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 seabirds shriek aloud, and all nature seems to cry for Mona.

But on 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 for

ever.

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 its 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 nought. 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 anyone, 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 him, is looking over his shoulder, while a slight brownhaired, very aristocratic-looking girl, is endeavouring, 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!' 6 He turns the letter round and round between his fingers as though it was 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 disfavour. 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, 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,' says 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 favour, 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 a good deal of sense in that, you know,' 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 favour nevertheless,' says Jack, who has followed him, and 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