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"Oh, Philip," she hid her face in his arm--"I sometimes think you do not care about me.”

"Care for you, my girl? More than ever I cared for woman. I am all your own. Will you not be my wife, my darling wife?" "I will," she replied, with a sob in her voice, a sob of relief and uttermost joy.

"Did you doubt me, my own love?" continued the young man, forgetting his financial difficulties, his love of liberty, his vague intentions of getting a good price for his handsome person, in the rush of emotion awakened by her sorrow and evident love for him. "Ethna, dear, is the porch door open ?" called out the Madam. "I feel a draught."

"Caused by me, Madam," answered Philip, as he hung up his hat in the hall. "It is fresh enough on the hills." The Madam welcomed him cordially.

"So those fine people have not made you forget us, my dear," she said. "Ethna, isn't it time to light the lamp and make the tea ? "

The girl took the lamp. "I must put oil in it," she remarked, and left the room.

"Of what is she thinking?" said the Madam, unsuspiciously. "I saw her filling it this morning."

After a little time Ethna returned with the lighted lamp, and sat at the table busying herself with the tea-things until the tea was fit to pour out.

The Madam introduced the subject of the visit to the Lodge. "I would go," she said, "if it were expected of me, but I am so unused to visiting strangers, that it seems quite an undertaking." Philip was aware that the Lodge ladies were perfectly indifferent to such a piece of attention. He knew that the Madam's oldfashioned bonnet, outside car, and sober stepping farm horse, would draw forth satirical remarks from those who were on the watch for Irish peculiarities; but common politeness required him to say that "the visit ought to be paid," and the Madam decided that she would pay it.

Already Philip's relations with Ethna began to bear unpleasant

consequence.

He winced at the idea of her and her mother affecting the risible proclivities of his sister-in-law and his sisterin-law's sister.

What had they to laugh at? Well, nothing very tangible. Some small external defects, the cut of a dress, the shape of a wrap, the arrangement of Ethna's back hair, an accent, an ignorance of opera bouffes and Ouida's novels. Ethna was a finer girl than Miss Butler, any man would say so, and a cleverer girl. The heiress never read more than the first page in the "Idyls of the King" but slumber sweet and soft fell upon her white eyelids. Ethna's ardent soul would be waked by a line or two, and she would long to be a holy nun herself, and weave a belt of her long brown hair to gird a maiden knight for his search after the true and pure.

Philip knew all this; knew that the girl he had asked to be his wife was physically and intellectually superior to the Lodge ladies; nevertheless, he felt uncomfortable and conscious that every one of his people, did they but know the state of affairs, would hardly believe he could make such a fool of himself. However, the thing was settled. Ethna sat beside him, with dark dewy eyes and crimson cheeks; he did not regret what he had done; he loved her more than he loved any woman yet; he would be faithful to her, and pay no attention to comments on his folly; she would wait for him until he could afford to marry; but when was that?

He had some private means, but not more than enabled him to keep pace with his brother officers; and, as for Ethna's fortune, for one in her line of life it was considerable, but it would hardly pay his debts. However, there was no use in dipping too deeply into the future; the present alone is ours, and that philosophy which finds most favour with the natural man advises him to enjoy it. There was a tender little scene that night at the porch door, short and sweet, for the Madam was awake this time, and alive to the consequences of prolonged currents of air.

Ethna watched her lover disappearing, and lifted her eyes to the holy heavens throbbing with great stars; doubt and mistrust had fled before the definite words " will not you be my wife? words that stood out glorified against the dark backgronnd of the best days. The dew lay heavy on the grass; the air was laden with the odour of furze; the corn-crake's hoarse note intensified the silence; there was the flash of a falling star.

"Ah! why did I not wish in time?" said Ethna. not live without him now."

"I could

CHAPTER IX.

PHILIP AND MISS BUTLER COME TO LUNCHEON,

Next day a soft fog rested on the valleys and slowly crept up the side of the hills, as Ethna, with the hood of her red cloak drawn over her head, walked across the fields and sprang out on the road which led on to Mona She swung a jug in her hand who se erewhile contents she had left in the cabin of a sick neighbour. She was singing the air of a song which Philip Moore admired, and so absorbed was she in her own happy thoughts that she did not hear the sound of horses' footsteps until they were close behind her. She stepped aside to let them pass, and on looking round perceived it was Philip Moore escorting a handsome girl, who sat her horse very gracefully. The young man reined in his steed, and said:

"Miss Moore, playing the sister of charity. I did not expect to meet you."

