more than might a more elaborate one put +by a clever worldling. Why indeed?</p> + +<p>"I was thinking about this impending lawsuit," he stammers, uneasily. +"You know of it, of course? Yet why should I be blamed?"</p> + +<p>"No one blames you," says Mona; "yet it is hard that Nicholas should be +made unhappy."</p> + +<p>"Other people are unhappy, too," says the Australian, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps they make their own unhappiness," says Mona, at random. "But +Nicholas has done nothing. He is good and gentle always. He knows no +evil thoughts. He wishes ill to no man."</p> + +<p>"Not even to me?" with a sardonic laugh.</p> + +<p>"Not even to you," very gravely. There is reproof in her tone. They are +standing somewhat apart, and her eyes have been turned from him. Now, as +she says this, she changes her position slightly, and looks at him very +earnestly. From the distant ballroom the sound of the dying music comes +sadly, sweetly; a weeping fountain in a corner mourns bitterly, as it +seems to Mona, tear by tear, perhaps for some lost nymph.</p> + +<p>"Well, what would you have me do?" demands he, with some passion. "Throw +up everything? Lands, title, position? It is more than could be expected +of any man."</p> + +<p>"Much more," says Mona; but she sighs as she says it, and a little look +of hopelessness comes into her face. It is so easy to read Mona's face.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he says, with growing vehemence: "no man would do it. +It is such a brilliant chance, such a splendid scheme——." He checks +himself suddenly. Mona looks at him curiously, but says nothing. In a +second he recovers himself, and goes on: "Yet because I will not +relinquish my just claim you look upon me with hatred and contempt."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," says Mona, gently; "only I should like you better, of course, +if you were not the cause of our undoing."</p> + +<p>"'Our'? How you associate yourself with these Rodneys!" he says, +scornfully; "yet you are as unlike them as a dove is unlike a hawk. How +came you to fall into their nest? And so if I could only consent to +efface myself you would like me better,—tolerate me in fact? A poor +return for annihilation. And yet," impatiently, "I don't know. If I +could be sure that even my memory would be respected by you——." He +pauses and pushes back his hair from his brow.</p> + +<p>"Why could you not have stayed in Australia?" says Mona, with some +excitement. "You are rich; your home is there; you have passed all your +life up to this without a title, without the tender associations that +cling round Nicholas and that will cost him almost his life to part +with. You do not want them, yet you come here to break up our peace and +make us all utterly wretched."</p> + +<p>"Not you," says Paul, quickly. "What is it to you? It will not take a +penny out of your pocket. Your husband," with an evil sneer, "has his +income secured. I am not making you wretched."</p> + +<p>"You are," says Mona, eagerly. "Do you think," tears gathering in her +eyes, "that I could be happy when those I love are reduced to despair?"</p> + +<p>"You must have a large heart to include all of them," says Rodney with a +shrug. "Whom do you mean by 'those you love?' Not Lady Rodney, surely. +She is scarcely a person, I take it to inspire that sentiment in even +your tolerant breast. It cannot be for her sake you bear me such +illwill?"</p> + +<p>"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only +sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" says her companion, staring at her, and drawing his breath a +little hard. "Then, even if he should lose to me lands, title, nay, all +he possesses, I should still count him a richer man than I am."</p> + +<p>"Oh, poor Nicholas!" says Mona sadly, "and poor little Doatie!"</p> + +<p>"You speak as if my victory was a foregone conclusion," says Rodney. +"How can you tell? He may yet gain the day, and I may be the outcast."</p> + +<p>"I hope with all my heart you will," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"Thank you," replies he stiffly; "yet, after all, I think I should bet +upon my own chance."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you are right," says Mona. "Oh, why did you come over at +all?"</p> + +<p>"I am very glad I did," replies he, doggedly. "At least I have seen you. +They cannot take that from me. I shall always be able to call the +remembrance of your face my own."</p> + +<p>Mona hardly hears him. She is thinking of Nicholas's face as it was half +an hour ago when he had leaned against the deserted doorway and looked +at pretty Dorothy.</p> + +<p>Yet pretty Dorothy at her very best moments had never looked, nor ever +could look, as lovely as Mona appears now, as she stands with her hands +loosely clasped before her, and the divine light of pity in her eyes, +that are shining softly like twin stars.</p> + +<p>Behind her rises a tall shrub of an intense green, against which the +soft whiteness of her satin gown gleams with a peculiar richness. Her +gaze is fixed upon a distant planet that watches her solemnly through +the window from its seat in the far-off heaven, "silent, as if it +watch'd the sleeping earth."</p> + +<p>She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of +her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are +homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in +the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful +earth.</p> + +<p>A passionate admiration for her beauty and purity fills his breast: he +could have fallen at her feet and cried aloud to her to take pity upon +him, to let some loving thought for him—even him too—enter and find +fruitful soil within her heart.</p> + +<p>"Try not to hate me," he says, imploringly, in a broken voice, going +suddenly up to her and taking one of her hands in his. His grasp is so +hard as almost to hurt her. Mona awakening from her reverie, turns to +him with a start. Something in his face moves her.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I do not hate you," she says impulsively. "Believe me, I do +not. But still I fear you."</p> + +<p>Some one is coming quickly towards them. Rodney, dropping Mona's hand, +looks hurriedly round, only to see Lady Rodney approaching.</p> + +<p>"Your husband is looking for you," she says to Mona, in an icy tone. +"You had better go to him. This is no place for you."</p> + +<p>Without vouchsafing a glance of recognition to the Australian, she +sweeps past, leaving them again alone. Paul laughs aloud.</p> + +<p>"'A haughty spirit comes before a fall,'" quotes he contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"I must go now. Good-night," says Mona, kindly if coldly. He escorts her +to the door of the conservatory There Lauderdale, who is talking with +some men, comes forward and offers her his arm to take her to the +carriage. And then adieux are said, and the duke accompanies her +downstairs, whilst Lady Rodney contents herself with one of her sons.</p> + +<p>It is a triumph, if Mona only knew it, but she is full of sad +reflections, and is just now wrapped up in mournful thoughts of Nicholas +and little Dorothy. Misfortune seems flying towards them on strong swift +wings. Can nothing stay its approach, or beat it back in time to effect +a rescue? If they fail to find the nephew of the old woman Elspeth in +Sydney, whither he is supposed to have gone, or if, on finding him they +fail to elicit any information from him on the subject of the lost will, +affairs may be counted almost hopeless.</p> + +<p>"Mona," says Geoffrey, to her suddenly, in a low whisper, throwing his +arm round her (they are driving home, alone in the small +night-brougham)—"Mona, do you know what you have done to-night? The +whole room went mad about you. They would talk of no one else. Do not +let them turn your head."</p> + +<p>"Turn it where, darling?" asks she, a little dreamily.</p> + +<p>"Away from me," returns he, with some emotion, tightening his clasp +around her.</p> + +<p>"From you? Was there ever such a dear silly old goose," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, with a faint, loving laugh. And then, with a small sigh full +of content, she forgets her cares for others for awhile, and, nestling +closer to him, lays her head upon his shoulder and rests there happily +until they reach the Towers.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE CLOUD GATHERS—AND HOW NICHOLAS AND DOROTHY HAVE THEIR BAD +QUARTER OF AN HOUR.</h3> + + +<p>The blow so long expected, yet so eagerly and hopefully scoffed at with +obstinate persistency, falls at last (all too soon) upon the Towers. +Perhaps it is not the very final blow that when it comes must shatter to +atoms all the old home-ties, and the tender links that youth has +forged, but it is certainly a cruel shaft, that touches the heart +strings, making them quiver. The first thin edge of the wedge has been +inserted: the sword trembles to its fall: <i>c'est le commencement de la +fin</i>.</p> + +<p>It is the morning after Lady Chetwoode's ball. Every one has got down to +breakfast. Every one is in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that +the rain is racing down the window-panes in torrents, and that the post +is late.</p> + +<p>As a rule it always is late, except when it is preternaturally early; +sometimes it comes at half-past ten, sometimes with the hot water. There +is a blessed uncertainty about its advent that keeps every one on the +tiptoe of expectation, and probably benefits circulation.</p> + +<p>The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an +unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still +with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out +Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to +be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with +only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is +merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power +could get in a word from any one else.</p> + +<p>"I am always so glad when the post doesn't arrive in time for +breakfast," Doatie is saying gayly. "Once those horrid papers come, +every one gets stupid and engrossed, and thinks it a positive injury to +have to say even 'yes' or 'no' to a civil question. Now see how sociable +we have been this morning, because that dear Jacob is late again. Ah! I +spoke too soon," as the door opens and a servant enters with a most +imposing pile of letters and papers.</p> + +<p>"Late again, Jermyn," says Sir Nicholas, lazily.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Sir Nicholas,—just an hour and a half. He desired me to say he +had had another 'dart' in his rheumatic knee this morning, so hoped you +would excuse him."</p> + +<p>"Poor old soul!" says Sir Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"Jolly old bore!" says Captain Rodney, though not unkindly.</p> + +<p>"Don't throw me over that blue envelope, Nick," says Nolly: "I don't +seem to care about it. I know it, I think it seems familiar. You may +have it, with my love. Mrs. Geoffrey, be so good as to tear it in two."</p> + +<p>Jack is laughing over a letter written by one of the fellows in India; +all are deep in their own correspondence.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas, having gone leisurely through two of his letters, opens a +third, and begins to peruse it rather carelessly. But hardly has he gone +half-way down the first page when his face changes; involuntarily his +fingers tighten over the luckless letter, crimping it out of all shape. +By a supreme effort he suppresses an exclamation. It is all over in a +moment. Then he raises his head, and the color comes back to his lips. +He smiles faintly, and, saying something about having many things to do +this morning, and that therefore he hopes they will forgive his running +away from them in such a hurry he rises and walks slowly from the room.</p> + +<p>Nobody has noticed that anything is wrong. Only Doatie turns very pale, +and glances nervously at Geoffrey, who answers her frightened look with +a perplexed one of his own.</p> + +<p>Then, as breakfast was virtually over before the letters came, they all +rise, and disperse themselves as fancy dictates. But Geoffrey goes alone +to where he knows he shall find Nicholas in his own den.</p> + +<p>An hour later, coming out of it again, feeling harassed and anxious, he +finds Dorothy walking restlessly up and down the corridor outside, as +though listening for some sound she pines to hear. Her pretty face, +usually so bright and <i>debonnaire</i>, is pale and sad. Her lips are +trembling.</p> + +<p>"May I not see Nicholas, if only for a moment?" she says, plaintively, +gazing with entreaty at Geoffrey. At which Nicholas, hearing from within +the voice that rings its changes on his heart from morn till eve, calls +aloud to her,—</p> + +<p>"Come in, Dorothy. I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>So she goes in, and Geoffrey, closing the door behind her, leaves them +together.</p> + +<p>She would have gone to him then, and tried to console him in her own +pretty fashion, but he motions her to stay where she is.</p> + +<p>"Do not come any nearer," he says, hastily, "I can tell it all to you +better, more easily, when I cannot see you."</p> + +<p>So Doatie, nervous and miserable, and with unshed tears in her eyes, +stands where he tells her, with her hand resting on the back of an +arm-chair, while he, going over to the window, deliberately turns his +face from hers. Yet even now he seems to find a difficulty in beginning. +There is a long pause; and then——</p> + +<p>"They—they have found that fellow,—old Elspeth's nephew," he says in a +husky tone.</p> + +<p>"Where?" asks Doatie, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And——"</p> + +<p>"He says he knows nothing about any will."</p> + +<p>Another pause, longer than the last.</p> + +<p>"He denies all knowledge of it. I suppose he has been bought up by the +other side. And now what remains for us to do? That was our last chance, +and a splendid one, as there are many reasons for believing that old +Elspeth either burned or hid the will drawn up by my grandfather on the +night of his death; but it has failed us. Yet I cannot but think this +man Warden must know something of it. How did he discover Paul Rodney's +home? It has been proved, that old Elspeth was always in communication +with my uncle up to the hour of her death; she must have sent Warden to +Australia then, probably with this very will she had been so carefully +hiding for years. If so, it is beyond all doubt burned or otherwise +destroyed by this time. Parkins writes to me in despair."</p> + +<p>"This is dreadful!" says Doatie. "But"—brightening—"surely it is not +so bad as death or disgrace, is it?"</p> + +<p>"It means death to me," replies he, in a low tone. "It means that I +shall lose you."</p> + +<p>"Nicholas," cries she, a little sharply, "what is it you would say?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, hear me," exclaims he, turning for the first time to comfort her; +and, as he does, she notices the ravages that the last hour of anxiety +and trouble have wrought upon his face. He is looking thin and haggard, +and rather tired. All her heart goes out to him, and it is with +difficulty she restrains her desire to run to him and encircle him with +her soft arms. But something in his expression prevents her.</p> + +<p>"Hear me," he says, passionately: "if I am worsted in this fight—and I +see no ray of hope anywhere—I am a ruined man. I shall then have +literally only five hundred a year that I can call my own. No home; no +title. And such an income as that, to people bred as you and I have +been, means simply penury. All must be at an end between us, Dorothy. We +must try to forget that we have ever been more than ordinary friends."</p> + +<p>This tirade has hardly the effect upon Dorothy that might be desired. +She still stands firm, utterly unshaken by the storm that has just swept +over her (frail child though she is), and, except for a slight touch of +indignation that is fast growing within her eyes, appears unmoved.</p> + +<p>"You may try just as hard as ever you like," she says, with dignity: "I +<i>sha'n't</i>!"</p> + +<p>"So you think now; but by and by you will find the pressure too great, +and you will go with the tide. If I were to work for years and years, I +could scarcely at the end achieve a position fit to offer you. And I am +thirty-two, remember,—not a boy beginning life, with all the world and +time before him,—and you are only twenty. By what right should I +sacrifice your youth, your prospects? Some other man, some one more +fortunate, may perhaps——"</p> + +<p>Here he breaks down ignominiously, considering the amount of sternness +he had summoned to his aid when commencing, and, walking to the +mantelpiece, lays his arm on it, and his head upon his arms.</p> + +<p>"You insult me," says Dorothy, growing even whiter than she was before, +"when you speak to me of—of——"</p> + +<p>Then she, too, breaks down, and, going to him, deliberately lifts one of +his arms and lays it round her neck; after which she places both hers +gently round his, and so, having comfortably arranged herself, proceeds +to indulge in a hearty burst of tears. This is, without exception, the +very wisest course she could have taken, as it frightens the life out of +Nicholas, and brings him to a more proper frame of mind in no time.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Dorothy, don't do that! Don't, my dearest, my pet!" he entreats. "I +won't say another word, not one, if you will only stop."</p> + +<p>"You have said too much already, and there <i>sha'n't</i> be an end of it, as +you declared just now," protests Doatie, vehemently, who declines to be +comforted just yet, and is perhaps finding some sorrowful enjoyment in +the situation. "I'll take very good care there sha'n't! And I won't let +you give me up. I don't care how poor you are. And I must say I think it +is very rude and heartless of you, Nicholas, to want to hand me over to +'some other man,' as if I was a book or a parcel! 'Some other man,' +indeed!" winds up Miss Darling, with a final sob and a heavy increase of +righteous wrath.</p> + +<p>"But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though +inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty and devotion. +"Your people won't hear of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, they will," returns Doatie, emphatically, "They will probably +hear a great deal of it! I shall speak of it morning, noon, and night, +until out of sheer vexation of spirit they will come in a body and +entreat you to remove me. Ah!" regretfully, "if only I had a fortune +now, how sweet it would be! I never missed it before. We are really very +unfortunate."</p> + +<p>"We are, indeed. But I think your having a fortune would only make +matters worse." Then he grows despairing once more. "Dorothy, it is +madness to think of it. I am speaking only wisdom, though you are angry +with me for it. Why encourage hope where there is none?"</p> + +<p>"Because 'the miserable hath no other medicine but only hope,'" quotes +she, very sadly.</p> + +<p>"Yet what does Feltham say? 'He that hopes too much shall deceive +himself at last' Your medicine is dangerous, darling. It will kill you +in the end. Just think, Dorothy, how could you live on five hundred a +year!"</p> + +<p>"Other people have done it,—do it every day," says Dorothy, stoutly. +She has dried her eyes, and is looking almost as pretty as ever. "We +might find a dear nice little house somewhere, Nicholas," this rather +vaguely, "might we not? with some furniture in Queen Anne's style. Queen +Anne, or what looks like her, is not so very expensive now, is she?"</p> + +<p>"No," says Nicholas, "she isn't; though I should consider her dear at +any price." He is a depraved young man who declines to see beauty in +ebony and gloom. "But," with a sigh, "I don't think you quite +understand, darling."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, I do," says Dorothy, with a wise shake of her blonde head; +"you mean that probably we shall not be able to order any furniture at +all. Well, even if it comes to sitting on one horrid kitchen deal chair +with you, Nicholas, I sha'n't mind it a scrap." She smiles divinely, and +with the utmost cheerfulness, as she says this. But then she has never +tried to sit on a deal chair, and it is a simple matter to conjure up a +smile when woes are imaginary.</p> + +<p>"You are an angel," says Nicholas. And, indeed, considering all things, +it is the least he could have said. "If we weather this storm, Dorothy," +he goes on, earnestly,—"if, by any chance, Fate should reinstate me +once more firmly in the position I have always held,—it shall be my +proudest remembrance that in my adversity you were faithful to me, and +were content to share my fortune, evil though it showed itself to be."</p> + +<p>They are both silent for a little while, and then Dorothy says, +softly,—</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it will all come right at last. Oh! if some kind good fairy +would but come to our aid and help us to confound our enemies!"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid there is only one fairy on earth just now, and that is +you," says Nicholas, with a faint smile, smoothing back her pretty hair +with loving fingers, and gazing fondly into the blue eyes that have +grown so big and earnest during their discussion.</p> + +<p>"I mean a real fairy," says Dorothy, shaking her head "If she were to +come now this moment and say, 'Dorothy'——"</p> + +<p>"Dorothy," says a voice outside at this very instant, so exactly as +Doatie pauses that both she and Nicholas start simultaneously.</p> + +<p>"That is Mona's voice," says Doatie. "I must go. Finish your letters, +and come for me then, and we can go into the garden and talk it all over +again. Come in, Mona; I am here."</p> + +<p>She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently +searching for her everywhere.</p> + +<p>"Ah! now, I have disturbed you," says Mrs. Geoffrey, pathetically, to +whom lovers are a rare delight and a sacred study. "How stupid of me! +Sure you needn't have come out, when you knew it was only me. And of +course he wants you, poor dear fellow. I thought you were in the small +drawing-room, or I shouldn't have called you at all."</p> + +<p>"It doesn't matter. Come upstairs with me, Mona. I want to tell you all +about it," says Doatie. The reaction has set in, and she is again +tearful, and reduced almost to despair.</p> + +<p>"Alas! Geoffrey has told me everything," says Mona, "That is why I am +now seeking for you. I thought, I <i>knew</i>, you were unhappy, and I wanted +to tell you how I suffer with you."</p> + +<p>By this time they have reached Dorothy's room, and now, sitting down, +gaze mournfully at each other. Mona is so truly grieved that any one +might well imagine this misfortune, that is rendering the very air +heavy, in her own, rather than another's. And this wholesale sympathy, +this surrendering of her body and mind to a grief that does not touch +herself, is inexpressibly sweet to her poor little friend.</p> + +<p>Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts +out crying afresh.</p> + +<p>"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close +embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they +mend."</p> + +<p>"Not always," sobs Doatie. "I know how it will be. We shall be +separated,—torn asunder, and then after a while they will make me marry +somebody else; and in a weak moment I shall do it! And then I shall be +utterly wretched for ever and ever."</p> + +<p>"You malign yourself," says Mona. "It is all impossible. You will have +no such weak moment, or I do not know you. You will be faithful always, +until he can marry you, and, if he never can, why, then you can be +faithful too, and go to your grave with his image only in your heart +That is not so bad a thought, is it?"</p> + +<p>"N—ot very," says Doatie, dolefully.</p> + +<p>"And, besides, you can always see him, you know," goes on Mona, +cheerfully. "It is not as if death had stolen him from you. He will be +always somewhere; and you can look into his eyes, and read how his love +for you has survived everything. And perhaps, after some time, he may +distinguish himself in some way and gain a position far grander than +mere money or rank can afford, because you know he is wonderfully +clever."</p> + +<p>"He is," says Dorothy, with growing animation.</p> + +<p>"And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time +yet for a missing will or a—a—useful witness to turn up. That will," +says Mona, musingly, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think +so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come +to it. It may be discovered yet."</p> + +<p>She looks so full of belief in her own fancy that she inspires Doatie on +the spot with a similar faith.</p> + +<p>"Mona! There is no one so sweet or comforting as you are," she cries, +giving her a grateful hug. "I really think I do feel a little better +now."</p> + +<p>"That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success.</p> + +<p>Violet, coming in a few moments later, finds them still discussing the +all-important theme.</p> + +<p>"It is unfortunate for every one," says Violet, disconsolately, sinking +in a low chair. "Such a dear house, and to have it broken up and given +into the possession of such a creature as that." She shrugs her +shoulders with genuine disgust.</p> + +<p>"You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is +perfectly utter!—such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!"</p> + +<p>"I don't suppose any one will take the slightest notice of him," says +Violet: "that is one comfort."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that: Lilian Chetwoode made him welcome in her house last +night," says Doatie, a little bitterly.</p> + +<p>"That is because Nicholas will insist on proving to every one he bears +him no malice, and speaks of him persistently as his cousin. Well, he +may be his cousin; but there is a limit to everything," says Violet, +with a slight frown.</p> + +<p>"That is just what is so noble about Nicholas," returns Doatie, quickly. +"He supports him, simply because it is his own quarrel. After all, it +matters to nobody but Nicholas himself: no one else will suffer if that +odious black man conquers."</p> + +<p>"Yes, many will. Lady Rodney,—and—and Jack too. He also must lose by +it," says Violet, with suppressed warmth.</p> + +<p>"He may; but how little in comparison! Nobody need be thought of but my +poor Nicholas," persists Doatie, who has not read between the lines, and +fails therefore in putting a proper construction upon the faint delicate +blush that is warming Violet's cheek.</p> + +<p>But Mona has read, and understands perfectly.</p> + +<p>"I think every one is to be pitied; and Jack more than most,—after dear +Nicholas," she says, gently, with such a kindly glance at Violet as goes +straight to that young woman's heart, and grows and blossoms there +forever after.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW DISCUSSION WAXES RIFE—AND HOW NICHOLAS, HAVING MADE A SUGGESTION +THAT IS BITTER TO THE EARS OF HIS AUDIENCE, YET CARRIES HIS POINT +AGAINST ALL OPPOSITION.</h3> + + +<p>"The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night." The +dusk is slowly creeping up over all the land, the twilight is coming on +apace. As the day was, so is the gathering eve, sad and mournful, with +sounds of rain and sobbings of swift winds as they rush through the +barren beeches in the grove. The harbor bar is moaning many miles away, +yet its voice is borne by rude Boreas up from the bay to the walls of +the stately Towers, that neither rock nor shiver before the charges of +this violent son of "imperial Æolus."</p> + +<p>There is a ghostly tapping (as of some departed spirit who would fain +enter once again into the old halls so long forgotten) against the +window pane. Doubtless it is some waving branch flung hither and thither +by the cruel tempest that rages without. Shadows come and go; and eerie +thoughts oppress the breast:—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Puts the wretch that lies in woe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In remembrance of a shroud."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"What a wretched evening!" says Violet, with a little shiver. "Geoffrey, +draw the curtains closer."</p> + +<p>"A fit ending to a miserable day," says Lady Rodney, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"Night has always the effect of making bad look worse," says Doatie with +a sad attempt at cheerfulness. "Never mind; morning will soon be here +again."</p> + +<p>"But why should night produce melancholy?" says Nicholas, dreamily. "It +is but a reflection of the greater light, after all. What does Richter +call it? 'The great shadow and profile of day.' It is our own morbid +fancies that make us dread it."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, close the curtains, Geoffrey, and ask Lady Rodney if she +would not like tea now," says Violet, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>Somebody pokes the fire, until a crimson light streams through the room. +The huge logs are good-naturedly inclined, and burst their great sides +in an endeavor to promote more soothing thought.</p> + +<p>"As things are so unsettled, Nicholas, perhaps we had better put off our +dance," says Lady Rodney, presently. "It may only worry you, and +distress us all."</p> + +<p>"No. It will not worry me. Let us have our dance by all means," says +Nicholas, recklessly. "Why should we cave in, in such hot haste? It will +give us all something to think about. Why not get up tableaux? Our last +were rather a success. And to represent Nero fiddling, whilst Rome was +on fire, would be a very appropriate one for the present occasion."</p> + +<p>He laughs a little as he says this, but there is no mirth in his laugh.</p> + +<p>"Nicholas, come here," says Doatie, anxiously, from out the shadow in +which she is sitting, somewhat away from the rest. And Nicholas, going +to her finds comfort and grows calm again beneath the touch of the slim +little fingers she slips into his beneath the cover of the friendly +darkness, "I don't see why we shouldn't launch out into reckless +extravagance now our time threatens to be so short," says Jack, moodily. +"Let's us entertain our neighbors right royally before the end comes. +Why not wind up like the pantomimes, with showers of gold and rockets +and the gladsome noise of ye festive cracker?"</p> + +<p>"What nonsense some people are capable of talking!" says Violet, with a +little shrug.</p> + +<p>"Well, why not?" says Captain Rodney, undaunted by this small snub. "It +is far more difficult to talk than sense. Any fellow can do that. If I +were to tell you that Nolly is sound asleep, and that if he lurches even +half a degree more to the right he will presently be lost to sight among +the glowing embers" (Nolly rouses himself with a start), "you would +probably tell me I was a very silly fellow to waste breath over such a +palpable fact, but it would be sense nevertheless. I hope I haven't +disturbed you, Nolly? On such a night as this a severe scorching would +perhaps be a thing to be desired."</p> + +<p>"Thanks. I'll put it off for a night or two," says Nolly, sleepily.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I don't believe I <i>was</i> talking nonsense," goes on Jack in an +aggrieved tone. "My last speech had very little folly in it. I feel the +time is fast approaching when we sha'n't have money even to meet our +tailors' bills."</p> + +<p>"'In the midst of life we are in debt,'" says Nolly, solemnly. Which is +the best thing he could have said, as it makes them all laugh in spite +of their pending misfortunes.</p> + +<p>"Nolly is waking up. I am afraid we sha'n't have that <i>auto da fe</i>, +after all," says Jack in a tone of rich disappointment. "I feel as if we +are going to be done out of a good thing."</p> + +<p>"What a day we're avin'," says Mr. Darling, disdaining to notice this +puerile remark. "It's been pouring since early dawn. I feel right down +cheap,—very nearly as depressed as when last night Nicholas stuck me +down to dance with the Æsthetic."</p> + +<p>"Lady Lilias Eaton, you mean?" asks Lady Rodney. "That reminds me we are +bound to go over there to-morrow. At least, some of us."</p> + +<p>"Mona must go," says Nicholas, quickly. "Lady Lilias made a point of it. +You will go, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"I should very much like to go," says Mona, gently, and with some +eagerness. She has been sitting very quietly with her hands before her, +hardly hearing what is passing around her,—lost, buried in thought.</p> + +<p>"Poor infant! It is her first essay," says Nolly, pitifully.</p> + +<p>"Wait till to-morrow evening, and see if you will feel as you do now. +Your cheerful complaisance in this matter is much to be admired. And +Nicholas should be grateful But I think you will find one dose of Lady +Lilias and her ancient Briton sufficient for your lifetime."</p> + +<p>"You used to be tremendous friends there at one time," says Geoffrey; +"never out of the house."</p> + +<p>"I used to stay there occasionally when old Lord Daintree was alive, if +you mean that," says Nolly, meekly. "As far as I can recollect, I was +always shipped there when naughty, or troublesome, or in the way at +home; and as a rule I was always in the way. There is a connection +between the Eatons and my mother, and Anadale saw a good deal of me off +and on during the holidays. It was a sort of rod in pickle, or dark +closet, that used to be held over my head when in disgrace."</p> + +<p>"Lilias must have been quite a child then," says Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"She was never a child: she was born quite grown up. But the ancient +Britons had not come into favor at that time: so she was a degree more +tolerable. Bless me," says Mr. Darling, with sudden animation, "what +horrid times I put in there. The rooms were ghastly enough to freeze the +blood in one's veins, and no candles would light 'em. The beds were all +four-posters, with heavy curtains round them, so high that one had to +get a small ladder to mount into bed. I remember one time—it was during +harvest, and the mowers were about—I suggested to Lord Daintree he +should get the men in to mow down the beds; but no one took any notice +of my proposal, so it fell to the ground. I was frightened to death, and +indeed was more in awe of the four-posters than of the old man, who +wasn't perhaps half bad."</p> + +<p>Dorothy from her corner laughs gayly. "Poor old Noll," she says: "it was +his unhappy childhood that blighted his later years and made him the +melancholy object he is."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know, it was much too much,—it was really," says Mr. +Darling, very earnestly. "Mrs. Geoffrey, won't you come to my rescue?".</p> + +<p>Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do +for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land +miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her +mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she +and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were +the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white +brow, and lets a little frown—born only of bewildered thought—contract +its fairness.</p> + +<p>"A scheme," he had said; and then in a moment the right words flash +across her brain. "A brilliant chance, a splendid scheme." What words +for an honest man to use! Could he be honest? Was there any flaw, any +damning clause anywhere in all this careful plot, so cleverly +constructed to bring ruin upon the heads of these people who have crept +into her tender heart?</p> + +<p>"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with +a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far +from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in +his tone.</p> + +<p>"No; very near you,—nearer than you think," says Mona, quick to notice +any variation in his tone, awaking from her reverie with a start, and +laying one of her hands over his. "Geoffrey," earnestly, "what is the +exact meaning of the word 'scheme'? Would an honest man (surely he would +not) talk of scheming?" Which absurd question only shows how unlearned +she yet is in the great lessons of life.</p> + +<p>"Well, that is rather a difficult question to answer," says Geoffrey. +"Monsieur de Lesseps, when dreaming out the Suez Canal, called it a +scheme; and he, I presume, is an honest man. Whereas, on the other side, +if a burglar were arranging to steal all your old silver, I suppose he +would call that a scheme too. What have you on the brain now, darling? +You are not going to defraud your neighbor, I hope."</p> + +<p>"It is very strange," says Mona, with a dissatisfied sigh, "but I'll +tell you all about it by and by."</p> + +<p>Instinct warns her of treachery; common sense belies the warning. To +which shall she give ear?</p> + +<p>"Shall we ask the Carsons to our dance, Nicholas?" asks his mother, at +this moment.</p> + +<p>"Ask any one you like,—any one, I mean, that is not quite impossible," +says Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"Edith Carson is very nearly so, I think."</p> + +<p>"Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?" +asks Mona, with some animation.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Girl with light, frizzy hair and green eye."</p> + +<p>"A strange girl, I thought, but very pretty. Yes—was it English she +talked?"</p> + +<p>"Of the purest," says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"What did she say, Mona?" inquired Doatie.</p> + +<p>"I am not sure that I can tell you,—at least not exactly as she said +it," says Mona, with hesitation. "I didn't quite understand her; but +Geoffrey asked her how she was enjoying herself, and she said it was +'fun all through;' and that she was amusing herself just then by hiding +from her partner, Captain Dunscombe, who was hunting for her 'all over +the shop,'—it was 'shop,' she said, wasn't it, Geoff? And that it did +her good to see him in a tearing rage, in fact on a regular 'champ,' +because it vexed Tricksy Newcombe, whose own particular he was in the +way of 'pals.'"</p> + +<p>Everybody laughs. In fact, Nolly roars.</p> + +<p>"Did she stop there?" he says: "that was unworthy of her. Breath for +once must have failed her, as nothing so trivial as want of words could +have influenced Miss Carson."</p> + +<p>"You should have seen Mona," says Geoffrey. "She opened her eyes and her +lips, and gazed fixedly upon the lively Edith. Curiosity largely mingled +with awe depicted itself upon her expressive countenance. She was +wondering whether she should have to conquer that extraordinary jargon +before being pronounced fit for polite society."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," says Mona, laughing. "But it surely wasn't English, was +it? That is not the way everybody talks, surely."</p> + +<p>"Everybody," says Geoffrey; "that is, all specially nice people. You +won't be in the swim at all, unless you take to that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"Then you are not a nice person yourself."</p> + +<p>"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I +trust to that and careful observation to reform me."</p> + +<p>"And I am to say 'pals' for friends, and call it pure English?"</p> + +<p>"It is not more extraordinary, surely, than calling a drunken young man +'tight,'" says Lady Rodney, with calm but cruel meaning.</p> + +<p>Mona blushes painfully.</p> + +<p>"Well, no; but that is pure Irish," says Geoffrey, unmoved. Mona, with +lowered head, turns her wedding-ring round and round upon her finger, +and repents bitterly that little slip of hers when talking with the +duchess last night.</p> + +<p>"If I must ask Edith Carson, I shall feel I am doing something against +my will," says Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is +another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to."</p> + +<p>"Certainly dear. Who is it?"</p> + +<p>"Paul Rodney," replies he, very distinctly.</p> + +<p>"Nicholas!" cries his mother, faintly: "this is too much!"</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, to oblige me," entreats he, hastily.</p> + +<p>"But this is morbid,—a foolish pride," protests she, passionately, +while all the others are struck dumb at this suggestion from Nicholas. +Is his brain failing? Is his intellect growing weak, that he should +propose such a thing? Even Doatie, who as a rule supports Nicholas +through evil report and good, sits silent and aghast at his proposition.</p> + +<p>"What has he done that he should be excluded?" demands Nicholas, a +little excitedly. "If he can prove a first right to claim this property, +is that a crime? He is our cousin: why should we be the only people in +the whole countryside to treat him with contempt? He has committed no +violation of the law, no vile sin has been laid to his charge beyond +this fatal one of wanting his own—and—and——"</p> + +<p>He pauses. In the darkness a loving, clinging hand has again crept into +his, full of sweet entreaty, and by a gentle pressure has reduced him to +calmness.</p> + +<p>"Ask him, if only to please me," he says, wearily.</p> + +<p>"Everything shall be just as you wish it, dearest," says his mother, +with unwonted tenderness, and then silence falls upon them all.</p> + +<p>The fire blazes up fiercely, and anon drops its flame and sinks into +insignificance once more. Again the words that bear some vague but as +yet undiscovered meaning haunt Mona's brain. "A splendid scheme." A vile +conspiracy, perhaps. Oh, that she might be instrumental in saving these +people from ruin, among whom her lot had been cast! But how weak her +arm! How insufficient her mind to cope with an emergency like this!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA GOES TO ANADALE—AND HOW SHE THERE SEES MANY THINGS AS YET TO +HER UNKNOWN.</h3> + + +<p>About half-past two next day they start for Anadale. Not Violet, or +Captain Rodney, who have elected to go on a mission of their own, nor +Nicholas, who has gone up to London.</p> + +<p>The frost lies heavy on the ground; the whole road, and every bush and +tree, sparkle brilliantly, as though during the hours when darkness lay +upon the earth the dread daughter of Chaos, as she traversed the expanse +of the firmament in her ebony chariot, had dropped heaven's diamonds +upon the land. The wintry sunshine lighting them up makes soft and +glorious the midday.</p> + +<p>The hour is enchanting, the air almost mild; and every one feels half +aggrieved when the carriage, entering the lodge-gates, bears them +swiftly towards the massive entrance that will lead them into the house +and out of the cold.</p> + +<p>But before they reach the hall door Geoffrey feels it his duty to bestow +upon them a word or two of warning.</p> + +<p>"Now, look here," he says, impressively: "I hope nobody is going to +indulge in so much as a covert smile to-day." He glances severely at +Nolly, who is already wreathed in smiles. "Because the Æsthetic won't +have it. She wouldn't hear of it at any price. We must all be in tense! +If you don't understand what that means, Mona, you had better learn at +once. You are to be silent, rapt, lifted far above all the vulgar +commonplaces of life. You may, if you like, go into a rapture over a +colorless pebble, or shed tears of joy above a sickly lily; but avoid +ordinary admiration."</p> + +<p>"The only time I shed tears," says Mr. Darling, irrelevantly, "for many +years, was when I heard of the old chap's death. And they were drops of +rich content. Do you know I think unconsciously he impregnated her with +her present notions; because he was as like an 'ancient Briton' himself +before he died as if he had posed for it."</p> + +<p>"He was very eccentric, but quite correct," says Lady Rodney, +reprovingly.</p> + +<p>"He was a man who never took off his hat," begins Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"But why?" asks Mona, in amaze. "Didn't he wear one?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, but he always doffed it; and he never put one on like ordinary +mortals, he always donned it. You can't think what a difference it +makes."</p> + +<p>"What a silly boy you are, Geoff!" says his wife, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, darling," replies he, meekly.</p> + +<p>"But what is Lady Lilias like? I did not notice her the other night," +says Mona.</p> + +<p>"She has got one nose and two eyes, just like every one else," says +Nolly. "That is rather disappointing, is it not? And she attitudinizes a +good deal. Sometimes she reclines full length upon the grass, with her +bony elbow well squared and her chin buried in her palm. Sometimes she +stands beside a sundial, with her head to one side, and a carefully +educated and very much superannuated peacock beside her. But I dare say +she will do the greyhound pose to-day. In summer she goes abroad with a +huge wooden fan with which she kills the bumble-bee as it floats by her. +And she gowns herself in colors that make one's teeth on edge. I am sure +it is her one lifelong regret that she must clothe herself at all, as +she has dreams of savage nakedness and a liberal use of the fetching +woad."</p> + +<p>"My dear Oliver!" protests Lady Rodney, mildly.</p> + +<p>"If she presses refreshments on you, Mona, say, 'No, thank you,' without +hesitation," says Geoffrey, with anxious haste, seeing they are drawing +near their journey's end. "Because if you don't she will compel you to +partake of metheglin and unleavened bread, which means sudden death. +Forewarned is forearmed. Nolly and I have done what we can for you."</p> + +<p>"Is she by herself? Is there nobody living with her?" asks Mona, +somewhat nervously.</p> + +<p>"Well, practically speaking, no. But I believe she has a sister +somewhere."</p> + +<p>"'Sister Anne,' you mean?" says Nolly. "Oh, ay! I have seen her, though +as a rule she is suppressed. She is quite all she ought to be, and +irreproachable in every respect—unapproachable, according to some. She +is a very good girl, and never misses a Saint's Day by any chance, never +eats meat on Friday, or butter in Lent, and always confesses. But she is +not of much account in the household, being averse to 'ye goode olde +times.'"</p> + +<p>At this point the house comes in view, and conversation languishes. The +women give a small touch to their furs and laces, the men indulge in a +final yawn that is to last them until the gates of Anadale close behind +them again.</p> + +<p>"There is no moat, and no drawbridge, and no eyelet-hole through which +to spy upon the advance of the enemy," says Darling, in an impressive +whisper, just as they turn the curve that leads into the big gravel +sweep before the hall door. "A drawback, I own; but even the very +greatest are not infallible."</p> + +<p>It is a lovely old castle, ancient and timeworn, with turrets rising in +unexpected places, and walls covered with drooping ivy, and gables dark +with age.</p> + +<p>A terrace runs all along one side of the house, which is exposed to view +from the avenue. And here, with a gaunt but handsome greyhound beside +her, stands a girl tall and slim, yet beautifully moulded. Her eyes are +gray, yet might at certain moments be termed blue. Her mouth is large, +but not unpleasing. Her hair is quite dark, and drawn back into a loose +and artistic coil behind. She is clad in an impossible gown of sage +green, that clings closely to her slight figure, nay, almost +desperately, as though afraid to lose her.</p> + +<p>One hand is resting lightly with a faintly theatrical touch upon the +head of the lean greyhound, the other is raised to her forehead as +though to shield her eyes from the bright sun.</p> + +<p>Altogether she is a picture, which, if slightly suggestive of +artificiality, is yet very nearly perfection. Mona is therefore +agreeably surprised, and, being—as all her nation is—susceptible to +outward beauty, feels drawn towards this odd young woman in sickly +green, with her canine friend beside her.</p> + +<p>Lady Lilias, slowly descending the stone steps with the hound Egbert +behind her, advances to meet Lady Rodney. She greets them all with a +solemn cordiality that impresses everybody but Mona, who is gazing +dreamily into the gray eyes of her hostess and wondering vaguely if her +lips have ever smiled. Her hostess in return is gazing at her, perhaps +in silent admiration of her soft loveliness.</p> + +<p>"You will come first and see Philippa?" she says, in a slow peculiar +tone that sounds as if it had been dug up and is quite an antique in its +own way. It savors of dust and feudal days. Every one says he or she +will be delighted, and all try to look as if the entire hope of their +existence is centred in the thought that they shall soon lay longing +eyes on Philippa,—whose name in reality is Anne, but who has been +rechristened by her enterprising sister. Anne is all very well for +everyday life, or for Bluebeard's sister-in-law; but Philippa is art of +the very highest description. So Philippa she is, poor soul, whether she +likes it or not.</p> + +<p>She has sprained her ancle, and is now lying on a couch in a small +drawing room as the Rodneys are ushered in. She is rather glad to see +them, as life with an "intense" sister is at times trying, and the +ritualistic curate is from home. So she smiles upon them, and manages to +look as amiable as plain people ever can look.</p> + +<p>The drawing-room is very much the same as the ordinary run of +drawing-rooms, at which Mona feels distinct disappointment, until, +glancing at Lady Lilias, she notices a shudder of disgust run through +her frame.</p> + +<p>"I really cannot help it," she explains to Mona, in her usual slow +voice, "it all offends me so. But Philippa must be humored. All these +glaring colors and hideous pieces of furniture take my breath away. And +the light——By and by you must come to some of my rooms; but first, if +you are not tired, I should like you to look at my garden; that is, if +you can endure the cold."</p> + +<p>They don't want to endure the cold; but what can they say? Politeness +forbids secession of any kind, and, after a few words with the saintly +Philippa, they follow their guide in all meekness through halls and +corridors out into the garden she most affects.</p> + +<p>And truly it is a very desirable garden, and well worth a visit. It is +like a thought from another age.</p> + +<p>Yew-trees—grown till they form high walls—are cut and shaped in prim +and perfect order, some like the walls of ancient Troy, some like steps +of stairs. Little doors are opened through them, and passing in and out +one walks on for a mile almost, until one loses one's way and grows +puzzled how to extricate one's self from so charming a maze.</p> + +<p>Here and there are basins of water on which lilies can lie and sleep +dreamily through a warm and sunny day. A sundial, old and green with +honorable age, uprears itself upon a chilly bit of sward. Near it lie +two gaudy peacocks sound asleep. All seems far from the world, drowsy, +careless, indifferent to the weals and woes of suffering humanity.</p> + +<p>"It is like the garden of the palace where the Sleeping Beauty dwelt," +whispers Mona to Nolly; she is delighted, charmed, lost in admiration.</p> + +<p>"You are doing it beautifully: keep it up," whispers he back: "she'll +give you something nice if you sustain that look for five minutes +longer. Now!—she is looking; hurry—make haste—put it on again!"</p> + +<p>"I am not pretending," says Mona, indignantly; "I am delighted: it is +the most enchanting place I ever saw. Really lovely."</p> + +<p>"I didn't think it was in you," declares Mr. Darling, with wild but +suppressed admiration. "You would make your fortune on the stage. Keep +it up, I tell you; it couldn't be better."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible you see nothing to admire?" says Mona, with intense +disgust.</p> + +<p>"I do. More than I can express. I see you," retorts he; at which they +both give way to merriment, causing Geoffrey, who is walking with Lady +Lilias, to dodge behind her back and bestow upon them an annihilating +glance that Nolly afterwards describes as a "lurid glare."</p> + +<p>The hound stalks on before them; the peacocks wake up and rend the air +with a discordant scream. Lady Lilias, coming to the sundial, leans her +arm upon it, and puts her head in the right position. A snail slowly +travelling across a broad ivy-leaf attracts her attention; she lifts it +slowly, leaf and all, and directs attention to the silvery trail it has +left behind it.</p> + +<p>"How tender! how touching!" she says, with a pensive smile, raising her +luminous eyes to Geoffrey: whether it is the snail, or the leaf, or the +slime, that is tender and touching, nobody knows; and nobody dares ask, +lest he shall betray his ignorance. Nolly, I regret to say, gives way to +emotion of a frivolous kind, and to cover it blows his nose sonorously. +Whereupon Geoffrey, who is super-naturally grave, asks Lady Lilias if +she will walk with him as far as the grotto.</p> + +<p>"How could you laugh?" says Mona, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"How couldn't I?" replies he. "Come; let us follow it up to the bitter +end."</p> + +<p>"I never saw anything so clean as the walks," says Mona, presently: +"there is not a leaf or a weed to be seen, yet we have gone through so +many of them. How does she manage it?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?" says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. "It is a secret, but I +know you can be trusted. Every morning early she has them carefully +swept, with tea-leaves to keep down the dust, and if the tea is strong +it kills the weeds."</p> + +<p>Then they do the grotto, and then Lady Lilias once more leads the way +indoors.</p> + +<p>"I want you to see my own work," she says, going up markedly to Mona. "I +am glad my garden has pleased you. I could see by your eyes how well you +appreciated it. To see the beautiful in everything, that is the only +true religion." She smiles her careful absent smile again as she says +this, and gazes earnestly at Mona. Perhaps, being true to her religion, +she is noting "the beautiful" in her Irish guest.</p> + +<p>With Philippa they have some tea, and then again follow their +indefatigable hostess to a distant apartment that seems more or less to +jut out from the house, and was in olden days a tiny chapel or oratory.</p> + +<p>It has an octagon chamber of the most uncomfortable description, but no +doubt artistic, and above all praise, according to some lights. To +outsiders it presents a curious appearance, and might by the unlearned +be regarded as a jumble of all ages, a make-up of objectionable bits +from different centuries; but to Lady Lilias and her sympathizers it is +simply perfection.</p> + +<p>The furniture is composed of oak of the hardest and most severe. To sit +down would be a labor of anything but love. The chairs are strictly +Gothic. The table is a marvel in itself for ugliness and in utility.</p> + +<p>There are no windows; but in their place are four unpleasant slits about +two yards in length, let into the thick walls at studiously unequal +distances. These are filled up with an opaque substance that perhaps in +the Middle Ages was called glass.</p> + +<p>There is no grate, and the fire, which has plainly made up its mind not +to light, is composed of Yule-logs. The floor is shining with sand, +rushes having palled on Lady Lilias.</p> + +<p>Mona is quite pleased. All is new, which in itself is a pleasure to her, +and the sanded floor carries her back on the instant to the old parlor +at home, which was their "best" at the Farm.</p> + +<p>"This is nicer than anything," she says, turning in a state of childish +enthusiasm to Lady Lilias. "It is just like the floor in my uncle's +house at home."</p> + +<p>"Ah! indeed! How interesting!" says Lady Lilias, rousing into something +that very nearly borders on animation. "I did not think there was in +England another room like this."</p> + +<p>"Not in England, perhaps. When I spoke I was thinking of Ireland," says +Mona.</p> + +<p>"Yes?" with calm surprise. "I—I have heard of Ireland, of course. +Indeed, I regard the older accounts of it as very deserving of thought; +but I had no idea the more elevated aspirations of modern times had +spread so far. So this room reminds you of—your uncle's?"</p> + +<p>"Partly," says Mona. "Not altogether: there was always a faint odor of +pipes about Uncle Brian's room that does not belong to this."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Tobacco! First introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh," murmurs Lady +Lilias, musingly. "Too modern, but no doubt correct and in keeping. Your +uncle, then,"—looking at Mona,—"is beyond question an earnest student +of our faith."</p> + +<p>"A—student?" says Mona, in a degree puzzled.</p> + +<p>Doatie and Geoffrey have walked to a distant slit. Nolly is gazing +vacantly through another, trying feebly to discern the landscape +beyond. Lady Rodney is on thorns. They are all listening to what Mona is +going to say next.</p> + +<p>"Yes. A disciple, a searcher after truth," goes on Lady Lilias, in her +Noah's Ark tone. "By a student I mean one who studies, and arrives at +perfection—in time."</p> + +<p>"I don't quite know," says Mona, slowly, "but what Uncle Brian +principally studies is—pigs!"</p> + +<p>"Pigs!" repeats Lady Lilias, plainly taken aback.</p> + +<p>"Yes; pigs!" says Mona, sweetly.</p> + +<p>There is a faint pause,—so faint that Lady Rodney is unable to edge in +the saving clause she would fain have uttered. Lady Lilias, recovering +with wonderful spirit from so severe a blow, comes once more boldly to +the front. She taps her white taper fingers lightly on the table near +her, and says, apologetically,—the apology being meant for herself,—</p> + +<p>"Forgive me that I showed surprise. Your uncle is more advanced than I +had supposed. He is right. Why should a pig be esteemed less lovely than +a stag? Nature in its entirety can know no blemish. The fault lies with +us. We are creatures of habit: we have chosen to regard the innocent pig +as a type of ugliness for generations, and now find it difficult to see +any beauty in it."</p> + +<p>"Well; there isn't much, is there?" says Mona, pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"No doubt education, and a careful study of the animal in question, +might betray much to us," says Lady Lilias. "We object to the uncovered +hide of the pig, and to his small eyes; but can they not see as well as +those of the fawn, or the delicate lapdog we fondle all day on our +knees? It is unjust that one animal should be treated with less regard +than another."</p> + +<p>"But you couldn't fondle a pig on your knees," says Mona, who is growing +every minute more and more mixed.</p> + +<p>"No, no; but it should be treated with courtesy. We were speaking of the +size of its eyes. Why should they be despised? Do we not often in our +ignorance and narrow mindedness cling to paltry things and ignore the +truly great? The tiny diamond that lies in the hollow of our hands is +dear and precious in our sight, whilst we fail to find beauty in the +huge boulder that is after all far more worthy of regard, with its +lights and shades, its grand ruggedness, and the soft vegetable matter +that decks its aged sides, rendering their roughness beautiful."</p> + +<p>Here she gets completely out of her depths, and stops to consider from +whence this train of thought sprung. The pig is forgotten,—indeed, to +get from pigs to diamonds and back again is not an easy matter,—and has +to be searched for again amidst the dim recesses of her brain, and if +possible brought to the surface.</p> + +<p>She draws up her tall figure to its utmost height, and gazes at the +raftered ceiling to see if inspiration can be drawn from thence. But it +fails her.</p> + +<p>"You were talking of pigs," says Mona, gently.</p> + +<p>"Ah! so I was," says Lady Lilias, with a sigh of relief: she is quite +too intense to feel any of the petty vexations of ordinary mortals, and +takes Mona's help in excellent part. "Yes, I really think there is +loveliness in a pig when surrounded by its offspring. I have seen them +once or twice, and I think the little pigs—the—the——"</p> + +<p>"Bonuvs," says Mona, mildly, going back naturally to the Irish term for +those interesting babies.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Lady Lilias.</p> + +<p>"Bonuvs," repeats Mona, a little louder, at which Lady Rodney sinks into +a chair, as though utterly overcome. Nolly and Geoffrey are convulsed +with laughter. Doatie is vainly endeavoring to keep them in order.</p> + +<p>"Oh, is that their name?—a pretty one too—if—er—somewhat difficult," +says Lady Lilias, courteously. "Well as I was saying, in spite of their +tails, they really are quite pretty."</p> + +<p>At this Mona laughs unrestrainedly; and Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, +says,—</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Lilias, I think we have at last nearly taken in all the +beauties of your charming room. I fear," with much suavity, "we must be +going."</p> + +<p>"Oh, not yet," says Lady Lilias, with the nearest attempt at +youthfulness she has yet made. "Mrs. Rodney has not half seen all my +treasures."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rodney, however, has been foraging on her own account during this +brief interlude, and now brings triumphantly to light a little basin +filled with early snowdrops.</p> + +<p>"Snowdrops,—and so soon," she says, going up to Lady Lilias, and +looking quite happy over her discovery. "We have none yet at the +Towers."</p> + +<p>"Yes, they are pretty, but insignificant," says the Æsthete, +contemptuously. "Paltry children of the earth, not to be compared with +the lenten or the tiger lily, or the fiercer beauty of the sunflower, or +the hues of the unsurpassable thistle!"</p> + +<p>"I am very ignorant I know," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with her sunny smile, +"but I think I should prefer a snowdrop to a thistle."</p> + +<p>"You have not gone into it," says Lady Lilias, regretfully. "To you +Nature is as yet a blank. The exquisite purple of the stately thistle, +that by the scoffer is called dull, is not understood by you. Nor does +your heart swell beneath the influence of the rare and perfect green of +its leaves, which doubtless the untaught deemed soiled. To fully +appreciate the yieldings and gifts of earth is a power given only to +some." She bows her head, feeling a modest pride in the thought that she +belongs to the happy "some." "Ignorance," she says, sorrowfully, "is the +greatest enemy of our cause."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you must class me with the ignorant," says Mona, shaking +her pretty head. "I know nothing at all about thistles, except that +donkeys love them!"</p> + +<p><i>Is</i> this, <i>can</i> this be premeditated, or is it a fatal slip of the +tongue? Lady Rodney turns pale, and even Geoffrey and Nolly stand +aghast. Mona alone is smiling unconcernedly into Lady Lilias's eyes, and +Lady Lilias, after a brief second, smiles back at her. It is plain the +severe young woman in the sage-green gown has not even noticed the +dangerous remark.</p> + +<p>"You must come again very soon to see me," she says to Mona, and then +goes with her all along the halls and passages, and actually stands upon +the door-steps until they drive away. And Mona kisses hands gayly to her +as they turn the corner of the avenue, and then tells Geoffrey that she +thinks he has been very hard on Lady Lilias, because, though she is +plainly quite mad, poor thing, there is certainly nothing to be disliked +about her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA TAKES A WALK ABROAD—AND HOW SHE ASKS CROSS-QUESTIONS AND +RECEIVES CROOKED ANSWERS.</h3> + + +<p>It is ten days later,—ten dreary, interminable days, that have +struggled into light, and sunk back again into darkness, leaving no +trace worthy of remembrance in their train. "Swift as swallows' wings" +they have flown, scarce breaking the air in their flight, so silently, +so evenly they have departed, as days will, when dull monotony marks +them for its own.</p> + +<p>To-day is cool, and calm, and bright. Almost one fancies the first faint +breath of spring has touched one's cheek, though as yet January has not +wended to its weary close, and no smallest sign of growth or vegetation +makes itself felt.</p> + +<p>The grass is still brown, the trees barren, no ambitious floweret +thrusts its head above the bosom of its mother earth,—except, indeed, +those "floures white and rede, such as men callen daisies," that always +seem to beam upon the world, no matter how the wind blows.</p> + +<p>Just now it is blowing softly, delicately, as though its fury of the +night before had been an hallucination of the brain. It is "a sweet and +passionate wooer," says Longfellow, and lays siege to "the blushing +leaf." There are no leaves for it to kiss to-day: so it bestows its +caresses upon Mona as she wanders forth, close guarded by her two stanch +hounds that follow at her heels.</p> + +<p>There is a strange hush and silence everywhere. The very clouds are +motionless in their distant homes.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There has not been a sound to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To break the calm of Nature:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor motion, I might almost say,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of life, or living creature,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of waving bough, or warbling bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or cattle faintly lowing:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could have half believed I heard<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The leaves and blossoms growing."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Indeed, no sound disturbs the sacred silence save the crisp rustle of +the dead leaves, as they are trodden into the ground.</p> + +<p>Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, +that is her special joy,—being of the garrulous and babbling order, +which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can +make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all +recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has +forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a +passionate roar to the ocean.</p> + +<p>Down from the cataract in the rocks above the water comes with a mighty +will, foaming, glistening, shouting a loud triumphant paen as it flings +itself into the arms of the vain brook beneath, that only yesterday-eve +was a stream, but to-day may well be deemed a river.</p> + +<p>Up high the rocks are overgrown with ferns, and drooping things, all +green and feathery, that hide small caves and picturesque crannies, +through which the bright-eyed Naiads might peep whilst holding back with +bare uplifted arms their amber hair, the better to gaze upon the +unconscious earth outside.</p> + +<p>A loose stone that has fallen from its home in the mountain-side above +uprears itself in the middle of this turbulent stream. But it is too far +from the edge, and Mona, standing irresolutely on the brink, pauses, as +though half afraid to take the step that must either land her safely on +the other side or else precipitate her into the angry little river.</p> + +<p>As she thus ponders within herself, Spice and Allspice, the two dogs, +set up a simultaneous howl, and immediately afterwards a voice says, +eagerly,—</p> + +<p>"Wait, Mrs. Rodney. Let me help you across."</p> + +<p>Mona starts, and, looking up, sees the Australian coming quickly towards +her.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind. The river is greatly swollen," she says, to gain +time. Geoffrey, perhaps, will not like her to accept any civility at the +hands of this common enemy.</p> + +<p>"Not so much so that I cannot help you to cross over in safety, if you +will only trust yourself to me," replies he.</p> + +<p>Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause.</p> + +<p>"Is it worth so much thought?" he says, bitterly. "It surely will not +injure you fatally to lay your hand in mine for one instant."</p> + +<p>"You mistake me," says Mona, shocked at her own want of courtesy; and +then she extends to him her hand, and, setting her foot upon the huge +stone, springs lightly to his side.</p> + +<p>Once there she has to go with him down the narrow woodland path, there +being no other, and so paces on, silently, and sorely against her will.</p> + +<p>"Sir Nicholas has sent me an invitation for the 19th," he says, +presently, when the silence has become unendurable.</p> + +<p>"Yes," says Mona, devoutly hoping he is going to say he means to refuse +it. But such devout hope is wasted.</p> + +<p>"I shall go," he says, doggedly, as though divining her secret wish.</p> + +<p>"I am sure we shall all be very glad," she says, faintly, feeling +herself bound to make some remark.</p> + +<p>"Thanks!" returns he, with an ironical laugh. "How excellently your tone +agrees with your words?"</p> + +<p>Another pause. Mona is on thorns. Will the branching path, that may give +her a chance of escaping a further <i>tete-a-tete</i> with him, never be +reached?</p> + +<p>"So Warden failed you?" he says, presently, alluding to old Elspeth's +nephew.</p> + +<p>"Yes,—so far," returns she, coldly.</p> + +<p>"It was a feeble effort," declares he, contemptuously striking with his +cane the trunks of the trees as he goes by them.</p> + +<p>"Yet I think Warden knows more than he cares to tell," says Mona, at a +venture. Why, she herself hardly knows.</p> + +<p>He turns, as though by an irrepressible impulse, to look keenly at her. +His scrutiny endures only for an instant. Then he says, with admirable +indifference,—</p> + +<p>"You have grounds for saying so, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I have. Do you deny I am in the right?" asks she, returning his +gaze undauntedly.</p> + +<p>He drops his eyes, and the low, sneering laugh she has learned to know +and to hate so much comes again to his lips.</p> + +<p>"It would be rude to deny that," he says, with a slight shrug. "I am +sure you are always in the right."</p> + +<p>"If I am, Warden surely knows more about the will than he has sworn to."</p> + +<p>"It is very probable,—if there ever was such a will. How should I know? +I have not cross-examined Warden on this or any other subject. He is an +overseer over my estate, a mere servant, nothing more."</p> + +<p>"Has he the will?" asks Mona, foolishly, but impulsively.</p> + +<p>"He may have, and a stocking full of gold, and the roc's egg, or +anything else, for aught I know. I never saw it. They tell me there was +an iniquitous and most unjust will drawn up some years ago by old Sir +George: that is all I know."</p> + +<p>"By your grandfather!" corrects Mona, in a peculiar tone.</p> + +<p>"Well, by my grandfather, if you so prefer it," repeats he, with much +unconcern. "It got itself, if it ever existed, irretrievably lost, and +that is all any one knows about it."</p> + +<p>Mona is watching him intently.</p> + +<p>"Yet I feel sure—I know," she says, tremulously, "you are hiding +something from me. Why do you not look at me when you answer my +questions?"</p> + +<p>At this his dark face flames, and his eyes instinctively, yet almost +against his will, seek hers.</p> + +<p>"Why?" he says, with suppressed passion. "Because, each time I do, I +know myself to be—what I am! Your truthful eyes are mirrors in which my +heart lies bare." With an effort he recovers himself, and, drawing his +breath quickly, grows calm again. "If I were to gaze at you as often as +I should desire, you would probably deem me impertinent," he says, with +a lapse into his former half-insolent tone.</p> + +<p>"Answer me," persists Mona, not heeding—nay, scarcely hearing—his last +speech. "You said once it would be difficult to lie to me. Do you know +anything of this missing will?"</p> + +<p>"A great deal. I should. I have heard of almost nothing else since my +arrival in England," replies he, slowly.</p> + +<p>"Ah! Then you refuse to answer me," says Mona, hastily, if somewhat +wearily.</p> + +<p>He makes no reply. And for a full minute no word is spoken between them.</p> + +<p>Then Mona goes on quietly,—</p> + +<p>"That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never +forgotten since."</p> + +<p>He is plainly surprised. He is indeed glad. His face changes, as if by +magic, from sullen gloom to pleasurable anticipation.</p> + +<p>"You have remembered something that I said, for eleven days?" he says, +quickly.</p> + +<p>"Yes. When talking then of supplanting Sir Nicholas at the Towers, you +spoke of your project as a 'splendid scheme.' What did you mean by it? I +cannot get the words out of my head since. Is 'scheme' an honest word?"</p> + +<p>Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A +heavy frown sits on his brow.</p> + +<p>"You are not perhaps aware of it, but your tone is insulting," he +begins, huskily. "Were you a man I could give you an answer, now, here; +but as it is I am of course tied hand and foot. You can say to me what +you please. And I shall bear it. Think as badly of me as you will. I am +a schemer, a swindler, what you will!"</p> + +<p>"Even in my thoughts I never applied those words to you," says Mona, +earnestly. "Yet some feeling here"—laying her hand upon her +heart—"compels me to believe you are not dealing fairly by us." To her +there is untruth in every line of his face, in every tone of his voice.</p> + +<p>"You condemn me without a hearing, swayed by the influence of a +carefully educated dislike," retorts he:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Alas for the rarity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Christian charity<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the sun!'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But I blame the people you have fallen among,—not you."</p> + +<p>"Blame no one," says Mona. "But if there is anything in your own heart +to condemn you, then pause before you go further in this matter of the +Towers."</p> + +<p>"I wonder <i>you</i> are not afraid of going too far," he puts in, warningly, +his dark eyes flashing.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid of nothing," says Mona, simply. "I am not half so much +afraid as you were a few moments since, when you could not let your eyes +meet mine, and when you shrank from answering me a simple question. In +my turn I tell you to pause before going too far."</p> + +<p>"Your advice is excellent," says he, sneeringly. Then suddenly he stops +short before her, and breaks out vehemently,——</p> + +<p>"Were I to fling up this whole business and resign my chance, and leave +these people in possession, what would I gain by it?" demands he. "They +have treated me from the beginning with ignominy and contempt. You alone +have treated me with common civility; and even you they have tutored to +regard me with averted eyes."</p> + +<p>"You are wrong," says Mona, coldly. "They seldom trouble themselves to +speak of you at all." This is crueller than she knows.</p> + +<p>"Why don't I hate you?" he says, with some emotion. "How bitterly unkind +even the softest, sweetest women can be! Yet there is something about +you that subdues me and renders hatred impossible. If I had never met +you, I should be a happier man."</p> + +<p>"How can you be happy with a weight upon your heart?" says Mona, +following out her own thoughts irrespective of his. "Give up this +project, and peace will return to you."</p> + +<p>"No, I shall pursue it to its end," returns, he, with slow malice, that +makes her heart grow cold, "until the day comes that shall enable me to +plant my heel upon these aristocrats and crush them out of recognition."</p> + +<p>"And after that what will remain to you?" asks she, pale but collected. +"It is bare comfort when hatred alone reigns in the heart. With such +thoughts in your breast what can you hope for?—what can life give you?"</p> + +<p>"Something," replies he, with a short laugh. "I shall at least see you +again on the 19th."</p> + +<p>He raises his hat, and, turning abruptly away, is soon lost to sight +round a curve in the winding pathway. He walks steadily and with an +unflinching air, but when the curve has hidden him from her eyes he +stops short, and sighs heavily.</p> + +<p>"To love such a woman as that, and be beloved by her, how it would +change a man's whole nature, no matter how low he may have sunk," he +says, slowly. "It would mean salvation! But as it is—No, I cannot draw +back now: it is too late."</p> + +<p>Meantime Mona has gone quickly back to the Towers her mind disturbed and +unsettled. Has she misjudged him? is it possible that his claim is a +just one after all, and that she has been wrong in deeming him one who +might defraud his neighbor?</p> + +<p>She is sad and depressed before she reaches the hall door, where she is +unfortunate enough to find a carriage just arrived, well filled with +occupants eager to obtain admission.</p> + +<p>They are the Carsons, mustered in force, and, if anything, a trifle more +noisy and oppressive than usual.</p> + +<p>"How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney? Is Lady Rodney at home? I hope so," says Mrs. +Carson, a fat, florid, smiling, impossible person of fifty.</p> + +<p>Now, Lady Rodney <i>is</i> at home, but, having given strict orders to the +servants to say she is anywhere else they like,—that is, to tell as +many lies as will save her from intrusion,—is just now reposing calmly +in the small drawing-room, sleeping the sleep of the just, unmindful of +coming evil.</p> + +<p>Of all this Mona is unaware; though even were it otherwise I doubt if a +lie could come trippingly to her lips, or a nice evasion be balanced +there at a moment's notice. Such foul things as untruths are unknown to +her, and have no refuge in her heart. It is indeed fortunate that on +this occasion she knows no reason why her reply should differ from the +truth, because in that case I think she would stand still, and stammer +sadly, and grow uncomfortably red, and otherwise betray the fact that +she would lie if she knew how.</p> + +<p>As things are, however, she is able to smile pleasantly at Mrs. Carson, +and tell her in her soft voice that Lady Rodney is at home.</p> + +<p>"How fortunate!" says that fat woman, with her broad expansive grin that +leaves her all mouth, with no eyes or nose to speak of. "We hardly dared +hope for such good luck this charming day."</p> + +<p>She doesn't put any <i>g</i> into her "charming," which, however, is neither +here or there, and is perhaps a shabby thing to take notice of at all.</p> + +<p>Then she and her two daughters quit the "coach," as Carson <i>pere</i> insist +on calling the landau, and flutter through the halls, and across the +corridors, after Mona, until they reach the room that contains Lady +Rodney.</p> + +<p>Mona throws open the door, and the visitors sail in, all open-eyed and +smiling, with their very best company manners hung out for the day.</p> + +<p>But almost on the threshold they come to a full stop to gaze +irresolutely at one another, and then over their shoulders at Mona. She, +marking their surprise, comes hastily to the front, and so makes herself +acquainted with the cause of their delay.</p> + +<p>Overcome by the heat of the fire, her luncheon, and the blessed +certainty that for this one day at least no one is to be admitted to her +presence, Lady Rodney has given herself up a willing victim to the child +Somnus. Her book—that amiable assistant of all those that court +siestas—has fallen to the ground. Her cap is somewhat awry. Her mouth +is partly open, and a snore—gentle, indeed, but distinct and +unmistakable—comes from her patrician throat.</p> + +<p>It is a moment never to be forgotten!</p> + +<p>Mona, horror-stricken, goes quickly over to her, and touches her lightly +on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Carson has come to see you," she says, in an agony of fear, giving +her a little shake.</p> + +<p>"Eh? What?" asks Lady Rodney, in a dazed fashion, yet coming back to +life with amazing rapidity. She sits up. Then in an instant the +situation explains itself to her; she collects herself, bestows one +glance of passionate anger upon Mona, and then rises to welcome Mrs. +Carson with her usual suave manner and bland smile, throwing into the +former an air meant to convey the flattering idea that for the past week +she has been living on the hope of seeing her soon again.</p> + +<p>She excuses her unwonted drowsiness with a little laugh, natural and +friendly, and begs them "not to betray her." Clothed in all this +sweetness she drops a word or two meant to crush Mona; but that hapless +young woman hears her not, being bent on explaining to Mrs. Carson that, +as a rule, the Irish peasantry do not go about dressed only in glass +beads, like the gay and festive Zulus, and that petticoats and breeches +are not utterly unknown.</p> + +<p>This is tough work, and takes her all her time, as Mrs. Carson, having +made up her mind to the beads, accepts it rather badly being undeceived, +and goes nearly so far as telling Mona that she knows little or nothing +about her own people.</p> + +<p>Then Violet and Doatie drop in, and conversation becomes general, and +presently the visit comes to an end, and the Carsons fade away, and Mona +is left to be bear the brunt of Lady Rodney's anger, which has been +steadily growing, instead of decreasing, during the past half-hour.</p> + +<p>"Are there no servants in my house," demands she, in a terrible tone, +addressing Mona a steely light coming into her blue eyes that Mona knows +and hates so well, "that you must feel it your duty to guide my visitors +to my presence?"</p> + +<p>"If I made a mistake I am sorry for it."</p> + +<p>"It was unfortunate Mona should have met them at the hall door,—Edith +Carson told me about it,—but it could not be helped," says Violet +calmly.</p> + +<p>"No, it couldn't be helped," says little Doatie. But their intervention +only appears to add fuel to the fire of Lady Rodney's wrath.</p> + +<p>"It <i>shall</i> be helped," she says, in a low, but condensed tone. "For the +future I forbid any one in my house to take it upon them to say whether +I am in or out. I am the one to decide that. On what principle did you +show them in here?" she asks, turning to Mona, her anger increasing as +she remembers the rakish cap: "why did you not say, when you were +unlucky enough to find yourself face to face with them, that I was not +at home?"</p> + +<p>"Because you were at home," replies Mona, quietly, though in deep +distress.</p> + +<p>"That doesn't matter," says Lady Rodney: "it is a mere formula. If it +suited your purpose you could have said so—I don't doubt—readily +enough."</p> + +<p>"I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she +told the truth.</p> + +<p>"And to usher them in here! Into one of my most private rooms! Unlikely +people, like the Carsons, whom you have heard me speak of in disparaging +terms a hundred times! I don't know what you could have been thinking +about. Perhaps next time you will be kind enough to bring them to my +bedroom."</p> + +<p>"You misunderstand me," says Mona, with tears in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I hardly think so. You can refuse to see people yourself when it suits +you. Only yesterday, when Mr. Boer, our rector, called, and I sent for +you, you would not come."</p> + +<p>"I don't like Mr. Boer," says Mona, "and it was not me he came to see."</p> + +<p>"Still, there was no necessity to insult him with such a message as you +sent. Perhaps," with unpleasant meaning, "you do not understand that to +say you are busy is rather more a rudeness than an excuse for one's +non-appearance."</p> + +<p>"It was true," says Mona: "I was writing letters for Geoffrey."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, you might have waived that fact, and sent down word you +had a headache."</p> + +<p>"But I hadn't a headache," says Mona, bending her large truthful eyes +with embarrassing earnestness upon Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Oh, if you were determined—" returns she, with a shrug.</p> + +<p>"I was not determined: you mistake me," exclaims Mona, miserably. "I +simply hadn't a headache: I never had one in my life,—and I shouldn't +know how to get one!"</p> + +<p>At this point, Geoffrey—who has been hunting all the morning—enters +the room with Captain Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is the matter?" he says, seeing signs of the lively storm on +all their faces. Doatie explains hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Look here," says Geoffrey. "I won't have Mona spoiled. If she hadn't a +headache, she hadn't, you know, and if you were at home, why, you were, +and that's all about it. Why should she tell a lie about it?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Geoffrey?" demands his mother, with suppressed +indignation.</p> + +<p>"I mean that she shall remain just as she is. The world may be 'given to +lying,' as Shakspeare tells us, but I will not have Mona tutored into +telling fashionable falsehoods," says this intrepid young man facing his +mother without a qualm of a passing dread. "A lie of any sort is base, +and a prevarication is only a mean lie. She is truthful, let her stay +so. Why should she learn it is the correct thing to say she is not at +home when she is, or that she is suffering from a foolish megrim when +she isn't? I don't suppose there is much harm in saying either of these +things, as nobody ever believes them; but—let her remain as she is."</p> + +<p>"Is she also to learn that you are at liberty to lecture your own +mother?" asks Lady Rodney, pale with anger.</p> + +<p>"I am not lecturing anyone," replies he, looking very like her, now that +his face has whitened a little and a quick fire has lit itself within +his eyes. "I am merely speaking against a general practice. 'Dare to be +true: nothing can need a lie,' is a line that always returns to me. And, +as I love Mona better than anything on earth, I shall make it the +business of my life to see she is not made unhappy by any one."</p> + +<p>At this Mona lifts her head, and turns upon him eyes full of the +tenderest love and trust. She would have dearly liked to go to him, and +place her arms round his neck, and thank him with a fond caress for this +dear speech, but some innate sense of breeding restrains her.</p> + +<p>Any demonstration on her part just now may make a scene, and scenes are +ever abhorrent. And might she not yet further widen the breach between +mother and son by an ill-timed show of affection for the latter?</p> + +<p>"Still, sometimes, you know, it is awkward to adhere to the very letter +of the law," says Jack Rodney, easily. "Is there no compromise? I have +heard of women who have made a point of running into the kitchen-garden +when unwelcome visitors were announced, and so saved themselves and +their principles. Couldn't Mona do that?"</p> + +<p>This speech is made much of, and laughed at for no reason whatever +except that Violet and Doatie are determined to end the unpleasant +discussion by any means, even though it may be at the risk of being +deemed silly. After some careful management they get Mona out of the +room, and carry her away with them to a little den off the eastern hall, +that is very dear to them.</p> + +<p>"It is the most unhappy thing I ever heard of," begins Doatie, +desperately. "What Lady Rodney can see to dislike in you, Mona, I can't +imagine. But the fact is, she is hateful to you. Now, we," glancing at +Violet, "who are not particularly amiable, are beloved by her, whilst +you, who are all 'sweetness and light,' she detests most heartily."</p> + +<p>"It is true," says Violet, evenly. "Yet, dear Mona, I wish you could try +to be a little more like the rest of the world."</p> + +<p>"I want to very much," says poor Mona, her eyes filling with tears. +"But," hopelessly, "must I begin by learning to tell lies?" All this +teaching is very bitter to her.</p> + +<p>"Lies! Oh, fie!" says Doatie. "Who tells lies? Nobody, except the +naughty little boys in tracts, and they always break their legs off +apple-trees, or else get drowned on a Sunday morning. Now, we are not +drowned, and our legs are uninjured. No, a lie is a horrid thing,—so +low, and in such wretched taste. But there are little social fibs that +may be uttered,—little taradiddles,—that do no harm to anybody, and +that nobody believes in, but all pretend to, just for the sake of +politeness."</p> + +<p>Thus Doatie, looking preternaturally wise, but faintly puzzled at her +own view of the question.</p> + +<p>"It doesn't sound right," says Mona, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>"She doesn't understand," puts in Violet, quickly. "Mona, are you going +to see everybody that may choose to call upon you, good, bad, and +indifferent, from this till you die?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose so," says Mona lifting her brows.</p> + +<p>"Then I can only say I pity you," says Miss Mansergh, leaning back in +her chair, with the air of one who would say, "Argument here is in +vain."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't want to see them, perhaps," says Mona, apologetically, "but +how shall I avoid it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, that is more reasonable; now we are coming to it," says +Doatie, briskly. "We 'return to our muttons.' As Lady Rodney, in a very +rude manner, tried to explain to you, you will either say you are not at +home, or that you have a headache. The latter is not so good; it carries +more offence with it, but it comes in pretty well sometimes."</p> + +<p>"But, as I said to Lady Rodney, suppose I haven't a headache," retorts +Mona, triumphantly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you are incorrigible!" says Doatie, leaning back in her chair in +turn, and tilting backward her little flower-like face, that looks as if +even the most harmless falsehood must be unknown to it.</p> + +<p>"Could you not imagine you had one?" she says, presently as a last +resource.</p> + +<p>"I could not," says Mona. "I am always quite well." She is standing +before them like a culprit called to the bar of justice. "I never had a +headache, or a toothache, or a nightmare, in my life."</p> + +<p>"Or an umbrella, you should add. I once knew a woman like that, but she +was not like you," says Doatie. "Well, if you are going to be as literal +as you now are, until you call for your shroud, I must say I don't envy +you."</p> + +<p>"Be virtuous and you'll be happy, but you won't have a good time," +quotes Violet; "you should take to heart that latest of copy-book +texts."</p> + +<p>"Oh, fancy receiving the Boers whenever they call!" says Doatie, +faintly, with a deep sigh that is almost a groan.</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't mind it very much," says Mona, earnestly. "It will be after +all, only one half hour out of my whole day."</p> + +<p>"You don't know what you are talking about," says Doatie, vehemently. +"Every one of those interminable half-hours will be a year off your +life. Mr. Boer is obnoxious, but Florence is simply insupportable. Wait +till she begins about the choir, and those hateful school-children, and +the parish subsidies; then you perhaps will learn wisdom, and grow +headaches if you have them not. Violet, what is it Jack calls Mr. Boer?"</p> + +<p>"Better not remember it," says Violet, but she smiles as she calls to +mind Jack's apt quotation.</p> + +<p>"Why not? it just suits him: 'A little, round, fat, oily man of——'"</p> + +<p>"Hush, Dorothy! It was very wrong of Jack," interrupts Violet. But Mona +laughs for the first time for many hours—which delights Doatie.</p> + +<p>"You and I appreciate Jack, if she doesn't, don't we, Mona?" she says, +with pretty malice, echoing Mona's merriment. After which the would-be +lecture comes to an end, and the three girls, clothing themselves in +furs, go for a short walk before the day quite closes in.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE TOWERS WAKES INTO LIFE—AND HOW MONA SHOWS THE LIBRARY TO PAUL +RODNEY.</h3> + + +<p>Lights are blazing, fiddles are sounding; all the world is abroad +to-night. Even still, though the ball at the Towers has been opened long +since by Mona and the Duke of Lauderdale, the flickering light of +carriage-lamps is making the roads bright, by casting tiny rays upon the +frosted ground.</p> + +<p>The fourth dance has come to an end; cards are full; every one is +settling down to work in earnest; already the first touch of +satisfaction or of carefully-suppressed disappointment is making itself +felt.</p> + +<p>Mona, who has again been dancing with the duke, stopping near where the +duchess is sitting, the latter beckons her to her side by a slight wave +of her fan. To the duchess "a thing of beauty is a joy forever," and to +gaze on Mona's lovely face and admire her tranquil but brilliant smile +gives her a strange pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Come and sit by me. You can spare me a few minutes," she says, drawing +her ample skirts to one side. Mona, taking her hand from Lauderdale's +arm, drops into the proffered seat beside his mother, much to that young +man's chagrin, who, having inherited the material hankering after that +"delightful prejudice," as Theocritus terms beauty, is decidedly <i>epris</i> +with Mrs. Geoffrey, and takes it badly being done out of his +<i>tete-a-tete</i> with her.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rodney would perhaps prefer to dance, mother," he says, with some +irritation.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old +woman," says the duchess, equably.</p> + +<p>"I am not so sure of that," says Mona, with admirable tact and an +exquisite smile, "but I shouldn't mind spending an <i>hour</i> with you."</p> + +<p>Lauderdale makes a little face, and tells himself secretly "all women +are liars," but the duchess is very pleased, and bends her friendliest +glance upon the pretty creature at her side, who possesses that greatest +of all charms, inability to notice the ravages of time.</p> + +<p>Perhaps another reason for Mona's having found such favor in the eyes of +"the biggest woman in our shire, sir," lies in the fact that she is in +many ways so totally unlike all the other young women with whom the +duchess is in the habit of associating. She is <i>naive</i> to an +extraordinary degree, and says and does things that might appear <i>outre</i> +in others, but are so much a part of Mona that it neither startles nor +offends one when she gives way to them.</p> + +<p>Just now, for example, a pause occurring in the conversation, Mona, +fastening her eyes upon her Grace's neck, says, with genuine +admiration,—</p> + +<p>"What a lovely necklace you are wearing!"</p> + +<p>To make personal remarks, we all know, is essentially vulgar, is indeed +a breach of the commonest show of good breeding; yet somehow Mrs. +Geoffrey's tone does not touch on vulgarity, does not even belong to the +outermost skirts of ill-breeding. She has an inborn gentleness of her +own, that carries her safely over all social difficulties.</p> + +<p>The duchess is amused.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Did he?" says Mona. "Geoffrey gave me these pearls," pointing to a +pretty string round her own white neck, "a month after we were married. +It seems quite a long time ago now," with a sigh and a little smile. +"But your opals are perfect. Just like the moonlight. By the by," as if +it has suddenly occurred to her, "did you ever see the lake by +moonlight? I mean from the mullioned window in the north gallery?"</p> + +<p>"The lake here? No," says the duchess.</p> + +<p>"Haven't you?" in surprise. "Why it is the most enchanting thing in the +world. Oh, you must see it: you will be delighted with it. Come with me, +and I will show it to you," says Mona, eagerly, rising from her seat in +her impulsive fashion.</p> + +<p>She is plainly very much in earnest, and has fixed her large expressive +eyes—lovely as loving—with calm expectancy upon the duchess. She has +altogether forgotten that she is a duchess (perhaps, indeed, has never +quite grasped the fact), and that she is an imposing and portly person +not accustomed to exercise of any description.</p> + +<p>For a moment her Grace hesitates, then is lost. It is to her a new +sensation to be taken about by a young woman to see things. Up to this, +it has been she who has taken the young women about to see things. But +Mona is so openly and genuinely anxious to bestow a favor upon her to do +her, in fact, a good turn, that she is subdued, sweetened, nay, almost +flattered, by this artless desire to please her for "love's sake" alone.</p> + +<p>She too rises, lays her hand on Mona's arm, and walks through the long +room, and past the county generally, to "see the lake by moonlight." Yet +it is not for the sake of gazing upon almost unrivalled scenery she +goes, but to please this Irish girl, whom so very few can resist.</p> + +<p>"Where has Mona taken the duchess?" asks Lady Rodney of Sir Nicholas +half an hour later.</p> + +<p>"She took her to see the lake. Mona, you know, raves about it, when the +moon lights it up.</p> + +<p>"She is very absurd, and more troublesome and unpleasant than anybody I +ever had in my house. Of course the duchess did not want to see the +water. She was talking to old Lord Dering about the drainage question, +and seemed quite happy, when that girl interfered. Common courtesy +compelled her, I suppose, to say yes to—Mona's—proposition."</p> + +<p>"I hardly think the duchess is the sort of woman to say yes when she +meant no," says Nicholas, with a half smile. "She went because it so +pleased her, and for no other reason. I begin to think, indeed, that +Lilian Chetwoode is rather out of it, and that Mona is the first +favorite at present. She has evidently taken the duchess by storm."</p> + +<p>"Why not say the duke too?" says his mother, with a cold glance, to whom +praise of Mona is anything but "cakes and ale." "Her flirtation with him +is very apparent. It is disgraceful. Every one is noticing and talking +about it. Geoffrey alone seems determined to see nothing! Like all +under-bred people, she cannot know satisfaction unless perched upon the +topmost rung of the ladder."</p> + +<p>"You are slightly nonsensical when on the subject of Mona," says Sir +Nicholas, with a shrug. "Intrigue and she could not exist in the same +atmosphere. She is to Lauderdale what she is to everyone else,—gay, +bright, and utterly wanting in self-conceit. I cannot understand how it +is that you alone refuse to acknowledge her charms. To me she is like a +little soft sunbeam floating here and there and falling into the hearts +of those around her, carrying light, and joy, and laughter, and merry +music with her as she goes."</p> + +<p>"You speak like a lover," says Lady Rodney, with an artificial laugh. +"Do you repeat all this to Dorothy? She must find it very interesting."</p> + +<p>"Dorothy and I are quite agreed about Mona," replies he, calmly. "She +likes her as much as I do. As to what you say about her encouraging +Lauderdale's attentions, it is absurd. No such evil thought could enter +her head."</p> + +<p>At this instant a soft ringing laugh, that once heard is not easily +forgotten, comes from an inner room, that is carefully curtained and +delicately lighted, and smites upon their ears.</p> + +<p>It is Mona's laugh. Raising their eyes, both mother and son turn their +heads hastily (and quite involuntarily) and gaze upon the scene beyond. +They are so situated that they can see into the curtained chamber and +mark the picture it contains. The duke is bending over Mona in a manner +that might perhaps be termed by an outsider slightly <i>empresse</i>, and +Mona is looking up at him, and both are laughing gayly,—Mona with all +the freshness of unchecked youth, the duke with such a thorough and +wholesome sense of enjoyment as he has not known for years.</p> + +<p>Then Mona rises, and they both come to the entrance of the small room, +and stand where Lady Rodney can overhear what they are saying.</p> + +<p>"Oh! so you can ride, then," says Lauderdale, alluding probably to the +cause of his late merriment.</p> + +<p>"Sure of course," says Mona. "Why, I used to ride the colts barebacked +at home."</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney shudders.</p> + +<p>"Sometimes I long again for a mad, wild gallop straight across country, +where nobody can see me,—such as I used to have," goes on Mona, half +regretfully.</p> + +<p>"And who allowed you to risk your life like that?" asks the duke, with +simple amazement. His sister before she married was not permitted to +cross the threshold without a guardian at her side. This girl is a +revelation.</p> + +<p>"No one," says Mona. "I had no need to ask permission for anything. I +was free to do what I wished."</p> + +<p>She looks up at him again with some fire in her eyes and a flush upon +her cheeks. Perhaps some of the natural lawlessness of her kindred is +making her blood warm. So standing, however, she is the very embodiment +of youth and love and sweetness, and so the duke admits.</p> + +<p>"Have you any sisters?" he asks, vaguely.</p> + +<p>"No. Nor brothers. Only myself.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'I am all the daughters of my father's house,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the brothers too!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt +quotation from the one book she has studied very closely.</p> + +<p>The duke loses his head a little.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," he says, slowly, staring at her the while, "you are the +most beautiful woman I ever saw?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! so Geoffrey says," returns she, with a perfectly unembarrassed and +pleased little laugh, while a great gleam of tender love comes into her +eyes as she makes mention of her husband's name. "But I really am not +you know."</p> + +<p>This answer, being so full of thorough unconsciousness and childish +<i>naivete</i>, has the effect of reducing the duke to common sense once +more, and of making him very properly ashamed of himself. He feels, +however, rather out of it for a minute or two, which feeling renders him +silent and somewhat <i>distrait</i>. So Mona, flung upon her own resources, +looks round the room seeking for inspiration, and presently finds it.</p> + +<p>"What a disagreeable-looking man that is over there!" she says: "the man +with the shaggy beard, I mean, and the long hair."</p> + +<p>She doesn't want in the very least to know who he is, but thinks it her +duty to say something, as the silence being protracted grows +embarrassing.</p> + +<p>"The man with the mane? that is Griffith Blount. The most objectionable +person any one could meet, but tolerated because his tongue is so awful. +Do you know Colonel Graves? No! Well, he has a wife calculated to +terrify the bravest man into submission, and last year when he was going +abroad Blount met him, and asked him before a roomful 'if he was going +for pleasure, or if he was going to take his wife with him.' Neat, +wasn't it? But I don't remember hearing that Graves liked it."</p> + +<p>"It was very unkind," says Mona; "and he has a hateful face."</p> + +<p>"He has," says the duke. "But he has his reward, you know: nobody likes +him. By the by, what horrid bad times they are having in your +land!—ricks of hay burning nightly, cattle killed, everybody boycotted, +and small children speared!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, not that," says Mona. "Poor Ireland! Every one either laughs at +her or hates her. Though I like my adopted country, still I shall always +feel for old Erin what I could never feel for another land."</p> + +<p>"And quite right too," says Lauderdale. "You remember what Scott says:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who never to himself hath said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This is my own, my native land!'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Oh, yes, lots of 'em," says Mr. Darling, who has come suddenly up +beside them: "for instance, I don't believe I ever said it in all my +life, either to myself or to any one else. Are you engaged, Mrs. +Geoffrey? And if not, may I have this dance?"</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," says Mona.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Paul Rodney, true to his word, has put in an appearance, much to the +amazement of many in the room. Almost as Mona's dance with Nolly is at +an end, he makes his way to her, and asks her to give him the next. +Unfortunately, she is not engaged for it, and, being unversed in polite +evasions, she says yes, quietly, and is soon floating round the room +with him.</p> + +<p>After one turn she stops abruptly, near an entrance.</p> + +<p>"Tired?" says Rodney, fixing his black, gloomy eyes upon her.</p> + +<p>"A little," says Mona. It is perhaps the nearest approach to a +falsehood she has ever made.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you would rather rest for a while. Do you know this is the +first time I have ever been inside the Towers?" He says this as one +might who is desirous of making conversation, yet there is a covert +meaning in his tone. Mona is silent. To her it seems a base thing that +he should have accepted the invitation at all.</p> + +<p>"I have heard the library is a room well worth seeing," goes on the +Australian, seeing she will not speak.</p> + +<p>"Yes; every one admires it. It is very old. You know one part of the +Towers is older than all the rest."</p> + +<p>"I have heard so. I should like to see the library," says Paul, looking +at her expectantly.</p> + +<p>"You can see it now if you wish," says Mona, quickly, the thought that +she may be able to entertain him in some fashion that will not require +conversation is dear to her. She therefore takes his arm, and leads him +out of the ballroom, and across the halls into the library, which is +brilliantly lighted, but just at this moment empty.</p> + +<p>I forget if I described it before, but it is a room quite perfect in +every respect, a beautiful room, oak-panelled from floor to ceiling, +with this peculiarity about it, that whereas three of the walls have +their panels quite long, without a break from top to bottom, the +fourth—that is, the one in which the fireplace has been inserted—has +the panels of a smaller size, cut up into pieces from about one foot +broad to two feet long.</p> + +<p>The Australian seems particularly struck with this fact. He stares in a +thoughtful fashion at the wall with the small panels, seeming blind to +the other beauties of the room.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is strange why that wall should be different from the others," +Mona says, rather glad that he appears interested in something besides +herself. "But it is altogether quite a nice old room, is it not?"</p> + +<p>"It is," replies he, absently. Then, below his breath, "and well worth +fighting for."</p> + +<p>But Mona does not hear this last addition; she is moving a chair a +little to one side, and the faint noise it makes drowns the sound of his +voice. This perhaps is as well.</p> + +<p>She turns up one of the lamps, whilst Rodney still continues his +contemplation of the wall before him. Conversation languishes, then +dies. Mona, raising her hand to her lips, suppresses valiantly a yawn.</p> + +<p>"I hope you are enjoying yourself," she says, presently, hardly knowing +what else to say.</p> + +<p>"Enjoying myself?—No, I never do that," says Rodney, with unexpected +frankness.</p> + +<p>"You can hardly mean that?" says Mona, with some surprise.</p> + +<p>"I do. Just now," looking at her, "I am perhaps as near enjoyment as I +can be. But I have not danced before to-night. Nor should I have danced +at all had you been engaged. I have forgotten what it is to be +light-hearted."</p> + +<p>"But surely there must be moments when——"</p> + +<p>"I never have such moments," interrupts he moodily.</p> + +<p>"Dear me! what a terribly unpleasant young man!" thinks Mona, at her +wits' end to know what to say next. Tapping her fingers in a perplexed +fashion on the table nearest her, she wonders when he will cease his +exhaustive survey of the walls and give her an opportunity of leaving +the room.</p> + +<p>"But this is very sad for you, isn't it?" she says, feeling herself in +duty bound to say something.</p> + +<p>"I dare say it is; but the fact remains. I don't know what is the matter +with me. It is a barren feeling,—a longing, it may be, for something I +can never obtain."</p> + +<p>"All that is morbid," says Mona: "you should try to conquer it. It is +not healthy."</p> + +<p>"You speak like a book," says Rodney, with an unlovely laugh; "but +advice seldom cures. I only know that I have learned what stagnation +means. I may alter in time, of course, but just at present I feel that</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'My night has no eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my day has no morning.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>At home—in Sydney, I mean—the life was different. It was free, +unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better."</p> + +<p>"Then why don't you go back?" suggests Mona, simply.</p> + +<p>"Because I have work to do here," retorts he, grimly. "Yet ever since I +first set foot on this soil, contentment has gone from me. Abroad a man +lives, here he exists. There, he carries his life in his hand, and +trusts to his revolver rather than to the most learned of counsels, but +here all is on another footing."</p> + +<p>"It is to be regretted you cannot like England, as you have made up your +mind to live in it; and yet I think——" She pauses.</p> + +<p>"Yes—you think; go on," says Rodney, gazing at her attentively.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I think it is only <i>just</i> you should be unhappy," says +Mona, with some vehemence. "Those who seek to scatter misery broadcast +among their fellows should learn to taste of it themselves."</p> + +<p>"Why do you accuse me of such a desire?" asks he, paling beneath her +indignation, and losing courage because of the unshed tears that are +gleaming in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"When you gain your point and find yourself master here, you will know +you have made not only one, but many people miserable."</p> + +<p>"You seem to take my success in this case as a certainty," he says, with +a frown. "I may fail."</p> + +<p>"Oh, that I could believe so!" says Mona, forgetful of manners, +courtesy, everything, but the desire to see those she loves restored to +peace.</p> + +<p>"You are candor itself," returns he, with a short laugh, shrugging his +shoulders. "Of course I am bound to hope your wish may be fulfilled. And +yet I doubt it. I am nearer my object to-night than I have ever been +before; and," with a sardonic smile, "yours has been the hand to help me +forward."</p> + +<p>Mona starts, and regards him fixedly in a puzzled, uncertain manner. +What he can possibly mean is unknown to her; but yet she is aware of +some inward feeling, some instinct such as animals possess, that warns +her to beware of him. She shrinks from him, and in doing so a slight +fold of her dress catches in the handle of a writing-table, and detains +her.</p> + +<p>Paul, dropping on his knees before her, releases her gown; the fold is +in his grasp, and still holding it he looks up at her, his face pale and +almost haggard.</p> + +<p>"If I were to resign all hope of gaining the Towers, if I were to +consent to leave your people still in possession," he says, +passionately, but in a low tone, "should I earn one tender thought in +your heart? Speak, Mona! speak!"</p> + +<p>I am sure at even this supreme moment it never enters Mona's brain that +the man is actually making love to her. A deep pity for him fills her +mind. He is unhappy, justly so, no doubt, but yet unhappy. A sure +passport to her heart.</p> + +<p>"I do not think unkindly of you," she says, gently, but coldly. "And do +as your conscience dictates, and you will gain not only my respect, but +that of all men."</p> + +<p>"Bah!" he says, impatiently, rising from the ground and turning away. +Her answer has frozen him again, has dried up the momentary desire for +her approbation above all others that only a minute ago had agitated his +breast.</p> + +<p>At this moment Geoffrey comes into the room and up to Mona. He takes no +notice whatever of her companion, "Mona, will you come and sing us +something?" he says, as naturally as though the room is empty. "Nolly +has been telling the duchess about your voice, and she wants to hear +you. Anything simple, darling,"—seeing she looks a little distressed at +the idea: "you sing that sort of thing best."</p> + +<p>"I hardly think our dance is ended yet, Mrs. Rodney," says the +Australian, defiantly, coming leisurely forward, his eyes bent somewhat +insolently upon Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"You will come, Mona, to oblige the duchess," says Geoffrey, in exactly +as even a tone as if the other had never spoken. Not that he cares in +the very least about the duchess; but he is determined to conquer here, +and is also desirous that all the world should appreciate and admire the +woman he loves.</p> + +<p>"I will come, of course," says Mona, nervously, "but I am afraid she +will be disappointed. You will excuse me, Mr. Rodney, I am sure," +turning graciously to Paul, who is standing with folded arms in the +background.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I excuse <i>you</i>," he says, with a curious stress upon the pronoun, +and a rather strained smile. The room is filling with other people, the +last dance having plainly come to an end. Geoffrey, taking Mona's arm, +leads her into the hall.</p> + +<p>"Dance no more to-night with that fellow," he says quickly, as they get +outside.</p> + +<p>"No?" Then, "Not if you dislike it of course. But Nicholas made a point +of my being nice to him. I did not know you would object to my dancing +with him."</p> + +<p>"Well, you know it now. I do object," says Geoffrey, in a tone he has +never used to her before. Not that it is unkind or rude, but cold and +unlover-like.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know it now!" returns she, softly, yet with the gentle dignity +that always belongs to her. Her lips quiver, but she draws herself up to +her fullest height, and, throwing up her head, walks with a gait that is +almost stately into the presence of the duchess.</p> + +<p>"You wish me to sing to you," she says, gently, yet so unsmilingly that +the duchess wonders what has come to the child. "It will give me +pleasure if I can give <i>you</i> pleasure, but my voice is not worth +thinking about."</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, let me hear it," says the duchess. "I cannot forget that +your face is musical."</p> + +<p>Mona, sitting down to the piano, plays a few chords in a slow, plaintive +fashion, and then begins. Paul Rodney has come to the doorway, and is +standing there gazing at her, though she knows it not. The ballroom is +far distant, so far that the sound of the band does not break upon the +silence of the room in which they are assembled. A hush falls upon the +listeners as Mona's fresh, pathetic, tender voice rises into the air.</p> + +<p>It is an old song she chooses, and simple as old, and sweet as simple. I +almost forget the words now, but I know it runs in this wise:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh, hame, hame—hame fain wad I be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hame, hame to my ain countrie,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>and so on.</p> + +<p>It touches the hearts of all who hear it as she sings it and brings +tears to the eyes of the duchess. So used the little fragile daughter to +sing who is now chanting in heaven!</p> + +<p>There is no vehement applause as Mona takes her fingers from the keys, +but every one says, "Thank you," in a low tone. Geoffrey, going up to +her, leans over her chair and whispers, with some agitation,—</p> + +<p>"You did not mean it, Mona, did you? You are content here with me?—you +have no regret?"</p> + +<p>At which Mona turns round to him a face very pale, but full of such love +as should rejoice the heart of any man, and says, tremulously,—</p> + +<p>"Darling, do you need an answer?"</p> + +<p>"Then why did you choose that song?"</p> + +<p>"I hardly know."</p> + +<p>"I was hateful to you just now, and most unjust."</p> + +<p>"Were you? I have forgotten it," replies she, smiling happily, the color +coming back to her cheeks. Whereupon Paul Rodney's brows contract, and +with a muttered curse he turns aside and leaves the room, and then the +house, without another word or backward glance.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW GEOFFREY DINES OUT, AND HOW MONA FARES DURING HIS ABSENCE.</h3> + + +<p>"Must you really go, Geoffrey?—really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking +the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in +the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock.</p> + +<p>"Yes, really. Horrid bore, isn't it?—but county dinners must be +attended, and Nicholas will do nothing. Besides, it isn't fair to ask +him just now, dear old fellow, when he has so much upon his mind."</p> + +<p>"But <i>you</i> have something on your mind, too. You have <i>me</i>. Why doesn't +Jack go?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I rather think he has Violet on his mind. Did you ever see +anything so spooney as they looked all through dinner yesterday and +luncheon to-day? I didn't think it was in Violet."</p> + +<p>"Did she never look at you like that?" asks Mona, maliciously; "in the +early days, I mean, before—before——"</p> + +<p>"I fell a victim to your charms? No. Jack has it all to himself as far +as I'm concerned. Well, I must be off, you know. It is a tremendous +drive, and I'll barely do it in time. I shall be back about two in the +morning."</p> + +<p>"Not until two?" says Mona, growing miserable again.</p> + +<p>"I can't well get away before that, you know, as Wigley is a good way +off. But I'll try all I know. And, after all," says Geoffrey, with a +view to cheering her, "it isn't as bad as if I was ordered off +somewhere for a week, is it?"</p> + +<p>"A week? I should be <i>dead</i> when you came back," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, +with some vehemence, and a glance that shows she can dissolve into tears +at a moment's notice.</p> + +<p>"Some fellows go away for months," says Geoffrey, still honestly bent on +cheering her, but unfortunately going the wrong way to work.</p> + +<p>"Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves," says Mona, with much +indignation. "Months indeed!"</p> + +<p>"Why, they can't help it," explains he. "They are sent half the time."</p> + +<p>"Then the people who send them should be ashamed! But what about the +other half of their time that they spend from home?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I don't know: that was a mere figure of speech," says Mr. Rodney, +who is afraid to say such absences are caused by an innate love of +freedom and a vile desire for liberty at any cost, and has nothing else +handy. "Now don't stay moping up here when I go, but run downstairs and +find the girls and make yourself happy with them."</p> + +<p>"Happy?" reproachfully. "I shan't know a happy moment until I see you +again!"</p> + +<p>"Nor I, till I see you," says Geoffrey, earnestly, actually believing +what he says himself.</p> + +<p>"I shall do nothing but look at the clock and listen for the sound of +the horse's feet."</p> + +<p>"Mona, you musn't do that. Now, I shall be really annoyed if you insist +on sitting up for me and so lose a good night's rest. Now, don't, +darling. It will only take it out of you, and make you pale and languid +next day."</p> + +<p>"But I shall be more content so; and even if I went to bed I could not +sleep. Besides, I shall not be companionless when the small hours begin +to creep upon me."</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"No; I shall have him with me: but, hush! It is quite a secret," placing +her finger on her lips.</p> + +<p>"'Him'?—whom?"—demands her husband, with pardonable vivacity.</p> + +<p>"My own old pet," says Mrs. Geoffrey, still mysteriously, and with the +fondest smile imaginable.</p> + +<p>"Good gracious, Mona, whom do you mean?" asks he, aghast both at her +look and tone.</p> + +<p>"Why, Spice, of course," opening her eyes. "Didn't you know. Why, what +else could I mean?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I'm sure; but really the way you expressed yourself, +and——Yes, of course, Spice will be company, the very best company for +you."