THROUGH THE DARK NIGHT:

or,

THIRTY YEARS AGO.

CHAPTER VIII.

DOUBT,

THAT HAT evening passed away like many that succeeded it during the soft summer time. Philip Moore came and went, but did not speak to the Madam, as Ethna had expected. Neither did he say anything very definite to her about their marriage. The girl's passionate heart became torn by conflicting feelings. Was he in earnest ? she asked herself. Was he only amusing himself? Why did she let things go so far? If he were sincere, would he not speak at once to her mother, and put an end to this horrible secrecy? She would not permit it to go on; she would not listen to him any more; she would show him that she could do without him. All of which sensible intentions were kept until the next time he came, and one word of love, one look, cast the old glamour around her, and waked repentant thoughts for ever having doubted her king of men. She was too proud to ask him to speak to the Madam; she shrank from anything that would seem like a suggestion of marriage, and concealed all from her mother, lest that practical person's direct simplicity of mind would impel her to speak to him on the subject. The lovers, as is the wont of that tenderly-irritable genus, had a good many squabbles. Her state of mind rendered the girl susceptible of annoyance. He worried her, intentionally and unintentionally, and she worried herself and him. She often met him in Beltard. Sometimes, perhaps, she only saw him walking or talking to some of his aristocratic acquaintances whom she had not the remotest chance of knowing. It was not pleasant to see him escorting the Honourable Miss Falconer about town, her bright shawl hanging on his arm, and to see her, a pretty girl, too, playfully pulling it from him. Ethna's hot heart would sink, and she would mutter through her shut teeth, "Oh, what a fool I was!"

The young man not seldom criticised her circle of acquaintances in a somewhat depreciatory manner, half to "rile her," as he would confess afterwards, and to give expression to his thoughts.

"Rather nice little person, the priest's sister," he would say. "Bad style though."

"What are her defects?" answered Ethna. "She doesn't say begor,' does she ? "

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She

No, not quite so bad, but she has several provincialisms that ruin her. Sure, for instance. 'Sure you won't be long.' would be detected as a Milesian-a Paddyess-anywhere in the world."

"She doesn't want to hide the fact, I suppose," said Ethna, tossing her head, quite conscious that she made use of the vulgar word herself. "I can't see that Irish provincialisms are worse than French or English ones."

"But, my angel, well-bred people use no provincialisms. They speak good grammar."

"Well, you ought to stay among well-bred people. Then your ears won't be offended."

"My ears aren't offended, my fair cos. You can't retain that sensitiveness knocking about in the world. I take abstract views of people. I vet them as I do the four-footed creation. I mention Miss O'Malley's good points and bad points. You get enraged because I see the latter, 'at all, at all,' as Father Gleeson says." "You had better begin to criticise the priesthood next," said Ethna.

Well, and why not? I shall only repay them in kind. I dare say they have me arraigned as an unworthy son of the Church before this; have not got the organ of veneration well developed, I fear; it is all a humbug, Ethna."

"Everything seems to be a humbug with you," said Ethna.

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Not everything, darling"-he took her hand and drew her closer" not everything, my sweet. Is love, fresh, ardent young love, a humbug?"

The anger would slip out of the girl's heart. She would give a sigh-half bliss, half pain, and only say:

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'Ah, Philip, you have wrong thoughts."

In the autumn, the eldest son of the house of Moore, his bride, the lovely sister of his bride, and several others came to the Lodge. Ethna wandered within the limits of her own ground in a state

of vague unrest, listening to the distant cracks of the guns on the mountains; conjuring up before her the happy, careless gaiety of the party; and when she watched the harvest moon silvering the hills and listened to the monotonous corncrakes calling to each other in the bright silence of the night, she imagined scenes at the Lodge. Philip and the fair-haired girl standing at the window, walking up and down outside the door; sitting on the garden seat; he looking into the blue eyes of the English heiress; the heiress listening to his winning speeches as she had done, till the magic sweetness of his voice filled the chambers of her heart. Philip had not come to Mona since the party had arrived almost a week ago. Ethna got up every morning hopeful, and went to bed in despair; he would have come if he cared; would any amount of business, pleasure or people, keep her from him if she could go to him. He would have come if he cared.

There had been a question of calling on the bride. Ethna suggested that it ought to be done; it would seem otherwise as if they, the Mona Moores, had sunk too low to venture upon such a social ceremony.

"But, my dear, those Butlers are great people," said the Madam. "Likely Mrs. Moore wouldn't care in the least for our visit, and why should we put ourselves out to pay it ?"

'It is only right we should assert ourselves," answered the girl. "It is no wonder they think us beneath them when we seem to accept such a position."

"My dear child, I suppose they trouble their heads as little about us as we trouble ours about them. You have a wrong way of looking at things. Why do you fancy those in a social grade above you reflect on you any more than we reflect on those below us? But we will pay the visit as you wish it, dear; who knows but they may be out?"

"If that's the way you look at it, mother, perhaps 'tis as well for us not to go at all."

"Oh, I do not mind going, love. However, let us wait till we see Philip; he will tell us if a visit be expected from us, and then we will go if you like."

Ethna, in her heart, did not like to pay the visit to those great people. She shrank sensitively from their possible criticisms on her manners, accent, dress, and general appearance. What would Philip's brother think of her? what impression would she

make on the proud Englishwoman, who was a born aristocrat ? she, who could not speak half-a-dozen words of French correctly, or play a long piece on the piano without breaking down; and who knew as little of the fashionable world, in whose atmosphere the Moores and Butlers lived and moved and had their being, as she did of the parallax of a star. But why should she not hold her own among them? She was a Moore, too, and if Philip were in earnest

Yes, mother," she said, "we shall wait till we hear what Philip says."

"I suppose he will not be able to come this evening," the Madam remarked, settling herself in her easy chair. "What a good thing it would be if they made a double marriage of it! Miss Butler has a large fortune, and Philip would want it."

Ethna gasped. The Madam's eyes were closed, so she did not see her very lips grow pale. She steadied her voice.

"Do you thing he would marry for money?" she said. "Men must, my dear, men of the world; I don't suppose he is an exception. There is nothing so necessary to men as money, and Philip is as likely to get it as his brother."

There was a bright fire in the grate, for the mountain air was chill in the Autumn evenings. The Madam dozed placidly in her chair. Ethna sat on a low seat staring into the fire, her eyes were filled with unshed tears, which would have fallen had she closed them; her face was pale and haggard; her lips shut, wearing unmistakable signs of inward suffering. She sat motionless for some time, occasionally raising her hand, and with one finger quietly pressing the tears away. It was a moonless night, and the brilliant firelight expelled the lingering beams of the dying day. A low tap came to the window; her heart leaped. She got up silently, and went out to open the door. Instead of coming in, her lover drew her outside.

"What is the matter, Ethna? I have been He passed his hand over it.

by the fire." thinking ?"

"Of you,” she answered, simply.

watching your face "Of what were you

"And why did thoughts of me bring tears to your eyes

She made no answer, but tried to draw away from him.

? "

No, I will not let you go." He put his arm about her. "You have not been very civil to me lately; what is the reason? Are you sorry?"