He was decidedly embarrassed, She noticed it, and the colour rushed into her cheeks in a wave of deeper crimson; he was ashamed of her. Though a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart, and a vivid consciousness of her shabby dress (she had spilled some of the contents of the jug down the front of it), her want of gloves, tie, or even a hat weighed her to the very earth, she bore herself bravely, and replied:

"Good morning, Mr. Moore. I was taking some arrowroot to little Mary Halpin; one forgets these are public roads from never meeting strangers on them."

Philip had alighted to shake hands.

"I suppose," he said, laughing, "I may venture to waive ceremony, and make you known to each other. Miss Moore, Miss Butler."

"Very happy, I am sure," answered Miss Butler, bowing low. "You are my sister's nearest neighbour here, Miss Moore."

"Yes. I believe so," replied Ethna. "Mamma is a very

visitor; but she intended calling on Mrs. Moore."

bad

"She will be very pleased. You live quite near here."

"Yes, quite near," replied Ethna, and then with a desperate conviction that she ought to ask them to call, she added, "quite near, just at the turn of the hill; you ought to come on and have luncheon."

"Oh, thanks so much," said Miss Butler. "What do you say, Philip ?"

"I am bound to obey orders," he answered. where you will."

"Lead me

"Then, we shall with pleasure. I shall get down and walk." "No," said Ethna, "I mean to cross the fields, and I shall be at the door before you, however hard you ride."

"What a good-looking girl," remarked Miss Butler, as she and Philip rode on, "but such a guy."

"Is not her attire en régle?" said Philip.

more to the steed than the trappings."

"We men look

"You don't miss If you

"I don't believe it," answered Miss Butler. it up here; you have no one to contrast Miss Moore with. had, you would recognise she was a guy. I ought not to be making remarks, though; I was told to observe the law of charity in Clare, and abstain from criticising one person to another, for that you were all related. She is a distant cousin of yours, is

she not ?"

"She is," replied Philip.

"How on earth does she kill time in such a forlorn region ?" said the girl. "She doesn't milk the cows and wash butter, I dare say. Is not that the only thing to be done in the country? I suppose she occupies herself making outlandish dresses and trimming hats that would make one shudder."

"Many men have many minds, Bertha. I am sure the Madam, Mrs. Moore, would think it penal servitude to go through your mother's life of balls, dinners, operas; and just fancy the sensations of your respected parent if she had to spend a winter at the Lodge."

"She would be in a state of melancholy madness," answered the girl, laughing.

In a few moments they reached the gate, rode up the avenue, and alighted at the green door where a boy was waiting to take the horses. Philip opened the entrance, and Miss Butler stood surprised at the neatness and the amount of autumn bloom, sending

forth a mingled odour of myrtle, mignonette, geranium, and wallflower,

Ethna stood at the porch to receive them. The young lady was enthusiastic in her approbation of the place, and rather annoyed Ethna by her evident surprise.

"Everything is in such order," said Miss Butler, "It is really wonderful."

"It would be more wonderful if it were not so," replied Ethna; "the place is not large."

The Madam welcomed them with old-fashioned courtesy, and expressed her pleasure at the absence of ceremony characterising the visit. She entertained her guests hospitably, and an hour passed away without its flight being unpleasantly perceptible.

Ethna saw her guests to the door and stood there while Philip assisted his companion to mount her horse. There was some delay in adjusting the stirrup; he laughingly finding fault with the length of her habit, she chiding his clumsiness. He shook hands with Ethna, vaulted into his saddle, and the pair rode away.

Ethna stood listening to their voices and laughter, which were borne back by the breeze, with jealousy gnawing at her heart.

That girl had everything that could attract him, beauty, wealth, rank; would he resist them for her, a poor mountain girl? He was pledged to her; but how often were such pledges broken! Pale and cold she returned to the house. It occurred to her to tell all to her mother; but the Madam called out as she entered:

"Take my word for it, that will be a marriage, Ethna; and she seems to be a nice, agreeable girl. I am glad the ice is broken, it is so disagreeable to have to visit utter strangers."

The Madam left the room to look after household affairs. Ethna told Nora to "run away, and not to tease," and sat in the window, watching the fog slowly gathering again, until the sky had become as gloomy as her thoughts.

The next evening Ethna sat again in the window, listening for a possible footstep. Little Nora ran up and down the long hall, a retriever pup hanging on to her dress. The Madam sat in her easy chair, slowly nodding her head, her hands crossed on the

knitting in her lap. The ball had rolled to the ground, to the evident satisfaction of a kitten, who chased it under chairs and tables, tumbling over it and under it in an ecstasy of enjoyment. The bogwood flared up occasionally, giving a brighter glow to the comfortable room.

The quiet was intolerable to the girl. It was

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