</p> + +<p>"I think I shall have Allspice too," goes on Mona. "But say nothing. +Lady Rodney, if she knew it, would not allow it for a moment. But +Jenkins" (the old butler) "has promised to manage it all for me, and to +smuggle my dear dogs up to my room without any one being in the least +the wiser."</p> + +<p>"If you have Jenkins on your side you are pretty safe," says Geoffrey. +"My mother is more afraid of Jenkins than you would be of a +land-leaguer. Well, good-by again. I must be off."</p> + +<p>"What horse are you taking?" asks she, holding him.</p> + +<p>"Black Bess."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Geoffrey, do you want to break my heart? Sure you know he is the +most vicious animal in the whole stables. Take any horse but that."</p> + +<p>"Well, if only to oblige you, I'll take Truant."</p> + +<p>"What! the horrid brute that puts back his ears and shows the white of +his eyes! Geoffrey, once for all, I desire you to have nothing to do +with him."</p> + +<p>"Anything to please you," says Geoffrey, who is laughing by this time. +"May I trust my precious bones to Mazerin? He is quite fifteen, has only +one eye, and a shameless disregard for the whip."</p> + +<p>"Ye—es; he will do," says Mona, after a second's careful thought, and +even now reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"I think I see myself behind Mazerin, at this time of day," says Mr. +Rodney, heartlessly. "You don't catch me at it, if I know it. I'm not +sure what horse I shall have, but I trust to Thomas to give me a good +one. For the last time, good-by, you amiable young goose, and don't +expect me till I come."</p> + +<p>So saying, he embraces her warmly, and, running downstairs, jumps into +the dog-cart, and drives away behind the "vicious Black Bess."</p> + +<p>Mona watches him from her window, as far as the curve in the avenue will +permit, and, having received and returned his farewell wave of the hand, +sits down, and taking out her handkerchief, indulges in a good cry.</p> + +<p>It is the first time since their marriage that she and Geoffrey have +been parted, and it seems to her a hard thing that such partings should +be. A sense of desolation creeps over her,—a sense of loneliness she +has never known before.</p> + +<p>Then she remembers her promise to go down to the girls and abstain from +fretting, and, rising bravely, she bathes her eyes, and goes down the +marble staircase through the curtained alcove towards the small +drawing-room, where one of the servants tells her, the family is +assembled.</p> + +<p>The door of the room she is approaching is wide open, and inside, as +Mona draws nearer, it becomes apparent that some one is talking very +loudly, and with much emphasis, and as though determined not to be +silenced. Argument is plainly the order of the hour.</p> + +<p>As Mona comes still nearer, the words of the speaker reach her, and sink +into her brain. It is Lady Rodney who is holding forth, and what she +says floats lightly to Mona's ears. She is still advancing, unmindful of +anything but the fact that she cannot see Geoffrey again for more hours +than she cares to count, when the following words become clear to her, +and drive the color from her cheeks,—</p> + +<p>"And those dogs forever at her heels!—positively, she is half a savage. +The whole thing is in keeping, and quite detestable. How can you expect +me to welcome a girl who is without family and absolutely penniless? +Why, I am convinced that misguided boy bought her even her trousseau!"</p> + +<p>Mona has no time to hear more; pale, but collected, she walks +deliberately into the room and up to Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken in one point," she says, slowly. "I may be savage, +penniless, without family,—but I bought my own trousseau. I do not say +this to excuse myself, because I should not mind taking anything from +Geoffrey; but I think it a pity you should not know the truth. I had +some money of my own,—very little, I allow, but enough to furnish me +with wedding garments."</p> + +<p>Her coming is a thunderbolt, her speech lightning. Lady Rodney changes +color, and is for once utterly disconcerted.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," she manages to say. "Of course had I known you were +listening at the door I should not have said what I did,"—this last +with a desire to offend.</p> + +<p>"I was not listening at the door," says Mona, with dignity, yet with +extreme difficulty: some hand seems clutching at her heart-strings, and +he who should have been near to succor her is far away. "I never," +haughtily, "listened at a door in all my life. <i>I</i> should not understand +how to do it." Her Irish blood is up, and there is a distinct emphasis +upon the pronoun. "You have wronged me twice!"</p> + +<p>Her voice falters. Instinctively she looks round for help. She feels +deserted,—alone. No one speaks. Sir Nicholas and Violet, who are in the +room, are as yet almost too shocked to have command of words; and +presently the silence becomes unbearable.</p> + +<p>Two tears gather, and roll slowly down Mona's white cheeks. And then +somehow her thoughts wander back to the old farmhouse at the side of the +hill, with the spreading trees behind it, and to the sanded floor and +the cool dairy, and the warmth of the love that abounded there, and the +uncle, who, if rough, was at least ready to believe her latest +action—whatever it might be—only one degree more perfect than the one +that went before it.</p> + +<p>She turns away in a desolate fashion, and moves towards the door; but +Sir Nicholas, having recovered from his stupefaction by this time, +follows her, and placing his arm round her, bends over her tenderly, and +presses her face against his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"My dearest child, do not take things so dreadfully to heart," he says, +entreatingly and soothingly: "it is all a mistake; and my mother will, I +know, be the first to acknowledge herself in error."</p> + +<p>"I regret—" begins Lady Rodney, stonily; but Mona by a gesture stays +her.</p> + +<p>"No, no," she says, drawing herself up and speaking with a touch of +pride that sits very sweetly on her; "I beg you will say nothing. Mere +words could not cure the wound you have inflicted."</p> + +<p>She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound +lies here," and once more turns to the door.</p> + +<p>Violet, rising, flings from her the work she has been amusing herself +with, and, with a gesture of impatience very foreign to her usual +reserve goes up to Mona, and, slipping her arm round her, takes her +quietly out of the room.</p> + +<p>Up the stairs she takes her and into her own room, without saying a +word. Then she carefully turns the key in the door, and, placing Mona in +a large and cosey arm-chair, stands opposite to her, and thus begins,—</p> + +<p>"Now listen, Mona," she says, in her low voice, that even now, when she +is somewhat excited, shows no trace of heat or haste, "for I shall speak +to you plainly. You must make up your mind to Lady Rodney. It is the +common belief that mere birth will refine most people; but those who +cling to that theory will surely find themselves mistaken. Something +more is required: I mean the nobility of soul that Nature gives to the +peasant as well as the peer. This, Lady Rodney lacks; and at heart, in +sentiment, she is—at times—coarse. May I say what I like to you?"</p> + +<p>"You may," says Mona, bracing herself for the ordeal.</p> + +<p>"Well, then, I would ask you to harden your heart, because she will say +many unpleasant things to you, and will be uncivil to you, simply +because she has taken it into her head that you have done her an injury +in that you have married Geoffrey! But do you take no notice of her +rudeness; ignore her, think always of the time that is coming when your +own home will be ready for you, and where you can live with Geoffrey +forever, without fear of a harsh word or an unkind glance. There must be +comfort in this thought."</p> + +<p>She glances anxiously at Mona, who is gazing into the fire with a slight +frown upon her brow, that looks sadly out of place on that smooth white +surface. At Violet's last words it flies away, not to return.</p> + +<p>"Comfort? I think of nothing else," she says, dreamily.</p> + +<p>"On no account quarrel with Lady Rodney. Bear for the next few weeks +(they will quickly pass) anything she may say, rather than create a +breach between mother and son. You hear me, Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I hear you. But must you say this? Have I ever sought a quarrel +with—Geoffrey's mother?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, indeed. You have behaved admirably where most women would have +ignominiously failed. Let that thought console you. To have a perfect +temper, such as yours, should be in itself a source of satisfaction. And +now bathe your eyes, and make yourself look even prettier than usual. A +difficult matter, isn't it?" with a friendly smile.</p> + +<p>Mona smiles too in return, though still heavy at heart.</p> + +<p>"Have you any rose-water?" goes on Miss Mansergh in her matter-of-fact +manner. "No? A good sign that tears and you are enemies. Well, I have, +and so I shall send it to you in a moment. You will use it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, thank you," says Mona, who is both surprised and carried away +by the other's unexpected eloquence.</p> + +<p>"And now a last word, Mona. When you come down to dinner to-night (and +take care you are a little late), be gay, merry, wild with spirits, +anything but depressed, whatever it may cost you. And if in the +drawing-room, later on, Lady Rodney should chance to drop her +handkerchief, or that eternal knitting, do not stoop to pick it up. If +her spectacles are on a distant table, forget to see them. A nature such +as hers could not understand a nature such as yours. The more anxious +you may seem to please, the more determined she will be not to be +pleased."</p> + +<p>"But you like Lady Rodney?" says Mona, in a puzzled tone.</p> + +<p>"Very much indeed. But her faults are obvious, and I like you too. I +have said more to you of her than I have ever yet said to human being; +why, I know not, because you are (comparatively speaking) a stranger to +me, whilst she is my very good friend. Yet so it rests. You will, I +know, keep faith with me."</p> + +<p>"I am glad you know that," says Mona. Then, going nearer to Violet, she +lays her hand upon her arm and regards her earnestly. The tears are +still glistening in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I don't think I should mind it if I did not feel so much alone. If I +had a place in your hearts," she says. "You all like me, I know, but I +want to be loved." Then, tremulously, "Will you <i>try</i> to love me?"</p> + +<p>Violet looks at her criticizingly, then she smiles, and, placing her +hand beneath Mrs. Geoffrey's chin, turns her face more to the fading +light.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is just your greatest misfortune," she says, meditatively. +"Love at any price. You would die out of the sunshine, or spoil, which +would be worse. You will never be quite happy, I think; and yet +perhaps," with a faint sigh, "you get your own good out of your life, +after all,—happiness more intense, if briefer, than we more material +people can know. There, shall I tell you something? I think you have +gained more love in a short time than any other person I ever knew. You +have conquered me, at least; and, to tell you the truth," with a slight +grimace, "I was quite determined not to like you. Now lie down, and in a +minute or two I shall send Halkett to you with the rose-water."</p> + +<p>For the first time she stoops forward and presses her lips to Mona's +warmly, graciously. Then she leaves her, and, having told her maid to +take the rose-water to Mrs. Rodney, goes downstairs again to the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Sir Nicholas is there, silent, but angry, as Violet knows by the frown +upon his brow. With his mother he never quarrels, merely expressing +disapproval by such signs as an unwillingness to speak, and a stern +grave line that grows upon his lips.</p> + +<p>"Of course you are all against me," Lady Rodney is saying, in a rather +hysterical tone. "Even you, Violet, have taken up that girl's cause!" +She says this expectantly, as though calling on her ally for support. +But for once the ally fails her. Miss Mansergh maintains an unflinching +silence, and seats herself in her low wicker chair before the fire with +all the air of one who has made up her mind to the course she intends to +pursue, and is not be enticed from it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, no doubt I am in the wrong, because I cannot bring myself to +adore a vulgar girl who all day long shocks me with her Irishisms," goes +on Lady Rodney, almost in tears, born of vexation. "A girl who says, +'Sure you know I didn't' or 'Ah, did ye, now,' or 'Indeed I won't, +then!' every other minute. It is too much. What you all see in her I +can't imagine. And you too, Violet, you condemn me, I can see."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think you are quite and altogether in the wrong," says Miss +Mansergh, in her cool manner, and without any show of hesitation, +selecting carefully from the basket near her the exact shade of peacock +blue she will require for the cornflower she is working.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, sails with offended dignity from the +room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA, GHOST-LIKE, FLITS THROUGH THE OLD TOWERS AT MIDNIGHT—HOW THE +MOON LIGHTS HER WAY—AND HOW SHE MEETS ANOTHER GHOST MORE FORMIDABLE +THAN HERSELF.</h3> + + +<p>Jenkins, the antediluvian butler, proves himself a man of his word. +There are, evidently, "no two ways" about Jenkins. "Seeking the +seclusion that her chamber grants" about ten o'clock to-night, after a +somewhat breezy evening with her mother-in-law, Mona descries upon her +hearthrug, dozing blissfully, two huge hounds, that raise their sleepy +tails and heads to welcome her, with the utmost condescension, as she +enters her room.</p> + +<p>Spice and Allspice are having a real good time opposite her bedroom +fire, and, though perhaps inwardly astonished at their promotion from a +distant kennel to the sleeping-apartment of their fair mistress, are far +too well-bred to betray any vulgar exaltation at the fact.</p> + +<p>Indeed, it is probably a fear lest she shall deem them unduly elated +that causes them to hesitate before running to greet her with their +usual demonstrative joy. Then politeness gets the better of pride, and, +rising with a mighty effort, they stretch themselves, yawn, and, going +up to her, thrust their soft muzzles into her hands and look up at her +with their great, liquid, loving eyes. They rub themselves against her +skirts, and wag their tails, and give all other signs of loyalty and +devotion.</p> + +<p>Mona, stooping, caresses them fondly. They are a part of her old life, +and dear, therefore, to her own faithful heart. Having partly undressed, +she sits down upon the hearthrug with them, and, with both their big +heads upon her lap, sits staring into the fire, trying to while away +with thought the hours that must elapse before Geoffrey can return to +her again.</p> + +<p>It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the +dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting +their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. +Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into +eternity; midnight is at hand!</p> + +<p>At the sound of the twelfth stroke the hounds stir uneasily, and sigh, +and, opening wide their huge jaws, yawn again. Mona pats them +reassuringly: and, flinging some fresh logs upon the fire, goes back +once more to her old position, with her chin in the palm of one hand, +whilst the other rests on the sleek head of Spice.</p> + +<p>Castles within the fire grow grand and tall, and then crumble into dust; +castles in Mona's brain fare likewise. The shadows dance upon the walls; +silently imperceptibly, the minutes flit away.</p> + +<p>One o'clock chimes the tiny timepiece on the mantelshelf; outside the +sound is repeated somewhere in the distance in graver, deeper tones.</p> + +<p>Mona shivers. Getting up from her lowly position, she draws back the +curtains of her window and looks out upon the night. It is brilliant +with moonlight, clear as day, full of that hallowed softness, that +peaceful serenity, that belongs alone to night.</p> + +<p>She is enchanted, and stands there for a minute or two spellbound by the +glory of the scene before her. Then a desire to see her beloved lake +from the great windows in the northern gallery takes possession of her. +She will go and look at it, and afterwards creep on tiptoe to the +library, seize the book she had been reading before dinner, and make her +way back again to her room without any one being in the least the wiser. +Anything will be better than sitting here any longer, dreaming dismal +day-dreams.</p> + +<p>She beckons to the dogs, and they, coming up to her, follow her out of +the room and along the corridor outside their soft velvet paws making no +sound upon the polished floor. She has brought with her no lamp. Just +now, indeed, it would be useless, such "a wide and tender light," does +heaven's lamp fling upon floor and ceiling, chamber and corridor.</p> + +<p>The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The +oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a +picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land.</p> + +<p>Sinking into the cushioned embrasure of the window, Mona sits entranced, +drinking in the beauty that is balm to her imaginative mind. The two +dogs, with a heavy sigh, shake themselves, and then drop with a soft +thud upon the ground at her feet,—her pretty arched feet that are half +naked and white as snow: their blue slippers being all too loose for +them.</p> + +<p>Below is the lake, bathed in moonshine. A gentle wind has arisen, and +little wavelets silver-tinged are rolling inward, breaking themselves +with tender sobs upon the shore.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The floor of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The floor itself is pale, nay, almost blue. A little snow is sifted +lightly on branch, and grass, and ivied wall. Each object in the +sleeping world is quite distinct.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All things are calm, and fair, and passive; earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks as if lulled upon an angel's lap<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a breathless, dewy sleep; so still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That we can only say of things, they be."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The cold seems hardly to touch Mona, so wrapped she is in the beauties +of the night. There is at times a solemn indefinable pleasure in the +thought that we are awake whilst all the world sleepeth; that we alone +are thinking, feeling, holding high communion with our own hearts and +our God.</p> + +<p>The breeze is so light that hardly a trembling of the leafless branches +breaks the deadly silence that reigns all round:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A lone owl's hoot,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The waterfall's faint drip,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone disturb the stillness of the scene,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from +her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards +the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the +walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs +through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, +and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth +from those ghastly visors?—surely a clank of supernatural armor smote +upon her ear just then!</p> + +<p>She hastens her steps, and runs down hurriedly into the hall below, +which is almost as light as day. Turning aside, she makes for the +library, and now (and not till now) remembers she has no light, and that +the library, its shutters carefully closed every night by the invaluable +Jenkins himself, is of necessity in perfect darkness.</p> + +<p>Must she go back for a candle? Must she pass again all those belted +knights upon the staircase and in the upper gallery? No! rather will she +brave the darkness of the more congenial library, and—but soft—what is +that? Surely a tiny gleam of light is creeping to her feet from beneath +the door of the room towards which she wends her way.</p> + +<p>It is a light, not of stars or of moonbeams, but of a <i>bona fide</i> lamp, +and as such is hailed by Mona, with joy. Evidently the thoughtful +Jenkins has left it lighted there for Geoffrey's benefit when he +returns. And very thoughtful, too, it is of him.</p> + +<p>All the servants have received orders to go to bed, and on no account to +sit up for Mr. Rodney, as he can let himself in in his own way,—a habit +of his for many years. Doubtless, then, one of them had placed this lamp +in the library with some refreshments for him, should he require them.</p> + +<p>So thinks Mona, and goes steadily on to the library, dreading nothing, +and inexpressibly cheered by the thought that gloom at least does not +await her there.</p> + +<p>Pushing open the door very gently, she enters the room, the two dogs at +her heels.</p> + +<p>At first the light of the lamp—so unlike the pale transparent purity of +the moonbeams—puzzles her sight; she advances a few steps +unconsciously, treading lightly, as she has done all along, lest she +shall wake some member of the household, and then, passing her hand over +her eyes, looks leisurely up. The fire is nearly out. She turns her head +to the right, and then—<i>then</i>—she utters a faint scream, and grasps +the back of a chair to steady herself.</p> + +<p>Standing with his back to her (being unaware of her entrance), looking +at the wall with the smaller panels that had so attracted him the night +of the dance, is Paul Rodney!</p> + +<p>Starting convulsively at the sound of her cry, he turns, and, drawing +with lightning rapidity a tiny pistol from his pocket, raises his arm, +and deliberately covers her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA STANDS HER GROUND—HOW PAUL RODNEY BECOMES HER PRISONER—AND +HOW GEOFFREY ON HIS RETURN HOME MEETS WITH A WARM RECEPTION.</h3> + + +<p>For a second Mona's courage fails her, and then it returns with +threefold force. In truth, she is nearer death at this moment than she +herself quite knows.</p> + +<p>"Put down your pistol, sir," she says, hastily. "Would you fire on a +woman?" Her tone, though hurried, is not oppressed with fear. She even +advances a few steps in his direction. Her words, her whole manner, fill +him with admiration. The extreme courage she betrays is, indeed worthy +of any man's laudation, but the implied trust in his chivalry touches +Paul Rodney more than anything has ever had power to touch him before.</p> + +<p>He lowers the weapon at her command, but says nothing. Indeed, what is +there to say?</p> + +<p>"Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of +mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go +off.</p> + +<p>Again he obeys her.</p> + +<p>"Now, perhaps, you will explain why you are here?" says Mrs. Geoffrey, +speaking as sternly as her soft voice will permit. "How did you get in?"</p> + +<p>"Through the window. I was passing, and found it open." There is some +note in his voice that might well be termed mocking.</p> + +<p>"Open at this hour of the morning?"</p> + +<p>"Wide open."</p> + +<p>"And the lamp, did you find it burning?"</p> + +<p>"Brilliantly."</p> + +<p>He lifts his head here, and laughs aloud, a short, unmirthful laugh.</p> + +<p>"You are lying, sir," says Mona, contemptuously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, deliberately," returns he, with wilful recklessness.</p> + +<p>He moves as though to take up the pistol again; but Mona is beforehand +with him, and, closing her fingers round it, holds it firmly.</p> + +<p>"Do you think you are stronger than I am?" he says, amusement blended +with the old admiration in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"No, but they are," she says, pointing to her two faithful companions, +who are staring hungrily at Rodney and evidently only awaiting the word +from Mona to fling themselves upon him.</p> + +<p>She beckons to them, and, rising slowly, they advance towards Rodney, +who involuntarily moves back a little. And in truth they are formidable +foes, with their bloodshot eyes, and bristling coats, and huge jaws +that, being now parted, show the gleaming teeth within.</p> + +<p>"On guard," says Mona, whereupon both the brutes crouch upon the ground +right before Rodney, and fix him seriously and menacingly with their +eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are certainly too strong for me," says Rodney, with a frown and a +peculiar smile.</p> + +<p>"As you have refused to explain your presence here to me, you shall +remain where you now are until help arrives," says Mona, with evident +determination.</p> + +<p>"I am content to stay here until the day dawns, if you keep me company," +replies he, easily.</p> + +<p>"Insolence, sir, is perhaps another part of your <i>role</i>," returns she, +with cold but excessive anger.</p> + +<p>She is clad in a long white dressing-gown, loose, yet clinging, that +betrays each curve of her <i>svelte</i>, lissom figure. It is bordered with +swansdown, and some rich white lace, that sits high to her neck and +falls over her small hands. Her hair is drawn back into a loose knot, +that looks as if it would tumble down her back should she shake her +head. She is pale, and her eyes are peculiarly large and dark from +excitement. They are fixed upon Rodney with a gaze that belies all idea +of fear, and her lips are compressed and somewhat dangerous.</p> + +<p>"Is truth insolence?" asks Rodney. "If so, I demand your pardon. My +speech, no doubt, was a <i>betise</i>, yet it came from my heart."</p> + +<p>"Do not trouble yourself to make any further excuse," says Mona, icily.</p> + +<p>"Pray sit down," says Rodney, politely: "if you insist on spending your +evening with me, let me at least know that you are comfortable." Again +the comicality of the whole proceeding strikes him, and he laughs aloud. +He takes, too, a step forward, as if to get her a chair.</p> + +<p>"Do not stir," says Mona, hastily, pointing to the bloodhounds. Allspice +has risen—so has the hair on his back—and is looking thunder-claps at +Paul. A low growl breaks from him. He is plainly bent upon reducing to +reason whosoever shall dispute the will of his beloved mistress. "The +dogs know their orders, and will obey me. Down, Allspice, down. You will +do well, sir, to remain exactly where you are," continues Mona.</p> + +<p>"Then get a chair for yourself, at least, as you will not permit me to +go to your aid," he entreats. "I am your prisoner,—perhaps," in a low +tone, "the most willing captive that ever yet was made."</p> + +<p>He hardly realizes the extent of his subjection,—is blind to the +extreme awkwardness of the situation. Of Geoffrey's absence, and the +chance that he may return at any moment, he is altogether ignorant.</p> + +<p>Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with +her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes +lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediæval saint. So thinks +Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his +brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect.</p> + +<p>The moments come and go. The fire is dying out. No sound but that of the +falling cinders comes to disturb the stillness that reigns within the +library. Mona is vaguely, wondering what the end of it all will be. And +then at last the silence is broken. A noise upon the gravel outside, a +quick rush up the balcony steps; some one emerges from the gloom of the +night, and comes into the room through the open window. Mona utters a +passionate cry of relief and joy. It is Geoffrey!</p> + +<p>Perhaps, just at first, surprise is too great to permit of his feeling +either astonishment or indignation. He looks from Paul Rodney to Mona, +and then from Mona back to Rodney. After that his gaze does not wander +again. Mona, running to him, throws herself into his arms, and there he +holds her closely, but always with his eyes fixed upon the man he deems +his enemy.</p> + +<p>As for the Australian, he has grown pale indeed, but is quite +self-possessed, and the usual insolent line round his mouth has +deepened. The dogs have by no means relaxed their vigil, but still +crouch before him, ready for their deadly spring at any moment. It is a +picture, almost a lifeless one, so motionless are all those that help to +form it. The fading fire, the brilliant lamp, the open window with the +sullen night beyond, Paul Rodney standing upon the hearthrug with folded +arms, his dark insolent face lighted up with the excitement of what is +yet to come, gazing defiantly at his cousin, who is staring back at him, +pale but determined. And then Mona, in her soft white gown, somewhat in +the foreground, with one arm (from which the loose sleeve of the +dressing-gown has fallen back, leaving the fair rounded flesh to be +seen) thrown around her husband's neck, is watching Rodney with an +expression on her face that is half haughtiness, half nervous dread. Her +hair has loosened, and is rippling over her shoulders, and down far +below her waist; with her disengaged hand she is holding it back from +her ear, hardly knowing how picturesque and striking is her attitude, +and how it betrays each perfect curve of her lovely figure.</p> + +<p>"Now, sir speak," she says, at length in rather tremulous tones growing +fearful of the lengthened silence. There is a dangerous vibration in the +arm that Geoffrey has round her, that gives her warning to make some +change in the scene as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>For an instant Rodney turns his eyes on her, and then goes back to his +sneering examination of Geoffrey. Between them the two dogs still lie, +quiet but eager.</p> + +<p>"Call off the dogs," says Geoffrey to Mona, in a low tone; "there is no +longer any necessity for them. And tell me how you come to be here, at +this hour, with this—fellow."</p> + +<p>Mona calls off the dogs. They rise unwillingly, and, walking into a +distant corner, sit there, as though still awaiting a chance of taking +some active part in the coming fray. After which Mona, in a few words, +explains the situation to Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"You will give me an explanation at once," says Geoffrey, slowly, +addressing his cousin. "What brought you here?"</p> + +<p>"Curiosity, as I have already told Mrs. Rodney," returns he, lightly. +"The window was open, the lamp burning. I walked in to see the old +room."</p> + +<p>"Who is your accomplice?" asks Geoffrey, still with studied calmness.</p> + +<p>"You are pleased to talk conundrums," says Rodney, with a shrug. "I +confess my self sufficiently dull to have never guessed one."</p> + +<p>"I shall make myself plainer. What servant did you bribe to leave the +window open for you at this hour?"</p> + +<p>For a brief instant the Australian's eyes flash fire; then he lowers his +lids, and laughs quite easily.</p> + +<p>"You would turn a farce into a tragedy," he says, mockingly, "Why should +I bribe a servant to let me see an old room by midnight?"</p> + +<p>"Why, indeed, unless you wished to possess yourself of something in the +old room?"</p> + +<p>"Again I fail to understand," says Paul; but his very lips grow livid. +"Perhaps for the second time, and with the same delicacy you used at +first, you will condescend to explain."</p> + +<p>"Is it necessary?" says Geoffrey, very insolently in his turn. "I think +not. By the by, is it your usual practice to prowl round people's houses +at two o'clock in the morning? I thought all such festive habits were +confined to burglars, and blackguards of that order."</p> + +<p>"We are none of us infallible," says Rodney, in a curious tone, and +speaking as if with difficulty. "You see, even you erred. Though I am +neither burglar nor blackguard, I, too enjoy a walk at midnight."</p> + +<p>"Liar!" says Geoffrey between his teeth, his eyes fixed with deadly +hatred upon his cousin. "Liar—and thief!" He goes a few steps nearer +him, and then waits.</p> + +<p>"Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A +murderous light creeps into his eyes.</p> + +<p>Mona, seeing it, moves away from Geoffrey, and, going stealthily up to +the table, lays her hand upon the pistol, that is still lying where last +she left it. With a quick gesture, and unseen she covers it with a +paper, and then turns her attention once more upon the two men.</p> + +<p>"Ay, thief!" repeats Geoffrey, in a voice low but fierce, "It was not +without a purpose you entered this house to-night, alone and uninvited. +Tell your story to any one foolish enough to believe you. I do not. What +did you hope to find? What help towards the gaining of your unlawful +cause?"</p> + +<p>"Thief!" interrupts Rodney, repeating the vile word again, as though +deaf to everything but this degrading accusation. Then there is a faint +pause, and then——</p> + +<p>Mona never afterwards could say which man was the first to make the +attack, but in a second they are locked in each other's arms in a deadly +embrace. A desire to cry aloud, to summon help, takes hold of her, but +she beats it down, some inward feeling, clear, yet undefined, telling +her that publicity on such a matter as this will be eminently +undesirable.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey is the taller man of the two, but Paul the more lithe and +sinewy. For a moment they sway to and fro; then Geoffrey, getting his +fingers upon his cousin's throat, forces him backward.</p> + +<p>The Australian struggles for a moment. Then, finding Geoffrey too many +for him, he looses one of his hands, and, thrusting it between his shirt +and waistcoat, brings to light a tiny dagger, very flat, and lightly +sheathed.</p> + +<p>Fortunately this dagger refuses to be shaken from its hold. Mona, +feeling that fair play is at an end, and that treachery is asserting +itself, turns instinctively to her faithful allies the bloodhounds, who +have risen, and, with their hair standing straight on their backs, are +growling ominously.</p> + +<p>Cold, and half wild with horror, she yet retains her presence of mind, +and, beckoning to one of the dogs, says imperiously, "At him, Spice!" +pointing to Paul Rodney.</p> + +<p>Like a flash of lightning, the brute springs forward, and, flinging +himself upon Rodney, fastens his teeth upon the arm of the hand that +holds the dagger.</p> + +<p>The extreme pain, and the pressure—the actual weight—of the powerful +animal, tell. Rodney falls back, and with an oath staggers against the +mantelpiece.</p> + +<p>"Call off that dog," cries Geoffrey, turning savagely to Mona. +Whereupon, having gained her purpose, Mona bids the dog lie down, and +the faithful brute, exquisitely trained, and unequal to disobedience, +drops off his foe at her command and falls crouching to the ground, yet +with his eyes red and bloodshot, and his breath coming in parting gasps +that betray the wrath he would gladly gratify.</p> + +<p>The dagger has fallen to the carpet in the struggle, and Mona, picking +it up, flings it far from her into the darksome night through the +window. Then she goes up to Geoffrey, and laying her hand upon his +breast, turns to confront their cousin.</p> + +<p>Her hair is falling like a veil all round her; through it she looks out +at Rodney with eyes frightened and imploring.</p> + +<p>"Go, Paul!" she says, with vehement entreaty, the word passing her lips +involuntarily.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey does not hear her. Paul does. And as his own name, coming from +her lips, falls upon his ear, a great change passes over his face. It is +ashy pale; his lips are bloodless; his eyes are full of rage and undying +hatred: but at her voice it softens, and something that is quite +indescribable, but is perhaps pain and grief and tenderness and despair +combined, comes into it. Her lips—the purest and sweetest under +heaven—have deigned to address him as one not altogether outside the +pale of friendship,—of common fellowship. In her own divine charity and +tenderness she can see good in others who are not (as he acknowledges to +himself with terrible remorse) worthy to touch the very hem of her white +skirts.</p> + +<p>"Go," she says, again, entreatingly, still with her hand on Geoffrey's +breast, as though to keep him back, but with her eyes on Paul.</p> + +<p>It is a command. With a last lingering glance at the woman who has +enthralled him, he steps out through the window on to the balcony, and +in another moment is lost to sight.</p> + +<p>Mona, with a beating heart, but with a courage that gives calmness to +her outward actions, closes the window, draws the shutters together, +bars them, and then goes back to Geoffrey, who has not moved since +Rodney's departure.</p> + +<p>"Tell me again how it all happened," he says, laying his hands on her +shoulders. And then she goes through it again, slowly, carefully.</p> + +<p>"He was standing just there," she says, pointing to the spot where first +she had seen Paul when she entered the library, "with his face turned to +the panels, and his hand up like this," suiting the action to the word. +"When I came in, he turned abruptly. Can he be eccentric?—odd? +Sometimes I have thought that——"</p> + +<p>"No; eccentricity is farther from him than villainy. But, my darling, +what a terrible ordeal for you to come in and find him here! Enough to +frighten you to death, if you were any one but my own brave girl."</p> + +<p>"The dogs gave me courage. And was it not well I did bring them? How +strange that I should have wished for them so strongly to-night! That +time when he drew out the dagger!—my heart failed me then, and but for +Spice what would have been the end of it?" She shudders. "And yet," she +says, with sudden passion, "even then I knew what I should have done. I +had his pistol. I myself would have shot him, if the worst came to the +worst. Oh, to think that that man may yet reign here in this dear old +house, and supplant Nicholas!"</p> + +<p>Her eyes fill with tears.</p> + +<p>"He may not,—there is a faint chance,—but of course the title is gone, +as he has proved his birth beyond dispute."</p> + +<p>"What could he have wanted? When I came in, he turned pale and levelled +the pistol at me. I was frightened, but not much. When I desired him, he +laid down the pistol directly, and then I seized it. And then——"</p> + +<p>Her eyes fall upon the hearthrug. Half under the fender a small piece of +crumpled paper attracts her notice. Still talking, she stoops +mechanically and picks it up, smooths it, and opens it.</p> + +<p>"Why, what is this?" she says, a moment later; "and what a curious hand! +Not a gentleman's surely."</p> + +<p>"One of Thomas's <i>billet-doux</i>, no doubt," says Geoffrey, dreamily, +alluding to the under-footman, but thinking of something else.</p> + +<p>"No, no; I think not. Come here, Geoffrey; do. It is the queerest +thing,—like a riddle. See!"</p> + +<p>He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In +an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon +it,—</p> + +<p>"7—4. Press top corner,—right hand."</p> + +<p>This is all. The paper is old, soiled, and has apparently made large +acquaintance with pockets. It looks, indeed, as if much travel and +tobacco are not foreign to it. Geoffrey, taking it from Mona, holds it +from him at full length, with amiable superciliousness, between his +first finger and thumb.</p> + +<p>"Thomas has plainly taken to hieroglyphics,—if it be Thomas," he says. +"I can fancy his pressing his young woman's right hand, but her 'top +corner' baffles me. If I were Thomas, I shouldn't hanker after a girl +with a 'top corner;' but there is no accounting for tastes. It really is +curious, though, isn't it?" As he speaks he looks at Mona; but Mona, +though seemingly returning his gaze, is for the first time in her life +absolutely unmindful of his presence.</p> + +<p>Slowly she turns her head away from him, and, as though following out a +train of thought, fixes her eyes upon the panelled wall in front of her.</p> + +<p>"It is illiterate writing, certainly; and the whole concern dilapidated +to the last degree," goes on Rodney, still regarding the soiled paper +with curiosity mingled with aversion. "Any objection to my putting it in +the fire?"</p> + +<p>"'7—4,'" murmurs she, absently, still staring intently at the wall.</p> + +<p>"It looks like the production of a lunatic,—a very dangerous +lunatic,—an <i>habitue</i> of Colney Hatch," muses Geoffrey, who is growing +more and more puzzled with the paper's contents the oftener he reads it.</p> + +<p>"'Top corner,—right hand,'" goes on Mona, taking no heed of him, and +speaking in the same low, mysterious, far-off tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes, exactly; you have it by heart; but what does it mean, and what are +you staring at that wall for?" asks he, hopelessly, going to her side.</p> + +<p>"It means—the missing will," returns she, in a voice that would have +done credit to a priestess of Delphi. As she delivers this oracular +sentence, she points almost tragically towards the wall in question.</p> + +<p>"Eh!" says Geoffrey, starting, not so much at the meaning of her words +as at the words themselves. Have the worry and excitement of the last +hour unsettled her brain!</p> + +<p>"My dear child, don't talk like that," he says, nervously: "you're done +up, you know. Come to bed."</p> + +<p>"I sha'n't go to bed at all," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, excitedly. "I +shall never go to bed again, I think, until all this is cleared up. +Geoffrey, bring me over that chair."</p> + +<p>She motions impatiently with her hand, and Geoffrey, being compelled to +it by her vehemence, draws a high chair close to that part of the wall +that seems to have claimed her greatest attention.</p> + +<p>Springing up on it, she selects a certain panel, and, laying one hand on +it as if to make sure it is the one she wants, counts carefully six more +from it to the next wall, and three from it to the floor. I think I have +described these panels before as being one foot broad and two feet long.</p> + +<p>Having assured herself that the panel selected is the one she requires, +she presses her fingers steadily against the upper corner on the side +farthest from the fire. Expectation lies in every line of her face, yet +she is doomed to disappointment. No result attends her nervous pressure, +but distinct defeat. The panel is inexorable. Nothing daunted, she moves +her hand lower down, and tries again. Again failure crushes her; after +which she makes one last attempt, and, touching the very uppermost +corner, presses hard.</p> + +<p>Success at last rests with her. Slowly the panel moves, and, sliding to +one side, displays to view a tiny cupboard that for many years has been +lost sight of by the Rodney family. It is very small, about half a foot +in depth, with three small shelves inside. But, alas! these shelves are +empty.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey utters an exclamation, and Mona, after one swift comprehensive +glance at the rifled cupboard, bursts into tears. The bitter +disappointment is more than she can bear.</p> + +<p>"Oh! it isn't here! He has stolen it!" cries she, as one who can admit +of no comfort. "And I felt so sure I should find it myself. That was +what he was doing when I came into the room. Ah, Geoffrey, sure you +didn't malign him when you called him a thief."</p> + +<p>"What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly +distressed at her apparent grief.</p> + +<p>"He has stolen the will. Taken it away. That paper you hold must have +fallen from him, and contains the directions about finding the right +panel. Ah! what shall we do now?"</p> + +<p>"You are right: I see it now," says Geoffrey, whitening a little, +"Warden wrote that paper, no doubt," glancing at the dirty bit of +writing that has led to the discovery. "He evidently had his knowledge +from old Elspeth, who must have known of this secret hiding-place from +my great-grandfather. My father, I am convinced, knew nothing of it. +Here, on the night of my grandfather's death, the old woman must have +hidden the will, and here it has remained ever since until to-night. +Yet, after all, this is mere supposition," says Geoffrey. "We are taking +for granted what may prove a myth. The will may never been placed here, +and he himself——"</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> placed here; I feel it, I know it," says Mona, solemnly, +laying her hand upon the panel. Her earnestness impresses him. He wakes +into life.</p> + +<p>"Then that villain, that scoundrel, has it now in his possession," he +says, quickly. "If I go after him, even yet I may come up with him +before he reaches his home, and compel him to give it up."</p> + +<p>As he finishes he moves towards the window, as though bent upon putting +his words into execution at once, but Mona hastily stepping before him, +gets between it and him, and, raising her hand, forbids his approach.</p> + +<p>"You may compel him to murder you," she says, feverishly, "or, in your +present mood, you may murder him. No, you shall not stir from this +to-night."</p> + +<p>"But—" begins he, impatiently, trying gently to put her to one side.</p> + +<p>"I will not listen," she interrupts, passionately. "I know how you both +looked a while ago. I shall never forget it; and to meet again now, with +fresh cause for hatred in your hearts, would be——No. There is crime +in the very air of to-night."</p> + +<p>She winds her arms, around him, seeing he is still determined to go, +and, throwing back her head, looks into his face.</p> + +<p>"Besides, you are going on a fool's errand," she says, speaking rapidly, +as though to gain time. "He has reached his own place long ago. Wait +until the morning, I entreat you, Geoffrey. I—" her lips tremble, her +breath comes fitfully—"I can bear no more just now."</p> + +<p>A sob escapes her, and falls heavily on Geoffrey's heart. He is not +proof against a woman's tears,—as no true man ever is,—especially +<i>her</i> tears, and so he gives in at once.</p> + +<p>"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, +with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done."</p> + +<p>"To-day, you mean: you will only have to wait a few short hours," she +says, gratefully. "Let us leave this hateful room," with a shudder. "I +shall never be able to enter it again without thinking of this night and +all its horrors."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA KEEPS HER OWN COUNSEL—AND HOW AT MIDDAY SHE RECEIVES A NOTE.</h3> + + +<p>Sleep, even when she does get to bed, refuses to settle upon Mona's +eyelids. During the rest of the long hours that mark the darkness she +lies wide awake, staring upon vacancy, and thinking ceaselessly until</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Morn, in the white wake of the morning star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes furrowing all the Orient into gold."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Then she rises upon her elbow, and notices how the light comes through +the chinks of the shutters. It must be day indeed. The dreary night has +fled affrighted; the stars hide their diminished rays. Surely</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">"Yon gray lines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That fret the clouds are messengers of day."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>There is relief in the thought. She springs from her bed, clothes +herself rapidly, and descends to the breakfast room. Yet the day thus +begun appears to her singularly unattractive. Her mind is full of care. +She has persuaded Geoffrey to keep silence about all that last night +produced, and wait, before taking further steps. But wait for what? She +herself hardly knows what it is she hopes for.</p> + +<p>She makes various attempts at thinking it out. She places her pretty +hands upon her prettier brows, under the mistaken impression common to +most people that this attitude is conducive to the solution of +mysteries; but with no result. Things will not arrange themselves.</p> + +<p>To demand the will from Paul Rodney without further proof that it is in +his possession than the fact of having discovered by chance a secret +cupboard is absurd; yet not to demand it seems madness. To see him, to +reason with him, to accuse him of it, is her one desire; yet she can +promise herself no good from such an interview. She sighs as she thus +seeks aimlessly to see a satisfactory termination to all her +meditations.</p> + +<p>She is <i>distraite</i> and silent all the morning, taking small notice of +what goes on around her. Geoffrey, perplexed too, in spirit, wanders +vaguely from pillar to post, unable to settle to anything,—bound by +Mona to betray no hint of what happened in the library some hours ago, +yet dying to reveal the secret of the panel-cupboard to somebody.</p> + +<p>Nolly is especially and oppressively cheerful. He is blind to the +depression that marks Mona and Geoffrey for its own, and quite outdoes +himself in geniality and all-round amiability.</p> + +<p>Violet has gone to the stables to bestow upon her bonny brown mare her +usual morning offering of bread; Jack, of course, has gone with her.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey is nowhere just at this moment. Doatie and Nicholas are sitting +hand in hand and side by side in the library, discussing their own cruel +case, and wondering for the thousandth time whether—if the worst comes +to the worst (of which, alas! there now seems little doubt)—her father +will still give his consent to their marriage, and, if so, how they +shall manage to live on five hundred pounds a year, and whether it may +not be possible for Nicholas to get something or other to do (on this +subject they are vague) that may help "to make the crown a pound."</p> + +<p>Mona is sitting in the morning-room, the faithful and ever lively Nolly +at her side. According to his lights, she is "worth a ship-load of the +whole lot," and as such he haunts her. But to-day she fails him. She is +absent, depressed, weighed down with thought,—anything but congenial. +She forgets to smile in the right place, says, "Yes" when courtesy +requires "No," and is deaf to his gayest sallies.</p> + +<p>When he has told her a really good story.—quite true, and all about the +æsthetic, Lady Lilias, who has declared her intention of calling this +afternoon, and against whose wearing society he is strenuously warning +her,—and when she has shown no appreciation of the wit contained +therein, he knows there is something—as he himself describes +it—"rotten in the state of Denmark."</p> + +<p>"You are not well, are you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" he says, sympathetically, +getting up from his own chair to lean tenderly over the back of hers. +Nolly is nothing if not affectionate, where women are concerned. It +gives him no thought or trouble to be attentive to them, as in his soul +he loves them all,—in the abstract,—from the dairymaid to the duchess, +always provided they are pretty.</p> + +<p>"You are wrong: I am quite well," says Mona, smiling, and rousing +herself.</p> + +<p>"Then you have something on your mind. You have not been your usual +perfect self all the morning."</p> + +<p>"I slept badly last night; I hardly slept at all," she says, +plaintively, evading direct reply.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well, that's it," says Mr. Darling, somewhat relieved. "I'm an +awful duffer not to have guessed that Geoffrey's being out would keep you +awake."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I could not sleep. Watching and waiting destroy all chance of +slumber."</p> + +<p>"Lucky he," says Nolly, fervently, "to know there is somebody who longs +for his return when he is abroad; to feel that there are eyes that will +mark his coming, and look brighter when he comes, and all that sort of +thing. Nobody ever cares about <i>my</i> coming," says Mr. Darling, with deep +regret, "except to lament it."</p> + +<p>"How melancholy!" says Mona, with a nearer approach to brightness than +she has shown all day.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I'm not much," confesses Mr. Darling, blandly. "Others are more +fortunate. I'm like 'the man in the street,' subject to all the winds of +heaven. Why, it would almost tempt a man to stay away from home +occasionally to know there was some one longing for his return. It would +positively encourage him to dine out whenever he got the chance."</p> + +<p>"I pity your wife," says Mona, almost severely.</p> + +<p>"Oh, now, Mrs. Geoffrey, come—I say—how cruel yon can be!"</p> + +<p>"Well, do not preach such doctrine to Geoffrey," she says, with +repentance mixed with pathos.</p> + +<p>"I shall do only what you wish," returns he, chivalrously, arranging the +cushion that adorns the back of her chair.</p> + +<p>The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an +end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one +of the maids,—not her own,—who hands her a sealed note.</p> + +<p>"From whom?" demands Mona, lazily, seeing the writing is unknown to her.</p> + +<p>"I really don't know, ma'am. Mitchell gave it to me," says the girl, in +an injured tone. Now, Mitchell is Lady Rodney's maid.</p> + +<p>"Very good," says Mona, indifferently, after which the woman, having +straightened a cushion or two, takes her departure.</p> + +<p>Mona, sinking languidly into a chair, turns the note over and over +between her fingers, whilst wondering in a disjointed fashion as to whom +it can be from. She guesses vaguely at the writer of it, as people will +when they know a touch of the hand and a single glance can solve the +mystery.</p> + +<p>Then she opens the letter, and reads as follows:</p> + +<p>"In spite of all that has passed, I do entreat you to meet me at three +o'clock this afternoon at the river, beneath the chestnut-tree. Do not +refuse. Let no shrinking from the society of such as I am deter you from +granting me this first and last interview, as what I have to say +concerns not you, but those you love. I feel the more sure you will +accede to this request because of the heavenly pity in your eyes last +night, and the grace that moved you to address me as you did. I shall +wait for you until four o'clock. But let me not wait in vain.—P. R."</p> + +<p>So runs the letter.</p> + +<p>"The man is eccentric, no matter what Geoffrey may say," is Mona's first +thought, when she has perused it carefully for the second time. Then the +belief that it may have something to do with the restoration of the lost +will takes possession of her, and makes her heart beat wildly. Yes, she +will go; she will keep this appointment whatever comes of it.</p> + +<p>She glances at her watch. It is now a quarter past three; so there is no +time to be lost. She must hasten.</p> + +<p>Hurriedly she gets into her furs, and, twisting some soft black lace +around her throat, runs down the stairs, and, opening the hall door +without seeing any one, makes her way towards the appointed spot.</p> + +<p>It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and +little flowers are springing everywhere.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Daisies pied, and violets blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lady-smocks all silver white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do paint the meadows with delight."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Each bank and root of mossy tree is studded with pale primroses that +gleam like stars when the morning rises to dim their lustre. My lady's +straw-bed spreads its white carpet here and there; the faint twitter of +birds is in the air, with "liquid lapse of murmuring streams;" every +leaf seems bursting into life, the air is keen but soft, the clouds rest +lightly on a ground of spotless blue; the world is awake, and mad with +youthful glee as</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Spring comes slowly up this way"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Every flower has opened wide its pretty eye, because the sun, that so +long has been a stranger, has returned to them, and is gazing down upon +them with ardent love. They—fond nurslings of an hour—accept his tardy +attentions, and, though, still chilled and <i>desolee</i> because of the sad +touches of winter that still remain, gaze with rapt admiration at the +great Ph[oe]bus, as he sits enthroned above.</p> + +<p>Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and +place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the +beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and +compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place +appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face +Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she +comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she +looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream +rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite +attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon +her.</p> + +<p>"I have come," she says, simply, feeling herself growing pale, yet quite +self-possessed, and strong in a determination not to offer him her hand.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I thank you for your goodness," returns he, slowly.</p> + +<p>Then follows an uncomfortable silence.</p> + +<p>"You have something important to say to me," says Mona, presently, +seeing he will not speak: "at least, so your letter led me to believe."</p> + + +<p>"It is true; I have." Then some other train of thought seems to rush +upon him; and he goes on in a curious tone that is half mocking, yet +wretched above every other feeling; "You had the best of me last night, +had you not? And yet," with a sardonic laugh. "I'm not so sure, either. +See here."</p> + +<p>Slowly he draws from his pocket a paper, folded neatly, that looks like +some old parchment. Mona draws her breath quickly, and turns first +crimson with emotion, then pale as death. Opening it at a certain page, +he points out to her the signature of George Rodney, the old baronet.</p> + +<p>"Give it to me!" cries she, impulsively, her voice, trembling. "It is +the missing will. You found it last night. It belongs to Nicholas. You +must—nay," softly, beseechingly, "you <i>will</i> give it to me."</p> + +<p>"Do you know all you ask? By relinquishing this iniquitous deed I give +up all hope of ever gaining this place,—this old house that even to me +seems priceless. You demand much. Yet on one condition it shall be +yours."</p> + +<p>"And the condition?" asks she, eagerly, going closer to him. What is it +that she would not do to restore happiness to those she has learned to +love so well?</p> + +<p>"A simple one."</p> + +<p>"Name it!" exclaims she, seeing he still hesitates.</p> + +<p>He lays his hands lightly on her arm, yet his touch seems to burn +through her gown into her very flesh. He stoops towards her.</p> + +<p>"For one kiss this deed shall be yours," he whispers, "to do what you +like with it."</p> + +<p>Mona starts violently, and draws back; shame and indignation cover her. +Her breath comes in little gasps.</p> + +<p>"Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, +fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt.</p> + +<p>"You have heard me," retorts he, coldly, angered to the last degree by +the extreme horror and disgust she has evinced at his proposal. He +deliberately replaces the precious paper in his pocket, and turns as if +to go.</p> + +<p>"Oh, stay?" she says, faintly, detaining him both by word and gesture.</p> + +<p>He turns to her again.</p> + +<p>She covers her eyes with her hands, and tries vainly to decide on what +is best for her to do. In all the books she has ever read the young +woman placed in her position would not have hesitated at all. As if +reared to the situation, she would have thrown up her head, and +breathing defiance upon the tempter, would have murmured to the +sympathetic air, "Honor above everything," and so, full of dignity, +would have moved away from her discomfited companion, her nose high in +the air. She would think it a righteous thing that all the world should +suffer rather than one tarnish, however slight, should sully the +brightness of her fame.</p> + +<p>For the first time Mona learns she is not like this well-regulated young +woman. She falls lamentably short of such excellence. She cannot bring +herself to think the world of those she loves well lost for any +consideration whatever. And after all—this horrid condition—it would +be over in a moment. And she could run home with the coveted paper, and +bathe her face in sweet cold water. And then again she shudders. Could +she bathe the remembrance of the insult from her heart?</p> + +<p>She presses her hands still closer against her eyes, as though to shut +out from her own mind the hatefulness of such a thought. And then, with +a fresh effort, she brings herself back once more to the question that +lies before her.</p> + +<p>Oh, if by this one act of self-sacrifice she could restore the Towers +with all its beauty and richness to Nicholas, and—and his mother,—how +good a thing it would be! But will Geoffrey ever forgive her? Ah, sure +when she explains the matter to him, and tells him how and why she did +it, and how her heart bled in the doing of it, he will put his arms +round her and pardon her sin. Nay, more, he may see how tender is the +longing that compels her to the deed.</p> + +<p>She uncovers her eyes, and glances for a bare instant at Rodney. Then +once more the heavily-fringed lids close upon the dark-blue eyes, as if +to hide the anguish in them, and in a smothered voice she says, with +clenched teeth and a face like marble, "Yes, you may kiss me,—if you +will."</p> + +<p>There is a pause. In shrinking doubt she awaits the moment that shall +make him take advantage of her words. But that moment never comes. In +vain she waits. At length she lifts her eyes, and he, flinging the +parchment at her feet, cries, roughly,—</p> + +<p>"There! take it. <i>I</i> can be generous too."</p> + +<p>"But," begins Mona, feebly, hardly sure of her blessed release.</p> + +<p>"Keep your kiss," exclaims he, savagely, "since it cost you such an +effort to give it, and keep the parchment too. It is yours because of my +love for you."</p> + +<p>Ashamed of his vehemence, he stoops, and, raising the will from the +ground, presents it to her courteously. "Take it: it is yours," he says. +Mona closes her fingers on it vigorously, and by a last effort of grace +suppresses the sigh of relief that rises from her heart.</p> + +<p>Instinctively she lowers her hand as though to place the document in the +inside pocket of her coat, and in doing so comes against something that +plainly startles her.</p> + +<p>"I quite forgot it," she says, coloring with sudden fear, and then +slowly, cautiously, she draws up to view the hated pistol he had left in +the library the night before. She holds it out to him at arm's length, +as though it is some noisome reptile, as doubtless indeed she considers +it. "Take it," she says; "take it quickly. I brought it to you, meaning +to return it. Good gracious! fancy my forgetting it! Why, it might have +gone off and killed me, and I should have been none the wiser."</p> + +<p>"Well, I think you would, for a moment or two at least," returns he, +smiling grimly, and dropping the dangerous little toy with some +carelessness into his own pocket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, do take care!" cries Mona, in an agony: "it is loaded. If you throw +it about in that rough fashion, it will certainly go off and do you some +injury."</p> + +<p>"Blow me to atoms, perhaps, or into some region unknown," says he, +recklessly. "A good thing, too. Is life so sweet a possession that one +need quail before the thought of resigning it?"</p> + +<p>"You speak as one might who has no aim in life, says Mona, looking at +him with sincere pity. When Mona looks piteous she is at her best. Her +eyes grow large, her sweet lips tremulous, her whole face pathetic. The +<i>role</i> suits her. Rodney's heart begins to beat with dangerous rapidity. +It is quite on the cards that a man of his reckless, untrained, +dare-devil disposition should fall madly in love with a woman <i>sans peur +et sans reproche</i>.</p> + +<p>"An aim!" he says, bitterly. "I think I have found an end to my life +where most fellows find a beginning."</p> + +<p>"By and you will think differently," says Mona, believing he alludes to +his surrender of the Rodney property "You will get over this +disappointment."</p> + +<p>"I shall,—when death claims me," replies he.</p> + +<p>"Nay, now," says Mona, sweetly, "do not talk like that. It grieves me. +When you have formed a purpose worth living for, the whole world will +undergo a change for you. What is dark now will seem light then; and +death will be an enemy, a thing to battle with, to fight with +desperately until one's latest breath. In the meantime," nervously, +"<i>do</i> be cautious about that horrid weapon: won't you, now?"</p> + +<p>"You ask me no questions about last night," he says, suddenly; "and +there is something I must say to you. Get rid of that fellow Ridgway, +the under-gardener. It was he opened the library window for me. He is +untrustworthy, and too fond of filthy lucre ever to come to good. I +bribed him."</p> + +<p>He is now speaking with some difficulty, and is looking, not at her, but +at the pattern he is drawing on the soft loam at his feet.</p> + +<p>"Bribed him?" says Mona, in an indescribable tone.</p> + +<p>"Yes. I knew about the secret panel from Warden, old Elspeth's nephew, +who alone, I think, knew of its existence. I was determined to get the +will. It seemed to me," cries he, with sudden excitement, "no such great +crime to do away with an unrighteous deed that took from an elder son +(without just cause) his honest rights, to bestow them upon the younger. +What had my father done? Nothing! His brother, by treachery and base +subterfuge, supplanted him, and obtained his birthright, while he, my +father, was cast out, disinherited, without a hearing."</p> + +<p>His passion carries Mona along with it.</p> + +<p>"It was unjust, no doubt; it sounds so," she says, faintly. Yet even as +she speaks she closes her little slender fingers resolutely upon the +parchment that shall restore happiness to Nicholas and dear pretty +Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"To return to Ridgway," says Paul Rodney, pulling himself up abruptly. +"See him yourself, I beg of you, as a last favor, and dismiss him. Send +him over to me: I will take him back with me to Australia and give him a +fresh start in life. I owe him so much, as I was the first to tempt him +into the wrong path; yet I doubt whether he would have kept straight +even had he not met me. He is <i>mauvais sujet</i> all through."</p> + +<p>"Surely," thinks Mona to herself, "this strange young man is not +altogether bad. He has his divine touches as well as another."</p> + +<p>"I will do as you ask," she says, wondering when the interview will come +to an end.</p> + +<p>"After all, I am half glad Nicholas is not to be routed," he says, +presently, with some weariness in his tone. "The game wasn't worth the +candle; I should never have been able to do the <i>grand seigneur</i> as he +does it. I suppose I am not to the manner born. Besides, I bear <i>him</i> no +malice."</p> + +<p>His tone, his emphasis on the pronoun, is significant.</p> + +<p>"Why should you bear malice to any one?" says Mona uneasily.</p> + +<p>"Your husband called me 'thief.' I have not forgotten that," replies he, +gloomily, the dark blood of his mother's race rushing to his cheek. "I +shall remember that insult to my dying day. And let him remember <i>this</i>, +that if ever I meet him again, alone, and face to face, I shall kill him +for that word only."</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! no!" says Mona, shrinking from him. "Why cherish such revenge +in your heart? Would you kill me too, that you speak like this? Fling +such thoughts far from you, and strive after good. Revenge is the food +of fools."</p> + +<p>"Well, at least I sha'n't have many more opportunities of meeting him," +says Rodney. "I shall leave this country as soon as I can. Tell Nicholas +to keep the title with the rest. I shall never use it. And now," growing +very pale, "it only remains to say good-by."</p> + +<p>"Good-by," says Mona, softly, giving him her hand. He keeps it fast in +both his own. Just at this moment it dawns upon her for the first time +that this man loves her with a love surpassing that of most. The +knowledge does not raise within her breast—as of course it should +do—feelings of virtuous indignation: indeed, I regret to say that my +heroine feels nothing but a deep and earnest pity, that betrays itself +in her expressive face.</p> + +<p>"Last night you called me Paul. Do you remember? Call me it again, for +the last time," he entreats, in a low tone. "I shall never forget what I +felt then. If ever in the future you hear good of me, believe it was +through you it sprung to life. Till my dying day your image will remain +with me. Say now, 'Good-by, Paul,' before I go."</p> + +<p>"Good by, dear Paul," says Mona, very gently, impressed by his evident +grief and earnestness.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, my—my beloved—cousin," he says, in a choked voice. I think +the last word is an afterthought. He is tearing himself from all he +holds most sacred upon earth, and the strain is terrible. He moves +resolutely a a few yards away from her, as though determined to put +space between him and her; yet then he pauses, and, as though powerless +to withdraw from her presence, returns again, and, flinging himself on +his knees before her, presses a fold of her gown to his lips with +passionate despair.</p> + +<p>"It is forever!" he says, incoherently. "Oh, Mona, at least—<i>at least</i> +promise you will always think kindly of me."</p> + +<p>"Always—indeed, always!" says Mona, with tears in her eyes; after +which, with a last miserable glance, he strides away, and is lost to +sight among the trees.</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Geoffrey turns quickly, and runs home at the top of her speed. +She is half sad, yet half exultant, being filled to the very heart with +the knowledge that life, joy, and emancipation from present evil lie in +her pocket. This thought crowns all others.</p> + +<p>As she comes to the gravel walk that leads from the shrubberies to the +sweep before the hall door, she encounters the disgraced Ridgway, doing +something or other to one of the shrubs that has come to grief during +the late bad weather.</p> + +<p>He touches his hat to her, and bids her a respectful "good afternoon," +but for once she is blind to his salutation. Nevertheless, she stops +before him, and, in a clear voice, says, coldly,—</p> + +<p>"For the future your services will not be required here. Your new +master, Mr. Paul Rodney, whom you have chosen to obey in preference to +those in whose employ you have been, will give you your commands from +this day. Go to him, and after this try to be faithful."</p> + +<p>The boy—he is little more—cowers beneath her glance. He changes color, +and drops the branch he holds. No excuse rises to his lips. To attempt a +lie with those clear eyes upon him would be worse than useless. He turns +abruptly away, and is dead to the Towers from this moment.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW CONVERSATION GROWS RIFE AT THE TOWERS—AND HOW MONA ASSERTS +HERSELF—AND HOW LADY RODNEY LICKS THE DUST.</h3> + + +<p>"Where can Mona be?" says Doatie, suddenly.</p> + +<p>We must go back one hour. Lady Lilias Eaton has come and gone. It is now +a quarter to five, and Violet is pouring out tea in the library.</p> + +<p>"Yes; where is Mona?" says Jack, looking up from the cup she has just +given him.</p> + +<p>"I expect I know more than most about her," says Nolly, who is enjoying +himself immensely among the sponge, and the plum-cakes. "I told her the +Æsthetic was likely to call this afternoon, and advised her strongly to +make her escape while she could."</p> + +<p>"She evidently took your advice," says Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"Well, I went rather minutely into it, you know. I explained to her how +Lady Lilias was probably going to discuss the new curfew-bell in all its +bearings; and I hinted gloomily at the 'Domesday Book.' <i>That</i> fetched +her. She vamoosed on the spot."</p> + +<p>"Nothing makes me so hungry as Lady Lilias," says Doatie, comfortably. +She is lying back in a huge arm-chair that is capable of holding three +like her, and is devouring bread and butter like a dainty but starved +little fairy. Nicholas, sitting beside her, is holding her tea-cup, her +own special tea-cup of gaudy Sèvres. "She is very trying, isn't she, +Nicholas? What a dazzling skin she has!—the very whitest I ever saw."</p> + +<p>"Well, that is in her favor, I really think," says Violet, in her most +unprejudiced manner. "If she were to leave off her rococo toilettes, and +take to Elise or Worth like other people, and give up posing, and try to +behave like a rational being, she might almost be called handsome."</p> + +<p>No one seconds this rash opinion. There is a profound silence. Miss +Mansergh looks mildly round for support, and, meeting Jack's eyes, stops +there.</p> + +<p>"Well, really, you know, yes. I think there <i>is</i> something special about +her," he says, feeling himself in duty bound to say something.</p> + +<p>"So there is; something specially awful," responds Nolly, pensively. +"She frightens me to death. She has an 'eye like a gimlet.' When I call +to mind the day my father inveigled me into the library and sort of told +me I couldn't do better than go in for Lilias, my knees give way beneath +me and smite each other with fear. I shudder to think what part in her +mediæval programme would have been allotted to me."</p> + +<p>"You would have been her henchman,—is that right, Nicholas?—or her +<i>varlet</i>," says Dorothy, with conviction, "And you would have had to +stain your skin, and go round with a cross-bow, and with your mouth +widened from ear to ear to give you the correct look. All æsthetic +people have wide mouths, have they not, Nicholas?"</p> + +<p>"Bless me, what an enthralling picture!" says Mr. Darling. "You make me +regret all I have lost. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I say, +Dolly, you are eating nothing. Have some more bread-and-butter or cake, +old girl. You don't half take care of yourself."</p> + +<p>"Well, do you know, I think I will take another bit of cake," says +Doatie, totally unabashed. "And—cut it thick. After all, Noll, I don't +believe Lilias would ever marry you, or any other man: she wouldn't know +what to do with you."</p> + +<p>"It is very good of you to say that," says Nolly, meekly but gratefully. +"It gives me great support. You honestly believe, then, that I may +escape?"</p> + +<p>"Just fancy the Æsthetic with a husband, and a baby on her knee."</p> + +<p>"Like 'Loraine Loraine Loree,'" says Violet, laughing.</p> + +<p>"Did she have both together on her knee?" asks Dorothy, vaguely. "She +must have found it heavy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, one at a time," says Nolly. "She couldn't do it all at once. Such a +stretch of fancy requires thought."</p> + +<p>At this moment, Geoffrey—who has been absent—saunters into the room, +and, after a careless glance around, says, lightly, as if missing +something,—</p> + +<p>"Where is Mona?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we thought you would know," says Lady Rodney, speaking for the +first time.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Where is she?" says Doatie: "that is just what we all want to know. +She won't get any tea if she doesn't come presently, because Nolly is +bent on finishing it. Nolly," with plaintive protest, "don't be greedy."</p> + +<p>"We thought she was with you," says Captain Rodney, idly.</p> + +<p>"She is out," says Lady Rodney, in a compressed tone.</p> + +<p>"Is she? It is too late for her to be out," returns Geoffrey, thinking +of the chill evening air.</p> + +<p>"Quite too late," acquiesces his mother, meaningly. "It is, to say the +least of it, very strange, very unseemly. Out at this hour, and +alone,—if, indeed, she is alone!"</p> + +<p>Her tone is so unpleasant and so significant that silence falls upon the +room. Geoffrey says nothing. Perhaps he alone among them fails to +understand the meaning of her words. He seems lost in thought. So lost, +that the others, watching him, wonder secretly what the end of his +meditations will bring forth: yet, one and all, they mistake him: no +doubt of Mona ever has, or ever will, I think, cross his mind.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney regards him curiously, trying to read his downcast face. Has +the foolish boy at last been brought to see a flaw in his idol of clay?</p> + +<p>Nicholas is looking angry. Jack, sinking into a chair near Violet, says, +in a whisper, that "it is a beastly shame his mother cannot let Mona +alone. She seems, by Jove! bent on turning Geoffrey against her."</p> + +<p>"It is cruel," says Violet, with suppressed but ardent ire.</p> + +<p>"If—if <i>you</i> loved a fellow, would anything turn you against him?" asks +he, suddenly, looking her full in the face.</p> + +<p>And she answers,—</p> + +<p>"Nothing. Not all the talking in the wide world," with a brilliant +blush, but with steady earnest eyes.</p> + +<p>Nolly, mistrustful of Geoffrey's silence, goes up to him, and, laying +his hands upon his shoulders, says, quietly,—</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Geoffrey is incapable of making any mistake. How silent you are, +old fellow!"</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rousing himself and smiling genially. "A mistake? +Oh, no. She never makes mistakes. I was thinking of something else. But +she really ought to be in now, you know; she will catch her death of +cold."</p> + +<p>The utter want of suspicion in his tone drives Lady Rodney to open +action. To do her justice, dislike to Mona has so warped her judgment +that she almost believes in the evil she seeks to disseminate about her.</p> + +<p>"You are wilfully blind," she says, flushing hotly, and smoothing with +nervous fingers an imaginary wrinkle from her gown. "Of course I +explained matters as well as I could to Mitchell, but it was very +awkward, and very unpleasant, and servants are never deceived."</p> + +<p>"I hardly think I follow you," says Geoffrey, in a frozen tone. "In +regard to what would you wish your servants deceived?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is quite the correct thing your taking it in this way," +goes on his mother, refusing to be warned, and speaking with +irritation,—"the only course left open; but it is rather absurd with +<i>me</i>. We have all noticed your wife's extraordinary civility to that +shocking young man. Such bad taste on her part, considering how he +stands with regard to us, and the unfortunate circumstances connected +with him. But no good ever comes of unequal marriages."</p> + +<p>"Now, once for all, mother—" begins Nicholas, vehemently, but Geoffrey, +with a gesture, silences him.</p> + +<p>"I am perfectly content, nay more than content, with the match I have +made," he says, haughtily; "and if you are alluding to Paul Rodney, I +can only say I have noticed nothing reprehensible in Mona's treatment of +him."</p> + +<p>"You are very much to be admired," says his mother, in an abominable +tone.</p> + +<p>"I see no reason why she should not talk to any man she pleases. I know +her well enough to trust her anywhere, and am deeply thankful for such +knowledge. In fact," with some passion, sudden but subdued, "I feel as +though in discussing her in this cold-blooded fashion I am doing her +some grievous wrong."</p> + +<p>"It almost amounts to it," says Nicholas, with a frown.</p> + +<p>"Besides, I do not understand what you mean," says Geoffrey, still +regarding his mother with angry eyes "Why connect Mona's absence with +Paul Rodney?"</p> + +<p>"I shall tell you," exclaims she, in a higher tone, her pale-blue eyes +flashing. "Two hours ago my own maid received a note from Paul Rodney's +man directed to your wife. When she read it she dressed herself and went +from this house in the direction of the wood. If you cannot draw your +own conclusions from these two facts, you must be duller or more +obstinate than I give you credit for."</p> + +<p>She ceases, her work accomplished. The others in the room grow weak with +fear, as they tell themselves that things are growing too dreadful to be +borne much longer. When the silence is quite insupportable, poor little +Dorothy struggles to the front.</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Rodney," she says, in a tremulous tone, "are you quite sure +the note was from that—that man?"</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," returns her future mother-in law, grimly. "I never speak, +Dorothy, without foundation for what I say."</p> + +<p>Dorothy, feeling snubbed, subsides into silence and the shadow that +envelopes the lounge on which she is sitting.</p> + +<p>To the surprise of everybody, Geoffrey takes no open notice of his +mother's speech. He does not give way to wrath, nor does he open his +lips on any subject. His face is innocent of anger, horror, or distrust. +It changes, indeed, beneath the glow of the burning logs but in a manner +totally unexpected. An expression that might even be termed hope lights +it up. Like this do his thoughts run: "Can it be possible that the +Australian has caved in, and, fearing publicity after last night's +<i>fiasco</i>, surrendered the will to Mona?"</p> + +<p>Possessed with this thought,—which drowns all others,—he clasps his +hands behind his back and saunters to the window. "Shall he go and meet +Mona and learn the truth at once? Better not, perhaps; she is such a +clever child that it is as well to let her achieve victory without +succor of any sort."</p> + +<p>He leans against the window and looks out anxiously upon the darkening +twilight. His mother watches him with curious eyes. Suddenly he +electrifies the whole room by whistling in a light and airy fashion his +favorite song from "Madame Favart." It is the "Artless Thing," and +nothing less, and he whistles it deliberately and dreamily from start to +finish.</p> + +<p>It seems such a direct running commentary on Mona's supposed ill deed +that every one—as by a single impulse—looks up. Nolly and Jack Rodney +exchange covert glances. But for the depression that reigns all round, I +think these two would have given way to frivolous merriment.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, you know, it is odd," says Geoffrey, presently, speaking as +one might who has for long been following out a train of thought by no +means unpleasant, "his sending for her, and that: there must be +something in it. Rodney didn't write to her for nothing. It must have +been to——" Here he checks himself abruptly, remembering his promise to +Mona to say nothing about the scene in the library. "It certainly means +something," he winds up, a little tamely.</p> + +<p>"No doubt," returns his mother, sneeringly.</p> + +<p>"My dear mother," says Geoffrey, coming back to the firelight, "what you +would insinuate is too ridiculous to be taken any notice of." Every +particle of his former passion has died from his voice, and he is now +quite calm, nay cheerful.</p> + +<p>"But at the same time I must ask you to remember you are speaking of my +wife."</p> + +<p>"I do remember it," replies she, bitterly.</p> + +<p>Just at this moment a light step running up the stairs outside and +across the veranda makes itself heard. Every one looks expectant, and +the slight displeasure dies out of Geoffrey's face. A slender, graceful +figure appears at the window, and taps lightly.</p> + +<p>"Open the window, Geoff," cries Mona, eagerly, and as he obeys her +commands she steps into the room with a certain touch of haste about her +movements, and looks round upon them earnestly,—some peculiar +expression, born of a glad thought, rendering her lovely face even more +perfect than usual.</p> + +<p>There is a smile upon her lips; her hands are clasped behind her.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad you have come, darling," says little Dorothy, taking off +her hat, and laying it on a chair near her.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey removes the heavy lace that lies round her throat, and then +leads her up to the hearthrug nearly opposite to his mother's arm-chair.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been, Mona?" he asks, quietly, gazing into the great +honest liquid eyes raised so willingly to his own.</p> + +<p>"You shall guess," says Mrs. Geoffrey, gayly, with a little laugh. "Now, +where do you think?"</p> + +<p>Geoffrey says nothing. But Sir Nicholas, as though impulsively, says,—</p> + +<p>"In the wood?"</p> + +<p>Perhaps he is afraid for her. Perhaps it is a gentle hint to her that +the truth will be best. Whatever it may be, Mona understands him not at +all. His mother glances up sharply.</p> + +<p>"Why, so I was," says Mona, opening her eyes with some surprise, and +with an amused smile. "What a good guess, and considering how late the +hour is, too!"</p> + +<p>She smiles again. Lady Rodney, watching her intently, tells herself if +this is acting it is the most perfectly done thing she ever saw in her +life, either on the stage or off it.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey's arm slips from his wife's shoulders to her rounded waist.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, as you have been so good at your first guess you will try +again," says Mona, still addressing Nicholas, and speaking in a tone of +unusual light-heartedness, but so standing that no one can see why her +hands are so persistently clasped behind her back. "Now tell me who I +was with."</p> + +<p>This is a thunderbolt. They all start guiltily, and regard Mona with +wonder. What is she going to say next?</p> + +<p>"So," she says, mockingly, laughing at Nicholas, "you cannot play the +seer any longer? Well, I shall tell you. I was with Paul Rodney!"</p> + +<p>She is plainly quite enchanted with the sensation she is creating, +though she is far from comprehending how complete that sensation is. +Something in her expression appeals to Doatie's heart and makes her +involuntarily go closer to her. Her face is transfigured. It is full of +love and unselfish joy and happy exultation: always lovely, there is at +this moment something divine about her beauty.</p> + +<p>"What have you got behind your back?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, going up +to her.</p> + +<p>She flushes, opens her lips as if to speak, and yet is dumb,—perhaps +through excess of emotion.</p> + +<p>"Mona, it is not—it cannot be—but is it?" asks he incoherently.</p> + +<p>"The missing will? Yes—yes—<i>yes</i>!" cries she, raising the hand that is +behind her, and holding it high above her head with the will held +tightly in it.</p> + +<p>It is a supreme moment. A deadly silence falls upon the room, and then +Dorothy bursts into tears. In my heart I believe she feels as much +relief at Mona's exculpation as at the discovery of the desired deed.</p> + +<p>Mona, turning not to Nicholas or to Doatie or to Geoffrey but to Lady +Rodney, throws the paper into her lap.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure," says Mona, and then she laughs aloud—a sweet, joyous +laugh,—and clasps her hands together with undisguised delight and +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, who has tears in his eyes, takes her in his arms and kisses +her once softly, before them all.</p> + +<p>"My best beloved," he says, with passionate fondness, beneath his +breath; but she hears him, and wonders vaguely but gladly at his tone, +not understanding the rush of tenderness that almost overcomes him as he +remembers how his mother—whom she has been striving with all her power +to benefit—has been grossly maligning and misjudging her. Truly she is +too good for those among whom her lot has been cast.</p> + +<p>"It is like a fairy-tale," says Violet, with unwonted excitement. "Oh, +Mona, tell us how you managed it."</p> + +<p>"Well, just after luncheon Letitia, your maid, brought me a note. I +opened it. It was from Paul Rodney, asking me to meet him at three +o'clock, as he had something of importance to say that concerned not me +but those I loved. When he said <i>that</i>," says Mona, looking round upon +them all with a large, soft, comprehensive glance, and a sweet smile, "I +knew he meant <i>you</i>. So I went. I got into my coat and hat, and ran all +the way to the spot he had appointed,—the big chestnut-tree near the +millstream: you know it, Geoff, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know it," says Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>"He was there before me, and almost immediately he drew the will from +his pocket, and said he would give it to me if—if—well, he gave it to +me," says Mrs. Geoffrey, changing color as she remembers her merciful +escape. "And he desired me to tell you, Nicholas, that he would never +claim the title, as it was useless to him and it sits so sweetly on you. +And then I clutched the will, and held it tightly, and ran all the way +back with it, and—and that's all!"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Why have you taken all this trouble about us?" says Lady Rodney, +leaning forward to look at the girl anxiously, her voice low and +trembling.</p> + +<p>At this Mona, being a creature of impulse, grows once more pale and +troubled.</p> + +<p>"It was for you," she says, hanging her head. "I thought if I could do +something to make you happier, you might learn to love me a little!"</p> + +<p>"I have wronged you," says Lady Rodney, in a low tone, covering her face +with her hands.</p> + +<p>"Go to her," says Geoffrey, and Mona, slipping from his embrace, falls +on her knees at his mother's feet. With one little frightened hand she +tries to possess herself of the fingers that shield the elder woman's +face.</p> + +<p>"It is too late," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone. "I have said so +many things about you, that—that——"</p> + +<p>"I don't care what you have said," interrupts Mona, quickly. She has her +arms round Lady Rodney's waist by this time, and is regarding her +beseechingly.</p> + +<p>"There is too much to forgive," says Lady Rodney, and as she speaks two +tears roll down her cheeks. This evidence of emotion from her is worth a +torrent from another.</p> + +<p>"Let there be no talk of forgiveness between you and me," says Mona, +very sweetly, after which Lady Rodney fairly gives way, and placing her +arms round the kneeling girl, draws her to her bosom and kisses her +tenderly.</p> + +<p>Every one is delighted. Perhaps Nolly and Jack Rodney are conscious of a +wild desire to laugh, but if so, they manfully suppress it, and behave +as decorously as the rest.</p> + +<p>"Now I am quite, quite happy," says Mona, and, rising from her knees, +she goes back again to Geoffrey, and stands beside him. "Tell them all +about last night," she says, looking up at him, "and the secret +cupboard."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW THE RODNEYS MAKE MERRY OVER THE SECRET PANEL—HOW GEOFFREY QUESTIONS +MONA—AND HOW, WHEN JOY IS AT ITS HIGHEST EVIL TIDINGS SWEEP DOWN UPON +THEM.</h3> + + +<p>At the mention of the word "secret" every one grows very much alive at +once. Even Lady Rodney dries her tears and looks up expectantly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Geoffrey and I have made a discovery,—a most important one,—and +it has lain heavy on our breasts all day. Now tell them everything about +last night, Geoff, from beginning to end."</p> + +<p>Thus adjured,—though in truth he requires little pressing, having been +devoured with a desire since early dawn to reveal the hidden knowledge +that is in his bosom,—Geoffrey relates to them the adventure of the +night before. Indeed, he gives such a brilliant coloring to the tale +that every one is stricken dumb with astonishment, Mona herself perhaps +being the most astonished of all. However, like a good wife, she makes +no comments, and contradicts his statements not at all, so that +(emboldened by her evident determination not to interfere with anything +he may choose to say) he gives them such a story as absolutely brings +down the house,—metaphorically speaking.</p> + +<p>"A secret panel! Oh, how enchanting! do, <i>do</i> show it to me!" cries +Doatie Darling, when this marvellous recital has come to an end. "If +there is one thing I adore, it is a secret chamber, or a closet in a +house, or a ghost."</p> + +<p>"You may have the ghosts all to yourself. I sha'n't grudge them to you. +I'll have the cupboards," says Nicholas, who has grown at least ten +years younger during the last hour. "Mona, show us this one."</p> + +<p>Mona, drawing a chair to the panelled wall, steps up on it, and, +pressing her finger on the seventh panel, it slowly rolls back, +betraying the vacuum behind.</p> + +<p>They all examine it with interest, Nolly being specially voluble on the +occasion.</p> + +<p>"And to think we all sat pretty nearly every evening within a yard or +two of that blessed will, and never knew anything about it!" he says, at +last, in a tone of unmitigated disgust.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is just what occurred to me," says Mona, nodding her head +sympathetically.</p> + +<p>"No? did it?" says Nolly, sentimentally. "How—how awfully satisfactory +it is to know we both thought alike on even one subject!"</p> + +<p>Mona, after a stare of bewilderment that dies at its birth, gives way to +laughter: she is still standing on the chair, and looking down on Nolly, +who is adoring her in the calm and perfectly open manner that belongs to +him.</p> + +<p>Just then Dorothy says,—</p> + +<p>"Shut it up tight again, Mona, and let <i>me</i> try to open it." And, Mona +having closed the panel again and jumped down off the chair, Doatie +takes her place, and, supported by Nicholas, opens and shuts the secret +door again and again to her heart's content.</p> + +<p>"It is quite simple: there is no deception," says Mr. Darling, +addressing the room, with gracious encouragement in his tone, shrugging +his shoulders and going through all the airs and graces that belong to +the orthodox French showman.</p> + +<p>"It is quite necessary you should know all about it," says Nicholas, in +a low tone, to Dorothy, whom he is holding carefully, as though under +the mistaken impression that young women if left on chairs without +support invariably fall off them. "As the future mistress here, you +ought to be up to every point connected with the old place."</p> + +<p>Miss Darling blushes. It is so long since she has given way to this +weakness that now she does it warmly and generously, as though to make +up for other opportunities neglected. She scrambles down off the chair, +and, going up to Mona, surprises that heroine of the hour by bestowing +upon her a warm though dainty hug.</p> + +<p>"It is all your doing. How wretched we should have been had we never +seen you!" she says, with tears of gratitude in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Altogether it is a very exciting and pleasurable moment.</p> + +<p>The panel is as good as a toy to them. They all open it by turns, and +wonder over it, and rejoice in it. But Geoffrey, taking Mona aside, says +curiously, and a little gravely,—</p> + +<p>"Tell me why you hesitated in your speech a while ago. Talking of +Rodney's giving you the will, you said he offered to give it you +if—if——What did the 'if' mean?"</p> + +<p>"Come over to the window, and I will tell you," says Mrs. Geoffrey. +"He—he—you must take no notice of it, Geoffrey, but he wanted to kiss +me. He offered me the will for one kiss, and——"</p> + +<p>"You didn't get possession of it in that way?" asks he, seizing her +hands and trying to read her face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no! But listen to my story. When he saw how I hated his proposal, +he very generously forgave the price, and let me have the document a +free gift. That was rather good of him, was it not? because men like +having their own way, you know."</p> + +<p>"Very self-denying of him, indeed," says Geoffrey, with a slight sneer, +and a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>"Had I given in, would you have been very angry?" asks she regarding him +earnestly.</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>"Then what a mercy it is I didn't do it!" says Mona, naively. "I was +very near it, do you know? I had actually said 'Yes,' because I could +not make up my mind to lose the deed, when he let me off the bargain. +But, if he had persisted, I tell you honestly I am quite sure I should +have let him kiss me."</p> + +<p>"Mona, don't talk like that," says Geoffrey, biting his lips.</p> + +<p>"Well, but, after all, one can't be much of a friend if one can't +sacrifice one's self sometimes for those one loves," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +reproachfully. "You would have done it yourself in my place!"</p> + +<p>"What! kiss the Australian? I'd see him—very well—that is—ahem! I +certainly would not, you know," says Mr. Rodney.</p> + +<p>"Well, I suppose I am wrong," says Mona, with a sigh. "Are you very +angry with me, Geoff? Would you ever have forgiven me if I had done it?"</p> + +<p>"I should," says Geoffrey, pressing her hands. "You would always be to +me the best and truest woman alive. But—but I shouldn't have liked it."</p> + +<p>"Well, neither should I!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, with conviction. "I should +perfectly have hated it. But I should never have forgiven myself if he +had gone away with the will."</p> + +<p>"It is quite a romance," says Jack Rodney: "I never heard anything like +it before off the stage." He is speaking to the room generally. "I doubt +if any one but you, Mona, would have got the will out of him. He hates +the rest of us like poison."</p> + +<p>"But—bless me!—how awfully he must be in love with you to resign the +Towers for your sake!" says Nolly, suddenly giving words to the thought +that has been tormenting him for some time.</p> + +<p>As this is the idea that has haunted every one since the disclosure, and +that they each and all have longed but feared to discuss, they now +regard Nolly with admiration,—all save Lady Rodney, who, remembering +her unpleasant insinuations of an hour ago, moves uneasily in her chair, +and turns an uncomfortable crimson.</p> + +<p>Mona is, however, by no means disconcerted; she lifts her calm eyes to +Nolly's, and answers him without even a blush.</p> + +<p>"Do you know it never occurred to me until this afternoon?" she says, +simply; "but now I think—I may be mistaken, but I really do think he +fancies himself in love with me. A very silly fancy, of course."</p> + +<p>"He must adore you; and no wonder, too," says Mr. Darling, so +emphatically that every one smiles, and Jack, clapping him on the back, +says,—</p> + +<p>"Well done, Nolly! Go it again, old chap!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mona, what courage you showed! Just imagine staying in the library +when you found yourself face to face with a person you never expected to +see, and in the dead of night, with every one sound asleep! In your case +I should either have fainted or rushed back to my bedroom again as fast +as my feet could carry me; and I believe," says Dorothy, with +conviction, "I should so far have forgotten myself as to scream every +inch of the way."</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you would," says Mona. "A great shock sobers one. I +forgot to be frightened until it was all over. And then the dogs were a +great support."</p> + +<p>"When he held the pistol to your forehead, didn't you scream then?" asks +Violet.</p> + +<p>"To my forehead?" says Mona, puzzled; and then she glances at Geoffrey, +remembering that this was one of the slight variations with which he +adorned his tale.</p> + +<p>"No, she didn't," interposes he, lightly. "She never funked it for a +moment: she's got any amount of pluck. He didn't exactly press it +against her forehead, you know; but," airily, "it is all the same +thing."</p> + +<p>"When you got the pistol so cleverly into your own possession, why on +earth didn't you shoot him?" demands Mr. Darling, gloomily, who +evidently feels bloodthirsty when he thinks of the Australian and his +presumptuous admiration for the peerless Mona.</p> + +<p>"Ah! sure you know I wouldn't do that, now," returns she, with a +stronger touch of her native brogue than she has used for many a day; at +which they all laugh heartily, even Lady Rodney chiming in as easily as +though the day had never been when she had sneered contemptuously at +that selfsame Irish tongue.</p> + +<p>"Well, 'All's well that ends well,'" says Captain Rodney, thoughtlessly. +"If that delectable cousin of ours would only sink into the calm and +silent grave now, we might even have the title back without fear of +dispute, and find ourselves just where we began."</p> + +<p>It is at this very moment the library door is suddenly flung open, and +Jenkins appears upon the threshold, with his face as white as nature +will permit, and his usually perfect manner much disturbed. "Sir +Nicholas, can I speak to you for a moment?" he says, with much +excitement, growing positively apoplectic in his endeavor to be calm.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Jenkins? Speak!" says Lady Rodney, rising from her chair, +and staying him, as he would leave the room, by an imperious gesture.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my lady, if I must speak," cries the old man, "but it is terrible +news to tell without a word of warning. Mr. Paul Rodney is dying: he +shot himself half an hour ago, and is lying now at Rawson's Lodge in the +beech wood."</p> + +<p>Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward.</p> + +<p>"Shot himself! How?" she says, hoarsely, her bosom rising and falling +tumultuously. "Jenkins, answer me."</p> + +<p>"Tell us, Jenkins," says Nicholas, hastily.</p> + +<p>"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going +home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and +injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is +with him, says there is no hope."</p> + +<p>"No hope!" says Mona, with terrible despair in her voice: "then I have +killed him. It was I returned him that pistol this evening. It is my +fault,—mine. It is I have caused his death."</p> + +<p>This thought seems to overwhelm her. She raises her hands to her head, +and an expression of keenest anguish creeps into her eyes. She sways a +little, and would have fallen, but that Jack Rodney, who is nearest to +her at this moment, catches her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Mona," says Nicholas, roughly, laying his hand on her shoulder, and +shaking her slightly, "I forbid you talking like that. It is nobody's +fault. It is the will of God. It is morbid and sinful of you to let such +a thought enter your head."</p> + +<p>"So it is really, Mrs. Geoffrey, you know," says Nolly, placing his hand +on her other shoulder to give her a second shake. "Nick's quite right. +Don't take it to heart; don't now. You might as well say the gunsmith +who originally sold him the fatal weapon is responsible for this +unhappy event, as—as that you are."</p> + +<p>"Besides, it may be an exaggeration," suggests Geoffrey "he may not be +so bad as they say."</p> + +<p>"I fear there is no doubt of it, sir," says Jenkins, respectfully, who +in his heart of hearts looks upon this timely accident as a direct +interposition of Providence. "And the messenger who came (and who is now +in the hall, Sir Nicholas, if you would wish to question him) says Dr. +Bland sent him up to let you know at once of the unfortunate +occurrence."</p> + +<p>Having said all this without a break, Jenkins feels he has outdone +himself, and retires on his laurels.</p> + +<p>Nicholas, going into the outer hall, cross-examines the boy who has +brought the melancholy tidings, and, having spoken to him for some time, +goes back to the library with a face even graver than it was before.</p> + +<p>"The poor fellow is calling for you, Mona, incessantly," he says. "It +remains with you to decide whether you will go to him or not. Geoffrey, +<i>you</i> should have a voice in this matter, and I think she ought to go."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Mona, do go—do," entreats Doatie, who is in tears. "Poor, poor +fellow! I wish now I had not been so rude to him."</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey, will you take me to him?" says Mona, rousing herself.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Hurry, darling. If you think you can bear it, you should lose no +time. Minutes even, I fear, are precious in this case."</p> + +<p>Then some one puts on her again the coat she had taken off such a short +time since, and some one else puts on her sealskin cap and twists her +black lace round her white throat, and then she turns to go on her sad +mission. All their joy is turned to mourning, their laughter to tears.</p> + +<p>Nicholas, who had left the room again, returns now, bringing with him a +glass of wine, which he compels her to swallow, and then, pale and +frightened, but calmer than she was before, she leaves the house, and +starts with Geoffrey for the gamekeeper's lodge, where lies the man they +had so dreaded, impotent in the arms of death.</p> + +<p>Night is creeping up over the land. Already in the heavens the pale +crescent moon just born rides silently,—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Wi' the auld moon in hir arme,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A deep hush has fallen upon everything. The air is cold and piercing. +Mona shivers, and draws even closer to Geoffrey, as, mute, yet full of +saddest thought, they move through the leafless wood.</p> + +<p>As they get within view of the windows of Rawson's cottage, they are met +by Dr. Bland, who has seen them coming, and has hurried out to receive +them.</p> + +<p>"Now, this is kind,—very kind," says the little man, approvingly, +shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he +is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad +case,—very—very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in."</p> + +<p>He draws Mrs. Geoffrey's hand through his arm, and goes towards the +lodge.</p> + +<p>"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely.</p> + +<p>"None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage +has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, +poor boy!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! can nothing be done?" asks Mona, turning to him eyes full of +entreaty.</p> + +<p>"My dear, what I could do, I have done," says the little man, patting +her hand in his kind fatherly fashion; "but he has gone beyond human +skill. And now one thing: you have come here, I know, with the tender +thought of soothing his last hours: therefore I entreat you to be calm +and very quiet. Emotion will only distress him, and, if you feel too +nervous, you know—perhaps—eh?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not be too nervous," says Mona, but her face blanches afresh +even as she speaks; and Geoffrey sees it.</p> + +<p>"If it is too much for you, darling, say so," whispers he; "or shall I +go with you?"</p> + +<p>"It is better she should go alone," says Dr. Bland. "He would be quite +unequal to two; and besides,—pardon me,—from what he has said to me I +fear there were unpleasant passages between you and him."</p> + +<p>"There were," confesses Geoffrey, reluctantly, and in a low tone. "I +wish now from my soul it had been otherwise. I regret much that has +taken place."</p> + +<p>"We all have regrets at times, dear boy, the very best of us," says the +little doctor, blowing his nose: "who among us is faultless? And really +the circumstances were very trying for you,—very—eh? Yes, of course +one understands, you know; but death heals all divisions, and he is +hurrying to his last account, poor lad, all too soon."</p> + +<p>They have entered the cottage by this time, and are standing in the tiny +hall.</p> + +<p>"Open that door, Mrs. Geoffrey," says the doctor pointing to his right +hand. "I saw you coming, and have prepared him for the interview. I +shall be just here, or in the next room, if you should want me. But I +can do little for him more than I have done."</p> + +<p>"You will be near too, Geoffrey?" murmurs Mona, falteringly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes; I promise for him," says Dr. Bland. "In fact, I have +something to say to your husband that must be told at once."</p> + +<p>Then Mona, opening the door indicated to her by the doctor, goes into +the chamber beyond, and is lost to their view for some time.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA COMFORTS PAUL RODNEY—HOW NIGHT AND DEATH DESCEND TOGETHER—AND +HOW PAUL RODNEY DISPOSES OF HIS PROPERTY.</h3> + + +<p>On a low bed, with his eyes fastened eagerly upon the door, lies Paul +Rodney, the dews of death already on his face.</p> + +<p>There is no disfigurement about him to be seen, no stain of blood, no +ugly mark; yet he is touched by the pale hand of the destroyer, and is +sinking, dying, withering beneath it. He has aged at least ten years +within the last fatal hour, while in his eyes lies an expression so full +of hungry expectancy and keen longing as amounts almost to anguish.</p> + +<p>As Mona advances to his side, through the gathering gloom of fast +approaching night, pale almost as he is, and trembling in every limb, +this miserable anxiety dies out of his face, leaving behind it a rest +and peace unutterable.</p> + +<p>To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face +with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,—the breaking +of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be +looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to +receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. +His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the +grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the +earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate +but the last change of all.</p> + +<p>"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never +understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?"</p> + +<p>"You have come," he says, with a quick sigh that be speaks relief. "I +knew you would. I felt it; yet I feared. Oh, what comfort to see you +again!"</p> + +<p>Mona tries to say something,—anything that will be kind and +sympathetic,—but words fail her. Her lips part, but no sound escapes +them. The terrible reality of the moment terrifies and overcomes her.</p> + +<p>"Do not try to make me any commonplace speeches," says Rodney, marking +her hesitation. He speaks hastily, yet with evident difficulty. "I am +dying. Nothing, can alter that. But death has brought you to my side +again, so I cannot repine."</p> + +<p>"But to find you like this"—begins Mona. And then overcome by grief and +agitation, she covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears.</p> + +<p>"Mona! Are you crying for me?" says Paul Rodney, as though surprised. +"Do not. Your tears hurt me more than this wound that has done me to +death."</p> + +<p>"Oh, if I had not given you that pistol," sobs Mona, who cannot conquer +the horror of the thought that she has helped him to his death, "you +would be alive and strong now."</p> + +<p>"Yes,—and miserable! you forget to add that. Now everything seems +squared. In the grave neither grief nor revenge can find a place. And as +for you, what have you to do with my fate?—nothing. What should you not +return to me my own? and why should I not die by the weapon I had dared +to level against yourself? There is a justice in it that smacks of +Sadlers' Wells."</p> + +<p>He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has +forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder +than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,—because +the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his +lips in its stead.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me," he goes on, in a lower key, and with some slight signs +of exhaustion. "I am glad to die,—unfeignedly glad: therefore rejoice +with me! Why should you waste a tear on such as I am? Do you remember +how I told you (barely two hours ago) that my life had come to an end +where other fellows hope to begin theirs? I hardly knew myself how +prophetic my words would prove."</p> + +<p>"It is terrible, terrible," says Mona, piteously sinking on her knees +beside the bed. One of his hands is lying outside the coverlet, and, +with a gesture full of tender regret, she lays her own upon it.</p> + +<p>"Are you in pain?" she says, in a low, fearful tone. "Do you suffer +much?"</p> + +<p>"I suffer nothing: I have no pain now. I am inexpressibly, happy," +replies he, with a smile radiant, though languid. Forgetful of his +unfortunate state, he raises his other hand, and, bringing it across the +bed, tries to place it on Mona's. But the action is too much for him. +His face takes a leaden hue, more ghastly than its former pallor, and, +in spite of an heroic effort to suppress it, a deep groan escapes him.</p> + +<p>"Ah!" says Mona, springing to her feet, and turning to the door, as +though to summon aid; but he stops her by a gesture.</p> + +<p>"No, it is nothing. It will be over in a moment," gasps he. "Give me +some brandy, and help me to cheat Death of his prey for a little time, +if it be possible."</p> + +<p>Seeing brandy, on a table near, she pours a little into a glass with a +shaking hand, and passing her arm beneath his neck, holds it to his +parched lips.</p> + +<p>It revives him somewhat. And presently the intenser pallor dies away, +and speech returns to him.</p> + +<p>"Do not call for assistance," he whispers, imploringly. "They can do me +no good. Stay with me. Do not forsake me. Swear you will remain with me +to—to the end."</p> + +<p>"I promise you faithfully," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"It is too much to ask, but I dread being alone," he goes on, with a +quick shudder of fear and repulsion. "It is a dark and terrible journey +to take, with no one near who loves one, with no one to feel a single +regret when one has departed."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down +her cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Give me your hand again," says Rodney, after a pause; and when she +gives it to him he says, "Do you know this is the nearest approach to +real happiness I have ever known in all my careless, useless life? What +is it Shakspeare says about the folly of loving 'a bright particular +star'? I always think of you when that line comes to my mind. You are +the star; mine is the folly."</p> + +<p>He smiles again, but Mona is too sad to smile in return.</p> + +<p>"How did it happen?" she asks, presently.</p> + +<p>"I don't know myself. I wandered in a desultory fashion through the wood +on leaving you, not caring to return home just then, and I was thinking +of—of you, of course—when I stumbled against something (they tell me +it was a gnarled root that had thrust itself above ground), and then +there was a report, and a sharp pang; and that was all. I remember +nothing. The gamekeeper found me a few minutes later, and had me brought +here."</p> + +<p>"You are talking too much," says Mona, nervously.</p> + +<p>"I may as well talk while I can: soon you will not be able to hear me, +when the grass is growing over me," replies he, recklessly. "It was +hardly worth my while to deliver you up that will, was it? Is not Fate +ironical? Now it is all as it was before I came upon the scene, and +Nicholas has the title without dispute. I wish we had been better +friends,—he at least was civil to me,—but I was reared with hatred in +my heart towards all the Rodneys; I was taught to despise and fear them +as my natural enemies, from my cradle."</p> + +<p>Then, after a pause, "Where will they bury me?" he asks, suddenly. "Do +you think they will put me in the family vault?" He seems to feel some +anxiety on this point.</p> + +<p>"Whatever you wish shall be done," says Mona earnestly, knowing she can +induce Nicholas to accede to any request of hers.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure?" asks he, his face brightening. "Remember how they have +drawn back from me. I was their own first-cousin,—the son of their +father's brother,—yet they treated me as the veriest outcast."</p> + +<p>Then Mona says, in a trembling voice and rather disconnectedly, because +of her emotion, "Be quite sure you shall be—buried—where all the other +baronets of Rodney lie at rest."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," murmurs he, gratefully. There is evidently comfort in the +thought. Then after a moment or two he goes on again, as though +following out a pleasant idea: "Some day, perhaps, that vault will hold +you too; and there at least we shall meet again, and be side by side."</p> + +<p>"I wish you would not talk of being buried," says Mona, with a sob. +"There is no comfort in the tomb: <i>there</i> our dust may mingle, but in +<i>heaven</i> our souls shall meet, I trust,—I hope."</p> + +<p>"Heaven," repeats he, with a sigh. "I have forgotten to think of +heaven."</p> + +<p>"Think of it now, Paul,—now before it is too late," entreats she, +piteously. "Try to pray: there is always mercy."</p> + +<p>"Pray for me!" says he, in a low tone, pressing her hand. So on her +knees, in a subdued voice, sad but earnest, she repeats what prayers she +can remember out of the grand Service that belongs to us. One or two +sentences from the Litany come to her; and then some words rise from her +own heart, and she puts up a passionate supplication to heaven that the +passing soul beside her, however erring, may reach some haven where rest +remaineth!</p> + +<p>Some time elapses before he speaks again, and Mona is almost hoping he +may have fallen into a quiet slumber, when he opens his eyes and says, +regretfully,—</p> + +<p>"What a different life mine might have been had I known you earlier!" +Then, with a faint flush, that vanishes almost as it comes, as though +without power to stay, he says, "Did your husband object to your coming +here?"</p> + +<p>"Geoffrey? Oh, no. It was he who brought me. He bade me hasten lest you +should even imagine me careless about coming. And—and—he desired me to +say how he regrets the harsh words he uttered and the harsher thoughts +he may have entertained towards you. Forgive him, I implore you, and die +in peace with him and all men."</p> + +<p>"Forgive him!" says Rodney. "Surely, however unkind the thoughts he may +have cherished for me, I must forget and forgive them now, seeing all he +has done for me. Has he not made smooth my last hours? Has he not lent +me you? Tell him I bear him no ill will."</p> + +<p>"I will tell him," says Mona.</p> + +<p>He is silent for a full minute; then he says,—</p> + +<p>"I have given a paper to Dr. Bland for you: it will explain what I wish. +And, Mona, there are some papers in my room: will you see to them for me +and have them burned?"</p> + +<p>"I will burn them with my own hands," says Mona.</p> + +<p>"How comforting you are!—how you understand," he says, with a quick +sigh. "There is something else: that fellow Ridgway, who opened the +window for me, he must be seen to. Let him have the money mentioned in +the paper, and send him to my mother: she will look after him for my +sake. My poor mother!" he draws his breath quickly.</p> + +<p>"Shall I write to her?" asks Mona, gently. "Say what you wish done."</p> + +<p>"It would be kind of you," says he, gratefully. "She will want to know +all, and you will do it more tenderly than the others. Do not dwell upon +my sins; and say I died—happy. Let her too have a copy of the paper Dr. +Bland has now."</p> + +<p>"I shall remember," says Mona, not knowing what the paper contains. "And +who am I, that I should dwell upon the sins of another? Are you tired, +Paul? How fearfully pale you are looking!"</p> + +<p>He is evidently quite exhausted. His brow is moist, his eyes are sunken, +his lips more pallid, more death-like than they were before. In little +painful gasps his breath comes fitfully. Then all at once it occurs to +Mona that though he is looking at her he does not see her. His mind has +wandered far away to those earlier days when England was unknown and +when the free life of the colony was all he desired.