Mrs. Geoffrey. Duchess

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