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, 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 amongst 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 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 bas 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 unsavoury 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.

H

Rising, the old dame takes a chair, dusts it, and presents it to the stranger, with a curtsey 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.'

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One must not hope for perfect happiness on this earth,' says Mona, gravely; but, at least, I know,' with a soft and trusting glance at him, 'I shall be happier than most people.'

'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 weather-beaten old person at the fire another thrill of tender recollection.

What are you doing?' asks Geoffrey presently, when they have returned to every day 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 amongst 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.

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Very well; you shan'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 daresay you will find yourself the very height of the fashion.'

Now I think you are making fun of me,' says