</p> + +<p>As Mona gazes at him half fearfully, he raises himself suddenly on his +elbow, and says, in a tone far stronger than he has yet used,—</p> + +<p>"How brilliant the moonlight is to-night! See—watch"—eagerly—"how the +shadows chase each other down the Ranger's Hill!"</p> + +<p>Mona looks up startled. The faint rays of the new-born moon are indeed +rushing through the casement, and are flinging themselves languidly upon +the opposite wall, but they are pale and wan, as moonlight is in its +infancy, and anything but brilliant. Besides, Rodney's eyes are turned +not on them, but on the door that can be seen just over Mona's head, +where no beams disport themselves, however weakly.</p> + +<p>"Lie down: you will hurt yourself again," she says, trying gently to +induce him to return to his former recumbent position; but he resists +her.</p> + +<p>"Who has taken my orders about the sheep?" he says, in a loud voice, and +in an imperious tone, his eyes growing bright but uncertain. "Tell +Grainger to see to it. My father spoke about it again only yesterday. +The upper pastures are fresher—greener——"</p> + +<p>His voice breaks: with a groan he sinks back again upon his pillow.</p> + +<p>"Mona, are you still there?" he says, with a return to consciousness: +"did I dream, or did my father speak to me? How the night comes on!" He +sighs wearily. "I am so tired,—so worn out: if I could only sleep!" he +murmurs, faintly.</p> + +<p>Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man +waketh!</p> + +<p>His breath grows fainter, his eyelids close.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Some one comes in with a lamp, and places it on a distant table, where +its rays cannot distress the dying man.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bland, coming into the room, goes up to the bedside and feels his +pulse, and tries to put something between his lips, but he refuses to +take anything.</p> + +<p>"It will strengthen you," he says, persuasively.</p> + +<p>"No, it is of no use: it only wearies me. My best medicine, my only +medicine, is here," returns Paul, feebly pressing Mona's hand. He is +answering the doctor, but he does not look at him. As he speaks, his +gaze is riveted upon Mona.</p> + +<p>Dr. Bland, putting down the glass, forbears to torment him further, and +moves away; Geoffrey, who has also come in, takes his place. Bending +over the dying man, he touches him lightly on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>Paul turns his head, and as he sees Geoffrey a quick spasm that betrays +fear crosses his face.</p> + +<p>"Do not take her away yet,—not yet," he says, in a faint whisper.</p> + +<p>"No, no. She will stay," says Geoffrey, hurriedly: "I only want to tell +you, my dear fellow, how grieved I am for you, and how gladly I would +undo many things—if I could."</p> + +<p>The other smiles faintly. He is evidently glad because of Geoffrey's +words, but speech is now very nearly impossible to him. His attempt to +rise, to point out the imaginary moonlight to Mona, has greatly wasted +his small remaining stock of life, and now but a thin partition, frail +and broken, lies between him and that inexorable Rubicon we all must one +day pass.</p> + +<p>Then he turns his head away again to let his eyes rest on Mona, as +though nowhere else can peace or comfort be found.</p> + +<p>Geoffrey, moving to one side, stands where he can no longer be seen, +feeling instinctively that the ebbing life before him finds its sole +consolation in the thought of Mona. She is all he desires. From her he +gains courage to face the coming awful moment, when he shall have to +clasp the hand of Death and go forth with him to meet the great unknown.</p> + +<p>Presently he closes his fingers upon hers, and looking up, she sees his +lips are moving, though no sound escapes them. Leaning over him, she +bends her face to his and whispers softly,—</p> + +<p>"What is it?"</p> + +<p>"It is nearly over," he gasps, painfully. "Say good-by to me. Do not +quite forget me, not utterly. Give me some small place in your memory, +though—so unworthy."</p> + +<p>"I shall not forget; I shall always remember," returns she, the tears +running down her cheeks; and then, through divine pity, and perhaps +because Geoffrey is here to see her, she stoops and lays her lips upon +his forehead.</p> + +<p>Never afterwards will she forget the glance of gratitude that meets +hers, and that lights up all his face, even his dim eyes, as she grants +him this gentle pitiful caress.</p> + +<p>"Pray for me," he says.</p> + +<p>And then she falls upon her knees again, and Geoffrey in the background, +though unseen, kneels too; and Mona, in a broken voice, because she is +crying very bitterly now, whispers some words of comfort for the dying.</p> + +<p>The minutes go by slowly, slowly; a clock from some distant steeple +chimes the hour. The soft pattering of rain upon the walk outside, and +now upon the window-pane, is all the sound that can be heard.</p> + +<p>In the death-chamber silence reigns. No one moves, their very breathing +seems hushed. Paul Rodney's eyes are closed. No faintest movement +disturbs the slumber into which he seems to have fallen.</p> + +<p>Thus half an hour goes by. Then Geoffrey, growing uneasy, raises his +head and looks at Mona. From where he sits the bed is hidden from him, +but he can see that she is still kneeling beside it, her hand in +Rodney's, her face hidden in the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>The doctor at this instant returns to the room, and, going on tiptoe (as +though fearful of disturbing the sleeper) to where Mona is kneeling, +looks anxiously at Rodney. But, alas! no sound of earth will evermore +disturb the slumber of the quiet figure upon which he gazes.</p> + +<p>The doctor, after a short examination of the features (that are even now +turning to marble), knits his brows, and, going over to Geoffrey, +whispers something into his ear while pointing to Mona.</p> + +<p>"At once," he says, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Come," he says, gently.</p> + +<p>"Oh, not yet!" entreats faithful Mona, in a miserable tone; "not <i>yet</i>. +Remember what I said. I promised to remain with him until the very end."</p> + +<p>"You have kept your promise," returns he, solemnly, pressing her face +still closer against his chest.</p> + +<p>A strong shudder runs through her frame; she grows a little heavier in +his embrace. Seeing she has fainted, he lifts her in his arms and +carries her out of the room.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Later on, when they open the paper that had been given by the dead man +into the keeping of Dr. Bland, and which proves to be his will, duly +signed and witnessed by the gamekeeper and his son, they find he has +left to Mona all of which he died possessed. It amounts to about two +thousand a year; of which one thousand is to come to her at once, the +other on the death of his mother.</p> + +<p>To Ridgway, the under-gardener, he willed three hundred pounds, "as some +small compensation for the evil done to him," so runs the document, +written in a distinct but trembling hand. And then follow one or two +bequests to those friends he had left in Australia and some to the few +from whom he had received kindness in colder England.</p> + +<p>No one is forgotten by him; though once "he is dead and laid in grave" +he is forgotten by most.</p> + +<p>They put him to rest in the family vault, where his ancestors lie side +by side,—as Mona promised him,—and write Sir Paul Rodney over his +head, giving him in death the title they would gladly have withheld from +him in life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA DEFENDS THE DEAD—AND HOW LADY LILIAS EATON WAXES ELOQUENT.</h3> + + +<p>As hour follows upon hour, even the most poignant griefs grow less. +Nature sooner or later will come to the rescue, and hope "springing +eternal" will cast despair into the background. Paul Rodney's death +being rather more a shock than a grief to the inmates of the Towers, the +remembrance of it fades from their minds with a rapidity that astonishes +even themselves.</p> + +<p>Mona, as is only natural, clings longest to the memory of that terrible +day when grief and gladness had been so closely blended, when tragedy +followed so fast upon their comedy that laughter and tears embraced each +other and gloom overpowered their sunshine. Yet even she brightens up, +and is quite herself again by the time the "merry month of May" comes +showering down upon them all its wealth of blossom, and music of glad +birds, as they chant in glade and dell.</p> + +<p>Yet in her heart the erring cousin is not altogether forgotten. There +are moments in every day when she recalls him to her mind, nor does she +ever pass the huge tomb where his body lies at rest, awaiting the last +trump, without a kindly thought of him and a hope that his soul is safe +in heaven.</p> + +<p>The county has behaved on the occasion somewhat disgracefully, and has +declared itself to a man—without any reservation—unfeignedly glad of +the chance that has restored Sir Nicholas to his own again. Perhaps what +they just do <i>not</i> say is that they are delighted Paul Rodney shot +himself: this might sound brutal, and one must draw the line somewhere, +and a last remnant of decency compels them to draw it at this point. But +it is the thinnest line possible, and easily stepped across.</p> + +<p>Even the duchess refuses to see anything regrettable in the whole +affair, and expresses herself to Lady Rodney on the subject of her +nephew's death in terms that might almost be called congratulatory. She +has been listened to in silence, of course, and with a deprecating shake +of the head, but afterwards Lady Rodney is unable to declare to herself +that the duchess has taken anything but a sound common-sense view of the +matter.</p> + +<p>In her own heart, and in the secret recesses of her chamber, Nicholas's +mother blesses Mona for having returned the pistol that February +afternoon to the troublesome young man (who is so well out of the way), +and has entertained a positive affection for the roots of trees ever +since the sad (?) accident.</p> + +<p>But these unholy thoughts belong to her own breast alone, and are hidden +carefully out of sight, lest any should guess at them.</p> + +<p>The duke calling at the Towers about a month after Paul Rodney's death, +so far forgets himself as to say to Mona, who is present,—</p> + +<p>"Awful luck, your getting rid of that cousin, eh? Such an uncomfortable +fellow, don't you know, and so uncommonly in the way."</p> + +<p>At which Mona had turned her eyes upon him,—eyes that literally flashed +rebuke, and had told him slowly, but with meaning, that he should +remember the dead could not defend themselves, and that she, for one, +had not as yet learned to regard the death of any man as "awful luck."</p> + +<p>"Give you my word," said the duke afterwards to a select assembly, "when +she looked at me then out of her wonderful Irish eyes, and said all that +with her musical brogue, I never felt so small in all my life. Reg'lar +went into my boots, you know, and stayed there. But she is, without +chaff or that, she really <i>is</i> the most charming woman I ever met."</p> + +<p>Lady Lilias Eaton, too, had been rather fine upon the Rodney ups and +downs. The history of the Australian's devotion had been as a revelation +to her. She had actually come out of herself, and had neglected the +Ancient Britons for a full day and a half,—on the very highest +authority,—merely to talk about Paul Rodney. Surely "nothing in his +life became him like the leaving it:" of all those who would scarcely +speak to him when living, not one but converses of him familiarly now he +is dead.</p> + +<p>"So very strange, so unparalleled in this degenerate age," says Lady +Lilias to Lady Rodney speaking of the will episode generally, and with +as near an approach to enthusiasm as it is possible to her to produce, +"A secret panel? How interesting! We lack that at Anadale. Pray, dear +Lady Rodney, do tell me all about it again."</p> + +<p>Whereupon Lady Rodney, to whom the whole matter is "cakes and ale," does +tell it all over again, relating every incident from the removal of the +will from the library by Paul, to his surrender of it next day to Mona.</p> + +<p>Lady Lilias is delighted.</p> + +<p>"It is quite perfect, the whole story. It reminds me of the ballads +about King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table."</p> + +<p>"Which? the stealing of the will?" asks Lady Rodney, innocently. She +knows nothing about the Ancient Britons, and abhors the very sound of +their name, regarding them as indecent, immoral people, who went about +insufficiently clothed. Of King Arthur and his round knights (as she +<i>will</i> call them, having once got so hopelessly mixed on the subject as +to disallow of her ever being disentangled again) she knows even less, +beyond what Tennyson has taught her.</p> + +<p>She understands, indeed, that Sir Launcelot was a very naughty +young man, who should not have been received in respectable +houses,—especially as he had no money to speak of,—and that Sir Modred +and Sir Gawain, had they lived in this critical age, would undoubtedly +have been pronounced bad form and expelled from decent clubs. And, +knowing this much, she takes it for granted that the stealing of a will +or more would be quite in their line: hence her speech.</p> + +<p>"Dear Lady Rodney, no," cries the horrified Æsthetic, rather losing +faith in her hostess. "I mean about his resigning lands and heritage, +position, title, everything—all that a man holds most dear, for a mere +sentiment. And then it was so nice of him to shoot himself, and leave +her all his money. Surely you must see that?"</p> + +<p>She has actually forgotten to pose, and is leaning forward quite +comfortably with her arms crossed on her knees. I am convinced she has +not been so happy for years.</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney is somewhat shocked, at this view of the case.</p> + +<p>"You must understand," she says emphatically, "he did not shoot himself +purposely. It was an accident,—a pure accident."</p> + +<p>"Well, yes, so they say," returns her visitor, airily who is plainly +determined not to be done out of a good thing, and insists on bringing +in deliberate suicide as a fit ending to this enthralling tale. "And of +course it is very nice of every one, and quite right too. But there is +no doubt, I think, that he loved her. You will pardon me, Lady Rodney, +but I am convinced he adored Mrs. Geoffrey."</p> + +<p>"Well, he may have," admits Lady Rodney, reluctantly, who has grown +strangely jealous of Mona's reputation of late. As she speaks she colors +faintly. "I must beg you to believe," she says, "that Mona up to the +very last was utterly unaware of his infatuation."</p> + +<p>"Why, of course; of course. One can see that at a glance. And if it were +otherwise the whole story would be ruined,—would instantly become tame +and commonplace,—would be, indeed," says Lady Lilias, with a massive +wave of her large white hand, "I regret to say, an occurrence of +everyday life. The singular beauty that now attaches to it would +disappear. It is the fact that his passion was unrequited, +unacknowledged, and that yet he was content to sacrifice his life for +it, that creates its charm."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I dare say," says Lady Rodney, who is now wondering when this +high-flown visitor will take her departure.</p> + +<p>"It is like a romaunt of the earlier and purer days of chivalry," goes +on Lady Lilias, in her most prosy tone. "Alas! where are they now?" She +pauses for an answer to this difficult question, being in her very +loftiest strain of high art depression.</p> + +<p>"Eh?" says Lady Rodney, rousing from a day-dream. "I don't know, I'm +sure; but I'll see about it; I'll make inquiries."</p> + +<p>In thought she had been miles away, and has just come back to the +present with a start of guilt at her own neglect of her guest. She +honestly believes, in her confusion, that Lady Lilias has been making +some inquiries about the secret panel, and therefore makes her +extraordinary remark with the utmost <i>bonhommie</i> and cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>It is quite too much for the Æsthetic.</p> + +<p>"I don't think you <i>can</i> make an inquiry about the bygone days of +chivalry," she says, somewhat stiffly, and, having shaken the hand of +her bewildered friend, and pecked gently at her cheek, she sails out of +the room, disheartened, and wounded in spirit.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW MONA REFUSES A GALLANT OFFER—AND HOW NOLLY VIEWS LIFE THROUGH THE +BRANCHES OF A PORTUGAL LAUREL.</h3> + + +<p>Once again they are all at the Towers. Doatie and her brother—who had +returned to their own home during March and April—have now come back +again to Lady Rodney, who is ever anxious to welcome these two with open +arms. It is to be a last visit from Doatie as a "graceful maiden with a +gentle brow," as Mary Howitt would certainly have called her, next month +having been decided upon as the most fitting for transforming Dorothy +Darling into Dorothy Lady Rodney. In this thought both she and her +betrothed are perfectly happy.</p> + +<p>Mona and Geoffrey have gone to their own pretty house, and are happy +there as they deserve to be,—Mona proving the most charming of +chatelaines, so naive, so gracious, so utterly unaffected, as to win all +hearts. Indeed, there is not in the county a more popular woman than +Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney.</p> + +<p>Yet much of their time is spent at the Towers. Lady Rodney can hardly do +without Mona now, the pretty sympathetic manner and comprehensive glance +and gentle smile having worked their way at last, and found a home in +the heart that had so determinedly hardened itself against her.</p> + +<p>As to Jack and Violet, they have grown of late into a sort of moral +puzzle that nobody can solve. For months they have been gazing at and +talking to each other, have apparently seen nothing but each other, no +matter how many others may be present; and yet it is evident that no +understanding exists between them, and that no formal engagement has +been arrived at.</p> + +<p>"Why on earth," says Nolly, "can't they tell each other, what they have +told the world long ago, that they adore each other? It is so jolly +senseless, don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"I wonder when you will adore any one, Nolly," says Geoffrey, idly.</p> + +<p>"I do adore somebody," returns that ingenuous youth, staring openly at +Mona, who is taking up the last stitch dropped by Lady Rodney in the +little scarlet silk sock she is knitting for Phyllis Carrington's boy.</p> + +<p>"That's me," says Mona, glancing at him archly from under her long +lashes.</p> + +<p>"Now, how did you find it out? who told you?" asks Mr. Darling, with +careful surprise. "Yes, it is true; I don't seek to deny it. The +hopeless passion I entertain for you is dearer to me than any other more +successful affection can ever be. I worship a dream,—an idea,—and am +happier in my maddest moments than others when most same.</p> + +<p>"Bless me, Nolly, you are not going to be ill, are you?" says Geoffrey. +"Such a burst of eloquence is rare."</p> + +<p>"There are times, I confess," goes on Mr. Darling, disposing of +Geoffrey's mundane interruption by a contemptuous wave of the hand, +"when light breaks in upon me, and a joyful, a thrice-blessed +termination to my dream presents itself. For instance, if Geoffrey could +only be brought to see things as they are, and have the grace to quit +this mortal globe and soar to worlds unknown, I should then fling myself +at your feet, and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh—well—don't," interrupts Mrs. Geoffrey, hastily.</p> + +<p>"Eh! you don't mean to say that after all my devotion you would then +refuse me?" asks Mr. Darling, with some disgust.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you, and every other man," says Mona, smiling, and raising her +loving eyes to her husband.</p> + +<p>"I think, sir, after that you may consider yourself flattened," says +Geoffrey, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"I shall go away," declares Nolly; "I shall go aboard,—at least as far +as the orchard;" then, with a complete change of tone, "By the by, Mrs. +Geoffrey, will you come for a walk? Do: the day is 'heavenly fair.'"</p> + +<p>"Well, not just now, I think," says Mona, evasively.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" persuasively: "it will do you a world of good."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps then a little later on I shall go," returns Mona, who, like all +her countrywomen, detests giving a direct answer, and can never bring +herself to say a decided "no" to any one.</p> + +<p>"As you evidently need support, I'll go with you as far as the stables," +says Geoffrey, compassionately, and together they leave the room, +keeping company until they gain the yard, when Geoffrey turns to the +right and makes for the stables, leaving Nolly to wend his solitary way +to the flowery orchard.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely +feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow +luxurious calm."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Earth putteth on the borrow'd robes of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sitteth in a Sabbath of still rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And silence swells into a dreamy sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That sinks again to silence.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">The runnel hath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its tune beneath the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the woodlands swell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tender trembles of the ringdove's dole."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The Rodneys are, for the most part, in the library, the room dearest to +them. Mona is telling Doatie's fortune on cards, Geoffrey and Nicholas +are discussing the merits and demerits of a new mare, Lady Rodney in +still struggling with the crimson sock,—when the door is opened, and +Nolly entering adds himself to the group.</p> + +<p>His face is slightly flushed, his whole manner full of importance. He +advances to where the two girls are sitting, and stops opposite Mona.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you all something," he says, "though I hardly think I ought, +if you will swear not to betray me."</p> + +<p>This speech has the effect of electricity. They all start; with one +consent they give the desired oath. The cards fall to the ground, the +fortune forgotten; the mare becomes of very secondary importance; +another stitch drops in the fated sock.</p> + +<p>"They've done it at last," says Mr. Darling, in a low, compressed voice. +"It is an accomplished fact. I heard 'em myself!"</p> + +<p>As he makes this last extraordinary remark he looks over his left +shoulder, as though fearful of being overheard.</p> + +<p>"Who?" "What?" say Mona and Dorothy, in one breath.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jack and Violet, of course. They've had it out. They are engaged!"</p> + +<p>"No!" says Nicholas; meaning, "How very delightful!"</p> + +<p>"And you heard them? Nolly, explain yourself," says his sister, +severely.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to," says Nolly, "if you will just give me time. Oh, what a +day I've been havin', and how dear! You know I told you I was going to +the orchard for a stroll and with a view to profitable meditation. Well, +I went. At the upper end of the garden there are, as you know, some +Portugal laurels, from which one can get a splendid survey of the +country, and in an evil moment it occurred to me that I should like to +climb one of them and look at the Chetwoode Hills. I had never got +higher than a horse's back since my boyhood, and visions of my earlier +days, when I was young and innocent, overcame me at that——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, never mind your young and innocent days: we never heard of them," +says Dorothy, impatiently. "Do get on to it."</p> + +<p>"I did get on to it, if you mean the laurel," says Nolly with calm +dignity. "I climbed most manfully, and, beyond slipping all down the +trunk of the tree twice, and severely barking my shins, I sustained no +actual injury."</p> + +<p>"What on earth is a shin?" puts in Geoffrey, <i>sotto voce</i>.</p> + +<p>"Part of your leg, just below your knee," returns Mr. Darling, +undaunted. "Well, when I got up at last, I found a capital place to sit +in, with a good branch to my back, and I was so pleased with myself and +my exploit that I really think—the day is warm, you know—I fell +asleep. At least I can remember nothing until voices broke upon my ear +right below me."</p> + +<p>Here Mona and Dorothy grow suddenly deeply interested, and lean forward.</p> + +<p>"I parted the leaves of the laurel with cautious hand and looked down. +At my very feet were Jack and Violet, and"—mysteriously—"she was +pinning a flower into his coat!"</p> + +<p>"Is that all?" says Mona, with quick contempt, seeing him pause. "Why, +there is nothing in that! I pinned a flower into <i>your</i> coat only +yesterday."</p> + +<p>The <i>naivete</i> of this speech is not to be surpassed.</p> + +<p>Nolly regards her mournfully.</p> + +<p>"I think you needn't be unkinder to me than you can help!" he says, +reproachfully. "However, to continue. There's a way of doing things, you +know, and the time Violet took to arrange that flower is worthy of +mention; and when at last it was settled to her satisfaction, Jack +suddenly took her hands in his, just like this, Mrs. Geoffrey," going on +his knees before Mona, and possessing himself of both her hands, "and +pressed them against his heart, like this and said he——"</p> + +<p>Nolly pauses.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nolly, what?" says Mona; "do tell us." She fixes her eyes on his.</p> + +<p>"'What darling little hands you have!'" begins Nolly, quite innocently.</p> + +<p>"Well, really!" says Mona, mistaking him. She moves back with a +heightened color, disengages her hands from his and frowns slightly.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't alluding to your hands; though I might," says Nolly, +pathetically. "I was only going to tell you what Jack said to Violet. +'What darling little hands you have!' he whispered, with the very +silliest expression on his face I ever saw in my life; 'the prettiest +hands in the world. I wish they were mine.' 'Gracious powers!' said I to +myself, 'I'm in for it;' and I was as near falling off the branch of the +tree right into their arms as I could be. The shock was too great. I +suppressed a groan with a manful determination to 'suffer and be +strong,' and——"</p> + +<p>"Never mind all that," says Doatie: "what did she say?"</p> + +<p>By this time both Nicholas and Geoffrey are quite convulsed with +delight.</p> + +<p>"Yes, go on, Noll: what did she say?" repeats Geoffrey, the most +generous encouragement in his tone. They have all, with a determination +worthy of a better cause, made up their minds to forget that they are +listening to what was certainly never meant for them to hear. Or perhaps +consideration for Nolly compels them to keep their ears open, as that +young man is so overcome by the thought of what he has unwillingly gone +through, and the weight of the secret that is so disagreeably his, that +it has become a necessity with him to speak or die; but I believe myself +it is more curiosity than pity prompts their desire for information on +the subject in hand.</p> + +<p>"I didn't listen," says Nolly, indignantly. "What do you take me for? I +crammed my fingers into my ears, and shut my eyes tight, and wished with +all my heart I had never been born. If you wish very hard for anything, +they say you will get it. So I thought if I threw my whole soul into +that wish just then I might get it, and find presently I never <i>had</i> +been born. So I threw in my whole soul; but it didn't come off. I was as +lively as possible after ten minutes' hard wishing. Then I opened my +eyes again and looked,—simply to see if I oughtn't to look,—and there +they were still; and he had his arm round her, and her head was on his +shoulder, and——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Nolly!" says Dorothy, hastily.</p> + +<p>"Well, it wasn't my fault, was it? <i>I</i> had nothing to do with it. She +hadn't her head on <i>my</i> shoulder, had she? and it wasn't <i>my</i> arm was +round her," says Mr. Darling losing patience a little.</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that; but how could you look?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I like that!" says her brother. "And pray what was to happen if I +didn't? I gave 'em ten minutes; quite sufficient law, I think. If they +couldn't get it over in that time, they must have forgotten their native +tongue. Besides, I wanted to get down; the forked seat in the laurel was +not all my fancy had painted it in the beginning, and how was I to know +when they were gone unless I looked? Why, otherwise I might be there +now. I might be there until next week," winds up Mr. Darling, with +increasing wrath.</p> + +<p>"It is true," puts in Mona. "How could he tell when the coast was clear +for his escape, unless he took a little peep?"</p> + +<p>"Go on, Nolly," says Nicholas.</p> + +<p>"Well, Violet was crying (not loudly, you know, but quite comfortably): +so then I thought I had been mistaken, and that probably she had a +toothache, or a headache, or something, and that the foregoing speech +was mere spooning; and I rather lost faith in the situation, when +suddenly he said, 'Why do you cry?' And what do you think was her +answer? 'Because I am so happy.' Now, fancy any one crying because she +was happy!" says Mr. Darling, with fine disgust. "I always laugh when +I'm happy. And I think it rather a poor thing to dissolve into tears +because a man asks you to marry him: don't you, Mrs. Geoffrey?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, I'm sure. I have never thought about it. Did I cry, +Geoffrey, when——" hesitates Mrs. Geoffrey, with a laugh, and a faint +sweet blush.</p> + +<p>"N—o. As far as I can remember," says Geoffrey, thoughtfully, pulling +his moustache, "you were so overcome with delight at the unexpected +honor I did you, that——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I dare say," Nicholas, ironically. "You get out!"</p> + +<p>"What else did they say, Nolly?" asks Dorothy, in a wheedling tone.</p> + +<p>"If they could only hear us now!" murmurs Geoffrey, addressing no one in +particular.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Nolly," says Doatie.</p> + +<p>"You see, I was so filled with the novelty of the idea that it is the +correct thing to weep when seated on your highest pinnacle of bliss, +that I forgot to put my fingers in my ears again for a few moments, so I +heard him say, 'Are you sure you love me?' whereupon she said, 'Are +<i>you</i> quite sure you love <i>me</i>?' with lots of emphasis. That finished +me! Did you ever hear such stuff in your life?" demands Mr. Darling, +feeling justly incensed. "When they have been gazing into each other's +eyes and boring us all to death with their sentimentality for the last +three months, they coolly turn round and ask each other if they are sure +they are in love!"</p> + +<p>"Nolly, you have no romance in your nature," says Nicholas, severely.</p> + +<p>"No, I haven't, if that's romance. Of course there was nothing for it +but to shut my eyes again and resign myself to my fate. I wonder I'm +not dead," says Nolly, pathetically. "I never put in such a time +in my life. Well, another quarter of an hour went by, and then I +cautiously opened my eyes and looked again, and—would you believe +it?"—indignantly,—"there they were still!"</p> + +<p>"It is my opinion that you looked and listened all the time; and it was +shamefully mean of you," says Dorothy.</p> + +<p>"I give you my honor I didn't. I neither saw nor heard but what I tell +you. Why, if I had listened I could fill a volume with their nonsense. +Three-quarters of an hour it lasted. How a fellow can take forty-five +minutes to say, 'Will you marry me?' passes my comprehension. Whenever +<i>I</i> am going to do that sort of thing, which of course," looking at +Mona, "will be never now, on account of what you said to me some time +since,—but if ever I should be tempted, I shall get it over in twenty +seconds precisely: that will even give me time to take her hand and get +through the orthodox embrace."</p> + +<p>"But perhaps she will refuse you," says Mona, demurely.</p> + +<p>"No such luck. But look here, I never suffered such agony as I did in +that laurel. It's the last tree I'll ever climb. I knew if I got down +they would never forgive me to their dying day, and as I was I felt like +a condemned criminal."</p> + +<p>"Or like the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' There <i>is</i> +something cherubic about you, do you know Nolly, when one comes to think +of it. But finish your tale."</p> + +<p>"There isn't much more; but yet the cream of the joke remains," says +Nolly, laughing heartily. "They seemed pretty jolly by that time, and he +was speaking. 'I was afraid you would refuse me,' he said, in an +imbecile tone. 'I always thought you liked Geoffrey best.' 'Geoffrey!' +said Violet. (Oh, Mrs. Geoffrey, if you could have heard her voice!) +'How could you think so! Geoffrey is all very well in his way, and of +course I like him very much, but he is not to be compared with you.' 'He +is very handsome,' said Jack, fishing for compliments in the most +indecent manner. 'Handsome! Oh, no,' said Violet. (You really <i>should</i> +have heard her, Mrs. Geoffrey!) 'I don't think so. Passably +good-looking, I allow, but not—not like <i>you</i>!' Ha, ha, ha!"</p> + +<p>"Nolly, you are inventing," says Mrs. Geoffrey, sternly.</p> + +<p>"No; on my word, no," says Nolly, choking with laughter, in which he is +joined by all but Mona. "She said all that, and lots more!"</p> + +<p>"Then she doesn't know what she is talking about," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +indignantly. "The idea of comparing Geoffrey with Jack!"</p> + +<p>At this the laughter grows universal, Geoffrey and Nicholas positively +distinguishing themselves in this line, when just at the very height of +their mirth the door opens, and Violet enters, followed by Captain +Rodney.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW NOLLY DECLINES TO REPEAT HIS STORY—HOW JACK RODNEY TELLS ONE +INSTEAD—AND HOW THEY ALL SHOW THEIR SURPRISE ABOUT WHAT THEY KNEW +BEFORE.</h3> + + +<p>As they enter, mirth ceases. A remarkable silence falls upon the group. +Everybody looks at anything but Violet and her companion.</p> + +<p>These last advance in a leisurely manner up the room, yet with somewhat +of the sneaking air of those who are in the possession of embarrassing +news that must be told before much time goes by. The thought of this +perhaps deadens their perception and makes them blind to the fact that +the others are unnaturally quiet.</p> + +<p>"It has been such a charming day," says Violet, at last, in a rather +mechanical tone. Yet, in spite of its stiltedness, it breaks the spell +of consternation and confusion that has bound the others in its chains, +and restores them to speech.</p> + +<p>They all smile, and say, "Yes, indeed," or "Oh, yes, indeed," or plain +"Yes," in a breath. They all feel intensely obliged to Violet for her +very ordinary little remark.</p> + +<p>Then it is enchanting to watch the <i>petit soins</i>, the delicate little +attentions that the women in a carefully suppressed fashion lavish upon +the bride-elect,—as she already is to them. There is nothing under +heaven so dear to a woman's heart as a happy love-affair,—except, +indeed, it be an unhappy one. Just get a woman to understand you have +broken or are breaking (the last is the best) your heart about any one, +and she will be your friend on the spot. It is so unutterably sweet to +her to be a <i>confidante</i> in any secret where Dan Cupid holds first +place.</p> + +<p>Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little +black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sit there," she says, a new note of tender sympathy in her tone, +keeping her hand on Violet's shoulder as the latter makes some faint +polite effort to rise again. "You must indeed. It is such a dear, cosey, +comfortable little chair."</p> + +<p>Why it has become suddenly necessary that Violet should be made cosey +and comfortable she omits to explain.</p> + +<p>Then Dorothy, going up to the new-comer, removes her hat from her head, +and pats her cheeks, and tells her with one of her loveliest smiles that +she has "such a delicious color, dearest! just like a wee bit of fresh +apple-blossom!"</p> + +<p>Apple-blossom suggests the orchard, whereon Violet reddens perceptibly, +and Nolly grows cold with fright, and feels a little more will make him +faint.</p> + +<p>Lastly, Lady Rodney comes to the front with,—</p> + +<p>"You have not tired yourself, dear, I hope. The day has been so +oppressively warm, more like July than May. Would you like your tea now, +Violet? We can have it half an hour earner if you wish."</p> + +<p>All these evidences of affection Violet notices in a dreamy, far-off +fashion: she is the happier because of them; yet she only appreciates +them languidly, being filled with one absorbing thought, that dulls all +others. She accepts the chair, the compliment, and the tea with grace, +but with somewhat vague gratitude.</p> + +<p>To Jack his brothers are behaving with the utmost <i>bonhommie</i>. They have +called him "old fellow" twice, and once Geoffrey has slapped him on the +back with a heartiness well meant, and no doubt encouraging, but trying.</p> + +<p>And Jack is greatly pleased with them, and, seeing everything just now +through a rose-colored veil, tells him self he is specially blessed in +his own people, and that Geoffrey and old Nick are two of the decentest +old men alive. Yet he too is a little <i>distrait</i>, being lost in an +endeavor to catch Violet's eyes,—which eyes refuse persistently to be +so caught.</p> + +<p>Nolly alone of all the group stands aloof, joining not at all in the +unspoken congratulations, and feeling indeed like nothing but the guilty +culprit that he is.</p> + +<p>"How you were all laughing when we came in!" says Violet, presently: "we +could hear you all along the corridor. What was it about?"</p> + +<p>Everybody at this smiles involuntarily,—everybody, that is, except +Nolly, who feels faint again, and turns a rich and lively crimson.</p> + +<p>"It was some joke, of course?" goes on Violet, not having received any +answer to her first question.</p> + +<p>"It was," says Nicholas, feeling a reply can no longer be shirked. Then +he says, "Ahem!" and turns his glance confidingly upon the carpet.</p> + +<p>But Geoffrey to whom the situation has its charm, takes up the broken +thread.</p> + +<p>"It was one of Nolly's good things," he says, genially. "And you know +what he is capable of when he likes! It was funny to the last +degree,—calculated to set any 'table in a roar.'—Give it to us again, +Nolly—it bears repeating.—Ask him to tell it to you, Violet."</p> + +<p>"Yes, do, Nolly," says Violet.</p> + +<p>"Go on, Noll," exclaims Dorothy, in her most encouraging tone. "Let +Violet hear it. <i>She</i> will understand it."</p> + +<p>"I would, of course, with pleasure," stammers the unfortunate +Nolly,—"only perhaps Violet heard it before!"</p> + +<p>"Well, really, do you know, I think she did!" says Mona, so demurely +that they all smile again.</p> + +<p>"I call this beastly mean," says Mr. Darling to Geoffrey in an indignant +aside. "You all gave your oaths to secrecy before I began, and now you +are determined to betray me, I call it right-down shabby. And I sha'n't +forget it to any of you, let me tell you that."</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, you can't have forgotten it so soon," says Geoffrey, +pretending to misunderstand this vehement whisper. "Don't be shy! or +shall I refresh your memory? It was, you remember, about——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes—yes—I know; it doesn't matter; (I'll pay you out for this"), +says Nolly, savagely, in an aside.</p> + +<p>"Well, I do like a good story," says Violet, carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Then Nolly's last will suit you down to the ground," says Nicholas. +"Besides its wit, it possesses the rare quality of being strictly true. +It really occurred. It is founded on fact. He himself vouches for the +truth of it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, go on; do," says Mr. Darling, in a second aside, who is by this +time a brilliant purple from fear and indignation.</p> + +<p>"Let's have it," says Jack, waking up from his reverie, having found it +impossible to compel Violet's eyes to meet his.</p> + +<p>"It is really nothing," says Nolly, feverishly. "You have all heard it +before."</p> + +<p>"I said so," murmurs Mona, meekly.</p> + +<p>"It is quite an old story," goes on Nolly.</p> + +<p>"It is, in fact, the real and original 'old, old story," says Geoffrey, +innocently, smiling mildly at the leg of a distant table.</p> + +<p>"If you are bent on telling 'em, do it all at once," whispers Nolly, +casting a withering glance at the smiling Geoffrey. "It will save time +and trouble."</p> + +<p>"I never saw any one feel the heat so much as our Oliver," says +Geoffrey, pleasantly. "His complexion waxeth warm."</p> + +<p>"Would you like a fan, Nolly?" says Mona, with a laugh, yet really with +a kindly view to rescuing him from his present dilemma. "Do you think +you could find me mine? I fancy I left it in the morning-room."</p> + +<p>"I am sure I could," says Nolly, bestowing upon her a grateful glance, +after which he starts upon his errand with suspicious alacrity.</p> + +<p>"How odd Nolly is at times!" says Violet, yet without any very great +show of surprise. She is still wrapped in her own dream of delight, and +is rather indifferent to objects in which but yesterday she would have +felt an immediate interest. "But, Nicholas, what was his story about? He +seems quite determined not to impart it to me."</p> + +<p>"A mere nothing," says Nicholas, airily; "we were merely chaffing him a +little, because you know what a mess he makes of anything of that sort +he takes in hand."</p> + +<p>"But what was the subject of it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh—well—those thirty-five charming compatriots of Mona's who +are now in the House of Commons, or, rather, out of it. It was a +little tale that related to their expulsion the other night by the +Speaker—and—er—other things."</p> + +<p>"If it was a political quip," says Violet, "I shouldn't care about it."</p> + +<p>This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but +singularly lucky.</p> + +<p>"It wasn't <i>all</i> politics, of course," he says carefully.</p> + +<p>Whereupon every one thinks he is a bold and daring man thus to risk +fortune again.</p> + +<p>It is at this particular moment that Violet, inadvertently raising her +head, lets her eyes meet Jack Rodney's. On which that young man—being +prompt in action—goes quickly up to her, and in sight of the assembled +multitude takes her hand in his.</p> + +<p>"Violet, you may as well tell them all now as at any other time," he +says, persuasively.</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, not now," pleads Violet, hastily. She rises hurriedly from her +seat, and lays her disengaged hand on his lips. For once in her life she +loses sight of her self-possession, and a blush, warm and rich as +carmine, mantles on her cheek.</p> + +<p>This fond coloring, suiting the exigencies of the moment suits her +likewise. Never before has she looked so entirely pretty. Her lips +tremble, her eyes grow pathetic. And Captain Rodney, already deeply in +love, grows one degree more impressed with the fact of his own good +fortune in having secured so enviable a bride.</p> + +<p>Passing his arm round her, he draws her closer to him.</p> + +<p>"Mother, Violet has promised to marry me," he says abruptly. "Haven't +you, Violet?"</p> + +<p>And Violet says, "Yes," obediently, and then the tears come into her +eyes, and a smile is born upon her lips, so sweet, so new, as compels +Doatie to whisper to Mona, a little later on, that she "didn't think it +was in Violet to look like that."</p> + +<p>Here of course everybody says the most charming thing he or she can +think of at a moment's notice; and then they all kiss Violet, and Nolly, +coming back at this auspicious instant with the fan and recovered +temper, joins in the general congratulations, and actually kisses her +too, though Geoffrey whispers "traitor" to him in an awful tone, as he +goes forward to do it.</p> + +<p>"It is the sweetest thing that could have happened," says Dorothy, +enthusiastically. "Now Mona and you and I will be real sisters."</p> + +<p>"What a surprise it all is!" says Geoffrey, hypocritically.</p> + +<p>"Yes, isn't it?" says Dorothy, quite in good faith; "though I don't know +after all why it should be; we could see for ourselves; we knew all +about it long ago!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, <i>long</i> ago," says Geoffrey, with animation. "Quite an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"Oh! hardly!" says Violet with a soft laugh and another blush. "How +could you?"</p> + +<p>"A little bird whispered it to us," explains Geoffrey, lightly. Then, +taking pity on Nolly's evident agony, he goes on "that is, you know, we +guessed it; you were so long absent, and—and that."</p> + +<p>There is something deplorably lame about this exposition, when you take +into consideration the fact that the new lovers have been, during the +past two months, <i>always</i> absent from the rest of the family, as a rule.</p> + +<p>But Violet is content.</p> + +<p>"It is like a fairy-tale, and quite as pretty," says little Dorothy, who +is quite safe to turn out an inveterate matchmaker when a few more years +have rolled over her sunny head.</p> + +<p>"Or like Nolly's story that he declines telling me," says Violet, with a +laugh.</p> + +<p>"Well, really, now you say it," says Geoffrey, as though suddenly struck +with a satisfactory idea, "it is uncommonly like Nolly's tale: when you +come to compare one with the other they sound almost similar."</p> + +<p>"What! How could Jack or I resemble an Irish member?" asks she, with a +little grimace.</p> + +<p>"Everything has its romantic side," says Geoffrey, "even an Irish +member, I dare say. And when you do induce Nolly to favor you with his +last joke, you will see that it is positively bristling with romance."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>HOW WEDDING-BELLS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE—HOW LOVE ENCOMPASSES +MONA—AND HOW AT LAST FAREWELL IS SPOKEN.</h3> + + +<p>And now what remains to be told? But little, I think! For my gentle Mona +has reached that haven where she would be!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Mona is happier than words can say. She is up to her eyes in the +business, that business sweetest to a woman's soul, the ordering and +directing and general management of a trousseau. In her case she is +doubly blessed, because she has the supervizing of two!</p> + +<p>Her sympathy is unbounded, her temper equal to the most trying occasion, +her heart open to the most petty grievances; she is to the two girls an +unfailing source of comfort, a refuge where they may unrebuked pour out +the indignation against their dressmakers that seems to rage unceasingly +within their breasts.</p> + +<p>Indeed, as Dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "How +we should possibly have got on without you, Mona, I shudder to +contemplate."</p> + +<p>Geoffrey happening to be present when this flattering remark is made, +Violet turns to him and says impulsively,—</p> + +<p>"Oh, Geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to Ireland and met Mona? Because +if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to +marry each other, and then what would have become of poor Jack?"</p> + +<p>"What, indeed?" says Geoffrey, tragically. "Worse still, what would have +become of poor Mona?"</p> + +<p>"What is it you would say?" exclaims Mona, threatingly, turning towards +him a lovely face she vainly tries to clothe with anger.</p> + +<p>"It is insupportable such an insinuation," says the lively Doatie. +"Violet, Mona's cause is ours: what shall we do with him?"</p> + +<p>"'Brain him with his lady's fan!'" quotes Violet, gayly, snatching up +Mona's fan that lies on a <i>prie-dieu</i> near, and going up to Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>So determined is her aspect that Geoffrey shows the white feather, and, +crying "<i>mea culpa</i>," beats a hasty retreat.</p> + +<p>From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but +flounces, frills, and furbelows,—three <i>f</i>'s that are considered at the +Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. +Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste +in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is +concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such +things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is +not long."—As, for instance:—</p> + +<p>"Mona, do you think Elise is right? she is so very positive; are you +sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" Or—</p> + +<p>"Dearest Mona, I must interrupt you again. Are you very busy? No? Oh, +then do come and look at the last bonnet Madame Verot has just sent. She +says there will be nothing to equal it this season. But," in a +heart-broken voice, "I cannot bring myself to think it becoming."</p> + +<p>Lady Rodney, too, is quite happy. Everything has come right; all is +smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending +fear. With Paul Rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and Mona's +greatness of heart has subdued the former. She has conquered and laid +her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have +fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors +flying.</p> + +<p>Yet does she not triumph over her beaten foe; nay, so different is it +with her that she reaches forth her hand to raise her again, and strives +by every tender means in her power to obliterate all memory of the +unpleasant past.</p> + +<p>And Lady Rodney is very willing that it should be obliterated. Just now, +indeed, it is a favorite theory of hers that she could never have been +really uncivil to dear Mona (she is always "dear Mona" of late days) +but for the terrible anxiety that lay upon her, caused by the Australian +and the missing will, and the cruel belief that soon Nicholas would be +banished from the home where he had reigned so long as master. Had +things gone happily with her, her mind would not have been so warped, +and she would have learned at once to understand and appreciate the +sweetness of the dear girl's character! And so on.</p> + +<p>Mona accepts this excuse for bygone injustice, and even encourages her +mother-in-law to enlarge upon it,—seeing how comfortable it is to her +so to do,—and furthermore tries hard in her own kind heart to believe +in it also.</p> + +<p>She is perhaps as near being angry with Geoffrey as she can be when one +day he pooh-poohs this charitable thought and gives it as his belief +that worry had nothing to do with it, and that his mother behaved +uncommonly badly all through, and that sheer obstinacy and bad temper +was the cause of the whole matter.</p> + +<p>"She had made up her mind that you would be insupportable, and she +couldn't forgive you because you weren't," says that astute young man, +with calm conviction. "Don't you be taken in, Mona."</p> + +<p>But Mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may +object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of +Lady Rodney.</p> + +<p>"In company with so divine a face, no rancorous thoughts could live," +said the duke on one memorable occasion, alluding to Mona, which speech +was rather a lofty soat for His Grace, he being for the most part of the +earth, earthy.</p> + +<p>Yet in this he spoke the truth, echoing Spenser (though unconsciously), +where he says,——</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"So every spirit, as it is most pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hath in it the more of heavenly light.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So it the fairer bodie doth procure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To habit in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For of the soule the bodie forme doth take,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For soule is forme and doth the bodie make."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>With Lady Rodney she will, I think, be always the favorite daughter. She +is quite her right hand now. She can hardly get on without her, and +tells herself her blankest days are those when Mona and Geoffrey return +to their own home, and the Towers no longer echoes to the musical laugh +of old Brian Scully's niece, or to the light footfall of her pretty +feet. Violet and Dorothy will no doubt be dear; but Mona, having won it +against much odds, will ever hold first place in her affections.</p> + +<p>After all, she has proved a great success. She has fought her fight, and +gained her victory; but the conquered has deep reason to be grateful to +her victor.</p> + +<p>Where would they all be now but for her timely entry into the library on +that night never to be forgotten, and her influence over the poor dead +and gone cousin? Even in the matter of fortune she has not been +behindhand, Paul Rodney's death having enriched her beyond all +expectation. Without doubt, therefore, there is good reason to rejoice +over Mrs. Geoffrey.</p> + +<p>To this name, given to her in such an unkindly spirit, Mona clings with +singular pertinacity. Once when Nolly has called her by it in Lady +Rodney's hearing, the latter raises her head, and a remorseful light +kindles in her eyes; and when Mr. Darling has taken himself away she +turns entreatingly to Mona, and, with a warm accession of coloring, +says, earnestly,—</p> + +<p>"My dear, I behaved badly to you in that matter. Let me tell Oliver to +call you Mrs. Rodney for the future. It is your proper name."</p> + +<p>But Mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to +alter the <i>sobriquet</i> given her so long ago now. With much gentleness +she tells Lady Rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her +than any other could ever be; that to be Mrs. Geoffrey is the utmost +height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only +cause her pain and a vague sense of loss.</p> + +<p>So after this earnest protest no more is ever said to her apon the +subject, and Mrs. Geoffrey she is now to her mends, and Mrs. Geoffrey, I +think, she will remain to the end of the chapter.</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Geoffrey, by Duchess + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Mrs. Geoffrey + +Author: Duchess + +Release Date: February 25, 2011 [EBook #35384] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. GEOFFREY *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Mary Meehan and +the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + MRS. GEOFFREY. + + BY THE DUCHESS, + +AUTHOR OF "PHYLLIS," "MOLLY BAWN," "AIRY FAIRY LILIAN," ETC., ETC. + + + CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: + BELFORD, CLARKE & COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS. + + + + +MRS. GEOFFREY + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +HOW GEOFFREY DECLARES HIS INTENTION OF SPENDING THE AUTUMN IN IRELAND. + + +"I don't see why I shouldn't put in a month there very comfortably," +says Geoffrey, indolently, pulling the ears of a pretty, saucy little +fat terrier that sits blinking at him, with brown eyes full of love, on +a chair close by. "And it will be something new to go to Ireland, at all +events. It is rather out of the running these times, so probably will +prove interesting; and at least there is a chance that one won't meet +every town acquaintance round every corner. That's the worry of going +abroad, and I'm heartily sick of the whole thing." + +"You will get murdered," says his mother, quite as indolently, half +opening her eyes, which are gray as Geoffrey's own. "They always kill +people, with things they call pikes, or burn them out of house and home, +over there, without either rhyme or reason." + +"They certainly must be a lively lot, if all one hears is true," says +Geoffrey, with a suppressed yawn. + +"You are not really going there, Geoff?" + +"Yes, really." + +"To what part of Ireland?" + +"Somewhere beyond Bantry; you have heard of Bantry Bay?" + +"Oh, I dare say! I am not sure," says Lady Rodney, pettishly, who is +rather annoyed at the idea of his going to Ireland, having other plans +in view for him. + +"Ever heard of Botany Bay?" asks he, idly; but, this question being +distinctly frivolous, she takes no notice of it. "Well, it's in +Ireland," he goes on, after a slight but dignified pause. "You have +heard of the Emerald Isle, I suppose? It's the country where they grow +potatoes, and say 'bedad'; and Bantry is somewhere south, I think. I'm +never very sure about anything: that's one of my charms." + +"A very doubtful charm." + +"The name of the place I mean to stay at--my own actual property--is +called Coolnagurtheen," goes on Geoffrey, heedless of her censure. + +"Eh?" says Lady Rodney. + +"Coolnagurtheen." + +"I always said you were clever," says his mother, languidly; "now I +believe it. I don't think if I lived forever I should be able to +pronounce such a sad word as that. Do--do the natives speak like that?" + +"I'll tell you when I come back," says Geoffrey,--"if I ever do." + +"So stupid of your uncle to leave you a property in such a country!" +says Lady Rodney, discontentedly. "But very like him, certainly. He was +never happy unless he was buying land in some uninhabitable place. There +was that farm in Wallachia,--your cousin Jane nearly died of chagrin +when she found it was left to her, and the lawyers told her she should +take it, whether she liked it or not. Wallachia! I don't know where it +is, but I am sure it is close to the Bulgarian atrocities!" + +"Our 'pretty Jane,' on occasions, can talk as much nonsense as--as any +woman I ever met," says Geoffrey,--the hesitation being full of filial +reverence; "and that may be called, I think, unqualified praise." + +"Better give up the Irish plan, dear, and come with Nichols and me to +the Nugents. They are easy-going people, and will suit you." + +"Free-and-easy-going would be a more appropriate term, from all I have +heard." + +"The shooting there is capital," says his mother, turning a deaf ear to +his muttered interruption, "and I don't believe there is anything in +Ireland, not even birds." + +"There are landlords, at least; and very excellent shooting they are, if +all accounts be true," says Geoffrey, with a grin,--"to say nothing of +the partridge and grouse. Besides, it will be an experience; and a man +should say 'how d'ye do?' to his tenants sometimes." + +"If you are going to preach to me on that subject, of course I have +nothing more to say. But I wish you would come with me to the Nugents." + +"My dear mother, there is hardly anything I wouldn't do for you; but the +Nugent scheme wouldn't suit at all. That girl of the Cheviots is sure to +be there,--you know how fond Bessie Nugent is of her?--and I know she is +bent on marrying me." + +"Nonsense! Would you have me believe you are afraid of her?" + +"I am afraid of her; I was never so afraid of any one before. I have +made it the business of my life to avoid her ever since last New Year's +Day, when some kind fellow told me it was leap-year. You know I never +yet said 'No' to any one, and I shouldn't dare begin by saying it to +Miss Cheviot. She has such a stony glare, and such a profusion of nose!" + +"And a profusion of gold, too," says Lady Rodney, with a sigh. + +"I hope she has, poor soul: she will want it," says Geoffrey, feelingly; +and then he falls to whistling the "Two Obadiahs" softly, yet with a +relish, beneath his breath. + +"How long do you intend to banish yourself from civilized life?" + +"A month, I dare say. Longer, if I like it; shorter, if I don't. By the +by, you told me the other day it was the dream of your life to see me in +Parliament, now that 'Old Dick' has decided on leading a sedentary +existence,--a very stupid decision on his part, by the way, so clever as +he is." + +"He is not strong, you see: a little thing knocks him up, and he is too +impressionable for a public career. But you are different." + +"You think I am not impressionable? Well, time will tell. I shouldn't +care about going into the House unless I went there primed and loaded +with a real live grievance, Now, why should I not adopt the Irish? +Consider the case as it stands: I go and see them; I come home, raving +about them and their wretched condition, their cruel landlords, their +noble endurance, magnificent physique, patient suffering, honest +revenge, and so forth. By Jove! I feel as if I could do it already, +even before I've seen them," says Mr. Rodney, with an irreverent laugh. + +"Well don't go to Dublin, at all events," says her mother, plaintively. +"It's wretched form." + +"Is it? I always heard it was rather a jolly sort of little place, once +you got into it--well." + +"What a partisan you do make!" says Lady Rodney, with a faint laugh. +"Perhaps after all we should consider Ireland the end and aim of all +things. I dare say when you come back you will be more Irish than the +Irish." + +"It is a good thing to be in earnest over every matter, however trivial. +As I am going to Ireland, you will advise me to study the people, would +you not?" + +"By all means study them, if you are really bent on this tiresome +journey. It may do you good. You will at least be more ready to take my +advice another time." + +"What a dismal view you take of my trip! Perhaps, in spite of your +forebodings, I shall enjoy myself down to the ground, and weep copiously +on leaving Irish soil." + +"Perhaps. I hope you won't get into a mess there, and make me more +unhappy than I am. We are uncomfortable enough without that. You know +you are always doing something bizarre,--something rash and uncommon!" + +"How nice!" says Geoffrey, with a careless smile. "Your 'faint praise' +fails 'to damn'! Why, one is nothing nowadays if not eccentric. Well," +moving towards the door, with the fox-terrier at his heels, "I shall +start on Monday. That will get me down in time for the 12th. Shall I +send you up any birds?" + +"Thanks, dear; you are always good," murmurs Lady Rodney, who has ever +an eye to the main chance. + +"If there are any," says Geoffrey, with a twinkle in his eye. + +"If there are any," repeats she, unmoved. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HOW GEOFFREY GOES TO IRELAND AND WHAT HE SEES THERE. + + +It is early morn. "The first low breath of waking day stirs the wide +air." On bush and tree and opening flower the dew lies heavily, like +diamonds glistening in the light of the round sun. Thin clouds of pearly +haze float slowly o'er the sky to meet its rays; and + + Envious streaks + Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. + +Geoffrey, with his gun upon his shoulder, trudges steadily onward +rejoicing in the freshness of the morning air. + +To his right lies Bantry Bay, that now is spreading itself out in all +its glory to catch the delicate hues of the sky above. They rush to +greet it, and, sinking deep down into its watery embrace, lie there all +day rocked to and fro by the restless ocean. + +From the hills the scent of the heather is wafted towards him, filling +him with a subtle keen sense of youth and gladness and the absolute joy +of living. His good dog is at his heels; a boy--procured from some +neighboring cabin, and warranted not to wear out, however long the +journey to be undertaken or how many miles to travel--carries his bag +beside him. + +Game as yet is not exactly plentiful: neither yesterday nor the day +before could it be said that birds flock to his gun; there is, indeed, a +settled uncertainty as to whether one may or may not have a good day's +sport. And yet perhaps this very uncertainty gives an additional +excitement to the game. + +Here and there a pack is discovered, so unexpectedly as to be doubly +welcome. And sometimes a friendly native will tell him of some quiet +corner where "his honor" will surely find some birds, "an be able in the +evenin' to show raison for his blazin'." It is a somewhat wild life, but +a pleasant one, and perhaps, on the whole, Mr. Rodney finds Ireland an +agreeable take-in, and the inhabitants of it by no means as eccentric or +as bloodthirsty as he has been led to believe. He has read innumerable +works on the Irish peasantry, calculated to raise laughter in the +breasts of those who claim the Emerald Isle as their own,--works written +by people who have never seen Ireland, or, having seen it, have thought +it a pity to destroy the glamour time has thrown over it, and so reduce +it to commonplaceness. + +He is, for instance, surprised, and indeed somewhat relieved, when he +discovers that the drivers of the jaunting-cars that take him on his +shooting-expeditions are not all modern Joe Millers, and do not let off +witty remarks, like bombshells, every two minutes. + +He is perhaps disappointed in that every Irish cloak does not conceal a +face beautiful as a houri's. And he learns by degrees that only one in +ten says "bedad," and that "och murther?" is an expression almost +extinct. + +They appear a kindly, gentle, good-humored people,--easily led, no doubt +(which is their undoing), but generous to the heart's core; a people who +can speak English fluently (though with a rich brogue) and more +grammatically than the Sassenachs themselves (of their own class), +inasmuch as they respect their aspirates and never put an _h_ in or +leave one out in the wrong place. + +The typical Irishman, in whom Lever delighted, with his knee-breeches +and long-tailed coat, his pig under one arm and his shillalah under the +other, is literally nowhere! The caubeen and the dhudheen which we are +always hearing about may indeed be seen, but they are very usual objects +in all lands, if one just alters the names, and scarcely create +astonishment in the eyes of the on-looker. + +The dhudheen is an institution, no doubt, but the owner of it, as a +rule, is not to be found seated on a five-barred gate, with a shamrock +pinned in his hat and a straw in his mouth, singing "Rory O'More" or +"Paddy O'Rafferty," as the case may be. On the contrary, poor soul, he +is found by Geoffrey either digging up his potatoes or stocking his turf +for winter use. + +Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is +comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying +_perdu_ in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn +stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or +reason. + +Rodney, with the boy at his side, is covering ground in a state of +blissful uncertainty. He may be a mile from home, or ten miles, for all +he knows, and the boy seems none the wiser. + +"Where are we now?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, stopping and facing "the +boy." + +"I don't know, sir." + +"But you said you knew the entire locality,--couldn't be puzzled within +a radius of thirty miles. How far are we from home?" + +"I don't know, sir. I never was abroad before, an' I'm dead bate now, +an' the bag's like lead." + +"You're a nice boy, you are!" says Mr. Rodney; "Here, give me the bag! +Perhaps you would like me to carry you too; but I shan't, so you needn't +ask me. Are you hungry?" + +"No," says the boy valiantly; but he looks hungry, and Geoffrey's heart +smites him, the more in that he himself is starving likewise. + +"Come a little farther," he says, gently, slinging the heavy bag across +his own shoulders. "There must be a farmhouse somewhere." + +There is. In the distance, imbedded in trees, lies an extensive +farmstead, larger and more home-like than any he has yet seen. + +"Now, then, cheer up, Paddy!" he says to the boy: "yonder lies an oasis +in our howling wilderness." + +Whereat the boy smiles and grins consumedly, as though charmed with his +companion's metaphor, though in reality he understands it not at all. + +As they draw still nearer, Geoffrey becomes aware that the farmyard +before him is rich with life. Cocks are crowing, geese are cackling, and +in the midst of all this life stands a girl with her back turned to the +weary travellers. + +"Wait here," says Geoffrey to his squire, and, going forward, rests the +bag upon a low wall, and waits until the girl in question shall turn her +head. When she does move he is still silent, for, behold, _she_ has +turned _his_ head! + +She is country bred, and clothed in country garments, yet her beauty is +too great to be deniable. She is not "divinely tall," but rather of +medium height, with an oval face, and eyes of "heaven's own blue." Their +color changes too, and deepens, and darkens, and grows black and purple, +as doth the dome above us. Her mouth is large, but gracious, and full of +laughter mixed with truth and firmness. There is no feature that can so +truly express character as the mouth. The eyes can shift and change, but +the mouth retains its expression always. + +She is clad in a snowy gown of simple cotton, that sits loosely to her +lissom figure yet fails to disguise the beauty of it. A white kerchief +lies softly on her neck. She has pulled up her sleeves, so that her arms +are bare,--her round, soft, naked arms that in themselves are a perfect +picture. She is standing with her head well thrown back, and her +hands--full of corn--lifted high in the air, as she cries aloud, "Cooee! +Cooee!" in a clear musical voice. + +Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons--brown and white +and bronze and gray--come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, +and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her +head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more +adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery +resting-place upon her bosom. + +"What greedy little things!" cries she aloud, with the merriest laugh in +the world. "Sure you can't eat more than enough, can you? an' do your +best! Oh, Brownie," reproachfully, "what a selfish bird you are!" + +Here Geoffrey comes forward quietly, and lifts his hat to her with all +the air of a man who is doing homage to a princess. It has occurred to +him that perhaps this peerless being in the cotton gown will feel some +natural chagrin on being discovered by one of the other sex with her +sleeves tucked up. But in this instance his knowledge of human nature +receives a severe shock. + +Far from being disconcerted, this farmyard goddess is not even ashamed +(as indeed how could she be?) of her naked arms, and, coming up to him, +rests them upon the upper rung of the entrance-gate and surveys him +calmly if kindly. + +"What can I do for you?" she asks, gently. + +"I think," says Geoffrey, slightly disconcerted by the sweet leisure of +her gaze, "I have lost my way. I have been walking since sunrise, and I +want you to tell me where I am." + +"You are at Mangle Farm," returns she. Then, judging by the blank +expression on his face that her words bring him no comfort, she +continues with a smile, "That doesn't seem to help you much, does it?" + +He returns her smile in full,--_very_ full. "I confess it doesn't help +me at all," he says. "Mangle Farm, I am sure, is the most attractive +spot on earth, but it tells me nothing about latitude or longitude. Give +me some further help." + +"Then tell me where you come from, and perhaps I may be able." She +speaks softly, but quickly, as do all the Irish, and with a brogue +musical but unmistakable. + +"I am staying at a shooting-lodge called Coolnagurtheen. Do you know +where that is." + +"Oh, of course," returns she, with a sudden accession of animation. "I +have often seen it. That is where the young English gentleman is staying +for the shooting." + +"Quite right. And I am the young English gentleman," says Geoffrey, +lifting his hat again by way of introduction. + +"Indeed, are you?" asks she, raising her pretty brows. Then she smiles +involuntarily, and the pink flush in her rounded cheeks grows a shade +deeper. Yet she does not lower her eyes, or show the slightest touch of +confusion. "I might have guessed it," she says, after a minute's survey +of the tall gray-coated young man before her. "You are not a bit like +the others down here." + +"Am I not?" says he, humbly, putting on his carefully crestfallen air +that has generally been found so highly successful. "Tell me my fault." + +"I will--when I find it," returns she, with an irrepressible glance, +full of native but innocent coquetry, from her beautiful eyes. + +At this moment one of the pigeons--a small, pretty thing, +bronze-tinged--flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a +tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though +imploring more corn. + +"Would you bite me?" murmurs she, fondly, as the bird flies off again +alarmed at the presence of the tall stranger, who already is busy +comparing most favorably the face of its mistress with the faces of all +the fashionable beauties London has been raving about for eighteen +months. "Every morning they torment me like this," she says, turning to +Geoffrey, with a little pleasant confidential nod. + +"He looked as if he wanted to eat you; and I'm sure I don't wonder at +it," says Geoffrey, making the addition to his speech in a lower key. + +"And have you walked from Coolnagurtheen this morning? Why, it is eight +miles from this," says she, taking no notice of his last speech. "You +could have had no breakfast!" + +"Not yet; but I suppose there must be a village near here, and an inn, +and I want you to direct me how to get to it. I am giving you a great +deal of trouble," remorsefully, "but my boy knows nothing." + +He points as he speaks to the ignorant Paddy, who is sitting on the +ground with his knees between his hands, crooning a melancholy ditty. + +"The village is two miles farther on. I think you had better come in and +breakfast here. Uncle will be very glad to see you," she says, +hospitably. "And you must be tired." + +He hesitates. He _is_ tired, and hungry too; there is no denying. Even +as he hesitates, a girl coming out to the door-step puts her hand over +her eyes, and shouts pleasantly from afar to her mistress,-- + +"Miss Mona, come in; the tay will be cold, an' the rashers all spoiled, +an' the masther's callin' for ye." + +"Come, hurry," says Mona, turning to Geoffrey, with a light laugh that +seems to spring from her very heart. "Would you have the 'tay' get cold +while you are making up your mind? I at least must go." + +She moves from him. + +"Then thank you, and I shall go with you, if you will allow me," says +Geoffrey, hurriedly, as he sees her disappearing. + +"Tell your boy to go to the kitchen," says Mona, thoughtfully, and, +Paddy being disposed of, she and Geoffrey go on to the house. + +They walk up a little gravelled path, on either side of which trim beds +of flowers are cut, bordered with stiff box. All sorts of pretty, +sweetly-smelling old wild blossoms are blooming in them, as gayly as +though they have forgotten the fact that autumn is rejoicing in all its +matured beauty. Crimson and white and purple asters stand calmly gazing +towards the sky; here a flaming fuchsia droops its head, and there, +apart from all the rest, smiles an enchanting rose. + + "That like a virgin queen salutes the sun + Dew-diadem'd." + +Behind the house rises a thick wood,--a "solemn wood," such as Dickens +loved to write of, with its lights and shades and every-varying tints. A +gentle wind is rushing through it now; the faint murmur of some "hidden +brook," singing its "quiet tune," fall upon the ear; some happy birds +are warbling in the thickets. It is a day whose beauty may be felt. + +"I have no card but my name is Geoffrey Rodney," says the young man, +turning to his companion. + +"And mine is Mona Scully," returns she, with the smile that seems part +of her lips, and which already has engraven itself on Mr. Rodney's +heart. "Now, I suppose, we know each other." + +They walk up two steps, and enter a small hall, and then he follows her +into a room opening off it, in which breakfast lies prepared. + +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. + +An old man, rugged but kindly-featured, rises on his entrance, and gazes +at him expectantly. Mona, going up to him, rests her hand upon his arm, +and, indicating Geoffrey by a gesture, says, in a low tone,-- + +"He has lost his way. He is tired, and I have asked him to have some +breakfast. He is the English gentleman who is living at Coolnagurtheen." + +"You're kindly welcome, sir," says the old man, bowing with the slow and +heavy movement that belongs to the aged. There is dignity and warmth, +however, in the salute, and Geoffrey accepts with pleasure the toil-worn +hand his host presents to him a moment later. The breakfast is good, +and, though composed of only country fare, is delicious to the young +man, who has been walking since dawn, and whose appetite just now would +have astonished those dwelling in crowded towns and living only on their +excitements. + +The house, is home-like, sweet, and one which might perhaps day by day +grow dearer to the heart; and this girl, this pretty creature who every +now and then turns her eyes on Geoffrey, as though glad in a kindly +fashion to see him there, seems a necessary part of the whole,--her +gracious presence rendering it each moment sweeter and more desirable. +"My precept to all who build is," says Cicero, "that the owner should be +an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner." + +Mona pours out the tea--which is excellent--and puts in the cream--which +is a thing to dream of--with a liberal hand. She smiles at Geoffrey +across the sugar-bowl, and chatters to him over the big bowl of flowers +that lies in the centre of the table. Not a hothouse bouquet faultlessly +arranged, by any means, but a great, tender, happy, straggling bunch of +flowers that seem to have fallen into their places of their own accord, +regardless of coloring, and fill the room with their perfume. + +His host going to the window when breakfast is at an end, Geoffrey +follows him; and both look out upon the little garden before them that +is so carefully and lovingly tended. + +"It is all her doing," says the old man,--"Mona's, I mean. She loves +those flowers more than anything on earth, I think. Her mother was the +same; but she wasn't half the lass that Mona is. Never a mornin' in the +cowld winter but she goes out there to see if the frost hasn't killed +some of 'em the night before." + +"There is hardly any taste so charming or so engrossing as that for +flowers," says Geoffrey, making this trite little speech, that sounds +like a copy-book, in his most engaging style. "My mother and cousin do a +great deal of that sort of thing when at home." + +"Ay, it looks pretty and gives the child something to do." There is a +regretful ring in his tone that induces Geoffrey to ask the next +question. + +"Does she--does Miss Scully find country life unsatisfying? Has she not +lived here always?" + +"Law, no, sir," says the old man, with a loud and hearty laugh. "I think +if ye could see the counthry girls round here, an' compare 'em with my +Mona, you'd see that for yerself. She's as fine as the queen to them. +Her mother, you see, was the parson's daughter down here; tiptop she +was, and purty as a fairy, but mighty delicate; looked as if a march +wind would blow her into heaven. Dan--he was a brother of mine, an' a +solicitor in Dublin. You've been there, belike?" + +"Yes; I stopped there for two or three days on my way down here. +Well--and--your brother?" He cannot to himself explain the interest he +feels in this story. + +"Dan? He was a fine man, surely; six feet in his stockin', he was, an' +eyes like a woman's. He come down here an' met her, an' she married him. +Nothing would stop her, though the parson was fit to be tied about it. +An' of course he was no match for her,--father bein' only a bricklayer +when he began life,--but still I will say Dan was a fine man, an' one to +think about; an' no two ways in him, an' _that_ soft about the heart. He +worshipped the ground she walked on; an' four years after their marriage +she told me herself she never had an ache in her heart since she married +him. That was fine tellin', sir, wasn't it? Four years, mind ye. Why, +when Mary was alive (my wife, sir) we had a shindy twice a week, reg'lar +as clockwork. We wouldn't have known ourselves without it; but, however, +that's nayther here nor there," says Mr. Scully, pulling himself up +short. "An' I ask yer pardon, sir, for pushing private matters on ye +like this." + +"But you have interested me," says Geoffrey, seating himself on the +broad sill of the window, as though preparing for a long dissertation on +matters still unknown. "Pray tell me how your brother and his lovely +wife--who evidently was as wise and true as she was lovely--got on." + +Mr. Rodney's face being of that rare kind that is as tender as it is +manly, and by right of its beauty demands confidence, the old man (who +dearly loves his own voice) is encouraged to proceed. + +"They didn't get on for long," he says, mournfully,--and what voice is +so full of melancholy as the Irish voice when it sinks into sadness? +"When the little one--Mona--was barely five years old, they went to +ground; Mount Jerome got them. Fever it was; and it carried 'em both off +just while ye'd have time to look round ye. Poor souls, they went to the +blessed land together. Perhaps the Holy Virgin knew they would have got +on badly without each other anywhere." + +"And the child,--Miss Mona?" asks Geoffrey. + +"She went to live in Anthrim with her mother's sister. Later she got to +Dublin, to her aunt there,--another of the parson's daughters,--who +married the Provost in Thrinity; a proud sort he was, an' awful tiresome +with his Greeks an' his Romans, an' not the height of yer thumb," says +Mr. Scully, with ineffable contempt. "I went to Dublin one day about +cattle, and called to see me niece; an' she took to me, bless her, an' +I brought her down with me for change of air, for her cheeks were whiter +than a fleece of wool, an' she has stayed ever since. Dear soul! I hope +she'll stay forever. She is welcome." + +"She must be a great comfort to you," says Geoffrey from his heart. + +"She is that. More than I can say. An' keeps things together, too. She +is clever like her father, an' he was on the fair way to make a fortune. +Ay, I always say it, law is the thing that pays in Ireland. A good sound +fight sets them up. But I'm keeping you, sir, and your gun is waitin' +for ye. If you haven't had enough of me company by this," with another +jolly laugh, "I'll take ye down to a field hard by, an' show ye where I +saw a fine young covey only yesternight." + +"I--I should like to say good-by to Miss Mona, and thank her for all her +goodness to me, before going," says the young man, rising somewhat +slowly. + +"Nay, you can say all that on your way back, an' get a half-shot into +the bargain," says old Scully, heartily. "You'll hardly beat the potheen +I can give ye." He winks knowingly, pats Rodney kindly on the shoulder, +and leads the way out of the house. Yet I think Geoffrey would willingly +have bartered potheen, partridge, and a good deal more, for just one +last glance at Mona's beautiful face before parting. Cheered, however, +by the prospect that he may see her before night falls, he follows the +farmer into the open air. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +HOW GEOFFREY'S HEART IS CLAIMED BY CUPID AS A TARGET, AND HOW MONA +STOOPS TO CONQUER. + + +It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no +new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees +are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and +richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before +them. + +Great cascades of water are rushing from the high hills, tumbling, +hurrying, with their own melodious music, into the rocky basins that +kind nature has built to receive them. The soothing voices of the air +are growing louder, more full of strength; the branches of the elms bow +down before them; the gentle wind, "a sweet and passionate wooer," +kisses the blushing leaf with perhaps a fiercer warmth than it did a +month agone. + +It is in the spring--so we have been told--that "a young man's fancy +lightly turns to thoughts of love;" yet it is in the autumn that _our_ +young man takes to this pleasing if somewhat unsatisfactory amusement. + +Not that he himself is at all aware of the evil case into which he has +fallen. He feels not the arrow in his heart, or the tender bands that +slowly but surely are winding themselves around him,--steel bands, +decked out and hidden by perfumed flowers. As yet he feels no pang; and, +indeed, were any one to even hint at such a thing, he would have laughed +aloud at the idea of his being what is commonly termed "in love." + +That he--who has known so many seasons, and passed through the practised +hands of some of the prettiest women this world can afford, heart-whole, +and without a scratch--should fall a victim to the innocent wiles of a +little merry Irish girl of no family whatever, seems too improbable even +of belief, however lovely beyond description this girl may be (and is), +with her wistful, laughing, mischievous Irish eyes, and her mobile lips, +and her disposition half angelic, half full of fire and natural +coquetry. + +Beauty, according to Ovid, is "a favor bestowed by the gods;" +Theophrastus says it is "a silent cheat;" and Shakspeare tells us it + + "Is but a vain and doubtful good, + A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly, + A flower that dieth when first it 'gins to bud, + A brittle glass that's broken presently, + A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, + Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour." + +Mere beauty of form and feature will fade indeed, but Mona's beauty lies +not altogether in nose or eyes or mouth, but rather in her soul, which +compels her face to express its lightest meaning. It is in her +expression, which varies with each passing thought, changing from "grave +to gay, from lively to severe," as the soul within speaks to it, that +her chief charm dwells. She is never quite the same for two minutes +running,--which is the surest safeguard against satiety. And as her soul +is pure and clean, and her face is truly the index to her mind, all it +betrays but endears her to and makes richer him who reads it. + + "Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale + Her infinite variety." + +Whenever these lines come to me I think of Mona. + + * * * * * + +It is midday, and Geoffrey, gun in hand, is idly stalking through the +sloping wood that rises behind Mangle Farm. The shooting he has had +since his arrival in Ireland, though desultory,--perhaps because of +it,--has proved delightful in his sight. Here coveys come upon one +unawares, rising out of fields when least expected, and therefore when +discovered possess all the novelty of a gigantic surprise. Now and then +he receives kindly warning of birds seen "over night" in some particular +corner, and an offer to escort him to the scene of action without beat +of drum. + +As for instance, in the morning his man assails him with the news that +Micky Brian or Dinny Collins (he has grown quite familiar with the +gentry around) "is without, an' would like to spake wid him." Need I +remark that he has widely hired his own particular attendant from among +the gay and festive youths of Bantry? + +Whereupon he goes "without," which means to his own hall-door that +always stands wide open, and there acknowledges the presence of Mickey +or Dinny, as the case may be, with a gracious nod. Mickey instantly +removes his caubeen and tells "his honor" (regardless of the fact that +his honor can tell this for himself) that "it is a gran' fine day," +which as a rule is the first thing an Irish person will always say on +greeting you, as though full of thankfulness to the powers above, in +that sweet weather has been given. + +Then follows a long-winded speech on the part of Mickey about birds in +general and grouse in particular, finishing up with the announcement +that he can tell where the finest covey seen this season lies hidden. + +"An' the biggest birds, an' as full o' corn as iver ye see, the rogues!" + +At this his honor requests Mickey to step into the hall, and with his +own hands administers to him a glass of whiskey, which mightily pleases +the son of Erin, though he plainly feels it his duty to make a face at +it as he swallows it off neat. And then Geoffrey sallies forth and goes +for the promised covey, followed closely by the excited Mickey, and, +having made account of most of them, presses backsheesh into the hands +of his informant, and sends him home rejoicing. + +For the most part these bonnie brown birds have found their way into +Miss Mona's pantry, and are eaten by that little gourmand with the rarer +pleasure that in her secret heart she knows that the giver of them is +not blind to the fact that her eyes are faultless and her nose pure +Greek. + +Just at this moment he is coming down through brake and furze, past +tangling blackberry-bushes that are throwing out leaves of brilliant +crimson and softest yellow, and over rustling leaves, towards the farm +that holds his divinity. + +Ill luck has attended his efforts to-day, or else his thoughts have been +wandering in the land where love holds sway, because he is empty-handed. +The bonnie brown bird has escaped him, and no gift is near to lay at +Mona's shrine. + +As he reaches the broad stream that divides him from the land he would +reach, he pauses and tries to think of any decent excuse that may enable +him to walk with a bold front up to the cottage door. But no such excuse +presents itself. Memory proves false. It refuses to assist him. He is +almost in despair. + +He tries to persuade himself that there is nothing strange or uncommon +in calling upon Wednesday to inquire with anxious solicitude about the +health of a young woman whom he had seen happy and robust on Tuesday. +But the trial is not successful, and he is almost on the point of +flinging up the argument and going home again, when his eye lights upon +a fern small but rare, and very beautiful, that growing on a high rock +far above him, overhangs the stream. + +It is a fern for which Mona has long been wishing. Oh! happy thought! +She has expressed for it the keenest admiration. Oh! blissful +remembrance! She has not one like it in all her collection. Oh! +certainty full of rapture. + +Now will he seize this blessed opportunity, and, laden with the spoils +of war, approach her dwelling (already she is "she"), and triumphantly, +albeit humbly, lay the fern at her feet, and so perchance gain the right +to bask for a few minutes in the sunshine of her presence. + +No sooner thought than done! Laying his gun carefully upon the ground, +he looks around him to see by what means he shall gain possession of +this lucky fern which is growing, deeply rooted in its native soil, far +above him. + +A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is +not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is +indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it +must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and +then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern +can be seen. + +It is rather beyond his reach, but he is determined not to be outdone. +Of course by stepping into the water and climbing the slimy rock that +holds the desired treasure, it can be gained; but with a lazy desire to +keep his boots dry, he clings to his present position, regardless of the +fact that bruised flesh (if nothing worse) will probably be the result +of his daring. + +He has stooped very much over indeed. His hand is on the fern; he has +safely carefully extracted it, roots and all (one would think I was +speaking of a tooth! but this is by the way), from its native home, when +cr-r-k goes something; the branch on which he rests betrays him, and +smashing hurls him head downwards into the swift but shallow stream +below. + +A very charming vision clad in Oxford shirting, and with a great white +hat tied beneath her rounded chin with blue ribbons,--something in the +style of a Sir Joshua Reynolds,--emerges from among the low-lying firs +at this moment. Having watched the (seemingly) light catastrophe from +afar, and being apparently amused by it, she now gives way to +unmistakable mirth and laughs aloud. When Mona laughs, she does it with +all her heart, the correct method of suppressing all emotion, be it of +joy or sorrow,--regarding it as a recreation permitted only to the +vulgar,--being as yet unlearned by her. Therefore her expression of +merriment rings gayly and unchecked through the old wood. + +But presently, seeing the author of her mirth does not rise from his +watery resting-place, her smile fades, a little frightened look creeps +into her eyes, and, hastening forward, she reaches the bank of the +stream and gazes into it. Rodney is lying face downwards in the water, +his head having come with some force against the sharp edge of a stone +against which it is now resting. + +Mona turns deadly pale, and then instinctively loosening the strings of +her hat flings it from her. A touch of determination settles upon her +lips, so prone to laughter at other times. Sitting on the bank, she +draws off her shoes and stockings, and with the help of an alder that +droops to the river's brim lowers herself into the water. + +The stream, though insignificant, is swift. Placing her strong young +arms, that are rounded and fair as those of any court dame, beneath +Rodney, she lifts him, and, by a supreme effort, and by right of her +fresh youth and perfect health, draws him herself to land. + +In a minute or two the whole affair proves itself a very small thing +indeed, with little that can be termed tragical about it. Geoffrey comes +slowly back to life, and in the coming breathes her name. Once again he +is trying to reach the distant fern; once again it eludes his grasp. He +has it; no, he hasn't; yet, he has. Then at last he wakes to the fact +that he has indeed _got it_ in earnest, and that the blood is flowing +from a slight wound in the back of his head, which is being staunched by +tender fingers, and that he himself is lying in Mona's arms. + +He sighs, and looks straight into the lovely frightened eyes bending +over him. Then the color comes with a sudden rush back into his cheeks +as he tells himself she will look upon him as nothing less than a "poor +creature" to lose consciousness and behave like a silly girl for so +slight a cause. And something else he feels. Above and beyond everything +is a sense of utter happiness, such as he has never known before, a +thrill of rapture that has in it something of peace, and that comes from +the touch of the little brown hand that rests so lightly on his head. + +"Do not stir. Your head is badly cut, an' it bleeds still," says Mona, +with a shoulder. "I cannot stop it. Oh, what shall I do?" + +"Who got me out of the water?" asks he, lazily, pretending (hypocrite +that he is) to be still overpowered with weakness. "And when did you +come?" + +"Just now," returns she, with some hesitation, and a rich accession of +coloring, that renders her even prettier than she was a moment since. +Because + + "From every blush that kindles in her cheeks, + Ten thousand little loves and graces spring." + +Her confusion, however, and the fact that no one else is near, betrays +the secret she fain would hide. + +"Was it you?" asks he, raising himself on his elbow to regard her +earnestly, though very loath to quit the spot where late he has been +tenant. "You? Oh, Mona!" + +It is the first time he has ever called her by her Christian name +without a prefix. The tears rise to her eyes. Feeling herself +discovered, she makes her confession slowly, without looking at him, and +with an air of indifference so badly assumed as to kill the idea of her +ever attaining prominence upon the stage. + +"Yes, it was I," she says. "And why shouldn't I? Is it to see you drown +I would? I--I didn't want you to find out; but"--quickly--"I would do +the same for _any one_ at _any_ time. You know that." + +"I am sure you would," says Geoffrey, who has risen to his feet and has +taken her hand. "Nevertheless, though, as you say, I am but one in the +crowd,--and, of course, nothing to you,--I am very glad you did it for +me." + +With a little touch of wilfulness, perhaps pride, she withdraws her +hand. + +"I dare say," she says, carelessly, purposely mistaking his meaning: "it +must have been cold lying there." + +"There are things that chill one more than water," returns he, slightly +offended by her tone. + +"You are all wet. Do go home and change your clothes," says Mona, who is +still sitting on the grass with her gown spread carefully around her. +"Or perhaps"-reluctantly--"it will be better for you to go to the farm, +where Bridget will look after you." + +"Thank you; so I shall, if you will come with me." + +"Don't mind me," says Miss Scully, hastily. "I shall follow you by and +by." + +"By and by will suit me down to the ground," declares he, easily. "The +day is fortunately warm: damp clothes are an advantage rather than +otherwise." + +Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind +being evidently great with thought. + +"I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to +the farm, and--stay there." + +"Well, come with me, and I'll stay till you turn me out.' + +"I can't," faintly. + +"Why not?" in a surprised tone. + +"Because--I prefer staying here." + +"Oh! if you mean by that you want to get rid of me, you might have said +so long ago, without all this hinting," says Mr. Rodney, huffily, +preparing to beat an indignant retreat. + +"I didn't mean that, and I never hint," exclaims Mona, angrily; "and if +you insist on the truth, if I must explain to you what I particularly +desire to keep secret, you----" + +"You are hurt!" interrupts he, with passionate remorse. "I see it all +now. Stepping into that hateful stream to save me, you injured yourself +severely. You are in pain,--you suffer; whilst I----" + +"I am in no pain," says Mona, crimson with shame and mortification. "You +mistake everything. I have not even a scratch on me; and--I have no +shoes or stockings on me either, if you must know all!" + +She turns from him wrathfully; and Geoffrey, disgusted with himself, +steps back and makes no reply. With any other woman of his acquaintance +he might perhaps at this juncture have made a mild request that he might +be allowed to assist in the lacing or buttoning of her shoes; but with +this strange little Irish girl all is different. To make such a remark +would be, he feels, to offer her a deliberate insult. + +"There, do go away!" says this woodland goddess. "I am sick of you and +your stupidity." + +"I'm sure I don't wonder," says Geoffrey, very humbly. "I beg your +pardon a thousand times; and--good-by, Miss Mona." + +She turns involuntarily, through the innate courtesy that belongs to her +race, to return his parting salutation, and, looking at him, sees a tiny +spot of blood trickling down his forehead from the wound received awhile +since. + +On the instant all is forgotten,--chagrin, shame, shoes and stockings, +everything! Springing to her little naked feet, she goes to him, and, +raising her hand, presses her handkerchief against the ugly stain. + +"It has broken out again!" she says, nervously. "I am sure--I am +certain--it is a worst wound than you imagine. Ah! do go home, and get +it dressed." + +"But I shouldn't like any one to touch it except you," says Mr. Rodney, +truthfully. "Even now, as your fingers press it, I feel relief." + +"Do you really?" asks Mona, earnestly. + +"Honestly, I do." + +"Then just turn your back for one moment," says Mona simply, "and when +my shoes and stockings are on I'll go home with you an' bathe it. Now, +don't turn round, for your life!" + +"'Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this thing?'" quotes Mr. +Rodney; and, Mona having got into her shoes, she tells him he is at +liberty to follow her across the rustic bridge lower down, that leads +from the wood into Mangle Farm. + +"You have spoiled your gown on my account," says Geoffrey, surveying her +remorsefully; "and such a pretty gown, too. I don't think I ever saw you +looking sweeter than you look to-day. And now your dress is ruined, and +it is all my fault!" + +"How dare you find a defect in my appearance?" says Mona, with her old +gay laugh. "You compel me to retaliate. Just look at yourself. Did you +ever see such a regular pickle as you are?" + +In truth he is. So when he has acknowledged the melancholy fact, they +both laugh, with the happy enjoyment of youth, at their own +discomfiture, and go back to the cottage good friends once more. + +On the middle of the rustic bridge before mentioned he stops her, to +say, unexpectedly,-- + +"Do you know by what name I shall always call you in my thoughts?" + +To which she answers, "No. How should I? But tell me." + +"'Bonnie Lesley:' the poet says of her what I think of you." + +"And what do you think of me?" She has grown a little pale, but her eyes +have not left his. + + "To see her is to love her, + And love but her forever; + For nature made her what she is, + And ne'er made sie anither," + +quotes Geoffrey, in a low tone, that has something in it almost +startling, so full is it of deep and earnest feeling. + +Mona is the first to recover herself. + +"That is a pretty verse," she says, quietly. "But I do not know the +poem. I should like to read it." + +Her tone, gentle but dignified, steadies him. + +"I have the book that contains it at Coolnagurtheen," he says, somewhat +subdued. "Shall I bring it to you?" + +"Yes. You may bring it to me--to-morrow," returns she, with the +faintest hesitation, which but enhances the value of the permission, +whereon his heart once more knows hope and content. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER A CABIN AND SEE ONE OF THE RESULTS OF +PARNELL'S ELOQUENCE. + + +But when to-morrow comes it brings to him a very different Mona from the +one he saw yesterday. A pale girl, with great large sombrous eyes and +compressed lips, meets him, and places her hand in his without a word. + +"What is it?" asks he, quick to notice any change in her. + +"Oh! haven't you heard?" cries she. "Sure the country is ringing with +it. Don't you know that they tried to shoot Mr. Moore last night?" + +Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind +Mangle Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday. + +"Yes, of course; but I heard, too, how he escaped his would-be +assassin." + +"He did, yes; but poor Tim Maloney, the driver of the car on which he +was, he was shot through the heart, instead of him! Oh, Mr. Rodney," +cries the girl, passionate emotion both in her face and voice, "what can +be said of those men who come down to quiet places such as this was, to +inflame the minds of poor ignorant wretches, until they are driven to +bring down murder on their souls! It is cruel! It is unjust! And there +seems no help for us. But surely in the land where justice reigns +supreme, retribution will fall upon the right heads." + +"I quite forgot about the driver," says Geoffrey, beneath his breath. +This remark is unfortunate. Mona turns upon him wrathfully. + +"No doubt," she says scornfully. "The gentleman escaped, the man doesn't +count! Perhaps, indeed, he has fulfilled his mission now he has shed his +ignoble blood for his superior! Do you know it is partly such thoughts +as these that have driven our people to desperation! One law for the +poor, another for the rich! Friendship for the great, contempt for the +needy." + +She pauses, catching her breath with a little sob. + +"Who is uttering seditious language now?" asks he, reproachfully. "No, +you wrong me. I had, indeed, forgotten for the moment all about that +unfortunate driver. You must remember I am a stranger here. The peasants +are unknown to me. I cannot be expected to feel a keen interest in each +one individually. In fact, had Mr. Moore been killed instead of poor +Maloney, I shouldn't have felt it a bit the more, though he was the +master and the other the man. I can only suffer with those I know and +love." + +The "poor Maloney" has done it. She forgives him; perhaps because--sweet +soul--harshness is always far from her. + +"It is true," she says, sadly. "I spoke in haste because my heart is +sore for my country, and I fear for what we may yet live to see. But of +course I could not expect you to feel with me." + +This cuts him to the heart. + +"I do feel with you," he says, hastily. "Do not believe otherwise." +Then, as though impelled to it, he says in a low tone, though very +distinctly, "I would gladly make your griefs mine, if you would make my +joys yours." + +This is a handsome offer, all things considered, but Mona turns a deaf +ear to it. She is standing on her door-step at this moment, and now +descends until she reaches the tiny gravelled path. + +"Where are you going?" asks Rodney, afraid lest his last speech has +offended her. She has her hat on,--a big Gainsborough hat, round which +soft Indian muslin is clinging, and in which she looks nothing less than +adorable. + +"To see poor Kitty Maloney, his widow. Last year she was my servant. +This year she married; and now--here is the end of everything--for her." + +"May I go with you?" asks he, anxiously. "These are lawless times, and I +dare say Maloney's cabin will be full of roughs. You will feel happier +with some man beside you whom you can trust." + +At the word "trust" she lifts her eyes and regards him somewhat +steadfastly. It is a short look, yet a very long one, and tells more +than she knows. Even while it lasts he swears to himself an oath that he +never to his life's end breaks. + +"Come, then," she says, slowly, "if you will. Though I am not afraid. +Why should I be? Do you forget that I am one of themselves? My father +and I belong to the people." + +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. + +Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together some yards from the +cabin, whispering and gesticulating violently, as is "their nature to." + +The man, seeing Mona, breaks from the woman, and comes up to her. + +"Go back again, miss," he says, with much excitement. "They've brought +him home, an' he's bad to look at. I've seed him, an' it's given me a +turn I won't forget in a hurry. Go home, I tell ye. 'Tis a sight not fit +for the eyes of the likes of you." + +"Is he there?" asks Mona, pointing with trembling fingers to the house. + +"Ay, where else?" answers the woman, sullenly who has joined them. "They +brought him back to the home he will never rouse again with step or +voice. 'Tis cold he is, an' silent this day." + +"Is--is he covered?" murmurs Mona, with difficulty, growing pale, and +shrinking backwards. Instinctively she lays her hand on Rodney's arm, as +though desirous of support. He, laying his own hand upon hers, holds it +in a warm and comforting clasp. + +"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. + +"Go back the way ye came," says the man again, with growing excitement. +"This is no place for ye. There is ill luck in yonder house. His soul +won't rest in peace, sent out of him like that. If ye go in now, ye'll +be sorry for it. 'Tis a thing ye'll be thinkin' an' dhramin' of till +you'll be wishin' the life out of yer cursed body!" + +A little foam has gathered round his lips, and his eyes are wild. +Geoffrey, by a slight movement, puts himself between Mona and this man, +who is evidently besides himself with some inward fear and horror. + +"What are ye talkin' about? Get out, ye spalpeen," says the woman, with +an outward show of anger, but a warning frown meant for the man alone. +"Let her do as she likes. Is it spakin' of fear ye are to Dan Scully's +daughter?" + +"Come home, Mona; be advised by me," says Geoffrey, gently, as the man +skulks away, walking in a shambling, uncertain fashion, and with a +curious trick of looking every now and then over his shoulder, as though +expecting to see an unwelcome follower. + +"No, no; this is not a time to forsake one in trouble," says Mona, +faithfully, but with a long, shivering sigh. "I need see nothing, but I +_must_ speak to Kitty." + +She walks deliberately forward and enters the cabin, Geoffrey closely +following her. + +A strange scene presents itself to their expectant gaze. Before them is +a large room (if so it can be called), possessed of no flooring but the +bare brown earth that Mother Nature has supplied. To their right is a +huge fireplace, where, upon the hearthstone, turf lies burning dimly, +emitting the strong aromatic perfume that belongs to it. Near it +crouches an old woman with her blue-checked apron thrown above her head, +who rocks herself to and fro in silent grief, and with every long-drawn +breath--that seems to break from her breast like a stormy wave upon a +desert shore--brings her old withered palms together with a gesture +indicative of despair. + +Opposite to her is a pig, sitting quite erect, and staring at her +blankly, without the slightest regard to etiquette or nice feeling. He +is plainly full of anxiety, yet without power to express it, except in +so far as his tail may aid him, which is limp and prostrate, its very +curl being a thing of the past. If any man has impugned the sagacity of +pigs, that man has erred! + +In the background partly hidden by the gathering gloom, some fifteen +men, and one or two women, are all huddled together, whispering eagerly, +with their faces almost touching. The women, though in a great +minority, are plainly having the best of it. + +But Mona's eyes see nothing but one object only. + +On the right side of the fireplace, lying along the wall, is a rude +stretcher,--or what appears to be such,--on which, shrouded decently in +a white cloth, lies something that chills with mortal fear the heart, as +it reminds it of that to which we all some day must come. Beneath the +shroud the murdered man lies calmly sleeping, his face smitten into the +marble smile of death. + +Quite near to the poor corpse, a woman sits, young, apparently, and with +a handsome figure, though now it is bent and bowed with grief. She is +dressed in the ordinary garb of the Irish peasant, with a short gown +well tucked up, naked feet, and the sleeves of her dress pushed upwards +until they almost reach the shoulder, showing the shapely arm and the +small hand that, as a rule, belong to the daughters of Erin and betray +the existence of the Spanish blood that in days gone by mingled with +theirs. + +Her face is hidden; it is lying on her arms, and they are cast, in the +utter recklessness and abandonment of her grief, across the feet of him +who, only yesterday, had been her "man,"--her pride and her delight. + +Just as Mona crosses the threshold, a man, stepping from among the group +that lies in shadow, approaching the stretcher, puts forth his hand, as +though he would lift the sheet and look upon what it so carefully +conceals. But the woman, springing like a tigress to her feet, turns +upon him, and waves him back with an imperious gesture. + +"Lave him alone!" cries she; "take yer hands off him! He's dead, as ye +well know, the whole of ye. There's no more ye can do to him. Then lave +his poor body to the woman whose heart is broke for the want of him!" + +The man draws back hurriedly, and the woman once more sinks back into +her forlorn position. + +"Kitty, can I do anything for you?" asks Mona, in a gentle whisper, +bending over her and taking the hand that lies in her lap between both +her own, with a pressure full of gentle sympathy. "I know there is +nothing I can _say_ but can I _do_ nothing to comfort you?" + +"Thank ye, miss. Ye mane it kindly, I know," says the woman, wearily. +"But the big world is too small to hold one dhrop of comfort for me. +He's dead, ye see!" + +The inference is full of saddest meaning. Even Geoffrey feels the tears +rise unbidden to his eyes. + +"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, +and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor +cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it. + +Mona, turning, confronts the frightened group in the corner, both men +and women, with a face changed and aged by grief and indignation. + +Her eyes have grown darker; her mouth is stern. To Rodney, who is +watching her anxiously, she seems positively transformed. What a +terrible power lies within her slight frame to feel both good and evil! +What sad days may rest in store for this girl, whose face can whiten at +a passing grievance, and whose hands can tremble at a woe in which only +a dependant is concerned! Both sorrow and joy must be to her as giants, +strong to raise or lower her to highest elevations or lowest depths. + +"Oh, what a day is this!" cries she, with quivering lips. "See the ruin +you have brought upon this home, that only yestermorn was full of life +and gladness! Is this what has come of your Land League, and your Home +Rulers, and your riotous meetings? Where is the soul of this poor man, +who was hurried to his last account without his priest, and without a +prayer for pardon on his lips? And how shall the man who slew him dare +to think on his own soul?" + +No one answers; the very moanings of the old crone in the chimney-corner +are hushed as the clear young voice rings through the house, and then +stops abruptly, as though its owner is overcome with emotion. The men +move back a little, and glance uneasily and with some fear at her from +under their brows. + +"Oh, the shameful thought that all the world should be looking at us +with horror and disgust, as a people too foul for anything but +annihilation! And what is it you hope to gain by all this madness? Do +you believe peace, or a blessing from the holy heavens, could fall and +rest on a soil soaked in blood and red with crime? I tell you no; but +rather a curse will descend, and stay with you, that even Time itself +will be powerless to lift." + +Again she pauses, and one of the men, shuffling his feet nervously, and +with his eyes bent upon the floor, says, in a husky tone,-- + +"Sure, now, you're too hard on us, Miss Mona. We're innocent of it. Our +hands are clean as yer own. We nivir laid eyes on him since yesterday +till this blessed minit. Ye should remember that, miss." + +"I know what you would say; and yet I do denounce you all, both men and +boys,--yes, and the women too,--because, though your own actual hands +may be free of blood, yet knowing the vile assassin who did this deed, +there is not one of you but would extend to him the clasp of +good-fellowship and shield him to the last,--a man who, fearing to meet +another face to face, must needs lie in ambush for him behind a wall, +and shoot his victim without giving him one chance of escape! Mr. Moore +walks through his lands day by day, unprotected and without arms: why +did this man not meet him there, and fight him fairly, to the death, if, +indeed, he felt that for the good of his country he should die! No! +there was danger in that thought," says Mona, scornfully: "it is a safer +thing to crouch out of sight and murder at one's will." + +"Then why does he prosecute the poor? We can't live; yet he won't lower +the rints," says a sullen voice from the background. + +"He did lower them. He, too, must live; and, at all events, no +persecution can excuse murder," says Mona, undaunted. "And who was so +good to you as Mr. Moore last winter, when the famine raged round here? +Was not his house open to you all? Were not many of your children fed by +him? But that is all forgotten now; the words of a few incendiaries have +blotted out the remembrance of years of steady friendship. Gratitude +lies not with you. I, who am one of you, waste my time in speaking. For +a very little matter you would shoot me too, no doubt!" + +This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A +young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,-- + +"I don't think ye have any call to say that to us, Miss Mona. 'Tisn't +fair like, when ye know in yer own heart that we love the very sight of +ye, and the laste sound of yer voice!" + +Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened by this speech, as +might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, +quench the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and +passionate. + +"Perhaps you do," she says, sadly. "And I, too,--you know how dear you +all are to me; and it is just that that makes my heart so sore. But it +is too late to warn. The time is past when words might have availed." + +Turning sorrowfully away, she drops some silver into the poor widow's +lap; whereon Geoffrey, who has been standing close to her all the time, +covers it with two sovereigns. + +"Send down to the Farm, and I will give you some brandy," says Mona to a +woman standing by, after a lengthened gaze at the prostrate form of +Kitty, who makes no sign of life. "She wants it." Laying her hand on +Kitty's shoulder, she shakes her gently. "Rouse yourself," she says, +kindly, yet with energy. "Try to think of something,--anything except +your cruel misfortune." + +"I have only one thought," says the woman, sullenly, "I can't betther +it. An' that is, that it was a bitther day when first I saw the light." + +Mona, not attempting to reason with her again, shakes her head +despondingly, and leaves the cabin with Geoffrey at her side. + +For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is +wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking +at her, he discovers she is crying,--bitterly, though quietly. The +reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks. + +"Mona, it has all been too much for you," exclaims he, with deep +concern. + +"Yes, yes; that poor, poor woman! I cannot get her face out of my head. +How forlorn! how hopeless! She has lost all she cared for; there is +nothing to fall back upon. She loved him; and to have him so cruelly +murdered for no crime, and to know that he will never again come in the +door, or sit by her hearth, or light his pipe by her fire,--oh, it is +horrible! It is enough to kill her!" says Mona, somewhat disconnectedly. + +"Time will soften her grief," says Rodney, with an attempt at soothing. +"And she is young; she will marry again, and form new ties." + +"Indeed she will not;" says Mona indignantly. "Irish peasants very +seldom do that. She will, I am sure, be faithful forever to the memory +of the man she loved." + +"Is that the fashion here? If--if you loved a man, would you be faithful +to him forever?" + +"But how could I help it?" says Mona, simply. "Oh, what a wretched state +this country is in! turmoil and strife from morning till night. And yet +to talk to those very people, to mix with them, they seem such +courteous, honest, lovable creatures!" + +"I don't think the gentleman in the flannel jacket, who spoke about the +reduction of 'rints,' looked very lovable," says Mr. Rodney, without a +suspicion of a smile; "and--I suppose my sight is failing--but I confess +I didn't see much courtesy in his eye or his upper lip. I don't think I +ever saw so much upper lip before, and now that I have seen it I don't +admire it. I shouldn't single him out as a companion for a lonely road. +But no doubt I wrong him." + +"Larry Doolin is not a very pleasant person, I acknowledge that," says +Mona, regretfully; "but he is only one among a number. And for the most +part, I maintain, they are both kind and civil. Do you know," with +energy, "after all I believe England is most to blame for all this evil +work? We are at heart loyal: you must agree with me in this, when you +remember how enthusiastically they received the queen when, years ago, +she condescended to pay us a flying visit, never to be repeated. And how +gladly we welcomed the Prince of Wales, and how the other day all +Ireland petted and made much of the Duke of Connaught! I was in Dublin +when he was there; and I know there was no feeling towards him but +loyalty and affection. I am sure," earnestly, "if you asked him he would +tell the same story." + +"I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with +_empressement_. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer +to you." + +"We should be all good subjects enough, if things were on a friendlier +footing," says Mona, too absorbed in her own grievance to notice Mr. +Rodney's suppressed but evident enjoyment of her conversation. "But when +you despise us, you lead us to hate you." + +"I never heard such awful language," says Rodney. "To tell me to my face +that you hate me. Oh, Miss Mona! How have I merited such a speech?" + +"You know what I mean," says Mona, reproachfully. "You needn't pretend +you don't. And it is quite true that England does despise us." + +"What a serious accusation! and one I think slightly unfounded. We don't +despise this beautiful island or its people. We even admit that you +possess a charm to which we can lay no claim. The wit, the verve, the +pure gayety that springs direct from the heart that belongs to you, we +lack. We are a terrible prosy, heavy lot capable of only one idea at a +time. How can you say we despise you?" + +"Yes, you do," says Mona, with a little obstinate shake of her head. +"You call us dirty, for one thing." + +"Well, but is that altogether a falsehood? Pigs and smoke and live fowls +and babies are, I am convinced, good things in their own way and when +well at a distance. But, under the roof with one and in an apartment a +few feet square, I don't think I seem to care about them, and I'm sure +they can't tend towards cleanliness." + +"I admit all that. But how can they help it, when they have no money and +when there are always the dear children? I dare say we are dirty, but so +are other nations, and no one sneers at them as they sneer at us. Are we +dirtier than the canny Scots on whom your queen bestows so much of her +society? Tell me that!" + +There is triumph in her eye, and a malicious sparkle, and just a touch +of rebellion. + +"What a little patriot!" says Rodney, pretending fear and stepping back +from her. "Into what dangerous company have I fallen! And with what an +accent you say '_your_ queen'! Do you then repudiate her? Is she not +yours as well? Do you refuse to acknowledge her?" + +"Why should I? She never comes near us, never takes the least notice of +us. She treats us as though we were a detested branch grafted on, and +causing more trouble than we are worth, yet she will not let us go." + +"I don't wonder at that. If I were the queen I should not let you go +either. And so you throw her over? Unhappy queen! I do not envy her, +although she sits upon so great a throne. I would not be cast off by you +for the wealth of all the Indies." + +"Oh, you are my friend," says Mona, sweetly. Then, returning to the +charge, "Perhaps after all it is not so much her fault as that of +others. Evil counsellors work mischief in all ages." + +"'A Daniel come to judgment!' So sage a speech is wonderful from one so +young. In my opinion, you ought to go into Parliament yourself, and +advocate the great cause. Is it with the present government that you +find fault? + + "A government which, knowing not true wisdom, + Is scorned abroad, and lives on tricks at home?" + +says Mr. Rodney, airing his bit of Dryden with conscious pride, in that +it fits in so nicely. "At all events, you can't call it, + + 'A council made of such as dare not speak, + And could not if they durst,' + +because your part of it takes care to make itself heard." + +"How I wish it didn't!" says Mona, with a sigh. + +The tears are still lingering on her lashes; her mouth is sad. Yet at +this instant, even as Geoffrey is gazing at her and wondering how he +shall help to dispel the cloud of sorrow that sits upon her brow, her +whole expression changes. A merry gleam comes into her wet eyes, her +lips widen and lose their lachrymose look, and then suddenly she throws +up her head and breaks into a gay little laugh. + +"Did you see the pig," she says, "sitting up by the fireplace? All +through I couldn't take my eyes off him. He struck me as so comical. +There he sat blinking his small eyes and trying to look sympathetic. I +am convinced he knew all about it. I never saw so solemn a pig." + +She laughs again with fresh delight at her own thought. That pig in the +cabin has come back to her, filling her with amusement. Geoffrey regards +her with puzzled eyes. What a strange temperament is this, where smiles +and tears can mingle! + +"What a curious child you are!" he says, at length. "You are never the +same for two minutes together." + +"Perhaps that is what makes me so nice," retorts Miss Mona, saucily, the +sense of fun still full upon her, making him a small grimace, and +bestowing upon him a bewitching glance from under her long dark lashes, +that lie like shadows on her cheeks. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +HOW MONA BETRAYS WHAT MAKES GEOFFREY JEALOUS, AND HOW AN APPOINTMENT IS +MADE THAT IS ALL MOON-SHINE. + + +"Yes, it certainly is a charm," says Geoffrey slowly "but it puzzles me. +I cannot be gay one moment and sad the next. Tell me how you manage it." + +"I can't, because I don't know myself. It is my nature. However +depressed I may feel at one instant, the next a passing thought may +change my tears into a laugh. Perhaps that is why we are called fickle; +yet it has nothing to do with it: it is a mere peculiarity of +temperament, and a rather merciful gift, for which we should be +grateful, because, though we return again to our troubles, still the +moment or two of forgetfulness soothes us and nerves us for the +conflict. I speak, of course, of only minor sorrows; such a grief as +poor Kitty's admits of no alleviation. It will last for her lifetime." + +"Will it?" says Geoffrey, oddly. + +"Yes. One can understand that," replies she, gravely, not heeding the +closeness of his regard. "Many things affect me curiously," she goes on, +dreamily,--"sad pictures and poetry and the sound of sweet music." + +"Do you sing?" asks he, through mere force of habit, as she pauses. + +"Yes." + +The answer is so downright, so unlike the usual "a little," or "oh, +nothing to signify," or "just when there is nobody else," and so on, +that Geoffrey is rather taken back. + +"I am not a musician," she goes on, evenly, "but some people admire my +singing very much. In Dublin they liked to hear me, when I was with Aunt +Anastasia; and you know a Dublin audience is very critical." + +"But you have no piano?" + +"Yes I have: aunty gave me hers when I was leaving town. It was no use +to her and I loved it. I was at school in Portarlington for nearly three +years, and when I came back from it I didn't care for Anastasia's +friends, and found my only comfort in my music. I am telling you +everything am I not," with a wistful smile, "and perhaps I weary you?" + +"Weary me! no, indeed. That is one of the very few unkind things you +have ever said to me. How could I weary of your voice? Go on; tell me +where you keep this magical piano." + +"In my own room. You have not seen that yet. But it belongs to myself +alone, and I call it my den, because in it I keep everything that I hold +most precious. Some time I will show it to you." + +"Show it to me to-day," says he, with interest. + +"Very well, if you wish." + +"And you will sing me something?" + +"If you like. Are you fond of singing!" + +"Very. But for myself I have no voice worth hearing. I sing, you know, a +little, which is my misfortune, not my fault; don't you think so?" + +"Oh, no; because if you can sing at all--that is correctly, and without +false notes--you must feel music and love it." + +"Well for my part I hate people who sing a little. I always wish it was +even less. I hold that they are a social nuisance, and ought to be put +down by law. My eldest brother Nick sings really very well,--a charming +tenor, you know, good enough to coax the birds off the bushes. He does +all that sort of _dilettante_ business,--paints, and reads tremendously +about things dead and gone, that can't possibly advantage anybody. +Understands old china as well as most people (which isn't saying much), +and I think--but as yet this statement is unsupported--I think he writes +poetry." + +"Does he really?" asks Mona, with eyes wide open. "I am sure if I ever +meet your brother Nick I shall be dreadfully afraid of him." + +"Don't betray me, at all events. He is a touchy sort of fellow, and +mightn't like to think I knew that about him. Jack, my second brother, +sings too. He is coming home from India directly, and is an awfully good +sort, though I think I should rather have old Nick after all." + +"You have two brothers older than you?" asks Mona, meditatively. + +"Yes; I am that most despicable of all things, a third son." + +"I have heard of it. A third son would be poor, of course, and--and +worldly people would not think so much of him as of others. Is that so?" + +She pauses. But for the absurdity of the thing, Mr. Rodney would swear +there is hope in her tone. + +"Your description is graphic," he answers, lightly, "if faintly unkind; +but when is the truth civil? You are right. Younger sons, as a rule, are +not run after. Mammas do not hanker after them, or give them their +reserve smiles, or pull their skirts aside to make room for them upon +small ottomans." + +"That betrays the meanness of the world," says Mona, slowly and with +indignation. "Has not Geoffrey just declared himself to be a younger +son?" + +"Does it? I was bred in a different belief. In my world the mighty do no +wrong; and a third son is nowhere. He is shunted; handed on; if +possible, scotched. The sun is not made for _him_, or the first waltz, +or caviare, or the 'sweet shady side' of anything. In fact, he 'is the +man of no account' with a vengeance!" + +"What a shame!" says Mona, angrily. Then she changes her note, and says, +with a soft, low, mocking laugh, "How I pity you!" + +"Thanks. I shall try to believe you, though your mirth is somewhat out +of place, and has a tendency towards heartlessness." (He is laughing +too.) "Yet there have been instances," goes on Mr. Rodney, still +smiling, while watching her intently, "when maiden aunts have taken a +fancy to third sons, and have died leaving them lots of tin." + +"Eh?" says Mona. + +"Tin,--money," explains he. + +"Oh, I dare say. Yes, sometimes: but--" she hesitates, and this time the +expression of her face cannot be misunderstood: dejection betrays itself +in every line--"but it is not so with you, is it? No aunt has left you +anything?" + +"No,--no aunt," returns Rodney, speaking the solemn truth, yet conveying +a lie: "I have not been blessed with maiden aunts wallowing in coin." + +"So I thought," exclaims Mona, with a cheerful nod, that under other +circumstances should be aggravating, so full of content it is. "At first +I fea--I thought you were rich, but afterwards I guessed it was your +brothers' ground you were shooting over. And Bridget told me, too. She +said you could not be well off, you had so many brothers. But I like you +all the better for that," says Mona, in a tone that actually savors of +protection, slipping her little brown hand through his arm in a kindly, +friendly, lovable fashion. + +"Do you?" says Rodney. He is strangely moved; he speaks quietly, but his +heart is beating quickly, and Cupid's dart sinks deeper in its wound. + +"Is your brother, Mr. Rodney, like you?" asks Mona presently. + +He has never told her that his eldest brother is a baronet. Why he +hardly knows, yet now he does not contradict her when she alludes to him +as Mr. Rodney. Some inward feeling prevents him. Perhaps he understands +instinctively that such knowledge will but widen the breach that already +exists between him and the girl who now walks beside him with a happy +smile upon her flower-like face. + +"No; he is not like me," he says, abruptly: "he is a much better fellow. +He is, besides, tall and rather lanky, with dark eyes and hair. He is +like my father, they tell me; I am like my mother." + +At this Mona turns her gaze secretly upon him. She studies his hair, his +gray eyes, his irregular nose,--that ought to have known better,--and +his handsome mouth, so resolute, yet so tender, that his fair moustache +only half conceals. The world in general acknowledges Mr. Rodney to be a +well-looking young man of ordinary merits, but in Mona's eyes he is +something more than all this; and I believe the word "ordinary," as +applied to him, would sound offensive in her ears. + +"I think I should like your mother," she says, naively and very sweetly, +lifting her eyes steadily to his. "She is handsome, of course; and is +she good as she is beautiful?" + +Flattery goes a long way with most men, but in this instance the subtle +poison touches Mr. Rodney even more than it pleases him. He presses the +hand that rests upon his arm an eighth of an inch nearer to his heart +than it was before, if that be possible. + +"My mother is a real good sort when you know her," he says, evasively; +"but she's rather rough on strangers. However, she is always all there, +you know, so far as manners go, and that." + +Miss Mona looks puzzled. + +"I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where +would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?" + +She says this in such perfect good faith that Mr. Rodney roars with +laughter. + +"Perhaps you may not know it," says he, "but you are simply perfection!" + +"So Mr. Moore says," returns she, smiling. + +Had she put out all her powers of invention with a view to routing him +with slaughter, she could not have been more successful than she is with +this small unpremeditated speech. Had a thunderbolt fallen at his feet, +he could not have betrayed more thorough and complete discomfiture. + +He drops her arm, and looks as though he is prepared to drop her +acquaintance also, at a moment's notice. + +"What has Mr. Moore to do with you?" he asks, haughtily. "Who is he, +that he should so speak to you?" + +"He is our landlord," says Mona, calmly, but with uplifted brows, +stopping short in the middle of the road to regard him with +astonishment. + +"And thinks you perfection?" in an impossible tone, losing both his head +and his temper completely. "He is rich, I suppose; why don't you marry +him?" + +Mona turns pale. + +"To ask the question is a rudeness," she says, steadily, though her +heart is cold and hurt. "Yet I will answer you. In our country, and in +our class," with an amount of inborn pride impossible to translate, "we +do not marry a man because he is 'rich,' or in other words, sell +ourselves for gold." + +Having said this, she turns her back upon him contemptuously, and walks +towards her home. + +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. + +"Forgive me, Mona," he says, with deep entreaty. "I confess my fault. +How could I speak to you as I did! I implore your pardon. Great sinner +as I am, surely I shall not knock for forgiveness at your sweet heart in +vain!" + +"Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him +eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for +Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to +see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as +Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!" + +But that Mr. Rodney is still oppressed with the fear that he has +mortally offended her, he could have laughed out loud at this childish +speech; but anxiety helps him to restrain his mirth. Nevertheless he +feels an unholy joy as he thinks on Mr. Moore's bald pate, his "too, too +solid flesh," and his "many days." + +"Yet he dares to admire you?" is what he does say, after a decided +pause. + +"Sure they all admire me," says Miss Mona, with an exasperating smile, +meant to wither. + +But Mr. Rodney is determined to "have it out with her," as he himself +would say, before consenting to fade away out of her sight. + +"But he wants to marry you. I know he does. Tell me the truth about +that," he says, with flattering vehemence. + +"Certainly I shall not. It would be very mean, and I wonder at you to +ask the question," says Mona, with a great show of virtuous indignation. +"Besides," mischievously, "if you know, there is no necessity to tell +you anything." + +"Yet answer me," persists he, very earnestly. + +"I can't," says Mona; "it would be very unfair; and besides," +petulantly, "it is all too absurd. Why, if Mr. Moore were to ask me to +marry him ten thousand times again, I should never say anything but +'no.'" + +Unconsciously she has betrayed herself. He hears the word "again" with a +strange sinking of the heart. Others, then, are desirous of claiming +this wild flower for their own. + +"Oh, Mona, do you mean that?" he says. But Mona, who is very justly +incensed, declines to answer him with civility. + +"I begin to think our English cousins are not famous for their +veracity," she says, with some scorn. "You seem to doubt every one's +word; or is it mine in particular? Yet I spoke the truth. I do not want +to marry any one." + +Here she turns and looks him full in the face; and something--it may be +in the melancholy of his expression--so amuses her that (laughter being +as natural to her lips as perfume to a flower) she breaks into a sunny +smile, and holds out to him her hand in token of amity. + +"How could you be so absurd about that old Moore?" she says, lightly. +"Why he has got nothing to recommend him except his money; and what +good," with a sigh, "does that do him, unless to get him murdered!" + +"If he is as fat as you say, he will be a good mark for a bullet," says +Mr. Rodney, genially, almost--I am ashamed to say--hopefully. "I should +think they would easily pot him one of these dark night that are coming. +By this time I suppose he feels more like a grouse than a man, +eh?--'I'll die game' should be his motto." + +"I wish you wouldn't talk like that," says Mona, with a shudder. "It +isn't at all nice of you; and especially when you know how miserable I +am about my poor country." + +"It is a pity anything should be said against Ireland," says Rodney, +cleverly; "it is such a lovely little spot." + +"Do you really like it?" asks she, plainly delighted. + +"I should rather think so. Who wouldn't? I went to Glengariffe the other +day, and can hardly fancy anything more lovely than its pure waters, and +its purple hills that lie continued in the depths beneath." + +"I have been there. And at Killarney, but only once, though we live so +near." + +"That has nothing to do with it," says Rodney. "The easier one can get +to a place the more one puts off going. I knew a fellow once, and he +lived all his time in London, and I give you my word he had never seen +the Crystal Palace. With whom did you go to Killarney?" + +"With Lady Mary. She was staying at the castle there; it was last year, +and she asked me to go with her. I was delighted. And it was so +pleasant, and everything so--so like heaven. The lakes are delicious, so +calm, so solitary, so full of thought. Lady Mary is old, but young in +manner, and has read and travelled so much, and she likes me," says +Mona, naively. "And I like her. Do you know her?" + +"Lady Mary Crighton? Yes, I have met her. An old lady with corkscrew +ringlets, patches, and hoops? She is quite _grande dame_, and witty, +like all you Irish people." + +"She is very seldom at home, but I think I like her better than any one +I ever met." + +"Do you?" says Geoffrey, in a tone that means much. + +"Yes,--better than all the women I ever met," corrects Mona, but without +placing the faintest emphasis upon the word "women," which omission +somehow possesses its charm in Rodney's eyes. + +"Well, I shall go and judge of Killarney myself some day," he says, +idly. + +"Oh, yes, you must indeed," says the little enthusiast, brightening. +"It is more than lovely. How I wish I could go with you!" + +She looks at him as she says this, fearlessly, honestly, and without a +suspicion of coquetry. + +"I wish you could!" says Geoffrey from his heart. + +"Well, I can't, you know," with a sigh. "But no matter: you will enjoy +the scenery even more by yourself." + +"I don't think I shall," says Geoffrey, in a low tone. + +"Well, we have both seen the bay," says Mona, cheerfully,--"Bantry Bay I +mean: so we can talk about that. Yet indeed"--seriously--"you cannot be +said to have seen it properly, as it is only by moonlight its full +beauty can be appreciated. Then, with its light waves sparkling beneath +the gleam of the stars, and the moon throwing a path across it that +seems to go on and on, until it reaches heaven, it is more satisfying +than a happy dream. Do you see that hill up yonder?" pointing to an +elevation about a mile distant: "there I sometimes sit when the moon is +full, and watch the bay below. There is a lovely view from that spot." + +"I wish I could see it!" says Geoffrey, longingly. + +"Well so you can," returns she, kindly. "Any night when there is a good +moon come to me and I will go with you to Carrickdhuve--that is the name +of the hill--and show you the bay." + +She looks at him quite calmly, as one might who sees nothing in the fact +of accompanying a young man to the top of a high mountain after +nightfall. And in truth she does see nothing in it. If he wishes to see +the bay she loves so well, of course he must see it; and who so +competent to point out to him all its beauties as herself? + +"I wonder when the moon will be full," says Geoffrey, making this +ordinary remark in an everyday tone that does him credit, and speaks +well for his kindliness and delicacy of feeling, as well as for his +power of discerning character. He makes no well-turned speeches about +the bay being even more enchanting under such circumstances, or any +orthodox compliment that might have pleased a woman versed in the +world's ways. + +"We must see," says Mona, thoughtfully. + +They have reached the farm again by this time, and Geoffrey, taking up +the guns he had left behind the hall door,--or what old Scully is +pleased to call the front door in contradistinction to the back door, +through which he is in the habit of making his exits and +entrances,--holds out his hand to bid her good-by. + +"Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, +"while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty." + +It strikes Geoffrey as part of the innate sweetness and genuineness of +her disposition that, after all the many changes of thought that have +passed through her brain on their return journey, her first concern on +entering her own doors is for the poor unhappy creature in the cabin up +yonder. + +"Don't be long," he says, impulsively, as she disappears down a passage. + +"I won't, then. Sure you can live alone with yourself for one minute," +returns she, in very fine Irish; and, with a parting smile, sweet as +nectar and far more dangerous, she goes. + +When she is gone, Geoffrey walks impatiently up and down the small hall, +conflicting emotions robbing him of the serenity that usually attends +his footsteps. He is happy, yet full of a secret gnawing uneasiness that +weighs upon him daily, hourly. Near Mona--when in her presence--a +gladness that amounts almost to perfect happiness is his; apart from her +is unrest. Love, although he is but just awakening to the fact, has laid +his chubby hands upon him, and now holds him in thrall; so that no +longer for him is that most desirable thing content,--which means +indifference. Rather is he melancholy now and then, and inclined to look +on life apart from Mona as a doubtful good. + +For what, after all, is love, but + + "A madness most discreet, + A choking gall, and a preserving sweet?" + +There are, too, dispassionate periods, when he questions the wisdom of +giving his heart to a girl lowly born as Mona undoubtedly is, at least +on her father's side. And, indeed, the little drop of blue blood +inherited from her mother is so faint in hue as to be scarcely +recognizable by those inclined to cavil. + +And these he knows will be many: there would be first his mother, and +then Nick, with a silent tongue but brows uplifted, and after them +Violet, who in the home circle is regarded as Geoffrey's "affinerty," +and who last year was asked to Rodney Towers for the express purpose +(though she knew it not) of laying siege to his heart and bestowing upon +him in return her hand and--fortune. To do Lady Rodney justice, she was +never blind to the fortune! + +Yet Violet, with her pretty, slow, _trainante_ voice and perfect manner, +and small pale attractive face, and great eyes that seem too earnest for +the fragile body to which they belong, is as naught before Mona, whose +beauty is strong and undeniable, and whose charm lies as much in inward +grace as in outward loveliness. + +Though uncertain that she regards him with any feeling stronger than +that of friendliness (because of the strange coldness that she at times +affects, dreading perhaps lest he shall see too quickly into her tender +heart), yet instinctively he knows that he is welcome in her sight, and +that "the day grows brighter for his coming." Still, at times this +strange coldness puzzles him, not understanding that + + "No lesse was she in secret heart affected, + But that she masked it in modestie, + For feare she should of lightnesse be detected." + +For many days he had not known "that his heart was darkened with her +shadow." Only yesterday he might perhaps have denied his love for her, +so strange, so uncertain, so undreamt of, is the dawning of a first +great attachment. One looks upon the object that attracts, and finds the +deepest joy in looking, yet hardly realizes the great truth that she has +become part of one's being, not to be eradicated until death or change +come to the rescue. + +Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly--and certainly more tenderly--than +any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when +he says,-- + + "The first sound in the song of love + Scarce more than silence is, and yet a sound. + Hands of invisible spirits touch the strings + Of that mysterious instrument, the soul, + And play the prelude of our fate." + +For Geoffrey the prelude has been played, and now at last he knows it. +Up and down the little hall he paces, his hands behind his back, as his +wont when deep in day-dreams, and asks himself many a question hitherto +unthought of. Can he--shall he--go farther in this matter? Then this +thought presses to the front beyond all others:--"Does she--will +she--ever love me?" + +"Now, hurry, Bridget," says Mona's low soft voice,--that "excellent +thing in woman." "Don't be any time. Just give that to Kitty, and say +one prayer, and be back in ten minutes." + +"Law, Miss Mona, ye needn't tell me; sure I'm flyin' I'll be there an' +back before ye'll know I'm gone." This from the agile Biddy, as +(exhilarated with the knowledge that she is going to see a corpse) she +rushes up the road. + +"Now come and see my own room," says Mona, going up to Rodney, and, +slipping her hand into his in a little trustful fashion that is one of +her many, loving ways, she leads him along the hall to a door opposite +the kitchen. This she opens, and with conscious pride draws him after +her across its threshold. So holding him, she might at this moment have +drawn him to the world's end,--wherever that may be! + +It is a very curious little room they enter,--yet pretty, withal, and +suggestive of care and affection, and certainly not one to be laughed +at. Each object that meets the view seems replete with pleasurable +memory,--seems part of its gentle mistress. There are two windows, +small, and with diamond panes like the parlor, and in the far end is a +piano. There are books, and some ornaments, and a huge bowl of +sweetly-smelling flowers on the centre-table, and a bracket or two +against the walls. Some loose music is lying on a chair. + +"Now I am here, you will sing me something," says Geoffrey, presently. + +"I wonder what kind of songs you like best," says Mona, dreamily, +letting her fingers run noiselessly over the keys of the Collard. "If +you are like me, you like sad ones." + +"Then I am like you?" returns he, quickly. + +"Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and +forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all +her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and +then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and +looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work. + +"You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has +finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a +question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. +And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me +one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you." + +"I am not going to suffer," says Mona, lightly. "Sorrow only falls on +every second generation; and you know poor mother was very unhappy at +one time: therefore I am free. You will call that superstition, but," +with a grave shake of her head, "it is quite true." + +"I hope it is," says Geoffrey; "though, taking your words for gospel, it +rather puts me out in the cold. My mother seems to have had rather a +good time all through, devoid of anything that might be termed trouble." + +"But she lost her husband," says Mona, gently. + +"Well, she did. I don't remember about that, you know. I was quite a +little chap, and hustled out of sight if I said 'boo.' But of course +she's got over all that, and is as jolly as a sand-boy now," says +Geoffrey, gayly. (If only Lady Rodney could have heard him comparing her +to a "sand-boy"!) + +"Poor thing!" says Mona, sympathetically, which sympathy, by the by, is +utterly misplaced, as Lady Rodney thought her husband, if anything, an +old bore, and three months after his death confessed to herself that she +was very glad he was no more. + +"Where do you get your music?" asks Geoffrey, idly, wondering how +"London Bridge" has found its way to this isolated spot, as he thinks of +the shops in the pretty village near, where Molloy and Adams, and their +attendant sprite called Weatherley, are unknown. + +"The boys send it to me. Anything new that comes out, or anything they +think will suit my voice, they post to me at once." + +"The boys!" repeats he, mystified. + +"Yes, the students, I mean. When with aunty in Dublin I knew ever so +many of them, and they were very fond of me." + +"I dare say," says Mr. Rodney, with rising ire. + +"Jack Foster and Terry O'Brien write to me very often," goes on Mona, +unconsciously. "And indeed they all do occasionally, at Christmas, you +know, and Easter and Midsummer, just to ask me how I am, and to tell me +how they have got through their exams. But it is Jack and Terry, for the +most part, who send me the music." + +"It is very kind of them, I'm sure," says Geoffrey, unreasonably +jealous, as, could he only have seen the said Terry's shock head of red +hair, his fears of rivalry would forever have been laid at rest. "But +they are favored friends. You can take presents from them, and yet the +other day when I asked you if you would like a little gold chain to hang +to your mother's watch, you answered me 'that you did not require it' in +such a tone as actually froze me and made me feel I had said something +unpardonably impertinent." + +"Oh, no," says Mona, shocked at this interpretation of her manner. "I +did not mean all that; only I really did not require it; at +least"--truthfully--"not _much_. And, besides, a song is not like a gold +chain; and you are quite different from them; and besides, +again,"--growing slightly confused, yet with a last remnant of +courage,--"there is no reason why you should give me anything. Shall +I"--hurriedly--"sing something else for you?" + +And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that +awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice +rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely +melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and +pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a +"p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her +heart dictates. + +When she has finished, Geoffrey says "thank you" in a low tone. He is +thinking of the last time when some one else sang to him, and of how +different the whole scene was from this. It was at the Towers, and the +hour with its dying daylight, rises before him. The subdued light of the +summer eve, the open window, the perfume of the drowsy flowers, the girl +at the piano with her small drooping head and her perfectly trained and +very pretty voice, the room, the soft silence, his mother leaning back +in her crimson velvet chair, beating time to the music with her long +jewelled, fingers,--all is remembered. + +It was in the boudoir they were sitting, and Violet was dressed in some +soft gray dress that shone and turned into palest pearl as she moved. It +was his mother's boudoir, the room she most affects, with its crimson +and gray coloring and its artistic arrangements, that blend so +harmoniously, and are so tremendously becoming to the complexion when +the blinds are lowered. How pretty Mona would look in a gray and crimson +room? how---- + +"What are you thinking of?" asks Mona, softly, breaking in upon his +soliloquy. + +"Of the last time I heard any one sing," returns he, slowly. "I was +comparing that singer very unfavorably with you. Your voice is so unlike +what one usually hears in drawing-rooms." + +He means highest praise. She accepts his words as a kind rebuke. + +"Is that a compliment?" she says, wistfully. "Is it well to be unlike +all the world? Yet what you say is true, no doubt. I suppose I am +different from--from all the other people you know." + +This is half a question; and Geoffrey, answering it from his heart, +sinks even deeper into the mire. + +"You are indeed," he says, in a tone so grateful that it ought to have +betrayed to her his meaning. But grief and disappointment have seized +upon her. + +"Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen +upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that--that last singer?" she +asks, in a subdued voice. + +"At home," returns he. He is gazing out of the window, with his hands +clasped behind his back, and does not pay so much attention to her words +as is his wont. + +"Is your home very beautiful?" asks she, timidly, looking at him the +more earnestly in that he seems rapt in contemplation of the valley that +spreads itself before him. + +"Yes, very beautiful," he answers, thinking of the stately oaks and aged +elms and branching beeches that go so far to make up the glory of the +ivied Towers. + +"How paltry this country must appear in comparison with your own!" goes +on the girl, longing for a contradiction, and staring at her little +brown hands, the fingers of which are twining and intertwining nervously +with one another, "How glad you will be to get back to your own home!" + +"Yes, very glad," returns he, hardly knowing what he says. He has gone +back again to his first thoughts,--his mother's boudoir, with its old +china, and its choice water-colors that line the walls, and its delicate +Italian statuettes. In his own home--which is situated about fourteen +miles from the Towers, and which is rather out of repair through years +of disuse--there are many rooms. He is busy now trying to remember them, +and to decide which of them would look best decked out in crimson and +gray, or blue and silver: he hardly knows which would suit her best. +Perhaps, after all---- + +"How strange it is!" says Mona's voice, that has now a faint shade of +sadness in it. "How people come and go in one's lives, like the waves of +the restless sea, now breaking at one's feet, now receding, now----" + +"Only to return," interrupts he, quickly. "And--to break at your feet? +to break one's heart, do you mean? I do not like your simile." + +"You jest," says Mona, full of calm reproach. "I mean how strangely +people fall into one's lives and then out again!" She hesitates. Perhaps +something in his face warns her, perhaps it is the weariness of her own +voice that frightens her, but at this moment her whole expression +changes, and a laugh, forced but apparently full of gayety, comes from +her lips. It is very well done indeed, yet to any one but a jealous +lover her eyes would betray her. The usual softness is gone from them, +and only a well-suppressed grief and a pride that cannot be suppressed +take its place. + +"Why should they fall out again?" says Rodney, a little angrily, hearing +only her careless laugh, and--man-like--ignoring stupidly the pain in +her lovely eyes. "Unless people choose to forget." + +"One may choose to forget, but one may not be able to accomplish it. To +forget or to remember is not in one's own power." + +"That is what fickle people say. But what one feels one remembers." + +"That is true, for a time, with some. _Forever_ with others." + +"Are you one of the others?" + +She makes him no answer. + +"Are _you_?" she says, at length, after a long silence. + +"I think so, Mona. There is one thing I shall never get." + +"Many things, I dare say," she says, nervously, turning from him. + +"Why do you speak of people dropping out of your life?" + +"Because, of course, you will, you must. Your world is not mine." + +"You could make it yours." + +"I do not understand," she says, very proudly, throwing up her head with +a charming gesture. "And, talking of forgetfulness, do you know what +hour it is?" + +"You evidently want to get rid of me," says Rodney, discouraged, taking +up his hat. He takes up her hand, too, and holds it warmly, and looks +long and earnestly into her face. + +"By the by," he says, once more restored to something like hope, as he +notes her drooping lids and changing color and how she hides from his +searching gaze her dark, blue, Irish eyes, that, as somebody has so +cleverly expressed it, seem "rubbed into her head with a dirty finger," +so marked lie the shadows beneath them, that enhance and heighten their +beauty,--"by the by, you told me you had a miniature of your mother in +your desk, and you promised to show it to me." He merely says this with +a view to gaining more time, and not from any overwhelming desire to see +the late Mrs. Scully. + +"It is here," says Mona, rather pleased at his remembering this promise +of hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to open a secret drawer, in +which lies the picture in question. + +It is a very handsome picture, and Geoffrey duly admires it; then it is +returned to its place, and Mona, opening the drawer next to it, shows +him some exquisite ferns dried and gummed on paper. + +"What a clever child you are!" says Geoffrey, with genuine admiration. +"And what is here?" laying his hand on the third drawer. + +"Oh, do not open that--do not!" says Mona, hastily, in an agony of fear, +to judge by her eyes, laying a deterring hand upon his arm. + +"And why not this or any other drawer?" says Rodney, growing pale. Again +jealousy, which is a demon, rises in his breast, and thrusts out all +gentler feelings. Her allusion to Mr. Moore, most innocently spoken, +and, later on, her reference to the students, have served to heighten +within him angry suspicion. + +"Do not!" says Mona, again, as though fresh words are impossible to her, +drawing her breath quickly. Her evident agitation incenses him to the +last degree. Opening the drawer impulsively, he gazes at its contents. + +Only a little withered bunch of heather, tied by a blade of grass! +Nothing more! + +Rodney's heart throbs with passionate relief, yet shame covers him; for +he himself, one day, had given her that heather, tied, as he remembers, +with that selfsame grass; and she, poor child, had kept it ever since. +She had treasured it, and laid it aside, apart from all other objects, +among her most sacred possessions, as a thing beloved and full of tender +memories; and his had been the hand to ruthlessly lay bare this hidden +secret of her soul. + +He is overcome with contrition, and would perhaps have said something +betraying his scorn of himself, but she prevents him. + +"Yes," she says, with cheeks colored to a rich carmine, and flashing +eyes, and lips that quiver in spite of all her efforts at control, "that +is the bit of heather you gave me, and that is the grass that tied it. I +kept it because it reminded me of a day when I was happy. Now," +bitterly, "I no longer care for it: for the future it can only bring +back to me an hour when I was grieved and wounded." + +Taking up the hapless heather, she throws it on the ground, and, in a +fit of childish spleen, lays her foot upon it and tramples it out of all +recognition. Yet, even as she does so, the tears gather in her eyes, +and, resting there unshed, transfigure her into a lovely picture that +might well be termed "Beauty in Distress." For this faded flower she +grieves, as though it were, indeed, a living thing that she has lost. + +"Go!" she says, in a choked voice, and with a little passionate sob, +pointing to the door. "You have done mischief enough." Her gesture is at +once imperious and dignified. Then in a softer voice, that tells of +sorrow, and with a deep sigh, "At least," she says, "I believed in your +honor!" + +The reproach is terrible, and cuts him to the heart. He picks up the +poor little bruised flower, and holds it tenderly in his hand. + +"How can I go," he says, without daring to look at her, "until, at +least, I _ask_ for forgiveness?" He feels more nervous, more crushed in +the presence of this little wounded Irish girl with her pride and her +grief, than he has ever felt in the presence of an offended fashionable +beauty full of airs and caprices. "Mona, love makes one cruel: I ask you +to remember that, because it is my only excuse," he says, warmly. "Don't +condemn me altogether; but forgive me once more." + +"I am always forgiving you, it seems to me," says Mona, coldly, turning +from him with a frown. "And as for that heather," facing him again, with +eyes shamed but wrathful, "I just kept it because--because--oh, because +I didn't like to throw it away! That was all!" + +Her meaning, in spite of her, is clear; but Geoffrey doesn't dare so +much as to think about it. Yet in his heart he knows that he is glad +because of her words. + +"You mustn't think I supposed you kept it for any other purpose," he +says, quite solemnly, and in such a depressed tone that Mona almost +feels sorry for him. + +He has so far recovered his courage that he has taken her hand, and is +now holding it in a close grasp; and Mona, though a little frown still +lingers on her low, broad forehead, lets her hand so lie without a +censure. + +"Mona, _do_ be friends with me," he says at last, desperately, driven to +simplicity of language through his very misery. There is a humility in +this speech that pleases her. + +"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was +foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't +signify, not in the least. But--but," the blood mounting to her brow, +"if ever you speak of it again,--if ever you even _mention_ the word +'heather,'--I shall _hate you_!" + +"That word shall never pass my lips again in your company,--never, I +swear!" says he, "until you give me leave. My darling," in a low tone, +"if you could only know how vexed I am about the whole affair, and my +unpardonable conduct! Yet, Mona, I will not hide from you that this +little bit of senseless heather has made me happier than I have ever +been before." + +Stooping, he presses his lips to her hand for the first time. The caress +is long and fervent. + +"Say I am quite forgiven," he pleads, earnestly, his eyes on hers. + +"Yes. I forgive you," she says, almost in a whisper, with a seriousness +that amounts to solemnity. + +Still holding her hand, as though loath to quit it, he moves towards the +door; but before reaching it she slips away from him, and says "Good-by" +rather coldly. + +"When am I to see you again?" says Rodney, anxiously. + +"Oh not for ever so long," returns she, with much and heartless +unconcern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Certainly not until Friday," she +goes on, carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his spirits once more rise +into the seventh heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or perhaps some day +next week," she says, unkindly. + +"If on Friday night there is a good moon," says Rodney, boldly, "will +you take me, as you promised, to see the Bay?" + +"Yes, if it is fine," says Mona, after a faint hesitation. + +Then she accompanies him to the door, but gravely, and not with her +accustomed gayety. Standing on the door-step he looks at her, and, as +though impelled to ask the question because of her extreme stillness, he +says, "Of what are you thinking?" + +"I am thinking that the man we saw before going into Kitty's cabin is +the murderer!" she says, with a strong shudder. + +"I thought so all along," says Geoffrey, gravely. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +HOW THE MYSTIC MOONBEAMS THROW THEIR RAYS ON MONA; AND HOW GEOFFREY, +JEALOUS OF THEIR ADMIRATION, DESIRES TO CLAIM HER AS HIS OWN. + + +Friday is fine, and towards nightfall grows still milder, until it seems +that even in the dawn of October a summer's night may be born. + +The stars are coming out one by one,--slowly, tranquilly, as though +haste has got no part with them. The heavens are clothed in azure. A +single star, that sits apart from all the rest, is twinkling and +gleaming in its blue nest, now throwing out a pale emerald ray, now a +blood-red fire, and anon a touch of opal, faint and shadowy, yet more +lovely in its vagueness than all the rest, until verily it resembles "a +diamond in the sky." + +Geoffrey coming to the farm somewhat early in the evening, Mona takes +him round to the yard, where two dogs, hitherto unseen by Geoffrey, lie +chained. They are two splendid bloodhounds, that, as she approaches, +rise to their feet, and, lifting their massive heads, throw out into the +night-air a deep hollow bay that bespeaks welcome. + +"What lovely creatures!" says Geoffrey, who has a passion for animals: +they seem to acknowledge him as a friend. As Mona looses them from their +den, they go to him, and, sniffing round him, at last open their great +jaws into a satisfied yawn, and, raising themselves, rest their paws +upon his breast and rub their faces contentedly against his. + +"Now you are their friend forever," says Mona, in a pleased tone. "Once +they do that, they mean to tell you they have adopted you. And they like +very few people: so it is a compliment." + +"I feel it keenly," says Rodney, caressing the handsome creatures as +they crouch at his feet. "Where did you get them?" + +"From Mr. Moore." A mischievous light comes into her face as she says +this, and she laughs aloud. "But, I assure you, not as a love-token. He +gave them to me when they were quite babies, and I reared them myself. +Are they not lovely? I call them? 'Spice' and 'Allspice,' because one +has a quicker temper than the other." + +"The names are original, at all events," says Geoffrey,--"which is a +great charm. One gets so tired of 'Rags and Tatters,' 'Beer and +Skittles,' 'Cakes and Ale,' and so forth, where pairs are in question, +whether they be dogs or ponies." + +"Shall we set out now?" says Mona; and she calls "Mickey, Mickey," at +the top of her strong young lungs. + +The man who manages the farm generally--and is a plague and a blessing +at the same time to his master--appears round a corner, and declares, +respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, +if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit." + +And in truth the "claning" occupies a very short period,--or else Mona +and Geoffrey heed not the parting moments. For sometimes + + "Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, + Unsoiled and swift, and of a silken sound." + +"I'm ready now, miss, if you are," says Mickey from the background, with +the utmost _bonhommie_, and in a tone that implies he is quite willing +not to be ready, if it so pleases her, for another five minutes or so, +or even, if necessary, to efface himself altogether. He is a stalwart +young Hibernian, with rough hair and an honest face, and gray eyes, +merry and cunning, and so many freckles that he looks like a turkey-egg. + +"Oh, yes, I am quite ready," says Mona, starting somewhat guiltily. And +then they pass out through the big yard-gate, with the two dogs at their +heels, and their attendant squire, who brings up the rear with a soft +whistle that rings through the cool night-air and tells the listening +stars that the "girl he loves is his dear," and his "own, his artless +Nora Creana." + +Geoffrey and Mona go up the road with the serenader behind them, and, +turning aside, she guiding, mount a stile, and, striking across a field, +make straight for the high hill that conceals the ocean from the farm. +Over many fields they travel, until at length they reach the mountain's +summit and gaze down upon the beauteous scene below. + +The very air is still. There is no sound, no motion, save the coming and +going of their own breath as it rises quickly from their hearts, filled +full of passionate admiration for the loveliness before them. + +From the high hill on which they stand, steep rocks descend until they +touch the water's edge, which lies sleeping beneath them, lulled into +slumber by the tranquil moon as she comes forth "from the slow opening +curtains of the clouds." + +Far down below lies the bay, calm and placid. Not a ripple, not a sigh +comes to disturb its serenity or mar the perfect beauty of the silver +pathway thrown so lightly upon it by the queen of heaven. It falls there +so clear, so unbroken, that almost one might deem it possible to step +upon it, and so walk onwards to the sky that melts into it on the far +horizon. + +The whole firmament is of a soft azure, flecked here and there with +snowy clouds tipped with palest gray. A little cloud--the tenderest veil +of mist--hangs between earth and sky. + + "The moon is up; it is the dawn of night; + Stands by her side one bold, bright, steady star, + Star of her heart. + Mother of stars! the heavens look up to thee." + +Mona is looking up to it now, with a rapt, pensive gaze, her great blue +eyes gleaming beneath its light. She is sitting upon the side of the +hill, with her hands clasped about her knees, a thoughtful expression on +her lovely face. At each side of her, sitting bolt upright on their huge +haunches, are the dogs, as though bent on guarding her against all +evil. + +Geoffrey, although in reality deeply impressed by the grandeur of all +the surroundings, yet cannot keep his eyes from Mona's face, her pretty +attitude, her two mighty defenders. She reminds him in some wise of Una +and the lion, though the idea is rather far-fetched; and he hardly dares +speak to her, lest he shall break the spell that seems to lie upon her. + +She herself destroys it presently. + +"Do you like it?" she asks, gently, bringing her gaze back from the +glowing heavens, to the earth, which is even more beautiful. + +"The praise I heard of it, though great, was too faint," he answers her, +with such extreme sincerity in his tone as touches and gladdens the +heart of the little patriot at his feet. She smiles contentedly, and +turns her eyes once more with lazy delight upon the sea, where each +little point and rock is warmed with heavenly light. She nods softly to +herself, but says nothing. + +To her there is nothing strange or new, either in the hour or the place. +Often does she come here in the moonlight with her faithful attendant +and her two dogs, to sit and dream away a long sweet hour brimful of +purest joy, whilst drinking in the plaintive charm that Nature as a rule +flings over her choicest paintings. + +To him, however, all is different; and the hour is fraught with a +tremulous joy, and with a vague sweet longing that means love as yet +untold. + +"This spot always brings to my mind the thoughts of other people," says +Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poetry: are you?" + +"Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed +in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?" + +"I have read so few," she says, wistfully, and with hesitation. Then, +shyly, "I have so few to read. I have a Longfellow, and a Shakspeare, +and a Byron: that is all." + +"Byron?" + +"Yes. And after Shakspeare, I like him best, and then Longfellow. Why do +you speak in that tone? Don't you like him?" + +"I think I like no poet half so well. You mistake me," replies he, +ashamed of his own surprise at her preference for his lordship beneath +the calm purity of her eyes. "But--only--it seemed to me Longfellow +would be more suited to you." + +"Well, so I do love him. And just then it was of him I was thinking: +when I looked up to the sky his words came back to me. You remember what +he says about the moon rising 'over the pallid sea and the silvery mist +of the meadows,' and how,-- + + 'Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of heaven, + Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels, + +That is so sweet, I think." + +"I remember it; and I remember, too, who watched all that: do you?" he +asks, his eyes fixed upon hers. + +"Yes; Gabriel--poor Gabriel and Evangeline," returns she, too wrapped up +in recollections of that sad and touching tale to take to heart his +meaning:-- + + 'Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure + Sat the lovers, and whispered together.' + +That is the part you mean, is it not? I know all that poem very nearly +by heart." + +He is a little disappointed by the calmness of her answer. + +"Yes; it was of them I thought," he says, turning his head away,--"of +the--lovers. I wonder if _their_ evening was as lovely as _ours_?" + +Mona makes no reply. + +"Have you ever read Shelley?" asks he, presently, puzzled by the extreme +serenity of her manner. + +She shakes her head. + +"Some of his ideas are lovely. You would like his poetry, I think." + +"What does he say about the moon?" asks Mona, still with her knees in +her embrace, and without lifting her eyes from the quiet waters down +below. + +"About the moon? Oh, many things. I was not thinking of the moon," with +faint impatience; "yet, as you ask me, I can remember one thing he says +about it." + +"Then tell it to me," says Mona. + +So at her bidding he repeats the lines slowly, and in his best manner, +which is very good:-- + + "The cold chaste moon, the queen of heaven's bright isles, + Who makes all beautiful on which she smiles! + That wandering shrine of soft yet icy flame, + Which ever is transformed, yet still the same, + And warms, but not illumines." + +He finishes; but, to his amazement, and a good deal to his chagrin, on +looking at Mona he finds she is wreathed in smiles,--nay, is in fact +convulsed with silent laughter. + +"What is amusing you?" asks he, a trifle stiffly.--To give way to +recitation, and then find your listener in agonies of suppressed mirth, +isn't exactly a situation one would hanker after. + +"It was the last line," says Mona, in explanation, clearly ashamed of +herself, yet unable wholly to subdue her merriment. "It reminded me so +much of that speech about tea, that they always use at temperance +meetings; they call it the beverage 'that cheers but not inebriates.' +You said 'that warms but not illumines,' and it sounded exactly like it. +Don't you see!" + +He doesn't see. + +"You aren't angry, are you?" says Mona, now really contrite. "I couldn't +help it, and it _was_ like it, you know." + +"Angry? no!" he says, recovering himself, as he notices the penitence on +the face upraised to his. + +"And do say it is like it," says Mona, entreatingly. + +"It is, the image of it," returns he, prepared to swear to anything she +may propose And then he laughs too, which pleases her, as it proves he +no longer bears in mind her evil deed; after which, feeling she still +owes him something, she suddenly intimates to him that he may sit down +on the grass close beside her. He seems to find no difficulty in swiftly +following up this hint, and is soon seated as near to her as +circumstances will allow. + +But on this picture, the beauty of which is undeniable, Mickey (the +barbarian) looks with disfavor. + +"If he's goin' to squat there for the night,--an' I see ivery prospect +of it," says Mickey to himself,--"what on airth's goin' to become of +me?" + +Now, Mickey's idea of "raal grand" scenery is the kitchen fire. Bays and +rocks and moonlight, and such like comfortless stuff, would be +designated by him as "all my eye an' Betty Martin." He would consider +the bluest water that ever rolled a poor thing if compared to the water +that boiled in the big kettle, and sadly inferior to such cold water as +might contain a "dhrop of the crather." So no wonder he views with +dismay Mr. Rodney's evident intention of spending another half hour or +so on the top of Carrick dhuve. + +Patience has its limits. Mickey's limit comes quickly When five more +minutes have passed, and the two in his charge still make no sign, he +coughs respectfully but very loudly behind his hand. He waits in anxious +hope for the result of this telling manoeuvre, but not the faintest +notice is taken of it. Both Mona and Geoffrey are deaf to the pathetic +appeal sent straight from his bronchial tubes. + +Mickey, as he grows desperate, grows bolder. He rises to speech. + +"Av ye plaze, miss, will ye soon be comin'?" + +"Very soon, Mickey," says Mona, without turning her head. But, though +her words are satisfactory, her tone is not. There is a lazy ring in it +that speaks of anything but immediate action. Mickey disbelieves in it. + +"I didn't make up the mare, miss, before comin' out wid ye," he says, +mildly, telling this lie without a blush. + +"But it is early yet, Mickey, isn't it?" says Mona. + +"Awfully early," puts in Geoffrey. + +"It is, miss; I know it, sir; but if the old man comes out an' finds the +mare widout her bed, there'll be all the world to pay, an' he'll be +screechin' mad." + +"He won't go into the stable to-night," says Mona, comfortably. + +"He might, miss. It's the very time you'd wish him aisy in his mind that +he gets raal troublesome. An' I feel just as if he was in the stable +this blessid minit lookin' at the poor baste, an' swearin' he'll have +the life uv me." + +"And I feel just as if he had gone quietly to bed," says + +Mona, pleasantly, turning away. + +But Mickey is not to be outdone. "An' there's the pigs, miss," he begins +again, presently. + +"What's the matter with them?" says Mona, with some pardonable +impatience. + +"I didn't give them their supper yet, miss; an' it's very bad for the +young ones to be left starvin'. It's on me mind, miss, so that I can't +even enjoy me pipe, and it's fresh baccy I have an' all, an' it might as +well be dust for what comfort I get from it. Them pigs is callin' for me +now like Christians: I can a'most hear them." + +"I shouldn't think deafness is in your family," says Geoffrey, genially. + +"No, sir; it isn't, sir. We're none of us hard of hearin' glory be +to----. Miss Mona," coaxingly, "sure, it's only a step to the house: +wouldn't Misther Rodney see ye home now, just for wanst?" + +"Why, yes, of course he can," says Mona, without the smallest +hesitation. She says it quite naturally, and as though it was the most +usual thing in the world for a young man to see a young woman home, +through dewy fields and beneath "mellow moons," at half-past ten at +night. It is now fully nine, and she cannot yet bear to turn her back +upon the enchanting scene before her. Surely in another hour or so it +will be time enough to think of home and all other such prosaic facts. + +"Thin I may go, miss?" says Mickey. + +"Oh, yes, you may go," says Mona. Geoffrey says nothing. He is looking +at her with curiosity, in which deep love is mingled. She is so utterly +unlike all other women he has ever met, with their petty affectations +and mock modesties, their would-be hesitations and their final +yieldings. She has no idea she is doing anything that all the world of +women might not do, and can see no reason why she should distrust her +friend just because he is a man. + +Even as Geoffrey is looking at her, full of tender thought, one of the +dogs, as though divining the fact that she is being left somewhat alone, +lays its big head upon her shoulder, and looks at her with large loving +eyes. Turning to him in response, she rubs her soft cheek slowly up and +down against his. Geoffrey with all his heart envies the dog. How she +seems to love it! how it seems to love her! + +"Mickey, if you are going, I think you may as well take the dogs with +you," says Mona: "they, too, will want their suppers. Go, Spice, when I +desire you. Good-night, Allspice; dear darling,--see how he clings to +me." + +Finally the dogs are called off, and reluctantly accompany the jubilant +Mickey down the hill. + +"Perhaps you are tired of staying here," says Mona, with compunction, +turning to Geoffrey, "and would like to go home? I suppose every one +cannot love this spot as I do. Yes," rising, "I am selfish. Do come +home." + +"Tired!" says Geoffrey, hastily. "No, indeed. What could tire of +anything so divine? If it is your wish, it is mine also, that we should +stay here for a little while longer." Then, struck by the intense relief +in her face, he goes on: "How you do enjoy the beauties of Nature! Do +you know I have been studying you since you came here, and I could see +how your whole soul was wrapped in the glory of the surrounding +prospect? You had no thoughts left for other objects,--not even one for +me. For the first time," softly, "I learned to be jealous of inanimate +things." + +"Yet I was not so wholly engrossed as you imagine," she says, seriously. +"I thought of you many times. For one thing, I felt glad that you could +see this place with my eyes. But I have been silent, I know; +and--and----" + +"How Rome and Spain would enchant you," he says watching her face +intently, "and Switzerland, with its lakes and mountains!" + +"Yes. But I shall never see them." + +"Why not? You will go there, perhaps when you are married." + +"No," with a little flickering smile, that has pain and sorrow in it; +"for the simple reason that I shall never marry." + +"But why?" persists he. + +"Because"--the smile has died away now, and she is looking down upon +him, as he lies stretched at her feet in the uncertain moonlight, with +an expression sad but earnest,--"because, though I am only a farmer's +niece, I cannot bear farmers, and, of course, other people would not +care for me." + +"That is absurd," says Rodney; "and your own words refute you. That man +called Moore cared for you, and very great impertinence it was on his +part." + +"Why, you never even saw him," says Mona, opening her eyes. + +"No; but I can fancy him, with his horrid bald head. Now, you know," +holding up his hand to stop her as she is about to speak, "you know you +said he hadn't a hair left on it." + +"Well, he was different," says Mona, giving in ignominiously. "I +couldn't care for him either; but what I said is true all the same. +Other people would not like me." + +"Wouldn't they?" says Rodney, leaning on his elbow as the argument waxes +warmer; "then all I can say is, I never met any 'other people.'" + +"You have met only them, I suppose, as you belong to them." + +"Do you mean to tell me that _I_ don't care for you?" says Rodney, +quickly. + +Mona evades a reply. + +"How cold it is!" she says, rising, with a little shiver. "Let us go +home." + +If she had been nurtured all her life in the fashionable world, she +could scarcely have made a more correct speech. Geoffrey is puzzled, nay +more, discomfited. Just in this wise would a woman in his own set answer +him, did she mean to repel his advances for the moment. He forgets that +no tinge of worldliness lurks in Mona's nature, and feels a certain +amount of chagrin that she should so reply to him. + +"If you wish," he says, in a courteous tone, but one full of coldness; +and so they commence their homeward journey. + +"I am glad you have been pleased to-night," says Mona, shyly, abashed by +his studied silence. "But," nervously, "Killarney is even more +beautiful. You must go there." + +"Yes; I mean to,--before I return to England." + +She starts perceptibly, which is balm to his heart. + +"To England!" she repeats, with a most mournful attempt at unconcern, +"Will--will that be soon?" + +"Not very soon. But some time, of course, I must go." + +"I suppose so," she says, in a voice from which all joy has flown. "And +it is only natural; you will be happier there." She is looking straight +before her. There is no quiver in her tone; her lips do not tremble; yet +he can see how pale she has grown beneath the vivid moonlight. + +"Is that what you think?" he says, earnestly. "Then for once you are +wrong. I have never been--I shall hardly be again--happier than I have +been in Ireland." + +There is a pause. Mona says nothing, but taking out the flower that has +lain upon her bosom all night, pulls it to pieces petal by petal. And +this is unlike Mona, because flowers are dear to her as sunshine is to +them. + +At this moment they come to a high bank, and Geoffrey, having helped +Mona to mount it, jumps down at the other side, and holds out his arms +to assist her to descend. As she reaches the ground, and while his arms +are still round her, she says, with a sudden effort, and without lifting +her eyes, "There is very good snipe-shooting here at Christmas." + +The little pathetic insinuation is as perfect as it is touching. + +"Is there? Then I shall certainly return for it," says Geoffrey, who is +too much of a gentleman to pretend to understand all her words seem to +imply. "It is really no journey from this to England." + +"I should think it a long journey," says Mona, shaking her head. + +"Oh, no, you won't," says Rodney, absently. In truth, his mind is +wandering to that last little speech of hers, and is trying to unravel +it. + +Mona looks at him. How oddly he has expressed himself! "You won't," he +said, instead of "you wouldn't." Does he then deem it possible she will +ever be able to cross to that land that calls him son? She sighs, and, +looking down at her little lean sinewy hands, clasps and unclasps them +nervously. + +"Why need you go until after Christmas?" she says, in a tone so low that +he can barely hear her. + +"Mona! Do you want me to stay?" asks he, suddenly, taking her hands in +his. "Tell me the truth." + +"I do," returns she, tremulously. + +"But why?--why? Is it because you love me? Oh, Mona! If it is that! At +times I have thought so, and yet again I have feared you do not love me +as--as I love you." + +"You love me?" repeats she, faintly. + +"With all my heart," says Rodney, fervently. And, indeed, if this be so, +she may well count herself in luck, because it is a very good and true +heart of which he speaks. + +"Don't say anything more," says the girl, almost passionately, drawing +back from him as though afraid of herself. "Do not. The more you say +now, the worse it will be for me by and by, when I have to think. +And--and--it is all quite impossible." + +"But why, darling? Could you not be happy as my wife?" + +"Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender +seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I +am not fit to be that, and----" + +"Look here," says Geoffrey, with decision, "I will have no 'buts,' and I +prefer taking my answer from your eyes than from your lips. They are +kinder. You are going to marry me, you know, and that is all about it. +_I_ shall marry _you_, whether you like it or not, so you may as well +give in with a good grace. And I'll take you to see Rome and all the +places we have been talking about, and we shall have a real good old +time. Why don't you look up and speak to me, Mona?" + +"Because I have nothing to say," murmurs the girl, in a frozen +tone,--"nothing." Then passionately, "I will not be selfish. I will not +do this thing." + +"Do you mean you will not marry me?" asks he, letting her go, and moving +back a step or two, a frown upon his forehead. "I confess I do not +understand you." + +"Try, _try_ to understand me," entreats she, desperately, following him +and laying her hand upon his arm. "It is only this. It would not make +you happy,--not _afterwards_, when you could see the difference between +me and the other women you have known. You are a gentleman; I am only a +farmer's niece." She says this bravely, though it is agony to her proud +nature to have to confess it. + +"If that is all," says Geoffrey, with a light laugh, laying his hand +over the small brown one that still rests upon his arm, "I think it need +hardly separate us. You are, indeed, different from all the other women +I have met in my life,--which makes me sorry for all the other women. +You are dearer and sweeter in my eyes than any one I have ever known! Is +not this enough? Mona, are you sure no other reason prevents your +accepting me? Why do you hesitate?" He has grown a little pale in his +turn, and is regarding her with intense and jealous earnestness. Why +does she not answer him? Why does she keep her eyes--those honest +telltales--so obstinately fixed upon the ground? Why does she show no +smallest sign of yielding? + +"Give me my answer," he says, sternly. + +"I have given it," returns she, in a low tone,--so low that he has to +bend to hear it. "Do not be angry with me, do not--I----" + +"'Who excuses himself, accuses himself,'" quotes Geoffrey. "I want no +reasons for your rejection. It is enough that I know you do not care for +me." + +"Oh, no! it is not that! you must know it is not that," says Mona, in +deep grief. "It is that I _cannot_ marry you!" + +"Will not, you mean!" + +"Well, then, I _will_ not," returns she, with a last effort at +determination, and the most miserable face in the world. + +"Oh, if you _will_ not," says Mr. Rodney, wrathfully. + +"I--will--not," says Mona, brokenly. + +"Then I don't believe you!" breaks out Geoffrey, angrily. "I am positive +you want to marry me; and just because of some wretched fad you have got +into your head you are determined to make us both wretched." + +"I have nothing in my head," says Mona, tearfully. + +"I don't think you can have much, certainly," says Mr. Rodney, with the +grossest rudeness, "when you can let a few ridiculous scruples interfere +with both our happiness." Then, resentfully, "Do you hate me?" + +No answer. + +"Say so, if you do: it will be honester. If you don't," threateningly, +"I shall of course think the contrary." + +Still no answer. + +She has turned away from him, grieved and frightened by his vehemence, +and, having plucked a leaf from the hedge near her, is trifling absently +with it as it lies upon her little trembling palm. + +It is a drooping blackberry-leaf from a bush near where she is standing, +that has turned from green into a warm and vivid crimson. She examines +it minutely, as though lost in wonder at its excessive beauty, for +beautiful exceedingly it is, clothed in the rich cloak that Autumn's +generosity has flung upon it; yet I think, she for once is blind to its +charms. + +"I think you had better come home," says Geoffrey, deeply angered with +her. "You must not stay here catching cold." + +A little soft woollen shawl of plain white has slipped from her throat +and fallen to the ground, unheeded by her in her great distress. Lifting +it almost unwillingly, he comes close to her, and places it round her +once again. In so doing he discovers that tears are running down her +cheeks. + +"Why, Mona, what is this?" exclaims he, his manner changing on the +instant from indignation and coldness to warmth and tenderness. "You are +crying? My darling girl! There, lay your head on my shoulder, and let us +forget we have ever quarrelled. It is our first dispute; let it be our +last. And, after all," comfortably, "it is much better to have our +quarrels before marriage than after." + +This last insinuation, he flatters himself, is rather cleverly +introduced. + +"Oh, if I could be quite, _quite_ sure you would never regret it!" says +Mona, wistfully. + +"I shall never regret anything, as long as I have you!" says Rodney. "Be +assured of that." + +"I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well +off, I should never consent,--never!" + +"No, of course not," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly! "as a rule, girls +nowadays can't endure men with money." + +This is "sarkassum;" but Mona comprehends it not. + +Presently, seeing she is again smiling and looking inexpressibly happy, +for laughter comes readily to her lips, and tears, as a rule, make no +long stay with her,--ashamed, perhaps, to disfigure the fair "windows of +her soul," that are so "darkly, deeply, beautifully blue,"--"So you will +come to England with me, after all?" he says, quite gayly. + +"I would go to the world's end with you," returns she, gently. "Ah! I +think you knew that all along." + +"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." + +At his words, a glad light springs to life within her wonderful eyes. +She is so pleased and proud that he should so speak of her. + +"Do you know, Mona," says the young man, sorrowfully, "you are too good +for me,--a fellow who has gone racketing all over the world for years. +I'm not half worthy of you." + +"Aren't you?" says Mona, in her tender fashion, that implies so kind a +doubt. Raising one hand (the other is imprisoned), she draws his face +down to her own. "I wouldn't have you altered in any way," she says; +"not in the smallest matter. As you are, you are so dear to me you could +not be dearer; and I love you now, and I shall always love you, with all +my heart and soul." + +"My sweet angel!" says her lover, pressing her to his heart. And when he +says this he is not so far from the truth, for her tender simplicity and +perfect faith and trust bring her very near to heaven! + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA FALL INTO STRANGE COMPANY AND HOW THEY PROFIT BY +IT; AND HOW MONA, OUTSTRIPPING WICKED VENGEANCE, SAVES A LIFE. + + +"Is it very late?" says Mona, awaking from her happy dreams with a +start. + +"Not very," says Geoffrey. "It seems only just now that Mickey and the +dogs left us." Together they examine his watch, by the light of the +moon, and see that it is quite ten o'clock. + +"Oh, it is dreadfully late!" says Mona, with much compunction. "Come, +let us hurry." + +"Well, just one moment," says Geoffrey, detaining her, "let us finish +what we were saying. Would you rather go to the East or to Rome?" + +"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----" + +"Who on earth are you speaking to?" says Geoffrey. + +"To you!" with surprise. + +"I am not Mr. Rodney: Jack is that. Can't you call me anything else?" + +"What else?" says Mona, shyly. + +"Call me Geoffrey." + +"I always think of you as Geoffrey," whispers she, with a swift, sweet, +upward glance; "but to say it is so different. Well," bravely, "I'll +try. Dear, dear, _dear_ Geoffrey, I want to tell you I would be as happy +with you in Wicklow as in Rome." + +"I know that," says Geoffrey, "and the knowledge makes me more happy +than I can say. But to Rome you shall go, whatever it may cost. And then +we shall return to England to our own home. And then--little rebel that +you are--you must begin to look upon yourself as an English subject, and +accept the queen as your gracious sovereign." + +"I need no queen when I have got a king," says the girl, with ready wit +and great tenderness. + +Geoffrey raises her hand to his lips. "_Your_ king is also your slave," +he says, with a fond smile. + +Then they move on once more, and go down the road that leads towards the +farm. + +Again she has grown silent, as though oppressed with thought; and he too +is mute, but all his mind is crowded with glad anticipations of what the +near future is to give him. He has no regrets, no fears. At length, +struck by her persistent taciturnity, he says, "What is it, Mona?" + +"If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still +tormenting herself with unseen evils,--"if ever I should see discontent +in your eyes, how would it be with me then?" + +"Don't talk like a penny illustrated," says Mr. Rodney in a very +superior tone. "If ever you do see all you seem to anticipate, just tell +yourself I am a cur, and despise me accordingly. But I think you are +paying both yourself and me very bad compliments when you talk like +that. Do try to understand that you are very beautiful, and far superior +to the general run of women, and that I am only pretty well so far as +men go." + +At this they both laugh heartily, and Mona returns no more to the +lachrymose mood that has possessed her for the last five minutes. + +The moon has gone behind a cloud, the road is almost wrapped in complete +gloom, when a voice, coming from apparently nowhere, startles them, and +brings them back from visions of impossible bliss to the present very +possible world. + +"Hist, Miss Mona! hist!" says this voice close at Mona's ear. She starts +violently. + +"Oh! Paddy," she says, as a small figure, unkempt, and only half clad, +creeps through the hedge and stops short in her path. + +"Don't go on, miss," says the boy, with much excitement. "Don't ye. I +see ye coming', an', no matter what they do to me, I says to myself, +I'll warn her surely. They're waitin' for the agint below, an' maybe +they might mistake ye for some one else in the dark, an' do ye some +harm." + +"Who are they waiting for?" says Mona, anxiously. + +"For the agint, miss. Oh, if ye tell on me now they'll kill me. Maxil, +ye know; me lord's agint." + +"Waiting--for what? Is it to shoot him?" asks the girl, breathlessly. + +"Yes, miss. Oh, Miss Mona, if ye bethray me now 'twill be all up wid me. +Fegs an' intirely, miss, they'll murdher me out uv hand." + +"I won't betray you," she says. "You may trust me. Where are they +stationed?" + +"Down below in the hollow, miss,--jist behind the hawthorn-bush. Go home +some other way, Miss Mona: they're bint on blood." + +"And, if so, what are you doing here?" says Mona, reprovingly. + +"On'y watchin', miss, to see what they'd do," confesses he, shifting +from one foot to the other, and growing palpably confused beneath her +searching gaze. + +"Is it murder you want to see?" asks she slowly, in a horrified tone. +"Go home, Paddy. Go home to your mother." Then, changing her censuring +manner to one of entreaty, she says, softly, "Go, because I ask you." + +"I'm off, miss," says the miscreant, and, true to his word, darts +through the hedge again like a shaft from a bow, and, scurrying through +the fields, is soon lost to sight. + +"Come with me," says Mona to Rodney; and with an air of settled +determination, and a hard look on her usually mobile lips, she moves +deliberately towards the hawthorn-bush, that is about a quarter of a +mile distant. + +"Mona," says Rodney, divining her intent, "stay you here while I go and +expostulate with these men. It is late, darling, and their blood is up, +and they may not listen to you. Let me speak to them." + +"You do not understand them," returns she, sadly. "And I do. Besides, +they will not harm me. There is no fear of that. I am not at all afraid +of them. And--I _must_ speak to them." + +He knows her sufficiently well to refrain from further expostulation, +and just accompanies her silently along the lonely road. + +"It is I,--Mona Scully," she calls aloud, when she is within a hundred +yards of the hiding-place. "Tim Ryan, come here: I want you." + +It is a mere guess on her part,--supported certainly by many tales she +has heard of this Ryan of late, but a guess nevertheless. It proves, +however, to be a correct one. A man, indistinct, but unmistakable, shows +himself on the top of the wall, and pulls his forelock through force of +habit. + +"What are you doing here, Tim?" says Mona, bravely, calmly, "at this +hour, and with--yes, do not seek to hide it from me--a gun! And you too, +Carthy," peering into the darkness to where another man, less plucky +than Ryan lies concealed. "Ah! you may well wish to shade your face, +since it is evil you have in your heart this night." + +"Do ye mane to inform on us?" says Ryan, slowly, who is "a man of a +villanous countenance," laying his hand impulsively upon his gun, and +glancing at her and Rodney alternately with murder in his eyes. It is a +critical moment. Rodney, putting out his hand, tries to draw her behind +him. + +"No, I am not afraid," says the girl, resisting his effort to put +himself before her; and when he would have spoken she puts up her hands, +and warns him to keep silence. + +"You should know better than to apply the word 'informer' to one of my +blood," she says, coldly, speaking to Ryan, without a tremor in her +voice. + +"I know that," says the man, sullenly. "But what of him?" pointing to +Rodney, the ruffianly look still on his face. "The Englishman, I mane. +Is he sure? It's a life, for a life afther all, when everything is +towld." + +He handles the gun again menacingly. Mona, though still apparently calm, +whitens perceptibly beneath the cold penetrating rays of the "pale-faced +moon" that up above in "heaven's ebon vault, studded with stars +unutterably bright," looks down upon her perhaps with love and pity. + +"Tim," she says, "what have I ever done to you that you should seek to +make me unhappy?" + +"I have nothing to do with you. Go your ways. It is with him I have to +settle," says the man, morosely. + +"But _I_ have to do with him," says Mona, distinctly. + +At this, in spite of everything, Rodney laughs lightly, and, taking her +hand in his, draws it through his arm. There is love and trust and great +content in his laugh. + +"Eh!" says Ryan; while the other man whom she has called Carthy--and who +up to this has appeared desirous of concealing himself from view--now +presses forward and regards the two with lingering scrutiny. + +"Why, what have you to do with her?" says Ryan, addressing Rodney, a +gleam of something that savors of amusement showing itself even in his +ill-favored face. For an Irishman, under all circumstances, dearly loves +"a courting, a _bon-mot_, and a broil." + +"This much," says Rodney, laughing again: "I am going to marry her, with +her leave." + +"If that be so, she'll make you keep from splittin' on us," says the +man. "So now go; we've work in hand to-night not fit for her eyes." + +Mona shudders. + +"Tim," she says, distractedly, "do not bring murder on your soul. Oh, +Tim, think it over while there is yet time. I have heard all about it; +and I would ask you to remember that it is not Mr. Maxwell's fault that +Peggy Madden was evicted, but the fault of his master. If any one must +be shot, it ought to be Lord Crighton" (as his lordship is at this +moment safe in Constantinople, she says this boldly), "and not his paid +servant." + +"I dare say we'll get at the lord by an' by" says Ryan, untouched. "Go +yer ways, will ye? an' quick too. Maybe if ye thry me too far, ye'll +learn to rue this night." + +Seeing further talk is useless, Mona slips her hand into Rodney's and +leads him down the road. + +But when they have turned a corner and are quite out of sight and +hearing, Rodney stops short and says, hurriedly,-- + +"Mona, can you manage to get home by some short way by yourself? Because +I must return. I must stand by this man they are going to murder. I must +indeed, darling. Forgive me that I desert you here and at such an hour, +but I see you are safe in the country, and five minutes will take you to +the farm, and I cannot let his life be taken without striking a blow for +him." + +"And did you think I was content to let him die" says Mona, +reproachfully. "No! There is a chance for him still, and I will explain +it to you. It is early yet. He seldom passes here before eleven, and it +is but a little after ten. I know the hour he usually returns, because +he always goes by our gate, and often I bid him good-night in the +summer-time. Come with me," excitedly. "I can lead you by a cross-path +to the Ballavacky road, by which he must come, and, if we overtake him +before he reaches that spot, we can save his life. Come; do not delay!" + +She turns through a broken gap into a ploughed field, and breaks into a +quick run. + +"If we hurry we must meet his car there, and can send him back into +Bantry, and so save him." + +All this she breathes forth in disjointed sentences as she rushes, like +a light-footed deer, across the ploughed land into the wet grass +beyond. + +Over one high bank, across a stile, through another broken gap, on to a +wall, straight and broad, up which Rodney pulls her, carefully taking +her down in his arms at the other side. + +Still onward,--lightly, swiftly: now in sight of the boundless sea, now +diving down into the plain, without faintness or despondency, or any +other feeling but a passionate determination to save a man's life. + +Rodney's breath is coming more quickly, and he is conscious of a desire +to stop and pull himself together--if only for a minute--before bracing +himself for a second effort. But to Mona, with her fresh and perfect +health, and lithe and lissom body, and all the rich young blood that +surges upward in her veins, excitement serves but to make her more +elastic; and with her mind strung to its highest pitch, and her hot +Irish blood aflame, she runs easily onward, until at length the road is +reached that is her goal. + +Springing upon the bank that skirts the road on one side, she raises her +hands to her head, and listens with all her might for the sound of +wheels in the distance. + +But all is still. + +Oh, if they should be too late! If Maxwell has passed and gone down the +other road, and is perhaps now already "done to death" by the cruel +treacherous enemy that lieth in wait for him! + +Her blood heated by her swift run grows cold again as this thought comes +to her,--forced to the front by the fact that "all the air a solemn +stillness holds," and that no sound makes itself heard save the faint +sighing of the night-wind in the woods up yonder, and the "lone and +melancholy voice" of the sea, a mile away, as it breaks upon the silent +shore. + +These sounds, vague and harmonious as they are, yet full of mystery and +unexplained sadness, but serve to heighten the fear that chills her +heart. + +Rodney, standing beside her, watches her anxiously. She throws up her +head, and pushes back her hair, and strains her eyes eagerly into the +darkness, that not all the moonbeams can make less than night. + +Alas! alas! what foul deed may even now be doing while she stands here +powerless to avert it,--her efforts all in vain! How richly shines the +sweet heaven, studded with its stars! how cool, how fragrant, is the +breeze! How the tiny wavelets move and sparkle in the glorious bay +below. How fair a world it is to hold such depths of sin! Why should not +rain and storms and howling tempest mark a night so---- + +But hark! What is this that greets her ear? The ring of horse's feet +upon the quiet road! + +The girl clasps her hands passionately, and turns her eyes on Rodney. + +"Mona, it is--it must be!" says Geoffrey, taking her hand; and so they +both stand, almost breathless, on the high bank, listening intently. + +Now they can hear the sound of wheels; and presently a light tax-cart +swings round the corner, drawn by a large, bony, bay mare, and in which +sits a heavy-looking, elderly man, in a light overcoat. + +"Mr. Maxwell! Mr. Maxwell!" cries Mona, as he approaches them; and the +heavy man, drawing up, looks round at her with keen surprise, bending +his head a little forward, as though the better to pierce the gloom. + +"Miss Scully, is it you?" he says, at length; "and here at this hour?" + +"Go back to Bantry," says Mona, not heeding his evident surprise, "at +once,--_now_. Do not delay. There are those waiting for you on the +Tullymore road who will take your life. I have run all this way to warn +you. Oh, go back, while there is yet time!" + +"Do you mean they want to shoot me?" says Maxwell, in a hurried tone. + +"Yes; I know it! Oh, do not wait to ask questions, but go. Even now they +may have suspected my purpose, and may be coming here to prevent your +ever returning." + +Each moment of delay only helps to increase her nervous excitement. + +"But who are they? and where?" demands the agent, completely taken +aback. + +"I can tell you no more; I will not; and you must never ask me. It is +enough that I speak the truth, and that I have been able to save your +life." + +"How can I thank you?" says Maxwell, "for all----" + +"Some other day you can do that. Now go," says Mona, imperiously, waving +her hand. + +But Maxwell still lingers, looking first at her and then very intently +at her companion. + +"It is late," he says. "You should be at home, child. Who am I, that +you should do me so great a service?" Then, turning quietly to Rodney, +"I have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir," he says, gravely; +"but I entreat you to take Miss Scully safely back to the Farm without +delay." + +"You may depend upon me," says Rodney, lifting his hat, and respecting +the elder man's care for the well-being of his beloved, even in the +midst of his own immediate danger. Then, in another moment, Maxwell has +turned his horse's head, and is soon out of sight. + +The whole scene is at an end. A life has been saved. And they two, Mona +and Geoffrey, are once more alone beneath the "earnest stars." + +"Take me down," says Mona, wearily, turning to her lover, as the last +faint ring of the horse's feet dies out on the breeze. + +"You are tired," says he, tenderly. + +"A little, now it is all over. Yet I must make great haste homeward. +Uncle Brian will be uneasy about me if he discovers my absence, though +he knew I was going to the Bay. Come, we must hurry." + +So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, +meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her +home. + +Here they behold the faithful Biddy, craning her long neck up and down +the road, and filled with wildest anxiety. + +"Oh, may I niver agin see the light," cries this excitable damsel, +rushing out to Mona, "if I iver hoped to lay eyes on yer face again! +Where were ye at all, darlin'? An' I breakin' me heart wid fear for ye. +Did ye know Tim Ryan was out to-night? When I heerd tell of that from +that boy of the Cantys', I thought I'd have dhropped. 'Tis no good he's +up to. Come in, asthore: you must be near kilt with the cowld." + +"No; I am quite warm," says Mona, in a low, sad tone. + +"'Tis I've bin prayin' for ye," says Biddy, taking her mistress's hand +and kissing it fondly. "On me bended knees I was with the blessid beads +for the last two hours. An' shure I've had me reward, now I see ye safe +home agin. But indeed, Miss Mona, 'tis a sore time I've had uv it." + +"And Uncle Brian?" asks Mona, fearfully. + +"Oh, I got the ould man to bed hours ago; for I knew if he stayed up +that he'd get mortial wearin', an' be the death of us if he knew ye were +out so late. An' truth to say, Miss Mona," changing her tone from one of +extreme joy and thankfulness to another of the deepest censure, "'twas +the world an' all of bad behavior to be galavantin' out at this hour." + +"The night was so lovely,--so mild," says Mona, faintly, concealment in +any form being new to her, and very foreign to her truthful nature; "and +I knew Mickey would tell you it was all right." + +"An' what brought him home, the murdherin' scamp," says Miss Bridget, +with more vehemence than politeness, "instid of stayin' wid ye to see ye +came to no harm?" + +"He had to see the mare made up, and the pigs fed," says Mona. + +"Is that what he towld ye? Oh, the blaggard!" says Bridget. "An' nary +sign did he do since his return, but sit be the fire an' smoke his +dhudheen. Oh, be the powers of Moll Kelly, but I'll pay him out for his +lies? He's soakin' it now, anyhow, as I sint him up to the top of the +hill agin, to see what had become of ye." + +"Bridget," says Mona, "will you go in and get me a cup of tea before I +go to bed? I am tired." + +"I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she +walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on +Geoffrey's arm. + +"Promise me you will not go back to Coolnagurtheen to-night?" she says, +earnestly. "At the inn, down in the village, they will give you a bed." + +"But, my dearest, why? There is not the slightest danger now, and my +horse is a good one, and I sha'n't be any time getting----" + +"I won't hear of it!" says Mona, interrupting him vehemently. "You would +have to go up _that road_ again," with a strong shudder. "I shall not go +indoors until you give me your honor you will stay in the village +to-night." + +Seeing the poor child's terrible fear and anxiety, and that she is +completely overwrought, he gives way, and lets her have the desired +promise. + +"Now, that is good of you," she says, gratefully, and then, as he stoops +to kiss her, she throws her arms around his neck and bursts into tears. + +"You are worn out, my love, my sweetheart," says Geoffrey, very +tenderly, speaking to her as though she is in years the child that, in +her soul, she truly is. "Come, Mona, you will not cry on this night of +all others that has made me yours and you mine! If this thought made you +as happy as it makes me, you _could_ not cry. Now lift your head, and +let me look at you. There! you have given yourself to me, darling, and +there is a good life, I trust, before us; so let us dwell on that, and +forget all minor evils. Together we can defy trouble!" + +"Yes, that is a thought to dry all tears," she says, very sweetly, +checking her sobs and raising her face, on which is dawning an adorable +smile. Then, sighing heavily,--a sigh of utter exhaustion,--"You have +done me good," she says. "I shall sleep now; and you my dearest, will be +safe. Good-night until to-morrow!" + +"How many hours there are in the night that we never count!" says +Geoffrey, impatiently. "Good-night, Mona! To-morrow's dawn I shall call +my dearest friend." + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA PLAN A TRANSFORMATION SCENE. + + +Time, with lovers, "flies with swallows' wings;" they neither feel nor +heed it as it passes, so all too full of haste the moments seem. They +are to them replete with love and happiness and sweet content. To-day is +an accomplished joy, and to-morrow will dawn for no other purpose but to +bring them together. So they think and so they believe. + +Rodney has interviewed the old man, her uncle; has told him of his great +and lasting love for this pearl among women; has described in a very few +words, and without bombast, his admiration for Mona; and Brian Scully +(though with sufficient national pride to suppress all undue delight at +the young man's proposal) has given a hearty consent to their union, and +is in reality flattered and pleased beyond measure at this match for +"his girl." For, no matter how the Irish may rebel against landlordism +and aristocracy in general, deep down in their hearts lies rooted an +undying fealty to old blood. + +To his mother, however, he has sent no word of Mona, knowing only too +well how the news of his approaching marriage with this "outer +barbarian" (as she will certainly deem his darling) will be received. It +is not cowardice that holds his pen, as, were all the world to kneel at +his feet and implore him or bribe him to renounce his love, all such +pleading and bribing would be in vain. It is that, knowing argument to +be useless, he puts off the evil hour that may bring pain to his mother +to the last moment. + +When she knows Mona she will love her,--who could help it? so he argues; +and for this reason he keeps silence until such time as, his marriage +being a _fait accompli_, hopeless expostulation will be of no avail, and +will, therefore, be suppressed. + +Meanwhile, the hours go by "laden with golden grain." Every day makes +Mona dearer and more dear, her sweet and guileless nature being one +calculated to create, with growing knowledge, an increasing admiration +and tenderness. Indeed, each happy afternoon spent with her serves but +to forge another link in the chain that binds him to her. + +To-day is "so cool, so calm, so bright," that Geoffrey's heart grows +glad within him as he walks along the road that leads to the farm, his +gun upon his shoulder, his trusty dog at his heels. + +All through the air the smell of heather, sweet and fragrant, reigns. +Far down, miles away, the waves rush inland, glinting and glistening in +the sunlight. + + "Blue roll the waters, blue the sky + Spreads like an ocean hung on high." + +The birds, as though once more led by the balmy mildness of the day into +the belief that summer has not yet forsaken them, are singing in the +topmost branches of the trees, from which, with every passing breeze, +the leaves fall lightly. + +From the cabins pale wreaths of smoke rise slowly, scarce stirred by the +passing wind. Going by one of these small tenements, before which the +inevitable pig is wallowing in an unsavory pool, a voice comes to him, +fresh and joyous, and plainly full of pleasure, that thrills through his +whole being. It is to him what no other voice ever has been, or ever can +be again. It is Mona's voice! + +Again she calls to him from within. + +"Is it you?" she says. "Come in here, Geoffrey. I want you." + +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. + +She is sitting before a spinning-wheel, and is deftly drawing the wool +through her fingers; brown little fingers they are, but none the less +dear in his sight. + +"I'm here," she cries, in the glad happy tones that have been ringing +their changes in his heart all day. + +An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in +its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which +boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home +presently from their work. + +"What luck to find you here," says Geoffrey, stooping over the +industrious spinner, and (after the slightest hesitation) kissing her +fondly in spite of the presence of the old woman, who is regarding them +with silent curiosity, largely mingled with admiration. The ancient dame +sees plainly nothing strange in this embrace of Geoffrey's but rather +something sweet and to be approved. She smiles amiably, and nods her old +head, and mumbles some quaint Irish phrase about love and courtship and +happy youth, as though the very sight of these handsome lovers fills her +withered breast with glad recollections of bygone days, when she, too, +had her "man" and her golden hopes. For deep down in the hearts of all +the sons and daughters of Ireland, whether they be young or old, is a +spice of romance living and inextinguishable. + +Rising, the old dame takes a chair, dusts it, and presents it to the +stranger, with a courtesy and a wish that he will make himself welcome. +Then she goes back again to the chimney-corner, and taking up the +bellows, blows the fire beneath the potatoes, turning her back in this +manner upon the young people with a natural delicacy worthy of better +birth and better education. + +Mona, who has blushed rosy red at his kiss, is now beaming on her lover, +and has drawn back her skirts to admit of his coming a little closer to +her. He is not slow to avail himself of this invitation, and is now +sitting with his arm thrown across the back of the wooden chair that +holds Mona, and with eyes full of heartfelt gladness fixed upon her. + +"You look like Marguerite. A very lovely Marguerite," says Geoffrey, +idly, gazing at her rather dreamily. + +"Except that my hair is rolled up, and is too dark, isn't it? I have +read about her, and I once saw a picture of Marguerite in the Gallery in +Dublin, and it was very beautiful. I remember it brought tears to my +eyes, and Aunt Anastasia said I was too fanciful to be happy. Her story +is a very sad one, isn't it?" + +"Very. And you are not a bit like her, after all," says Geoffrey, with +sudden compunction, "because you are going to be as happy as the days +are long, if I can make you so." + +"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." + +"What a darling you are!" says Rodney, in a low tone; and then something +else follows, that, had she seen it, would have caused the weatherbeaten +old person at the fire another thrill of tender recollection. + +"What are you doing?" asks Geoffrey, presently, when they have returned +to everyday life. + +"I am spinning flax for Betty, because she has rheumatism in her poor +shoulder, and can do nothing, and this much flax must be finished by a +certain time. I have nearly got through my portion now," says Mona; "and +then we can go home." + +"When I bring you to my home," says Geoffrey, "I shall have you painted +just in that gown, and with a spinning-wheel before you; and it shall be +hung in the gallery among the other--very inferior--beauties." + +"Where?" says Mona, looking up quickly. + +"Oh! at home, you know," says Mr. Rodney, quickly, discovering his +mistake. For the moment he had forgotten his former declaration of +poverty, or, at least, his consenting silence, when she had asked him +about it. + +"In the National Gallery, do you mean?" asks Mona, with a pretty, +puzzled frown on her brow. "Oh, no, Geoffrey; I shouldn't like that at +all. To be stared at by everybody,--it wouldn't be nice, would it?" + +Rodney laughs, in an inward fashion, biting his lip and looking down. + +"Very well; you sha'n't be put there," he says. "But nevertheless you +must be prepared for the fact that you will undoubtedly be stared at by +the common herd, whether you are in the National Gallery or out of it." + +"But why?" says Mona, trying to read his face. "Am I so different from +other people?" + +"Very different," says Rodney. + +"That is what I am afraid of always," says Mona, a little wistfully. + +"Don't be afraid. It is quite the correct thing to be eccentric +nowadays. One is nowhere if not bizarre," says Rodney, laughing; "so I +dare say you will find yourself the very height of fashion." + +"Now I think you are making fun of me," says Mona, smiling sweetly; and, +lifting her hand, she pinches his ear lightly, and very softly, lest she +should hurt him. + +Here the old woman at the fire, who has been getting up and down from +her three-legged stool during the past few minutes, and sniffing at the +pot in an anxious manner, gives way to a loud sigh of relief. Lifting +the pot from its crook, she lays it on the earthen floor. + +Then she strains the water from it, and looks with admiration upon its +steaming contents. "The murphies" (as, I fear, she calls the potatoes) +are done to a turn. + +"Maybe," says Betty Corcoran, turning in a genial fashion to Mona and +Geoffrey, "ye'd ate a pratie, would ye, now? They're raal nice an' +floury. Ye must be hungry, Miss Mona, afther all the work ye've gone +through; an' if you an' your gintleman would condescind to the like of +my dinner, 'tis ready for ye, an' welcome ye are to it. Do, now!" +heartily. "The praties is gran' this year,--praises be for all mercies. +Amen." + +"They _do_ look nice," says Mona, "and I _am_ hungry. If we won't be a +great trouble to you, Betty," with graceful Hesitation, "I think we +should like some." + +"Arrah! throuble is it?" says Betty, scornfully. "Tisn't throuble I'm +thinkin' of anyway, when you're by." + +"Will you have something to eat Geoffrey?" says Mona. + +"Thank you," says Geoffrey, "but----" + +"Yes, do, alannah!" says the old lady, standing with one hand upon her +hips and the other holding tightly a prodigious "Champion." "'Twill set +ye up afther yer walk." + +"Then, thank you, Mrs. Corcoran, I _will_ have a potato," says Rodney, +gratefully, honest hunger and the knowledge that it will please Mona to +be friendly with "her people," as she calls them, urging him on. "I'm as +hungry as I can be," he says. + +"So ye are, bless ye both!" says old Betty, much delighted, and +forthwith, going to her dresser, takes down two plates, and two knives +and forks, of pattern unknown and of the purest pot-metal, after which +she once more returns to the revered potatoes. + +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. + +"It might be that ye'd take a dhrop of new milk, too," says Betty, "on +hospitable thoughts intent," placing before her visitors a little jug of +milk she has all day been keeping apart, poor soul! for her own +delectation. + +Not knowing this, Mona and Geoffrey (whose flask is empty) accept the +proffered milk, and make merry over their impromptu feast, while in the +background, the old woman smiles upon them and utters little kindly +sentences. + +Ten minutes later, having bidden their hostess a hearty farewell, they +step out into the open air and walk towards the farm. + +"You have never told me how many people are in your house?" says Mona, +presently. "Tell me now. I know about your mother, and," shyly, "about +Nicholas; but is there any one else?" + +"Well, Jack is home by this time, I suppose,--that's my second brother; +at least he was expected yesterday; and Violet Mansergh is very often +there; and as a rule, you know, there is always somebody; and that's +all." + +The description is graphic, certainly. + +"Is--is Violet Mansergh a pretty girl?" asks Mona, grasping +instinctively at the fact that any one called Violet Mansergh may be a +possible rival. + +"Pretty? No. But she dresses very swagger, and always looks nice, and +is generally correct all through," replies Mr. Rodney, easily. + +"I know," says Mona, sadly. + +"She's the girl my mother wanted me to marry, you know," goes on Rodney, +unobservant, as men always are, of the small signals of distress hung +out by his companion. + +"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I _don't_ +know, because you never told me before." + +"I thought I did," says Geoffrey, waking slowly to a sense of the +situation. + +"Well, you didn't," says Mona. "Are you engaged to her?" + +"If I was, how could I ask you to marry me?" returns he, in a tone so +hurt that she grows abashed. + +"I hope she isn't in love with you," she says, slowly. + +"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She +cares for me just about as much as I care for her,--which means exactly +nothing." + +"I am very glad," says Mona, in a low tone. + +"Why, Mona?" + +"Because I could not bear to think any one was made unhappy by me. It +would seem as though some evil eye was resting on our love," says Mona, +raising her thoughtful, earnest eyes to his. "It must be a sad thing +when our happiness causes the misery of others." + +"Yet even were it so you would love me, Mona?" + +"I shall always love you," says the girl, with sweet seriousness, +"better than my life. But in that case I should always, too have a +regret." + +"There is no need for regret, darling," says he. "I am heart-whole, and +I know no woman that loves me, or for whose affection I should ask, +except yourself." + +"I am indeed dear to you, I think," says Mona, softly and thankfully, +growing a little pale through the intensity of her emotion. + +"'Perdition catch my soul, but I do love thee,'" replies he, quite as +softly. + +Then she is pleased, and slips her hand into his, and goes along the +quiet road, beside him with a heart in which high jubilee holds sway. + +"Now tell me something else," she says, after a little bit. "Do all the +women you know dress a great deal?" + +"Some of them; not all. I know a considerable few who dress so little +that they might as well leave it alone." + +"Eh?" says Mona, innocently, and stares at him with an expression so +full of bewilderment, being puzzled by his tone more than his words, +that presently Mr. Rodney becomes conscious of a feeling akin to shame. +Some remembrance of a line that speaks of "a soul as white as heaven" +comes to him, and he makes haste to hide the real meaning of his words. + +"I mean, some of them dress uncommon badly," he says, with much +mendacity and more bad grammar. + +"Now, do they?" says Mona. "I thought they always wore lovely clothes. +In books they always do; but I was too young when with Aunt Anastasia in +Dublin to go out. Somehow, what one imagines is sure to be wrong. I +remember," laughing, "when I firmly believed the queen never was seen +without her crown on her head." + +"Well, it always _is_ on her head," says Mr. Rodney, at which ridiculous +joke they both laugh as gayly as though it were a _bon-mot_ of the first +water. That "life is thorny, and youth is vain" has not as yet occurred +to either of these two. Nay, more, were you even to name this thought to +them, they would rank it as flat blasphemy, and you a false +prophet--love and laughter being, up to this, the burden of their song. + +Yet after a moment or two the smile fades from Mona's mobile lip that +ever looks as if, in the words of the old song, "some bee had stung it +newly," and a pensive expression takes its place. + +"I think I'd like to see myself in a regular evening gown," she say, +wistfully. + +"So should I," says Rodney, eagerly, but incorrectly; "at least, not +myself, but you,--in something handsome, you know, open at the neck, and +with your pretty arms bare, as they were the first day I saw you." + +"How you remember that, now!" says Mona, with a heavenly smile, and a +faint pressure of the fingers that still rest in his. "Yes, I should +like to be sure before I marry you that--that--fashionable clothes would +become me. But of course," regretfully, "you will understand I haven't a +gown of that sort. I once sat in Lady Crighton's room while her maid +dressed her for dinner: so I know all about it." + +She sighs, then looks at the sky, and--sighs again. + +"And do you know," she says, with charming _naivete_, not looking at +him, but biting a blade of grass in a distractingly pretty and somewhat +pensive fashion, "do you know her neck and arms are not a patch on +mine?" + +"You needn't tell me that. I'm positive they couldn't be named in the +same day," says Geoffrey, enthusiastically, who never in his life saw +Lady Crighton, or her neck or arms. + +"No, they are not. Geoffrey, people look much better when they are +beautifully dressed, don't they?" + +"Well, on the principle that fine feathers make fine birds, I suppose +they do," acknowledges Geoffrey, reluctantly. + +At this she glances with scorn upon the quakerish and somewhat quaint +gray gown in which she is clothed, and in which she is looking far +sweeter than she knows, for in her face lie "love enshrined and sweet +attractive grace." + +"Yet, in spite of all the fine feathers, no one ever crept into my heart +but my own Mona," says the young man, putting his hand beneath her chin, +which is soft and rounded as a baby's, and turning her face to his. He +hates to see the faint chagrin that lingers on it for a moment; for his +is one of those tender natures that cannot bear to see the thing it +loves endure the smallest torment. + +"Some women in the great world overdo it," he goes on, "and choose +things and colors utterly unsuited to their style. They are slaves to +fashion. But + + "'_My_ love in her attire doth show her wit; + It doth so well become her.'" + +"Ah, how you flatter!" says Mona. Nevertheless, being a woman, and the +flattery being directed to herself, she takes it kindly. + +"No, you must not think that. To wear anything that becomes you must be +the perfection of dressing. Why wear a Tam O'Shanter hat when one looks +hideous in it? And then too much study spoils effect: you know what +Herrick says:-- + + "'A careless shoe-string in whose tie + I see a wild civility, + Does more bewitch me than when art + Is too precise in every part.'" + +"How pretty that is! Yet I should like you to see me, if only for once, +as you have seen others," says Mona. + +"I should like it too. And it could be managed, couldn't it? I suppose I +could get you a dress." + +He says this quickly, yet fearfully. If she should take his proposal +badly, what shall he do? He stares with flattering persistency upon a +distant donkey that adorns a neighboring field, and calmly awaits fate. +It is for once kind to him. Mona, it is quite evident, fails to see any +impropriety in his speech. + +"Could you?" she says hopefully. "How?" + +Mr. Rodney, basely forsaking the donkey, returns to his mutton. "There +must be a dressmaker in Dublin," he says, "and we could write to her. +Don't you know one?" + +"_I_ don't, but I know Lady Mary and Miss Blake always get their things +from a woman called Manning." + +"Then Manning it shall be," says Geoffrey, gayly. "I'll run up to +Dublin, and if you give me your measure I'll bring a gown back to you." + +"Oh, no, don't," says Mona, earnestly. Then she stops short, and blushes +a faint sweet crimson. + +"But why?" demands he, dense as men will be at times. Then, as she +refuses to enlighten his ignorance, slowly the truth dawns upon him. + +"Do you mean that you would really miss me if I left you for only one +day?" he asks, delightedly. "Mona, tell me the truth." + +"Well, then, sure you know I would," confesses she, shyly but honestly. +Whereupon rapture ensues that lasts for a full minute. + +"Very well, then; I shan't leave you; but you shall have that dress all +the same," he says. "How shall we arrange about it?" + +"I can give you the size of my waist and my shoulders, and my length," +says Mona, thoughtfully, yet with a touch of inspiration. + +"And what color becomes you? Blue? that would suit your eyes, and it was +blue you used to wear last month." + +"Yes, blue looks very nice on me. Geoffrey, if Uncle Brian hears of +this, will he be angry?" + +"We needn't risk it. And it is no harm, darling, because you will soon +be my wife, and then I shall give you everything. When the dress comes +I'll send it up to you by my man, and you must manage the rest." + +"I'll see about it. And, oh, Geoffrey, I do hope you will like me in it, +and think me pretty," she says, anxiously, half fearful of this gown +that is meant to transform a "beggar maid" into a queen fit for "King +Cophetua." At least such is her reading of the part before her. + +And so it is arranged. And that evening Geoffrey indites a letter to +Mrs. Manning, Grafton Street, Dublin, that brings a smile to the lips of +that cunning modiste. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA DILIGENTLY WORK UP THE TRANSFORMATION SCENE; AND +HOW SUCCESS CROWNS THEIR EFFORTS. + + +In due course the wonderful gown arrives, and is made welcome at the +farm, where Geoffrey too puts in an appearance about two hours later. + +Mona is down at the gate waiting for him, evidently brimful of +information. + +"Well have you got it?" asks he, in a whisper. Mystery seems to encircle +them and to make heavy the very air they breathe. In truth, I think it +is the veil of secrecy that envelops their small intrigue that makes it +so sweet to them. They might be children, so delighted are they with the +success of their scheme. + +"Yes, I have got it," also in a subdued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it +is just too lovely! It's downright delicious; and satin, too! It +must"--reproachfully--"have cost a great deal, and after all you told me +about being _poor_! But," with a sudden change of tone, forgetting +reproach and extravagance and everything, "it is exactly the color I +love best, and what I have been dreaming of for years." + +"Put it on you," says Geoffrey. + +"What! _now?_" with some hesitation, yet plainly filled with an +overwhelming desire to show herself to him without loss of time in the +adorable gown. "If I should be seen! Well, never mind; I'll risk it. Go +down to the little green glade in the wood, and I'll be with you before +you can say Jack Robinson." + +She disappears, and Geoffrey, obedient to orders, lounges off to the +green glade, that now no longer owns rich coloring, but is strewn with +leaves from the gaunt trees that stand in solemn order like grave +sentries round it. + +He might have invoked Jack Robinson a score of times had he so wished, +he might even have gone for a very respectable walk, before his eyes are +again gladdened by a sight of Mona. Minutes had given place to minutes +many times, when, at length, a figure wrapped in a long cloak and with a +light woollen shawl covering her head comes quickly towards him across +the rustic bridge, and under the leafless trees to where he is standing. + +Glancing round fearfully for a moment, as though desirous of making sure +that no strange eyes are watching her movements, she lets the loose +cloak fall to the ground, and, taking with careful haste the covering +from her head, slips like Cinderella from her ordinary garments into all +the glories of a _fete_ gown. She steps a little to one side, and, +throwing up her head with a faint touch of coquetry that sits very +sweetly on her, glances triumphantly at Geoffrey, as though fully +conscious that she is looking exquisite as a dream. + +The dress is composed of satin of that peculiarly pale blue that in some +side-lights appears as white. It is opened at the throat, and has no +sleeves to speak of. As though some kindly fairy had indeed been at her +beck and call, and had watched with careful eyes the cutting of the +robe, it fits to a charm. Upon her head a little mob-cap, a very marvel +of blue satin and old lace, rests lovingly, making still softer the soft +tender face beneath it. + +There is a sparkle in Mona's eyes, a slight severing of her lips, that +bespeak satisfaction and betray her full of very innocent appreciation +of her own beauty. She stands well back, with her head held proudly up, +and with her hands lightly clasped before her. Her attitude is full of +unstudied grace. + +Her eyes, as I tell you, are shining like twin stars. Her whole soul is +possessed of this hope, that he for whom almost she lives must think her +good to look at. And good indeed she is, and very perfect; for in her +earnest face lies such inward godliness and sweet trust as make one feel +the better for only a bare glance at her. + +Geoffrey is quite dumb, and stands gazing at her surprised at the +amazing change a stuff, a color, can make in so short a time. Beautiful +she always is in his sight, but he wonders that until now it never +occurred to him what a sensation she is likely to create in the London +world. When at last he does give way to speech, driven to break his +curious silence by something in her face, he says nothing of the gown, +but only this. + +"Oh, Mona, will you always love me as you do now?" + +His tone is full of sadness and longing, and something akin to fear. He +has been much in the world, and has seen many of its evil ways, and this +is the result of his knowledge. As he gazes on and wonders at her +marvellous beauty, for an instant (a most unworthy instant) he distrusts +her. Yet surely never was more groundless doubt sustained, as one might +know to look upon her eyes and mouth, for in the one lies honest love, +and in the other firmness. + +Her face changes. He has made no mention of the treasured gown, has said +no little word of praise. + +"I have disappointed you," she says, tremulously, tears rising quickly. +"I am a failure! I am not like the others." + +"You are the most beautiful woman I ever saw in all my life," returns +Rodney, with some passion. + +"Then you are really pleased? I am just what you want me to be? Oh! how +you frightened me!" says the girl, laying her hand upon her heart with a +pretty gesture of relief. + +"Don't ask me to flatter you. You will get plenty to do that by and by," +says Geoffrey, rather jealously, rather bitterly. + +"'By and by' I shall be your wife," says Mona, archly, "and then my days +for receiving flattery will be at an end. Sure you needn't grudge me a +few pretty words now." + +What a world is to be opened up to her! How severe the test to which she +will be exposed! Does she really think the whole earth is peopled with +beings pure and perfect as herself? + +"Yes, that is true," he says, in a curious tone, in answer to her words, +his eyes fixed moodily upon the ground. Then suddenly he lifts his head, +and as his gaze meets hers some of the truth and sweetness that belong +to her springs from her to him and restores him once again to his proper +self. + +He smiles, and, turning, kneels before her in mock humility that savors +of very real homage. Taking her hand, he presses it to his lips. + +"Will your majesty deign to confer some slight sign of favor upon a +very devoted servant?" + +His looks betray his wish. And Mona, stooping, very willingly bestows +upon him one of the sweetest little kisses imaginable. + +"I doubt your queen lacks dignity," she says, with a quick blush, when +she has achieved her tender crime. + +"My queen lacks nothing," says Geoffrey. Then, as he feels the rising +wind that is soughing through the barren trees, he says, hurriedly, "My +darling, you will catch cold. Put on your wraps again." + +"Just in one moment," says the wilful beauty. "But I must first look at +myself altogether. I have only seen myself in little bits up to this, my +glass is so small." + +Running over to the river that flows swiftly but serenely a few yards +from her, she leans over the bank and gazes down lingeringly and with +love into the dark depths beneath that cast up to her her own fair +image. + +The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with +drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded +floor of the stream. + +"Yes, I _am_ pretty," she says, after a minute's pause, with a +long-drawn sigh of deepest satisfaction. Then she glances at Geoffrey. +"And for your sake I am glad of it Now, come here and stand beside me," +she goes on, presently, holding out her hand backwards as though loath +to lose sight of her own reflection. "Let me see how _you_ look in the +water." + +So he takes her hand, and together they lean over the brink and survey +themselves in Nature's glass. Lightly their faces sway to and fro as the +running water rushes across the pool,--sway, but do not part; they are +always together, as though in anticipation of that happy time when their +lives shall be one. It seems like a good omen; and Mona, in whose breast +rests a little of the superstition that lies innate in every Irish +heart, turns to her lover and looks at him. + +He, too, looks at her. The same thought fills them both. As they are +together there in the water, so (pray they) "may we be together in +life." This hope is sweet almost to solemnity. + +The short daylight fades; the wind grows higher; the whole scene is +curious, and very nearly fantastical. The pretty girl in her clinging +satin gown, and her gleaming neck and arms, bare and soft and white, and +the tiny lace-fringed cap that crowns her fairness. The gaunt trees +branching overhead that are showering down upon her all their fading +wealth of orange and crimson and russet-colored leaves, that serve to +throw out the glories of her dress. The brown-green sward is beneath +her, the river runs with noiseless mirth beside her, rushing with faint +music over sand and pebble to the ocean far below. Standing before her +is her lover, gazing at her with adoring eyes. + +Yet all things in this passing world know an end. In one short moment +the perfect picture is spoiled. A huge black dog, bursting through the +underwood, flings himself lovingly upon Mona, threatening every moment +to destroy her toilet. + +"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled +tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this +dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!" + +She tucks up her dignified train in a most undignified haste, while +Geoffrey covers up all the finery with the crimson shawl. The white +cloud is once more thrown over the dainty cap; all the pretty coloring +vanishes out of sight; and Mona, after one last lingering glance at +Geoffrey, follows its example. She, too, flies across the rural bridge +into the covert of her own small domain. + +It is over; the curtain is down; the charming transformation-scene has +reached its end, and the fairy-queen doffing her radiant robes, descends +once more to the level of a paltry mortal. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +HOW MONA, GROWING INQUISITIVE, ASKS QUESTIONS; AND HOW GEOFFREY, BEING +BROUGHT TO BAY, MAKES CONFESSIONS THAT BODE BUT EVIL TO HIS FUTURE +PEACE, AND BREED IMMEDIATE WAR. + + +"Oh! catch him! _do_ catch him!" cries Mona, "Look, there he is again! +Don't you see?" with growing excitement. "Over there, under that bush. +Why on earth can't you see him? Ha! there he is again! Little wretch! +Turn him back, Geoffrey; it is our last chance." + +She has crossed the rustic bridge that leads into the Moore plantations, +in hot pursuit of a young turkey that is evidently filled with a base +determination to spend his Sunday out. + +Geoffrey is rushing hither and thither, without his hat, and without his +temper, in a vain endeavor to secure the rebel and reduce him to order. +He is growing warm, and his breath is coming more quickly than is +exactly desirable; but, being possessed with the desire to conquer or +die, he still holds on. He races madly over the ground, crying "Shoo!" +every now and then (whatever that may mean) in a desperate tone, as +though impressed with the belief that this simple and apparently +harmless expletive must cow the foe. + +"Look at him, under that fern there!" exclaims Mona, in her clear +treble, that has always something sweet and plaintive in it. "On your +right--no! _not_ on your left. Sure you know your right, don't you?" +with a full, but unconscious, touch of scorn. "Hurry! hurry! or he will +be gone again. Was there ever such a hateful bird! With his good food in +the yard, and his warm house, and his mother crying for him! Ah! there +you have him! No!--yes! no! He is gone again!" + +"He isn't!" says Geoffrey, panting "I have him at last!" Whereupon he +emerges from a wilderness of ferns, drawing after him and holding up +triumphantly to the light the wandering bird, that looks more dead than +alive, with all its feathers drooping, and its breath coming in angry +cries. + +"Oh, you have him!" says Mona, with a beaming smile, that is not +reciprocated by the captured turkey. "Hold him tight: you have no idea +how artful he is. Sure I knew you'd get him, if any one could!" + +There is admiration blended with relief in her tone, and Geoffrey begins +to feel like a hero of Waterloo. + +"Now carry him over the bridge and put him down there, and he must go +home, whether he likes it or not," goes on Mona to her warrior, +whereupon that renowned person, armed with the shrieking turkey, crosses +the bridge. Having gained the other side, he places the angry bird on +its mother earth, and with a final and almost tender "Shoo!" sends him +scuttling along to the farmyard in the distance, where, no doubt, he is +received either with open arms and kisses, or with a sounding "spank," +as our American cousins would say, by his terrified mamma. + +He finds Mona on his return sitting on a bank, laughing and trying to +recover her breath. + +"I hardly think this is Sunday work," she says, lightly; "but the poor +little thing would have died if left out all night. Wasn't it well you +saw him?" + +"Most fortunate," says Rodney, with deep gravity. "I consider I have +been the means of preventing a public calamity. Why, that bird might +have haunted us later on." + +"Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have +all its feathers off, of course." + +"Certainly not," says Geoffrey: "I blush for you. I never yet heard of a +ghost that was not strictly decent. It would have had a winding sheet, +of course. Come, let us go for a walk." + +"To the old fort?" asks Mona, starting to her feet. + +"Anywhere you like. I'm sure we deserve some compensation for the awful +sermon that curate gave us this morning." + +So they start, in a lazy, happy-go-lucky fashion, for their walk, +conversing as they go, of themselves principally as all true lovers +will. + +But the fort, on this evening at least, is never reached Mona, coming to +a stile, seats himself comfortably on the top of it, and looks with mild +content around. + +"Are you going no farther?" asks Rodney, hoping sincerely she will say +"No." She does say it. + +"It is so nice here," she says, with a soft sigh, and a dreamy smile, +whereupon he too climbs and seats himself beside her. As they are now +situated, there is about half a yard between them of passable wall +crowned with green sods, across which they can hold sweet converse with +the utmost affability. The evening is fine; the heavens promise to be +fair; the earth beneath is calm and full of silence as becomes a Sabbath +eve; yet, alas! Mona strikes a chord that presently flings harmony to +the winds. + +"Tell me about your mother," she says, folding her hands easily in her +lap. "I mean,--what is she like? Is she cold, or proud, or stand-off?" +There is keen anxiety in her tone. + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rather taken back. "Cold" and "proud" he cannot +deny, even to himself, are words that suit his mother rather more than +otherwise. + +"I mean," says Mona, flushing a vivid scarlet, "is she stern?" + +"Oh, no," says Geoffrey, hastily, recovering himself just in time; +"she's all right, you know, my mother; and you'll like her awfully +when--when you know her, and when--when she knows you." + +"Will that take her long?" asks Mona, somewhat wistfully, feeling, +without understanding, some want in his voice. + +"I don't see how it could take any one long," says Rodney. + +"Ah! that is because you are a man, and because you love me," says this +astute reader of humanity. "But women are so different. Suppose--suppose +she _never_ gets to like me?" + +"Well, even that awful misfortune might be survived. We can live in our +own home 'at ease,' as the old song says, until she comes to her senses. +By and by, do you know you have never asked me about your future +home,--my own place, Leighton Hall? and yet it is rather well worth +asking about, because, though small, it is one of the oldest and +prettiest places in the county." + +"Leighton Hall," repeats she, slowly, fixing upon him her dark eyes that +are always so full of truth and honesty. "But you told me you were poor. +That a third son----" + +"Wasn't much!" interrupts Geoffrey, with an attempt at carelessness that +rather falls through beneath the gaze of those searching eyes. "Well, no +more he is, you know, as a rule, unless some kind relative comes to his +assistance." + +"But you told me no maiden aunt had ever come to your assistance," goes +on Mona, remorselessly. + +"In that I spoke the truth," says Mr. Rodney, with a shameless laugh, +"because it was an uncle who left me some money." + +"You have not been quite true with me," says Mona, in a curious way, +never removing her gaze and never returning his smile. "Are you rich, +then, if you are not poor?" + +"I'm a long way off being rich," says the young man, who is palpably +amused, in spite of a valiant effort to suppress all outward signs of +enjoyment. "I'm awfully poor when compared with some fellows. I dare say +I must come in for something when my other uncle dies, but at present I +have only fifteen hundred pounds a year." + +"_Only!_" says Mona. "Do you know, Mr. Moore has no more than that, and +we think him very rich indeed! No, you have not been open with me: you +should have told me. I haven't ever thought of you to myself as being a +rich man. Now I shall have to begin and think of you a lover again in +quite another light." She is evidently deeply aggrieved. + +"But, my darling child, I can't help the fact that George Rodney left me +the Hall," says Geoffrey, deprecatingly, reducing the space between them +to a mere nothing, and slipping his arm round her waist. "And if I was a +beggar on the face of the earth, I could not love you more than I do, +nor could you, I _hope_"--reproachfully--"love me better either." + +The reproachful ring in his voice does its intended work. The soft heart +throws out resentment, and once more gives shelter to gentle thoughts +alone. She even consents to Rodney's laying his cheek against hers, and +faintly returns the pressure of his hand. + +"Yet I think you should have told me," she whispers, as a last fading +censure. "Do you know you have made me very unhappy?" + +"Oh, no, I haven't, now," says Rodney, reassuringly "You don't look a +bit unhappy; you only look as sweet as an angel." + +"You never saw an angel, so you can't say," says Mona, still sadly +severe. "And I _am_ unhappy. How will your mother, Mrs. Rodney, like +your marrying me, when you might marry so many other people,--that Miss +Mansergh, for instance?" + +"Oh, nonsense!" says Rodney, who is in high good humor and can see no +rocks ahead. "When my mother sees you she will fall in love with you on +the spot, as will everybody else. But look here, you know, you mustn't +call her Mrs. Rodney!" + +"Why?" says Mona. "I couldn't well call her any thing else until I know +her." + +"That isn't her name at all," says Geoffrey. "My father was a baronet, +you know: she is Lady Rodney." + +"What!" says Mona And then she grows quite pale, and, slipping off the +stile, stands a few yards away from him. + +"That puts an end to everything," she says, in a dreadful little voice +that goes to his heart, "at once. I could never face any one with a +title. What will she say when she hears you are going to marry a +farmer's niece? It is shameful of you," says Mona, with as much +indignation as if the young man opposite to her, who is making strenuous +but vain efforts to speak, has just been convicted of some heinous +crime. "It is disgraceful! I wonder at you! That is twice you have +deceived me." + +"If you would only hear me----" + +"I have heard too much already. I won't listen to any more. 'Lady +Rodney!' I dare say"--with awful meaning in her tone--"_you_ have got a +title _too_!" Then, sternly, "Have you?" + +"No, no indeed. I give you my honor, no," says Geoffrey, very earnestly, +feeling that Fate has been more than kind to him in that she has denied +him a handle to his name. + +"You are sure?"--doubtfully. + +"Utterly certain." + +"And your brother?" + +"Jack is only Mr. Rodney too." + +"I don't mean him,"--severely: "I mean the brother you called 'Old +Nick'--_Old Nick_ indeed!" with suppressed anger. + +"Oh, he is only called Sir Nicholas. Nobody thinks much of that. A +baronet is really never of the slightest importance," says Geoffrey, +anxiously, feeling exactly as if he were making an apology for his +brother. + +"That is not correct," says Mona. "We have a baronet here, Sir Owen +O'Connor, and he is thought a great deal of. I know all about it. Even +Lady Mary would have married him if he had asked her, though his hair is +the color of an orange. Mr. Rodney,"--laying a dreadful stress upon the +prefix to his name,--"go back to England and"--tragically--"forget me?" + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," says Mr. Rodney, indignantly. "And if +you address me in that way again I shall cut my throat." + +"Much better do that"--gloomily--"than marry me Nothing comes of unequal +marriages but worry, and despair, and misery, and _death_," says Mona, +in a fearful tone, emphasizing each prophetic word with a dismal nod. + +"You've been reading novels," says Rodney, contemptuously. + +"No, I haven't," says Mona, indignantly. + +"Then you are out of your mind," says Rodney. + +"No, I am not. Anything but that; and to be rude"--slowly--"answers no +purpose. But I have some common sense, I hope." + +"I hate women with common sense. In plainer language it means no heart." + +"Now you speak sensibly. The sooner you begin to hate me the better." + +"A nice time to offer such advice as that," says Rodney, moodily. "But I +shan't take it. Mona,"--seizing her hands and speaking more in +passionate excitement than even in love,--"say at once you will keep +your word and marry me." + +"Nothing on earth shall bring me to say that," says Mona, solemnly. +"Nothing!" + +"Then don't," says Rodney, furiously, and flinging her hands from him, +he turns and strides savagely down the hill, and is lost to sight round +the corner. + +But, though "lost to sight," to memory he is most unpleasantly "dear." +Standing alone in the middle of the deserted field, Mona pulls to +pieces, in a jerky, fretful fashion, a blade of grass she has been idly +holding during the late warm discussion. She is honestly very much +frightened at what she has done, but obstinately declines to acknowledge +it even to her own heart. In a foolish but natural manner she tries to +deceive herself into the belief that what has happened has been much to +her own advantage, and it will be a strict wisdom to rejoice over it. + +"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a +petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I +have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it +lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't +so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly +happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my +life--before he came. And when he is _gone_"--she pauses, chokes back +with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and +with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he +flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, +as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by +your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward +glance, or _anything_! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he +will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious +country." + +She tells herself this lie without a blush, perhaps because she is so +pale at the bare thought that her eyes may never again be gladdened by +his presence, that the blood refuses to rise. + +A bell tinkles softly in the distance. The early dusk is creeping up +from behind the distant hills, that are purple with the soft and glowing +heather. The roar of the rushing waves comes from the bay that lies +behind those encircling hills, and falls like sound of saddest music on +her ear. Now comes + + Still evening on, and twilight gray + Has in her sober livery all things clad. + +And Mona, rousing herself from her unsatisfactory reverie, draws her +breath quickly and then moves homeward. + +But first she turns and casts a last lingering glance upon the sloping +hill down which her sweetheart, filled with angry thoughts, had gone. +And as she so stands, with her hand to her forehead, after a little +while a slow smile of conscious power comes to her lips and tarries +round them, as though fond of its resting-place. + +Her lips part. An expression that is half gladness, half amusement, +brightens her eyes. + +"I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at +the usual hour to-morrow, or,--a little earlier!" + +Then she gathers up her gown and runs swiftly back to the farm. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +HOW GEOFFREY RETURNS TO HIS ALLEGIANCE--HOW HE DISCOVERS HIS DIVINITY +DEEP IN THE PERFORMANCE OF SOME MYSTIC RITES WITHIN THE COOL PRECINCTS +OF HER TEMPLE--AND HOW HE SEEKS TO REDUCE HER TO REASON FROM THE TOP OF +AN INVERTED CHURN. + + +To-day--that "liberal worldling," that "gay philosopher"--is here; and +last night belongs to us only in so far as it deserves a place in our +memory or has forced itself there in spite of our hatred and repugnance. + +To Rodney, last night is one ever to be remembered as being a period +almost without end, and as a perfect specimen of how seven hours can be +made to feel like twenty-one. + +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, + + "Waked by the circling hours, with rosy hand + Unbars the gates of light," + +tells himself that all may yet be right betwixt him and his love. + +His love at this moment--which is closing upon noon--is standing in her +cool dairy upon business thoughts intent yet with a certain look of +expectation and anxiety upon he face,--a _listening_ look may best +express it. + +To-morrow will be market-day in Bantry, to which the week's butter must +go; and now the churning is over, and the result of it lies cold and +rich and fresh beneath Mona's eyes. She herself is busily engaged +printing little pats off a large roll of butter that rests on the slab +before her; her sleeves are carefully tucked up, as on that first day +when Geoffrey saw her; and in defiance of her own heart--which knows +itself to be sad--she is lilting some little foolish lay, bright and +shallow as the October sunshine that floods the room, lying in small +silken patches on the walls and floor. + +In the distance a woman is bending over a keeler making up a huge mass +of butter into rolls, nicely squared and smoothed, to make them look +their best and handsomest to-morrow. + +"An' a nate color too," says this woman, who is bare-footed, beneath her +breath, regarding with admiration the yellow tint of the object on which +she is engaged. Two pullets, feathered like a partridge, are creeping +stealthily into the dairy, their heads turned knowingly on one side, +their steps slow and cautious; not even the faintest chirrup escapes +them, lest it be the cause of their instant dismissal. There is no +sound anywhere but the soft music that falls from Mona's lips. + +Suddenly a bell rings in the distance. This is the signal for the men to +cease from work and go to their dinners. It must be two o'clock. + +Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So +late!--the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign. + +The bell stops, and a loud knock at the hall-door takes its place. Was +ever sweeter sound heard anywhere? Mona draws her breath quickly, and +then as though ashamed of herself goes on stoically with her task. Yet +for all her stoicism her color comes and goes, and now she is pale, and +now "celestial, rosy red, love's proper hue," and now a little smile +comes up and irradiates her face. + +So he has come back to her. There is triumph in this thought and some +natural vanity, but above and beyond all else a great relief that lifts +from her the deadly fear that all night has been consuming her and has +robbed her of her rest. Now anxiety is at an end, and joy reigns, born +of the knowledge that by his speedy surrender he has proved himself her +own indeed, and she herself indispensable to his content. + +"'Tis the English gintleman, miss,--Misther Rodney. He wants to see ye," +says the fair Bridget, putting her head in at the doorway, and speaking +in a hushed and subdued tone. + +"Very well: show him in here," says Mona, very distinctly, going on with +the printing of her butter with a courage that deserves credit. There is +acrimony in her tone, but laughter in her eyes. While acknowledging a +faint soreness at her heart she is still amused at his prompt, and +therefore flattering, subjection. + +Rodney, standing on the threshold at the end of the small hall, can hear +distinctly all that passes. + +"Here, miss,--in the dairy? Law, Miss Mona! don't" + +"Why?" demands her mistress, somewhat haughtily. "I suppose even the +English gentleman, as you call him, can see butter with dying! Show him +in at once." + +"But in that apron, miss, and wid yer arms bare-like, an' widout yer +purty blue bow; law, Miss Mona, have sinse, an' don't ye now." + +"Show Mr. Rodney in here, Bridget," says Mona unflinchingly, not looking +at the distressed maid, or indeed at anything but the unobservant +butter. And Bridget, with a sigh that strongly resembles the snort of a +war-horse, ushers Mr. Rodney into the dairy. + +"You?" says Mona, with extreme _hauteur_ and an unpleasant amount of +well-feigned astonishment. She does not deign to go to meet him, or even +turn her head altogether in his direction, but just throws a swift and +studiously unfriendly glance at him from under her long lashes. + +"Yes" replies he, slowly as though regretful that he cannot deny his own +identity. + +"And what has brought you?" demands she, not rudely or quickly, but as +though desirous of obtaining information on a subject that puzzles her. + +"An overwhelming desire to see you again," returns this wise young man, +in a tone that is absolutely abject. + +To this it is difficult to make a telling reply. Mona says nothing she +only turns her head completely away from him, as if to conceal +something. Is it a smile?--he cannot tell. And indeed presently, as +though to dispel all such idea, she sighs softly but audibly. + +At this Mr. Rodney moves a shade closer to her. + +"What a very charming dairy!" he says, mildly. + +"Very uncomfortable for you, I fear, after your long ride," says Mona, +coldly but courteously. "Why don't you go into the parlor? I am sure you +will find it pleasanter there." + +"I am sure I should not," says Rodney. + +"More comfortable, at least." + +"I am quite comfortable, thank you." + +"But you have nothing to sit on." + +"Neither have you." + +"Oh, I have my work to do; and besides, I often prefer standing." + +"So do I, often,--_very_ often," says Mr. Rodney, sadly still, but +genially. + +"Are you sure?"--with cold severity. "It is only two days ago since you +told me you loved nothing better than an easy-chair." + +"Loved nothing better than a--oh, how you must have misunderstood me!" +says Rodney, with mournful earnestness, liberally sprinkled with +reproach. + +"I have indeed misunderstood you in _many_ ways." This is unkind, and +the emphasis makes it even more so. "Norah, if the butter is finished, +you can go and feed the calves." There is a business-like air about her +whole manner eminently disheartening to a lover out of court. + +"Very good, miss; I'm going," says the woman, and with a last touch to +the butter she covers it over with a clean wet cloth and moves to the +yard door. The two chickens on the threshold, who have retreated and +advanced a thousand times, now retire finally with an angry +"cluck-cluck," and once more silence reigns. + +"We were talking of love, I think," says Rodney, innocently, as though +the tender passion as subsisting between the opposite sexes had been the +subject of the conversation. + +"Of love generally?--no," with a disdainful glance,--"merely of your +love of comfort." + +"Yes, quite so: that is exactly what I meant," returns he, agreeably. It +was _not_ what he meant; but that doesn't count. "How awfully clever you +are," he says, presently, alluding to her management of the little pats, +which, to say truth, are faring but ill at her hands. + +"Not clever," says Mona. "If I were clever I should not take for +granted--as I always do--that what people say they must mean. I myself +could not wear a double face." + +"That is just like me," says Mr. Rodney, unblushingly--"the very image +of me." + +"Is it?"--witheringly. Then, with some impatience, "You will be far +happier in an arm-chair: do go into the parlor. There is really no +reason why you should remain here." + +"There is,--a reason not to be surpassed. And as to the parlor,"--in a +melancholy tone,--"I could not be happy there, or anywhere, just at +present. Unless, indeed,"--this in a very low but carefully distinct +tone,--"it be here!" + +A pause. Mona mechanically but absently goes on with her work, avoiding +all interchange of glances with her deceitful lover. The deceitful lover +is plainly meditating a fresh attack. Presently he overturns an empty +churn and seats himself on the top of it in a dejected fashion. + +"I never saw the easy-chair I could compare with this," he says, as +though to himself, his voice full of truth. + +This is just a little too much. Mona gives way. Standing well back from +her butter, she lets her pretty rounded bare arms fall lightly before +her to their full length, and as her fingers clasp each other she turns +to Rodney and breaks into a peal of laughter sweet as music. + +At this he would have drawn her into his arms, hoping her gayety may +mean forgiveness and free absolution for all things said and done the +day before; but she recoils from him. + +"No, no," she says; "all is different now, you know, and +you should never have come here again at all; but"--with charming +inconsequence--"_why_ did you go away last evening without bidding me +good-night?" + +"My heart was broken, and by you: that was why. How could you say the +cruel things you did? To tell me it would be better for me to cut my +throat than marry you! That was abominable of you, Mona, wasn't it now? +And to make me believe you meant it all, too!" says this astute young +man. + +"I did mean it. Of course I cannot marry you," says Mona, but rather +weakly. The night has left her in a somewhat wavering frame of mind. + +"If you can say that again now, in cold blood, after so many hours of +thought, you must be indeed heartless," says Rodney; "and"--standing +up--"I may as well go." + +He moves towards the door with "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," +as Goldsmith would say. + +"Well, well, wait for one moment," says Mona, showing the white feather +at last, and holding out to him one slim little hand. He seizes it with +avidity, and then, placing his arm round her waist with audacious +boldness, gives her an honest kiss, which she returns with equal +honesty. + +"Now let us talk no more nonsense," says Rodney, tenderly. "We belong to +each other, and always shall, and that is the solution of the whole +matter." + +"Is it?" says she, a little wistfully. "You think so now; but if +afterwards you should know regret, or----" + +"Oh, if--if--if!" interrupts he. "Is it that you are afraid for +yourself? Remember there is 'beggary in the love that can be reckoned.'" + +"That is true," says Mona; "but it does not apply to me; and it is for +you only I fear. Let me say just this: I have thought it all over; there +were many hours in which to think, because I could not sleep----" + +"Neither could I," puts in Geoffrey. "But it was hard on you, my +darling." + +"And this is what I would say: in one year from this I will marry you, +if"--with a faint tremble in her tone--"you then still care to marry me. +But not before." + +"A year! An eternity!" + +"No; only twelve months,"--hastily; "say no more now: my mind is quite +made up." + +"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?" + +"Ah! then I did not know all," says Mona. "That was your fault. No; if I +consent to do you this injury you shall at least have time to think it +over." + +"Do you distrust me?" says Rodney,--this time really hurt, because his +love for her is in reality deep and strong and thorough. + +"No,"--slowly,--"I do not. If I did, I should not love you as--as I do." + +"It is all very absurd," says Rodney, impatiently. "If a year, or two, +or twenty, were to go by, it would be all the same; I should love you +then as I love you to-day, and no other woman. Be reasonable, darling; +give up this absurd idea." + +"Impossible," says Mona. + +"Impossible is a word only to be found in the dictionary of fools. _You_ +are not a fool. This is a mere fad of yours and I think you hardly know +why you are insisting on it." + +"I do know," says Mona. "First, because I would have you weigh +everything carefully, and----" + +"Yes, and----" + +"You know your mother will object to me," says Mona, with an effort, +speaking hurriedly, whilst a little fleck of scarlet flames into her +cheeks. + +"Stuff!" says Mr. Rodney; "that is only piling Ossa upon Pelion: it will +bring you no nearer the clouds. Say you will go back to the old +arrangement and marry me next month, or at least the month after." + +"No." + +She stands away from him, and looks at him with a face so pale, yet so +earnest and intense, that he feels it will be unwise to argue further +with her just now. So instead he takes both her hands and draws her to +his side again. + +"Oh, Mona, if you could only know how wretched I was all last night," he +says; "I never put in such a bad time in my life." + +"Yes; I can understand you," said Mona, softly, "for I too was +miserable." + +"Do you recollect all you said, or one-half of it? You said it would be +well if I hated you." + +"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, +"perhaps I was right." + +"Now, that is nastier," says Geoffrey; "unsay it." + +"I will," says the girl, impulsively, with quick tears in her eyes. +"Don't hate me, my dearest, unless you wish to kill me; for that would +be the end of it." + +"I have a great mind to say something uncivil to you, if only to punish +you for your coldness," says Geoffrey, lightly, cheered by her evident +sincerity. "But I shall refrain, lest a second quarrel be the result, +and I have endured so much during these past few hours that + + 'As I am a Christian faithful man + I would not spend another such a night + Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.' + +From the hour I parted from you till I saw you again I felt downright +suicidal." + +"But you didn't cut your throat, after all," says Mona, with a wicked +little grimace. + +"Well, no; but I dare say I shall before I am done with you. Besides, it +occurred to me I might as well have a last look at you before consigning +my body to the grave." + +"And an unhallowed grave, too. And so you really felt miserable when +angry with me? How do you feel now?" She is looking up at him, with love +and content and an adorable touch of coquetry in her pretty face. + +"'I feel that I am happier than I know,'" quotes he, softly, folding her +closely to his heart. + +So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of butter and +the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild +breezes that belong to the dying day. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HOW GEOFFREY TELLS HOME SECRETS, AND HOW MONA COMMENTS THEREON--HOW +DEATH STALKS RAMPANT IN THEIR PATH--AND HOW, THOUGH GEOFFREY DECLINES TO +"RUN AWAY," HE STILL "LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY." + + +"And you really mustn't think us such very big people," says Geoffrey, +in a deprecating tone, "because we are any thing but that, and, in +fact,"--with a sharp contraction of his brow that betokens inward +grief,--"there is rather a cloud over us just now." + +"A cloud?" says Mona. And I think in her inmost heart she is rather glad +than otherwise that her lover's people are not on the top rung of the +ladder. + +"Yes,--in a regular hole, you know," says Mr. Rodney. "It is rather a +complicated story, but the truth is, my grandfather hated his eldest +son--my uncle who went to Australia--like poison, and when dying left +all the property--none of which was entailed--to his second son, my +father." + +"That was a little unfair, wasn't it?" says Mona. "Why didn't he divide +it?" + +"Well, that's just it," returns he. "But, you see, he didn't. He willed +the whole thing to my father. He had a long conversation with my mother +the very night before his death, in which he mentioned this will, and +where it was locked up, and all about it; yet the curious part of the +whole matter is this, that on the morning after his death, when they +made search for this will, it was nowhere to be found! Nor have we heard +tale or tidings of it ever since Though of the fact that it was duly +signed, sealed, and delivered there is no doubt." + +"How strange!" says Mona. "But how then did you manage?" + +"Well, just then it made little difference to us, as, shortly after my +grandfather went off the hooks, we received what we believed to be +authenticated tidings of my uncle's death." + +"Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested. + +"Well, belief, however strong, goes a short way sometimes. An uncommon +short way with us." + +"But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?" + +"No, it didn't: it made it all wrong. But for that lie we should not be +in the predicament in which we now find ourselves. You will understand +me better when I tell you that the other day a young man turned up who +declares himself to be my uncle George's son, and heir to his land and +title. That _was_ a blow. And, as this wretched will is not forthcoming, +I fear he will inherit everything. We are disputing it, of course, and +are looking high and low for the missing will that should have been +sought for at the first. But it's very shaky the whole affair." + +"It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he +could have hugged her on the spot. + +"It is very hard on Nick," he says disconsolately. + +"And he is your cousin, this strange young man?" + +"Yes, I suppose so," replies Mr. Rodney, reluctantly. "But he don't look +like it. Hang it, you know," exclaims he, vehemently, "one can stand a +good deal, but to have a fellow who wears carbuncle rings, and speaks of +his mother as the 'old girl,' call himself your cousin, is more than +flesh and blood can put up with: it's--it's worse than the lawsuit." + +"It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him +"Nick" now for the world. + +"Harder even than you know. He is engaged to one of the dearest little +girls possible, but of course if this affair terminates in favor of--" he +hesitates palpably, then says with an effort--"my cousin, the engagement +comes to an end." + +"But why?" says Mona. + +"Well, he won't be exactly a catch after that, you know," says Rodney, +sadly. "Poor old Nick! it will be a come-down for him after all these +years." + +"But do you mean to tell me the girl he loves will give him up just +because fortune is frowning on him?" asks Mona, slowly. "Sure she +couldn't be so mean as that." + +"It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which +amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know." + +"I _don't_ know," says Mona unconvinced. "I would go against all the +people in the world rather than be bad to you. And to forsake him, too, +at the very time when he will most want sympathy, at the very hour of +his great trouble. Oh! that is shameful! I shall not like her, I think." + + +"I am sure you will, notwithstanding. She is the gayest, brightest +creature imaginable, just such another as yourself. If it be true that +'birds of a feather flock together,' you and she must amalgamate. You +may not get on well with Violet Mansergh, who is somewhat reserved, but +I know you will be quite friends with Doatie." + +"What is her name?" + +"She is Lord Steyne's second daughter. The family name is Darling. Her +name is Dorothy." + +"A pretty name, too." + +"Yes, old-fashioned. She is always called Doatie Darling by her +familiars, which sounds funny. She is quite charming, and loved by every +one." + +"Yet she would renounce her love, would betray him for the sake of +filthy lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that." + +"It is the way of her world. There is more in training than one quite +knows. Now, you are altogether different. I know that; it is perhaps the +reason why you have made my heart your own. Do not think it flattery +when I tell you there are very few like you, Mona, in the world; but I +would have you be generous. Do not let your excellence make you harsh to +others. That is a common fault; and all people, darling, are not +charactered alike." + +"Am I harsh?" says Mona, wistfully. + +"No, you are not," says Geoffrey, grieved to the heart that he could +have used such a word towards her. "You are nothing that is not sweet +and adorable. And, besides all this, you are, I know, sincerity itself. +I feel (and am thankful for the knowledge) that were fate to 'steep me +in poverty to the very lips,' you would still be faithful to me." + +"I should be all the more faithful: it is then you would feel your need +of me," says Mona, simply. Then, as though puzzled, she goes on with a +little sigh, "In time perhaps, I shall understand it all, and how other +people feel, and--if it will please you, Geoffrey--I shall try to like +the girl you call Doatie." + +"I wish Nick didn't like her so much," says Geoffrey, sadly. "It will +cut him up more than all the rest, if he has to give her up." + +"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a +half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would +it--would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?" + +Rodney is deeply touched. + +"No, darling, no; I am afraid not," he says, very gently. But for the +poor child's tender earnestness and good faith, he could almost have +felt some faint amusement; but this offering of hers is to him a sacred +thing, and to treat her words as a jest is a thought far from him. +Indeed, to give wilful offence to any one, by either word or action, +would be very foreign to his nature. For if "he is gentil that doth +gentil dedis" be true, Rodney to his finger-tips is gentleman indeed. + +It is growing dusk; "the shades of night are falling fast," the cold +pale sun, that all day long has cast its chill October beams upon a +leafless world, has now sunk behind the distant hill, and the sad +silence of the coming night hath set her finger with deep touch upon +creation's brow. + +"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous +laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of +late? I seem to be always anticipating evil." + +Down from the mountain's top the shadows are creeping stealthily: all +around is growing dim, and vague, and mysterious, in the uncertain +light. + +"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears +daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued voice. "That murder at Oola, for +instance: that was horrible.' + +"Well but a murder at Oola isn't a murder here, you know," says Mr. +Rodney, airily. "Let us wait to be melancholy until it comes home to +ourselves,--which indeed, may be at any moment, your countrymen are of +such a very playful disposition. Do you remember what a lively time we +had of it the night we ran to Maxwell's assistance, and what an escape +he had?" + +"Ay! so he had, an escape _you_ will never know," says a hoarse voice at +this moment, that makes Mona's heart almost cease to beat. An instant +later, and two men jump up from the dark ditch in which they have been +evidently hiding, and confront Rodney with a look of savage satisfaction +upon their faces. + +At this first glance he recognizes them as being the two men with whom +Mona had attempted argument and remonstrance on the night elected for +Maxwell's murder. They are armed with guns, but wear no disguise, not +even the usual band of black crape across the upper half of the face. + +Rodney casts a quick glance up the road, but no human creature is in +sight; nor, indeed, were they here, would they have been of any use. For +who in these lawless days would dare defy or call in question the +all-powerful Land League? + +"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is +absolutely frozen with fear. + +"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He +fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he +speaks. + +"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be +so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he +can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast. + +"Stand back," says Ryan, savagely. "Stand back, I tell ye, unless ye +want a hole in yer own skin, for his last moment is come." + +"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and +almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever +treats a woman with roughness. + +"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this +English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll +teach him how to balk me of my prey a second time. D'ye think I didn't +know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is +in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for +it." + +Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the +elbow, holds her as in a vice. There is no escape, no hope! Finding +herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with +dilated eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes +in quick agonized gasps, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her +feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer +last hour has come." + +"Has it?" says Rodney, fiercely. "Then I'll make the most of it," and +before the other can find time to fire he flings himself upon him, and +grasps his throat with murderous force. + +In an instant they are locked in each other's arms. Ryan wrestles +violently, but is scarcely a match for Rodney, whose youth and training +tell, and who is actually fighting for dear life. In the confusion the +gun goes off, and the bullet, passing by Rodney's arm, tears away a +piece of the coat with it, and also part of the flesh. But this he +hardly knows till later on. + +To and fro they sway, and then both men fall heavily to the ground. +Presently they are on their feet again, but this time Rodney is master +of the unloaded gun. + +"Leave the girl alone, and come here," shouts Ryan furiously to Carthy, +who is still holding Mona captive. The blood is streaming from a large +cut on his forehead received in his fall. + +"Coward!" hisses Rodney between his teeth. His face is pale as death; +his teeth are clenched; his gray eyes are flaming fire. His hat has +fallen off in the struggle, and his coat, which is a good deal torn, +betrays a shirt beneath deeply stained with blood. He is standing back a +little from his opponent, with his head thrown up, and his fair hair +lying well back from his brow. + +"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, +but is full of reckless defiance. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square +accounts with you." + +Advancing with the empty gun in his hands, he raises it, and, holding it +by the barrel, brings it down with all his might upon his enemy's skull. +Ryan reels, staggers, and once more licks the dust. But the wretched +weapon--sold probably at the back of some miserable shebeen in Bantry +for any price ranging from five-and-six to one guinea--snaps in two at +this moment from the force of the blow, so leaving Rodney, spent and +weak with loss of blood, at the mercy of his second opponent. + +Carthy, having by this time freed himself from Mona's detaining +grasp,--who, seeing the turn affairs have taken, has clung to him with +all her strength, and so hampered his efforts to go to his companion's +assistance,--comes to the front. + +But a hand-to-hand encounter is not Mr. Carthy's forte. He prefers being +propped up by friends and acquaintances, and thinks a duel _a la mort_ a +poor speculation. Now, seeing his whilom accomplice stretched apparently +lifeless upon the ground, his courage (what he has of it), like Bob +Acres', oozes out through his palms, and a curious shaking, that surely +can't be fear, takes possession of his knees. + +Moreover, he has never before had a gun in his own keeping; and the +sensation, though novel, is not so enchanting as he had fondly hoped it +might have been. He is plainly shy about the managing of it, and in his +heart is not quite sure which end of it goes off. However, he lifts it +with trembling fingers, and deliberately covers Rodney. + +Tyro as he is, standing at so short a distance from his antagonist, he +could have hardly failed to blow him into bits, and probably would have +done so, but for one little accident. + +Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding +herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had +rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had +torn from its top a heavy stone. + +Now, turning back, she aims carefully for Carthy's head, and flings the +missile from her. A woman's eye in such cases is seldom sure, and now +the stone meant for his head falls short, and, hitting his arm, knocks +the gun from his nerveless fingers. + +This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves +in, and, regardless of the prostrate figure of his companion, jumps +hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is +rolling up from the bay. + +Rodney, lifting the gun, takes as sure aim as he can at the form of the +departing hero; but evidently the bullet misses its mark, as no sound of +fear or pain comes to disturb the utter silence of the evening. + +Then he turns to Mona. + +"You have saved my life," he says, in a tone that trembles for the first +time this evening, "my love! my brave girl! But what an ordeal for you!" + +"I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help +you," says Mona, passionately; "that was bitter." + +"What spirit, what courage, you displayed! At first I feared you would +faint----" + +"While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says +Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough +for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob, "There will be time to +_die_ later on." + +Here her eyes fall upon Ryan's motionless figure, and a shudder passes +over her. + +"Is he dead?" she asks, in a whisper, pointing without looking at their +late foe. Rodney, stooping, lays his hand on the ruffian's heart. + +"No, he breathes," he says. "He will live, no doubt. Vermin are hard to +kill. And if he does die," bitterly, "what matter? Dog! Let him die +there! The road is too good a place for him." + +"Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror +creeps over her, rendering her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. +"There may be others. Do not delay." + +In ignorance of the fact that Geoffrey has been hurt in the fray, she +lays her hand upon the injured arm. Instinctively he shrinks from the +touch. + +"What is it?" she says, fearfully, and then, "Your coat is wet--I feel +it. Oh Geoffrey, look at your shirt. It is blood!" Her tone is full of +horror. "What have they done to you?" she says, pitifully. "You are +hurt, wounded!" + +"It can't be much," says Geoffrey, who, to confess the truth, is by this +time feeling a little sick and faint. "I never knew I was touched till +now. Come, let us get back to the farm." + +"I wonder you do not hate me," says Mona, with a brokenhearted sob, +"when you remember I am of the same blood as these wretches." + +"Hate you!" replies he, with a smile of ineffable fondness, "my +preserver and my love!" + +She is comforted in a small degree by his words, but fear and depression +still hold her captive. She insists upon his leaning on her, and he, +seeing she is bent on being of some service to him, lays his hand +lightly on her shoulder, and so they go slowly homeward. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +HOW MONA PROVES HERSELF EQUAL--IF NOT SUPERIOR--TO DR. MARY WALKER; AND +HOW GEOFFREY, BY A BASE THREAT, CARRIES HIS POINT. + + +Old Brian Scully is in his parlor, and comes to meet them as they enter +the hall,--his pipe behind his back. + +"Come in, come in," he begins, cheerily, and then, catching sight of +Mona's pale face, stops short. "Why, what has come to ye?" cries he, +aghast, glancing from his niece to Rodney's discolored shirt and torn +coat; "what has happened?" + +"It was Tim Ryan," returns Mona, wearily, feeling unequal to a long +story just at present. + +"Eh, but this is bad news!" says old Scully, evidently terrified and +disheartened by his niece's words. "Where will it all end? Come in, +Misther Rodney: let me look at ye, boy. No, not a word out of ye now +till ye taste something. 'Tis in bits ye are; an' a good coat it was +this mornin'. There's the whiskey, Mona, agra, an' there's the wather. +Oh! the black villain! Let me examine ye, me son. Why, there's blood on +ye! Oh! the murthering thief!" + +So runs on the kindly farmer, smitten to the heart that such things +should be,--and done upon Rodney of all men. He walks round the young +man, muttering his indignation in a low tone, while helping him with +gentle care to remove his coat,--or at least what remains of that once +goodly garment that had for parent Mr. Poole. + +"Where's the docther at all, at all?" says he, forcing Geoffrey into a +chair, and turning to Biddy, who is standing open-mouthed in the +doorway, and who, though grieved, is plainly finding some pleasure in +the situation. Being investigated, she informs them the "docther" is +to-night on the top of Carrigfoddha Mountain, and, literally, "won't be +home until morning." + +"Now, what's to be done?" says old Brian, in despair. "I know, as well +as if ye tould me, it is Norry Flannigan! Just like those wimmen to be +always troublesome! Are ye sure Biddy?" + +"Troth I am, sir. I see him goin' wid me own two eyes not an hour ago, +in the gig an' the white horse, wid the wan eye an' the loose +tail,--that looks for all the world as if it was screwed on to him. An' +'tisn't Norry is callin' for him nayther (though I don't say but she'll +be on the way), but Larry Moloney the sweep. 'Tis a stitch he got this +morning, an' he's gone intirely this time, the people say. An' more's +the pity too, for a dacent sowl he was, an' more nor a mortial sweep." + +This eulogy on the departing Larry she delivers with much unction, and a +good deal of check apron in the corner of one eye. + +"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?" + +"Sure Miss Mona can," says Biddy, turning to her young mistress, and +standing in the doorway in her favorite position,--that is, with her +bare arms akimbo, and her head to one side like a magpie. "She's raal +clever at dhressin' an' doctherin' an' that." + +"Oh, no, I'm not clever," says Mona; "but"--nervously and with downcast +eyes, addressing Geoffrey--"I might perhaps be able to make you a little +more comfortable." + +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! + +She shrinks a little from the task, and would fain have evaded it +altogether; though there is happiness, too, in the thought that here is +an occasion on which she may be of real use to him. Will not the very +act itself bring her nearer to him? Is it not sweet to feel that it is +in her power to ease his pain? And is she not only doing what a tender +wife would gladly do for her husband? + +Still she hesitates, though betraying no vulgar awkwardness or silly +_mauvaise honte_. Indeed, the only sign of emotion she does show is a +soft slow blush, that, mounting quickly, tips even her little ears with +pink. + +"Let her thry," says old Brian, in his soft, Irish brogue, that comes +kindly from his tongue. "She's mighty clever about most things." + +"I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between +an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed +it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless +flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you +unhappy,--may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety. + +"No, it will not shock me," returns Mona, quietly; whereupon he sits +down, and Biddy puts a basin on the table, and Mona, with trembling +fingers, takes a scissors, and cuts away the shirt-sleeve from his +wounded arm. Then she bathes it. + +After a moment she turns deadly pale, and says, in a faint tone, "I know +I am hurting you: I _feel_ it." And in truth I believe the tender heart +does feel it, much more than he does. There is an expression that +amounts to agony in her beautiful eyes. + +"_You_ hurt me!" replies he, in a peculiar tone, that is not so peculiar +but it fully satisfies her. And then he smiles, and, seeing old Brian +has once more returned to the fire and his pipe, and Biddy has gone for +fresh water, he stoops over the reddened basin, and, in spite of all the +unromantic surroundings, kisses her as fondly as if roses and moonbeams +and dripping fountains and perfumed exotics were on every side. And +this, because true romance--that needs no outward fire to keep it +warm--is in his heart. + +And now Mona knows no more nervousness, but with a steady and practised +hand binds up his arm, and when all is finished pushes him gently +(_very_ gently) from her, and "with heart on her lips, and soul within +her eyes," surveys with pride her handiwork. + +"Now I hope you will feel less pain," she says, with modest triumph. + +"I feel no pain," returns he, gallantly. + +"Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his +knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days +when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, +very good." + +At this Mona and Geoffrey break into silent laughter, being overcome by +the insinuation about lying. + +"Come here an' sit down, lad," says old Scully, unknowing of their +secret mirth, "an' tell me all about it, from start to finish,--that +Ryan's a thundering rogue,--while Mona sees about a bed for ye." + +"Oh, no," says Rodney, hastily. "I have given quite too much trouble +already. I assure you I am quite well enough now to ride back again to +Bantry." + +"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,--"to-night! Oh, do you want +to kill me and yourself?" + +"She has reason," says the old man, earnestly and approvingly, rounding +his sentence after the French fashion, as the Irish so often will: "she +has said it," he goes on, "she always does say it; she has brains, has +my colleen. Ye don't stir out of this house to-night, Mr. Rodney; so +make up yer mind to it. With Tim Ryan abroad, an' probably picked up and +carried home by this time, the counthry will be all abroad, an' no safe +thravellin' for man or baste. Here's a cosey sate for ye by the fire: +sit down, lad, an' take life aisy." + +"If I was quite sure I shouldn't be dreadfully in the way," says +Geoffrey, turning to Mona, she being mistress of the ceremonies. + +"Be quite sure," returns she, smiling. + +"And to-morrow ye can go into Banthry an' prosecute that scoundrel +Ryan," says Scully, "an' have yer arm properly seen afther." + +"So I can," says Geoffrey. Then, not for any special reason, but +because, through very love of her, he is always looking at her, he turns +his eyes on Mona. She is standing by the table, with her head bent down. + +"Yes, to-morrow you can have your arm re-dressed," she says, in a low +tone, that savors of sadness; and then he knows she does not want him to +prosecute Ryan. + +"I think I'll let Ryan alone," he says, instantly, turning to her uncle +and addressing him solely, as though to prove himself ignorant of Mona's +secret wish. "I have given him enough to last him for some time." Yet +the girl reads him him through and through, and is deeply grateful to +him for this quick concession to her unspoken desire. + +"Well, well, you're a good lad at heart," says Scully, glad perhaps in +his inmost soul, as his countrymen always are and will be when a +compatriot cheats the law and escapes a just judgment. "Mona, look after +him for awhile, until I go an' see that lazy spalpeen of mine an' get +him to put a good bed undher Mr. Rodney's horse." + +When the old man has gone, Mona goes quietly up to her lover, and, +laying her hand upon his arm,--a hand that seems by some miraculous +means to have grown whiter of late,--says, gratefully,-- + +"I know why you said that about Ryan, and I thank you for it. I should +not like to think it was your word had transported him." + +"Yet, I am letting him go free that he may be the perpetrator of even +greater crimes." + +"You err, nevertheless, on the side of mercy, if you err at all; +and--perhaps there may be no other crimes. He may have had his lesson +this evening,--a lasting one. To-morrow I shall go to his cabin, +and----" + +"Now, once for all, Mona," interrupts he, with determination, "I +strictly forbid you ever to go to Ryan's cottage again." + +It is the first time he has ever used the tone of authority towards her, +and involuntarily she shrinks from him, and glances up at him from under +her long lashes in a half frightened, half-reproachful fashion, as might +an offended child. + +Following her, he takes both her hands, and, holding them closely, draws +her back to her former position beside him. + +"Forgive me: it was an ugly word," he says, "I take it back. I shall +never forbid you to do anything, Mona, if my doing so must bring that +look into your eyes. Yet surely there are moments in every woman's life +when the man who loves her, and whom she loves, may claim from her +obedience, when it is for her own good. However, let that pass. I now +entreat you not to go again to Ryan's cabin." + +Releasing her hands from his firm grasp, the girl lays them lightly +crossed upon his breast, and looks up at him with perfect trust,-- + +"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." + +There is both dignity and tenderness in her tone. She gazes at him +earnestly for a moment, and then suddenly slips one arm round his neck. + +"Geoffrey," she says with a visible effort. + +"Yes, darling." + +"I want you to do something for my sake." + +"I will do anything, my own." + +"It is for my sake; but it will break my heart." + +"Mona! what are you going to say to me?" + +"I want you to leave Ireland--not next month, or next week, but at once. +To-morrow, if possible." + +"My darling, why?" + +"Because you are not safe here: your life is in danger. Once Ryan is +recovered, he will not be content to see you living, knowing his life is +in your hands; every hour you will be in danger. Whatever it may cost +me, you must go." + +"That's awful nonsense, you know," says Rodney, lightly. "When he sees I +haven't taken any steps about arresting him, he will forget all about +it, and bear no further ill will." + +"You don't understand this people as I do. I tell you he will never +forgive his downfall the other night, or the thought that he is in your +power." + +"Well, at all events I shan't go one moment before I said I should," +says Rodney. + +"It is now my turn to demand obedience," says Mona, with a little wan +attempt at a smile. "Will you make every hour of my life unhappy? Can I +live in the thought that each minute may bring me evil news of you,--may +bring me tidings of your death?" Here she gives way to a passionate +burst of grief, and clings closer to him, as though with her soft arms +to shield him from all danger. Her tears touch him. + +"Well, I will go," he says, "on one condition,--that you come with me." + +"Impossible!" drawing back from him. "How could I be ready? and, +besides, I have said I will not marry you until a year goes by. How can +I break my word?" + +"That word should never have been said. It is better broken." + +"Oh, no." + +"Very well. I shall not ask you to break it. But I shall stay on here. +And if," says this artful young man, in a purposely doleful tone, +"anything _should_ happen, it will----" + +"Don't say it! don't!" cries Mona, in an agony, stopping his mouth with +her hand. "Do not! Yes, I give in. I will go with you. I will marry you +any time you like, the sooner the better,"--feverishly; "anything to +save your life!" + +This is hardly complimentary, but Geoffrey passes it over. + +"This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the +wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot. + +"Very well," says Mona, who is pale and thoughtful. + +And then old Brian comes in, and Geoffrey opens out to him this +newly-devized plan; and after a while the old farmer, with tears in his +eyes, and a strange quiver in his voice that cuts through Mona's heart, +gives his consent to it, and murmurs a blessing on this hasty marriage +that is to deprive him of all he best loves on earth. + +And so they are married, and last words are spoken, and adieux said, and +sad tears fall, and for many days her own land knows Mona no more. + +And that night, when she is indeed gone, a storm comes up from the sea, +and dashes the great waves inward upon the rocky coast. And triumphantly +upon their white bosoms the sea-mews ride, screaming loudly their wild +sweet song that mingles harmoniously with the weird music of the winds +and waves. + +And all the land is rich with angry beauty beneath the rays of the cold +moon, that + + "O'er the dark her silver mantle throws;" + +and the sobbing waves break themselves with impotent fury upon the giant +walls of granite that line the coast, and the clouds descend upon the +hills, and the sea-birds shriek aloud, and all nature seems to cry for +Mona. + +But to the hill of Carrickdhuve, to sit alone and gaze in loving silence +on the heaven-born grandeur of earth and sky and sea, comes Mona Scully +no more forever. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +HOW GEOFFREY WRITES A LETTER THAT POSSESSES ALL THE PROPERTIES OF +DYNAMITE--AND HOW CONFUSION REIGNS AT THE TOWERS. + + +In the house of Rodney there is mourning and woe. Horror has fallen upon +it, and something that touches on disgrace. Lady Rodney, leaning back in +her chair with her scented handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, sobs +aloud and refuses to be comforted. + +The urn is hissing angrily, and breathing forth defiance with all his +might. It is evidently possessed with the belief that the teapot has +done it some mortal injury, and is waging on it war to the knife. + +The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is positively +turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking +straight before it, in a very dignified fashion, at a martial row of +cups and saucers that are drawn up in battle-array and are only waiting +for the word of command to march upon the enemy. + +But this word comes not. In vain does the angry urn hiss. The teapot +holds aloft its haughty nose for naught. The cups and saucers range +themselves in military order all for nothing. Lady Rodney is dissolved +in tears. + +"Oh! Nicholas, it can't be true! it really _can't_!" she says, alluding +to the news contained in a letter Sir Nicholas is reading with a puzzled +brow. + +He is a tall young man, about thirty-two, yet looking younger, with a +somewhat sallow complexion, large dreamy brown eyes, and very fine sleek +black hair. He wears neither moustache nor whiskers, principally for the +very good reason that Nature has forgotten to supply them. For which +perhaps he should be grateful, as it would have been a cruel thing to +hide the excessive beauty of his mouth and chin and perfectly-turned +jaw. These are his chief charms, being mild and thoughtful, yet a trifle +firm, and in perfect accordance with the upper part of his face. He is +hardly handsome, but is certainly attractive. + +In manner he is somewhat indolent, silent, perhaps lazy. But there is +about him a subtle charm that endears him to all who know him. Perhaps +it is his innate horror of offending the feelings of any one, be he +great or small, and perhaps it is his inborn knowledge of humanity, and +the power he possesses (with most other sensitive people) of being able +to read the thoughts of those with whom he comes in contact, that +enables him to avoid all such offence. Perhaps it is his honesty, and +straightforwardness, and general, if inactive, kindliness of +disposition. + +He takes little trouble about anything, certainly none to make himself +popular, yet in all the countryside no man is so well beloved as he is. +It is true that a kindly word here, or a smile in the right place, does +more to make a man a social idol than substantial deeds of charity doled +out by an unsympathetic hand. This may be unjust; it is certainly +beyond dispute the fact. + +Just now his forehead is drawn up into a deep frown, as he reads the +fatal letter that has reduced his mother to a Niobe. Another young man, +his brother, Captain Rodney, who is two or three years younger than he, +is looking over his shoulder, while a slight, brown-haired, very +aristocratic looking girl is endeavoring, in a soft, modulated voice, to +convey comfort to Lady Rodney. + +Breakfast is forgotten; the rolls and the toast and the kidneys are +growing cold. Even her own special little square of home-made bread is +losing its crispness and falling into a dejected state, which shows +almost more than anything else could that Lady Rodney is very far gone +indeed. + +Violet is growing as nearly frightened as good breeding will permit at +the protracted sobbing, when Sir Nicholas speaks. + +"It is inconceivable!" he says to nobody in particular. "What on earth +does he mean?" He turns the letter round and round between his fingers +as though it were a bombshell; though, indeed, he need not at this stage +of the proceedings have been at all afraid of it, as it has gone off +long ago and reduced Lady Rodney to atoms. "I shouldn't have thought +Geoffrey was that sort of fellow." + +"But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, +just a little impatiently. + +"Why, Geoffrey's been and gone and got married," says Jack Rodney, +pulling his long fair moustache, and speaking rather awkwardly. It has +been several times hinted to him, since his return from India, that, +Violet Mansergh being reserved for his brother Geoffrey, any of his +attentions in that quarter will be eyed by the family with disfavor. And +now to tell her of her quondam lover's defection is not pleasant. +Nevertheless he watches her calmly as he speaks. + +"Is that all?" says Violet, in a tone of surprise certainly, but as +certainly in one of relief. + +"No, it is _not_ all," breaks in Sir Nicholas. "It appears from this," +touching the bombshell, "that he has married a--a--young woman of very +inferior birth." + +"Oh! that is really shocking," says Violet, with a curl of her very +short upper lip. + +"I do hope she isn't the under-housemaid," said Jack, moodily. "It has +grown so awfully common. Three fellows this year married +under-housemaids, and people are tired of it now; one can't keep up the +excitement always. Anything new might create a diversion in his favor, +but he's done for if he has married another under-housemaid." + +"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a +brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a +common farmer's niece!" + +"Well, you know that's better than a farmer's common niece," says Jack, +consolingly. + +"What does he say about it?" asks Violet, who shows no sign whatever of +meaning to wear the willow for this misguided Benedict, but rather +exhibits all a woman's natural curiosity to know exactly what he has +said about the interesting event that has taken place. + +Sir Nicholas again applies himself to the deciphering of the detested +letter. "'He would have written before, but saw no good in making a fuss +beforehand,'" he reads slowly. + +"Well, there's good deal of sense in that," says Jack. + +"'Quite the loveliest girl in the world,' with a heavy stroke under the +'quite.' That's always so, you know: nothing new or striking about +that." Sir Nicholas all through is speaking in a tone uniformly moody +and disgusted. + +"It is a point in her favor nevertheless," says Jack, who is again +looking over his shoulder at the letter. + +"'She is charming at all points,'" goes on Sir Nicholas deliberately +screwing his glass into his eye, "'with a mind as sweet as her face.' +Oh, it is absurd!" says Sir Nicholas, impatiently. "He is evidently in +the last stage of imbecility. Hopelessly bewitched." + +"And a very good thing, too," puts in Jack, tolerantly: "it won't last, +you know, so he may as well have it strong while he is about it." + +"What do you know about it?" says Sir Nicholas, turning the tables in +the most unexpected fashion upon his brother, and looking decidedly +ruffled, for no reason that one can see, considering it is he himself is +condemning the whole matter so heartily. "As he is married to her, I +sincerely trust his affection for her may be deep and lasting, and not +misplaced. She may be a very charming girl." + +"She may," says Jack. "Well go on. What more does he say?" + +"'He will write again. And he is sure we shall all love her when we see +her.' That is another sentence that goes without telling. They are +always sure of that beforehand. They absolutely arrange our feelings for +us! I hope he will be as certain of it this time six months, for all our +sakes." + +"Poor girl! I feel honestly sorry for her," says Jack, with a mild sigh. +"What an awful ass he has made of himself!" + +"And 'he is happier now than he has ever been in all his life before.' +Pshaw!" exclaims Sir Nicholas, shutting up the letter impatiently. "He +is mad!" + +"Where does he write from?" asks Violet. + +"From the Louvre. They are in Paris." + +"He has been married a whole fortnight and never deigned to tell his own +mother of it until now," says Lady Rodney, hysterically. + +"A whole fortnight! And he is as much in love with her as ever! Oh! she +can't be half bad," says Captain Rodney, hopefully. + +"Misfortunes seem to crowd upon us," says Lady Rodney, bitterly. + +"I suppose she is a Roman Catholic," says Sir Nicholas musingly. + +At this Lady Rodney sits quite upright, and turns appealingly to Violet. +"Oh, Violet, I do hope not," she says. + +"Nearly all the Irish farmers are," returns Miss Mansergh, reluctantly. +"When I stay with Uncle Wilfrid in Westmeath, I see them all going to +mass every Sunday morning. Of course"--kindly--"there are a few +Protestants, but they are very few." + +"This is too dreadful!" moans Lady Rodney, sinking back again in her +chair, utterly overcome by this last crowning blow. She clasps her hands +with a deplorable gesture, and indeed looks the very personification of +disgusted woe. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, I shouldn't take that so much to heart," says Violet, +gently leaning over her. "Quite good people are Catholics now, you know. +It is, indeed, the fashionable religion, and rather a nice one when you +come to think of it." + +"I don't want to think of it," says her friend, desperately. + +"But do," goes on Violet, in her soft, even monotone, that is so exactly +suited to her face. "It is rather pleasant thinking. Confession, you +know, is so soothing; and then there are always the dear saints, with +their delightful tales of roses and lilies, and tears that turn into +drops of healing balm, and their bones that lie in little glass cases in +the churches abroad. It is all so picturesque and pretty, like an +Italian landscape. And it is so comfortable, too, to know that, no +matter how naughty we may be here, we can still get to heaven at last by +doing some great and charitable deed." + +"There is something in that, certainly," says Captain Rodney, with +feeling. "I wonder, now, what great and charitable deed I could do." + +"And then isn't it sweet to think," continues Violet, warming to her +subject, "that when one's friends are dead one can still be of some +service to them, in praying for their souls? It seems to keep them +always with one. They don't seem so lost to us as they would otherwise." + +"Violet, please do not talk like that; I forbid it," says Lady Rodney, +in a horrified tone. "Nothing could make me think well of anything +connected with this--this odious girl; and when you speak like that you +quite upset me. You will be having your name put in that horrid list of +perverts in the 'Whitehall Review' if you don't take care." + +"You really will, you know," says Captain Rodney, warningly; then, as +though ambitious of piling up the agony, he says, _sotto voce_, yet loud +enough to be heard, "I wonder if Geoff will go to mass with her?" + +"It is exactly what I expect to hear next," says Geoff's mother, with +the calmness of despair. + +Then there is silence for a full minute, during which Miss Mansergh +casts a reproachful glance at the irrepressible Jack. + +"Well, I hope he has married a good girl, at all events," says Sir +Nicholas, presently, with a sigh. But at this reasonable hope Lady +Rodney once more gives way to bitter sobs. + +"Oh, to think Geoffrey should marry 'a good girl'!" she says, weeping +sadly. "One would think you were speaking of a servant! Oh! it is _too_ +cruel!" Here she rises and makes for the door, but on the threshold +pauses to confront Sir Nicholas with angry eyes. "To hope the wretched +boy had married 'a good girl'!" she says, indignantly: "I never heard +such an inhuman wish from one brother to another!" + +She withers Sir Nicholas with a parting glance, and then quits the +room, Violet in her train, leaving her eldest son entirely puzzled. + +"What does she mean?" asks he of his brother, who is distinctly amused. +"Does she wish poor old Geoff had married a bad one? I confess myself at +fault." + +And so does Captain Rodney. + +Meantime, Violet is having rather a bad time in the boudoir. Lady Rodney +refuses to see light anywhere, and talks on in a disjointed fashion +about this disgrace that has befallen the family. + +"Of course I shall never receive her; that is out of the question, +Violet: I could not support it." + +"But she will be living only six miles from you, and the county will +surely call, and that will not be nice for you," says Violet. + +"I don't care about the county. It must think what it likes; and when it +knows her it will sympathize with me. Oh! what a name! Scully! Was there +ever so dreadful a name?" + +"It is not a bad name in Ireland. There are very good people of that +name: the Vincent Scullys,--everybody has heard of them," says Violet, +gently. But her friend will not consent to believe anything that may +soften the thought of Mona. The girl has entrapped her son, has basely +captured him and made him her own beyond redemption; and what words can +be bad enough to convey her hatred of the woman who has done this deed? + +"I meant him for you," she says, in an ill-advised moment, addressing +the girl who is bending over her couch assiduously and tenderly applying +eau-de-cologne to her temples. It is just a little too much. Miss +Mansergh fails to see the compliment in this remark. She draws her +breath a little quickly, and as the color comes her temper goes. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, you are really too kind," she says, in a tone soft +and measured as usual, but without the sweetness. In her heart there is +something that amounts as nearly to indignant anger as so thoroughly +well-bred and well regulated a girl can feel. "You are better, I think," +she says, calmly, without any settled foundation for the thought; and +then she lays down the perfume-bottle, takes up her handkerchief, and, +with a last unimportant word or two, walks out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +HOW LADY RODNEY SPEAKS HER MIND--HOW GEOFFREY DOES THE SAME--AND HOW +MONA DECLARES HERSELF STRONG TO CONQUER. + + +It is the 14th of December, and "bitter chill." Upon all the lawns and +walks at the Towers, "Nature, the vicar of the almightie Lord," has laid +its white winding-sheet. In the long avenue the gaunt and barren +branches of the stately elms are bowed down with the weight of the snow, +that fell softly but heavily all last night, creeping upon the sleeping +world with such swift and noiseless wings that it recked not of its +visit till the chill beams of a wintry sun betrayed it. + +Each dark-green leaf in the long shrubberies bears its own sparkling +burden. The birds hide shivering in the lourestine--that in spite of +frost and cold is breaking into blossom,--and all around looks frozen. + + "Full knee-deep lies the winter snow, + And the winter winds are wearily sighing;" + + +yet there is grandeur, too, in the scene around, and a beauty scarcely +to be rivalled by June's sweetest efforts. + +Geoffrey, springing down from the dog-cart that has been sent to the +station to meet him, brushes the frost from his hair, and stamps his +feet upon the stone steps. + +Sir Nicholas, who has come out to meet him, gives him a hearty +hand-shake, and a smile that would have been charming if it had not been +funereal. Altogether, his expression in such as might suit the death-bed +of a beloved friend, His countenance is of an unseemly length, and he +plainly looks on Geoffrey as one who has fallen upon evil days. + +Nothing daunted, however, by this reception, Geoffrey returns his grasp +with interest, and, looking fresh and young and happy, runs past him, up +the stairs, to his mother's room, to beard--as he unfilially expresses +it--the lioness in her den. It is a very cosey den, and, though claws +maybe discovered in it, nobody at the first glance would ever suspect +it of such dangerous toys. Experience, however, teaches most things, and +Geoffrey has donned armor for the coming encounter. + +He had left Mona in the morning at the Grosvenor, and had run down to +have it out with his mother and get her permission to bring Mona to the +Towers to be introduced to her and his brothers. This he preferred to +any formal calling on their parts. + +"You see, our own house is rather out of repair from being untenanted +for so long, and will hardly be ready for us for a month or two," he +said to Mona: "I think I will run down to the Towers and tell my mother +we will go to her for a little while." + +Of course this was on the day after their return to England, before his +own people knew of their arrival. + +"I shall like that very much," Mona had returned, innocently, not +dreaming of the ordeal that awaited her,--because in such cases even the +very best men will be deceitful, and Geoffrey had rather led her to +believe that his mother would be charmed with her, and that she was most +pleased than otherwise at their marriage. + +When she made him this little trustful speech, however, he had felt some +embarrassment, and had turned his attention upon a little muddy boy who +was playing pitch-and-toss, irrespective of consequences, on the other +side of the way. + +And Mona had marked his embarrassment, and had quickly, with all the +vivacity that belongs to her race, drawn her own conclusions therefrom, +which were for the most part correct. + +But to Geoffrey--lest the telling should cause him unhappiness--she had +said nothing of her discovery; only when the morning came that saw him +depart upon his mission (now so well understood by her), she had kissed +him, and told him to "hurry, hurry, _hurry_ back to her," with a little +sob between each word. And when he was gone she had breathed an earnest +prayer, poor child, that all might yet be well, and then told herself +that, no matter what came, she would at least be a faithful, loving wife +to him. + +To her it is always as though he is devoid of name. It is always "he" +and "his" and "him," all through, as though no other man existed upon +earth. + + * * * * * + +"Well, mother?" says Geoffrey, when he has gained her room and received +her kiss, which is not exactly all it ought to be after a five months' +separation. He is her son, and of course she loves him, but--as she +tells herself--there are some things hard to forgive. + +"Of course it was a surprise to you," he says. + +"It was more than a 'surprise.' That is a mild word," says Lady Rodney. +She is looking at him, is telling herself what a goodly son he is, so +tall and strong and bright and handsome. He might have married almost +any one! And now--now----? No, she cannot forgive. "It was, and must +always be, a lasting grief," she goes on, in a low tone. + +This is a bad beginning. Mr. Rodney, before replying, judiciously gains +time, and makes a diversion by poking the fire. + +"I should have written to you about it sooner," he says at last, +apologetically, hoping half his mother's resentment arises from a sense +of his own negligence, "but I felt you would object, and so put it off +from day to day." + +"I heard of it soon enough," returns his mother, gloomily, without +lifting her eyes from the tiny feathered fire-screen she is holding. +"Too soon! That sort of thing seldom tarries. 'For evil news rides post, +while good news baits.'" + +"Wait till you see her," says Geoffrey, after a little pause, with full +faith in his own recipe. + +"I don't want to see her," is the unflinching and most ungracious reply. + +"My dear mother, don't say that," entreats the young man, earnestly, +going over to her and placing his arm round her neck. He is her favorite +son, of which he is quite aware, and so hopes on. "What is it you object +to?" + +"To everything! How could you think of bringing a daughter-in-law +of--of--her description to your mother?" + +"How can you describe her, when you have not seen her?" + +"She is not a lady," says Lady Rodney, as though that should terminate +the argument. + +"It entirely depends on what you consider a lady," says Geoffrey, +calmly, keeping his temper wonderfully, more indeed for Mona's sake than +his own. "You think a few grandfathers and an old name make one: I dare +say it does. It ought, you know; though I could tell you of several +striking exceptions to that rule. But I also believe in a nobility that +belongs alone to nature. And Mona is as surely a gentlewoman in thought +and deed as though all the blood of all the Howards was in her veins." + +"I did not expect you would say anything else," returns she, coldly. "Is +she quite without blood?" + +"Her mother was of good family, I believe." + +"You believe!" with ineffable disgust. "And have you not even taken the +trouble to make sure? How late in life you have developed a trusting +disposition!" + +"One might do worse than put faith in Mona," says, Geoffrey, quickly. +"She is worthy of all trust. And she is quite charming,--quite. And the +very prettiest girl I ever saw. You know you adore beauty, +mother,"--insinuatingly,--"and she is sure to create a _furor_ when +presented." + +"Presented!" repeats Lady Rodney, in a dreadful tone. "And would you +present a low Irish girl to your sovereign? And just now, too, when the +whole horrid nation is in such disrepute." + +"You mustn't call her names, you know; she is my wife," says Rodney, +gently, but with dignity,--"the woman I love and honor most on earth. +When you see her you will understand how the word 'low' could never +apply to her. She looks quite correct, and is perfectly lovely." + +"You are in love," returns his mother, contemptuously. "At present you +can see no fault in her; but later on when you come to compare her with +the other women in your own set, when you see them together, I only hope +you will see no difference between them, and feel no regret." + +She says this, however, as though it is her one desire he may know +regret, and feel a difference that be overwhelming. + +"Thank you," says Geoffrey, a little dryly, accepting her words as they +are said, not as he feels they are meant. + +Then there is another pause, rather longer than the last, Lady Rodney +trifles with the fan in a somewhat excited fashion, and Geoffrey gazes, +man-like, at his boots. At last his mother breaks the silence. + +"Is she--is she noisy?" she asks, in a faltering tone. + +"Well, she can laugh, if you mean that," says Geoffrey somewhat +superciliously. And then, as though overcome with some recollection in +which the poor little criminal who is before the bar bore a humorous +part, he lays his head down upon the mantelpiece and gives way to hearty +laughter himself. + +"I understand," says Lady Rodney, faintly, feeling her burden is +"greater than she can bear." "She is, without telling, a young woman who +laughs uproariously, at everything,--no matter what,--and takes good +care her vulgarity shall be read by all who run." + +Now, I can't explain why but I never knew a young man who was not +annoyed when the girl he loved was spoken of as a "young woman." +Geoffrey takes it as a deliberate insult. + +"There is a limit to everything,--even my patience," he says, not +looking at his mother. "Mona is myself, and even from you, my mother, +whom I love and reverence, I will not take a disparaging word of her." + +There is a look upon his face that recalls to her his dead father, and +Lady Rodney grows silent. The husband of her youth had been dear to her, +in a way, until age had soured him, and this one of all his three +children most closely resembled him, both in form and in feature; hence, +perhaps, her love for him. She lowers her eyes, and a slow blush--for +the blood rises with difficulty in the old--suffuses her face. + +And then Geoffrey, marking all this, is vexed within himself, and, going +over to her, lays his arm once more around her neck, and presses his +cheek to hers. + +"Don't let us quarrel," he says, lovingly. And this time she returns his +caress very fondly, though she cannot lose sight of the fact that he has +committed a social error not to be lightly overlooked. + +"Oh, Geoffrey, how could you do it?" she says, reproachfully, alluding +to his marriage,--"you whom I have so loved. What would your poor father +have thought had he lived to see this unhappy day? You must have been +mad." + +"Well, perhaps I was," says Geoffrey, easily: "we are all mad on one +subject or another, you know; mine may be Mona. She is an excuse for +madness, certainly. At all events, I know I am happy, which quite carries +out your theory, because, as Dryden says,-- + + 'There is a pleasure sure + In being mad, which none but madmen know.' + +I wish you would not take it so absurdly to heart. I haven't married an +heiress, I know; but the whole world does not hinge on money." + +"There was Violet," says Lady Rodney. + +"I wouldn't have suited her at all," says Geoffrey. "I should have bored +her to extinction, even if she had condescended to look at me, which I +am sure she never would." + +He is not sure of anything of the kind, but he says it nevertheless, +feeling he owes so much to Violet, as the conversation has drifted +towards her, and he feels she is placed--though unknown to herself--in a +false position. + +"I wish you had never gone to Ireland!" says Lady Rodney, deeply +depressed. "My heart misgave me when you went, though I never +anticipated such a climax to my fears. What possessed you to fall in +love with her?" + + "'She is pretty to walk with, + And witty to talk with, + And pleasant, too, to think on.'" + +quotes Geoffrey, lightly, "Are not these three reasons sufficient? If +not, I could tell you a score of others. I may bring her down to see +you?" + +"It will be very bitter to me," says Lady Rodney. + +"It will not: I promise you that; only do not be too prejudiced in her +disfavor. I want you to know her,--it is my greatest desire,--or I +should not say another word after your last speech, which is not what I +hoped to hear from you. Leighton, as you know, is out of repair, but if +you will not receive us we can spend the rest of the winter at Rome or +anywhere else that may occur to us." + +"Of course you must come here," says Lady Rodney, who is afraid of the +county and what it will say if it discovers she is at loggerheads with +her son and his bride. But there is no welcome in her tone. And +Geoffrey, greatly discouraged, yet determined to part friends with her +for Mona's sake,--and trusting to the latter's sweetness to make all +things straight in the future,--after a few more desultory remarks takes +his departure, with the understanding on both sides that he and his wife +are to come to the Towers on the Friday following to take up their +quarters there until Leighton Hall is ready to receive them. + +With mingled feelings he quits his home, and all the way up to London in +the afternoon train weighs with himself the momentous question whether +he shall or shall not accept the unwilling invitation to the Towers, +wrung from his mother. + +To travel here and there, from city to city and village to village, with +Mona, would be a far happier arrangement. But underlying all else is a +longing that the wife whom he adores and the mother whom he loves should +be good friends. + +Finally, he throws up the mental argument, and decides on letting things +take their course, telling himself it will be a simple matter to leave +the Towers at any moment, should their visit there prove unsatisfactory. +At the farthest, Leighton must be ready for them in a month or so. + +Getting back to the Grosvenor, he runs lightly up the stairs to the +sitting-room, and, opening the door very gently,--bent in a boyish +fashion on giving her a "rise,"--enters softly, and looks around for his +darling. + +At the farthest end of the room, near a window, lying back in an +arm-chair, lies Mona, sound asleep. + +One hand is beneath her cheek,--that is soft and moist as a child's +might be in innocent slumber,--the other is thrown above her head. She +is exquisite in her _abandon_, but very pale, and her breath comes +unevenly. + +Geoffrey, stooping over to wake her with a kiss, marks all this, and +also that her eyelids are tinged with pink, as though from excessive +weeping. + +Half alarmed, he lays his hand gently on her shoulder, and, as she +struggles quickly into life again, he draws her into his arms. + +"Ah, it is you!" cries she, her face growing glad again. + +"Yes; but you have been crying, darling! What has happened?" + +"Oh, nothing," says Mona, flushing. "I suppose I was lonely. Don't mind +me. Tell me all about yourself and your visit." + +"Not until you tell me what made you cry." + +"Sure you know I'd tell you if there was anything to tell," replies she, +evasively. + +"Then do so," returns he, quite gravely, not to be deceived by her very +open attempts at dissimulation. "What made you unhappy in my absence?" + +"If you must know, it is this," says Mona, laying her hand in his and +speaking very earnestly. "I am afraid I have done you an injury in +marrying you!" + +"Now, that is the first unkind thing you have ever said to me," retorts +he. + +"I would rather die than be unkind to you," says Mona, running her +fingers with a glad sense of appropriation through his hair. "But this +is what I mean; your mother will never forgive your marriage; she will +not love me, and I shall be the cause of creating dissension between her +and you." Again tears fill her eyes. + +"But there you are wrong. There need be no dissensions; my mother and I +are very good friends, and she expects us both to go to the Towers on +Friday next." + +Then he tells her all the truth about his interview with his mother, +only suppressing such words as would be detrimental to the cause he has +in hand, and might give her pain. + +"And when she sees you all will be well," he says, still clinging +bravely to his faith in this panacea for all evils. "Everything rests +with you.' + +"I will do my best," says Mona, earnestly; "but if I fail,--if after all +my efforts your mother still refuses to love me, how will it be then?" + +"As it is now; it need make no difference to us; and indeed I will not +make the trial at all if you shrink from it, or if it makes you in the +faintest degree unhappy." + +"I do not shrink from it," replies she, bravely: "I would brave anything +to be friends with your mother." + +"Very well, then: we will make the attempt," says he, gayly. "'Nothing +venture, nothing have.'" + +"And 'A dumb priest loses his benefice,'" quotes Mona, in her turn, +almost gayly too. + +"Yet remember, darling, whatever comes of it," says Rodney, earnestly, +"that you are more to me than all the world,--my mother included. So do +not let defeat--if we should be defeated--cast you down. Never forget +how I love you." In his heart he dreads for her the trial that awaits +her. + +"I do not," she says, sweetly. "I could not: it is my dearest +remembrance; and somehow it has made me strong to conquer, +Geoffrey,"--flushing, and raising herself to her full height, as though +already arming for action,--"I feel, I _know_, I shall in the end +succeed with your mother." + +She lifts her luminous eyes to his, and regards him fixedly as she +speaks, full of hopeful excitement. Her eyes have always a peculiar +fascination of their own, apart from the rest of her face. Once looking +at her, as though for the first time impressed with this idea, Geoffrey +had said to her, "I never look at your eyes that I don't feel a wild +desire to close them with a kiss." To which she had made answer in her +little, lovable way, and with a bewitching glance from the lovely orbs +in question, "If that is how you mean to do it, you may close them just +as often as ever you like." + +Now he takes advantage of this general permission, and closes them with +a soft caress. + +"She must be harder-hearted than I think her, if she can resist _you_," +he says, fondly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +HOW GEOFFREY AND MONA ENTER THE TOWERS--AND HOW THEY ARE RECEIVED BY THE +INHABITANTS THEREOF. + + +The momentous Friday comes at last, and about noon Mona and Geoffrey +start for the Towers. They are not, perhaps, in the exuberant spirits +that should be theirs, considering they are going to spend their +Christmas in the bosom of their family,--at all events, of Geoffrey's +family which naturally for the future she must acknowledge as hers. They +are indeed not only silent, but desponding, and as they get out of the +train at Greatham and enter the carriage sent by Sir Nicholas to meet +them their hearts sink nearly into their boots, and for several minutes +no words pass between them. + +To Geoffrey perhaps the coming ordeal bears a deeper shade; as Mona +hardly understands all that awaits her. That Lady Rodney is a little +displeased at her son's marriage she can readily believe, but that she +has made up her mind beforehand to dislike her, and intends waging with +her war to the knife, is more than has ever entered into her gentle +mind. + +"Is it a long drive, Geoff?" she asks, presently, in a trembling tone, +slipping her hand into his in the old fashion. "About six miles. I say, +darling, keep up your spirits; if we don't like it, we can leave, you +know. But"--alluding to her subdued voice--"don't be imagining evil." + +"I don't think I am," says Mona; "but the thought of meeting people for +the first time makes me feel nervous. Is your mother tall, Geoffrey?" + +"Very." + +"And severe-looking? You said she was like you." + +"Well, so she is; and yet I suppose our expressions are dissimilar. Look +here," says Geoffrey, suddenly, as though compelled at the last moment +to give her a hint of what is coming. "I want to tell you about her,--my +mother I mean: she is all right, you know, in every way, and very +charming in general, but just at first one might imagine her a little +difficult!" + +"What's that?" asked Mona. "Don't speak of your mother as if she were a +chromatic scale." + +"I mean she seems a trifle cold, unfriendly, and--er--that," says +Geoffrey. "Perhaps it would be a wise thing for you to make up your mind +what you will say to her on first meeting her. She will come up to you, +you know, and give you her hand like this," taking hers, "and----" + +"Yes, I know," said Mona, eagerly interrupting him. "And then she will +put her arms round me, and kiss me just like this," suiting the action +to the word. + +"Like _that_? Not a bit of it," says Geoffrey, who had given her two +kisses for her one: "you mustn't expect it. She isn't in the least like +that. She will meet you probably as though she saw you yesterday, and +say, 'How d'ye do? I'm afraid you have had a very long and cold drive.' +And then you will say----" + +A pause. + +"Yes, I shall say----" anxiously. + +"You--will--say----" Here he breaks down ignominiously, and confesses by +his inability to proceed that he doesn't in the least know what it is +she can say. + +"I know," says Mona, brightening, and putting on an air so different +from her own usual unaffected one as to strike her listener with awe. "I +shall say, 'Oh! thanks, quite too awfully much, don't you know? but +Geoffrey and I didn't find it a bit long, and we were as warm as wool +all the time.'" + +At this appalling speech Geoffrey's calculations fall through, and he +gives himself up to undisguised mirth. + +"If you say all that," he says, "there will be wigs on the green: that's +Irish, isn't it? or something like it, and very well applied too. The +first part of your speech sounded like Toole or Brough, I'm not sure +which." + +"Well, it _was_ in a theatre I heard it," confesses Mona, meekly: "it +was a great lord who said it on the stage, so I thought it would be all +right." + +"Great lords are not necessarily faultlessly correct, either on or off +the stage," says Geoffrey. "But, just for choice, I prefer them off it. +No, that will not do at all. When my mother addresses you, you are to +answer her back again in tones even colder than her own, and say----" + +"But, Geoffrey, why should I be cold to your mother? Sure you wouldn't +have me be uncivil to her, of all people?" + +"Not uncivil, but cool. You will say to her, 'It was rather better than +I anticipated, thank you.' And then, if you can manage to look bored, it +will be quite correct, so far, and you may tell yourself you have scored +one." + +"I may say that horrid speech, but I certainly can't pretend I was bored +during our drive, because I am not," says Mona. + +"I know that. If I was not utterly sure of it I should instantly commit +suicide by precipitating myself under the carriage-wheels," says +Geoffrey. "Still--'let us dissemble.' Now say what I told you." + +So Mrs. Rodney says, "It was rather better than I anticipated, thank +you," in a tone so icy that his is warm beside it. + +"But suppose she doesn't say a word about the drive?" says Mona, +thoughtfully. "How will it be then?" + +"She is safe to say something about it, and that will do for anything," +says Rodney, out of the foolishness of his heart. + +And now the horses draw up before a brilliantly-lighted hall, the doors +of which are thrown wide as though in hospitable expectation of their +coming. + +Geoffrey, leading his wife into the hall, pauses beneath a central +swinging lamp, to examine her critically. The footman who is in +attendance on them has gone on before to announce their coming: they are +therefore for the moment alone. + +Mona is looking lovely, a little pale perhaps from some natural +agitation, but her pallor only adds to the lustre of her great blue eyes +and lends an additional sweetness to the ripeness of her lips. Her hair +is a little loose, but eminently becoming, and altogether she looks as +like an exquisite painting as one can conceive. + +"Take off your hat," says Geoffrey, in a tone that gladdens her heart, +so full it is of love and admiration; and, having removed her hat, she +follows him though halls and one or two anterooms until they reach the +library, into which the man ushers them. + +It is a very pretty room, filled with a subdued light, and with a +blazing fire at one end. All bespeaks warmth, and home, and comfort, but +to Mona in her present state it is desolation itself. The three +occupants of the room rise as she enters, and Mona's heart dies within +her as a very tall statuesque woman, drawing herself up languidly from a +lounging-chair, comes leisurely up to her. There is no welcoming haste +in her movements, no gracious smile, for which her guest is thirsting, +upon her thin lips. + +She is dressed in black velvet, and has a cap of richest old lace upon +her head. To the quick sensibilities of the Irish girl it becomes known +without a word that she is not to look for love from this stately woman, +with her keen scrutinizing glance and cold unsmiling lips. + +A choking sensation, rising from her heart, almost stops Mona's breath; +her mouth feels parched and dry; her eyes widen. A sudden fear oppresses +her. How is it going to be in all the future? Is Geoffrey's--her own +husband's--mother to be her enemy? + +Lady Rodney holds out her hand, and Mona lays hers within it. + +"So glad you have come," says Lady Rodney, in a tone that belies her +words, and in a sweet silvery voice that chills the heart of her +listener. "We hardly thought we should see you so soon, the trains here +are so unpunctual. I hope the carriage was in time?" + +She waits apparently for an answer, at which Mona grows desperate. For +in reality she has heard not one word of the labored speech made to her, +and is too frightened to think of anything to say except the unfortunate +lesson learned in the carriage and repeated secretly so often since. She +looks round helplessly for Geoffrey; but he is laughing with his +brother, Captain Rodney, whom he has not seen since his return from +India, and so Mona, cast upon her own resources, says,-- + +"It was rather better than I anticipated, thank you," not in the +haughty tone adopted by her half an hour ago, but, in an unnerved and +frightened whisper. + +At this remarkable answer to a very ordinary and polite question, Lady +Rodney stares at Mona for a moment, and then turns abruptly away to +greet Geoffrey. Whereupon Captain Rodney, coming forward, tells Mona he +is glad to see her, kindly but carelessly; and then a young man, who has +been standing up to this silently upon the hearthrug, advances, and +takes Mona's hand in a warm clasp, and looks down upon her with very +friendly eyes. + +At his touch, at his glance, the first sense of comfort Mona has felt +since her entry into the room falls upon her. This man, at least, is +surely of the same kith and kin as Geoffrey, and to him her heart opens +gladly, gratefully. + +He has heard the remarkable speech made to his mother, and has drawn his +own conclusions therefrom. "Geoffrey has been coaching the poor little +soul, and putting absurd words into her mouth, with--as is usual in all +such cases--a very brilliant result." So he tells himself, and is, as we +know, close to the truth. + +He tells Mona she is very welcome, and, still holding her hand, draws +her over to the fire, and moves a big arm-chair in front of it, in which +he ensconces her, bidding her warm herself, and make herself (as he says +with a kindly smile that has still kinder meaning in it) "quite at +home." + +Then he stoops and unfastens her sealskin jacket, and takes it off her, +and in fact pays her all the little attentions that lie in his power. + +"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. + +"Yes," returns he with a smile. "I am Nicholas." He ignores the formal +title. "Geoffrey, I expect, spoke to you of me as 'old Nick;' he has +never called me anything else since we were boys." + +"He has often called you that; but,"--shyly,--"now that I have seen you, +I don't think the name suits you a bit." + +Sir Nicholas is quite pleased. There is a sort of unconscious flattery +in the gravity of her tone and expression that amuses almost as much as +it pleases him. What a funny child she is! and how unspeakably lovely! +Will Doatie like her? + +But there is yet another introduction to be gone through. From the +doorway Violet Mansergh comes up to Geoffrey clad in some soft pale +shimmering stuff, and holds out to him her hand. + +"What a time you have been away!" she says, with a pretty, slow smile, +that has not a particle of embarrassment or consciousness in it, though +she is quite aware that Jack Rodney is watching her closely. Perhaps, +indeed, she is secretly amused at his severe scrutiny. + +"You will introduce me to your wife?" she asks, after a few minutes, in +her even, _trainante_ voice, and is then taken up to the big arm-chair +before the fire, and is made known to Mona. + +"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes: of course we shall excuse your +dressing to-night," says Lady Rodney, addressing her son far more than +Mona, though the words presumably are meant for her. Whereupon Mona, +rising from her chair with a sigh of relief, follows Geoffrey out of the +room and upstairs. + +"Well?" says Sir Nicholas, as a deadly silence continues for some time +after their departure, "what do you think of her?" + +"She is painfully deficient; positively without brains," says Lady +Rodney, with conviction. "What was the answer she made me when I asked +about the carriage? Something utterly outside the mark." + +"She is not brainless; she was only frightened. It certainly was an +ordeal coming to a house for the first time to be, in effect, stared at. +And she is very young." + +"And perhaps unused to society," puts in Violet, mildly. As she speaks +she picks up a tiny feather that has clung to her gown, and lightly +blows it away from her into the air. + +"She looked awfully cut up, poor little thing," says Jack, kindly. "You +were the only one she opened her mind to, Nick What did she say? Did she +betray the ravings of a lunatic or the inanities of a fool?" + +"Neither." + +"Then, no doubt, she heaped upon you priceless gems of Irish wit in her +mother-tongue?" + +"She said very little; but she looks good and true. After all, Geoffrey +might have done worse." + +"Worse!" repeats his mother, in a withering tone. In this mood she is +not nice, and a very little of her suffices. + +"She is decidedly good to look at, at all events," says Nicholas, +shifting ground. "Don't you think so, Violet?" + +"I think she is the loveliest woman I ever saw," returns Miss Mansergh, +quietly, without enthusiasm, but with decision. If cold, she is just, +and above the pettiness of disliking a woman because she may be counted +more worthy of admiration than herself. + +"I am glad you are all pleased," says Lady Rodney, in a peculiar tone; +and then the gong sounds, and they all rise, as Geoffrey and Mona once +more make their appearance. Sir Nicholas gives his arm to Mona, and so +begins her first evening at the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +HOW MONA RISES BETIMES--AND HOW SHE ENCOUNTERS A STRANGER AMIDST THE +MORNING DEWS. + + +All through the night Mona scarcely shuts her eyes, so full is her mind +of troubled and perplexing thoughts. At last her brain grows so tired +that she cannot pursue any subject to its end, so she lies silently +awake, watching for the coming of the tardy dawn. + +At last, as she grows weary for wishing for it,-- + + "Morning fair + Comes forth with pilgrim steps in amice gray" + +and light breaks through shutter and curtain, and objects pale and +ghostly at first soon grow large and intimate. + + "Brown night retires; young day pours in apace, + And opens all a lawny prospect wide." + + +Naturally an early riser, Mona slips noiselessly from her bed, lest she +shall wake Geoffrey,--who is still sleeping the sleep of the just,--and, +going into his dressing-room, jumps into his bath, leaving hers for him. + +The general bath-room is to Geoffrey an abomination; nothing would +induce him to enter it. His own bath, and nothing but his own bath, can +content him. To have to make uncomfortable haste to be first, or else to +await shivering the good pleasure of your next-door neighbor, is +according to Mr. Rodney, a hardship too great for human endurance. + +Having accomplished her toilet without the assistance of a maid (who +would bore her to death), and without disturbing her lord and master, +she leaves her room, and, softly descending the stairs, bids the maid in +the hall below a "fair good-morning," and bears no malice in that the +said maid is so appalled by her unexpected appearance that she forgets +to give her back her greeting. She bestows her usual bonnie smile upon +this stricken girl, and then, passing by her, opens the hall door, and +sallies forth into the gray and early morning. + + "The first low fluttering breath of waking day + Stirs the wide air. Thin clouds of pearly haze + Float slowly o'er the sky, to meet the rays + Of the unrisen sun." + +But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and +for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up +the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a +path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it +until she loses herself in the lonely wood. + +The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no +vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see +some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and +are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen +monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful. + +Still, Mona is happy: the walk has done her good, and warmed her blood, +and brought a color soft and rich as carmine, to her cheeks. She has +followed the winding path for about an hour, briskly, and with a sense +of _bien-etre_ that only the young and godly can know, when suddenly she +becomes aware that some one was following her. + +She turns slowly, and finds her fellow-pedestrian is a young man clad in +a suit of very impossible tweed: she blushes hotly, not because he is a +young man, but because she has no hat on her head, having covered her +somewhat riotous hair with a crimson silk handkerchief she had found in +Geoffrey's room, just before starting. It covers her head completely, +and is tied under the chin Connemara fashion, letting only a few little +love-locks be seen, that roam across her forehead, in spite of all +injunctions to the contrary. + +Perhaps, could she only know how charmingly becoming this style of +headdress is to her flower-like face, she would not have blushed at all. + +The stranger is advancing slowly: he is swarthy, and certainly not +prepossessing. His hair is of that shade and texture that suggests +unpleasantly the negro. His lips are a trifle thick, his eyes like +sloes. There is, too, an expression of low cunning in these latter +features that breeds disgust in the beholder. + +He does not see Mona until he is within a yard of her, a thick bush +standing between him and her. Being always a creature of impulse, she +has stood still on seeing him, and is lost in wonder as to who he can +be. One hand is lifting up her gown, the other is holding together the +large soft white fleecy shawl that covers her shoulders, and is +therefore necessarily laid upon her breast. Her attitude is as +picturesque as it is adorable. + +The stranger, having come quite near, raises his head, and, seeing her, +starts naturally, and also comes to a standstill. For a full half-minute +he stares unpardonably, and then lifts his hat. Mona--who, as we have +seen, is not great in emergencies--fails to notice the rudeness, in her +own embarrassment, and therefore bows politely in return to his +salutation. + +She is still wondering vaguely who he can be, when he breaks the +silence. + +"It is an early hour to be astir," he says, awkwardly; then, finding she +makes no response, he goes on, still more awkwardly. "Can you tell me if +this path will lead me to the road for Plumston?" + +Plumston is a village near. The first remark may sound Too free and +easy, but his manner is decorous in the extreme. In spite of the fact +that her pretty head is covered with a silk handkerchief in lieu of a +hat, he acknowledges her "within the line," and knows instinctively that +her clothes, though simplicity itself, are perfect both in tint and in +texture. + +He groans within him that he cannot think of any speech bordering on the +Grandisonian, that may be politely addressed to this sylvan nymph; but +all such speeches fail him. Who can she be? Were ever eyes so liquid +before, or lips so full of feeling? + +"I am sorry I can tell you nothing," says Mona, shaking her head. "I was +never in this wood before; I know nothing of it." + +"_I_ should know all about it," says the stranger, with a curious +contraction of the muscles of his face, which it may be he means for a +smile. "In time I shall no doubt, but at present it is a sealed book to +me. But the future will break all seals as far at least as Rodney Towers +is concerned." + +Then she knows she is speaking to "the Australian," (as she has heard +him called), and, lifting her head, examines his face with renewed +interest. Not a pleasant face by any means, yet not altogether bad, as +she tells herself in the generosity of her heart. + +"I am a stranger; I know nothing," she says again, hardly knowing what +to say, and moving a little as though she would depart. + +"I suppose I am speaking to Mrs. Rodney," he says, guessing wildly, yet +correctly as it turns out, having heard, as all the country has besides, +that the bride is expected at the Towers during the week. He has never +all this time removed his black eyes from the perfect face before him +with its crimson headgear. He is as one fascinated, who cannot yet +explain where the fascination lies. + +"Yes, I am Mrs. Rodney," says Mona, feeling some pride in her wedded +name, in spite of the fact that two whole months have gone by since +first she heard it. At this question, though, as coming from a stranger, +she recoils a little within herself, and gathers up her gown more +closely with a gesture impossible to misunderstand. + +"You haven't asked me who I am," says the stranger, as though eager to +detain her at any cost, still without a smile, and always with his eyes +fixed upon her face. It seems as though he positively cannot remove +them, so riveted are they. + +"No;" she might in all truth have added, "because I did not care to +know," but what she does say (for incivility even to an enemy would be +impossible to Mona) is, "I thought perhaps you might not like it." + +Even this is a small, if unconscious, cut, considering what +objectionable curiosity he evinced about her name. But the Australian is +above small cuts, for the good reason that he seldom sees them. + +"I am Paul Rodney," he now volunteers,--"your husband's cousin, you +know. I suppose," with a darkening of his whole face, "now I have told +you who I am, it will not sweeten your liking for me." + +"I have heard of you," says Mona, quietly. Then, pointing towards that +part of the wood whither he would go, she says, coldly, "I regret I +cannot tell you where this path leads to. Good-morning." + +With this she inclines her head, and without another word goes back by +the way she has come. + +Paul Rodney, standing where she has left him, watches her retreating +figure until it is quite out of sight, and the last gleam of the crimson +silk handkerchief is lost in the distance, with a curious expression +upon his face. It is an odd mixture of envy, hatred, and admiration. If +there is a man on earth he hates with cordial hatred, it is Geoffrey +Rodney who at no time has taken the trouble to be even outwardly civil +to him. And to think this peerless creature is his wife! For thus he +designates Mona,--the Australian being a man who would be almost sure to +call the woman he admired a "peerless creature." + +When she is quite gone, he pulls himself together with a jerk, and draws +a heavy sigh, and thrusting his hands deep into his pockets, continues +his walk. + +At breakfast Mona betrays the fact that she has met Paul Rodney during +her morning ramble, and tells all that passed between him and her,--on +being closely questioned,--which news has the effect of bringing a cloud +to the brow of Sir Nicholas and a frown to that of his mother. + +"Such presumption, walking in our wood without permission," she says, +haughtily. + +"My dear mother, you forget the path leading from the southern gate to +Plumston Road has been open to the public for generations. He was at +perfect liberty to walk there." + +"Nevertheless, it is in very bad taste his taking advantage of that +absurd permission, considering how he is circumstanced with regard to +us," says Lady Rodney. "You wouldn't do it yourself, Nicholas, though +you find excuses for him." + +A very faint smile crosses Sir Nicholas's lips. + +"Oh, no, I shouldn't," he says, gently; and then the subject drops. + +And here perhaps it will be as well to explain the trouble that at this +time weighs heavily upon the Rodney family. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +HOW OLD SIR GEORGE HATED HIS FIRSTBORN--AND HOW HE MADE HIS WILL--AND +HOW THE EARTH SWALLOWED IT. + + +Now, old Sir George Rodney, grandfather of the present baronet, had two +sons, Geoffrey and George. Now, Geoffrey he loved, but George he hated. +And so great by years did this hatred grow that after a bit he sought +how he should leave the property away from his eldest-born, who was +George, and leave it to Geoffrey, the younger,--which was hardly fair; +for "what," says Aristotle, "is justice?--to give every man his own." +And surely George, being the elder, had first claim. The entail having +been broken during the last generation, he found this easy to +accomplish; and so after many days he made a will, by which the younger +son inherited all, to the exclusion of the elder. + +But before this, when things had gone too far between father and son, +and harsh words never to be forgotten on either side had been uttered, +George, unable to bear longer the ignominy of his position (being of a +wild and passionate yet withal generous disposition), left his home, to +seek another and happier one in foreign lands. + +Some said he had gone to India, others to Van Diemen's Land, but in +truth none knew, or cared to know, save Elspeth, the old nurse, who had +tended him and his father before him, and who in her heart nourished for +him an undying affection. + +There were those who said she clung to him because of his wonderful +likeness to the picture of his grandfather in the south gallery, Sir +Launcelot by name, who in choicest ruffles and most elaborate _queue_, +smiled gayly down upon the passers-by. + +For this master of the Towers (so the story ran) Elspeth, in her younger +days, had borne a love too deep for words, when she herself was soft and +rosy-cheeked, with a heart as tender and romantic as her eyes were blue, +and when her lips, were for all the world like "cherries ripe." + +But this, it may be, was all village slander, and was never borne out by +anything. And Elspeth had married the gardener's son, and Sir Launcelot +had married an earl's daughter; and when the first baby was born at the +"big house," Elspeth came to the Towers and nursed him as she would have +nursed her own little bairn, but that Death, "dear, beauteous Death, the +jewel of the just, shining nowhere but in the dark," sought and claimed +her own little one two days after its birth. + +After that she had never again left the family, serving it faithfully +while strength stayed with her, knowing all its secrets and all its old +legends, and many things, it may be, that the child she nursed at her +bosom never knew. + +For him--strange as it may seem--she had ever but little love. But when +he married, and George, the eldest boy, was given into her arms, and as +he grew and developed and showed himself day by day to be the very +prototype of his grandsire, she "took to him," as the servants said, and +clung to him--and afterwards to his memory--until her dying day. + +When the dark, wayward, handsome young man went away, her heart went +with him, and she alone perhaps knew anything of him after his +departure. To his father his absence was a relief; he did not disguise +it; and to his brother (who had married, and had then three children, +and had of late years grown estranged from him) the loss was not great. +Nor did the young madam,--as she was called,--the mother of our present +friends, lose any opportunity of fostering and keeping alive the ill +will and rancor that existed for him in his father's heart. + +So the grudge, being well watered, grew and flourished, and at last, as +I said, the old man made a will one night, in the presence of the +gardener and his nephew, who witnessed it, leaving all he +possessed--save the title and some outside property, which he did not +possess--to his younger son. And, having made this will, he went to his +bed, and in the cold night, all alone, he died there, and was found in +the morning stiff and stark, with the gay spring sunshine pouring in +upon him, while the birds sang without as though to mock death's power, +and the flowers broke slowly into life. + +But when they came to look for the will, lo! it was nowhere to be found. +Each drawer and desk and cabinet was searched to no avail. Never did the +lost document come to light. + +Day after day they sought in vain; but there came a morning when news of +the lost George's demise came to them from Australia, and then the +search grew languid and the will was forgotten. And they hardly took +pains even to corroborate the tidings sent them from that far-off land +but, accepting the rightful heir's death as a happy fact, ascended the +throne, and reigned peacefully for many years. + +And when Sir George died, Sir Nicholas, as we know, governed in his +stead, and "all went merry as a marriage-bell," until a small cloud came +out of the south, and grew and grew and waxed each day stronger, until +it covered all the land. + +For again news came from Australia that the former tidings of George +Rodney's death had been false; that he had only died a twelvemonth +since; that he had married almost on first going out, and that his son +was coming home to dispute Sir Nicholas's right to house and home and +title. + +And now where was the missing will? Almost all the old servants were +dead or scattered. The gardener and his nephew wore no more; even old +Elspeth was lying at rest in the cold churchyard, having ceased long +since to be even food for worms. Only her second nephew--who had lived +with her for years in the little cottage provided for her by the +Rodneys, when she was too old and infirm to do aught but sit and dream +of days gone by--was alive, and he, too, had gone to Australia on her +death and had not been heard of since. + +It was all terrible,--this young man coming and the thought that, no +matter how they might try to disbelieve in his story, still it might be +true. + +And then the young man came, and they saw that he was very dark, and +very morose, and very objectionable. But he seemed to have more money +than he quite know what to do with; and when he decided on taking a +shooting-box that then was vacant quite close to the Towers, their +indignation knew no bounds. And certainly it was execrable taste, +considering he came there with the avowed determination to supplant, as +lord and master, the present owner of the Towers, the turrets of which +he could see from his dining room windows. + +But, as he had money, some of the county, after the first spasm, rather +acknowledged him, as at least a cousin, if not _the_ cousin. And because +he was somewhat unusual, and therefore amusing, and decidedly liberal, +and because there was no disgrace attaching to him, and no actual reason +why he should not be received, many houses opened their doors to him. +All which was bitter as wormwood to Lady Rodney. + +Indeed, Sir Nicholas himself had been the very first to set the example. +In his curious, silent, methodical fashion, he had declared to his +mother (who literally detested the very mention of the Australian's +name, as she called him, looking upon him as a clean-born Indian might +look upon a Pariah) his intention of being civil to him all round, as he +was his father's brother's child; and as he had committed no sin, beyond +trying to gain his own rights, he would have him recognized, and treated +by every one, if not with cordiality, at least with common politeness. + +But yet there were those who did not acknowledge the new-comer, in spite +of his wealth and the romantic story attaching to him, and the +possibility that he might yet be proved to be the rightful baronet and +the possessor of all the goodly lands that spread for miles around. Of +these the Duchess of Lauderdale was one; but then she was always slow to +acknowledge new blood, or people unhappy enough to have a history. And +Lady Lilias Eaton was another; but she was a young and earnest disciple +of aestheticism, and gave little thought to anything save Gothic windows, +lilies, and unleavened bread. There were also many of the older families +who looked askance upon Paul Rodney, or looked through him, when brought +into contact with him, in defiance of Sir Nicholas's support, which +perhaps was given to this undesirable cousin more in pride than +generosity. + +And so matters stood when Mona came to the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +HOW FATE DEALS HARSHLY WITH MONA, AND HOW SHE DROOPS--AS MIGHT A +FLOWER--BENEATH ITS UNKINDLY TOUCH. + + +To gain Lady Rodney's friendship is a more difficult thing than Mona in +her ignorance had imagined, and she is determined to be ice itself to +her poor little guest. As for her love, when first Mona's eyes lit upon +her she abandoned all hope of ever gaining that. + +With Captain Rodney and Sir Nicholas she makes way at once, though she +is a little nervous and depressed, and not altogether like her usual gay +_insouciant_ self. She is thrown back upon herself, and, like a timid +snail, recoils sadly into her shell. + +Yet Nature, sooner or later, must assert itself; and after a day or two +a ringing laugh breaks from her, or a merry jest, that does Geoffrey's +heart good, and brings an answering laugh and jest to the lips of her +new brothers. + +Of Violet Mansergh--who is still at the Towers, her father being abroad +and Lady Rodney very desirous of having her with her--she knows little. +Violet is cold, but quite civil, as Englishwomen will be until they know +you. She is, besides, somewhat prejudiced against Mona, because--being +honest herself--she has believed all the false tales told her of the +Irish girl. These silly tales, in spite of her belief in her own +independence of thought, weigh upon her; and so she draws back from +Mona, and speaks little to her, and then of only ordinary topics, while +the poor child is pining for some woman to whom she can open her mind +and whom she may count as an honest friend "For talking with a friend," +says Addison, "is nothing else but thinking aloud." + +Of Lady Rodney's studied dislike Mona's sensitive nature could not long +remain in ignorance; yet, having a clear conscience, and not knowing in +what she has offended,--save in cleaving to the man she loves, even to +the extent of marrying him,--she keeps a calm countenance, and bravely +waits what time may bring. + +To quarrel with Geoffrey's people will be to cause Geoffrey silent but +acute regret, and so for his sake, to save him pain, she quietly bears +many things, and waits for better days. What is a month or two of +misery, she tells herself, but a sigh amidst the pleasures of one's +life? Yet I think it is the indomitable pluck and endurance of her race +that carries her successfully through all her troubles. + +Still, she grows a little pale and dispirited after a while, for + + "Dare, when it once is entered in the breast, + Will have the whole possession ere it rest." + +One day, speaking of Sir Nicholas to Lady Rodney, she had--as was most +natural--called him "Nicholas." But she had been cast back upon herself +and humiliated to the earth by his mother's look of cold disapproval and +the emphasis she had laid upon the "Sir" Nicholas when next speaking of +him. + +This had widened the breach more than all the rest, though Nicholas +himself, being quite fascinated by her, tries earnestly to make her +happy and at home with him. + +About a week after her arrival--she having expressed her admiration of +ferns the night before--he draws her hand through his arm and takes her +to his own special sanctum,--off which a fernery has been thrown, he +being an enthusiastic grower of that lovely weed. + +Mona is enchanted with the many varieties she sees that are unknown to +her, and, being very much not of the world, is not ashamed to express +her delight. Looking carefully through all, she yet notices that a tiny +one, dear to her, because common to her sweet Killarney, is not among +his collection. + +She tells him of it, and he is deeply interested; and when she proposes +to write and get him one from her native soil, he is glad as a schoolboy +promised a new bat, and her conquest of Sir Nicholas is complete. + +And indeed the thought of this distant fern is as dear to Mona as to +him. For to her comes a rush of tender joy, as she tells herself she may +soon be growing in this alien earth a green plant torn from her +fatherland. + +"But I hope you will not be disappointed when you see it," she says, +gently. "You have the real Killarney fern, Sir Nicholas, I can see; the +other, I speak of, though to me almost as lovely, is not a bit like it." + +She is very careful to give him his title ever since that encounter with +his mother. + +"I shall not be disappointed. I have read all about it," returns he, +enthusiastically. Then, as though the thought has just struck him, he +says,-- + +"Why don't you call me Nicholas, as Geoffrey does?" + +Mona hesitates, then says, shyly, with downcast eyes,-- + +"Perhaps Lady Rodney would not like it." + +Her face betrays more than she knows. + +"It doesn't matter in the least what any one thinks on this subject," +says Nicholas, with a slight frown, "I shall esteem it a very great +honor if you will call me by my Christian name. And besides, Mona, I +want you to try to care for me,--to love me, as I am your brother." + +The ready tears spring into Mona's eyes. She is more deeply, +passionately grateful to him for this small speech than he will ever +know. + +"Now, that is very kind of you," she says, lifting her eyes, humid with +tears, to his. "And I think it will take only a very little time to make +me love you!" + +After this, she and Sir Nicholas are even better friends than they have +been before,--a silent bond of sympathy seeming to exist between them. +With Captain Rodney, though he is always kind to her, she makes less +way, he being devoted to the society of Violet, and being besides of +such a careless disposition as prevents his noticing the wants of those +around,--which is perhaps another name for selfishness. + +Yet selfish is hardly the word to apply to Jack Rodney, because at heart +he is kindly and affectionate, and, if a little heedless and +indifferent, is still good _au fond_. He is light hearted and agreeable, +and singularly hopeful:-- + + "A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays + And confident to morrow." + +During the past month he has grown singularly domestic, and fond of home +and its associations. Perhaps Violet has something to do with this, with +her little calm thoroughbred face, and gentle manners, and voice low and +_trainante_. Yet it would be hard to be sure of this, Captain Rodney +being one of those who have "sighed to many," without even the saving +clause of having "loved but one." Yet with regard to Mona there is no +mistake about Jack Rodney's sentiments. He likes her well (could she +but know it) in all sincerity. + +Of course everybody that is anybody has called on the new Mrs. Rodney. +The Duchess of Lauderdale who is an old friend of Lady Rodney's, and who +is spending the winter at her country house to please her son the young +duke, who is entertaining a houseful of friends, is almost the first to +come. And Lady Lillias Eaton, the serious and earnest-minded young +aesthetic,--than whom nothing can be more coldly and artistically correct +according to her own school,--is perhaps the second: but to both, +unfortunately, Mona is "not at home." + +And very honestly, too, because at the time of their visits, when Lady +Rodney was entertaining them in the big drawing-room and uttering +platitudes and pretty lies by the score, she was deep in the recesses of +the bare brown wood, roaming hither and thither in search of such few +flowers as braved the wintry blasts. + +For all this Lady Rodney is devoutly thankful. She is glad of the girl's +absence. She has no desire to exhibit her, prejudice making Mona's few +defects to look monstrous in her eyes. Yet these same defects might +perhaps be counted on the fingers of one hand. + +There is, for example, her unavoidable touch of brogue, her little +gesture of intense excitement, and irrepressible exclamation when +anything is said that affects or interests her, and her laugh, which, if +too loud for ordinary drawing-room use, is yet so sweet and catching +that involuntarily it brings an answering laugh to the lips of those who +hear it. + +All these faults, and others of even less weight, are an abomination in +the eyes of Lady Rodney, who has fallen into a prim mould, out of which +it would now be difficult to extricate her. + +"There is a set of people whom I cannot bear," says Chalmers, "the pinks +of fashionable propriety, whose every word is precise, and whose every +movement is unexceptionable, but who, though versed in all the +categories of polite behavior, have not a particle of soul or cordiality +about them." + +Such folk Chalmers hated; and I agree with Chalmers. And of this class +is Lady Rodney, without charity or leniency for the shortcomings of +those around her. Like many religious people,--who are no doubt good in +their own way,--she fails to see any grace in those who differ from her +in thought and opinion. + +And by degrees, beneath her influence, Mona grows pale and _distrait_ +and in many respects unlike her old joyous self. Each cold, reproving +glance and sneering word,--however carefully concealed--falls like a +touch of ice upon her heart, chilling and withering her glad youth. Up +to this she has led a bird's life, gay, _insouciant_, free and careless. +Now her song seems checked, her sweetest notes are dying fast away +through lack of sympathy. She is "cribbed, cabined, and confined," +through no fault of her own, and grows listless and dispirited in her +captivity. + +And Geoffrey, who is blind to nothing that concerns her notices all +this, and secretly determines on taking her away from all this foolish +persecution, to London or elsewhere, until such time as their own home +shall be ready to receive them. + +But at this break in my history, almost as he forms this resolution, an +event occurs that brings friends to Mona, and changes _in toto_ the +aspect of affairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +HOW MONA DANCES A COUNTRY DANCE BEFORE A HYPERCRITICAL AUDIENCE--AND HOW +MORE EYES THAN SHE WOTS OF MARK HER PERFORMANCE. + + +"I hope you have had a nice walk?" says Violet, politely, drawing her +skirts aside to make room for Mona, who had just come in. + +It is quite half-past six; and though there is no light in the room, +save the glorious flames given forth by the pine logs that lie on the +top of the coals, still one can see that the occupants of the apartment +are dressed for dinner. + +Miss Darling--Sir Nicholas's _fiancee_--and her brother are expected to +night; and so the household generally has dressed itself earlier than +usual to be in full readiness to receive them. + +Lady Rodney and Violet are sitting over the fire, and now Mona joins +them, gowned in the blue satin dress in which she had come to meet +Geoffrey, not so many months ago, in the old wood behind the farm. + +"Very nice," she says, in answer to Violet's question, sinking into the +chair that Miss Mansergh, by a small gesture, half languid, half kindly, +has pushed towards her, and which is close to Violet's own. "I went up +the avenue, and then out on the road for about half a mile." + +"It is a very late hour for any one to be on the public road," says +Lady Rodney, unpleasantly, quite forgetting that people, as a rule, do +not go abroad in pale-blue satin gowns, and that therefore some time +must have elapsed between Mona's return from her walk and the donning of +her present attire. And so she overreaches herself, as clever people +will do, at times. + +"It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite +daylight, or at least"--truthfully--"only the beginning of dusk." + +"I think the days are lengthening," says Violet, quietly, defending Mona +unconsciously, and almost without knowing why. Yet in her heart--against +her will as it were--she is making room for this Irish girl, who, with +her great appealing eyes and tender ways, is not to be resisted. + +"I had a small adventure," says Mona, presently, with suppressed gayety. +All her gayety of late has been suppressed. "Just as I came back to the +gate here, some one came riding by, and I turned to see who it was, at +which his horse--as though frightened by my sudden movement--shied +viciously, and then reared so near me as almost to strike me with his +fore-paws. I was frightened rather, because it was all so sudden, and +sprang to one side. Then the gentleman got down, and, coming to me, +begged my pardon. I said it didn't matter, because I was really +uninjured, and it was all my fault. But he seemed very sorry, and (it +was dusk as I told you, and I believe he is short sighted) stared at me +a great deal." + +"Well?" says Violet, who is smiling, and seems to see a joke where Mona +fails to see anything amusing. + +"When he was tired of staring, he said, 'I suppose I am speaking to----' +and then he stopped. 'Mrs. Rodney,' replied I; and then he raised his +hat, and bowed, and gave me his card. After that he mounted again, and +rode away." + +"But who was this gentleman?" says Lady Rodney, superciliously. "No +doubt some draper from the town." + +"No; he was not a draper," says Mona, gently, and without haste. + +"Whoever he was, he hardly excelled in breeding," says Lady Rodney; "to +ask your name without an introduction! I never heard of such a thing. +Very execrable form, indeed. In your place I should not have given it. +And to manage his horse so badly that he nearly ran you down. He could +hardly be any one we know. Some petty squire, no doubt." + +"No; not a petty squire," says Mona; "and I think you do know him. And +why should I be ashamed to tell my name to any one?" + +"The question was strictly in bad taste," says Lady Rodney again. "No +well-bred man would ask it. I can hardly believe I know him. He must +have been some impossible person." + +"He was the Duke of Lauderdale," says Mona, simply. "Here is his card." + +A pause. + +Lady Rodney is plainly disconcerted, but says nothing. Violet follows +suit, but more because she is thoroughly amused and on the point of +laughter, than from a desire to make matters worse. + +"I hope you had your hat on," says Lady Rodney, presently, in a severe +tone, meant to cover the defeat. She had once seen Mona with the crimson +silk handkerchief on her head,--Irish fashion,--and had expressed her +disapproval of all such uncivilized headdresses. + +"Yes; I wore my big Rubens hat, the one with----" + +"I don't care to hear about the contents of your wardrobe," interrupts +Lady Rodney, with a slight but unkind shrug. "I am glad, at least, you +were not seen in that objectionable headdress you so often affect." + +"Was it the Rubens hat with the long brown feather?" asks Violet, +sweetly, turning to Mona, as though compelled by some unknown force to +say anything that shall restore the girl to evenness of mind once more. + +"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a +smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests +there. + +"You told the duke who you were?" breaks in Lady Rodney at this moment, +who is in one of her worst moods. + +"Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney." + +"Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney, would have been more correct. You forget your +husband is the youngest son. When Captain Rodney marries, _his_ wife +will be Mrs. Rodney." + +"But surely until then Mona may lay claim to the title," says Violet, +quickly. + +"I do not wish to lay claim to anything," says Mona, throwing up her +head with a little proud gesture,--"least of all to what does not by +right belong to me. To be Mrs. Geoffrey is all I ask." + +She leans back in her chair, and brings her fingers together, clasping +them so closely that her very nails grow white. Her thin nostrils dilate +a little, and her breath comes quickly, but no angry word escapes her. +How can her lips give utterance to a speech that may wound the mother of +the man she loves! + +Violet, watching her, notes the tumult in her mind, and, seeing how her +will gains mastery over her desire, honors her for her self-control. + +Then Jack comes in, and Sir Nicholas, and later on Geoffrey. + +"No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is +exactly"--examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece--"one +hour before we can reasonably expect dinner." + +"And three-quarters. Don't deceive yourself, my dear fellow: they can't +be here one moment before a quarter to eight." + +"Then, in the meantime, Violet, I shall eat you," says Captain Rodney, +amiably, "just to take the edge off my appetite. You would be hardly +sufficient for a good meal!" He laughs and glances significantly at her +slight but charming figure, which is _petite_ but perfect, and then +sinks into a low chair near her. + +"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." + +"Does he mean going himself?" says Nicholas, idly. "He is here to-day, I +know, but one never knows where he may be to-morrow, he is so erratic." + +"He is a little difficult; but, on the whole, I think I like Sir Mark +better than most men," says Violet, slowly. + +Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for +dislike towards the man in question. + +"Lilian is such a dear girl," says Lady Rodney; "she is a very general +favorite. I have no doubt her dance will be a great success." + +"You are speaking of Lady Chetwoode? Was it her that called last week?" +asks Mona, timidly, forgetting grammar in her nervousness. + +"Yes; it was her that called last week," returns her amiable +mother-in-law, laying an unmistakable stress upon the pronoun. + +No one is listening, fortunately, to this gratuitous correction, or hot +words might have been the result. Sir Nicholas and Geoffrey are laughing +over some old story that has been brought to their recollection by this +idle chattering about the Chetwoodes' ball; Jack and Violet are deep in +some topic of their own. + +"Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," +says Sir Nicholas, alluding to the person the funny story had been +about. + +"You dance, of course," says Lady Rodney, turning to Mona, a little +ashamed, perhaps, of her late rudeness. + +"Oh, yes," says Mona, brightening even under this small touch of +friendliness. "I'm very fond of it, too. I can get through all the steps +without a mistake." + +At this extraordinary speech, Lady Rodney stares in bewilderment. + +"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone. + +"Eh?" says Mrs. Geoffrey. + +"You can waltz?" + +"Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's +country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," +moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord +with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did _you_ +ever dance a country dance?" + +"Never!" says Lady Rodney, in a stony fashion. "I don't even know what +you mean." + +"No?" arching her brows, and looking really sorry for her. "What a pity! +They all come quite naturally to me. I don't remember ever being taught +them. The music seemed to inspire me, and I really dance them very well. +Don't I Geoff?" + +"I never saw your equal," says Geoffrey, who, with Sir Nicholas, has +been listening to the last half of the conversation, and who is plainly +suppressing a strong desire to laugh. + +"Do you remember the evening you taught me the country dance that I said +was like an old-fashioned minuet? And what an apt pupil I proved! I +really think I could dance it now. By the by, my mother never saw one +danced. She"--apologetically--"has not been out much. Let us go through +one now for her benefit." + +"Yes, let us," says Mona, gayly. + +"Pray do not give yourselves so much trouble on my account," says Lady +Rodney, with intense but subdued indignation. + +"It won't trouble us, not a _bit_," says Mrs. Geoffrey, rising with +alacrity. "I shall love it, the floor is so nice and slippery. Can any +one whistle?" + +At this Sir Nicholas gives way and laughs out loud, whereon Mona laughs +too, though she reddens slightly, and says, "Well, of course the piano +will do, though the fiddle is best of all." + +"Violet, play us something," says Geoffrey, who has quite entered into +the spirit of the thing, and who doesn't mind his mothers "horrors" in +the least, but remembers how sweet Mona used to look when going slowly +and with that quaint solemn dignity of hers "through her steps." + +"I shall be charmed," says Violet; "but what is a country dance? Will +'Sir Roger' do?" + +"No. Play anything monotonous, that is slow and dignified besides, and +it will answer; in fact, anything at all," says Geoffrey, largely, at +which Violet smiles and seats herself at the piano. + +"Well, just wait till I tuck up the tail of my gown," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, airily flinging her pale-blue skirt over her white bare arm. + +"You may as well call it a train; people like it better," says Geoffrey. +"I'm sure I don't know why, but perhaps it sounds better." + +"There can be scarcely any question about that," says Lady Rodney, +unwilling to let any occasion pass that may permit a slap at Mona. + +"Yet the Princess D---- always calls her train a 'tail,'" says Violet, +turning on her piano-stool to make this remark, which is balm to Mona's +soul: after which she once more concentrates her thoughts on the +instrument before her, and plays some odd old-fashioned air that suits +well the dance of which they have been speaking. + +Then Geoffrey offers Mona his hand, and leads her to the centre of the +polished floor. There they salute each other in a rather Grandisonian +fashion, and then separate. + +The light from the great pine fire streams over all the room, throwing a +rich glow upon the scene, upon the girl's flushed and earnest face, and +large happy eyes, and graceful rounded figure, betraying also the grace +and poetry of her every movement. + +She stands well back from Geoffrey, and then, without any of the +foolish, unlovely bashfulness that degenerates so often into +awkwardness in the young, begins her dance. + +It is a very curious and obsolete, if singularly charming, performance, +full of strange bows, and unexpected turnings, and curtseys dignified +and deep. + +As she advances and retreats, with her _svelte_ figure drawn to its +fullest height, and her face eager and intent upon the business in hand, +and with her whole heart thrown apparently into the successful +accomplishment of her task, she is looking far lovelier than she herself +is at all aware. + +Even Lady Rodney for the moment has fallen a prey to her unpremeditated +charms, and is leaning forward anxiously watching her. Jack and Sir +Nicholas are enchanted. + +The shadows close them in on every side. Only the firelight illumines +the room, casting its most brilliant and ruddy rays upon its central +figures, until they look like beings conjured up from the olden times, +as they flit to and fro in the slow mysterious mazes of the dance. + +Mona's waxen arms gleam like snow in the uncertain light. Each movement +of hers is full of grace and _verve_. Her entire action is perfect. + + "Her feet beneath her petticoat + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they feared the light. + And, oh! she dances such a way, + No sun upon an Easter day + Is half so fine a sight." + +The music, soft and almost mournful, echoes through the room; the feet +keep time upon the oaken floor; weird-like the two forms move through +the settled gloom. + +The door at the farthest end of the room has been opened, and two people +who are as yet invisible stand upon the threshold, too surprised to +advance, too enthralled, indeed, by the sight before them to do so. + +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. + +"Oh, how pretty!" cries one of them from the shadow as though grieved +the dance has come so quickly to an end "How lovely!" + +At this voice every one starts! Mona, slipping her hand into Geoffrey's, +draws him to one side; Lady Rodney rises from her sofa, and Sir Nicholas +goes eagerly towards the door. + +"You have come!" cries he, in a tone Mona has never heard before, and +then--there is no mistake about the fact that he and the shadow have +embraced each other heartily. + +"Yes, we have indeed," says the same sweet voice again, which is the +merriest and softest voice imaginable, "and in very good time too, as it +seems. Nolly and I have been here for fully five minutes, and have been +so delighted with what we have seen that we positively could not stir. +Dear Lady Rodney, how d'ye do?" + +She is a very little girl, quite half a head shorter than Mona, and, now +that one can see her more plainly as she stands on the hearthrug, +something more than commonly pretty. + +Her eyes are large and blue, with a shade of green in them; her lips are +soft and mobile; her whole expression is _debonnaire_, yet full of +tenderness. She is brightness itself; each inward thought, be it of +grief or gladness, makes itself outwardly known in the constant changes +of her face. Her hair is cut above her forehead, and is quite golden, +yet perhaps it is a degree darker than the ordinary hair we hear +described as yellow. To me, to think of Dorothy Darling's head is always +to remind myself of that line in Milton's "Comus," where he speaks of + + "The loose train of thy amber-drooping hair." + +She is very sweet to look at, and attractive and lovable. + + "Her angel's face + As the great eye of heaven shined bright, + And made a sunshine in the shady place." + +Such is Nicholas's betrothed, to whom, as she gazes on her, all at once, +in the first little moment, Mona's whole soul goes out. + +She has shaken hands with everybody, and has kissed Lady Rodney, and is +now being introduced to Mona. + +"Your wife, Geoffrey?" she says, holding Mona's hand all the time, and +gazing at her intently. Then, as though something in Mrs. Geoffrey's +beautiful face attracts her strangely, she lifts her face and presses +her soft lips to Mona's cheek. + +A rush of hope and gladness thrills Mona's bosom at this gentle touch. +It is the very first caress she has ever received from one of Geoffrey's +friends or relations. + +"I think somebody might introduce me," says a plaintive voice from the +background, and Dorothy's brother, putting Dorothy a little to one side, +holds out his hand to Mona. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney?" he says, +pleasantly. "There's a dearth of etiquette about your husband that no +doubt you have discovered before this. He has evidently forgotten that +we are comparative strangers; but we sha'n't be long so, I hope?" + +"I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very +flattering haste. + +"You have come quite half an hour earlier than we expected you," says +Sir Nicholas, looking with fond satisfaction into Miss Darling's eyes. +"These trains are very uncertain." + +"It wasn't the train so much," says Doatie, with a merry laugh, "as +Nolly: we weren't any time coming, because he got out and took the reins +from Hewson, and after that I rather think he took it out of your bays, +Nicholas." + +"Well, I never met such a blab! I believe you'd peach on your +grandmother," says her brother, with supreme contempt. "I didn't do 'em +a bit of harm, Rodney I give you my word." + +"I'll take it," says Nicholas; "but, even if you did, I should still owe +you a debt of gratitude for bringing Doatie here thirty minutes before +we hoped for her." + +"Now make him your best curtsey, Dolly," says Mr. Darling, seriously; +"it isn't everyday you will get such a pretty speech as that." + +"And see what we gained by our haste," says Dorothy, smiling at Mona. +"You can't think what a charming sight it was. Like an old legend or a +fairy-tale. Was it a minuet you were dancing?" + +"Oh, no; only a country dance," says Mona, blushing. + +"Well, it was perfect: wasn't it, Violet?" + +"I wish I could have seen it better," returns Violet, "but, you see, I +was playing." + +"I wish I could have seen it forever," says Mr. Darling, gallantly, +addressing Mona; "but all good things have an end too soon. Do you +remember some lines like these? they come to me just now: + + When you do dance, I wish you + A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do + Nothing but that." + +"Yes, I recollect; they are from the 'Winter's Tale.' I think," says +Mona, shyly; "but you say too much for me." + +"Not half enough," says Mr. Darling, enthusiastically. + +"Don't you think, sir, you would like to get ready for dinner?" says +Geoffrey, with mock severity. "You can continue your attentions to my +wife later on,--at your peril." + +"I accept the risk," says Nolly, with much stateliness and forthwith +retires to make himself presentable. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HOW NOLLY HAVING MADE HIMSELF PRESENTABLE, TRIES ALSO TO MAKE HIMSELF +AGREEABLE--AND HOW HE SUCCEEDS. + + +Mr. Darling is a flaxen-haired young gentleman of about four-and-twenty, +with an open and ingenuous countenance, and a disposition cheerful to +the last degree. He is positively beaming with youth and good spirits, +and takes no pains whatever to suppress the latter; indeed, if so +sweet-tempered a youth could be said to have a fault, it lies in his +inability to hold his tongue. Talk he must, so talk he does,--anywhere +and everywhere, and under all circumstances. + +He succeeds in taking Mona down to dinner, and shows himself +particularly devoted through all the time they spend in the dining-room, +and follows her afterwards to the drawing-room, as soon as decency will +permit. He has, in fact, fallen a hopeless victim to Mona's charms, and +feels no shame in the thought that all the world must notice his +subjugation. On the contrary, he seems to glory in it. + +"I was in your country, the other day," he says, pushing Mona's skirts a +little to one side, and sinking on to the ottoman she has chosen as her +own resting-place. "And a very nice country it is." + +"Ah! were you really there!" says Mona, growing at once bright and +excited at the bare mention of her native land. At such moments she +falls again unconsciously into the "thens," and "sures," and "ohs!" and +"ahs!" of her Ireland. + +"Yes, I was indeed. Down in a small place cabled Castle-Connell, near +Limerick. Nice people in Limerick, but a trifle flighty, don't you +think? Fond of the merry blunderbuss, and all that, and with a decided +tendency towards midnight maraudings." + +"I am afraid you went to almost the worst part of Ireland," says Mona, +shaking her head. "New Pallas, and all round Limerick, is so dreadfully +disloyal." + +"Well, that was just my luck, you see," says Darling "We have some +property there. And, as I am not of much account at home, 'my awful dad' +sent me over to Ireland to see why the steward didn't get in the rents. +Perhaps he hoped the natives might pepper me; but, if so, it didn't come +off. The natives, on the contrary, quite took to me, and adopted me on +the spot. I was nearly as good as an original son of Erin in a week." + +"But how did you manage to procure their good graces?" + +"I expect they thought me beneath their notice, and, as they wouldn't +hate me, they were forced to love me. Of course they treated the idea of +paying up as a good joke, and spoke a great deal about a most unpleasant +person called Griffith and his valuation, whatever that may be. So I saw +it was of no use, and threw it up,--my mission, I mean. I had capital +shooting, as far as partridges were concerned, but no one dreamed of +wasting a bullet upon me. They positively declined to insert a bit of +lead in my body. And, considering I expected some civility of the kind +on going over, I felt somewhat disappointed, and decidedly cheap." + +"We are not so altogether murderous as you seem to think," says Mona, +half apologetically. + +"Murderous! They are a delightful people, and the scenery is charming, +you know, all round. The Shannon is positively lovely. But they wouldn't +pay a farthing. And, 'pon my life, you know," says Mr. Darling, lightly, +"I couldn't blame 'em. They were as poor as poor could be, regular +out-at-elbows, you know, and I suppose they sadly wanted any money they +had. I told the governor so when I came back, but I don't think he +seemed to see it; sort of said _he_ wanted it too, and then went on to +make some ugly and most uncalled-for remarks about my tailor's bill, +which of course I treated with the contempt they deserved." + +"Well, but it was a little hard on your father, wasn't it?" says Mona, +gently. + +"Oh, it wasn't much," says the young man, easily; "and he needn't have +cut up so rough about it. I was a failure, of course, but I couldn't +help it; and, after all, I had a real good time in spite if everything, +and enjoyed myself when there down to the ground." + +"I am glad of that," says Mona, nicely, as he pauses merely through a +desire for breath, not from a desire for silence. + +"I had, really. There was one fellow, a perfect giant,--Terry O'Flynn +was his name,--and he and I were awful chums. We used to go shooting +together every day, and got on capitally. He was a tremendously big +fellow, could put me in his pocket, you know, and forget I was there +until I reminded him. He was a farmer's son, and a very respectable sort +of man. I gave him my watch when I was coming away, and he was quite +pleased. They don't have much watches, by the by, the lower classes, do +they." + +At this Mona breaks into a sweet but ringing laugh, that makes Lady +Rodney (who is growing sleepy, and, therefore, irritable) turn, and fix +upon her a cold, reproving glance. + +Geoffrey, too, raises his head and smiles, in sympathy with his wife's +burst of merriment, as does Miss Darling, who stops her conversation +with Sir Nicholas to listen to it. + +"What are you talking about?" asks Geoffrey, joining Mona and her +companion. + +"How could I help laughing," says Mona. "Mr. Darling has just expressed +surprise at the fact that the Irish peasantry do not as a rule possess +watches." Then suddenly her whole face changes from gayety to extreme +sorrow. "Alas! poor souls!" she says, mournfully, "they don't, as a +rule, have even meat!" + +"Well, I noticed that, too. There _did_ seem to be a great scarcity of +that raw material," answers Darling, lightly. "Yet they are a fine race +in spite of it. I'm going over again to see my friend Terry before very +long. He is the most amusing fellow, downright brilliant. So is his +hair, by the by,--the very richest crimson." + +"But I hope you were not left to spend your days with Terry?" says Mona, +smiling. + +"No. All the county people round when they heard of me--which, according +to my own mental calculations on the subject, must have been exactly +five minutes after my arrival--quite adopted me. You are a very +hospitable nation, Mrs. Rodney; nobody can deny that. Positively, the +whole time I was in Limerick I could have dined three times every day +had I so chosen." + +"Bless me!" says Geoffrey; "what an appalling thought! it makes me feel +faint." + +"Rather so. In their desire to feed me lay my only danger of death. But +I pulled through. And I liked every one I met,--really you know," to +Mona, "and no humbug. Yet I think the happiest days I knew over there +were those spent with Terry. It was rather a sell, though, having no +real adventure, particularly as I had promised one not only to myself +but to my friends when starting for Paddy-land. I beg your pardon a +thousand times! Ireland, I mean." + +"I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course." + +"I wish I was one!" says Mr. Darling, with considerable effusion. "I +envy the people who can claim nationality with you. I'd be a Paddy +myself to-morrow if I could, for that one reason." + +"What a funny boy you are!" says Mona, with a little laugh. + +"So they all tell me. And of course what every one says is true. We're +bound to be friends, aren't we?" rattles on Darling pleasantly. "Our +mutual love for Erin should be a bond between us." + +"I hope we shall be; I am sure we shall," returns Mona, quickly. It is +sweet to her to find a possible friend in this alien land. + +"Not a doubt of it," says Nolly, gayly. "Every one likes me, you know. +'To see me is to love me, and love but me forever,' and all that sort +of thing; we shall be tremendous friends in no time. The fact is, I'm +not worth hating; I'm neither useful nor ornamental, but I'm perfectly +harmless, and there is something in that, isn't there? Every one can't +say the same. I'm utterly certain _you_ can't," with a glance of +admiration. + +"Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and +bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young +man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except +perhaps Sir Nicholas. + +"That is out of my power," says Darling, whom the last speech--and +glance that accompanied it--has completely finished. "I only pray you of +your grace never to be unkind to me." + +"What a strange name yours is!--Nolly," says Mona, presently. + +"Well, I wasn't exactly born so," explains Mr. Darling, frankly; "Oliver +is my name. I rather fancy my own name, do you know; it is uncommon, at +all events. One don't hear it called round every corner, and it reminds +one of that 'bold bad man' the Protector. But they shouldn't have left +out the Cromwell. That would have been a finishing stroke. To hear one's +self announced as Oliver Cromwell Darling in a public room would have +been as good as a small fortune." + +"Better," says Mona, laughing gayly. + +"Yes, really, you know. I'm in earnest," declares Mr. Darling, laughing +too. He is quite delighted with Mona. To find his path through life +strewn with people who will laugh with him, or even at him, is his idea +of perfect bliss. So he chatters on to her until, bed-hour coming, and +candles being forced into notice, he is at length obliged to tear +himself away from her and follow the men to the smoking-room. + +Here he lays hands on Geoffrey. + +"By Jove, you know, you've about done it," he says, bestowing upon +Geoffrey's shoulder a friendly pat that rather takes the breath out of +that young man's body. "Gave you credit for more common sense. Why, such +a proceeding as this is downright folly. You are bound to pay for your +fun, you know, sooner or later." + +"Sir," says Mr. Rodney, taking no notice of this preamble, "I shall +trouble you to explain what you mean by reducing an inoffensive +shoulder-blade to powder." + +"Beg pardon, I'm sure," says Nolly, absently. "But"--with sudden +interest--"do you know what you have done? You have married the +prettiest woman in England." + +"I haven't," says Geoffrey. + +"You have," says Nolly. + +"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are +wool-gathering." + +"Good gracious! he can't mean that he is tired of her already," exclaims +Mr. Darling, in an audible aside. "That would be too much even for our +times." + +At this Geoffrey gives way to mirth. He and Darling are virtually alone, +as Nicholas and Captain Rodney are talking earnestly about the impending +lawsuit in a distant corner. + +"My dear fellow, you have overworked your brain," he says, ironically: +"You don't understand me. I am not tired of her. I shall never cease to +bless the day I saw her,"--this with great earnestness,--"but you say I +have married the handsomest woman in England, and she is not English at +all." + +"Oh, well, what's the odds?" says Nolly. "Whether she is French, or +English, Irish or German, she has just the loveliest face I ever saw, +and the sweetest ways. You've done an awfully dangerous thing. You will +be Mrs. Rodney's husband in no time,--nothing else, and you positively +won't know yourself in a year after. Individuality lost. Name gone. +Nothing left but your four bones. You will be quite thankful for _them_, +even, after a bit." + +"You terrify me," says Geoffrey, with a grimace. "You think, then, that +Mona is pretty?" + +"Pretty doesn't express it. She is quite intense; and new style, too, +which of course is everything. You will present her next season, I +suppose? You must, you know, if only in the cause of friendship, as I +wouldn't miss seeing Mrs. Laintrie's and Mrs. Whelon's look of disgust +when your wife comes on the scene for worlds!" + +"Her eyes certainly are----" says Geoffrey. + +"She is all your fancy could possibly paint her; she is lovely and +divine. Don't try to analyze her charms, my dear Geoff. She is just the +prettiest and sweetest woman I ever met. She is young, in the 'very May +morn of delight,' yet there is nothing of that horrid shyness--that +_mauvaise honte_--about her that, as a rule, belongs to the 'freshness +of morning.' Her laugh is so sweet, so full of enjoyment." + +"If you mean me to repeat all this back again, you will find yourself +jolly well mistaken; because, understand at once, I sha'n't do it," says +Geoffrey. "I'm not going to have a hand in my undoing; and such +unqualified praise is calculated to turn any woman's head. Seriously, +though," says Geoffrey, laying his hands on Darling's shoulders, "I'm +tremendously glad you like her." + +"Don't!" says Darling, weakly. "Don't put it in that light. It's too +feeble. If you said I was madly in love with your wife you would be +nearer the mark, as insanity touches on it. I haven't felt so badly for +years. It is right down unlucky for me, this meeting with Mrs. Rodney." + +"Poor Mona!" says Geoffrey; "don't tell her about it, as remorse may +sadden her." + +"Look here," says Mr. Darling, "just try one of these, do. They are +South American cigarettes, and nearly as strong as the real thing, and +quite better: they are a new brand. Try 'em; they'll quite set you up." + +"Give me one, Nolly," says Sir Nicholas, rousing from his reverie. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +HOW MONA GOES TO HER FIRST BALL--AND HOW SHE FARES THEREAT. + + +It is the day of Lady Chetwoode's ball, or to be particular, for critics +"prove unkind" these times, it is the day to which belongs the night +that has been selected for Lady Chetwoode's ball; all which sounds very +like the metre of the house that Jack built. + +Well, never mind! This ball promises to be a great success. Everybody +who is anybody is going, from George Beatoun, who has only five hundred +pounds a year in the world, and the oldest blood in the county, to the +duchess, who "fancies" Lilian Chetwoode, and has, in fact, adopted her +as her last "rave." Nobody has been forgotten, nobody is to be +chagrined: to guard against this has cost both Sir Guy and Lilian +Chetwoode many an hour of anxious thought. + +To Mona, however, the idea of this dance is hardly pure nectar. It is +half a terror, half a joy. She is nervous, frightened, and a little +strange. It is the first time she has ever been to any large +entertainment, and she cannot help looking forward to her own _debut_ +with a longing mingled largely with dread. + +Now, as the hour approaches that is to bring her face to face with half +the county, her heart fails her, and almost with a sense of wonder she +contrasts her present life with the old one in her emerald isle, where +she lived happily, if with a certain dulness, in her uncle's farmhouse. + +All day long the rain has been pouring, pouring; not loudly or +boisterously, not dashing itself with passionate force against pane and +gable, but falling with a silent and sullen persistency. + +"No walks abroad to-night," says Mr. Darling, in a dismal tone, staring +in an injured fashion upon the drenched lawns and _pleasaunces_ outside. +"No Chinese lanterns, no friendly shrubberies,--_nothing_!" + +Each window presents an aspect in a degree more dreary than the +last,--or so it appears. The flower-beds are beaten down, and are +melancholy in the extreme. The laurels do nothing but drip drip, in a +sad aside, "making mournful music for the mind." Whilst up and down the +elm walk the dreary wind goes madly, sporting and playing with the +raindrops, as it rushes here and there. + +Indoors King Bore stalks rampant. Nobody seems in a very merry mood. +Even Nolly, who is generally game for anything, is a prey to despair. He +has, for the last hour, lost sight of Mona! + +"Let us do something, anything, to get rid of some of these interminable +hours," says Doatie, flinging her book far from her. It is not +interesting, and only helps to add insult to injury. She yawns as much +as breeding will permit, and then crosses her hands behind her dainty +head. "Oh! here comes Mona. Mona, I am so bored that I shall die +presently, unless you suggest a remedy." + +"Your brother is better at suggestions than I am," says Mona, gently, +who is always somewhat subdued when in the room with Lady Rodney. + +"Nolly, do you hear that? Come over to the fire directly, and cease +counting those hateful raindrops. Mona believes in you. Isn't that +joyful news? Now get out of your moody fit at once, like a dear boy." + +"I sha'n't," says Mr. Darling, in an aggrieved tone. "I feel slighted. +Mrs. Rodney has of _malice prepense_ secluded herself from public gaze +at least for an hour. I can't forget all _that_ in one moment." + +"Where have you been?" asks Lady Rodney, slowly turning her head to look +at Mona. "Out of doors?" Her tone is unpleasant. + +"No. In my own room," says Mona. + +"Oh, Nolly! do think of some plan to cheat the afternoon of an hour or +two," persists Doatie, eagerly. + +"I have it," says her brother with all the air of one who has discovered +a new continent. "Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs." + +At this Doatie turns her back on him, while Mona breaks into a peal of +silver laughter. + +"Would you not like to do that?" demands Nolly, sadly "I should. I'm +quite in the humor for it." + +"I am afraid we are not," says Violet, smiling too. "Think of something +else." + +"Well, if you all _will_ insist upon a change, and desire something more +lively, then,-- + + 'For heaven's sake, let us sit upon the ground, + And tell sad stories of the death of kings.' + +Perhaps after all you are right, and that will be better It will be +rather effective, too, if uncomfortable, our all sitting on the polished +floor." + +"Fancy Nolly quoting Shakspeare," says Geoffrey, who has just entered, +and is now leaning over Mona's chair. He stoops and whispers something +in her ear that makes her flush and glance appealingly at Doatie. +Whereon Miss Darling, who is quick to sympathize, rises, and soon learns +what the whisper has been about. + +"Oh! how charming!" she cries, clapping her hands. "The very thing! Why +did we not think of it before? To teach Mona the last new step! It will +be delicious." Good-natured Doatie, as she says this, springs to her +feet and runs her hand into Mona's. "Come," she says. "Before to-night, +I promise you, you shall rival Terpsichore herself." + +"Yes, she certainly must learn before to-night," says Violet, with +sudden and unexpected interest, folding and putting away her work as +though bent on other employment. "Let us come into the ballroom." + +"Do you know no other dances but those--er--very Irish performances?" +asks Lady Rodney, in a supercilious tone, alluding to the country dance +Mona and Geoffrey had gone through on the night of Doatie's arrival. + +"No. I have never been to a ball in all my life," says Mona distinctly. +But she pales a little at the note of contempt in the other's voice. +Unconsciously she moves a few steps nearer to Geoffrey, and holds out +her hand to him in a childish entreating fashion. + +He clasps it and presses it lightly but fondly to his lips. His brow +darkens. The little stern expression, so seldom seen upon his kindly +face, but which is inherited from his father, creeps up now and alters +him preceptibly. + +"You mistake my mother," he says to Mona, in a peculiar tone, looking at +Lady Rodney, not at her. "My wife is, I am sure, the last person she +would choose to be rude to; though, I confess, her manner just now would +mislead most people." + +With the frown still on his forehead, he draws Mona's hand through his +arm, and leads her from the room. + +Lady Rodney has turned pale. Otherwise she betrays no sign of chagrin, +though in her heart she feels deeply the rebuke administered by this, +her favorite son. To have Mona be a witness of her defeat is gall and +wormwood to her. And silently, without any outward gesture, she +registers a vow to be revenged for the insult (as she deems it) that has +just been put upon her. + +Dorothy Darling, who has been listening anxiously to all that has +passed, and who is very grieved thereat, now speaks boldly. + +"I am afraid," she says to Lady Rodney, quite calmly, having a little +way of her own of introducing questionable topics without giving +offence,--"I am afraid you do not like Mona?" + +At this Lady Rodney flings down her guard and her work at the same time, +and rises to her feet. + +"Like her," she says, with suppressed vehemence. "How should I like a +woman who has stolen from me my son, and who can teach him to be rude +even to his own mother?" + +"Oh, Lady Rodney, I am sure she did not mean to do that." + +"I don't care what she meant; she has at all events done it. Like her! A +person who speaks of 'Jack Robinson,' and talks of the 'long and short +of it.' How could you imagine such a thing! As for you, Dorothy, I can +only feel regret that you should so far forget yourself as to rush into +a friendship with a young woman so thoroughly out of your own sphere." + +Having delivered herself of this speech, she sweeps from the room, +leaving Violet and Dorothy slightly nonplussed. + +"Well, I never heard anything so absurd!" says Doatie, presently, +recovering her breath, and opening her big eyes to their widest. "Such a +tirade, and all for nothing. If saying 'Jack Robinson' is a social +crime, I must be the biggest sinner living, as I say it just when I +like. I think Mona adorable, and so does every one else. Don't you?" + +"I am not sure. I don't fall in love with people at first sight. I am +slow to read character," says Violet, calmly. "You, perhaps, possess +that gift?" + +"Not a bit of it, my dear. I only say to myself, such and such a person +has kind eyes or a loving mouth, and then I make up my mind to them. I +am seldom disappointed; but as to reading or studying character, that +isn't in my line at all. It positively isn't in me. But don't you think +Lady Rodney is unjust to Mona?" + +"Yes, I think she is. But of course there are many excuses to be made +for her. An Irish girl of no family whatever, no matter how sweet, is +not the sort of person one would select as a wife for one's son. Come to +the ballroom. I want to make Mona perfect in dancing." + +"You want to make her a success to-night," says Dorothy, quickly. "I +know you do. You are a dear thing, Violet, if a little difficult. And I +verily believe you have fallen as great a victim to the charms of this +Irish siren 'without family' as any of us. Come, confess it." + +"There is nothing to confess. I think her very much to be liked, if you +mean that," says Violet, slowly. + +"She is a perfect pet," says Miss Darling, with emphasis, "and you know +it." + +Then they adjourn to the ballroom, and Sir Nicholas is pressed into the +service, and presently Jack Rodney, discovering where Violet is, drops +in too, and after a bit dancing becomes universal. Entering into the +spirit of the thing, they take their "preliminary canter" now, as Nolly +expresses it, as though to get into proper training for the Chetwoodes' +ball later on. And they all dance with Mona, and show a great desire +that she shall not be found wanting when called upon by the rank, +beauty, and fashion of Lauderdale to trip it on the "light fantastic +toe." + +Even Jack Rodney comes out of himself, and, conquering his habitual +laziness, takes her in hand, and, as being the best dancer present, _par +excellence_, teaches and tutors, and encourages her until Doatie cries +"enough," and protests with pathos she will have no more of it, as she +is not going to be cut out by Mona at all events in the dancing line. + +So the day wears to evening; and the rain ceases, and the sullen clouds +scud with a violent haste across the tired sky. Then the stars come out, +first slowly, one by one, as though timid early guests at the great +gathering, then with a brilliant rush, until all the sky, + + "Bespangled with those isles of light + So wildly, spiritually bright." + +shows promise of a fairer morrow. + +Mona, coming slowly downstairs, enters with lagging steps the library, +where tea is awaiting them before they start. + +She is gowned in a cream-colored satin that hangs in severe straight +lines, and clings to her lissom rounded figure as dew clings to a +flower. A few rows of tiny pearls clasp her neck. Upon her bosom some +Christmas roses, pure and white as her own soul, lie softly; a few more +nestle in her hair, which is drawn simply back and coiled in a loose +knot behind her head; she wears no earrings and very few bracelets. + +One of the latter, however, is worthy of note. It is a plain gold band +on which stands out a figure of Atalanta posed as when she started for +her famous race. It had been sent to her on her marriage by Mr. Maxwell, +in hearty remembrance, no doubt, of the night when she by her fleetness +had saved his life. + +She is looking very beautiful to-night. As she enters the room, nearly +every one stops talking, and careless of good breeding, stares at her. +There is a touch of purity about Mona that is perhaps one of her +chiefest charms. + +Even Lady Rodney can hardly take her eyes from the girl's face as she +advances beneath the full glare of the chandelier, utterly unconscious +of the extent of the beauty that is her rich gift. + +Sir Nicholas, going up to her, takes her by both hands, and leads her +gently beneath the huge bunch of mistletoe that still hangs from the +centre-lamp. Here, stooping, he embraces her warmly. Mona, coloring, +shrinks involuntarily a few steps backward. + +"Forgive me, my sister," says Nicholas, quickly. "Not the kiss, but the +fact that until now I never quite understood how very beautiful you +are!" + +Mona smiles brightly--as might any true woman--at so warm a compliment. +But Doatie, putting on a pathetic little _moue_ that just suits her baby +face, walks over to her _fiance_ and looks up at him with appealing +eyes. + +"Don't altogether forget _me_, Nicholas," she says, in her pretty +childish way, pretending (little rogue that she is) to be offended. + +"You, my own!" responds Nicholas, in a very low tone, that of course +means everything, and necessitates a withdrawal into the curtained +recess of the window, where whisperings may be unheard. + +Then the carriages are announced, and every one finishes his and her +tea, and many shawls are caught up and presently all are driving rapidly +beneath the changeful moon to Chetwoode. + +Now, strange as it may seem, the very moment Mona sets her foot upon the +polished ballroom floor, and sees the lights, and hears the music, and +the distant splashing of water in some unknown spot, and breathes the +breath of dying flowers, all fears, all doubts, vanish; and only a +passionate desire to dance, and be in unison with the sweet sounds that +move the air, overfills her. + +Then some one asks her to dance, and presently--with her face lit up +with happy excitement, and her heart throbbing--she is actually mingling +with the gay crowd that a moment since she has been envying. In and out +among the dancers they glide, Mona so happy that she barely has time for +thought, and so gives herself up entirely to the music to the exclusion +of her partner. He has but a small place in her enjoyment. Perhaps, +indeed, she betrays her satisfaction rather more than is customary or +correct in an age when the _nil admirari_ system reigns supreme. Yet +there are many in the room who unconsciously smile in sympathy with her +happy smile, and feel warmed by the glow of natural gladness that +animates her breast. + +After a little while, pausing beside a doorway, she casts an upward +glance at her companion. + +"I am glad you have at last deigned to take some small notice of me," +says he, with a faint touch of pique in his tone. And then, looking at +him again, she sees it is the young man who had nearly ridden over her +some time ago, and tells herself she has been just a little rude to his +Grace the Duke of Lauderdale. + +"And I went to the utmost trouble to get an introduction," goes on +Lauderdale, in an aggrieved voice; "because I thought you might not care +about that impromptu ceremony at the lodge-gate; and yet what do I +receive for my pains but disappointment? Have you quite forgotten me?" + +"No. Of course I remember you now," says Mona, taking all this nonsense +as quite _bona fide_ sense in a maddeningly fascinating fashion. "How +unkind I have been! But I was listening to the music, not to our +introduction, when Sir Nicholas brought you up to me, and--and that is +my only excuse." Then, sweetly, "You love music?" + +"Well, I do," says the duke. "But I say that perhaps as a means of +defence. If I said otherwise, you might think me fit only 'for treasons, +stratagems, and spoils.'" + +"Oh, no! you don't look like that," says Mona, with a heavenly smile. +"You do not seem like a man that could not be 'trusted.'" + +He is delighted with her ready response, her gayety, her sweetness, her +freshness; was there ever so fair a face? Every one in the room by this +time is asking who is the duke's partner, and Lady Chetwoode is beset +with queries. All the women, except a very few, are consumed with +jealousy; all the men are devoured with envy of the duke. Beyond all +doubt the pretty Irish bride is the rage of the hour. + +She chatters on gayly to the duke, losing sight of the fact of his rank, +and laughing and making merry with him as though he were one of the +ordinary friends of her life. And to Lauderdale, who is susceptible to +beauty and tired of adulation, such manner has its charm, and he is +perhaps losing his head a little, and is conning a sentence or two of a +slightly tender nature, when another partner coming up claims Mona, and +carries her away from what might prove dangerous quarters. + +"Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" +asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her. + +"That? Oh, that was the bride, Mrs. Rodney," replies he. "She is lovely, +if you like." + +"Oh, indeed!" says the duchess, with some faint surprise. Then she turns +to Lady Rodney, who is near her, and who is looking cold and +supercilious. "I congratulate you," she says, warmly. "What a face that +child has! How charming! How full of feeling! You are fortunate in +securing so fair a daughter." + +"Thank you," says Lady Rodney, coldly, letting her lids fall over her +eyes. + +"I am sorry I have missed her so often," says the duchess, who had been +told that Mona was out when she called on her the second time, and who +had been really not at home when Mona returned her calls. "But you will +introduce me to her soon, I hope." + +Just at this moment Mona comes up to them, smiling and happy. + +"Ah! here she is," says the duchess, looking at the girl's bright face +with much interest, and turning graciously towards Mona. And then +nothing remains but for Lady Rodney to get through the introduction as +calmly as she can, though it is sorely against her will, and the +duchess, taking her hand, says something very pretty to her, while the +duke looks on with ill-disguised admiration in his face. + +They are all standing in a sort of anteroom, curtained off, but only +partly concealed from the ballroom. Young Lady Chetwoode, who, as I have +said, is a special pet with the duchess, is present, with Sir Guy and +one or two others. + +"You must give me another dance, Mrs. Rodney, before your card is quite +full," says the duke, smiling. "If, indeed, I am yet in time." + +"Yes, quite in time," says Mona. Then she pauses, looking at him so +earnestly that he is compelled to return her gaze. "You shall have +another dance," she says, in her clear voice, that is perfectly distinct +to every one; "but you must not call me Mrs. Rodney: I am only Mrs. +Geoffrey!" + +A dead silence follows. Lady Rodney raises her head, scenting mischief +in the air. + +"No?" says Lauderdale, laughing. "But why, then? There is no other Mrs. +Rodney, is there?" + +"No. But there will be when Captain Rodney marries. And Lady Rodney says +I have no claim to the name at all. I am only Mrs. Geoffrey." + +She says it all quite simply, with a smile, and a quick blush that +arises merely from the effort of having to explain, not from the +explanation itself. There is not a touch of malice in her soft eyes or +on her parted lips. + +Lady Chetwoode looks at her fan and then at Sir Guy. The duchess, with a +grave expression, looks at Lady Rodney. Can her old friend have proved +herself unkind to this pretty stranger? Can she have already shown +symptoms of that tyrannical temper which, according to the duchess, is +Lady Rodney's chief bane? She says nothing, however, but, moving her fan +with a beckoning gesture, draws her skirts aside, and motions to Mona, +to seat herself beside her. + +Mona obeys, feeling no shrinking from the kindly stout lady who is +evidently bent on being "all things" to her. It does occur, perhaps, to +her laughter-loving mind that there is a paucity of nose about the +duchess, and a rather large amount of "too, too solid flesh;" but she +smothers all such iniquitous reflections, and commences to talk with her +gayly and naturally. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +HOW MONA INTERVIEWS THE DUCHESS--AND HOW SHE SUSTAINS CONVERSATION WITH +THE RODNEYS' EVIL GENIUS. + + +For some time they talk together, and then the duchess, fearing lest she +may be keeping Mrs. Geoffrey from the common amusement of a ballroom, +says, gently,-- + +"You are not dancing much?" + +"No," says Mona, shaking her head. "Not--not to-night. I shall soon." + +"But why not to-night?" asks her Grace, who has noticed with curiosity +the girl's refusal to dance with a lanky young man in a hussar uniform, +who had evidently made it the business of the evening to get introduced +to her. Indeed, for an hour he had been feasting his eyes upon her fresh +young beauty, and, having gone to infinite trouble to get presented to +her, had been rewarded for his trouble by a little friendly smile, a +shake of the head, and a distinct but kindly refusal to join in the mazy +dance. + +"But why?" asks the duchess. + +"Because"--with a quick blush--"I am not accustomed to dancing much. +Indeed, I only learned to-day, and I might not be able to dance with +every one." + +"But you were not afraid to dance with Lauderdale, my son?" says the +duchess, looking at her. + +"I should never be afraid of him," returns Mona. "He has kind eyes. He +is"--slowly and meditatively--"very like you." + +The duchess laughs. + +"He may be, of course," she says. "But I don't like to see a gay child +like you sitting still. You should dance everything for the night." + +"Well, as I say, I shall soon," returns Mona, brightening, "because +Geoffrey has promised to teach me." + +"If I were 'Geoffrey,' I think I shouldn't," says the duchess, +meaningly. + +"No?" raising an innocent face. "To much trouble, you think, perhaps. +But, bless you, Geoffrey wouldn't mind that, so long as he was giving me +pleasure." At which answer the duchess is very properly ashamed of both +her self and her speech. + +"I should think very few people would deem it a trouble to serve you," +she says, graciously. "And perhaps, after all, you don't much care about +dancing." + +"Yes, I do," says Mona, truthfully. "Just now, at least. +Perhaps"--sadly--"when I am your age I sha'n't." + +This is a _betise_ of the first water. And Lady Rodney, who can +hear--and is listening to--every word, almost groans aloud. + +The duchess, on the contrary, gives way to mirth, and, leaning back in +her chair, laughs softly but with evident enjoyment. Mona contemplates +her curiously, pensively. + +"What have I said?" she asks, half plaintively. "You laugh, yet I did +not mean to be funny. Tell me what I said." + +"It was only a little touch of nature," explains her Grace. "On that +congratulate yourself. Nature is at a discount these days. And I--I love +nature. It is so rare, a veritable philosopher's stone. You only told +me what my glass tells me daily,--that I am not so young as I once +was,--that, in fact, when sitting next pretty children like you, I am +quite old." + +"_Did_ I say all that?" asks Mrs. Geoffrey, with wide eyes. "Indeed, I +think you mistake. Old people have wrinkles, and they do not talk as you +do. And when one is sweet to look at, one is never old." + +To pay a compliment perfectly one must, I think, have at least a few +drops of Irish blood in one's veins. As a rule, the happy-go-lucky +people of Ireland can bring themselves to believe thoroughly, and +without hypocrisy, in almost anything for the time being,--can fling +themselves heart and soul into their flatteries, and come out of them +again as victors. And what other nation is capable of this? To make +sweet phrases is one thing; to look as if you felt or meant them is +quite another. + +The little suspicion of blarney trips softly and naturally from Mona's +tongue. She doesn't smile as she speaks, but looks with eyes full of +flattering conviction at the stout but comely duchess. And in truth it +may be that in Mona's eyes she is sweet to look at, in that she has been +kind and tender towards her in her manner. + +And the duchess is charmed, pleased beyond measure That faint touch +about the wrinkles was the happiest of the happy. Only that morning her +Grace, in spite of her unapproachable maid and unlimited care, had seen +an additional line around her mouth that had warned her of youth's +decline, and now to meet some one oblivious of this line is sweet to +her. + +"Then you didn't go out much in Ireland?" she says, thinking it more +graceful to change the conversation at this point. + +"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey. + +"Ah!" says the duchess, feeling puzzled. "Then perhaps they don't dance +in Ireland. + +"Yes, they do indeed, a great deal; at least I have heard so." + +"Then I suppose when there you were too young to go out?" pursues the +poor duchess, striving for information. + +"I wasn't," says Mona: "I went out a great deal. All day long I was in +the open air. That is what made my hands so brown last autumn." + +"Were they brown?" + +"As berries," says Mona, genially. + +"At least they are a pretty shape," says the duchess glancing at the +slim little hands lying gloved in their owner's lap. "But I don't think +you quite understood the 'going out' in the light that I did. I mean, +did you go much into society?" + +"There wasn't much society to go into," says Mona, "and I was only +fifteen when staying with Aunt Anastasia. She," confidentially, "made +rather a grand match for us, you know." (Lady Rodney grinds her teeth, +and tells herself she is on the point of fainting.) "She married the +Provost of Trinity College; but I don't think he did her any good. She +is the oddest old thing! Even to think of her now makes me laugh. You +should have seen her," says Mrs. Geoffrey, leaning back in her chair, +and giving way to her usual merry laugh, that rings like a peal of +silver bells, "with her wig that had little curls all over it, and her +big poke-bonnet like a coal-scuttle!" + +"Well, I really wish I had seen her," says the good-humored duchess, +smiling in sympathy, and beginning to feel herself more capable of +thorough enjoyment than she has been for years. "Was she witty, as all +Irish people are said to be?" + +"Oh, dear, no," says Mona, with an emphatic shake of her lovely head. +"She hadn't the least little bit of wit in her composition. She was as +solemn as an Eng----I mean a Spaniard (they are all solemn, are they +not?), and never made a joke in her life, but she was irresistibly comic +all the same." Then suddenly, "What a very pretty little woman that is +over there, and what a lovely dress!" + +"Very pretty indeed, and quite good taste and that. She's a Mrs. Lennox, +and her husband is our master of the hounds. She is always quite correct +in the matter of _clothes_." There is an awful reservation in her +Grace's tone, which is quite lost upon Mona. "But she is by no means +little in her own opinion, and in fact rather prides herself upon +her--er--form generally," concludes the duchess, so far at a loss for a +word as to be obliged to fall back upon slang. + +"Her form!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, surveying the tiny Mrs. Lennox from head +to foot in sheer wonderment. "She need hardly pride herself on that. She +hasn't much of it, has she?" + +"Yes,--in her own estimation," says the duchess, somewhat severely, +whose crowning horror is a frisky matron, to which title little Mrs. +Lennox may safely lay claim. + +"Well, I confess that puzzles me," says Mona, knitting her straight +brows and scanning the small lady before her with earnest eyes, who is +surrounded by at least a dozen men, with all of whom she is conversing +without any apparent effort. "I really think she is the smallest woman I +ever saw. Why, I am only medium height, but surely I could make two of +her. At least I have more figure, or form, as you call it, than she +has." + +The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, +amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young +woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, +and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English +tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently. + +"Yes, but we are all so different from the English. We have no pretty +fair hair in Ireland, or at least very little of it." + +"Do you admire our hair? And we are all so heartily tired of it," says +the duchess. "Well, tell me more about your own land. Are the women all +like you? In style, I mean. I have seen a few, of course, but not enough +to describe a whole." + +"Like me? Oh, no," says Mrs. Geoffrey. "Some of them are really +beautiful, like pictures. When I was staying with Aunt Anastasia--the +Provost's wife, you remember--I saw a great many pretty people. I saw a +great many students, too," says Mona, brightening, "and liked them very +much. They liked me, too." + +"How strange!" says the duchess, with an amused smile. "Are you quite +sure of that?" + +"Oh, quite. They used to take me all over the college, and sometimes to +the bands in the squares. They were very good to me." + +"They would be, of course," says the duchess. + +"But they were troublesome, very troublesome," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with +a retrospective sigh, leaning back in her chair and folding her hands +together on her lap. "You can't imagine what a worry they were at +times,--always ringing the college bell at the wrong hours, and getting +tight!" + +"Getting what?" asks the duchess, somewhat taken aback. + +"Tight,--screwed,--tipsy, you know," replies Mona, innocently. "Tight +was the word they taught me. I think they believed it sounded more +respectable than the others. And the Divinity boys were the worst. Shall +I tell you about them?" + +"Do," says the duchess. + +"Well, three of them used to come to see Aunt Anastasia; at least they +_said_ it was auntie, but they never spoke to her if they could help it, +and were always so glad when she went to sleep after dinner." + +"I think your Aunt Anastasia was very good to them," says the duchess. + +"But after a bit they grew very tiresome. When I tell you they all three +proposed to me every day for a week, you will understand me. Yet even +that we could have borne, though it was very expensive, because they +used to go about stealing my gloves and my ribbons, but when they took +to punching each other's heads about me auntie said I had better go to +Uncle Brian for a while: so I went; and there I met Geoffrey," with a +brilliant smile. + +"I think Geoffrey owes those Divinity boys more than he can ever pay," +says the duchess, very prettily. "You must come and see me soon, child. +I am an old woman, and seldom stir from home, except when I am +positively ordered out by Malcom, as I was to-night. Come next Thursday. +There are some charming trifles at the old Court that may amuse you, +though I may fail to do so." + +"I sha'n't want any trifles to amuse me, if you will talk to me," says +Mona. + +"Well, come early. And now go and dance with Mr. Darling. He has been +looking at me very angrily for the last three minutes. By the by," +putting up her glasses, "is that little girl in the lemon-colored gown +his sister?" + +"Yes; that is Sir Nicholas's Doatie Darling," returns Mona, with a light +laugh. And then Nolly leads her away, and, feeling more confident with +him, she is once again dancing as gayly as the best. + +"Your foot is plainly 'on your native heath,'" says Nolly, "though your +name may not be 'McGregor.' What on earth were you saying to that old +woman for the last four hours?" + +"It was only twenty minutes," says Mona. + +"Twenty minutes! By Jove, she must be more interesting than we thought," +says Mr. Darling, "if you can put it at that time. I thought she was +going to eat you, she looked so pleased with you. And no wonder, too:" +with a loud and a hearty sigh. + +"She was very nice to me," says Mona, "and is, I think, a very pleasant +old lady. She asked me to go and see her next Thursday." + +"Bless my stars!" says Nolly; "you _have_ been going it. That is the day +on which she will receive no one but her chief pets. The duchess, when +she comes down here, reverses the order of things. The rest have an 'at +home' day. She has a 'not at home' day." + +"Where are people when they are not at home?" asks Mona, simply. + +"That's the eighth wonder of the world," says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. +"It has never yet been discovered. Don't seek to pry too closely into +it; you might meet with a rebuff." + +"How sad Nicholas looks!" says Mona, suddenly. + +In a doorway, somewhat out of the crush, Sir Nicholas is standing. His +eyes are fixed on Dorothy, who is laughing with a gay and gallant +plunger in the distance. He is looking depressed and melancholy; a +shadow seems to have fallen into his dark eyes. + +"Now he is thinking of that horrid lawsuit again," says Nolly, +regretfully, who is a really good sort all round. "Let us go to him." + +"Yes; let me go to him," says Mona, quickly; "I shall know what to say +better than you." + +After a little time she succeeds in partially lifting the cloud that has +fallen on her brother. He has grown strangely fond of her, and finds +comfort in her gentle eyes and sympathetic mouth. Like all the rest, he +has gone down before Mona, and found a place for her in his heart. He is +laughing at some merry absurdity of hers, and is feeling braver, more +hopeful, when a little chill seems to pass over him, and, turning, he +confronts a tall dark young man who has come leisurely--but with a +purpose--to where he and Mona are standing. + +It is Paul Rodney. + +Sir Nicholas, just moving his glass from one eye to the other, says +"Good evening" to him, bending his head courteously, nay, very civilly, +though without a touch, or suspicion of friendliness. He does not put +out his hand, however, and Paul Rodney, having acknowledged his +salutation by a bow colder and infinitely more distant than his own, +turns to Mona. + +"You have not quite forgotten me, I hope, Mrs. Rodney. You will give me +one dance?" + +His eyes, black and faintly savage, seem to burn into hers. + +"No; I have not forgotten you," says Mona, shrinking away from him. As +she speaks she looks nervously at Nicholas. + +"Go and dance, my dear," he says, quickly, in a tone that decides her. +It is to please him, for his sake, she must do this thing; and so, +without any awkward hesitation, yet without undue haste, she turns and +lays her hand on the Australian's arm. A few minutes later she is +floating round the room in his arms, and, passing by Geoffrey, though +she sees him not, is seen by him. + +"Nicholas, what is the meaning of this?" says Geoffrey, a few moments +later, coming up with a darkening brow to where Nicholas is leaning +against a wall. "What has possessed Mona to give that fellow a dance? +She must be mad, or ignorant, or forgetful of everything. She was with +you: why did you not prevent it?" + +"My dear fellow, let well alone," says Nicholas, with his slow, peculiar +smile. "It was I induced Mona to dance with 'that fellow,' as you call +him. Forgive me this injury, if indeed you count it one." + +"I don't understand you," says Geoffrey, still rather hotly. + +"I think I hardly understand myself: yet I know I am possessed of a +morbid horror lest the county should think I am uncivil to this man +merely because he has expressed a hope that he may be able to turn me +out of doors. His hope may be a just one. I rather think it is: so it +pleased me that Mona should dance with him, if only to show the room +that he is not altogether tabooed by us." + +"But I wish it had been any one but Mona," says Geoffrey, still +agitated. + +"But who? Doatie will not dance with him, and Violet he never asks. I +fell back, then, upon the woman who has so little malice in her heart +that she could not be ungracious to any one. Against her will she read +my desire in my eyes, and has so far sacrificed herself for my sake. I +had no right to compel your wife to this satisfying of my vanity, yet I +could not resist it. Forget it; the dance will soon be over." + +"It seems horrible to me that Mona should be on friendly terms with +your enemy," says Geoffrey, passionately. + +"He is not my enemy. My dear boy, spare me a three-act drama. What has +the man done, beyond wearing a few gaudy rings, and some oppressive +neckties, that you should hate him as you do? It is unreasonable. And, +besides, he is in all probability your cousin. Parkins and Slow declare +they can find no flaw in the certificate of his birth; and--is not every +man at liberty to claim his own?" + +"If he claims my wife for another dance, I'll----" begins Geoffrey. + +"No, you won't," interrupts his brother, smiling. "Though I think the +poor child has done her duty now. Let him pass. It is he should hate me, +not I him." + +At this Geoffrey says something under his breath about Paul Rodney that +he ought not to say, looking the while at Nicholas with a certain light +in his blue eyes that means not only admiration but affection. + +Meantime, Mona, having danced as long as she desires with this enemy in +the camp, stops abruptly before a curtained entrance to a small +conservatory, into which he leads her before she has time to +remonstrate: indeed, there is no apparent reason why she should. + +Her companion is singularly silent. Scarce one word has escaped him +since she first laid her hand upon his arm, and now again dumbness, or +some hidden feeling, seals his lips. + +Of this Mona is glad. She has no desire to converse with him, and is +just congratulating herself upon her good fortune in that he declines to +speak with her, when he breaks the welcome silence. + +"Have they taught you to hate me already?" he asks, in a low, compressed +tone, that make her nerves assert themselves. + +"I have been taught nothing," she says, with a most successful grasp at +dignity. "They do not speak of you at the Towers,--at least, not +unkindly." She looks at him as she says this, but lowers her eyes as she +meets his. This dark, vehement young man almost frightens her. + +"Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," +exclaims he, with some growing excitement. + +"Why should I despise you?" asks she, slowly, opening her eyes. + +The simple query confounds him more than might a more elaborate one put +by a clever worldling. Why indeed? + +"I was thinking about this impending lawsuit," he stammers, uneasily. +"You know of it, of course? Yet why should I be blamed?" + +"No one blames you," says Mona; "yet it is hard that Nicholas should be +made unhappy." + +"Other people are unhappy, too," says the Australian, gloomily. + +"Perhaps they make their own unhappiness," says Mona, at random. "But +Nicholas has done nothing. He is good and gentle always. He knows no +evil thoughts. He wishes ill to no man." + +"Not even to me?" with a sardonic laugh. + +"Not even to you," very gravely. There is reproof in her tone. They are +standing somewhat apart, and her eyes have been turned from him. Now, as +she says this, she changes her position slightly, and looks at him very +earnestly. From the distant ballroom the sound of the dying music comes +sadly, sweetly; a weeping fountain in a corner mourns bitterly, as it +seems to Mona, tear by tear, perhaps for some lost nymph. + +"Well, what would you have me do?" demands he, with some passion. "Throw +up everything? Lands, title, position? It is more than could be expected +of any man." + +"Much more," says Mona; but she sighs as she says it, and a little look +of hopelessness comes into her face. It is so easy to read Mona's face. + +"You are right," he says, with growing vehemence: "no man would do it. +It is such a brilliant chance, such a splendid scheme----." He checks +himself suddenly. Mona looks at him curiously, but says nothing. In a +second he recovers himself, and goes on: "Yet because I will not +relinquish my just claim you look upon me with hatred and contempt." + +"Oh, no," says Mona, gently; "only I should like you better, of course, +if you were not the cause of our undoing." + +"'Our'? How you associate yourself with these Rodneys!" he says, +scornfully; "yet you are as unlike them as a dove is unlike a hawk. How +came you to fall into their nest? And so if I could only consent to +efface myself you would like me better,--tolerate me in fact? A poor +return for annihilation. And yet," impatiently, "I don't know. If I +could be sure that even my memory would be respected by you----." He +pauses and pushes back his hair from his brow. + +"Why could you not have stayed in Australia?" says Mona, with some +excitement. "You are rich; your home is there; you have passed all your +life up to this without a title, without the tender associations that +cling round Nicholas and that will cost him almost his life to part +with. You do not want them, yet you come here to break up our peace and +make us all utterly wretched." + +"Not you," says Paul, quickly. "What is it to you? It will not take a +penny out of your pocket. Your husband," with an evil sneer, "has his +income secured. I am not making you wretched." + +"You are," says Mona, eagerly. "Do you think," tears gathering in her +eyes, "that I could be happy when those I love are reduced to despair?" + +"You must have a large heart to include all of them," says Rodney with a +shrug. "Whom do you mean by 'those you love?' Not Lady Rodney, surely. +She is scarcely a person, I take it to inspire that sentiment in even +your tolerant breast. It cannot be for her sake you bear me such +illwill?" + +"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only +sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him." + +"Do you?" says her companion, staring at her, and drawing his breath a +little hard. "Then, even if he should lose to me lands, title, nay, all +he possesses, I should still count him a richer man than I am." + +"Oh, poor Nicholas!" says Mona sadly, "and poor little Doatie!" + +"You speak as if my victory was a foregone conclusion," says Rodney. +"How can you tell? He may yet gain the day, and I may be the outcast." + +"I hope with all my heart you will," says Mona. + +"Thank you," replies he stiffly; "yet, after all, I think I should bet +upon my own chance." + +"I am afraid you are right," says Mona. "Oh, why did you come over at +all?" + +"I am very glad I did," replies he, doggedly. "At least I have seen you. +They cannot take that from me. I shall always be able to call the +remembrance of your face my own." + +Mona hardly hears him. She is thinking of Nicholas's face as it was half +an hour ago when he had leaned against the deserted doorway and looked +at pretty Dorothy. + +Yet pretty Dorothy at her very best moments had never looked, nor ever +could look, as lovely as Mona appears now, as she stands with her hands +loosely clasped before her, and the divine light of pity in her eyes, +that are shining softly like twin stars. + +Behind her rises a tall shrub of an intense green, against which the +soft whiteness of her satin gown gleams with a peculiar richness. Her +gaze is fixed upon a distant planet that watches her solemnly through +the window from its seat in the far-off heaven, "silent, as if it +watch'd the sleeping earth." + +She sighs. There is pathos and sweetness and tenderness in every line of +her face, and much sadness. Her lips are slightly parted, "her eyes are +homes of silent prayer." Paul, watching her, feels as though he is in +the presence of some gentle saint, sent for a space to comfort sinful +earth. + +A passionate admiration for her beauty and purity fills his breast: he +could have fallen at her feet and cried aloud to her to take pity upon +him, to let some loving thought for him--even him too--enter and find +fruitful soil within her heart. + +"Try not to hate me," he says, imploringly, in a broken voice, going +suddenly up to her and taking one of her hands in his. His grasp is so +hard as almost to hurt her. Mona awakening from her reverie, turns to +him with a start. Something in his face moves her. + +"Indeed, I do not hate you," she says impulsively. "Believe me, I do +not. But still I fear you." + +Some one is coming quickly towards them. Rodney, dropping Mona's hand, +looks hurriedly round, only to see Lady Rodney approaching. + +"Your husband is looking for you," she says to Mona, in an icy tone. +"You had better go to him. This is no place for you." + +Without vouchsafing a glance of recognition to the Australian, she +sweeps past, leaving them again alone. Paul laughs aloud. + +"'A haughty spirit comes before a fall,'" quotes he contemptuously. + +"I must go now. Good-night," says Mona, kindly if coldly. He escorts her +to the door of the conservatory There Lauderdale, who is talking with +some men, comes forward and offers her his arm to take her to the +carriage. And then adieux are said, and the duke accompanies her +downstairs, whilst Lady Rodney contents herself with one of her sons. + +It is a triumph, if Mona only knew it, but she is full of sad +reflections, and is just now wrapped up in mournful thoughts of Nicholas +and little Dorothy. Misfortune seems flying towards them on strong swift +wings. Can nothing stay its approach, or beat it back in time to effect +a rescue? If they fail to find the nephew of the old woman Elspeth in +Sydney, whither he is supposed to have gone, or if, on finding him they +fail to elicit any information from him on the subject of the lost will, +affairs may be counted almost hopeless. + +"Mona," says Geoffrey, to her suddenly, in a low whisper, throwing his +arm round her (they are driving home, alone in the small +night-brougham)--"Mona, do you know what you have done to-night? The +whole room went mad about you. They would talk of no one else. Do not +let them turn your head." + +"Turn it where, darling?" asks she, a little dreamily. + +"Away from me," returns he, with some emotion, tightening his clasp +around her. + +"From you? Was there ever such a dear silly old goose," says Mrs. +Geoffrey, with a faint, loving laugh. And then, with a small sigh full +of content, she forgets her cares for others for awhile, and, nestling +closer to him, lays her head upon his shoulder and rests there happily +until they reach the Towers. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +HOW THE CLOUD GATHERS--AND HOW NICHOLAS AND DOROTHY HAVE THEIR BAD +QUARTER OF AN HOUR. + + +The blow so long expected, yet so eagerly and hopefully scoffed at with +obstinate persistency, falls at last (all too soon) upon the Towers. +Perhaps it is not the very final blow that when it comes must shatter to +atoms all the old home-ties, and the tender links that youth has +forged, but it is certainly a cruel shaft, that touches the heart +strings, making them quiver. The first thin edge of the wedge has been +inserted: the sword trembles to its fall: _c'est le commencement de la +fin_. + +It is the morning after Lady Chetwoode's ball. Every one has got down to +breakfast. Every one is in excellent spirits, in spite of the fact that +the rain is racing down the window-panes in torrents, and that the post +is late. + +As a rule it always is late, except when it is preternaturally early; +sometimes it comes at half-past ten, sometimes with the hot water. There +is a blessed uncertainty about its advent that keeps every one on the +tiptoe of expectation, and probably benefits circulation. + +The postman himself is an institution in the village, being of an +unknown age, in fact, the real and original oldest inhabitant, and still +with no signs of coming dissolution about him, thereby carrying out +Dicken's theory that a dead post-boy or a dead donkey is a thing yet to +be seen. He is a hoary-headed old person, decrepit and garrulous, with +only one leg worth speaking about, and an ear trumpet. This last is +merely for show, as once old Jacob is set fairly talking, no human power +could get in a word from any one else. + +"I am always so glad when the post doesn't arrive in time for +breakfast," Doatie is saying gayly. "Once those horrid papers come, +every one gets stupid and engrossed, and thinks it a positive injury to +have to say even 'yes' or 'no' to a civil question. Now see how sociable +we have been this morning, because that dear Jacob is late again. Ah! I +spoke too soon," as the door opens and a servant enters with a most +imposing pile of letters and papers. + +"Late again, Jermyn," says Sir Nicholas, lazily. + +"Yes, Sir Nicholas,--just an hour and a half. He desired me to say he +had had another 'dart' in his rheumatic knee this morning, so hoped you +would excuse him." + +"Poor old soul!" says Sir Nicholas. + +"Jolly old bore!" says Captain Rodney, though not unkindly. + +"Don't throw me over that blue envelope, Nick," says Nolly: "I don't +seem to care about it. I know it, I think it seems familiar. You may +have it, with my love. Mrs. Geoffrey, be so good as to tear it in two." + +Jack is laughing over a letter written by one of the fellows in India; +all are deep in their own correspondence. + +Sir Nicholas, having gone leisurely through two of his letters, opens a +third, and begins to peruse it rather carelessly. But hardly has he gone +half-way down the first page when his face changes; involuntarily his +fingers tighten over the luckless letter, crimping it out of all shape. +By a supreme effort he suppresses an exclamation. It is all over in a +moment. Then he raises his head, and the color comes back to his lips. +He smiles faintly, and, saying something about having many things to do +this morning, and that therefore he hopes they will forgive his running +away from them in such a hurry he rises and walks slowly from the room. + +Nobody has noticed that anything is wrong. Only Doatie turns very pale, +and glances nervously at Geoffrey, who answers her frightened look with +a perplexed one of his own. + +Then, as breakfast was virtually over before the letters came, they all +rise, and disperse themselves as fancy dictates. But Geoffrey goes alone +to where he knows he shall find Nicholas in his own den. + +An hour later, coming out of it again, feeling harassed and anxious, he +finds Dorothy walking restlessly up and down the corridor outside, as +though listening for some sound she pines to hear. Her pretty face, +usually so bright and _debonnaire_, is pale and sad. Her lips are +trembling. + +"May I not see Nicholas, if only for a moment?" she says, plaintively, +gazing with entreaty at Geoffrey. At which Nicholas, hearing from within +the voice that rings its changes on his heart from morn till eve, calls +aloud to her,-- + +"Come in, Dorothy. I want to speak to you." + +So she goes in, and Geoffrey, closing the door behind her, leaves them +together. + +She would have gone to him then, and tried to console him in her own +pretty fashion, but he motions her to stay where she is. + +"Do not come any nearer," he says, hastily, "I can tell it all to you +better, more easily, when I cannot see you." + +So Doatie, nervous and miserable, and with unshed tears in her eyes, +stands where he tells her, with her hand resting on the back of an +arm-chair, while he, going over to the window, deliberately turns his +face from hers. Yet even now he seems to find a difficulty in beginning. +There is a long pause; and then---- + +"They--they have found that fellow,--old Elspeth's nephew," he says in a +husky tone. + +"Where?" asks Doatie, eagerly. + +"In Sydney. In Paul Rodney's employ. In his very house." + +"Ah!" says Doatie, clasping her hands. "And----" + +"He says he knows nothing about any will." + +Another pause, longer than the last. + +"He denies all knowledge of it. I suppose he has been bought up by the +other side. And now what remains for us to do? That was our last chance, +and a splendid one, as there are many reasons for believing that old +Elspeth either burned or hid the will drawn up by my grandfather on the +night of his death; but it has failed us. Yet I cannot but think this +man Warden must know something of it. How did he discover Paul Rodney's +home? It has been proved, that old Elspeth was always in communication +with my uncle up to the hour of her death; she must have sent Warden to +Australia then, probably with this very will she had been so carefully +hiding for years. If so, it is beyond all doubt burned or otherwise +destroyed by this time. Parkins writes to me in despair." + +"This is dreadful!" says Doatie. "But"--brightening--"surely it is not +so bad as death or disgrace, is it?" + +"It means death to me," replies he, in a low tone. "It means that I +shall lose you." + +"Nicholas," cries she, a little sharply, "what is it you would say?" + +"Nay, hear me," exclaims he, turning for the first time to comfort her; +and, as he does, she notices the ravages that the last hour of anxiety +and trouble have wrought upon his face. He is looking thin and haggard, +and rather tired. All her heart goes out to him, and it is with +difficulty she restrains her desire to run to him and encircle him with +her soft arms. But something in his expression prevents her. + +"Hear me," he says, passionately: "if I am worsted in this fight--and I +see no ray of hope anywhere--I am a ruined man. I shall then have +literally only five hundred a year that I can call my own. No home; no +title. And such an income as that, to people bred as you and I have +been, means simply penury. All must be at an end between us, Dorothy. We +must try to forget that we have ever been more than ordinary friends." + +This tirade has hardly the effect upon Dorothy that might be desired. +She still stands firm, utterly unshaken by the storm that has just swept +over her (frail child though she is), and, except for a slight touch of +indignation that is fast growing within her eyes, appears unmoved. + +"You may try just as hard as ever you like," she says, with dignity: "I +_sha'n't_!" + +"So you think now; but by and by you will find the pressure too great, +and you will go with the tide. If I were to work for years and years, I +could scarcely at the end achieve a position fit to offer you. And I am +thirty-two, remember,--not a boy beginning life, with all the world and +time before him,--and you are only twenty. By what right should I +sacrifice your youth, your prospects? Some other man, some one more +fortunate, may perhaps----" + +Here he breaks down ignominiously, considering the amount of sternness +he had summoned to his aid when commencing, and, walking to the +mantelpiece, lays his arm on it, and his head upon his arms. + +"You insult me," says Dorothy, growing even whiter than she was before, +"when you speak to me of--of----" + +Then she, too, breaks down, and, going to him, deliberately lifts one of +his arms and lays it round her neck; after which she places both hers +gently round his, and so, having comfortably arranged herself, proceeds +to indulge in a hearty burst of tears. This is, without exception, the +very wisest course she could have taken, as it frightens the life out of +Nicholas, and brings him to a more proper frame of mind in no time. + +"Oh, Dorothy, don't do that! Don't, my dearest, my pet!" he entreats. "I +won't say another word, not one, if you will only stop." + +"You have said too much already, and there _sha'n't_ be an end of it, as +you declared just now," protests Doatie, vehemently, who declines to be +comforted just yet, and is perhaps finding some sorrowful enjoyment in +the situation. "I'll take very good care there sha'n't! And I won't let +you give me up. I don't care how poor you are. And I must say I think it +is very rude and heartless of you, Nicholas, to want to hand me over to +'some other man,' as if I was a book or a parcel! 'Some other man,' +indeed!" winds up Miss Darling, with a final sob and a heavy increase of +righteous wrath. + +"But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though +inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty and devotion. +"Your people won't hear of it." + +"Oh, yes, they will," returns Doatie, emphatically, "They will probably +hear a great deal of it! I shall speak of it morning, noon, and night, +until out of sheer vexation of spirit they will come in a body and +entreat you to remove me. Ah!" regretfully, "if only I had a fortune +now, how sweet it would be! I never missed it before. We are really very +unfortunate." + +"We are, indeed. But I think your having a fortune would only make +matters worse." Then he grows despairing once more. "Dorothy, it is +madness to think of it. I am speaking only wisdom, though you are angry +with me for it. Why encourage hope where there is none?" + +"Because 'the miserable hath no other medicine but only hope,'" quotes +she, very sadly. + +"Yet what does Feltham say? 'He that hopes too much shall deceive +himself at last' Your medicine is dangerous, darling. It will kill you +in the end. Just think, Dorothy, how could you live on five hundred a +year!" + +"Other people have done it,--do it every day," says Dorothy, stoutly. +She has dried her eyes, and is looking almost as pretty as ever. "We +might find a dear nice little house somewhere, Nicholas," this rather +vaguely, "might we not? with some furniture in Queen Anne's style. Queen +Anne, or what looks like her, is not so very expensive now, is she?" + +"No," says Nicholas, "she isn't; though I should consider her dear at +any price." He is a depraved young man who declines to see beauty in +ebony and gloom. "But," with a sigh, "I don't think you quite +understand, darling." + +"Oh, yes, I do," says Dorothy, with a wise shake of her blonde head; +"you mean that probably we shall not be able to order any furniture at +all. Well, even if it comes to sitting on one horrid kitchen deal chair +with you, Nicholas, I sha'n't mind it a scrap." She smiles divinely, and +with the utmost cheerfulness, as she says this. But then she has never +tried to sit on a deal chair, and it is a simple matter to conjure up a +smile when woes are imaginary. + +"You are an angel," says Nicholas. And, indeed, considering all things, +it is the least he could have said. "If we weather this storm, Dorothy," +he goes on, earnestly,--"if, by any chance, Fate should reinstate me +once more firmly in the position I have always held,--it shall be my +proudest remembrance that in my adversity you were faithful to me, and +were content to share my fortune, evil though it showed itself to be." + +They are both silent for a little while, and then Dorothy says, +softly,-- + +"Perhaps it will all come right at last. Oh! if some kind good fairy +would but come to our aid and help us to confound our enemies!" + +"I am afraid there is only one fairy on earth just now, and that is +you," says Nicholas, with a faint smile, smoothing back her pretty hair +with loving fingers, and gazing fondly into the blue eyes that have +grown so big and earnest during their discussion. + +"I mean a real fairy," says Dorothy, shaking her head "If she were to +come now this moment and say, 'Dorothy'----" + +"Dorothy," says a voice outside at this very instant, so exactly as +Doatie pauses that both she and Nicholas start simultaneously. + +"That is Mona's voice," says Doatie. "I must go. Finish your letters, +and come for me then, and we can go into the garden and talk it all over +again. Come in, Mona; I am here." + +She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently +searching for her everywhere. + +"Ah! now, I have disturbed you," says Mrs. Geoffrey, pathetically, to +whom lovers are a rare delight and a sacred study. "How stupid of me! +Sure you needn't have come out, when you knew it was only me. And of +course he wants you, poor dear fellow. I thought you were in the small +drawing-room, or I shouldn't have called you at all." + +"It doesn't matter. Come upstairs with me, Mona. I want to tell you all +about it," says Doatie. The reaction has set in, and she is again +tearful, and reduced almost to despair. + +"Alas! Geoffrey has told me everything," says Mona, "That is why I am +now seeking for you. I thought, I _knew_, you were unhappy, and I wanted +to tell you how I suffer with you." + +By this time they have reached Dorothy's room, and now, sitting down, +gaze mournfully at each other. Mona is so truly grieved that any one +might well imagine this misfortune, that is rendering the very air +heavy, in her own, rather than another's. And this wholesale sympathy, +this surrendering of her body and mind to a grief that does not touch +herself, is inexpressibly sweet to her poor little friend. + +Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts +out crying afresh. + +"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close +embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they +mend." + +"Not always," sobs Doatie. "I know how it will be. We shall be +separated,--torn asunder, and then after a while they will make me marry +somebody else; and in a weak moment I shall do it! And then I shall be +utterly wretched for ever and ever." + +"You malign yourself," says Mona. "It is all impossible. You will have +no such weak moment, or I do not know you. You will be faithful always, +until he can marry you, and, if he never can, why, then you can be +faithful too, and go to your grave with his image only in your heart +That is not so bad a thought, is it?" + +"N--ot very," says Doatie, dolefully. + +"And, besides, you can always see him, you know," goes on Mona, +cheerfully. "It is not as if death had stolen him from you. He will be +always somewhere; and you can look into his eyes, and read how his love +for you has survived everything. And perhaps, after some time, he may +distinguish himself in some way and gain a position far grander than +mere money or rank can afford, because you know he is wonderfully +clever." + +"He is," says Dorothy, with growing animation. + +"And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time +yet for a missing will or a--a--useful witness to turn up. That will," +says Mona, musingly, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think +so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come +to it. It may be discovered yet." + +She looks so full of belief in her own fancy that she inspires Doatie on +the spot with a similar faith. + +"Mona! There is no one so sweet or comforting as you are," she cries, +giving her a grateful hug. "I really think I do feel a little better +now." + +"That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success. + +Violet, coming in a few moments later, finds them still discussing the +all-important theme. + +"It is unfortunate for every one," says Violet, disconsolately, sinking +in a low chair. "Such a dear house, and to have it broken up and given +into the possession of such a creature as that." She shrugs her +shoulders with genuine disgust. + +"You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is +perfectly utter!--such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!" + +"I don't suppose any one will take the slightest notice of him," says +Violet: "that is one comfort." + +"I don't know that: Lilian Chetwoode made him welcome in her house last +night," says Doatie, a little bitterly. + +"That is because Nicholas will insist on proving to every one he bears +him no malice, and speaks of him persistently as his cousin. Well, he +may be his cousin; but there is a limit to everything," says Violet, +with a slight frown. + +"That is just what is so noble about Nicholas," returns Doatie, quickly. +"He supports him, simply because it is his own quarrel. After all, it +matters to nobody but Nicholas himself: no one else will suffer if that +odious black man conquers." + +"Yes, many will. Lady Rodney,--and--and Jack too. He also must lose by +it," says Violet, with suppressed warmth. + +"He may; but how little in comparison! Nobody need be thought of but my +poor Nicholas," persists Doatie, who has not read between the lines, and +fails therefore in putting a proper construction upon the faint delicate +blush that is warming Violet's cheek. + +But Mona has read, and understands perfectly. + +"I think every one is to be pitied; and Jack more than most,--after dear +Nicholas," she says, gently, with such a kindly glance at Violet as goes +straight to that young woman's heart, and grows and blossoms there +forever after. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +HOW DISCUSSION WAXES RIFE--AND HOW NICHOLAS, HAVING MADE A SUGGESTION +THAT IS BITTER TO THE EARS OF HIS AUDIENCE, YET CARRIES HIS POINT +AGAINST ALL OPPOSITION. + + +"The day is done, and the darkness falls from the wings of night." The +dusk is slowly creeping up over all the land, the twilight is coming on +apace. As the day was, so is the gathering eve, sad and mournful, with +sounds of rain and sobbings of swift winds as they rush through the +barren beeches in the grove. The harbor bar is moaning many miles away, +yet its voice is borne by rude Boreas up from the bay to the walls of +the stately Towers, that neither rock nor shiver before the charges of +this violent son of "imperial AEolus." + +There is a ghostly tapping (as of some departed spirit who would fain +enter once again into the old halls so long forgotten) against the +window pane. Doubtless it is some waving branch flung hither and thither +by the cruel tempest that rages without. Shadows come and go; and eerie +thoughts oppress the breast:-- + + "Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, + Puts the wretch that lies in woe + In remembrance of a shroud." + +"What a wretched evening!" says Violet, with a little shiver. "Geoffrey, +draw the curtains closer." + +"A fit ending to a miserable day," says Lady Rodney, gloomily. + +"Night has always the effect of making bad look worse," says Doatie with +a sad attempt at cheerfulness. "Never mind; morning will soon be here +again." + +"But why should night produce melancholy?" says Nicholas, dreamily. "It +is but a reflection of the greater light, after all. What does Richter +call it? 'The great shadow and profile of day.' It is our own morbid +fancies that make us dread it." + +"Nevertheless, close the curtains, Geoffrey, and ask Lady Rodney if she +would not like tea now," says Violet, _sotto voce_. + +Somebody pokes the fire, until a crimson light streams through the room. +The huge logs are good-naturedly inclined, and burst their great sides +in an endeavor to promote more soothing thought. + +"As things are so unsettled, Nicholas, perhaps we had better put off our +dance," says Lady Rodney, presently. "It may only worry you, and +distress us all." + +"No. It will not worry me. Let us have our dance by all means," says +Nicholas, recklessly. "Why should we cave in, in such hot haste? It will +give us all something to think about. Why not get up tableaux? Our last +were rather a success. And to represent Nero fiddling, whilst Rome was +on fire, would be a very appropriate one for the present occasion." + +He laughs a little as he says this, but there is no mirth in his laugh. + +"Nicholas, come here," says Doatie, anxiously, from out the shadow in +which she is sitting, somewhat away from the rest. And Nicholas, going +to her finds comfort and grows calm again beneath the touch of the slim +little fingers she slips into his beneath the cover of the friendly +darkness, "I don't see why we shouldn't launch out into reckless +extravagance now our time threatens to be so short," says Jack, moodily. +"Let's us entertain our neighbors right royally before the end comes. +Why not wind up like the pantomimes, with showers of gold and rockets +and the gladsome noise of ye festive cracker?" + +"What nonsense some people are capable of talking!" says Violet, with a +little shrug. + +"Well, why not?" says Captain Rodney, undaunted by this small snub. "It +is far more difficult to talk than sense. Any fellow can do that. If I +were to tell you that Nolly is sound asleep, and that if he lurches even +half a degree more to the right he will presently be lost to sight among +the glowing embers" (Nolly rouses himself with a start), "you would +probably tell me I was a very silly fellow to waste breath over such a +palpable fact, but it would be sense nevertheless. I hope I haven't +disturbed you, Nolly? On such a night as this a severe scorching would +perhaps be a thing to be desired." + +"Thanks. I'll put it off for a night or two," says Nolly, sleepily. + +"Besides, I don't believe I _was_ talking nonsense," goes on Jack in an +aggrieved tone. "My last speech had very little folly in it. I feel the +time is fast approaching when we sha'n't have money even to meet our +tailors' bills." + +"'In the midst of life we are in debt,'" says Nolly, solemnly. Which is +the best thing he could have said, as it makes them all laugh in spite +of their pending misfortunes. + +"Nolly is waking up. I am afraid we sha'n't have that _auto da fe_, +after all," says Jack in a tone of rich disappointment. "I feel as if we +are going to be done out of a good thing." + +"What a day we're avin'," says Mr. Darling, disdaining to notice this +puerile remark. "It's been pouring since early dawn. I feel right down +cheap,--very nearly as depressed as when last night Nicholas stuck me +down to dance with the AEsthetic." + +"Lady Lilias Eaton, you mean?" asks Lady Rodney. "That reminds me we are +bound to go over there to-morrow. At least, some of us." + +"Mona must go," says Nicholas, quickly. "Lady Lilias made a point of it. +You will go, Mona?" + +"I should very much like to go," says Mona, gently, and with some +eagerness. She has been sitting very quietly with her hands before her, +hardly hearing what is passing around her,--lost, buried in thought. + +"Poor infant! It is her first essay," says Nolly, pitifully. + +"Wait till to-morrow evening, and see if you will feel as you do now. +Your cheerful complaisance in this matter is much to be admired. And +Nicholas should be grateful But I think you will find one dose of Lady +Lilias and her ancient Briton sufficient for your lifetime." + +"You used to be tremendous friends there at one time," says Geoffrey; +"never out of the house." + +"I used to stay there occasionally when old Lord Daintree was alive, if +you mean that," says Nolly, meekly. "As far as I can recollect, I was +always shipped there when naughty, or troublesome, or in the way at +home; and as a rule I was always in the way. There is a connection +between the Eatons and my mother, and Anadale saw a good deal of me off +and on during the holidays. It was a sort of rod in pickle, or dark +closet, that used to be held over my head when in disgrace." + +"Lilias must have been quite a child then," says Lady Rodney. + +"She was never a child: she was born quite grown up. But the ancient +Britons had not come into favor at that time: so she was a degree more +tolerable. Bless me," says Mr. Darling, with sudden animation, "what +horrid times I put in there. The rooms were ghastly enough to freeze the +blood in one's veins, and no candles would light 'em. The beds were all +four-posters, with heavy curtains round them, so high that one had to +get a small ladder to mount into bed. I remember one time--it was during +harvest, and the mowers were about--I suggested to Lord Daintree he +should get the men in to mow down the beds; but no one took any notice +of my proposal, so it fell to the ground. I was frightened to death, and +indeed was more in awe of the four-posters than of the old man, who +wasn't perhaps half bad." + +Dorothy from her corner laughs gayly. "Poor old Noll," she says: "it was +his unhappy childhood that blighted his later years and made him the +melancholy object he is." + +"Well, you know, it was much too much,--it was really," says Mr. +Darling, very earnestly. "Mrs. Geoffrey, won't you come to my rescue?". + +Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do +for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land +miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her +mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she +and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were +the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white +brow, and lets a little frown--born only of bewildered thought--contract +its fairness. + +"A scheme," he had said; and then in a moment the right words flash +across her brain. "A brilliant chance, a splendid scheme." What words +for an honest man to use! Could he be honest? Was there any flaw, any +damning clause anywhere in all this careful plot, so cleverly +constructed to bring ruin upon the heads of these people who have crept +into her tender heart? + +"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with +a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far +from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in +his tone. + +"No; very near you,--nearer than you think," says Mona, quick to notice +any variation in his tone, awaking from her reverie with a start, and +laying one of her hands over his. "Geoffrey," earnestly, "what is the +exact meaning of the word 'scheme'? Would an honest man (surely he would +not) talk of scheming?" Which absurd question only shows how unlearned +she yet is in the great lessons of life. + +"Well, that is rather a difficult question to answer," says Geoffrey. +"Monsieur de Lesseps, when dreaming out the Suez Canal, called it a +scheme; and he, I presume, is an honest man. Whereas, on the other side, +if a burglar were arranging to steal all your old silver, I suppose he +would call that a scheme too. What have you on the brain now, darling? +You are not going to defraud your neighbor, I hope." + +"It is very strange," says Mona, with a dissatisfied sigh, "but I'll +tell you all about it by and by." + +Instinct warns her of treachery; common sense belies the warning. To +which shall she give ear? + +"Shall we ask the Carsons to our dance, Nicholas?" asks his mother, at +this moment. + +"Ask any one you like,--any one, I mean, that is not quite impossible," +says Nicholas. + +"Edith Carson is very nearly so, I think." + +"Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?" +asks Mona, with some animation. + +"Yes. Girl with light, frizzy hair and green eye." + +"A strange girl, I thought, but very pretty. Yes--was it English she +talked?" + +"Of the purest," says Geoffrey. + +"What did she say, Mona?" inquired Doatie. + +"I am not sure that I can tell you,--at least not exactly as she said +it," says Mona, with hesitation. "I didn't quite understand her; but +Geoffrey asked her how she was enjoying herself, and she said it was +'fun all through;' and that she was amusing herself just then by hiding +from her partner, Captain Dunscombe, who was hunting for her 'all over +the shop,'--it was 'shop,' she said, wasn't it, Geoff? And that it did +her good to see him in a tearing rage, in fact on a regular 'champ,' +because it vexed Tricksy Newcombe, whose own particular he was in the +way of 'pals.'" + +Everybody laughs. In fact, Nolly roars. + +"Did she stop there?" he says: "that was unworthy of her. Breath for +once must have failed her, as nothing so trivial as want of words could +have influenced Miss Carson." + +"You should have seen Mona," says Geoffrey. "She opened her eyes and her +lips, and gazed fixedly upon the lively Edith. Curiosity largely mingled +with awe depicted itself upon her expressive countenance. She was +wondering whether she should have to conquer that extraordinary jargon +before being pronounced fit for polite society." + +"No, indeed," says Mona, laughing. "But it surely wasn't English, was +it? That is not the way everybody talks, surely." + +"Everybody," says Geoffrey; "that is, all specially nice people. You +won't be in the swim at all, unless you take to that sort of thing." + +"Then you are not a nice person yourself." + +"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I +trust to that and careful observation to reform me." + +"And I am to say 'pals' for friends, and call it pure English?" + +"It is not more extraordinary, surely, than calling a drunken young man +'tight,'" says Lady Rodney, with calm but cruel meaning. + +Mona blushes painfully. + +"Well, no; but that is pure Irish," says Geoffrey, unmoved. Mona, with +lowered head, turns her wedding-ring round and round upon her finger, +and repents bitterly that little slip of hers when talking with the +duchess last night. + +"If I must ask Edith Carson, I shall feel I am doing something against +my will," says Lady Rodney. + +"We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is +another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to." + +"Certainly dear. Who is it?" + +"Paul Rodney," replies he, very distinctly. + +"Nicholas!" cries his mother, faintly: "this is too much!" + +"Nevertheless, to oblige me," entreats he, hastily. + +"But this is morbid,--a foolish pride," protests she, passionately, +while all the others are struck dumb at this suggestion from Nicholas. +Is his brain failing? Is his intellect growing weak, that he should +propose such a thing? Even Doatie, who as a rule supports Nicholas +through evil report and good, sits silent and aghast at his proposition. + +"What has he done that he should be excluded?" demands Nicholas, a +little excitedly. "If he can prove a first right to claim this property, +is that a crime? He is our cousin: why should we be the only people in +the whole countryside to treat him with contempt? He has committed no +violation of the law, no vile sin has been laid to his charge beyond +this fatal one of wanting his own--and--and----" + +He pauses. In the darkness a loving, clinging hand has again crept into +his, full of sweet entreaty, and by a gentle pressure has reduced him to +calmness. + +"Ask him, if only to please me," he says, wearily. + +"Everything shall be just as you wish it, dearest," says his mother, +with unwonted tenderness, and then silence falls upon them all. + +The fire blazes up fiercely, and anon drops its flame and sinks into +insignificance once more. Again the words that bear some vague but as +yet undiscovered meaning haunt Mona's brain. "A splendid scheme." A vile +conspiracy, perhaps. Oh, that she might be instrumental in saving these +people from ruin, among whom her lot had been cast! But how weak her +arm! How insufficient her mind to cope with an emergency like this! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +HOW MONA GOES TO ANADALE--AND HOW SHE THERE SEES MANY THINGS AS YET TO +HER UNKNOWN. + + +About half-past two next day they start for Anadale. Not Violet, or +Captain Rodney, who have elected to go on a mission of their own, nor +Nicholas, who has gone up to London. + +The frost lies heavy on the ground; the whole road, and every bush and +tree, sparkle brilliantly, as though during the hours when darkness lay +upon the earth the dread daughter of Chaos, as she traversed the expanse +of the firmament in her ebony chariot, had dropped heaven's diamonds +upon the land. The wintry sunshine lighting them up makes soft and +glorious the midday. + +The hour is enchanting, the air almost mild; and every one feels half +aggrieved when the carriage, entering the lodge-gates, bears them +swiftly towards the massive entrance that will lead them into the house +and out of the cold. + +But before they reach the hall door Geoffrey feels it his duty to bestow +upon them a word or two of warning. + +"Now, look here," he says, impressively: "I hope nobody is going to +indulge in so much as a covert smile to-day." He glances severely at +Nolly, who is already wreathed in smiles. "Because the AEsthetic won't +have it. She wouldn't hear of it at any price. We must all be in tense! +If you don't understand what that means, Mona, you had better learn at +once. You are to be silent, rapt, lifted far above all the vulgar +commonplaces of life. You may, if you like, go into a rapture over a +colorless pebble, or shed tears of joy above a sickly lily; but avoid +ordinary admiration." + +"The only time I shed tears," says Mr. Darling, irrelevantly, "for many +years, was when I heard of the old chap's death. And they were drops of +rich content. Do you know I think unconsciously he impregnated her with +her present notions; because he was as like an 'ancient Briton' himself +before he died as if he had posed for it." + +"He was very eccentric, but quite correct," says Lady Rodney, +reprovingly. + +"He was a man who never took off his hat," begins Geoffrey. + +"But why?" asks Mona, in amaze. "Didn't he wear one?" + +"Yes, but he always doffed it; and he never put one on like ordinary +mortals, he always donned it. You can't think what a difference it +makes." + +"What a silly boy you are, Geoff!" says his wife, laughing. + +"Thank you, darling," replies he, meekly. + +"But what is Lady Lilias like? I did not notice her the other night," +says Mona. + +"She has got one nose and two eyes, just like every one else," says +Nolly. "That is rather disappointing, is it not? And she attitudinizes a +good deal. Sometimes she reclines full length upon the grass, with her +bony elbow well squared and her chin buried in her palm. Sometimes she +stands beside a sundial, with her head to one side, and a carefully +educated and very much superannuated peacock beside her. But I dare say +she will do the greyhound pose to-day. In summer she goes abroad with a +huge wooden fan with which she kills the bumble-bee as it floats by her. +And she gowns herself in colors that make one's teeth on edge. I am sure +it is her one lifelong regret that she must clothe herself at all, as +she has dreams of savage nakedness and a liberal use of the fetching +woad." + +"My dear Oliver!" protests Lady Rodney, mildly. + +"If she presses refreshments on you, Mona, say, 'No, thank you,' without +hesitation," says Geoffrey, with anxious haste, seeing they are drawing +near their journey's end. "Because if you don't she will compel you to +partake of metheglin and unleavened bread, which means sudden death. +Forewarned is forearmed. Nolly and I have done what we can for you." + +"Is she by herself? Is there nobody living with her?" asks Mona, +somewhat nervously. + +"Well, practically speaking, no. But I believe she has a sister +somewhere." + +"'Sister Anne,' you mean?" says Nolly. "Oh, ay! I have seen her, though +as a rule she is suppressed. She is quite all she ought to be, and +irreproachable in every respect--unapproachable, according to some. She +is a very good girl, and never misses a Saint's Day by any chance, never +eats meat on Friday, or butter in Lent, and always confesses. But she is +not of much account in the household, being averse to 'ye goode olde +times.'" + +At this point the house comes in view, and conversation languishes. The +women give a small touch to their furs and laces, the men indulge in a +final yawn that is to last them until the gates of Anadale close behind +them again. + +"There is no moat, and no drawbridge, and no eyelet-hole through which +to spy upon the advance of the enemy," says Darling, in an impressive +whisper, just as they turn the curve that leads into the big gravel +sweep before the hall door. "A drawback, I own; but even the very +greatest are not infallible." + +It is a lovely old castle, ancient and timeworn, with turrets rising in +unexpected places, and walls covered with drooping ivy, and gables dark +with age. + +A terrace runs all along one side of the house, which is exposed to view +from the avenue. And here, with a gaunt but handsome greyhound beside +her, stands a girl tall and slim, yet beautifully moulded. Her eyes are +gray, yet might at certain moments be termed blue. Her mouth is large, +but not unpleasing. Her hair is quite dark, and drawn back into a loose +and artistic coil behind. She is clad in an impossible gown of sage +green, that clings closely to her slight figure, nay, almost +desperately, as though afraid to lose her. + +One hand is resting lightly with a faintly theatrical touch upon the +head of the lean greyhound, the other is raised to her forehead as +though to shield her eyes from the bright sun. + +Altogether she is a picture, which, if slightly suggestive of +artificiality, is yet very nearly perfection. Mona is therefore +agreeably surprised, and, being--as all her nation is--susceptible to +outward beauty, feels drawn towards this odd young woman in sickly +green, with her canine friend beside her. + +Lady Lilias, slowly descending the stone steps with the hound Egbert +behind her, advances to meet Lady Rodney. She greets them all with a +solemn cordiality that impresses everybody but Mona, who is gazing +dreamily into the gray eyes of her hostess and wondering vaguely if her +lips have ever smiled. Her hostess in return is gazing at her, perhaps +in silent admiration of her soft loveliness. + +"You will come first and see Philippa?" she says, in a slow peculiar +tone that sounds as if it had been dug up and is quite an antique in its +own way. It savors of dust and feudal days. Every one says he or she +will be delighted, and all try to look as if the entire hope of their +existence is centred in the thought that they shall soon lay longing +eyes on Philippa,--whose name in reality is Anne, but who has been +rechristened by her enterprising sister. Anne is all very well for +everyday life, or for Bluebeard's sister-in-law; but Philippa is art of +the very highest description. So Philippa she is, poor soul, whether she +likes it or not. + +She has sprained her ancle, and is now lying on a couch in a small +drawing room as the Rodneys are ushered in. She is rather glad to see +them, as life with an "intense" sister is at times trying, and the +ritualistic curate is from home. So she smiles upon them, and manages to +look as amiable as plain people ever can look. + +The drawing-room is very much the same as the ordinary run of +drawing-rooms, at which Mona feels distinct disappointment, until, +glancing at Lady Lilias, she notices a shudder of disgust run through +her frame. + +"I really cannot help it," she explains to Mona, in her usual slow +voice, "it all offends me so. But Philippa must be humored. All these +glaring colors and hideous pieces of furniture take my breath away. And +the light----By and by you must come to some of my rooms; but first, if +you are not tired, I should like you to look at my garden; that is, if +you can endure the cold." + +They don't want to endure the cold; but what can they say? Politeness +forbids secession of any kind, and, after a few words with the saintly +Philippa, they follow their guide in all meekness through halls and +corridors out into the garden she most affects. + +And truly it is a very desirable garden, and well worth a visit. It is +like a thought from another age. + +Yew-trees--grown till they form high walls--are cut and shaped in prim +and perfect order, some like the walls of ancient Troy, some like steps +of stairs. Little doors are opened through them, and passing in and out +one walks on for a mile almost, until one loses one's way and grows +puzzled how to extricate one's self from so charming a maze. + +Here and there are basins of water on which lilies can lie and sleep +dreamily through a warm and sunny day. A sundial, old and green with +honorable age, uprears itself upon a chilly bit of sward. Near it lie +two gaudy peacocks sound asleep. All seems far from the world, drowsy, +careless, indifferent to the weals and woes of suffering humanity. + +"It is like the garden of the palace where the Sleeping Beauty dwelt," +whispers Mona to Nolly; she is delighted, charmed, lost in admiration. + +"You are doing it beautifully: keep it up," whispers he back: "she'll +give you something nice if you sustain that look for five minutes +longer. Now!--she is looking; hurry--make haste--put it on again!" + +"I am not pretending," says Mona, indignantly; "I am delighted: it is +the most enchanting place I ever saw. Really lovely." + +"I didn't think it was in you," declares Mr. Darling, with wild but +suppressed admiration. "You would make your fortune on the stage. Keep +it up, I tell you; it couldn't be better." + +"Is it possible you see nothing to admire?" says Mona, with intense +disgust. + +"I do. More than I can express. I see you," retorts he; at which they +both give way to merriment, causing Geoffrey, who is walking with Lady +Lilias, to dodge behind her back and bestow upon them an annihilating +glance that Nolly afterwards describes as a "lurid glare." + +The hound stalks on before them; the peacocks wake up and rend the air +with a discordant scream. Lady Lilias, coming to the sundial, leans her +arm upon it, and puts her head in the right position. A snail slowly +travelling across a broad ivy-leaf attracts her attention; she lifts it +slowly, leaf and all, and directs attention to the silvery trail it has +left behind it. + +"How tender! how touching!" she says, with a pensive smile, raising her +luminous eyes to Geoffrey: whether it is the snail, or the leaf, or the +slime, that is tender and touching, nobody knows; and nobody dares ask, +lest he shall betray his ignorance. Nolly, I regret to say, gives way to +emotion of a frivolous kind, and to cover it blows his nose sonorously. +Whereupon Geoffrey, who is super-naturally grave, asks Lady Lilias if +she will walk with him as far as the grotto. + +"How could you laugh?" says Mona, reproachfully. + +"How couldn't I?" replies he. "Come; let us follow it up to the bitter +end." + +"I never saw anything so clean as the walks," says Mona, presently: +"there is not a leaf or a weed to be seen, yet we have gone through so +many of them. How does she manage it?" + +"Don't you know?" says Mr. Darling, mysteriously. "It is a secret, but I +know you can be trusted. Every morning early she has them carefully +swept, with tea-leaves to keep down the dust, and if the tea is strong +it kills the weeds." + +Then they do the grotto, and then Lady Lilias once more leads the way +indoors. + +"I want you to see my own work," she says, going up markedly to Mona. "I +am glad my garden has pleased you. I could see by your eyes how well you +appreciated it. To see the beautiful in everything, that is the only +true religion." She smiles her careful absent smile again as she says +this, and gazes earnestly at Mona. Perhaps, being true to her religion, +she is noting "the beautiful" in her Irish guest. + +With Philippa they have some tea, and then again follow their +indefatigable hostess to a distant apartment that seems more or less to +jut out from the house, and was in olden days a tiny chapel or oratory. + +It has an octagon chamber of the most uncomfortable description, but no +doubt artistic, and above all praise, according to some lights. To +outsiders it presents a curious appearance, and might by the unlearned +be regarded as a jumble of all ages, a make-up of objectionable bits +from different centuries; but to Lady Lilias and her sympathizers it is +simply perfection. + +The furniture is composed of oak of the hardest and most severe. To sit +down would be a labor of anything but love. The chairs are strictly +Gothic. The table is a marvel in itself for ugliness and in utility. + +There are no windows; but in their place are four unpleasant slits about +two yards in length, let into the thick walls at studiously unequal +distances. These are filled up with an opaque substance that perhaps in +the Middle Ages was called glass. + +There is no grate, and the fire, which has plainly made up its mind not +to light, is composed of Yule-logs. The floor is shining with sand, +rushes having palled on Lady Lilias. + +Mona is quite pleased. All is new, which in itself is a pleasure to her, +and the sanded floor carries her back on the instant to the old parlor +at home, which was their "best" at the Farm. + +"This is nicer than anything," she says, turning in a state of childish +enthusiasm to Lady Lilias. "It is just like the floor in my uncle's +house at home." + +"Ah! indeed! How interesting!" says Lady Lilias, rousing into something +that very nearly borders on animation. "I did not think there was in +England another room like this." + +"Not in England, perhaps. When I spoke I was thinking of Ireland," says +Mona. + +"Yes?" with calm surprise. "I--I have heard of Ireland, of course. +Indeed, I regard the older accounts of it as very deserving of thought; +but I had no idea the more elevated aspirations of modern times had +spread so far. So this room reminds you of--your uncle's?" + +"Partly," says Mona. "Not altogether: there was always a faint odor of +pipes about Uncle Brian's room that does not belong to this." + +"Ah! Tobacco! First introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh," murmurs Lady +Lilias, musingly. "Too modern, but no doubt correct and in keeping. Your +uncle, then,"--looking at Mona,--"is beyond question an earnest student +of our faith." + +"A--student?" says Mona, in a degree puzzled. + +Doatie and Geoffrey have walked to a distant slit. Nolly is gazing +vacantly through another, trying feebly to discern the landscape +beyond. Lady Rodney is on thorns. They are all listening to what Mona is +going to say next. + +"Yes. A disciple, a searcher after truth," goes on Lady Lilias, in her +Noah's Ark tone. "By a student I mean one who studies, and arrives at +perfection--in time." + +"I don't quite know," says Mona, slowly, "but what Uncle Brian +principally studies is--pigs!" + +"Pigs!" repeats Lady Lilias, plainly taken aback. + +"Yes; pigs!" says Mona, sweetly. + +There is a faint pause,--so faint that Lady Rodney is unable to edge in +the saving clause she would fain have uttered. Lady Lilias, recovering +with wonderful spirit from so severe a blow, comes once more boldly to +the front. She taps her white taper fingers lightly on the table near +her, and says, apologetically,--the apology being meant for herself,-- + +"Forgive me that I showed surprise. Your uncle is more advanced than I +had supposed. He is right. Why should a pig be esteemed less lovely than +a stag? Nature in its entirety can know no blemish. The fault lies with +us. We are creatures of habit: we have chosen to regard the innocent pig +as a type of ugliness for generations, and now find it difficult to see +any beauty in it." + +"Well; there isn't much, is there?" says Mona, pleasantly. + +"No doubt education, and a careful study of the animal in question, +might betray much to us," says Lady Lilias. "We object to the uncovered +hide of the pig, and to his small eyes; but can they not see as well as +those of the fawn, or the delicate lapdog we fondle all day on our +knees? It is unjust that one animal should be treated with less regard +than another." + +"But you couldn't fondle a pig on your knees," says Mona, who is growing +every minute more and more mixed. + +"No, no; but it should be treated with courtesy. We were speaking of the +size of its eyes. Why should they be despised? Do we not often in our +ignorance and narrow mindedness cling to paltry things and ignore the +truly great? The tiny diamond that lies in the hollow of our hands is +dear and precious in our sight, whilst we fail to find beauty in the +huge boulder that is after all far more worthy of regard, with its +lights and shades, its grand ruggedness, and the soft vegetable matter +that decks its aged sides, rendering their roughness beautiful." + +Here she gets completely out of her depths, and stops to consider from +whence this train of thought sprung. The pig is forgotten,--indeed, to +get from pigs to diamonds and back again is not an easy matter,--and has +to be searched for again amidst the dim recesses of her brain, and if +possible brought to the surface. + +She draws up her tall figure to its utmost height, and gazes at the +raftered ceiling to see if inspiration can be drawn from thence. But it +fails her. + +"You were talking of pigs," says Mona, gently. + +"Ah! so I was," says Lady Lilias, with a sigh of relief: she is quite +too intense to feel any of the petty vexations of ordinary mortals, and +takes Mona's help in excellent part. "Yes, I really think there is +loveliness in a pig when surrounded by its offspring. I have seen them +once or twice, and I think the little pigs--the--the----" + +"Bonuvs," says Mona, mildly, going back naturally to the Irish term for +those interesting babies. + +"Eh?" says Lady Lilias. + +"Bonuvs," repeats Mona, a little louder, at which Lady Rodney sinks into +a chair, as though utterly overcome. Nolly and Geoffrey are convulsed +with laughter. Doatie is vainly endeavoring to keep them in order. + +"Oh, is that their name?--a pretty one too--if--er--somewhat difficult," +says Lady Lilias, courteously. "Well as I was saying, in spite of their +tails, they really are quite pretty." + +At this Mona laughs unrestrainedly; and Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, +says,-- + +"Dear Lady Lilias, I think we have at last nearly taken in all the +beauties of your charming room. I fear," with much suavity, "we must be +going." + +"Oh, not yet," says Lady Lilias, with the nearest attempt at +youthfulness she has yet made. "Mrs. Rodney has not half seen all my +treasures." + +Mrs. Rodney, however, has been foraging on her own account during this +brief interlude, and now brings triumphantly to light a little basin +filled with early snowdrops. + +"Snowdrops,--and so soon," she says, going up to Lady Lilias, and +looking quite happy over her discovery. "We have none yet at the +Towers." + +"Yes, they are pretty, but insignificant," says the AEsthete, +contemptuously. "Paltry children of the earth, not to be compared with +the lenten or the tiger lily, or the fiercer beauty of the sunflower, or +the hues of the unsurpassable thistle!" + +"I am very ignorant I know," says Mrs. Geoffrey, with her sunny smile, +"but I think I should prefer a snowdrop to a thistle." + +"You have not gone into it," says Lady Lilias, regretfully. "To you +Nature is as yet a blank. The exquisite purple of the stately thistle, +that by the scoffer is called dull, is not understood by you. Nor does +your heart swell beneath the influence of the rare and perfect green of +its leaves, which doubtless the untaught deemed soiled. To fully +appreciate the yieldings and gifts of earth is a power given only to +some." She bows her head, feeling a modest pride in the thought that she +belongs to the happy "some." "Ignorance," she says, sorrowfully, "is the +greatest enemy of our cause." + +"I am afraid you must class me with the ignorant," says Mona, shaking +her pretty head. "I know nothing at all about thistles, except that +donkeys love them!" + +_Is_ this, _can_ this be premeditated, or is it a fatal slip of the +tongue? Lady Rodney turns pale, and even Geoffrey and Nolly stand +aghast. Mona alone is smiling unconcernedly into Lady Lilias's eyes, and +Lady Lilias, after a brief second, smiles back at her. It is plain the +severe young woman in the sage-green gown has not even noticed the +dangerous remark. + +"You must come again very soon to see me," she says to Mona, and then +goes with her all along the halls and passages, and actually stands upon +the door-steps until they drive away. And Mona kisses hands gayly to her +as they turn the corner of the avenue, and then tells Geoffrey that she +thinks he has been very hard on Lady Lilias, because, though she is +plainly quite mad, poor thing, there is certainly nothing to be disliked +about her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +HOW MONA TAKES A WALK ABROAD--AND HOW SHE ASKS CROSS-QUESTIONS AND +RECEIVES CROOKED ANSWERS. + + +It is ten days later,--ten dreary, interminable days, that have +struggled into light, and sunk back again into darkness, leaving no +trace worthy of remembrance in their train. "Swift as swallows' wings" +they have flown, scarce breaking the air in their flight, so silently, +so evenly they have departed, as days will, when dull monotony marks +them for its own. + +To-day is cool, and calm, and bright. Almost one fancies the first faint +breath of spring has touched one's cheek, though as yet January has not +wended to its weary close, and no smallest sign of growth or vegetation +makes itself felt. + +The grass is still brown, the trees barren, no ambitious floweret +thrusts its head above the bosom of its mother earth,--except, indeed, +those "floures white and rede, such as men callen daisies," that always +seem to beam upon the world, no matter how the wind blows. + +Just now it is blowing softly, delicately, as though its fury of the +night before had been an hallucination of the brain. It is "a sweet and +passionate wooer," says Longfellow, and lays siege to "the blushing +leaf." There are no leaves for it to kiss to-day: so it bestows its +caresses upon Mona as she wanders forth, close guarded by her two stanch +hounds that follow at her heels. + +There is a strange hush and silence everywhere. The very clouds are +motionless in their distant homes. + + "There has not been a sound to-day + To break the calm of Nature: + Nor motion, I might almost say, + Of life, or living creature, + Of waving bough, or warbling bird, + Or cattle faintly lowing: + I could have half believed I heard + The leaves and blossoms growing." + +Indeed, no sound disturbs the sacred silence save the crisp rustle of +the dead leaves, as they are trodden into the ground. + +Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, +that is her special joy,--being of the garrulous and babbling order, +which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can +make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all +recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has +forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a +passionate roar to the ocean. + +Down from the cataract in the rocks above the water comes with a mighty +will, foaming, glistening, shouting a loud triumphant paen as it flings +itself into the arms of the vain brook beneath, that only yesterday-eve +was a stream, but to-day may well be deemed a river. + +Up high the rocks are overgrown with ferns, and drooping things, all +green and feathery, that hide small caves and picturesque crannies, +through which the bright-eyed Naiads might peep whilst holding back with +bare uplifted arms their amber hair, the better to gaze upon the +unconscious earth outside. + +A loose stone that has fallen from its home in the mountain-side above +uprears itself in the middle of this turbulent stream. But it is too far +from the edge, and Mona, standing irresolutely on the brink, pauses, as +though half afraid to take the step that must either land her safely on +the other side or else precipitate her into the angry little river. + +As she thus ponders within herself, Spice and Allspice, the two dogs, +set up a simultaneous howl, and immediately afterwards a voice says, +eagerly,-- + +"Wait, Mrs. Rodney. Let me help you across." + +Mona starts, and, looking up, sees the Australian coming quickly towards +her. + +"You are very kind. The river is greatly swollen," she says, to gain +time. Geoffrey, perhaps, will not like her to accept any civility at the +hands of this common enemy. + +"Not so much so that I cannot help you to cross over in safety, if you +will only trust yourself to me," replies he. + +Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause. + +"Is it worth so much thought?" he says, bitterly. "It surely will not +injure you fatally to lay your hand in mine for one instant." + +"You mistake me," says Mona, shocked at her own want of courtesy; and +then she extends to him her hand, and, setting her foot upon the huge +stone, springs lightly to his side. + +Once there she has to go with him down the narrow woodland path, there +being no other, and so paces on, silently, and sorely against her will. + +"Sir Nicholas has sent me an invitation for the 19th," he says, +presently, when the silence has become unendurable. + +"Yes," says Mona, devoutly hoping he is going to say he means to refuse +it. But such devout hope is wasted. + +"I shall go," he says, doggedly, as though divining her secret wish. + +"I am sure we shall all be very glad," she says, faintly, feeling +herself bound to make some remark. + +"Thanks!" returns he, with an ironical laugh. "How excellently your tone +agrees with your words?" + +Another pause. Mona is on thorns. Will the branching path, that may give +her a chance of escaping a further _tete-a-tete_ with him, never be +reached? + +"So Warden failed you?" he says, presently, alluding to old Elspeth's +nephew. + +"Yes,--so far," returns she, coldly. + +"It was a feeble effort," declares he, contemptuously striking with his +cane the trunks of the trees as he goes by them. + +"Yet I think Warden knows more than he cares to tell," says Mona, at a +venture. Why, she herself hardly knows. + +He turns, as though by an irrepressible impulse, to look keenly at her. +His scrutiny endures only for an instant. Then he says, with admirable +indifference,-- + +"You have grounds for saying so, of course?" + +"Perhaps I have. Do you deny I am in the right?" asks she, returning his +gaze undauntedly. + +He drops his eyes, and the low, sneering laugh she has learned to know +and to hate so much comes again to his lips. + +"It would be rude to deny that," he says, with a slight shrug. "I am +sure you are always in the right." + +"If I am, Warden surely knows more about the will than he has sworn to." + +"It is very probable,--if there ever was such a will. How should I know? +I have not cross-examined Warden on this or any other subject. He is an +overseer over my estate, a mere servant, nothing more." + +"Has he the will?" asks Mona, foolishly, but impulsively. + +"He may have, and a stocking full of gold, and the roc's egg, or +anything else, for aught I know. I never saw it. They tell me there was +an iniquitous and most unjust will drawn up some years ago by old Sir +George: that is all I know." + +"By your grandfather!" corrects Mona, in a peculiar tone. + +"Well, by my grandfather, if you so prefer it," repeats he, with much +unconcern. "It got itself, if it ever existed, irretrievably lost, and +that is all any one knows about it." + +Mona is watching him intently. + +"Yet I feel sure--I know," she says, tremulously, "you are hiding +something from me. Why do you not look at me when you answer my +questions?" + +At this his dark face flames, and his eyes instinctively, yet almost +against his will, seek hers. + +"Why?" he says, with suppressed passion. "Because, each time I do, I +know myself to be--what I am! Your truthful eyes are mirrors in which my +heart lies bare." With an effort he recovers himself, and, drawing his +breath quickly, grows calm again. "If I were to gaze at you as often as +I should desire, you would probably deem me impertinent," he says, with +a lapse into his former half-insolent tone. + +"Answer me," persists Mona, not heeding--nay, scarcely hearing--his last +speech. "You said once it would be difficult to lie to me. Do you know +anything of this missing will?" + +"A great deal. I should. I have heard of almost nothing else since my +arrival in England," replies he, slowly. + +"Ah! Then you refuse to answer me," says Mona, hastily, if somewhat +wearily. + +He makes no reply. And for a full minute no word is spoken between them. + +Then Mona goes on quietly,-- + +"That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never +forgotten since." + +He is plainly surprised. He is indeed glad. His face changes, as if by +magic, from sullen gloom to pleasurable anticipation. + +"You have remembered something that I said, for eleven days?" he says, +quickly. + +"Yes. When talking then of supplanting Sir Nicholas at the Towers, you +spoke of your project as a 'splendid scheme.' What did you mean by it? I +cannot get the words out of my head since. Is 'scheme' an honest word?" + +Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A +heavy frown sits on his brow. + +"You are not perhaps aware of it, but your tone is insulting," he +begins, huskily. "Were you a man I could give you an answer, now, here; +but as it is I am of course tied hand and foot. You can say to me what +you please. And I shall bear it. Think as badly of me as you will. I am +a schemer, a swindler, what you will!" + +"Even in my thoughts I never applied those words to you," says Mona, +earnestly. "Yet some feeling here"--laying her hand upon her +heart--"compels me to believe you are not dealing fairly by us." To her +there is untruth in every line of his face, in every tone of his voice. + +"You condemn me without a hearing, swayed by the influence of a +carefully educated dislike," retorts he: + + "'Alas for the rarity + Of Christian charity + Under the sun!' + +But I blame the people you have fallen among,--not you." + +"Blame no one," says Mona. "But if there is anything in your own heart +to condemn you, then pause before you go further in this matter of the +Towers." + +"I wonder _you_ are not afraid of going too far," he puts in, warningly, +his dark eyes flashing. + +"I am afraid of nothing," says Mona, simply. "I am not half so much +afraid as you were a few moments since, when you could not let your eyes +meet mine, and when you shrank from answering me a simple question. In +my turn I tell you to pause before going too far." + +"Your advice is excellent," says he, sneeringly. Then suddenly he stops +short before her, and breaks out vehemently,---- + +"Were I to fling up this whole business and resign my chance, and leave +these people in possession, what would I gain by it?" demands he. "They +have treated me from the beginning with ignominy and contempt. You alone +have treated me with common civility; and even you they have tutored to +regard me with averted eyes." + +"You are wrong," says Mona, coldly. "They seldom trouble themselves to +speak of you at all." This is crueller than she knows. + +"Why don't I hate you?" he says, with some emotion. "How bitterly unkind +even the softest, sweetest women can be! Yet there is something about +you that subdues me and renders hatred impossible. If I had never met +you, I should be a happier man." + +"How can you be happy with a weight upon your heart?" says Mona, +following out her own thoughts irrespective of his. "Give up this +project, and peace will return to you." + +"No, I shall pursue it to its end," returns, he, with slow malice, that +makes her heart grow cold, "until the day comes that shall enable me to +plant my heel upon these aristocrats and crush them out of recognition." + +"And after that what will remain to you?" asks she, pale but collected. +"It is bare comfort when hatred alone reigns in the heart. With such +thoughts in your breast what can you hope for?--what can life give you?" + +"Something," replies he, with a short laugh. "I shall at least see you +again on the 19th." + +He raises his hat, and, turning abruptly away, is soon lost to sight +round a curve in the winding pathway. He walks steadily and with an +unflinching air, but when the curve has hidden him from her eyes he +stops short, and sighs heavily. + +"To love such a woman as that, and be beloved by her, how it would +change a man's whole nature, no matter how low he may have sunk," he +says, slowly. "It would mean salvation! But as it is--No, I cannot draw +back now: it is too late." + +Meantime Mona has gone quickly back to the Towers her mind disturbed and +unsettled. Has she misjudged him? is it possible that his claim is a +just one after all, and that she has been wrong in deeming him one who +might defraud his neighbor? + +She is sad and depressed before she reaches the hall door, where she is +unfortunate enough to find a carriage just arrived, well filled with +occupants eager to obtain admission. + +They are the Carsons, mustered in force, and, if anything, a trifle more +noisy and oppressive than usual. + +"How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney? Is Lady Rodney at home? I hope so," says Mrs. +Carson, a fat, florid, smiling, impossible person of fifty. + +Now, Lady Rodney _is_ at home, but, having given strict orders to the +servants to say she is anywhere else they like,--that is, to tell as +many lies as will save her from intrusion,--is just now reposing calmly +in the small drawing-room, sleeping the sleep of the just, unmindful of +coming evil. + +Of all this Mona is unaware; though even were it otherwise I doubt if a +lie could come trippingly to her lips, or a nice evasion be balanced +there at a moment's notice. Such foul things as untruths are unknown to +her, and have no refuge in her heart. It is indeed fortunate that on +this occasion she knows no reason why her reply should differ from the +truth, because in that case I think she would stand still, and stammer +sadly, and grow uncomfortably red, and otherwise betray the fact that +she would lie if she knew how. + +As things are, however, she is able to smile pleasantly at Mrs. Carson, +and tell her in her soft voice that Lady Rodney is at home. + +"How fortunate!" says that fat woman, with her broad expansive grin that +leaves her all mouth, with no eyes or nose to speak of. "We hardly dared +hope for such good luck this charming day." + +She doesn't put any _g_ into her "charming," which, however, is neither +here or there, and is perhaps a shabby thing to take notice of at all. + +Then she and her two daughters quit the "coach," as Carson _pere_ insist +on calling the landau, and flutter through the halls, and across the +corridors, after Mona, until they reach the room that contains Lady +Rodney. + +Mona throws open the door, and the visitors sail in, all open-eyed and +smiling, with their very best company manners hung out for the day. + +But almost on the threshold they come to a full stop to gaze +irresolutely at one another, and then over their shoulders at Mona. She, +marking their surprise, comes hastily to the front, and so makes herself +acquainted with the cause of their delay. + +Overcome by the heat of the fire, her luncheon, and the blessed +certainty that for this one day at least no one is to be admitted to her +presence, Lady Rodney has given herself up a willing victim to the child +Somnus. Her book--that amiable assistant of all those that court +siestas--has fallen to the ground. Her cap is somewhat awry. Her mouth +is partly open, and a snore--gentle, indeed, but distinct and +unmistakable--comes from her patrician throat. + +It is a moment never to be forgotten! + +Mona, horror-stricken, goes quickly over to her, and touches her lightly +on the shoulder. + +"Mrs. Carson has come to see you," she says, in an agony of fear, giving +her a little shake. + +"Eh? What?" asks Lady Rodney, in a dazed fashion, yet coming back to +life with amazing rapidity. She sits up. Then in an instant the +situation explains itself to her; she collects herself, bestows one +glance of passionate anger upon Mona, and then rises to welcome Mrs. +Carson with her usual suave manner and bland smile, throwing into the +former an air meant to convey the flattering idea that for the past week +she has been living on the hope of seeing her soon again. + +She excuses her unwonted drowsiness with a little laugh, natural and +friendly, and begs them "not to betray her." Clothed in all this +sweetness she drops a word or two meant to crush Mona; but that hapless +young woman hears her not, being bent on explaining to Mrs. Carson that, +as a rule, the Irish peasantry do not go about dressed only in glass +beads, like the gay and festive Zulus, and that petticoats and breeches +are not utterly unknown. + +This is tough work, and takes her all her time, as Mrs. Carson, having +made up her mind to the beads, accepts it rather badly being undeceived, +and goes nearly so far as telling Mona that she knows little or nothing +about her own people. + +Then Violet and Doatie drop in, and conversation becomes general, and +presently the visit comes to an end, and the Carsons fade away, and Mona +is left to be bear the brunt of Lady Rodney's anger, which has been +steadily growing, instead of decreasing, during the past half-hour. + +"Are there no servants in my house," demands she, in a terrible tone, +addressing Mona a steely light coming into her blue eyes that Mona knows +and hates so well, "that you must feel it your duty to guide my visitors +to my presence?" + +"If I made a mistake I am sorry for it." + +"It was unfortunate Mona should have met them at the hall door,--Edith +Carson told me about it,--but it could not be helped," says Violet +calmly. + +"No, it couldn't be helped," says little Doatie. But their intervention +only appears to add fuel to the fire of Lady Rodney's wrath. + +"It _shall_ be helped," she says, in a low, but condensed tone. "For the +future I forbid any one in my house to take it upon them to say whether +I am in or out. I am the one to decide that. On what principle did you +show them in here?" she asks, turning to Mona, her anger increasing as +she remembers the rakish cap: "why did you not say, when you were +unlucky enough to find yourself face to face with them, that I was not +at home?" + +"Because you were at home," replies Mona, quietly, though in deep +distress. + +"That doesn't matter," says Lady Rodney: "it is a mere formula. If it +suited your purpose you could have said so--I don't doubt--readily +enough." + +"I regret that I met them," says Mona, who will not say she regrets she +told the truth. + +"And to usher them in here! Into one of my most private rooms! Unlikely +people, like the Carsons, whom you have heard me speak of in disparaging +terms a hundred times! I don't know what you could have been thinking +about. Perhaps next time you will be kind enough to bring them to my +bedroom." + +"You misunderstand me," says Mona, with tears in her eyes. + +"I hardly think so. You can refuse to see people yourself when it suits +you. Only yesterday, when Mr. Boer, our rector, called, and I sent for +you, you would not come." + +"I don't like Mr. Boer," says Mona, "and it was not me he came to see." + +"Still, there was no necessity to insult him with such a message as you +sent. Perhaps," with unpleasant meaning, "you do not understand that to +say you are busy is rather more a rudeness than an excuse for one's +non-appearance." + +"It was true," says Mona: "I was writing letters for Geoffrey." + +"Nevertheless, you might have waived that fact, and sent down word you +had a headache." + +"But I hadn't a headache," says Mona, bending her large truthful eyes +with embarrassing earnestness upon Lady Rodney. + +"Oh, if you were determined--" returns she, with a shrug. + +"I was not determined: you mistake me," exclaims Mona, miserably. "I +simply hadn't a headache: I never had one in my life,--and I shouldn't +know how to get one!" + +At this point, Geoffrey--who has been hunting all the morning--enters +the room with Captain Rodney. + +"Why, what is the matter?" he says, seeing signs of the lively storm on +all their faces. Doatie explains hurriedly. + +"Look here," says Geoffrey. "I won't have Mona spoiled. If she hadn't a +headache, she hadn't, you know, and if you were at home, why, you were, +and that's all about it. Why should she tell a lie about it?" + +"What do you mean, Geoffrey?" demands his mother, with suppressed +indignation. + +"I mean that she shall remain just as she is. The world may be 'given to +lying,' as Shakspeare tells us, but I will not have Mona tutored into +telling fashionable falsehoods," says this intrepid young man facing his +mother without a qualm of a passing dread. "A lie of any sort is base, +and a prevarication is only a mean lie. She is truthful, let her stay +so. Why should she learn it is the correct thing to say she is not at +home when she is, or that she is suffering from a foolish megrim when +she isn't? I don't suppose there is much harm in saying either of these +things, as nobody ever believes them; but--let her remain as she is." + +"Is she also to learn that you are at liberty to lecture your own +mother?" asks Lady Rodney, pale with anger. + +"I am not lecturing anyone," replies he, looking very like her, now that +his face has whitened a little and a quick fire has lit itself within +his eyes. "I am merely speaking against a general practice. 'Dare to be +true: nothing can need a lie,' is a line that always returns to me. And, +as I love Mona better than anything on earth, I shall make it the +business of my life to see she is not made unhappy by any one." + +At this Mona lifts her head, and turns upon him eyes full of the +tenderest love and trust. She would have dearly liked to go to him, and +place her arms round his neck, and thank him with a fond caress for this +dear speech, but some innate sense of breeding restrains her. + +Any demonstration on her part just now may make a scene, and scenes are +ever abhorrent. And might she not yet further widen the breach between +mother and son by an ill-timed show of affection for the latter? + +"Still, sometimes, you know, it is awkward to adhere to the very letter +of the law," says Jack Rodney, easily. "Is there no compromise? I have +heard of women who have made a point of running into the kitchen-garden +when unwelcome visitors were announced, and so saved themselves and +their principles. Couldn't Mona do that?" + +This speech is made much of, and laughed at for no reason whatever +except that Violet and Doatie are determined to end the unpleasant +discussion by any means, even though it may be at the risk of being +deemed silly. After some careful management they get Mona out of the +room, and carry her away with them to a little den off the eastern hall, +that is very dear to them. + +"It is the most unhappy thing I ever heard of," begins Doatie, +desperately. "What Lady Rodney can see to dislike in you, Mona, I can't +imagine. But the fact is, she is hateful to you. Now, we," glancing at +Violet, "who are not particularly amiable, are beloved by her, whilst +you, who are all 'sweetness and light,' she detests most heartily." + +"It is true," says Violet, evenly. "Yet, dear Mona, I wish you could try +to be a little more like the rest of the world." + +"I want to very much," says poor Mona, her eyes filling with tears. +"But," hopelessly, "must I begin by learning to tell lies?" All this +teaching is very bitter to her. + +"Lies! Oh, fie!" says Doatie. "Who tells lies? Nobody, except the +naughty little boys in tracts, and they always break their legs off +apple-trees, or else get drowned on a Sunday morning. Now, we are not +drowned, and our legs are uninjured. No, a lie is a horrid thing,--so +low, and in such wretched taste. But there are little social fibs that +may be uttered,--little taradiddles,--that do no harm to anybody, and +that nobody believes in, but all pretend to, just for the sake of +politeness." + +Thus Doatie, looking preternaturally wise, but faintly puzzled at her +own view of the question. + +"It doesn't sound right," says Mona, shaking her head. + +"She doesn't understand," puts in Violet, quickly. "Mona, are you going +to see everybody that may choose to call upon you, good, bad, and +indifferent, from this till you die?" + +"I suppose so," says Mona lifting her brows. + +"Then I can only say I pity you," says Miss Mansergh, leaning back in +her chair, with the air of one who would say, "Argument here is in +vain." + +"I sha'n't want to see them, perhaps," says Mona, apologetically, "but +how shall I avoid it?" + +"Ah, now, that is more reasonable; now we are coming to it," says +Doatie, briskly. "We 'return to our muttons.' As Lady Rodney, in a very +rude manner, tried to explain to you, you will either say you are not at +home, or that you have a headache. The latter is not so good; it carries +more offence with it, but it comes in pretty well sometimes." + +"But, as I said to Lady Rodney, suppose I haven't a headache," retorts +Mona, triumphantly. + +"Oh, you are incorrigible!" says Doatie, leaning back in her chair in +turn, and tilting backward her little flower-like face, that looks as if +even the most harmless falsehood must be unknown to it. + +"Could you not imagine you had one?" she says, presently as a last +resource. + +"I could not," says Mona. "I am always quite well." She is standing +before them like a culprit called to the bar of justice. "I never had a +headache, or a toothache, or a nightmare, in my life." + +"Or an umbrella, you should add. I once knew a woman like that, but she +was not like you," says Doatie. "Well, if you are going to be as literal +as you now are, until you call for your shroud, I must say I don't envy +you." + +"Be virtuous and you'll be happy, but you won't have a good time," +quotes Violet; "you should take to heart that latest of copy-book +texts." + +"Oh, fancy receiving the Boers whenever they call!" says Doatie, +faintly, with a deep sigh that is almost a groan. + +"I sha'n't mind it very much," says Mona, earnestly. "It will be after +all, only one half hour out of my whole day." + +"You don't know what you are talking about," says Doatie, vehemently. +"Every one of those interminable half-hours will be a year off your +life. Mr. Boer is obnoxious, but Florence is simply insupportable. Wait +till she begins about the choir, and those hateful school-children, and +the parish subsidies; then you perhaps will learn wisdom, and grow +headaches if you have them not. Violet, what is it Jack calls Mr. Boer?" + +"Better not remember it," says Violet, but she smiles as she calls to +mind Jack's apt quotation. + +"Why not? it just suits him: 'A little, round, fat, oily man of----'" + +"Hush, Dorothy! It was very wrong of Jack," interrupts Violet. But Mona +laughs for the first time for many hours--which delights Doatie. + +"You and I appreciate Jack, if she doesn't, don't we, Mona?" she says, +with pretty malice, echoing Mona's merriment. After which the would-be +lecture comes to an end, and the three girls, clothing themselves in +furs, go for a short walk before the day quite closes in. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +HOW THE TOWERS WAKES INTO LIFE--AND HOW MONA SHOWS THE LIBRARY TO PAUL +RODNEY. + + +Lights are blazing, fiddles are sounding; all the world is abroad +to-night. Even still, though the ball at the Towers has been opened long +since by Mona and the Duke of Lauderdale, the flickering light of +carriage-lamps is making the roads bright, by casting tiny rays upon the +frosted ground. + +The fourth dance has come to an end; cards are full; every one is +settling down to work in earnest; already the first touch of +satisfaction or of carefully-suppressed disappointment is making itself +felt. + +Mona, who has again been dancing with the duke, stopping near where the +duchess is sitting, the latter beckons her to her side by a slight wave +of her fan. To the duchess "a thing of beauty is a joy forever," and to +gaze on Mona's lovely face and admire her tranquil but brilliant smile +gives her a strange pleasure. + +"Come and sit by me. You can spare me a few minutes," she says, drawing +her ample skirts to one side. Mona, taking her hand from Lauderdale's +arm, drops into the proffered seat beside his mother, much to that young +man's chagrin, who, having inherited the material hankering after that +"delightful prejudice," as Theocritus terms beauty, is decidedly _epris_ +with Mrs. Geoffrey, and takes it badly being done out of his +_tete-a-tete_ with her. + +"Mrs. Rodney would perhaps prefer to dance, mother," he says, with some +irritation. + +"Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old +woman," says the duchess, equably. + +"I am not so sure of that," says Mona, with admirable tact and an +exquisite smile, "but I shouldn't mind spending an _hour_ with you." + +Lauderdale makes a little face, and tells himself secretly "all women +are liars," but the duchess is very pleased, and bends her friendliest +glance upon the pretty creature at her side, who possesses that greatest +of all charms, inability to notice the ravages of time. + +Perhaps another reason for Mona's having found such favor in the eyes of +"the biggest woman in our shire, sir," lies in the fact that she is in +many ways so totally unlike all the other young women with whom the +duchess is in the habit of associating. She is _naive_ to an +extraordinary degree, and says and does things that might appear _outre_ +in others, but are so much a part of Mona that it neither startles nor +offends one when she gives way to them. + +Just now, for example, a pause occurring in the conversation, Mona, +fastening her eyes upon her Grace's neck, says, with genuine +admiration,-- + +"What a lovely necklace you are wearing!" + +To make personal remarks, we all know, is essentially vulgar, is indeed +a breach of the commonest show of good breeding; yet somehow Mrs. +Geoffrey's tone does not touch on vulgarity, does not even belong to the +outermost skirts of ill-breeding. She has an inborn gentleness of her +own, that carries her safely over all social difficulties. + +The duchess is amused. + +"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." + +"Did he?" says Mona. "Geoffrey gave me these pearls," pointing to a +pretty string round her own white neck, "a month after we were married. +It seems quite a long time ago now," with a sigh and a little smile. +"But your opals are perfect. Just like the moonlight. By the by," as if +it has suddenly occurred to her, "did you ever see the lake by +moonlight? I mean from the mullioned window in the north gallery?" + +"The lake here? No," says the duchess. + +"Haven't you?" in surprise. "Why it is the most enchanting thing in the +world. Oh, you must see it: you will be delighted with it. Come with me, +and I will show it to you," says Mona, eagerly, rising from her seat in +her impulsive fashion. + +She is plainly very much in earnest, and has fixed her large expressive +eyes--lovely as loving--with calm expectancy upon the duchess. She has +altogether forgotten that she is a duchess (perhaps, indeed, has never +quite grasped the fact), and that she is an imposing and portly person +not accustomed to exercise of any description. + +For a moment her Grace hesitates, then is lost. It is to her a new +sensation to be taken about by a young woman to see things. Up to this, +it has been she who has taken the young women about to see things. But +Mona is so openly and genuinely anxious to bestow a favor upon her to do +her, in fact, a good turn, that she is subdued, sweetened, nay, almost +flattered, by this artless desire to please her for "love's sake" alone. + +She too rises, lays her hand on Mona's arm, and walks through the long +room, and past the county generally, to "see the lake by moonlight." Yet +it is not for the sake of gazing upon almost unrivalled scenery she +goes, but to please this Irish girl, whom so very few can resist. + +"Where has Mona taken the duchess?" asks Lady Rodney of Sir Nicholas +half an hour later. + +"She took her to see the lake. Mona, you know, raves about it, when the +moon lights it up. + +"She is very absurd, and more troublesome and unpleasant than anybody I +ever had in my house. Of course the duchess did not want to see the +water. She was talking to old Lord Dering about the drainage question, +and seemed quite happy, when that girl interfered. Common courtesy +compelled her, I suppose, to say yes to--Mona's--proposition." + +"I hardly think the duchess is the sort of woman to say yes when she +meant no," says Nicholas, with a half smile. "She went because it so +pleased her, and for no other reason. I begin to think, indeed, that +Lilian Chetwoode is rather out of it, and that Mona is the first +favorite at present. She has evidently taken the duchess by storm." + +"Why not say the duke too?" says his mother, with a cold glance, to whom +praise of Mona is anything but "cakes and ale." "Her flirtation with him +is very apparent. It is disgraceful. Every one is noticing and talking +about it. Geoffrey alone seems determined to see nothing! Like all +under-bred people, she cannot know satisfaction unless perched upon the +topmost rung of the ladder." + +"You are slightly nonsensical when on the subject of Mona," says Sir +Nicholas, with a shrug. "Intrigue and she could not exist in the same +atmosphere. She is to Lauderdale what she is to everyone else,--gay, +bright, and utterly wanting in self-conceit. I cannot understand how it +is that you alone refuse to acknowledge her charms. To me she is like a +little soft sunbeam floating here and there and falling into the hearts +of those around her, carrying light, and joy, and laughter, and merry +music with her as she goes." + +"You speak like a lover," says Lady Rodney, with an artificial laugh. +"Do you repeat all this to Dorothy? She must find it very interesting." + +"Dorothy and I are quite agreed about Mona," replies he, calmly. "She +likes her as much as I do. As to what you say about her encouraging +Lauderdale's attentions, it is absurd. No such evil thought could enter +her head." + +At this instant a soft ringing laugh, that once heard is not easily +forgotten, comes from an inner room, that is carefully curtained and +delicately lighted, and smites upon their ears. + +It is Mona's laugh. Raising their eyes, both mother and son turn their +heads hastily (and quite involuntarily) and gaze upon the scene beyond. +They are so situated that they can see into the curtained chamber and +mark the picture it contains. The duke is bending over Mona in a manner +that might perhaps be termed by an outsider slightly _empresse_, and +Mona is looking up at him, and both are laughing gayly,--Mona with all +the freshness of unchecked youth, the duke with such a thorough and +wholesome sense of enjoyment as he has not known for years. + +Then Mona rises, and they both come to the entrance of the small room, +and stand where Lady Rodney can overhear what they are saying. + +"Oh! so you can ride, then," says Lauderdale, alluding probably to the +cause of his late merriment. + +"Sure of course," says Mona. "Why, I used to ride the colts barebacked +at home." + +Lady Rodney shudders. + +"Sometimes I long again for a mad, wild gallop straight across country, +where nobody can see me,--such as I used to have," goes on Mona, half +regretfully. + +"And who allowed you to risk your life like that?" asks the duke, with +simple amazement. His sister before she married was not permitted to +cross the threshold without a guardian at her side. This girl is a +revelation. + +"No one," says Mona. "I had no need to ask permission for anything. I +was free to do what I wished." + +She looks up at him again with some fire in her eyes and a flush upon +her cheeks. Perhaps some of the natural lawlessness of her kindred is +making her blood warm. So standing, however, she is the very embodiment +of youth and love and sweetness, and so the duke admits. + +"Have you any sisters?" he asks, vaguely. + +"No. Nor brothers. Only myself. + + "'I am all the daughters of my father's house, + And all the brothers too!'" + +She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt +quotation from the one book she has studied very closely. + +The duke loses his head a little. + +"Do you know," he says, slowly, staring at her the while, "you are the +most beautiful woman I ever saw?" + +"Ah! so Geoffrey says," returns she, with a perfectly unembarrassed and +pleased little laugh, while a great gleam of tender love comes into her +eyes as she makes mention of her husband's name. "But I really am not +you know." + +This answer, being so full of thorough unconsciousness and childish +_naivete_, has the effect of reducing the duke to common sense once +more, and of making him very properly ashamed of himself. He feels, +however, rather out of it for a minute or two, which feeling renders him +silent and somewhat _distrait_. So Mona, flung upon her own resources, +looks round the room seeking for inspiration, and presently finds it. + +"What a disagreeable-looking man that is over there!" she says: "the man +with the shaggy beard, I mean, and the long hair." + +She doesn't want in the very least to know who he is, but thinks it her +duty to say something, as the silence being protracted grows +embarrassing. + +"The man with the mane? that is Griffith Blount. The most objectionable +person any one could meet, but tolerated because his tongue is so awful. +Do you know Colonel Graves? No! Well, he has a wife calculated to +terrify the bravest man into submission, and last year when he was going +abroad Blount met him, and asked him before a roomful 'if he was going +for pleasure, or if he was going to take his wife with him.' Neat, +wasn't it? But I don't remember hearing that Graves liked it." + +"It was very unkind," says Mona; "and he has a hateful face." + +"He has," says the duke. "But he has his reward, you know: nobody likes +him. By the by, what horrid bad times they are having in your +land!--ricks of hay burning nightly, cattle killed, everybody boycotted, +and small children speared!" + +"Oh, no, not that," says Mona. "Poor Ireland! Every one either laughs at +her or hates her. Though I like my adopted country, still I shall always +feel for old Erin what I could never feel for another land." + +"And quite right too," says Lauderdale. "You remember what Scott says: + + "'Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, + Who never to himself hath said, + This is my own, my native land!'" + +"Oh, yes, lots of 'em," says Mr. Darling, who has come suddenly up +beside them: "for instance, I don't believe I ever said it in all my +life, either to myself or to any one else. Are you engaged, Mrs. +Geoffrey? And if not, may I have this dance?" + +"With pleasure," says Mona. + + * * * * * + +Paul Rodney, true to his word, has put in an appearance, much to the +amazement of many in the room. Almost as Mona's dance with Nolly is at +an end, he makes his way to her, and asks her to give him the next. +Unfortunately, she is not engaged for it, and, being unversed in polite +evasions, she says yes, quietly, and is soon floating round the room +with him. + +After one turn she stops abruptly, near an entrance. + +"Tired?" says Rodney, fixing his black, gloomy eyes upon her. + +"A little," says Mona. It is perhaps the nearest approach to a +falsehood she has ever made. + +"Perhaps you would rather rest for a while. Do you know this is the +first time I have ever been inside the Towers?" He says this as one +might who is desirous of making conversation, yet there is a covert +meaning in his tone. Mona is silent. To her it seems a base thing that +he should have accepted the invitation at all. + +"I have heard the library is a room well worth seeing," goes on the +Australian, seeing she will not speak. + +"Yes; every one admires it. It is very old. You know one part of the +Towers is older than all the rest." + +"I have heard so. I should like to see the library," says Paul, looking +at her expectantly. + +"You can see it now if you wish," says Mona, quickly, the thought that +she may be able to entertain him in some fashion that will not require +conversation is dear to her. She therefore takes his arm, and leads him +out of the ballroom, and across the halls into the library, which is +brilliantly lighted, but just at this moment empty. + +I forget if I described it before, but it is a room quite perfect in +every respect, a beautiful room, oak-panelled from floor to ceiling, +with this peculiarity about it, that whereas three of the walls have +their panels quite long, without a break from top to bottom, the +fourth--that is, the one in which the fireplace has been inserted--has +the panels of a smaller size, cut up into pieces from about one foot +broad to two feet long. + +The Australian seems particularly struck with this fact. He stares in a +thoughtful fashion at the wall with the small panels, seeming blind to +the other beauties of the room. + +"Yes, it is strange why that wall should be different from the others," +Mona says, rather glad that he appears interested in something besides +herself. "But it is altogether quite a nice old room, is it not?" + +"It is," replies he, absently. Then, below his breath, "and well worth +fighting for." + +But Mona does not hear this last addition; she is moving a chair a +little to one side, and the faint noise it makes drowns the sound of his +voice. This perhaps is as well. + +She turns up one of the lamps, whilst Rodney still continues his +contemplation of the wall before him. Conversation languishes, then +dies. Mona, raising her hand to her lips, suppresses valiantly a yawn. + +"I hope you are enjoying yourself," she says, presently, hardly knowing +what else to say. + +"Enjoying myself?--No, I never do that," says Rodney, with unexpected +frankness. + +"You can hardly mean that?" says Mona, with some surprise. + +"I do. Just now," looking at her, "I am perhaps as near enjoyment as I +can be. But I have not danced before to-night. Nor should I have danced +at all had you been engaged. I have forgotten what it is to be +light-hearted." + +"But surely there must be moments when----" + +"I never have such moments," interrupts he moodily. + +"Dear me! what a terribly unpleasant young man!" thinks Mona, at her +wits' end to know what to say next. Tapping her fingers in a perplexed +fashion on the table nearest her, she wonders when he will cease his +exhaustive survey of the walls and give her an opportunity of leaving +the room. + +"But this is very sad for you, isn't it?" she says, feeling herself in +duty bound to say something. + +"I dare say it is; but the fact remains. I don't know what is the matter +with me. It is a barren feeling,--a longing, it may be, for something I +can never obtain." + +"All that is morbid," says Mona: "you should try to conquer it. It is +not healthy." + +"You speak like a book," says Rodney, with an unlovely laugh; "but +advice seldom cures. I only know that I have learned what stagnation +means. I may alter in time, of course, but just at present I feel that + + 'My night has no eve, + And my day has no morning.' + +At home--in Sydney, I mean--the life was different. It was free, +unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better." + +"Then why don't you go back?" suggests Mona, simply. + +"Because I have work to do here," retorts he, grimly. "Yet ever since I +first set foot on this soil, contentment has gone from me. Abroad a man +lives, here he exists. There, he carries his life in his hand, and +trusts to his revolver rather than to the most learned of counsels, but +here all is on another footing." + +"It is to be regretted you cannot like England, as you have made up your +mind to live in it; and yet I think----" She pauses. + +"Yes--you think; go on," says Rodney, gazing at her attentively. + +"Well, then, I think it is only _just_ you should be unhappy," says +Mona, with some vehemence. "Those who seek to scatter misery broadcast +among their fellows should learn to taste of it themselves." + +"Why do you accuse me of such a desire?" asks he, paling beneath her +indignation, and losing courage because of the unshed tears that are +gleaming in her eyes. + +"When you gain your point and find yourself master here, you will know +you have made not only one, but many people miserable." + +"You seem to take my success in this case as a certainty," he says, with +a frown. "I may fail." + +"Oh, that I could believe so!" says Mona, forgetful of manners, +courtesy, everything, but the desire to see those she loves restored to +peace. + +"You are candor itself," returns he, with a short laugh, shrugging his +shoulders. "Of course I am bound to hope your wish may be fulfilled. And +yet I doubt it. I am nearer my object to-night than I have ever been +before; and," with a sardonic smile, "yours has been the hand to help me +forward." + +Mona starts, and regards him fixedly in a puzzled, uncertain manner. +What he can possibly mean is unknown to her; but yet she is aware of +some inward feeling, some instinct such as animals possess, that warns +her to beware of him. She shrinks from him, and in doing so a slight +fold of her dress catches in the handle of a writing-table, and detains +her. + +Paul, dropping on his knees before her, releases her gown; the fold is +in his grasp, and still holding it he looks up at her, his face pale and +almost haggard. + +"If I were to resign all hope of gaining the Towers, if I were to +consent to leave your people still in possession," he says, +passionately, but in a low tone, "should I earn one tender thought in +your heart? Speak, Mona! speak!" + +I am sure at even this supreme moment it never enters Mona's brain that +the man is actually making love to her. A deep pity for him fills her +mind. He is unhappy, justly so, no doubt, but yet unhappy. A sure +passport to her heart. + +"I do not think unkindly of you," she says, gently, but coldly. "And do +as your conscience dictates, and you will gain not only my respect, but +that of all men." + +"Bah!" he says, impatiently, rising from the ground and turning away. +Her answer has frozen him again, has dried up the momentary desire for +her approbation above all others that only a minute ago had agitated his +breast. + +At this moment Geoffrey comes into the room and up to Mona. He takes no +notice whatever of her companion, "Mona, will you come and sing us +something?" he says, as naturally as though the room is empty. "Nolly +has been telling the duchess about your voice, and she wants to hear +you. Anything simple, darling,"--seeing she looks a little distressed at +the idea: "you sing that sort of thing best." + +"I hardly think our dance is ended yet, Mrs. Rodney," says the +Australian, defiantly, coming leisurely forward, his eyes bent somewhat +insolently upon Geoffrey. + +"You will come, Mona, to oblige the duchess," says Geoffrey, in exactly +as even a tone as if the other had never spoken. Not that he cares in +the very least about the duchess; but he is determined to conquer here, +and is also desirous that all the world should appreciate and admire the +woman he loves. + +"I will come, of course," says Mona, nervously, "but I am afraid she +will be disappointed. You will excuse me, Mr. Rodney, I am sure," +turning graciously to Paul, who is standing with folded arms in the +background. + +"Yes, I excuse _you_," he says, with a curious stress upon the pronoun, +and a rather strained smile. The room is filling with other people, the +last dance having plainly come to an end. Geoffrey, taking Mona's arm, +leads her into the hall. + +"Dance no more to-night with that fellow," he says quickly, as they get +outside. + +"No?" Then, "Not if you dislike it of course. But Nicholas made a point +of my being nice to him. I did not know you would object to my dancing +with him." + +"Well, you know it now. I do object," says Geoffrey, in a tone he has +never used to her before. Not that it is unkind or rude, but cold and +unlover-like. + +"Yes, I know it now!" returns she, softly, yet with the gentle dignity +that always belongs to her. Her lips quiver, but she draws herself up to +her fullest height, and, throwing up her head, walks with a gait that is +almost stately into the presence of the duchess. + +"You wish me to sing to you," she says, gently, yet so unsmilingly that +the duchess wonders what has come to the child. "It will give me +pleasure if I can give _you_ pleasure, but my voice is not worth +thinking about." + +"Nevertheless, let me hear it," says the duchess. "I cannot forget that +your face is musical." + +Mona, sitting down to the piano, plays a few chords in a slow, plaintive +fashion, and then begins. Paul Rodney has come to the doorway, and is +standing there gazing at her, though she knows it not. The ballroom is +far distant, so far that the sound of the band does not break upon the +silence of the room in which they are assembled. A hush falls upon the +listeners as Mona's fresh, pathetic, tender voice rises into the air. + +It is an old song she chooses, and simple as old, and sweet as simple. I +almost forget the words now, but I know it runs in this wise: + + Oh, hame, hame--hame fain wad I be, + Hame, hame to my ain countrie, + +and so on. + +It touches the hearts of all who hear it as she sings it and brings +tears to the eyes of the duchess. So used the little fragile daughter to +sing who is now chanting in heaven! + +There is no vehement applause as Mona takes her fingers from the keys, +but every one says, "Thank you," in a low tone. Geoffrey, going up to +her, leans over her chair and whispers, with some agitation,-- + +"You did not mean it, Mona, did you? You are content here with me?--you +have no regret?" + +At which Mona turns round to him a face very pale, but full of such love +as should rejoice the heart of any man, and says, tremulously,-- + +"Darling, do you need an answer?" + +"Then why did you choose that song?" + +"I hardly know." + +"I was hateful to you just now, and most unjust." + +"Were you? I have forgotten it," replies she, smiling happily, the color +coming back to her cheeks. Whereupon Paul Rodney's brows contract, and +with a muttered curse he turns aside and leaves the room, and then the +house, without another word or backward glance. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +HOW GEOFFREY DINES OUT, AND HOW MONA FARES DURING HIS ABSENCE. + + +"Must you really go, Geoffrey?--really?" asks Mona, miserably, looking +the very personification of despair. She has asked the same question in +the same tone ever since early dawn, and it is now four o'clock. + +"Yes, really. Horrid bore, isn't it?--but county dinners must be +attended, and Nicholas will do nothing. Besides, it isn't fair to ask +him just now, dear old fellow, when he has so much upon his mind." + +"But _you_ have something on your mind, too. You have _me_. Why doesn't +Jack go?" + +"Well, I rather think he has Violet on his mind. Did you ever see +anything so spooney as they looked all through dinner yesterday and +luncheon to-day? I didn't think it was in Violet." + +"Did she never look at you like that?" asks Mona, maliciously; "in the +early days, I mean, before--before----" + +"I fell a victim to your charms? No. Jack has it all to himself as far +as I'm concerned. Well, I must be off, you know. It is a tremendous +drive, and I'll barely do it in time. I shall be back about two in the +morning." + +"Not until two?" says Mona, growing miserable again. + +"I can't well get away before that, you know, as Wigley is a good way +off. But I'll try all I know. And, after all," says Geoffrey, with a +view to cheering her, "it isn't as bad as if I was ordered off +somewhere for a week, is it?" + +"A week? I should be _dead_ when you came back," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, +with some vehemence, and a glance that shows she can dissolve into tears +at a moment's notice. + +"Some fellows go away for months," says Geoffrey, still honestly bent on +cheering her, but unfortunately going the wrong way to work. + +"Then they ought to be ashamed of themselves," says Mona, with much +indignation. "Months indeed!" + +"Why, they can't help it," explains he. "They are sent half the time." + +"Then the people who send them should be ashamed! But what about the +other half of their time that they spend from home?" + +"Oh, I don't know: that was a mere figure of speech," says Mr. Rodney, +who is afraid to say such absences are caused by an innate love of +freedom and a vile desire for liberty at any cost, and has nothing else +handy. "Now don't stay moping up here when I go, but run downstairs and +find the girls and make yourself happy with them." + +"Happy?" reproachfully. "I shan't know a happy moment until I see you +again!" + +"Nor I, till I see you," says Geoffrey, earnestly, actually believing +what he says himself. + +"I shall do nothing but look at the clock and listen for the sound of +the horse's feet." + +"Mona, you musn't do that. Now, I shall be really annoyed if you insist +on sitting up for me and so lose a good night's rest. Now, don't, +darling. It will only take it out of you, and make you pale and languid +next day." + +"But I shall be more content so; and even if I went to bed I could not +sleep. Besides, I shall not be companionless when the small hours begin +to creep upon me." + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey. + +"No; I shall have him with me: but, hush! It is quite a secret," placing +her finger on her lips. + +"'Him'?--whom?"--demands her husband, with pardonable vivacity. + +"My own old pet," says Mrs. Geoffrey, still mysteriously, and with the +fondest smile imaginable. + +"Good gracious, Mona, whom do you mean?" asks he, aghast both at her +look and tone. + +"Why, Spice, of course," opening her eyes. "Didn't you know. Why, what +else could I mean?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure; but really the way you expressed yourself, +and----Yes, of course, Spice will be company, the very best company for +you." + +"I think I shall have Allspice too," goes on Mona. "But say nothing. +Lady Rodney, if she knew it, would not allow it for a moment. But +Jenkins" (the old butler) "has promised to manage it all for me, and to +smuggle my dear dogs up to my room without any one being in the least +the wiser." + +"If you have Jenkins on your side you are pretty safe," says Geoffrey. +"My mother is more afraid of Jenkins than you would be of a +land-leaguer. Well, good-by again. I must be off." + +"What horse are you taking?" asks she, holding him. + +"Black Bess." + +"Oh, Geoffrey, do you want to break my heart? Sure you know he is the +most vicious animal in the whole stables. Take any horse but that." + +"Well, if only to oblige you, I'll take Truant." + +"What! the horrid brute that puts back his ears and shows the white of +his eyes! Geoffrey, once for all, I desire you to have nothing to do +with him." + +"Anything to please you," says Geoffrey, who is laughing by this time. +"May I trust my precious bones to Mazerin? He is quite fifteen, has only +one eye, and a shameless disregard for the whip." + +"Ye--es; he will do," says Mona, after a second's careful thought, and +even now reluctantly. + +"I think I see myself behind Mazerin, at this time of day," says Mr. +Rodney, heartlessly. "You don't catch me at it, if I know it. I'm not +sure what horse I shall have, but I trust to Thomas to give me a good +one. For the last time, good-by, you amiable young goose, and don't +expect me till I come." + +So saying, he embraces her warmly, and, running downstairs, jumps into +the dog-cart, and drives away behind the "vicious Black Bess." + +Mona watches him from her window, as far as the curve in the avenue will +permit, and, having received and returned his farewell wave of the hand, +sits down, and taking out her handkerchief, indulges in a good cry. + +It is the first time since their marriage that she and Geoffrey have +been parted, and it seems to her a hard thing that such partings should +be. A sense of desolation creeps over her,--a sense of loneliness she +has never known before. + +Then she remembers her promise to go down to the girls and abstain from +fretting, and, rising bravely, she bathes her eyes, and goes down the +marble staircase through the curtained alcove towards the small +drawing-room, where one of the servants tells her, the family is +assembled. + +The door of the room she is approaching is wide open, and inside, as +Mona draws nearer, it becomes apparent that some one is talking very +loudly, and with much emphasis, and as though determined not to be +silenced. Argument is plainly the order of the hour. + +As Mona comes still nearer, the words of the speaker reach her, and sink +into her brain. It is Lady Rodney who is holding forth, and what she +says floats lightly to Mona's ears. She is still advancing, unmindful of +anything but the fact that she cannot see Geoffrey again for more hours +than she cares to count, when the following words become clear to her, +and drive the color from her cheeks,-- + +"And those dogs forever at her heels!--positively, she is half a savage. +The whole thing is in keeping, and quite detestable. How can you expect +me to welcome a girl who is without family and absolutely penniless? +Why, I am convinced that misguided boy bought her even her trousseau!" + +Mona has no time to hear more; pale, but collected, she walks +deliberately into the room and up to Lady Rodney. + +"You are mistaken in one point," she says, slowly. "I may be savage, +penniless, without family,--but I bought my own trousseau. I do not say +this to excuse myself, because I should not mind taking anything from +Geoffrey; but I think it a pity you should not know the truth. I had +some money of my own,--very little, I allow, but enough to furnish me +with wedding garments." + +Her coming is a thunderbolt, her speech lightning. Lady Rodney changes +color, and is for once utterly disconcerted. + +"I beg your pardon," she manages to say. "Of course had I known you were +listening at the door I should not have said what I did,"--this last +with a desire to offend. + +"I was not listening at the door," says Mona, with dignity, yet with +extreme difficulty: some hand seems clutching at her heart-strings, and +he who should have been near to succor her is far away. "I never," +haughtily, "listened at a door in all my life. _I_ should not understand +how to do it." Her Irish blood is up, and there is a distinct emphasis +upon the pronoun. "You have wronged me twice!" + +Her voice falters. Instinctively she looks round for help. She feels +deserted,--alone. No one speaks. Sir Nicholas and Violet, who are in the +room, are as yet almost too shocked to have command of words; and +presently the silence becomes unbearable. + +Two tears gather, and roll slowly down Mona's white cheeks. And then +somehow her thoughts wander back to the old farmhouse at the side of the +hill, with the spreading trees behind it, and to the sanded floor and +the cool dairy, and the warmth of the love that abounded there, and the +uncle, who, if rough, was at least ready to believe her latest +action--whatever it might be--only one degree more perfect than the one +that went before it. + +She turns away in a desolate fashion, and moves towards the door; but +Sir Nicholas, having recovered from his stupefaction by this time, +follows her, and placing his arm round her, bends over her tenderly, and +presses her face against his shoulder. + +"My dearest child, do not take things so dreadfully to heart," he says, +entreatingly and soothingly: "it is all a mistake; and my mother will, I +know, be the first to acknowledge herself in error." + +"I regret--" begins Lady Rodney, stonily; but Mona by a gesture stays +her. + +"No, no," she says, drawing herself up and speaking with a touch of +pride that sits very sweetly on her; "I beg you will say nothing. Mere +words could not cure the wound you have inflicted." + +She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound +lies here," and once more turns to the door. + +Violet, rising, flings from her the work she has been amusing herself +with, and, with a gesture of impatience very foreign to her usual +reserve goes up to Mona, and, slipping her arm round her, takes her +quietly out of the room. + +Up the stairs she takes her and into her own room, without saying a +word. Then she carefully turns the key in the door, and, placing Mona in +a large and cosey arm-chair, stands opposite to her, and thus begins,-- + +"Now listen, Mona," she says, in her low voice, that even now, when she +is somewhat excited, shows no trace of heat or haste, "for I shall speak +to you plainly. You must make up your mind to Lady Rodney. It is the +common belief that mere birth will refine most people; but those who +cling to that theory will surely find themselves mistaken. Something +more is required: I mean the nobility of soul that Nature gives to the +peasant as well as the peer. This, Lady Rodney lacks; and at heart, in +sentiment, she is--at times--coarse. May I say what I like to you?" + +"You may," says Mona, bracing herself for the ordeal. + +"Well, then, I would ask you to harden your heart, because she will say +many unpleasant things to you, and will be uncivil to you, simply +because she has taken it into her head that you have done her an injury +in that you have married Geoffrey! But do you take no notice of her +rudeness; ignore her, think always of the time that is coming when your +own home will be ready for you, and where you can live with Geoffrey +forever, without fear of a harsh word or an unkind glance. There must be +comfort in this thought." + +She glances anxiously at Mona, who is gazing into the fire with a slight +frown upon her brow, that looks sadly out of place on that smooth white +surface. At Violet's last words it flies away, not to return. + +"Comfort? I think of nothing else," she says, dreamily. + +"On no account quarrel with Lady Rodney. Bear for the next few weeks +(they will quickly pass) anything she may say, rather than create a +breach between mother and son. You hear me, Mona?" + +"Yes, I hear you. But must you say this? Have I ever sought a quarrel +with--Geoffrey's mother?" + +"No, no, indeed. You have behaved admirably where most women would have +ignominiously failed. Let that thought console you. To have a perfect +temper, such as yours, should be in itself a source of satisfaction. And +now bathe your eyes, and make yourself look even prettier than usual. A +difficult matter, isn't it?" with a friendly smile. + +Mona smiles too in return, though still heavy at heart. + +"Have you any rose-water?" goes on Miss Mansergh in her matter-of-fact +manner. "No? A good sign that tears and you are enemies. Well, I have, +and so I shall send it to you in a moment. You will use it?" + +"Oh, yes, thank you," says Mona, who is both surprised and carried away +by the other's unexpected eloquence. + +"And now a last word, Mona. When you come down to dinner to-night (and +take care you are a little late), be gay, merry, wild with spirits, +anything but depressed, whatever it may cost you. And if in the +drawing-room, later on, Lady Rodney should chance to drop her +handkerchief, or that eternal knitting, do not stoop to pick it up. If +her spectacles are on a distant table, forget to see them. A nature such +as hers could not understand a nature such as yours. The more anxious +you may seem to please, the more determined she will be not to be +pleased." + +"But you like Lady Rodney?" says Mona, in a puzzled tone. + +"Very much indeed. But her faults are obvious, and I like you too. I +have said more to you of her than I have ever yet said to human being; +why, I know not, because you are (comparatively speaking) a stranger to +me, whilst she is my very good friend. Yet so it rests. You will, I +know, keep faith with me." + +"I am glad you know that," says Mona. Then, going nearer to Violet, she +lays her hand upon her arm and regards her earnestly. The tears are +still glistening in her eyes. + +"I don't think I should mind it if I did not feel so much alone. If I +had a place in your hearts," she says. "You all like me, I know, but I +want to be loved." Then, tremulously, "Will you _try_ to love me?" + +Violet looks at her criticizingly, then she smiles, and, placing her +hand beneath Mrs. Geoffrey's chin, turns her face more to the fading +light. + +"Yes, that is just your greatest misfortune," she says, meditatively. +"Love at any price. You would die out of the sunshine, or spoil, which +would be worse. You will never be quite happy, I think; and yet +perhaps," with a faint sigh, "you get your own good out of your life, +after all,--happiness more intense, if briefer, than we more material +people can know. There, shall I tell you something? I think you have +gained more love in a short time than any other person I ever knew. You +have conquered me, at least; and, to tell you the truth," with a slight +grimace, "I was quite determined not to like you. Now lie down, and in a +minute or two I shall send Halkett to you with the rose-water." + +For the first time she stoops forward and presses her lips to Mona's +warmly, graciously. Then she leaves her, and, having told her maid to +take the rose-water to Mrs. Rodney, goes downstairs again to the +drawing-room. + +Sir Nicholas is there, silent, but angry, as Violet knows by the frown +upon his brow. With his mother he never quarrels, merely expressing +disapproval by such signs as an unwillingness to speak, and a stern +grave line that grows upon his lips. + +"Of course you are all against me," Lady Rodney is saying, in a rather +hysterical tone. "Even you, Violet, have taken up that girl's cause!" +She says this expectantly, as though calling on her ally for support. +But for once the ally fails her. Miss Mansergh maintains an unflinching +silence, and seats herself in her low wicker chair before the fire with +all the air of one who has made up her mind to the course she intends to +pursue, and is not be enticed from it. + +"Oh, yes, no doubt I am in the wrong, because I cannot bring myself to +adore a vulgar girl who all day long shocks me with her Irishisms," goes +on Lady Rodney, almost in tears, born of vexation. "A girl who says, +'Sure you know I didn't' or 'Ah, did ye, now,' or 'Indeed I won't, +then!' every other minute. It is too much. What you all see in her I +can't imagine. And you too, Violet, you condemn me, I can see." + +"Yes, I think you are quite and altogether in the wrong," says Miss +Mansergh, in her cool manner, and without any show of hesitation, +selecting carefully from the basket near her the exact shade of peacock +blue she will require for the cornflower she is working. + +Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, sails with offended dignity from the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +HOW MONA, GHOST-LIKE, FLITS THROUGH THE OLD TOWERS AT MIDNIGHT--HOW THE +MOON LIGHTS HER WAY--AND HOW SHE MEETS ANOTHER GHOST MORE FORMIDABLE +THAN HERSELF. + + +Jenkins, the antediluvian butler, proves himself a man of his word. +There are, evidently, "no two ways" about Jenkins. "Seeking the +seclusion that her chamber grants" about ten o'clock to-night, after a +somewhat breezy evening with her mother-in-law, Mona descries upon her +hearthrug, dozing blissfully, two huge hounds, that raise their sleepy +tails and heads to welcome her, with the utmost condescension, as she +enters her room. + +Spice and Allspice are having a real good time opposite her bedroom +fire, and, though perhaps inwardly astonished at their promotion from a +distant kennel to the sleeping-apartment of their fair mistress, are far +too well-bred to betray any vulgar exaltation at the fact. + +Indeed, it is probably a fear lest she shall deem them unduly elated +that causes them to hesitate before running to greet her with their +usual demonstrative joy. Then politeness gets the better of pride, and, +rising with a mighty effort, they stretch themselves, yawn, and, going +up to her, thrust their soft muzzles into her hands and look up at her +with their great, liquid, loving eyes. They rub themselves against her +skirts, and wag their tails, and give all other signs of loyalty and +devotion. + +Mona, stooping, caresses them fondly. They are a part of her old life, +and dear, therefore, to her own faithful heart. Having partly undressed, +she sits down upon the hearthrug with them, and, with both their big +heads upon her lap, sits staring into the fire, trying to while away +with thought the hours that must elapse before Geoffrey can return to +her again. + +It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the +dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting +their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. +Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into +eternity; midnight is at hand! + +At the sound of the twelfth stroke the hounds stir uneasily, and sigh, +and, opening wide their huge jaws, yawn again. Mona pats them +reassuringly: and, flinging some fresh logs upon the fire, goes back +once more to her old position, with her chin in the palm of one hand, +whilst the other rests on the sleek head of Spice. + +Castles within the fire grow grand and tall, and then crumble into dust; +castles in Mona's brain fare likewise. The shadows dance upon the walls; +silently imperceptibly, the minutes flit away. + +One o'clock chimes the tiny timepiece on the mantelshelf; outside the +sound is repeated somewhere in the distance in graver, deeper tones. + +Mona shivers. Getting up from her lowly position, she draws back the +curtains of her window and looks out upon the night. It is brilliant +with moonlight, clear as day, full of that hallowed softness, that +peaceful serenity, that belongs alone to night. + +She is enchanted, and stands there for a minute or two spellbound by the +glory of the scene before her. Then a desire to see her beloved lake +from the great windows in the northern gallery takes possession of her. +She will go and look at it, and afterwards creep on tiptoe to the +library, seize the book she had been reading before dinner, and make her +way back again to her room without any one being in the least the wiser. +Anything will be better than sitting here any longer, dreaming dismal +day-dreams. + +She beckons to the dogs, and they, coming up to her, follow her out of +the room and along the corridor outside their soft velvet paws making no +sound upon the polished floor. She has brought with her no lamp. Just +now, indeed, it would be useless, such "a wide and tender light," does +heaven's lamp fling upon floor and ceiling, chamber and corridor. + +The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The +oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a +picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land. + +Sinking into the cushioned embrasure of the window, Mona sits entranced, +drinking in the beauty that is balm to her imaginative mind. The two +dogs, with a heavy sigh, shake themselves, and then drop with a soft +thud upon the ground at her feet,--her pretty arched feet that are half +naked and white as snow: their blue slippers being all too loose for +them. + +Below is the lake, bathed in moonshine. A gentle wind has arisen, and +little wavelets silver-tinged are rolling inward, breaking themselves +with tender sobs upon the shore. + + "The floor of heaven + Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold." + +The floor itself is pale, nay, almost blue. A little snow is sifted +lightly on branch, and grass, and ivied wall. Each object in the +sleeping world is quite distinct. + + "All things are calm, and fair, and passive; earth + Looks as if lulled upon an angel's lap + Into a breathless, dewy sleep; so still + That we can only say of things, they be." + +The cold seems hardly to touch Mona, so wrapped she is in the beauties +of the night. There is at times a solemn indefinable pleasure in the +thought that we are awake whilst all the world sleepeth; that we alone +are thinking, feeling, holding high communion with our own hearts and +our God. + +The breeze is so light that hardly a trembling of the leafless branches +breaks the deadly silence that reigns all round: + + "A lone owl's hoot, + The waterfall's faint drip, + Alone disturb the stillness of the scene," + +Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from +her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards +the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the +walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs +through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, +and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth +from those ghastly visors?--surely a clank of supernatural armor smote +upon her ear just then! + +She hastens her steps, and runs down hurriedly into the hall below, +which is almost as light as day. Turning aside, she makes for the +library, and now (and not till now) remembers she has no light, and that +the library, its shutters carefully closed every night by the invaluable +Jenkins himself, is of necessity in perfect darkness. + +Must she go back for a candle? Must she pass again all those belted +knights upon the staircase and in the upper gallery? No! rather will she +brave the darkness of the more congenial library, and--but soft--what is +that? Surely a tiny gleam of light is creeping to her feet from beneath +the door of the room towards which she wends her way. + +It is a light, not of stars or of moonbeams, but of a _bona fide_ lamp, +and as such is hailed by Mona, with joy. Evidently the thoughtful +Jenkins has left it lighted there for Geoffrey's benefit when he +returns. And very thoughtful, too, it is of him. + +All the servants have received orders to go to bed, and on no account to +sit up for Mr. Rodney, as he can let himself in in his own way,--a habit +of his for many years. Doubtless, then, one of them had placed this lamp +in the library with some refreshments for him, should he require them. + +So thinks Mona, and goes steadily on to the library, dreading nothing, +and inexpressibly cheered by the thought that gloom at least does not +await her there. + +Pushing open the door very gently, she enters the room, the two dogs at +her heels. + +At first the light of the lamp--so unlike the pale transparent purity of +the moonbeams--puzzles her sight; she advances a few steps +unconsciously, treading lightly, as she has done all along, lest she +shall wake some member of the household, and then, passing her hand over +her eyes, looks leisurely up. The fire is nearly out. She turns her head +to the right, and then--_then_--she utters a faint scream, and grasps +the back of a chair to steady herself. + +Standing with his back to her (being unaware of her entrance), looking +at the wall with the smaller panels that had so attracted him the night +of the dance, is Paul Rodney! + +Starting convulsively at the sound of her cry, he turns, and, drawing +with lightning rapidity a tiny pistol from his pocket, raises his arm, +and deliberately covers her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +HOW MONA STANDS HER GROUND--HOW PAUL RODNEY BECOMES HER PRISONER--AND +HOW GEOFFREY ON HIS RETURN HOME MEETS WITH A WARM RECEPTION. + + +For a second Mona's courage fails her, and then it returns with +threefold force. In truth, she is nearer death at this moment than she +herself quite knows. + +"Put down your pistol, sir," she says, hastily. "Would you fire on a +woman?" Her tone, though hurried, is not oppressed with fear. She even +advances a few steps in his direction. Her words, her whole manner, fill +him with admiration. The extreme courage she betrays is, indeed worthy +of any man's laudation, but the implied trust in his chivalry touches +Paul Rodney more than anything has ever had power to touch him before. + +He lowers the weapon at her command, but says nothing. Indeed, what is +there to say? + +"Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of +mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go +off. + +Again he obeys her. + +"Now, perhaps, you will explain why you are here?" says Mrs. Geoffrey, +speaking as sternly as her soft voice will permit. "How did you get in?" + +"Through the window. I was passing, and found it open." There is some +note in his voice that might well be termed mocking. + +"Open at this hour of the morning?" + +"Wide open." + +"And the lamp, did you find it burning?" + +"Brilliantly." + +He lifts his head here, and laughs aloud, a short, unmirthful laugh. + +"You are lying, sir," says Mona, contemptuously. + +"Yes, deliberately," returns he, with wilful recklessness. + +He moves as though to take up the pistol again; but Mona is beforehand +with him, and, closing her fingers round it, holds it firmly. + +"Do you think you are stronger than I am?" he says, amusement blended +with the old admiration in his eyes. + +"No, but they are," she says, pointing to her two faithful companions, +who are staring hungrily at Rodney and evidently only awaiting the word +from Mona to fling themselves upon him. + +She beckons to them, and, rising slowly, they advance towards Rodney, +who involuntarily moves back a little. And in truth they are formidable +foes, with their bloodshot eyes, and bristling coats, and huge jaws +that, being now parted, show the gleaming teeth within. + +"On guard," says Mona, whereupon both the brutes crouch upon the ground +right before Rodney, and fix him seriously and menacingly with their +eyes. + +"You are certainly too strong for me," says Rodney, with a frown and a +peculiar smile. + +"As you have refused to explain your presence here to me, you shall +remain where you now are until help arrives," says Mona, with evident +determination. + +"I am content to stay here until the day dawns, if you keep me company," +replies he, easily. + +"Insolence, sir, is perhaps another part of your _role_," returns she, +with cold but excessive anger. + +She is clad in a long white dressing-gown, loose, yet clinging, that +betrays each curve of her _svelte_, lissom figure. It is bordered with +swansdown, and some rich white lace, that sits high to her neck and +falls over her small hands. Her hair is drawn back into a loose knot, +that looks as if it would tumble down her back should she shake her +head. She is pale, and her eyes are peculiarly large and dark from +excitement. They are fixed upon Rodney with a gaze that belies all idea +of fear, and her lips are compressed and somewhat dangerous. + +"Is truth insolence?" asks Rodney. "If so, I demand your pardon. My +speech, no doubt, was a _betise_, yet it came from my heart." + +"Do not trouble yourself to make any further excuse," says Mona, icily. + +"Pray sit down," says Rodney, politely: "if you insist on spending your +evening with me, let me at least know that you are comfortable." Again +the comicality of the whole proceeding strikes him, and he laughs aloud. +He takes, too, a step forward, as if to get her a chair. + +"Do not stir," says Mona, hastily, pointing to the bloodhounds. Allspice +has risen--so has the hair on his back--and is looking thunder-claps at +Paul. A low growl breaks from him. He is plainly bent upon reducing to +reason whosoever shall dispute the will of his beloved mistress. "The +dogs know their orders, and will obey me. Down, Allspice, down. You will +do well, sir, to remain exactly where you are," continues Mona. + +"Then get a chair for yourself, at least, as you will not permit me to +go to your aid," he entreats. "I am your prisoner,--perhaps," in a low +tone, "the most willing captive that ever yet was made." + +He hardly realizes the extent of his subjection,--is blind to the +extreme awkwardness of the situation. Of Geoffrey's absence, and the +chance that he may return at any moment, he is altogether ignorant. + +Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with +her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes +lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediaeval saint. So thinks +Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his +brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect. + +The moments come and go. The fire is dying out. No sound but that of the +falling cinders comes to disturb the stillness that reigns within the +library. Mona is vaguely, wondering what the end of it all will be. And +then at last the silence is broken. A noise upon the gravel outside, a +quick rush up the balcony steps; some one emerges from the gloom of the +night, and comes into the room through the open window. Mona utters a +passionate cry of relief and joy. It is Geoffrey! + +Perhaps, just at first, surprise is too great to permit of his feeling +either astonishment or indignation. He looks from Paul Rodney to Mona, +and then from Mona back to Rodney. After that his gaze does not wander +again. Mona, running to him, throws herself into his arms, and there he +holds her closely, but always with his eyes fixed upon the man he deems +his enemy. + +As for the Australian, he has grown pale indeed, but is quite +self-possessed, and the usual insolent line round his mouth has +deepened. The dogs have by no means relaxed their vigil, but still +crouch before him, ready for their deadly spring at any moment. It is a +picture, almost a lifeless one, so motionless are all those that help to +form it. The fading fire, the brilliant lamp, the open window with the +sullen night beyond, Paul Rodney standing upon the hearthrug with folded +arms, his dark insolent face lighted up with the excitement of what is +yet to come, gazing defiantly at his cousin, who is staring back at him, +pale but determined. And then Mona, in her soft white gown, somewhat in +the foreground, with one arm (from which the loose sleeve of the +dressing-gown has fallen back, leaving the fair rounded flesh to be +seen) thrown around her husband's neck, is watching Rodney with an +expression on her face that is half haughtiness, half nervous dread. Her +hair has loosened, and is rippling over her shoulders, and down far +below her waist; with her disengaged hand she is holding it back from +her ear, hardly knowing how picturesque and striking is her attitude, +and how it betrays each perfect curve of her lovely figure. + +"Now, sir speak," she says, at length in rather tremulous tones growing +fearful of the lengthened silence. There is a dangerous vibration in the +arm that Geoffrey has round her, that gives her warning to make some +change in the scene as soon as possible. + +For an instant Rodney turns his eyes on her, and then goes back to his +sneering examination of Geoffrey. Between them the two dogs still lie, +quiet but eager. + +"Call off the dogs," says Geoffrey to Mona, in a low tone; "there is no +longer any necessity for them. And tell me how you come to be here, at +this hour, with this--fellow." + +Mona calls off the dogs. They rise unwillingly, and, walking into a +distant corner, sit there, as though still awaiting a chance of taking +some active part in the coming fray. After which Mona, in a few words, +explains the situation to Geoffrey. + +"You will give me an explanation at once," says Geoffrey, slowly, +addressing his cousin. "What brought you here?" + +"Curiosity, as I have already told Mrs. Rodney," returns he, lightly. +"The window was open, the lamp burning. I walked in to see the old +room." + +"Who is your accomplice?" asks Geoffrey, still with studied calmness. + +"You are pleased to talk conundrums," says Rodney, with a shrug. "I +confess my self sufficiently dull to have never guessed one." + +"I shall make myself plainer. What servant did you bribe to leave the +window open for you at this hour?" + +For a brief instant the Australian's eyes flash fire; then he lowers his +lids, and laughs quite easily. + +"You would turn a farce into a tragedy," he says, mockingly, "Why should +I bribe a servant to let me see an old room by midnight?" + +"Why, indeed, unless you wished to possess yourself of something in the +old room?" + +"Again I fail to understand," says Paul; but his very lips grow livid. +"Perhaps for the second time, and with the same delicacy you used at +first, you will condescend to explain." + +"Is it necessary?" says Geoffrey, very insolently in his turn. "I think +not. By the by, is it your usual practice to prowl round people's houses +at two o'clock in the morning? I thought all such festive habits were +confined to burglars, and blackguards of that order." + +"We are none of us infallible," says Rodney, in a curious tone, and +speaking as if with difficulty. "You see, even you erred. Though I am +neither burglar nor blackguard, I, too enjoy a walk at midnight." + +"Liar!" says Geoffrey between his teeth, his eyes fixed with deadly +hatred upon his cousin. "Liar--and thief!" He goes a few steps nearer +him, and then waits. + +"Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A +murderous light creeps into his eyes. + +Mona, seeing it, moves away from Geoffrey, and, going stealthily up to +the table, lays her hand upon the pistol, that is still lying where last +she left it. With a quick gesture, and unseen she covers it with a +paper, and then turns her attention once more upon the two men. + +"Ay, thief!" repeats Geoffrey, in a voice low but fierce, "It was not +without a purpose you entered this house to-night, alone and uninvited. +Tell your story to any one foolish enough to believe you. I do not. What +did you hope to find? What help towards the gaining of your unlawful +cause?" + +"Thief!" interrupts Rodney, repeating the vile word again, as though +deaf to everything but this degrading accusation. Then there is a faint +pause, and then---- + +Mona never afterwards could say which man was the first to make the +attack, but in a second they are locked in each other's arms in a deadly +embrace. A desire to cry aloud, to summon help, takes hold of her, but +she beats it down, some inward feeling, clear, yet undefined, telling +her that publicity on such a matter as this will be eminently +undesirable. + +Geoffrey is the taller man of the two, but Paul the more lithe and +sinewy. For a moment they sway to and fro; then Geoffrey, getting his +fingers upon his cousin's throat, forces him backward. + +The Australian struggles for a moment. Then, finding Geoffrey too many +for him, he looses one of his hands, and, thrusting it between his shirt +and waistcoat, brings to light a tiny dagger, very flat, and lightly +sheathed. + +Fortunately this dagger refuses to be shaken from its hold. Mona, +feeling that fair play is at an end, and that treachery is asserting +itself, turns instinctively to her faithful allies the bloodhounds, who +have risen, and, with their hair standing straight on their backs, are +growling ominously. + +Cold, and half wild with horror, she yet retains her presence of mind, +and, beckoning to one of the dogs, says imperiously, "At him, Spice!" +pointing to Paul Rodney. + +Like a flash of lightning, the brute springs forward, and, flinging +himself upon Rodney, fastens his teeth upon the arm of the hand that +holds the dagger. + +The extreme pain, and the pressure--the actual weight--of the powerful +animal, tell. Rodney falls back, and with an oath staggers against the +mantelpiece. + +"Call off that dog," cries Geoffrey, turning savagely to Mona. +Whereupon, having gained her purpose, Mona bids the dog lie down, and +the faithful brute, exquisitely trained, and unequal to disobedience, +drops off his foe at her command and falls crouching to the ground, yet +with his eyes red and bloodshot, and his breath coming in parting gasps +that betray the wrath he would gladly gratify. + +The dagger has fallen to the carpet in the struggle, and Mona, picking +it up, flings it far from her into the darksome night through the +window. Then she goes up to Geoffrey, and laying her hand upon his +breast, turns to confront their cousin. + +Her hair is falling like a veil all round her; through it she looks out +at Rodney with eyes frightened and imploring. + +"Go, Paul!" she says, with vehement entreaty, the word passing her lips +involuntarily. + +Geoffrey does not hear her. Paul does. And as his own name, coming from +her lips, falls upon his ear, a great change passes over his face. It is +ashy pale; his lips are bloodless; his eyes are full of rage and undying +hatred: but at her voice it softens, and something that is quite +indescribable, but is perhaps pain and grief and tenderness and despair +combined, comes into it. Her lips--the purest and sweetest under +heaven--have deigned to address him as one not altogether outside the +pale of friendship,--of common fellowship. In her own divine charity and +tenderness she can see good in others who are not (as he acknowledges to +himself with terrible remorse) worthy to touch the very hem of her white +skirts. + +"Go," she says, again, entreatingly, still with her hand on Geoffrey's +breast, as though to keep him back, but with her eyes on Paul. + +It is a command. With a last lingering glance at the woman who has +enthralled him, he steps out through the window on to the balcony, and +in another moment is lost to sight. + +Mona, with a beating heart, but with a courage that gives calmness to +her outward actions, closes the window, draws the shutters together, +bars them, and then goes back to Geoffrey, who has not moved since +Rodney's departure. + +"Tell me again how it all happened," he says, laying his hands on her +shoulders. And then she goes through it again, slowly, carefully. + +"He was standing just there," she says, pointing to the spot where first +she had seen Paul when she entered the library, "with his face turned to +the panels, and his hand up like this," suiting the action to the word. +"When I came in, he turned abruptly. Can he be eccentric?--odd? +Sometimes I have thought that----" + +"No; eccentricity is farther from him than villainy. But, my darling, +what a terrible ordeal for you to come in and find him here! Enough to +frighten you to death, if you were any one but my own brave girl." + +"The dogs gave me courage. And was it not well I did bring them? How +strange that I should have wished for them so strongly to-night! That +time when he drew out the dagger!--my heart failed me then, and but for +Spice what would have been the end of it?" She shudders. "And yet," she +says, with sudden passion, "even then I knew what I should have done. I +had his pistol. I myself would have shot him, if the worst came to the +worst. Oh, to think that that man may yet reign here in this dear old +house, and supplant Nicholas!" + +Her eyes fill with tears. + +"He may not,--there is a faint chance,--but of course the title is gone, +as he has proved his birth beyond dispute." + +"What could he have wanted? When I came in, he turned pale and levelled +the pistol at me. I was frightened, but not much. When I desired him, he +laid down the pistol directly, and then I seized it. And then----" + +Her eyes fall upon the hearthrug. Half under the fender a small piece of +crumpled paper attracts her notice. Still talking, she stoops +mechanically and picks it up, smooths it, and opens it. + +"Why, what is this?" she says, a moment later; "and what a curious hand! +Not a gentleman's surely." + +"One of Thomas's _billet-doux_, no doubt," says Geoffrey, dreamily, +alluding to the under-footman, but thinking of something else. + +"No, no; I think not. Come here, Geoffrey; do. It is the queerest +thing,--like a riddle. See!" + +He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In +an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon +it,-- + +"7--4. Press top corner,--right hand." + +This is all. The paper is old, soiled, and has apparently made large +acquaintance with pockets. It looks, indeed, as if much travel and +tobacco are not foreign to it. Geoffrey, taking it from Mona, holds it +from him at full length, with amiable superciliousness, between his +first finger and thumb. + +"Thomas has plainly taken to hieroglyphics,--if it be Thomas," he says. +"I can fancy his pressing his young woman's right hand, but her 'top +corner' baffles me. If I were Thomas, I shouldn't hanker after a girl +with a 'top corner;' but there is no accounting for tastes. It really is +curious, though, isn't it?" As he speaks he looks at Mona; but Mona, +though seemingly returning his gaze, is for the first time in her life +absolutely unmindful of his presence. + +Slowly she turns her head away from him, and, as though following out a +train of thought, fixes her eyes upon the panelled wall in front of her. + +"It is illiterate writing, certainly; and the whole concern dilapidated +to the last degree," goes on Rodney, still regarding the soiled paper +with curiosity mingled with aversion. "Any objection to my putting it in +the fire?" + +"'7--4,'" murmurs she, absently, still staring intently at the wall. + +"It looks like the production of a lunatic,--a very dangerous +lunatic,--an _habitue_ of Colney Hatch," muses Geoffrey, who is growing +more and more puzzled with the paper's contents the oftener he reads it. + +"'Top corner,--right hand,'" goes on Mona, taking no heed of him, and +speaking in the same low, mysterious, far-off tone. + +"Yes, exactly; you have it by heart; but what does it mean, and what are +you staring at that wall for?" asks he, hopelessly, going to her side. + +"It means--the missing will," returns she, in a voice that would have +done credit to a priestess of Delphi. As she delivers this oracular +sentence, she points almost tragically towards the wall in question. + +"Eh!" says Geoffrey, starting, not so much at the meaning of her words +as at the words themselves. Have the worry and excitement of the last +hour unsettled her brain! + +"My dear child, don't talk like that," he says, nervously: "you're done +up, you know. Come to bed." + +"I sha'n't go to bed at all," declares Mrs. Geoffrey, excitedly. "I +shall never go to bed again, I think, until all this is cleared up. +Geoffrey, bring me over that chair." + +She motions impatiently with her hand, and Geoffrey, being compelled to +it by her vehemence, draws a high chair close to that part of the wall +that seems to have claimed her greatest attention. + +Springing up on it, she selects a certain panel, and, laying one hand on +it as if to make sure it is the one she wants, counts carefully six more +from it to the next wall, and three from it to the floor. I think I have +described these panels before as being one foot broad and two feet long. + +Having assured herself that the panel selected is the one she requires, +she presses her fingers steadily against the upper corner on the side +farthest from the fire. Expectation lies in every line of her face, yet +she is doomed to disappointment. No result attends her nervous pressure, +but distinct defeat. The panel is inexorable. Nothing daunted, she moves +her hand lower down, and tries again. Again failure crushes her; after +which she makes one last attempt, and, touching the very uppermost +corner, presses hard. + +Success at last rests with her. Slowly the panel moves, and, sliding to +one side, displays to view a tiny cupboard that for many years has been +lost sight of by the Rodney family. It is very small, about half a foot +in depth, with three small shelves inside. But, alas! these shelves are +empty. + +Geoffrey utters an exclamation, and Mona, after one swift comprehensive +glance at the rifled cupboard, bursts into tears. The bitter +disappointment is more than she can bear. + +"Oh! it isn't here! He has stolen it!" cries she, as one who can admit +of no comfort. "And I felt so sure I should find it myself. That was +what he was doing when I came into the room. Ah, Geoffrey, sure you +didn't malign him when you called him a thief." + +"What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly +distressed at her apparent grief. + +"He has stolen the will. Taken it away. That paper you hold must have +fallen from him, and contains the directions about finding the right +panel. Ah! what shall we do now?" + +"You are right: I see it now," says Geoffrey, whitening a little, +"Warden wrote that paper, no doubt," glancing at the dirty bit of +writing that has led to the discovery. "He evidently had his knowledge +from old Elspeth, who must have known of this secret hiding-place from +my great-grandfather. My father, I am convinced, knew nothing of it. +Here, on the night of my grandfather's death, the old woman must have +hidden the will, and here it has remained ever since until to-night. +Yet, after all, this is mere supposition," says Geoffrey. "We are taking +for granted what may prove a myth. The will may never been placed here, +and he himself----" + +"It _was_ placed here; I feel it, I know it," says Mona, solemnly, +laying her hand upon the panel. Her earnestness impresses him. He wakes +into life. + +"Then that villain, that scoundrel, has it now in his possession," he +says, quickly. "If I go after him, even yet I may come up with him +before he reaches his home, and compel him to give it up." + +As he finishes he moves towards the window, as though bent upon putting +his words into execution at once, but Mona hastily stepping before him, +gets between it and him, and, raising her hand, forbids his approach. + +"You may compel him to murder you," she says, feverishly, "or, in your +present mood, you may murder him. No, you shall not stir from this +to-night." + +"But--" begins he, impatiently, trying gently to put her to one side. + +"I will not listen," she interrupts, passionately. "I know how you both +looked a while ago. I shall never forget it; and to meet again now, with +fresh cause for hatred in your hearts, would be----No. There is crime +in the very air of to-night." + +She winds her arms, around him, seeing he is still determined to go, +and, throwing back her head, looks into his face. + +"Besides, you are going on a fool's errand," she says, speaking rapidly, +as though to gain time. "He has reached his own place long ago. Wait +until the morning, I entreat you, Geoffrey. I--" her lips tremble, her +breath comes fitfully--"I can bear no more just now." + +A sob escapes her, and falls heavily on Geoffrey's heart. He is not +proof against a woman's tears,--as no true man ever is,--especially +_her_ tears, and so he gives in at once. + +"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, +with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done." + +"To-day, you mean: you will only have to wait a few short hours," she +says, gratefully. "Let us leave this hateful room," with a shudder. "I +shall never be able to enter it again without thinking of this night and +all its horrors." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +HOW MONA KEEPS HER OWN COUNSEL--AND HOW AT MIDDAY SHE RECEIVES A NOTE. + + +Sleep, even when she does get to bed, refuses to settle upon Mona's +eyelids. During the rest of the long hours that mark the darkness she +lies wide awake, staring upon vacancy, and thinking ceaselessly until + + "Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, + Comes furrowing all the Orient into gold." + +Then she rises upon her elbow, and notices how the light comes through +the chinks of the shutters. It must be day indeed. The dreary night has +fled affrighted; the stars hide their diminished rays. Surely + + "Yon gray lines + That fret the clouds are messengers of day." + +There is relief in the thought. She springs from her bed, clothes +herself rapidly, and descends to the breakfast room. Yet the day thus +begun appears to her singularly unattractive. Her mind is full of care. +She has persuaded Geoffrey to keep silence about all that last night +produced, and wait, before taking further steps. But wait for what? She +herself hardly knows what it is she hopes for. + +She makes various attempts at thinking it out. She places her pretty +hands upon her prettier brows, under the mistaken impression common to +most people that this attitude is conducive to the solution of +mysteries; but with no result. Things will not arrange themselves. + +To demand the will from Paul Rodney without further proof that it is in +his possession than the fact of having discovered by chance a secret +cupboard is absurd; yet not to demand it seems madness. To see him, to +reason with him, to accuse him of it, is her one desire; yet she can +promise herself no good from such an interview. She sighs as she thus +seeks aimlessly to see a satisfactory termination to all her +meditations. + +She is _distraite_ and silent all the morning, taking small notice of +what goes on around her. Geoffrey, perplexed too, in spirit, wanders +vaguely from pillar to post, unable to settle to anything,--bound by +Mona to betray no hint of what happened in the library some hours ago, +yet dying to reveal the secret of the panel-cupboard to somebody. + +Nolly is especially and oppressively cheerful. He is blind to the +depression that marks Mona and Geoffrey for its own, and quite outdoes +himself in geniality and all-round amiability. + +Violet has gone to the stables to bestow upon her bonny brown mare her +usual morning offering of bread; Jack, of course, has gone with her. + +Geoffrey is nowhere just at this moment. Doatie and Nicholas are sitting +hand in hand and side by side in the library, discussing their own cruel +case, and wondering for the thousandth time whether--if the worst comes +to the worst (of which, alas! there now seems little doubt)--her father +will still give his consent to their marriage, and, if so, how they +shall manage to live on five hundred pounds a year, and whether it may +not be possible for Nicholas to get something or other to do (on this +subject they are vague) that may help "to make the crown a pound." + +Mona is sitting in the morning-room, the faithful and ever lively Nolly +at her side. According to his lights, she is "worth a ship-load of the +whole lot," and as such he haunts her. But to-day she fails him. She is +absent, depressed, weighed down with thought,--anything but congenial. +She forgets to smile in the right place, says, "Yes" when courtesy +requires "No," and is deaf to his gayest sallies. + +When he has told her a really good story.--quite true, and all about the +aesthetic, Lady Lilias, who has declared her intention of calling this +afternoon, and against whose wearing society he is strenuously warning +her,--and when she has shown no appreciation of the wit contained +therein, he knows there is something--as he himself describes +it--"rotten in the state of Denmark." + +"You are not well, are you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" he says, sympathetically, +getting up from his own chair to lean tenderly over the back of hers. +Nolly is nothing if not affectionate, where women are concerned. It +gives him no thought or trouble to be attentive to them, as in his soul +he loves them all,--in the abstract,--from the dairymaid to the duchess, +always provided they are pretty. + +"You are wrong: I am quite well," says Mona, smiling, and rousing +herself. + +"Then you have something on your mind. You have not been your usual +perfect self all the morning." + +"I slept badly last night; I hardly slept at all," she says, +plaintively, evading direct reply. + +"Oh, well, that's it," says Mr. Darling, somewhat relieved. "I'm an +awful duffer not to have guessed that Geoffrey's being out would keep you +awake." + +"Yes, I could not sleep. Watching and waiting destroy all chance of +slumber." + +"Lucky he," says Nolly, fervently, "to know there is somebody who longs +for his return when he is abroad; to feel that there are eyes that will +mark his coming, and look brighter when he comes, and all that sort of +thing. Nobody ever cares about _my_ coming," says Mr. Darling, with deep +regret, "except to lament it." + +"How melancholy!" says Mona, with a nearer approach to brightness than +she has shown all day. + +"Yes. I'm not much," confesses Mr. Darling, blandly. "Others are more +fortunate. I'm like 'the man in the street,' subject to all the winds of +heaven. Why, it would almost tempt a man to stay away from home +occasionally to know there was some one longing for his return. It would +positively encourage him to dine out whenever he got the chance." + +"I pity your wife," says Mona, almost severely. + +"Oh, now, Mrs. Geoffrey, come--I say--how cruel yon can be!" + +"Well, do not preach such doctrine to Geoffrey," she says, with +repentance mixed with pathos. + +"I shall do only what you wish," returns he, chivalrously, arranging the +cushion that adorns the back of her chair. + +The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an +end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one +of the maids,--not her own,--who hands her a sealed note. + +"From whom?" demands Mona, lazily, seeing the writing is unknown to her. + +"I really don't know, ma'am. Mitchell gave it to me," says the girl, in +an injured tone. Now, Mitchell is Lady Rodney's maid. + +"Very good," says Mona, indifferently, after which the woman, having +straightened a cushion or two, takes her departure. + +Mona, sinking languidly into a chair, turns the note over and over +between her fingers, whilst wondering in a disjointed fashion as to whom +it can be from. She guesses vaguely at the writer of it, as people will +when they know a touch of the hand and a single glance can solve the +mystery. + +Then she opens the letter, and reads as follows: + +"In spite of all that has passed, I do entreat you to meet me at three +o'clock this afternoon at the river, beneath the chestnut-tree. Do not +refuse. Let no shrinking from the society of such as I am deter you from +granting me this first and last interview, as what I have to say +concerns not you, but those you love. I feel the more sure you will +accede to this request because of the heavenly pity in your eyes last +night, and the grace that moved you to address me as you did. I shall +wait for you until four o'clock. But let me not wait in vain.--P. R." + +So runs the letter. + +"The man is eccentric, no matter what Geoffrey may say," is Mona's first +thought, when she has perused it carefully for the second time. Then the +belief that it may have something to do with the restoration of the lost +will takes possession of her, and makes her heart beat wildly. Yes, she +will go; she will keep this appointment whatever comes of it. + +She glances at her watch. It is now a quarter past three; so there is no +time to be lost. She must hasten. + +Hurriedly she gets into her furs, and, twisting some soft black lace +around her throat, runs down the stairs, and, opening the hall door +without seeing any one, makes her way towards the appointed spot. + +It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and +little flowers are springing everywhere. + + "Daisies pied, and violets blue, + And lady-smocks all silver white, + And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue + Do paint the meadows with delight." + +Each bank and root of mossy tree is studded with pale primroses that +gleam like stars when the morning rises to dim their lustre. My lady's +straw-bed spreads its white carpet here and there; the faint twitter of +birds is in the air, with "liquid lapse of murmuring streams;" every +leaf seems bursting into life, the air is keen but soft, the clouds rest +lightly on a ground of spotless blue; the world is awake, and mad with +youthful glee as + + "Spring comes slowly up this way" + +Every flower has opened wide its pretty eye, because the sun, that so +long has been a stranger, has returned to them, and is gazing down upon +them with ardent love. They--fond nurslings of an hour--accept his tardy +attentions, and, though, still chilled and _desolee_ because of the sad +touches of winter that still remain, gaze with rapt admiration at the +great Phoebus, as he sits enthroned above. + +Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and +place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the +beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and +compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place +appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face +Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she +comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she +looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream +rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite +attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon +her. + +"I have come," she says, simply, feeling herself growing pale, yet quite +self-possessed, and strong in a determination not to offer him her hand. + +"Yes. I thank you for your goodness," returns he, slowly. + +Then follows an uncomfortable silence. + +"You have something important to say to me," says Mona, presently, +seeing he will not speak: "at least, so your letter led me to believe." + + +"It is true; I have." Then some other train of thought seems to rush +upon him; and he goes on in a curious tone that is half mocking, yet +wretched above every other feeling; "You had the best of me last night, +had you not? And yet," with a sardonic laugh. "I'm not so sure, either. +See here." + +Slowly he draws from his pocket a paper, folded neatly, that looks like +some old parchment. Mona draws her breath quickly, and turns first +crimson with emotion, then pale as death. Opening it at a certain page, +he points out to her the signature of George Rodney, the old baronet. + +"Give it to me!" cries she, impulsively, her voice, trembling. "It is +the missing will. You found it last night. It belongs to Nicholas. You +must--nay," softly, beseechingly, "you _will_ give it to me." + +"Do you know all you ask? By relinquishing this iniquitous deed I give +up all hope of ever gaining this place,--this old house that even to me +seems priceless. You demand much. Yet on one condition it shall be +yours." + +"And the condition?" asks she, eagerly, going closer to him. What is it +that she would not do to restore happiness to those she has learned to +love so well? + +"A simple one." + +"Name it!" exclaims she, seeing he still hesitates. + +He lays his hands lightly on her arm, yet his touch seems to burn +through her gown into her very flesh. He stoops towards her. + +"For one kiss this deed shall be yours," he whispers, "to do what you +like with it." + +Mona starts violently, and draws back; shame and indignation cover her. +Her breath comes in little gasps. + +"Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, +fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt. + +"You have heard me," retorts he, coldly, angered to the last degree by +the extreme horror and disgust she has evinced at his proposal. He +deliberately replaces the precious paper in his pocket, and turns as if +to go. + +"Oh, stay?" she says, faintly, detaining him both by word and gesture. + +He turns to her again. + +She covers her eyes with her hands, and tries vainly to decide on what +is best for her to do. In all the books she has ever read the young +woman placed in her position would not have hesitated at all. As if +reared to the situation, she would have thrown up her head, and +breathing defiance upon the tempter, would have murmured to the +sympathetic air, "Honor above everything," and so, full of dignity, +would have moved away from her discomfited companion, her nose high in +the air. She would think it a righteous thing that all the world should +suffer rather than one tarnish, however slight, should sully the +brightness of her fame. + +For the first time Mona learns she is not like this well-regulated young +woman. She falls lamentably short of such excellence. She cannot bring +herself to think the world of those she loves well lost for any +consideration whatever. And after all--this horrid condition--it would +be over in a moment. And she could run home with the coveted paper, and +bathe her face in sweet cold water. And then again she shudders. Could +she bathe the remembrance of the insult from her heart? + +She presses her hands still closer against her eyes, as though to shut +out from her own mind the hatefulness of such a thought. And then, with +a fresh effort, she brings herself back once more to the question that +lies before her. + +Oh, if by this one act of self-sacrifice she could restore the Towers +with all its beauty and richness to Nicholas, and--and his mother,--how +good a thing it would be! But will Geoffrey ever forgive her? Ah, sure +when she explains the matter to him, and tells him how and why she did +it, and how her heart bled in the doing of it, he will put his arms +round her and pardon her sin. Nay, more, he may see how tender is the +longing that compels her to the deed. + +She uncovers her eyes, and glances for a bare instant at Rodney. Then +once more the heavily-fringed lids close upon the dark-blue eyes, as if +to hide the anguish in them, and in a smothered voice she says, with +clenched teeth and a face like marble, "Yes, you may kiss me,--if you +will." + +There is a pause. In shrinking doubt she awaits the moment that shall +make him take advantage of her words. But that moment never comes. In +vain she waits. At length she lifts her eyes, and he, flinging the +parchment at her feet, cries, roughly,-- + +"There! take it. _I_ can be generous too." + +"But," begins Mona, feebly, hardly sure of her blessed release. + +"Keep your kiss," exclaims he, savagely, "since it cost you such an +effort to give it, and keep the parchment too. It is yours because of my +love for you." + +Ashamed of his vehemence, he stoops, and, raising the will from the +ground, presents it to her courteously. "Take it: it is yours," he says. +Mona closes her fingers on it vigorously, and by a last effort of grace +suppresses the sigh of relief that rises from her heart. + +Instinctively she lowers her hand as though to place the document in the +inside pocket of her coat, and in doing so comes against something that +plainly startles her. + +"I quite forgot it," she says, coloring with sudden fear, and then +slowly, cautiously, she draws up to view the hated pistol he had left in +the library the night before. She holds it out to him at arm's length, +as though it is some noisome reptile, as doubtless indeed she considers +it. "Take it," she says; "take it quickly. I brought it to you, meaning +to return it. Good gracious! fancy my forgetting it! Why, it might have +gone off and killed me, and I should have been none the wiser." + +"Well, I think you would, for a moment or two at least," returns he, +smiling grimly, and dropping the dangerous little toy with some +carelessness into his own pocket. + +"Oh, do take care!" cries Mona, in an agony: "it is loaded. If you throw +it about in that rough fashion, it will certainly go off and do you some +injury." + +"Blow me to atoms, perhaps, or into some region unknown," says he, +recklessly. "A good thing, too. Is life so sweet a possession that one +need quail before the thought of resigning it?" + +"You speak as one might who has no aim in life, says Mona, looking at +him with sincere pity. When Mona looks piteous she is at her best. Her +eyes grow large, her sweet lips tremulous, her whole face pathetic. The +_role_ suits her. Rodney's heart begins to beat with dangerous rapidity. +It is quite on the cards that a man of his reckless, untrained, +dare-devil disposition should fall madly in love with a woman _sans peur +et sans reproche_. + +"An aim!" he says, bitterly. "I think I have found an end to my life +where most fellows find a beginning." + +"By and you will think differently," says Mona, believing he alludes to +his surrender of the Rodney property "You will get over this +disappointment." + +"I shall,--when death claims me," replies he. + +"Nay, now," says Mona, sweetly, "do not talk like that. It grieves me. +When you have formed a purpose worth living for, the whole world will +undergo a change for you. What is dark now will seem light then; and +death will be an enemy, a thing to battle with, to fight with +desperately until one's latest breath. In the meantime," nervously, +"_do_ be cautious about that horrid weapon: won't you, now?" + +"You ask me no questions about last night," he says, suddenly; "and +there is something I must say to you. Get rid of that fellow Ridgway, +the under-gardener. It was he opened the library window for me. He is +untrustworthy, and too fond of filthy lucre ever to come to good. I +bribed him." + +He is now speaking with some difficulty, and is looking, not at her, but +at the pattern he is drawing on the soft loam at his feet. + +"Bribed him?" says Mona, in an indescribable tone. + +"Yes. I knew about the secret panel from Warden, old Elspeth's nephew, +who alone, I think, knew of its existence. I was determined to get the +will. It seemed to me," cries he, with sudden excitement, "no such great +crime to do away with an unrighteous deed that took from an elder son +(without just cause) his honest rights, to bestow them upon the younger. +What had my father done? Nothing! His brother, by treachery and base +subterfuge, supplanted him, and obtained his birthright, while he, my +father, was cast out, disinherited, without a hearing." + +His passion carries Mona along with it. + +"It was unjust, no doubt; it sounds so," she says, faintly. Yet even as +she speaks she closes her little slender fingers resolutely upon the +parchment that shall restore happiness to Nicholas and dear pretty +Dorothy. + +"To return to Ridgway," says Paul Rodney, pulling himself up abruptly. +"See him yourself, I beg of you, as a last favor, and dismiss him. Send +him over to me: I will take him back with me to Australia and give him a +fresh start in life. I owe him so much, as I was the first to tempt him +into the wrong path; yet I doubt whether he would have kept straight +even had he not met me. He is _mauvais sujet_ all through." + +"Surely," thinks Mona to herself, "this strange young man is not +altogether bad. He has his divine touches as well as another." + +"I will do as you ask," she says, wondering when the interview will come +to an end. + +"After all, I am half glad Nicholas is not to be routed," he says, +presently, with some weariness in his tone. "The game wasn't worth the +candle; I should never have been able to do the _grand seigneur_ as he +does it. I suppose I am not to the manner born. Besides, I bear _him_ no +malice." + +His tone, his emphasis on the pronoun, is significant. + +"Why should you bear malice to any one?" says Mona uneasily. + +"Your husband called me 'thief.' I have not forgotten that," replies he, +gloomily, the dark blood of his mother's race rushing to his cheek. "I +shall remember that insult to my dying day. And let him remember _this_, +that if ever I meet him again, alone, and face to face, I shall kill him +for that word only." + +"Oh, no! no!" says Mona, shrinking from him. "Why cherish such revenge +in your heart? Would you kill me too, that you speak like this? Fling +such thoughts far from you, and strive after good. Revenge is the food +of fools." + +"Well, at least I sha'n't have many more opportunities of meeting him," +says Rodney. "I shall leave this country as soon as I can. Tell Nicholas +to keep the title with the rest. I shall never use it. And now," growing +very pale, "it only remains to say good-by." + +"Good-by," says Mona, softly, giving him her hand. He keeps it fast in +both his own. Just at this moment it dawns upon her for the first time +that this man loves her with a love surpassing that of most. The +knowledge does not raise within her breast--as of course it should +do--feelings of virtuous indignation: indeed, I regret to say that my +heroine feels nothing but a deep and earnest pity, that betrays itself +in her expressive face. + +"Last night you called me Paul. Do you remember? Call me it again, for +the last time," he entreats, in a low tone. "I shall never forget what I +felt then. If ever in the future you hear good of me, believe it was +through you it sprung to life. Till my dying day your image will remain +with me. Say now, 'Good-by, Paul,' before I go." + +"Good by, dear Paul," says Mona, very gently, impressed by his evident +grief and earnestness. + +"Good-by, my--my beloved--cousin," he says, in a choked voice. I think +the last word is an afterthought. He is tearing himself from all he +holds most sacred upon earth, and the strain is terrible. He moves +resolutely a a few yards away from her, as though determined to put +space between him and her; yet then he pauses, and, as though powerless +to withdraw from her presence, returns again, and, flinging himself on +his knees before her, presses a fold of her gown to his lips with +passionate despair. + +"It is forever!" he says, incoherently. "Oh, Mona, at least--_at least_ +promise you will always think kindly of me." + +"Always--indeed, always!" says Mona, with tears in her eyes; after +which, with a last miserable glance, he strides away, and is lost to +sight among the trees. + +Then Mrs. Geoffrey turns quickly, and runs home at the top of her speed. +She is half sad, yet half exultant, being filled to the very heart with +the knowledge that life, joy, and emancipation from present evil lie in +her pocket. This thought crowns all others. + +As she comes to the gravel walk that leads from the shrubberies to the +sweep before the hall door, she encounters the disgraced Ridgway, doing +something or other to one of the shrubs that has come to grief during +the late bad weather. + +He touches his hat to her, and bids her a respectful "good afternoon," +but for once she is blind to his salutation. Nevertheless, she stops +before him, and, in a clear voice, says, coldly,-- + +"For the future your services will not be required here. Your new +master, Mr. Paul Rodney, whom you have chosen to obey in preference to +those in whose employ you have been, will give you your commands from +this day. Go to him, and after this try to be faithful." + +The boy--he is little more--cowers beneath her glance. He changes color, +and drops the branch he holds. No excuse rises to his lips. To attempt a +lie with those clear eyes upon him would be worse than useless. He turns +abruptly away, and is dead to the Towers from this moment. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +HOW CONVERSATION GROWS RIFE AT THE TOWERS--AND HOW MONA ASSERTS +HERSELF--AND HOW LADY RODNEY LICKS THE DUST. + + +"Where can Mona be?" says Doatie, suddenly. + +We must go back one hour. Lady Lilias Eaton has come and gone. It is now +a quarter to five, and Violet is pouring out tea in the library. + +"Yes; where is Mona?" says Jack, looking up from the cup she has just +given him. + +"I expect I know more than most about her," says Nolly, who is enjoying +himself immensely among the sponge, and the plum-cakes. "I told her the +AEsthetic was likely to call this afternoon, and advised her strongly to +make her escape while she could." + +"She evidently took your advice," says Nicholas. + +"Well, I went rather minutely into it, you know. I explained to her how +Lady Lilias was probably going to discuss the new curfew-bell in all its +bearings; and I hinted gloomily at the 'Domesday Book.' _That_ fetched +her. She vamoosed on the spot." + +"Nothing makes me so hungry as Lady Lilias," says Doatie, comfortably. +She is lying back in a huge arm-chair that is capable of holding three +like her, and is devouring bread and butter like a dainty but starved +little fairy. Nicholas, sitting beside her, is holding her tea-cup, her +own special tea-cup of gaudy Sevres. "She is very trying, isn't she, +Nicholas? What a dazzling skin she has!--the very whitest I ever saw." + +"Well, that is in her favor, I really think," says Violet, in her most +unprejudiced manner. "If she were to leave off her rococo toilettes, and +take to Elise or Worth like other people, and give up posing, and try to +behave like a rational being, she might almost be called handsome." + +No one seconds this rash opinion. There is a profound silence. Miss +Mansergh looks mildly round for support, and, meeting Jack's eyes, stops +there. + +"Well, really, you know, yes. I think there _is_ something special about +her," he says, feeling himself in duty bound to say something. + +"So there is; something specially awful," responds Nolly, pensively. +"She frightens me to death. She has an 'eye like a gimlet.' When I call +to mind the day my father inveigled me into the library and sort of told +me I couldn't do better than go in for Lilias, my knees give way beneath +me and smite each other with fear. I shudder to think what part in her +mediaeval programme would have been allotted to me." + +"You would have been her henchman,--is that right, Nicholas?--or her +_varlet_," says Dorothy, with conviction, "And you would have had to +stain your skin, and go round with a cross-bow, and with your mouth +widened from ear to ear to give you the correct look. All aesthetic +people have wide mouths, have they not, Nicholas?" + +"Bless me, what an enthralling picture!" says Mr. Darling. "You make me +regret all I have lost. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I say, +Dolly, you are eating nothing. Have some more bread-and-butter or cake, +old girl. You don't half take care of yourself." + +"Well, do you know, I think I will take another bit of cake," says +Doatie, totally unabashed. "And--cut it thick. After all, Noll, I don't +believe Lilias would ever marry you, or any other man: she wouldn't know +what to do with you." + +"It is very good of you to say that," says Nolly, meekly but gratefully. +"It gives me great support. You honestly believe, then, that I may +escape?" + +"Just fancy the AEsthetic with a husband, and a baby on her knee." + +"Like 'Loraine Loraine Loree,'" says Violet, laughing. + +"Did she have both together on her knee?" asks Dorothy, vaguely. "She +must have found it heavy." + +"Oh, one at a time," says Nolly. "She couldn't do it all at once. Such a +stretch of fancy requires thought." + +At this moment, Geoffrey--who has been absent--saunters into the room, +and, after a careless glance around, says, lightly, as if missing +something,-- + +"Where is Mona?" + +"Well, we thought you would know," says Lady Rodney, speaking for the +first time. + +"Yes. Where is she?" says Doatie: "that is just what we all want to know. +She won't get any tea if she doesn't come presently, because Nolly is +bent on finishing it. Nolly," with plaintive protest, "don't be greedy." + +"We thought she was with you," says Captain Rodney, idly. + +"She is out," says Lady Rodney, in a compressed tone. + +"Is she? It is too late for her to be out," returns Geoffrey, thinking +of the chill evening air. + +"Quite too late," acquiesces his mother, meaningly. "It is, to say the +least of it, very strange, very unseemly. Out at this hour, and +alone,--if, indeed, she is alone!" + +Her tone is so unpleasant and so significant that silence falls upon the +room. Geoffrey says nothing. Perhaps he alone among them fails to +understand the meaning of her words. He seems lost in thought. So lost, +that the others, watching him, wonder secretly what the end of his +meditations will bring forth: yet, one and all, they mistake him: no +doubt of Mona ever has, or ever will, I think, cross his mind. + +Lady Rodney regards him curiously, trying to read his downcast face. Has +the foolish boy at last been brought to see a flaw in his idol of clay? + +Nicholas is looking angry. Jack, sinking into a chair near Violet, says, +in a whisper, that "it is a beastly shame his mother cannot let Mona +alone. She seems, by Jove! bent on turning Geoffrey against her." + +"It is cruel," says Violet, with suppressed but ardent ire. + +"If--if _you_ loved a fellow, would anything turn you against him?" asks +he, suddenly, looking her full in the face. + +And she answers,-- + +"Nothing. Not all the talking in the wide world," with a brilliant +blush, but with steady earnest eyes. + +Nolly, mistrustful of Geoffrey's silence, goes up to him, and, laying +his hands upon his shoulders, says, quietly,-- + +"Mrs. Geoffrey is incapable of making any mistake. How silent you are, +old fellow!" + +"Eh?" says Geoffrey, rousing himself and smiling genially. "A mistake? +Oh, no. She never makes mistakes. I was thinking of something else. But +she really ought to be in now, you know; she will catch her death of +cold." + +The utter want of suspicion in his tone drives Lady Rodney to open +action. To do her justice, dislike to Mona has so warped her judgment +that she almost believes in the evil she seeks to disseminate about her. + +"You are wilfully blind," she says, flushing hotly, and smoothing with +nervous fingers an imaginary wrinkle from her gown. "Of course I +explained matters as well as I could to Mitchell, but it was very +awkward, and very unpleasant, and servants are never deceived." + +"I hardly think I follow you," says Geoffrey, in a frozen tone. "In +regard to what would you wish your servants deceived?" + +"Of course it is quite the correct thing your taking it in this way," +goes on his mother, refusing to be warned, and speaking with +irritation,--"the only course left open; but it is rather absurd with +_me_. We have all noticed your wife's extraordinary civility to that +shocking young man. Such bad taste on her part, considering how he +stands with regard to us, and the unfortunate circumstances connected +with him. But no good ever comes of unequal marriages." + +"Now, once for all, mother--" begins Nicholas, vehemently, but Geoffrey, +with a gesture, silences him. + +"I am perfectly content, nay more than content, with the match I have +made," he says, haughtily; "and if you are alluding to Paul Rodney, I +can only say I have noticed nothing reprehensible in Mona's treatment of +him." + +"You are very much to be admired," says his mother, in an abominable +tone. + +"I see no reason why she should not talk to any man she pleases. I know +her well enough to trust her anywhere, and am deeply thankful for such +knowledge. In fact," with some passion, sudden but subdued, "I feel as +though in discussing her in this cold-blooded fashion I am doing her +some grievous wrong." + +"It almost amounts to it," says Nicholas, with a frown. + +"Besides, I do not understand what you mean," says Geoffrey, still +regarding his mother with angry eyes "Why connect Mona's absence with +Paul Rodney?" + +"I shall tell you," exclaims she, in a higher tone, her pale-blue eyes +flashing. "Two hours ago my own maid received a note from Paul Rodney's +man directed to your wife. When she read it she dressed herself and went +from this house in the direction of the wood. If you cannot draw your +own conclusions from these two facts, you must be duller or more +obstinate than I give you credit for." + +She ceases, her work accomplished. The others in the room grow weak with +fear, as they tell themselves that things are growing too dreadful to be +borne much longer. When the silence is quite insupportable, poor little +Dorothy struggles to the front. + +"Dear Lady Rodney," she says, in a tremulous tone, "are you quite sure +the note was from that--that man?" + +"Quite sure," returns her future mother-in law, grimly. "I never speak, +Dorothy, without foundation for what I say." + +Dorothy, feeling snubbed, subsides into silence and the shadow that +envelopes the lounge on which she is sitting. + +To the surprise of everybody, Geoffrey takes no open notice of his +mother's speech. He does not give way to wrath, nor does he open his +lips on any subject. His face is innocent of anger, horror, or distrust. +It changes, indeed, beneath the glow of the burning logs but in a manner +totally unexpected. An expression that might even be termed hope lights +it up. Like this do his thoughts run: "Can it be possible that the +Australian has caved in, and, fearing publicity after last night's +_fiasco_, surrendered the will to Mona?" + +Possessed with this thought,--which drowns all others,--he clasps his +hands behind his back and saunters to the window. "Shall he go and meet +Mona and learn the truth at once? Better not, perhaps; she is such a +clever child that it is as well to let her achieve victory without +succor of any sort." + +He leans against the window and looks out anxiously upon the darkening +twilight. His mother watches him with curious eyes. Suddenly he +electrifies the whole room by whistling in a light and airy fashion his +favorite song from "Madame Favart." It is the "Artless Thing," and +nothing less, and he whistles it deliberately and dreamily from start to +finish. + +It seems such a direct running commentary on Mona's supposed ill deed +that every one--as by a single impulse--looks up. Nolly and Jack Rodney +exchange covert glances. But for the depression that reigns all round, I +think these two would have given way to frivolous merriment. + +"By Jove, you know, it is odd," says Geoffrey, presently, speaking as +one might who has for long been following out a train of thought by no +means unpleasant, "his sending for her, and that: there must be +something in it. Rodney didn't write to her for nothing. It must have +been to----" Here he checks himself abruptly, remembering his promise to +Mona to say nothing about the scene in the library. "It certainly means +something," he winds up, a little tamely. + +"No doubt," returns his mother, sneeringly. + +"My dear mother," says Geoffrey, coming back to the firelight, "what you +would insinuate is too ridiculous to be taken any notice of." Every +particle of his former passion has died from his voice, and he is now +quite calm, nay cheerful. + +"But at the same time I must ask you to remember you are speaking of my +wife." + +"I do remember it," replies she, bitterly. + +Just at this moment a light step running up the stairs outside and +across the veranda makes itself heard. Every one looks expectant, and +the slight displeasure dies out of Geoffrey's face. A slender, graceful +figure appears at the window, and taps lightly. + +"Open the window, Geoff," cries Mona, eagerly, and as he obeys her +commands she steps into the room with a certain touch of haste about her +movements, and looks round upon them earnestly,--some peculiar +expression, born of a glad thought, rendering her lovely face even more +perfect than usual. + +There is a smile upon her lips; her hands are clasped behind her. + +"I am so glad you have come, darling," says little Dorothy, taking off +her hat, and laying it on a chair near her. + +Geoffrey removes the heavy lace that lies round her throat, and then +leads her up to the hearthrug nearly opposite to his mother's arm-chair. + +"Where have you been, Mona?" he asks, quietly, gazing into the great +honest liquid eyes raised so willingly to his own. + +"You shall guess," says Mrs. Geoffrey, gayly, with a little laugh. "Now, +where do you think?" + +Geoffrey says nothing. But Sir Nicholas, as though impulsively, says,-- + +"In the wood?" + +Perhaps he is afraid for her. Perhaps it is a gentle hint to her that +the truth will be best. Whatever it may be, Mona understands him not at +all. His mother glances up sharply. + +"Why, so I was," says Mona, opening her eyes with some surprise, and +with an amused smile. "What a good guess, and considering how late the +hour is, too!" + +She smiles again. Lady Rodney, watching her intently, tells herself if +this is acting it is the most perfectly done thing she ever saw in her +life, either on the stage or off it. + +Geoffrey's arm slips from his wife's shoulders to her rounded waist. + +"Perhaps, as you have been so good at your first guess you will try +again," says Mona, still addressing Nicholas, and speaking in a tone of +unusual light-heartedness, but so standing that no one can see why her +hands are so persistently clasped behind her back. "Now tell me who I +was with." + +This is a thunderbolt. They all start guiltily, and regard Mona with +wonder. What is she going to say next? + +"So," she says, mockingly, laughing at Nicholas, "you cannot play the +seer any longer? Well, I shall tell you. I was with Paul Rodney!" + +She is plainly quite enchanted with the sensation she is creating, +though she is far from comprehending how complete that sensation is. +Something in her expression appeals to Doatie's heart and makes her +involuntarily go closer to her. Her face is transfigured. It is full of +love and unselfish joy and happy exultation: always lovely, there is at +this moment something divine about her beauty. + +"What have you got behind your back?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, going up +to her. + +She flushes, opens her lips as if to speak, and yet is dumb,--perhaps +through excess of emotion. + +"Mona, it is not--it cannot be--but is it?" asks he incoherently. + +"The missing will? Yes--yes--_yes_!" cries she, raising the hand that is +behind her, and holding it high above her head with the will held +tightly in it. + +It is a supreme moment. A deadly silence falls upon the room, and then +Dorothy bursts into tears. In my heart I believe she feels as much +relief at Mona's exculpation as at the discovery of the desired deed. + +Mona, turning not to Nicholas or to Doatie or to Geoffrey but to Lady +Rodney, throws the paper into her lap. + +"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. + +"Quite sure," says Mona, and then she laughs aloud--a sweet, joyous +laugh,--and clasps her hands together with undisguised delight and +satisfaction. + +Geoffrey, who has tears in his eyes, takes her in his arms and kisses +her once softly, before them all. + +"My best beloved," he says, with passionate fondness, beneath his +breath; but she hears him, and wonders vaguely but gladly at his tone, +not understanding the rush of tenderness that almost overcomes him as he +remembers how his mother--whom she has been striving with all her power +to benefit--has been grossly maligning and misjudging her. Truly she is +too good for those among whom her lot has been cast. + +"It is like a fairy-tale," says Violet, with unwonted excitement. "Oh, +Mona, tell us how you managed it." + +"Well, just after luncheon Letitia, your maid, brought me a note. I +opened it. It was from Paul Rodney, asking me to meet him at three +o'clock, as he had something of importance to say that concerned not me +but those I loved. When he said _that_," says Mona, looking round upon +them all with a large, soft, comprehensive glance, and a sweet smile, "I +knew he meant _you_. So I went. I got into my coat and hat, and ran all +the way to the spot he had appointed,--the big chestnut-tree near the +millstream: you know it, Geoff, don't you?" + +"Yes, I know it," says Geoffrey. + +"He was there before me, and almost immediately he drew the will from +his pocket, and said he would give it to me if--if--well, he gave it to +me," says Mrs. Geoffrey, changing color as she remembers her merciful +escape. "And he desired me to tell you, Nicholas, that he would never +claim the title, as it was useless to him and it sits so sweetly on you. +And then I clutched the will, and held it tightly, and ran all the way +back with it, and--and that's all!" + +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. + +"Why have you taken all this trouble about us?" says Lady Rodney, +leaning forward to look at the girl anxiously, her voice low and +trembling. + +At this Mona, being a creature of impulse, grows once more pale and +troubled. + +"It was for you," she says, hanging her head. "I thought if I could do +something to make you happier, you might learn to love me a little!" + +"I have wronged you," says Lady Rodney, in a low tone, covering her face +with her hands. + +"Go to her," says Geoffrey, and Mona, slipping from his embrace, falls +on her knees at his mother's feet. With one little frightened hand she +tries to possess herself of the fingers that shield the elder woman's +face. + +"It is too late," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone. "I have said so +many things about you, that--that----" + +"I don't care what you have said," interrupts Mona, quickly. She has her +arms round Lady Rodney's waist by this time, and is regarding her +beseechingly. + +"There is too much to forgive," says Lady Rodney, and as she speaks two +tears roll down her cheeks. This evidence of emotion from her is worth a +torrent from another. + +"Let there be no talk of forgiveness between you and me," says Mona, +very sweetly, after which Lady Rodney fairly gives way, and placing her +arms round the kneeling girl, draws her to her bosom and kisses her +tenderly. + +Every one is delighted. Perhaps Nolly and Jack Rodney are conscious of a +wild desire to laugh, but if so, they manfully suppress it, and behave +as decorously as the rest. + +"Now I am quite, quite happy," says Mona, and, rising from her knees, +she goes back again to Geoffrey, and stands beside him. "Tell them all +about last night," she says, looking up at him, "and the secret +cupboard." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +HOW THE RODNEYS MAKE MERRY OVER THE SECRET PANEL--HOW GEOFFREY QUESTIONS +MONA--AND HOW, WHEN JOY IS AT ITS HIGHEST EVIL TIDINGS SWEEP DOWN UPON +THEM. + + +At the mention of the word "secret" every one grows very much alive at +once. Even Lady Rodney dries her tears and looks up expectantly. + +"Yes, Geoffrey and I have made a discovery,--a most important one,--and +it has lain heavy on our breasts all day. Now tell them everything about +last night, Geoff, from beginning to end." + +Thus adjured,--though in truth he requires little pressing, having been +devoured with a desire since early dawn to reveal the hidden knowledge +that is in his bosom,--Geoffrey relates to them the adventure of the +night before. Indeed, he gives such a brilliant coloring to the tale +that every one is stricken dumb with astonishment, Mona herself perhaps +being the most astonished of all. However, like a good wife, she makes +no comments, and contradicts his statements not at all, so that +(emboldened by her evident determination not to interfere with anything +he may choose to say) he gives them such a story as absolutely brings +down the house,--metaphorically speaking. + +"A secret panel! Oh, how enchanting! do, _do_ show it to me!" cries +Doatie Darling, when this marvellous recital has come to an end. "If +there is one thing I adore, it is a secret chamber, or a closet in a +house, or a ghost." + +"You may have the ghosts all to yourself. I sha'n't grudge them to you. +I'll have the cupboards," says Nicholas, who has grown at least ten +years younger during the last hour. "Mona, show us this one." + +Mona, drawing a chair to the panelled wall, steps up on it, and, +pressing her finger on the seventh panel, it slowly rolls back, +betraying the vacuum behind. + +They all examine it with interest, Nolly being specially voluble on the +occasion. + +"And to think we all sat pretty nearly every evening within a yard or +two of that blessed will, and never knew anything about it!" he says, at +last, in a tone of unmitigated disgust. + +"Yes, that is just what occurred to me," says Mona, nodding her head +sympathetically. + +"No? did it?" says Nolly, sentimentally. "How--how awfully satisfactory +it is to know we both thought alike on even one subject!" + +Mona, after a stare of bewilderment that dies at its birth, gives way to +laughter: she is still standing on the chair, and looking down on Nolly, +who is adoring her in the calm and perfectly open manner that belongs to +him. + +Just then Dorothy says,-- + +"Shut it up tight again, Mona, and let _me_ try to open it." And, Mona +having closed the panel again and jumped down off the chair, Doatie +takes her place, and, supported by Nicholas, opens and shuts the secret +door again and again to her heart's content. + +"It is quite simple: there is no deception," says Mr. Darling, +addressing the room, with gracious encouragement in his tone, shrugging +his shoulders and going through all the airs and graces that belong to +the orthodox French showman. + +"It is quite necessary you should know all about it," says Nicholas, in +a low tone, to Dorothy, whom he is holding carefully, as though under +the mistaken impression that young women if left on chairs without +support invariably fall off them. "As the future mistress here, you +ought to be up to every point connected with the old place." + +Miss Darling blushes. It is so long since she has given way to this +weakness that now she does it warmly and generously, as though to make +up for other opportunities neglected. She scrambles down off the chair, +and, going up to Mona, surprises that heroine of the hour by bestowing +upon her a warm though dainty hug. + +"It is all your doing. How wretched we should have been had we never +seen you!" she says, with tears of gratitude in her eyes. + +Altogether it is a very exciting and pleasurable moment. + +The panel is as good as a toy to them. They all open it by turns, and +wonder over it, and rejoice in it. But Geoffrey, taking Mona aside, says +curiously, and a little gravely,-- + +"Tell me why you hesitated in your speech a while ago. Talking of +Rodney's giving you the will, you said he offered to give it you +if--if----What did the 'if' mean?" + +"Come over to the window, and I will tell you," says Mrs. Geoffrey. +"He--he--you must take no notice of it, Geoffrey, but he wanted to kiss +me. He offered me the will for one kiss, and----" + +"You didn't get possession of it in that way?" asks he, seizing her +hands and trying to read her face. + +"Oh, no! But listen to my story. When he saw how I hated his proposal, +he very generously forgave the price, and let me have the document a +free gift. That was rather good of him, was it not? because men like +having their own way, you know." + +"Very self-denying of him, indeed," says Geoffrey, with a slight sneer, +and a sigh of relief. + +"Had I given in, would you have been very angry?" asks she regarding him +earnestly. + +"Very." + +"Then what a mercy it is I didn't do it!" says Mona, naively. "I was +very near it, do you know? I had actually said 'Yes,' because I could +not make up my mind to lose the deed, when he let me off the bargain. +But, if he had persisted, I tell you honestly I am quite sure I should +have let him kiss me." + +"Mona, don't talk like that," says Geoffrey, biting his lips. + +"Well, but, after all, one can't be much of a friend if one can't +sacrifice one's self sometimes for those one loves," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +reproachfully. "You would have done it yourself in my place!" + +"What! kiss the Australian? I'd see him--very well--that is--ahem! I +certainly would not, you know," says Mr. Rodney. + +"Well, I suppose I am wrong," says Mona, with a sigh. "Are you very +angry with me, Geoff? Would you ever have forgiven me if I had done it?" + +"I should," says Geoffrey, pressing her hands. "You would always be to +me the best and truest woman alive. But--but I shouldn't have liked it." + +"Well, neither should I!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, with conviction. "I should +perfectly have hated it. But I should never have forgiven myself if he +had gone away with the will." + +"It is quite a romance," says Jack Rodney: "I never heard anything like +it before off the stage." He is speaking to the room generally. "I doubt +if any one but you, Mona, would have got the will out of him. He hates +the rest of us like poison." + +"But--bless me!--how awfully he must be in love with you to resign the +Towers for your sake!" says Nolly, suddenly giving words to the thought +that has been tormenting him for some time. + +As this is the idea that has haunted every one since the disclosure, and +that they each and all have longed but feared to discuss, they now +regard Nolly with admiration,--all save Lady Rodney, who, remembering +her unpleasant insinuations of an hour ago, moves uneasily in her chair, +and turns an uncomfortable crimson. + +Mona is, however, by no means disconcerted; she lifts her calm eyes to +Nolly's, and answers him without even a blush. + +"Do you know it never occurred to me until this afternoon?" she says, +simply; "but now I think--I may be mistaken, but I really do think he +fancies himself in love with me. A very silly fancy, of course." + +"He must adore you; and no wonder, too," says Mr. Darling, so +emphatically that every one smiles, and Jack, clapping him on the back, +says,-- + +"Well done, Nolly! Go it again, old chap!" + +"Oh, Mona, what courage you showed! Just imagine staying in the library +when you found yourself face to face with a person you never expected to +see, and in the dead of night, with every one sound asleep! In your case +I should either have fainted or rushed back to my bedroom again as fast +as my feet could carry me; and I believe," says Dorothy, with +conviction, "I should so far have forgotten myself as to scream every +inch of the way." + +"I don't believe you would," says Mona. "A great shock sobers one. I +forgot to be frightened until it was all over. And then the dogs were a +great support." + +"When he held the pistol to your forehead, didn't you scream then?" asks +Violet. + +"To my forehead?" says Mona, puzzled; and then she glances at Geoffrey, +remembering that this was one of the slight variations with which he +adorned his tale. + +"No, she didn't," interposes he, lightly. "She never funked it for a +moment: she's got any amount of pluck. He didn't exactly press it +against her forehead, you know; but," airily, "it is all the same +thing." + +"When you got the pistol so cleverly into your own possession, why on +earth didn't you shoot him?" demands Mr. Darling, gloomily, who +evidently feels bloodthirsty when he thinks of the Australian and his +presumptuous admiration for the peerless Mona. + +"Ah! sure you know I wouldn't do that, now," returns she, with a +stronger touch of her native brogue than she has used for many a day; at +which they all laugh heartily, even Lady Rodney chiming in as easily as +though the day had never been when she had sneered contemptuously at +that selfsame Irish tongue. + +"Well, 'All's well that ends well,'" says Captain Rodney, thoughtlessly. +"If that delectable cousin of ours would only sink into the calm and +silent grave now, we might even have the title back without fear of +dispute, and find ourselves just where we began." + +It is at this very moment the library door is suddenly flung open, and +Jenkins appears upon the threshold, with his face as white as nature +will permit, and his usually perfect manner much disturbed. "Sir +Nicholas, can I speak to you for a moment?" he says, with much +excitement, growing positively apoplectic in his endeavor to be calm. + +"What is it, Jenkins? Speak!" says Lady Rodney, rising from her chair, +and staying him, as he would leave the room, by an imperious gesture. + +"Oh, my lady, if I must speak," cries the old man, "but it is terrible +news to tell without a word of warning. Mr. Paul Rodney is dying: he +shot himself half an hour ago, and is lying now at Rawson's Lodge in the +beech wood." + +Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward. + +"Shot himself! How?" she says, hoarsely, her bosom rising and falling +tumultuously. "Jenkins, answer me." + +"Tell us, Jenkins," says Nicholas, hastily. + +"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going +home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and +injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is +with him, says there is no hope." + +"No hope!" says Mona, with terrible despair in her voice: "then I have +killed him. It was I returned him that pistol this evening. It is my +fault,--mine. It is I have caused his death." + +This thought seems to overwhelm her. She raises her hands to her head, +and an expression of keenest anguish creeps into her eyes. She sways a +little, and would have fallen, but that Jack Rodney, who is nearest to +her at this moment, catches her in his arms. + +"Mona," says Nicholas, roughly, laying his hand on her shoulder, and +shaking her slightly, "I forbid you talking like that. It is nobody's +fault. It is the will of God. It is morbid and sinful of you to let such +a thought enter your head." + +"So it is really, Mrs. Geoffrey, you know," says Nolly, placing his hand +on her other shoulder to give her a second shake. "Nick's quite right. +Don't take it to heart; don't now. You might as well say the gunsmith +who originally sold him the fatal weapon is responsible for this +unhappy event, as--as that you are." + +"Besides, it may be an exaggeration," suggests Geoffrey "he may not be +so bad as they say." + +"I fear there is no doubt of it, sir," says Jenkins, respectfully, who +in his heart of hearts looks upon this timely accident as a direct +interposition of Providence. "And the messenger who came (and who is now +in the hall, Sir Nicholas, if you would wish to question him) says Dr. +Bland sent him up to let you know at once of the unfortunate +occurrence." + +Having said all this without a break, Jenkins feels he has outdone +himself, and retires on his laurels. + +Nicholas, going into the outer hall, cross-examines the boy who has +brought the melancholy tidings, and, having spoken to him for some time, +goes back to the library with a face even graver than it was before. + +"The poor fellow is calling for you, Mona, incessantly," he says. "It +remains with you to decide whether you will go to him or not. Geoffrey, +_you_ should have a voice in this matter, and I think she ought to go." + +"Oh, Mona, do go--do," entreats Doatie, who is in tears. "Poor, poor +fellow! I wish now I had not been so rude to him." + +"Geoffrey, will you take me to him?" says Mona, rousing herself. + +"Yes. Hurry, darling. If you think you can bear it, you should lose no +time. Minutes even, I fear, are precious in this case." + +Then some one puts on her again the coat she had taken off such a short +time since, and some one else puts on her sealskin cap and twists her +black lace round her white throat, and then she turns to go on her sad +mission. All their joy is turned to mourning, their laughter to tears. + +Nicholas, who had left the room again, returns now, bringing with him a +glass of wine, which he compels her to swallow, and then, pale and +frightened, but calmer than she was before, she leaves the house, and +starts with Geoffrey for the gamekeeper's lodge, where lies the man they +had so dreaded, impotent in the arms of death. + +Night is creeping up over the land. Already in the heavens the pale +crescent moon just born rides silently,-- + + "Wi' the auld moon in hir arme," + +A deep hush has fallen upon everything. The air is cold and piercing. +Mona shivers, and draws even closer to Geoffrey, as, mute, yet full of +saddest thought, they move through the leafless wood. + +As they get within view of the windows of Rawson's cottage, they are met +by Dr. Bland, who has seen them coming, and has hurried out to receive +them. + +"Now, this is kind,--very kind," says the little man, approvingly, +shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he +is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad +case,--very--very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in." + +He draws Mrs. Geoffrey's hand through his arm, and goes towards the +lodge. + +"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely. + +"None; none. It would be useless to say otherwise. Internal hemorrhage +has set in. A few hours, perhaps less, must end it. He knows it himself, +poor boy!" + +"Oh! can nothing be done?" asks Mona, turning to him eyes full of +entreaty. + +"My dear, what I could do, I have done," says the little man, patting +her hand in his kind fatherly fashion; "but he has gone beyond human +skill. And now one thing: you have come here, I know, with the tender +thought of soothing his last hours: therefore I entreat you to be calm +and very quiet. Emotion will only distress him, and, if you feel too +nervous, you know--perhaps--eh?" + +"I shall not be too nervous," says Mona, but her face blanches afresh +even as she speaks; and Geoffrey sees it. + +"If it is too much for you, darling, say so," whispers he; "or shall I +go with you?" + +"It is better she should go alone," says Dr. Bland. "He would be quite +unequal to two; and besides,--pardon me,--from what he has said to me I +fear there were unpleasant passages between you and him." + +"There were," confesses Geoffrey, reluctantly, and in a low tone. "I +wish now from my soul it had been otherwise. I regret much that has +taken place." + +"We all have regrets at times, dear boy, the very best of us," says the +little doctor, blowing his nose: "who among us is faultless? And really +the circumstances were very trying for you,--very--eh? Yes, of course +one understands, you know; but death heals all divisions, and he is +hurrying to his last account, poor lad, all too soon." + +They have entered the cottage by this time, and are standing in the tiny +hall. + +"Open that door, Mrs. Geoffrey," says the doctor pointing to his right +hand. "I saw you coming, and have prepared him for the interview. I +shall be just here, or in the next room, if you should want me. But I +can do little for him more than I have done." + +"You will be near too, Geoffrey?" murmurs Mona, falteringly. + +"Yes, yes; I promise for him," says Dr. Bland. "In fact, I have +something to say to your husband that must be told at once." + +Then Mona, opening the door indicated to her by the doctor, goes into +the chamber beyond, and is lost to their view for some time. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +HOW MONA COMFORTS PAUL RODNEY--HOW NIGHT AND DEATH DESCEND TOGETHER--AND +HOW PAUL RODNEY DISPOSES OF HIS PROPERTY. + + +On a low bed, with his eyes fastened eagerly upon the door, lies Paul +Rodney, the dews of death already on his face. + +There is no disfigurement about him to be seen, no stain of blood, no +ugly mark; yet he is touched by the pale hand of the destroyer, and is +sinking, dying, withering beneath it. He has aged at least ten years +within the last fatal hour, while in his eyes lies an expression so full +of hungry expectancy and keen longing as amounts almost to anguish. + +As Mona advances to his side, through the gathering gloom of fast +approaching night, pale almost as he is, and trembling in every limb, +this miserable anxiety dies out of his face, leaving behind it a rest +and peace unutterable. + +To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face +with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,--the breaking +of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be +looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to +receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. +His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the +grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the +earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate +but the last change of all. + +"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never +understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?" + +"You have come," he says, with a quick sigh that be speaks relief. "I +knew you would. I felt it; yet I feared. Oh, what comfort to see you +again!" + +Mona tries to say something,--anything that will be kind and +sympathetic,--but words fail her. Her lips part, but no sound escapes +them. The terrible reality of the moment terrifies and overcomes her. + +"Do not try to make me any commonplace speeches," says Rodney, marking +her hesitation. He speaks hastily, yet with evident difficulty. "I am +dying. Nothing, can alter that. But death has brought you to my side +again, so I cannot repine." + +"But to find you like this"--begins Mona. And then overcome by grief and +agitation, she covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. + +"Mona! Are you crying for me?" says Paul Rodney, as though surprised. +"Do not. Your tears hurt me more than this wound that has done me to +death." + +"Oh, if I had not given you that pistol," sobs Mona, who cannot conquer +the horror of the thought that she has helped him to his death, "you +would be alive and strong now." + +"Yes,--and miserable! you forget to add that. Now everything seems +squared. In the grave neither grief nor revenge can find a place. And as +for you, what have you to do with my fate?--nothing. What should you not +return to me my own? and why should I not die by the weapon I had dared +to level against yourself? There is a justice in it that smacks of +Sadlers' Wells." + +He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has +forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder +than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,--because +the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his +lips in its stead. + +"Listen to me," he goes on, in a lower key, and with some slight signs +of exhaustion. "I am glad to die,--unfeignedly glad: therefore rejoice +with me! Why should you waste a tear on such as I am? Do you remember +how I told you (barely two hours ago) that my life had come to an end +where other fellows hope to begin theirs? I hardly knew myself how +prophetic my words would prove." + +"It is terrible, terrible," says Mona, piteously sinking on her knees +beside the bed. One of his hands is lying outside the coverlet, and, +with a gesture full of tender regret, she lays her own upon it. + +"Are you in pain?" she says, in a low, fearful tone. "Do you suffer +much?" + +"I suffer nothing: I have no pain now. I am inexpressibly, happy," +replies he, with a smile radiant, though languid. Forgetful of his +unfortunate state, he raises his other hand, and, bringing it across the +bed, tries to place it on Mona's. But the action is too much for him. +His face takes a leaden hue, more ghastly than its former pallor, and, +in spite of an heroic effort to suppress it, a deep groan escapes him. + +"Ah!" says Mona, springing to her feet, and turning to the door, as +though to summon aid; but he stops her by a gesture. + +"No, it is nothing. It will be over in a moment," gasps he. "Give me +some brandy, and help me to cheat Death of his prey for a little time, +if it be possible." + +Seeing brandy, on a table near, she pours a little into a glass with a +shaking hand, and passing her arm beneath his neck, holds it to his +parched lips. + +It revives him somewhat. And presently the intenser pallor dies away, +and speech returns to him. + +"Do not call for assistance," he whispers, imploringly. "They can do me +no good. Stay with me. Do not forsake me. Swear you will remain with me +to--to the end." + +"I promise you faithfully," says Mona. + +"It is too much to ask, but I dread being alone," he goes on, with a +quick shudder of fear and repulsion. "It is a dark and terrible journey +to take, with no one near who loves one, with no one to feel a single +regret when one has departed." + +"_I_ shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down +her cheeks. + +"Give me your hand again," says Rodney, after a pause; and when she +gives it to him he says, "Do you know this is the nearest approach to +real happiness I have ever known in all my careless, useless life? What +is it Shakspeare says about the folly of loving 'a bright particular +star'? I always think of you when that line comes to my mind. You are +the star; mine is the folly." + +He smiles again, but Mona is too sad to smile in return. + +"How did it happen?" she asks, presently. + +"I don't know myself. I wandered in a desultory fashion through the wood +on leaving you, not caring to return home just then, and I was thinking +of--of you, of course--when I stumbled against something (they tell me +it was a gnarled root that had thrust itself above ground), and then +there was a report, and a sharp pang; and that was all. I remember +nothing. The gamekeeper found me a few minutes later, and had me brought +here." + +"You are talking too much," says Mona, nervously. + +"I may as well talk while I can: soon you will not be able to hear me, +when the grass is growing over me," replies he, recklessly. "It was +hardly worth my while to deliver you up that will, was it? Is not Fate +ironical? Now it is all as it was before I came upon the scene, and +Nicholas has the title without dispute. I wish we had been better +friends,--he at least was civil to me,--but I was reared with hatred in +my heart towards all the Rodneys; I was taught to despise and fear them +as my natural enemies, from my cradle." + +Then, after a pause, "Where will they bury me?" he asks, suddenly. "Do +you think they will put me in the family vault?" He seems to feel some +anxiety on this point. + +"Whatever you wish shall be done," says Mona earnestly, knowing she can +induce Nicholas to accede to any request of hers. + +"Are you sure?" asks he, his face brightening. "Remember how they have +drawn back from me. I was their own first-cousin,--the son of their +father's brother,--yet they treated me as the veriest outcast." + +Then Mona says, in a trembling voice and rather disconnectedly, because +of her emotion, "Be quite sure you shall be--buried--where all the other +baronets of Rodney lie at rest." + +"Thank you," murmurs he, gratefully. There is evidently comfort in the +thought. Then after a moment or two he goes on again, as though +following out a pleasant idea: "Some day, perhaps, that vault will hold +you too; and there at least we shall meet again, and be side by side." + +"I wish you would not talk of being buried," says Mona, with a sob. +"There is no comfort in the tomb: _there_ our dust may mingle, but in +_heaven_ our souls shall meet, I trust,--I hope." + +"Heaven," repeats he, with a sigh. "I have forgotten to think of +heaven." + +"Think of it now, Paul,--now before it is too late," entreats she, +piteously. "Try to pray: there is always mercy." + +"Pray for me!" says he, in a low tone, pressing her hand. So on her +knees, in a subdued voice, sad but earnest, she repeats what prayers she +can remember out of the grand Service that belongs to us. One or two +sentences from the Litany come to her; and then some words rise from her +own heart, and she puts up a passionate supplication to heaven that the +passing soul beside her, however erring, may reach some haven where rest +remaineth! + +Some time elapses before he speaks again, and Mona is almost hoping he +may have fallen into a quiet slumber, when he opens his eyes and says, +regretfully,-- + +"What a different life mine might have been had I known you earlier!" +Then, with a faint flush, that vanishes almost as it comes, as though +without power to stay, he says, "Did your husband object to your coming +here?" + +"Geoffrey? Oh, no. It was he who brought me. He bade me hasten lest you +should even imagine me careless about coming. And--and--he desired me to +say how he regrets the harsh words he uttered and the harsher thoughts +he may have entertained towards you. Forgive him, I implore you, and die +in peace with him and all men." + +"Forgive him!" says Rodney. "Surely, however unkind the thoughts he may +have cherished for me, I must forget and forgive them now, seeing all he +has done for me. Has he not made smooth my last hours? Has he not lent +me you? Tell him I bear him no ill will." + +"I will tell him," says Mona. + +He is silent for a full minute; then he says,-- + +"I have given a paper to Dr. Bland for you: it will explain what I wish. +And, Mona, there are some papers in my room: will you see to them for me +and have them burned?" + +"I will burn them with my own hands," says Mona. + +"How comforting you are!--how you understand," he says, with a quick +sigh. "There is something else: that fellow Ridgway, who opened the +window for me, he must be seen to. Let him have the money mentioned in +the paper, and send him to my mother: she will look after him for my +sake. My poor mother!" he draws his breath quickly. + +"Shall I write to her?" asks Mona, gently. "Say what you wish done." + +"It would be kind of you," says he, gratefully. "She will want to know +all, and you will do it more tenderly than the others. Do not dwell upon +my sins; and say I died--happy. Let her too have a copy of the paper Dr. +Bland has now." + +"I shall remember," says Mona, not knowing what the paper contains. "And +who am I, that I should dwell upon the sins of another? Are you tired, +Paul? How fearfully pale you are looking!" + +He is evidently quite exhausted. His brow is moist, his eyes are sunken, +his lips more pallid, more death-like than they were before. In little +painful gasps his breath comes fitfully. Then all at once it occurs to +Mona that though he is looking at her he does not see her. His mind has +wandered far away to those earlier days when England was unknown and +when the free life of the colony was all he desired. + +As Mona gazes at him half fearfully, he raises himself suddenly on his +elbow, and says, in a tone far stronger than he has yet used,-- + +"How brilliant the moonlight is to-night! See--watch"--eagerly--"how the +shadows chase each other down the Ranger's Hill!" + +Mona looks up startled. The faint rays of the new-born moon are indeed +rushing through the casement, and are flinging themselves languidly upon +the opposite wall, but they are pale and wan, as moonlight is in its +infancy, and anything but brilliant. Besides, Rodney's eyes are turned +not on them, but on the door that can be seen just over Mona's head, +where no beams disport themselves, however weakly. + +"Lie down: you will hurt yourself again," she says, trying gently to +induce him to return to his former recumbent position; but he resists +her. + +"Who has taken my orders about the sheep?" he says, in a loud voice, and +in an imperious tone, his eyes growing bright but uncertain. "Tell +Grainger to see to it. My father spoke about it again only yesterday. +The upper pastures are fresher--greener----" + +His voice breaks: with a groan he sinks back again upon his pillow. + +"Mona, are you still there?" he says, with a return to consciousness: +"did I dream, or did my father speak to me? How the night comes on!" He +sighs wearily. "I am so tired,--so worn out: if I could only sleep!" he +murmurs, faintly. + +Alas! how soon will fall upon him that eternal sleep from which no man +waketh! + +His breath grows fainter, his eyelids close. + + * * * * * + +Some one comes in with a lamp, and places it on a distant table, where +its rays cannot distress the dying man. + +Dr. Bland, coming into the room, goes up to the bedside and feels his +pulse, and tries to put something between his lips, but he refuses to +take anything. + +"It will strengthen you," he says, persuasively. + +"No, it is of no use: it only wearies me. My best medicine, my only +medicine, is here," returns Paul, feebly pressing Mona's hand. He is +answering the doctor, but he does not look at him. As he speaks, his +gaze is riveted upon Mona. + +Dr. Bland, putting down the glass, forbears to torment him further, and +moves away; Geoffrey, who has also come in, takes his place. Bending +over the dying man, he touches him lightly on the shoulder. + +Paul turns his head, and as he sees Geoffrey a quick spasm that betrays +fear crosses his face. + +"Do not take her away yet,--not yet," he says, in a faint whisper. + +"No, no. She will stay," says Geoffrey, hurriedly: "I only want to tell +you, my dear fellow, how grieved I am for you, and how gladly I would +undo many things--if I could." + +The other smiles faintly. He is evidently glad because of Geoffrey's +words, but speech is now very nearly impossible to him. His attempt to +rise, to point out the imaginary moonlight to Mona, has greatly wasted +his small remaining stock of life, and now but a thin partition, frail +and broken, lies between him and that inexorable Rubicon we all must one +day pass. + +Then he turns his head away again to let his eyes rest on Mona, as +though nowhere else can peace or comfort be found. + +Geoffrey, moving to one side, stands where he can no longer be seen, +feeling instinctively that the ebbing life before him finds its sole +consolation in the thought of Mona. She is all he desires. From her he +gains courage to face the coming awful moment, when he shall have to +clasp the hand of Death and go forth with him to meet the great unknown. + +Presently he closes his fingers upon hers, and looking up, she sees his +lips are moving, though no sound escapes them. Leaning over him, she +bends her face to his and whispers softly,-- + +"What is it?" + +"It is nearly over," he gasps, painfully. "Say good-by to me. Do not +quite forget me, not utterly. Give me some small place in your memory, +though--so unworthy." + +"I shall not forget; I shall always remember," returns she, the tears +running down her cheeks; and then, through divine pity, and perhaps +because Geoffrey is here to see her, she stoops and lays her lips upon +his forehead. + +Never afterwards will she forget the glance of gratitude that meets +hers, and that lights up all his face, even his dim eyes, as she grants +him this gentle pitiful caress. + +"Pray for me," he says. + +And then she falls upon her knees again, and Geoffrey in the background, +though unseen, kneels too; and Mona, in a broken voice, because she is +crying very bitterly now, whispers some words of comfort for the dying. + +The minutes go by slowly, slowly; a clock from some distant steeple +chimes the hour. The soft pattering of rain upon the walk outside, and +now upon the window-pane, is all the sound that can be heard. + +In the death-chamber silence reigns. No one moves, their very breathing +seems hushed. Paul Rodney's eyes are closed. No faintest movement +disturbs the slumber into which he seems to have fallen. + +Thus half an hour goes by. Then Geoffrey, growing uneasy, raises his +head and looks at Mona. From where he sits the bed is hidden from him, +but he can see that she is still kneeling beside it, her hand in +Rodney's, her face hidden in the bedclothes. + +The doctor at this instant returns to the room, and, going on tiptoe (as +though fearful of disturbing the sleeper) to where Mona is kneeling, +looks anxiously at Rodney. But, alas! no sound of earth will evermore +disturb the slumber of the quiet figure upon which he gazes. + +The doctor, after a short examination of the features (that are even now +turning to marble), knits his brows, and, going over to Geoffrey, +whispers something into his ear while pointing to Mona. + +"At once," he says, with emphasis. + +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. + +"Come," he says, gently. + +"Oh, not yet!" entreats faithful Mona, in a miserable tone; "not _yet_. +Remember what I said. I promised to remain with him until the very end." + +"You have kept your promise," returns he, solemnly, pressing her face +still closer against his chest. + +A strong shudder runs through her frame; she grows a little heavier in +his embrace. Seeing she has fainted, he lifts her in his arms and +carries her out of the room. + + * * * * * + +Later on, when they open the paper that had been given by the dead man +into the keeping of Dr. Bland, and which proves to be his will, duly +signed and witnessed by the gamekeeper and his son, they find he has +left to Mona all of which he died possessed. It amounts to about two +thousand a year; of which one thousand is to come to her at once, the +other on the death of his mother. + +To Ridgway, the under-gardener, he willed three hundred pounds, "as some +small compensation for the evil done to him," so runs the document, +written in a distinct but trembling hand. And then follow one or two +bequests to those friends he had left in Australia and some to the few +from whom he had received kindness in colder England. + +No one is forgotten by him; though once "he is dead and laid in grave" +he is forgotten by most. + +They put him to rest in the family vault, where his ancestors lie side +by side,--as Mona promised him,--and write Sir Paul Rodney over his +head, giving him in death the title they would gladly have withheld from +him in life. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +HOW MONA DEFENDS THE DEAD--AND HOW LADY LILIAS EATON WAXES ELOQUENT. + + +As hour follows upon hour, even the most poignant griefs grow less. +Nature sooner or later will come to the rescue, and hope "springing +eternal" will cast despair into the background. Paul Rodney's death +being rather more a shock than a grief to the inmates of the Towers, the +remembrance of it fades from their minds with a rapidity that astonishes +even themselves. + +Mona, as is only natural, clings longest to the memory of that terrible +day when grief and gladness had been so closely blended, when tragedy +followed so fast upon their comedy that laughter and tears embraced each +other and gloom overpowered their sunshine. Yet even she brightens up, +and is quite herself again by the time the "merry month of May" comes +showering down upon them all its wealth of blossom, and music of glad +birds, as they chant in glade and dell. + +Yet in her heart the erring cousin is not altogether forgotten. There +are moments in every day when she recalls him to her mind, nor does she +ever pass the huge tomb where his body lies at rest, awaiting the last +trump, without a kindly thought of him and a hope that his soul is safe +in heaven. + +The county has behaved on the occasion somewhat disgracefully, and has +declared itself to a man--without any reservation--unfeignedly glad of +the chance that has restored Sir Nicholas to his own again. Perhaps what +they just do _not_ say is that they are delighted Paul Rodney shot +himself: this might sound brutal, and one must draw the line somewhere, +and a last remnant of decency compels them to draw it at this point. But +it is the thinnest line possible, and easily stepped across. + +Even the duchess refuses to see anything regrettable in the whole +affair, and expresses herself to Lady Rodney on the subject of her +nephew's death in terms that might almost be called congratulatory. She +has been listened to in silence, of course, and with a deprecating shake +of the head, but afterwards Lady Rodney is unable to declare to herself +that the duchess has taken anything but a sound common-sense view of the +matter. + +In her own heart, and in the secret recesses of her chamber, Nicholas's +mother blesses Mona for having returned the pistol that February +afternoon to the troublesome young man (who is so well out of the way), +and has entertained a positive affection for the roots of trees ever +since the sad (?) accident. + +But these unholy thoughts belong to her own breast alone, and are hidden +carefully out of sight, lest any should guess at them. + +The duke calling at the Towers about a month after Paul Rodney's death, +so far forgets himself as to say to Mona, who is present,-- + +"Awful luck, your getting rid of that cousin, eh? Such an uncomfortable +fellow, don't you know, and so uncommonly in the way." + +At which Mona had turned her eyes upon him,--eyes that literally flashed +rebuke, and had told him slowly, but with meaning, that he should +remember the dead could not defend themselves, and that she, for one, +had not as yet learned to regard the death of any man as "awful luck." + +"Give you my word," said the duke afterwards to a select assembly, "when +she looked at me then out of her wonderful Irish eyes, and said all that +with her musical brogue, I never felt so small in all my life. Reg'lar +went into my boots, you know, and stayed there. But she is, without +chaff or that, she really _is_ the most charming woman I ever met." + +Lady Lilias Eaton, too, had been rather fine upon the Rodney ups and +downs. The history of the Australian's devotion had been as a revelation +to her. She had actually come out of herself, and had neglected the +Ancient Britons for a full day and a half,--on the very highest +authority,--merely to talk about Paul Rodney. Surely "nothing in his +life became him like the leaving it:" of all those who would scarcely +speak to him when living, not one but converses of him familiarly now he +is dead. + +"So very strange, so unparalleled in this degenerate age," says Lady +Lilias to Lady Rodney speaking of the will episode generally, and with +as near an approach to enthusiasm as it is possible to her to produce, +"A secret panel? How interesting! We lack that at Anadale. Pray, dear +Lady Rodney, do tell me all about it again." + +Whereupon Lady Rodney, to whom the whole matter is "cakes and ale," does +tell it all over again, relating every incident from the removal of the +will from the library by Paul, to his surrender of it next day to Mona. + +Lady Lilias is delighted. + +"It is quite perfect, the whole story. It reminds me of the ballads +about King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table." + +"Which? the stealing of the will?" asks Lady Rodney, innocently. She +knows nothing about the Ancient Britons, and abhors the very sound of +their name, regarding them as indecent, immoral people, who went about +insufficiently clothed. Of King Arthur and his round knights (as she +_will_ call them, having once got so hopelessly mixed on the subject as +to disallow of her ever being disentangled again) she knows even less, +beyond what Tennyson has taught her. + +She understands, indeed, that Sir Launcelot was a very naughty +young man, who should not have been received in respectable +houses,--especially as he had no money to speak of,--and that Sir Modred +and Sir Gawain, had they lived in this critical age, would undoubtedly +have been pronounced bad form and expelled from decent clubs. And, +knowing this much, she takes it for granted that the stealing of a will +or more would be quite in their line: hence her speech. + +"Dear Lady Rodney, no," cries the horrified AEsthetic, rather losing +faith in her hostess. "I mean about his resigning lands and heritage, +position, title, everything--all that a man holds most dear, for a mere +sentiment. And then it was so nice of him to shoot himself, and leave +her all his money. Surely you must see that?" + +She has actually forgotten to pose, and is leaning forward quite +comfortably with her arms crossed on her knees. I am convinced she has +not been so happy for years. + +Lady Rodney is somewhat shocked, at this view of the case. + +"You must understand," she says emphatically, "he did not shoot himself +purposely. It was an accident,--a pure accident." + +"Well, yes, so they say," returns her visitor, airily who is plainly +determined not to be done out of a good thing, and insists on bringing +in deliberate suicide as a fit ending to this enthralling tale. "And of +course it is very nice of every one, and quite right too. But there is +no doubt, I think, that he loved her. You will pardon me, Lady Rodney, +but I am convinced he adored Mrs. Geoffrey." + +"Well, he may have," admits Lady Rodney, reluctantly, who has grown +strangely jealous of Mona's reputation of late. As she speaks she colors +faintly. "I must beg you to believe," she says, "that Mona up to the +very last was utterly unaware of his infatuation." + +"Why, of course; of course. One can see that at a glance. And if it were +otherwise the whole story would be ruined,--would instantly become tame +and commonplace,--would be, indeed," says Lady Lilias, with a massive +wave of her large white hand, "I regret to say, an occurrence of +everyday life. The singular beauty that now attaches to it would +disappear. It is the fact that his passion was unrequited, +unacknowledged, and that yet he was content to sacrifice his life for +it, that creates its charm." + +"Yes, I dare say," says Lady Rodney, who is now wondering when this +high-flown visitor will take her departure. + +"It is like a romaunt of the earlier and purer days of chivalry," goes +on Lady Lilias, in her most prosy tone. "Alas! where are they now?" She +pauses for an answer to this difficult question, being in her very +loftiest strain of high art depression. + +"Eh?" says Lady Rodney, rousing from a day-dream. "I don't know, I'm +sure; but I'll see about it; I'll make inquiries." + +In thought she had been miles away, and has just come back to the +present with a start of guilt at her own neglect of her guest. She +honestly believes, in her confusion, that Lady Lilias has been making +some inquiries about the secret panel, and therefore makes her +extraordinary remark with the utmost _bonhommie_ and cheerfulness. + +It is quite too much for the AEsthetic. + +"I don't think you _can_ make an inquiry about the bygone days of +chivalry," she says, somewhat stiffly, and, having shaken the hand of +her bewildered friend, and pecked gently at her cheek, she sails out of +the room, disheartened, and wounded in spirit. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +HOW MONA REFUSES A GALLANT OFFER--AND HOW NOLLY VIEWS LIFE THROUGH THE +BRANCHES OF A PORTUGAL LAUREL. + + +Once again they are all at the Towers. Doatie and her brother--who had +returned to their own home during March and April--have now come back +again to Lady Rodney, who is ever anxious to welcome these two with open +arms. It is to be a last visit from Doatie as a "graceful maiden with a +gentle brow," as Mary Howitt would certainly have called her, next month +having been decided upon as the most fitting for transforming Dorothy +Darling into Dorothy Lady Rodney. In this thought both she and her +betrothed are perfectly happy. + +Mona and Geoffrey have gone to their own pretty house, and are happy +there as they deserve to be,--Mona proving the most charming of +chatelaines, so naive, so gracious, so utterly unaffected, as to win all +hearts. Indeed, there is not in the county a more popular woman than +Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney. + +Yet much of their time is spent at the Towers. Lady Rodney can hardly do +without Mona now, the pretty sympathetic manner and comprehensive glance +and gentle smile having worked their way at last, and found a home in +the heart that had so determinedly hardened itself against her. + +As to Jack and Violet, they have grown of late into a sort of moral +puzzle that nobody can solve. For months they have been gazing at and +talking to each other, have apparently seen nothing but each other, no +matter how many others may be present; and yet it is evident that no +understanding exists between them, and that no formal engagement has +been arrived at. + +"Why on earth," says Nolly, "can't they tell each other, what they have +told the world long ago, that they adore each other? It is so jolly +senseless, don't you know?" + +"I wonder when you will adore any one, Nolly," says Geoffrey, idly. + +"I do adore somebody," returns that ingenuous youth, staring openly at +Mona, who is taking up the last stitch dropped by Lady Rodney in the +little scarlet silk sock she is knitting for Phyllis Carrington's boy. + +"That's me," says Mona, glancing at him archly from under her long +lashes. + +"Now, how did you find it out? who told you?" asks Mr. Darling, with +careful surprise. "Yes, it is true; I don't seek to deny it. The +hopeless passion I entertain for you is dearer to me than any other more +successful affection can ever be. I worship a dream,--an idea,--and am +happier in my maddest moments than others when most same. + +"Bless me, Nolly, you are not going to be ill, are you?" says Geoffrey. +"Such a burst of eloquence is rare." + +"There are times, I confess," goes on Mr. Darling, disposing of +Geoffrey's mundane interruption by a contemptuous wave of the hand, +"when light breaks in upon me, and a joyful, a thrice-blessed +termination to my dream presents itself. For instance, if Geoffrey could +only be brought to see things as they are, and have the grace to quit +this mortal globe and soar to worlds unknown, I should then fling myself +at your feet, and----" + +"Oh--well--don't," interrupts Mrs. Geoffrey, hastily. + +"Eh! you don't mean to say that after all my devotion you would then +refuse me?" asks Mr. Darling, with some disgust. + +"Yes, you, and every other man," says Mona, smiling, and raising her +loving eyes to her husband. + +"I think, sir, after that you may consider yourself flattened," says +Geoffrey, with a laugh. + +"I shall go away," declares Nolly; "I shall go aboard,--at least as far +as the orchard;" then, with a complete change of tone, "By the by, Mrs. +Geoffrey, will you come for a walk? Do: the day is 'heavenly fair.'" + +"Well, not just now, I think," says Mona, evasively. + +"Why not?" persuasively: "it will do you a world of good." + +"Perhaps then a little later on I shall go," returns Mona, who, like all +her countrywomen, detests giving a direct answer, and can never bring +herself to say a decided "no" to any one. + +"As you evidently need support, I'll go with you as far as the stables," +says Geoffrey, compassionately, and together they leave the room, +keeping company until they gain the yard, when Geoffrey turns to the +right and makes for the stables, leaving Nolly to wend his solitary way +to the flowery orchard. + + * * * * * + +It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely +feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow +luxurious calm." + + "Earth putteth on the borrow'd robes of heaven, + And sitteth in a Sabbath of still rest; + And silence swells into a dreamy sound, + That sinks again to silence. + The runnel hath + Its tune beneath the trees, + And through the woodlands swell + The tender trembles of the ringdove's dole." + +The Rodneys are, for the most part, in the library, the room dearest to +them. Mona is telling Doatie's fortune on cards, Geoffrey and Nicholas +are discussing the merits and demerits of a new mare, Lady Rodney in +still struggling with the crimson sock,--when the door is opened, and +Nolly entering adds himself to the group. + +His face is slightly flushed, his whole manner full of importance. He +advances to where the two girls are sitting, and stops opposite Mona. + +"I'll tell you all something," he says, "though I hardly think I ought, +if you will swear not to betray me." + +This speech has the effect of electricity. They all start; with one +consent they give the desired oath. The cards fall to the ground, the +fortune forgotten; the mare becomes of very secondary importance; +another stitch drops in the fated sock. + +"They've done it at last," says Mr. Darling, in a low, compressed voice. +"It is an accomplished fact. I heard 'em myself!" + +As he makes this last extraordinary remark he looks over his left +shoulder, as though fearful of being overheard. + +"Who?" "What?" say Mona and Dorothy, in one breath. + +"Why, Jack and Violet, of course. They've had it out. They are engaged!" + +"No!" says Nicholas; meaning, "How very delightful!" + +"And you heard them? Nolly, explain yourself," says his sister, +severely. + +"I'm going to," says Nolly, "if you will just give me time. Oh, what a +day I've been havin', and how dear! You know I told you I was going to +the orchard for a stroll and with a view to profitable meditation. Well, +I went. At the upper end of the garden there are, as you know, some +Portugal laurels, from which one can get a splendid survey of the +country, and in an evil moment it occurred to me that I should like to +climb one of them and look at the Chetwoode Hills. I had never got +higher than a horse's back since my boyhood, and visions of my earlier +days, when I was young and innocent, overcame me at that----" + +"Oh, never mind your young and innocent days: we never heard of them," +says Dorothy, impatiently. "Do get on to it." + +"I did get on to it, if you mean the laurel," says Nolly with calm +dignity. "I climbed most manfully, and, beyond slipping all down the +trunk of the tree twice, and severely barking my shins, I sustained no +actual injury." + +"What on earth is a shin?" puts in Geoffrey, _sotto voce_. + +"Part of your leg, just below your knee," returns Mr. Darling, +undaunted. "Well, when I got up at last, I found a capital place to sit +in, with a good branch to my back, and I was so pleased with myself and +my exploit that I really think--the day is warm, you know--I fell +asleep. At least I can remember nothing until voices broke upon my ear +right below me." + +Here Mona and Dorothy grow suddenly deeply interested, and lean forward. + +"I parted the leaves of the laurel with cautious hand and looked down. +At my very feet were Jack and Violet, and"--mysteriously--"she was +pinning a flower into his coat!" + +"Is that all?" says Mona, with quick contempt, seeing him pause. "Why, +there is nothing in that! I pinned a flower into _your_ coat only +yesterday." + +The _naivete_ of this speech is not to be surpassed. + +Nolly regards her mournfully. + +"I think you needn't be unkinder to me than you can help!" he says, +reproachfully. "However, to continue. There's a way of doing things, you +know, and the time Violet took to arrange that flower is worthy of +mention; and when at last it was settled to her satisfaction, Jack +suddenly took her hands in his, just like this, Mrs. Geoffrey," going on +his knees before Mona, and possessing himself of both her hands, "and +pressed them against his heart, like this and said he----" + +Nolly pauses. + +"Oh, Nolly, what?" says Mona; "do tell us." She fixes her eyes on his. + +"'What darling little hands you have!'" begins Nolly, quite innocently. + +"Well, really!" says Mona, mistaking him. She moves back with a +heightened color, disengages her hands from his and frowns slightly. + +"I wasn't alluding to your hands; though I might," says Nolly, +pathetically. "I was only going to tell you what Jack said to Violet. +'What darling little hands you have!' he whispered, with the very +silliest expression on his face I ever saw in my life; 'the prettiest +hands in the world. I wish they were mine.' 'Gracious powers!' said I to +myself, 'I'm in for it;' and I was as near falling off the branch of the +tree right into their arms as I could be. The shock was too great. I +suppressed a groan with a manful determination to 'suffer and be +strong,' and----" + +"Never mind all that," says Doatie: "what did she say?" + +By this time both Nicholas and Geoffrey are quite convulsed with +delight. + +"Yes, go on, Noll: what did she say?" repeats Geoffrey, the most +generous encouragement in his tone. They have all, with a determination +worthy of a better cause, made up their minds to forget that they are +listening to what was certainly never meant for them to hear. Or perhaps +consideration for Nolly compels them to keep their ears open, as that +young man is so overcome by the thought of what he has unwillingly gone +through, and the weight of the secret that is so disagreeably his, that +it has become a necessity with him to speak or die; but I believe myself +it is more curiosity than pity prompts their desire for information on +the subject in hand. + +"I didn't listen," says Nolly, indignantly. "What do you take me for? I +crammed my fingers into my ears, and shut my eyes tight, and wished with +all my heart I had never been born. If you wish very hard for anything, +they say you will get it. So I thought if I threw my whole soul into +that wish just then I might get it, and find presently I never _had_ +been born. So I threw in my whole soul; but it didn't come off. I was as +lively as possible after ten minutes' hard wishing. Then I opened my +eyes again and looked,--simply to see if I oughtn't to look,--and there +they were still; and he had his arm round her, and her head was on his +shoulder, and----" + +"Oh, Nolly!" says Dorothy, hastily. + +"Well, it wasn't my fault, was it? _I_ had nothing to do with it. She +hadn't her head on _my_ shoulder, had she? and it wasn't _my_ arm was +round her," says Mr. Darling losing patience a little. + +"I don't mean that; but how could you look?" + +"Well, I like that!" says her brother. "And pray what was to happen if I +didn't? I gave 'em ten minutes; quite sufficient law, I think. If they +couldn't get it over in that time, they must have forgotten their native +tongue. Besides, I wanted to get down; the forked seat in the laurel was +not all my fancy had painted it in the beginning, and how was I to know +when they were gone unless I looked? Why, otherwise I might be there +now. I might be there until next week," winds up Mr. Darling, with +increasing wrath. + +"It is true," puts in Mona. "How could he tell when the coast was clear +for his escape, unless he took a little peep?" + +"Go on, Nolly," says Nicholas. + +"Well, Violet was crying (not loudly, you know, but quite comfortably): +so then I thought I had been mistaken, and that probably she had a +toothache, or a headache, or something, and that the foregoing speech +was mere spooning; and I rather lost faith in the situation, when +suddenly he said, 'Why do you cry?' And what do you think was her +answer? 'Because I am so happy.' Now, fancy any one crying because she +was happy!" says Mr. Darling, with fine disgust. "I always laugh when +I'm happy. And I think it rather a poor thing to dissolve into tears +because a man asks you to marry him: don't you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure. I have never thought about it. Did I cry, +Geoffrey, when----" hesitates Mrs. Geoffrey, with a laugh, and a faint +sweet blush. + +"N--o. As far as I can remember," says Geoffrey, thoughtfully, pulling +his moustache, "you were so overcome with delight at the unexpected +honor I did you, that----" + +"Oh, I dare say," Nicholas, ironically. "You get out!" + +"What else did they say, Nolly?" asks Dorothy, in a wheedling tone. + +"If they could only hear us now!" murmurs Geoffrey, addressing no one in +particular. + +"Go on, Nolly," says Doatie. + +"You see, I was so filled with the novelty of the idea that it is the +correct thing to weep when seated on your highest pinnacle of bliss, +that I forgot to put my fingers in my ears again for a few moments, so I +heard him say, 'Are you sure you love me?' whereupon she said, 'Are +_you_ quite sure you love _me_?' with lots of emphasis. That finished +me! Did you ever hear such stuff in your life?" demands Mr. Darling, +feeling justly incensed. "When they have been gazing into each other's +eyes and boring us all to death with their sentimentality for the last +three months, they coolly turn round and ask each other if they are sure +they are in love!" + +"Nolly, you have no romance in your nature," says Nicholas, severely. + +"No, I haven't, if that's romance. Of course there was nothing for it +but to shut my eyes again and resign myself to my fate. I wonder I'm +not dead," says Nolly, pathetically. "I never put in such a time +in my life. Well, another quarter of an hour went by, and then I +cautiously opened my eyes and looked again, and--would you believe +it?"--indignantly,--"there they were still!" + +"It is my opinion that you looked and listened all the time; and it was +shamefully mean of you," says Dorothy. + +"I give you my honor I didn't. I neither saw nor heard but what I tell +you. Why, if I had listened I could fill a volume with their nonsense. +Three-quarters of an hour it lasted. How a fellow can take forty-five +minutes to say, 'Will you marry me?' passes my comprehension. Whenever +_I_ am going to do that sort of thing, which of course," looking at +Mona, "will be never now, on account of what you said to me some time +since,--but if ever I should be tempted, I shall get it over in twenty +seconds precisely: that will even give me time to take her hand and get +through the orthodox embrace." + +"But perhaps she will refuse you," says Mona, demurely. + +"No such luck. But look here, I never suffered such agony as I did in +that laurel. It's the last tree I'll ever climb. I knew if I got down +they would never forgive me to their dying day, and as I was I felt like +a condemned criminal." + +"Or like the 'sweet little cherub that sits up aloft.' There _is_ +something cherubic about you, do you know Nolly, when one comes to think +of it. But finish your tale." + +"There isn't much more; but yet the cream of the joke remains," says +Nolly, laughing heartily. "They seemed pretty jolly by that time, and he +was speaking. 'I was afraid you would refuse me,' he said, in an +imbecile tone. 'I always thought you liked Geoffrey best.' 'Geoffrey!' +said Violet. (Oh, Mrs. Geoffrey, if you could have heard her voice!) +'How could you think so! Geoffrey is all very well in his way, and of +course I like him very much, but he is not to be compared with you.' 'He +is very handsome,' said Jack, fishing for compliments in the most +indecent manner. 'Handsome! Oh, no,' said Violet. (You really _should_ +have heard her, Mrs. Geoffrey!) 'I don't think so. Passably +good-looking, I allow, but not--not like _you_!' Ha, ha, ha!" + +"Nolly, you are inventing," says Mrs. Geoffrey, sternly. + +"No; on my word, no," says Nolly, choking with laughter, in which he is +joined by all but Mona. "She said all that, and lots more!" + +"Then she doesn't know what she is talking about," says Mrs. Geoffrey, +indignantly. "The idea of comparing Geoffrey with Jack!" + +At this the laughter grows universal, Geoffrey and Nicholas positively +distinguishing themselves in this line, when just at the very height of +their mirth the door opens, and Violet enters, followed by Captain +Rodney. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +HOW NOLLY DECLINES TO REPEAT HIS STORY--HOW JACK RODNEY TELLS ONE +INSTEAD--AND HOW THEY ALL SHOW THEIR SURPRISE ABOUT WHAT THEY KNEW +BEFORE. + + +As they enter, mirth ceases. A remarkable silence falls upon the group. +Everybody looks at anything but Violet and her companion. + +These last advance in a leisurely manner up the room, yet with somewhat +of the sneaking air of those who are in the possession of embarrassing +news that must be told before much time goes by. The thought of this +perhaps deadens their perception and makes them blind to the fact that +the others are unnaturally quiet. + +"It has been such a charming day," says Violet, at last, in a rather +mechanical tone. Yet, in spite of its stiltedness, it breaks the spell +of consternation and confusion that has bound the others in its chains, +and restores them to speech. + +They all smile, and say, "Yes, indeed," or "Oh, yes, indeed," or plain +"Yes," in a breath. They all feel intensely obliged to Violet for her +very ordinary little remark. + +Then it is enchanting to watch the _petit soins_, the delicate little +attentions that the women in a carefully suppressed fashion lavish upon +the bride-elect,--as she already is to them. There is nothing under +heaven so dear to a woman's heart as a happy love-affair,--except, +indeed, it be an unhappy one. Just get a woman to understand you have +broken or are breaking (the last is the best) your heart about any one, +and she will be your friend on the spot. It is so unutterably sweet to +her to be a _confidante_ in any secret where Dan Cupid holds first +place. + +Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little +black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned. + +"Yes, sit there," she says, a new note of tender sympathy in her tone, +keeping her hand on Violet's shoulder as the latter makes some faint +polite effort to rise again. "You must indeed. It is such a dear, cosey, +comfortable little chair." + +Why it has become suddenly necessary that Violet should be made cosey +and comfortable she omits to explain. + +Then Dorothy, going up to the new-comer, removes her hat from her head, +and pats her cheeks, and tells her with one of her loveliest smiles that +she has "such a delicious color, dearest! just like a wee bit of fresh +apple-blossom!" + +Apple-blossom suggests the orchard, whereon Violet reddens perceptibly, +and Nolly grows cold with fright, and feels a little more will make him +faint. + +Lastly, Lady Rodney comes to the front with,-- + +"You have not tired yourself, dear, I hope. The day has been so +oppressively warm, more like July than May. Would you like your tea now, +Violet? We can have it half an hour earner if you wish." + +All these evidences of affection Violet notices in a dreamy, far-off +fashion: she is the happier because of them; yet she only appreciates +them languidly, being filled with one absorbing thought, that dulls all +others. She accepts the chair, the compliment, and the tea with grace, +but with somewhat vague gratitude. + +To Jack his brothers are behaving with the utmost _bonhommie_. They have +called him "old fellow" twice, and once Geoffrey has slapped him on the +back with a heartiness well meant, and no doubt encouraging, but trying. + +And Jack is greatly pleased with them, and, seeing everything just now +through a rose-colored veil, tells him self he is specially blessed in +his own people, and that Geoffrey and old Nick are two of the decentest +old men alive. Yet he too is a little _distrait_, being lost in an +endeavor to catch Violet's eyes,--which eyes refuse persistently to be +so caught. + +Nolly alone of all the group stands aloof, joining not at all in the +unspoken congratulations, and feeling indeed like nothing but the guilty +culprit that he is. + +"How you were all laughing when we came in!" says Violet, presently: "we +could hear you all along the corridor. What was it about?" + +Everybody at this smiles involuntarily,--everybody, that is, except +Nolly, who feels faint again, and turns a rich and lively crimson. + +"It was some joke, of course?" goes on Violet, not having received any +answer to her first question. + +"It was," says Nicholas, feeling a reply can no longer be shirked. Then +he says, "Ahem!" and turns his glance confidingly upon the carpet. + +But Geoffrey to whom the situation has its charm, takes up the broken +thread. + +"It was one of Nolly's good things," he says, genially. "And you know +what he is capable of when he likes! It was funny to the last +degree,--calculated to set any 'table in a roar.'--Give it to us again, +Nolly--it bears repeating.--Ask him to tell it to you, Violet." + +"Yes, do, Nolly," says Violet. + +"Go on, Noll," exclaims Dorothy, in her most encouraging tone. "Let +Violet hear it. _She_ will understand it." + +"I would, of course, with pleasure," stammers the unfortunate +Nolly,--"only perhaps Violet heard it before!" + +"Well, really, do you know, I think she did!" says Mona, so demurely +that they all smile again. + +"I call this beastly mean," says Mr. Darling to Geoffrey in an indignant +aside. "You all gave your oaths to secrecy before I began, and now you +are determined to betray me, I call it right-down shabby. And I sha'n't +forget it to any of you, let me tell you that." + +"My dear fellow, you can't have forgotten it so soon," says Geoffrey, +pretending to misunderstand this vehement whisper. "Don't be shy! or +shall I refresh your memory? It was, you remember, about----" + +"Oh, yes--yes--I know; it doesn't matter; (I'll pay you out for this"), +says Nolly, savagely, in an aside. + +"Well, I do like a good story," says Violet, carelessly. + +"Then Nolly's last will suit you down to the ground," says Nicholas. +"Besides its wit, it possesses the rare quality of being strictly true. +It really occurred. It is founded on fact. He himself vouches for the +truth of it." + +"Oh, go on; do," says Mr. Darling, in a second aside, who is by this +time a brilliant purple from fear and indignation. + +"Let's have it," says Jack, waking up from his reverie, having found it +impossible to compel Violet's eyes to meet his. + +"It is really nothing," says Nolly, feverishly. "You have all heard it +before." + +"I said so," murmurs Mona, meekly. + +"It is quite an old story," goes on Nolly. + +"It is, in fact, the real and original 'old, old story," says Geoffrey, +innocently, smiling mildly at the leg of a distant table. + +"If you are bent on telling 'em, do it all at once," whispers Nolly, +casting a withering glance at the smiling Geoffrey. "It will save time +and trouble." + +"I never saw any one feel the heat so much as our Oliver," says +Geoffrey, pleasantly. "His complexion waxeth warm." + +"Would you like a fan, Nolly?" says Mona, with a laugh, yet really with +a kindly view to rescuing him from his present dilemma. "Do you think +you could find me mine? I fancy I left it in the morning-room." + +"I am sure I could," says Nolly, bestowing upon her a grateful glance, +after which he starts upon his errand with suspicious alacrity. + +"How odd Nolly is at times!" says Violet, yet without any very great +show of surprise. She is still wrapped in her own dream of delight, and +is rather indifferent to objects in which but yesterday she would have +felt an immediate interest. "But, Nicholas, what was his story about? He +seems quite determined not to impart it to me." + +"A mere nothing," says Nicholas, airily; "we were merely chaffing him a +little, because you know what a mess he makes of anything of that sort +he takes in hand." + +"But what was the subject of it?" + +"Oh--well--those thirty-five charming compatriots of Mona's who +are now in the House of Commons, or, rather, out of it. It was a +little tale that related to their expulsion the other night by the +Speaker--and--er--other things." + +"If it was a political quip," says Violet, "I shouldn't care about it." + +This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but +singularly lucky. + +"It wasn't _all_ politics, of course," he says carefully. + +Whereupon every one thinks he is a bold and daring man thus to risk +fortune again. + +It is at this particular moment that Violet, inadvertently raising her +head, lets her eyes meet Jack Rodney's. On which that young man--being +prompt in action--goes quickly up to her, and in sight of the assembled +multitude takes her hand in his. + +"Violet, you may as well tell them all now as at any other time," he +says, persuasively. + +"Oh, no, not now," pleads Violet, hastily. She rises hurriedly from her +seat, and lays her disengaged hand on his lips. For once in her life she +loses sight of her self-possession, and a blush, warm and rich as +carmine, mantles on her cheek. + +This fond coloring, suiting the exigencies of the moment suits her +likewise. Never before has she looked so entirely pretty. Her lips +tremble, her eyes grow pathetic. And Captain Rodney, already deeply in +love, grows one degree more impressed with the fact of his own good +fortune in having secured so enviable a bride. + +Passing his arm round her, he draws her closer to him. + +"Mother, Violet has promised to marry me," he says abruptly. "Haven't +you, Violet?" + +And Violet says, "Yes," obediently, and then the tears come into her +eyes, and a smile is born upon her lips, so sweet, so new, as compels +Doatie to whisper to Mona, a little later on, that she "didn't think it +was in Violet to look like that." + +Here of course everybody says the most charming thing he or she can +think of at a moment's notice; and then they all kiss Violet, and Nolly, +coming back at this auspicious instant with the fan and recovered +temper, joins in the general congratulations, and actually kisses her +too, though Geoffrey whispers "traitor" to him in an awful tone, as he +goes forward to do it. + +"It is the sweetest thing that could have happened," says Dorothy, +enthusiastically. "Now Mona and you and I will be real sisters." + +"What a surprise it all is!" says Geoffrey, hypocritically. + +"Yes, isn't it?" says Dorothy, quite in good faith; "though I don't know +after all why it should be; we could see for ourselves; we knew all +about it long ago!" + +"Yes, _long_ ago," says Geoffrey, with animation. "Quite an hour ago." + +"Oh! hardly!" says Violet with a soft laugh and another blush. "How +could you?" + +"A little bird whispered it to us," explains Geoffrey, lightly. Then, +taking pity on Nolly's evident agony, he goes on "that is, you know, we +guessed it; you were so long absent, and--and that." + +There is something deplorably lame about this exposition, when you take +into consideration the fact that the new lovers have been, during the +past two months, _always_ absent from the rest of the family, as a rule. + +But Violet is content. + +"It is like a fairy-tale, and quite as pretty," says little Dorothy, who +is quite safe to turn out an inveterate matchmaker when a few more years +have rolled over her sunny head. + +"Or like Nolly's story that he declines telling me," says Violet, with a +laugh. + +"Well, really, now you say it," says Geoffrey, as though suddenly struck +with a satisfactory idea, "it is uncommonly like Nolly's tale: when you +come to compare one with the other they sound almost similar." + +"What! How could Jack or I resemble an Irish member?" asks she, with a +little grimace. + +"Everything has its romantic side," says Geoffrey, "even an Irish +member, I dare say. And when you do induce Nolly to favor you with his +last joke, you will see that it is positively bristling with romance." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +HOW WEDDING-BELLS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE--HOW LOVE ENCOMPASSES +MONA--AND HOW AT LAST FAREWELL IS SPOKEN. + + +And now what remains to be told? But little, I think! For my gentle Mona +has reached that haven where she would be! + +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. + +Mona is happier than words can say. She is up to her eyes in the +business, that business sweetest to a woman's soul, the ordering and +directing and general management of a trousseau. In her case she is +doubly blessed, because she has the supervizing of two! + +Her sympathy is unbounded, her temper equal to the most trying occasion, +her heart open to the most petty grievances; she is to the two girls an +unfailing source of comfort, a refuge where they may unrebuked pour out +the indignation against their dressmakers that seems to rage unceasingly +within their breasts. + +Indeed, as Dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "How +we should possibly have got on without you, Mona, I shudder to +contemplate." + +Geoffrey happening to be present when this flattering remark is made, +Violet turns to him and says impulsively,-- + +"Oh, Geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to Ireland and met Mona? Because +if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to +marry each other, and then what would have become of poor Jack?" + +"What, indeed?" says Geoffrey, tragically. "Worse still, what would have +become of poor Mona?" + +"What is it you would say?" exclaims Mona, threatingly, turning towards +him a lovely face she vainly tries to clothe with anger. + +"It is insupportable such an insinuation," says the lively Doatie. +"Violet, Mona's cause is ours: what shall we do with him?" + +"'Brain him with his lady's fan!'" quotes Violet, gayly, snatching up +Mona's fan that lies on a _prie-dieu_ near, and going up to Geoffrey. + +So determined is her aspect that Geoffrey shows the white feather, and, +crying "_mea culpa_," beats a hasty retreat. + +From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but +flounces, frills, and furbelows,--three _f_'s that are considered at the +Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. +Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste +in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is +concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such +things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is +not long."--As, for instance:-- + +"Mona, do you think Elise is right? she is so very positive; are you +sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" Or-- + +"Dearest Mona, I must interrupt you again. Are you very busy? No? Oh, +then do come and look at the last bonnet Madame Verot has just sent. She +says there will be nothing to equal it this season. But," in a +heart-broken voice, "I cannot bring myself to think it becoming." + +Lady Rodney, too, is quite happy. Everything has come right; all is +smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending +fear. With Paul Rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and Mona's +greatness of heart has subdued the former. She has conquered and laid +her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have +fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors +flying. + +Yet does she not triumph over her beaten foe; nay, so different is it +with her that she reaches forth her hand to raise her again, and strives +by every tender means in her power to obliterate all memory of the +unpleasant past. + +And Lady Rodney is very willing that it should be obliterated. Just now, +indeed, it is a favorite theory of hers that she could never have been +really uncivil to dear Mona (she is always "dear Mona" of late days) +but for the terrible anxiety that lay upon her, caused by the Australian +and the missing will, and the cruel belief that soon Nicholas would be +banished from the home where he had reigned so long as master. Had +things gone happily with her, her mind would not have been so warped, +and she would have learned at once to understand and appreciate the +sweetness of the dear girl's character! And so on. + +Mona accepts this excuse for bygone injustice, and even encourages her +mother-in-law to enlarge upon it,--seeing how comfortable it is to her +so to do,--and furthermore tries hard in her own kind heart to believe +in it also. + +She is perhaps as near being angry with Geoffrey as she can be when one +day he pooh-poohs this charitable thought and gives it as his belief +that worry had nothing to do with it, and that his mother behaved +uncommonly badly all through, and that sheer obstinacy and bad temper +was the cause of the whole matter. + +"She had made up her mind that you would be insupportable, and she +couldn't forgive you because you weren't," says that astute young man, +with calm conviction. "Don't you be taken in, Mona." + +But Mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may +object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of +Lady Rodney. + +"In company with so divine a face, no rancorous thoughts could live," +said the duke on one memorable occasion, alluding to Mona, which speech +was rather a lofty soat for His Grace, he being for the most part of the +earth, earthy. + +Yet in this he spoke the truth, echoing Spenser (though unconsciously), +where he says,---- + + "So every spirit, as it is most pure + And hath in it the more of heavenly light. + So it the fairer bodie doth procure + To habit in. + For of the soule the bodie forme doth take, + For soule is forme and doth the bodie make." + +With Lady Rodney she will, I think, be always the favorite daughter. She +is quite her right hand now. She can hardly get on without her, and +tells herself her blankest days are those when Mona and Geoffrey return +to their own home, and the Towers no longer echoes to the musical laugh +of old Brian Scully's niece, or to the light footfall of her pretty +feet. Violet and Dorothy will no doubt be dear; but Mona, having won it +against much odds, will ever hold first place in her affections. + +After all, she has proved a great success. She has fought her fight, and +gained her victory; but the conquered has deep reason to be grateful to +her victor. + +Where would they all be now but for her timely entry into the library on +that night never to be forgotten, and her influence over the poor dead +and gone cousin? Even in the matter of fortune she has not been +behindhand, Paul Rodney's death having enriched her beyond all +expectation. Without doubt, therefore, there is good reason to rejoice +over Mrs. Geoffrey. + +To this name, given to her in such an unkindly spirit, Mona clings with +singular pertinacity. Once when Nolly has called her by it in Lady +Rodney's hearing, the latter raises her head, and a remorseful light +kindles in her eyes; and when Mr. Darling has taken himself away she +turns entreatingly to Mona, and, with a warm accession of coloring, +says, earnestly,-- + +"My dear, I behaved badly to you in that matter. Let me tell Oliver to +call you Mrs. Rodney for the future. It is your proper name." + +But Mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to +alter the _sobriquet_ given her so long ago now. With much gentleness +she tells Lady Rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her +than any other could ever be; that to be Mrs. Geoffrey is the utmost +height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only +cause her pain and a vague sense of loss. + +So after this earnest protest no more is ever said to her apon the +subject, and Mrs. Geoffrey she is now to her mends, and Mrs. Geoffrey, I +think, she will remain to the end of the chapter. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mrs. Geoffrey, by Duchess + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MRS. 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