"Impossible is a word only to be found in the dictionary of fools. _You_ are not a fool. This is a mere fad of yours and I think you hardly know why you are insisting on it."

"I do know," says Mona. "First, because I would have you weigh everything carefully, and----"

"Yes, and----"

"You know your mother will object to me," says Mona, with an effort, speaking hurriedly, whilst a little fleck of scarlet flames into her cheeks.

"Stuff!" says Mr. Rodney; "that is only piling Ossa upon Pelion: it will bring you no nearer the clouds. Say you will go back to the old arrangement and marry me next month, or at least the month after."

"No."

She stands away from him, and looks at him with a face so pale, yet so earnest and intense, that he feels it will be unwise to argue further with her just now. So instead he takes both her hands and draws her to his side again.

"Oh, Mona, if you could only know how wretched I was all last night," he says; "I never put in such a bad time in my life."

"Yes; I can understand you," said Mona, softly, "for I too was miserable."

"Do you recollect all you said, or one-half of it? You said it would be well if I hated you."

"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, "perhaps I was right."

"Now, that is nastier," says Geoffrey; "unsay it."

"I will," says the girl, impulsively, with quick tears in her eyes.

"Don't hate me, my dearest, unless you wish to kill me; for that would be the end of it."

"I have a great mind to say something uncivil to you, if only to punish you for your coldness," says Geoffrey, lightly, cheered by her evident sincerity. "But I shall refrain, lest a second quarrel be the result, and I have endured so much during these past few hours that

'As I am a Christian faithful man I would not spend another such a night Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.'

From the hour I parted from you till I saw you again I felt downright suicidal."

"But you didn't cut your throat, after all," says Mona, with a wicked little grimace.

"Well, no; but I dare say I shall before I am done with you. Besides, it occurred to me I might as well have a last look at you before consigning my body to the grave."

"And an unhallowed grave, too. And so you really felt miserable when angry with me? How do you feel now?" She is looking up at him, with love and content and an adorable touch of coquetry in her pretty face.

"'I feel that I am happier than I know,'" quotes he, softly, folding her closely to his heart.

So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of b.u.t.ter and the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild breezes that belong to the dying day.

CHAPTER XII.

HOW GEOFFREY TELLS HOME SECRETS, AND HOW MONA COMMENTS THEREON--HOW DEATH STALKS RAMPANT IN THEIR PATH--AND HOW, THOUGH GEOFFREY DECLINES TO "RUN AWAY," HE STILL "LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY."

"And you really mustn't think us such very big people," says Geoffrey, in a deprecating tone, "because we are any thing but that, and, in fact,"--with a sharp contraction of his brow that betokens inward grief,--"there is rather a cloud over us just now."

"A cloud?" says Mona. And I think in her inmost heart she is rather glad than otherwise that her lover's people are not on the top rung of the ladder.

"Yes,--in a regular hole, you know," says Mr. Rodney. "It is rather a complicated story, but the truth is, my grandfather hated his eldest son--my uncle who went to Australia--like poison, and when dying left all the property--none of which was entailed--to his second son, my father."

"That was a little unfair, wasn't it?" says Mona. "Why didn't he divide it?"

"Well, that's just it," returns he. "But, you see, he didn't. He willed the whole thing to my father. He had a long conversation with my mother the very night before his death, in which he mentioned this will, and where it was locked up, and all about it; yet the curious part of the whole matter is this, that on the morning after his death, when they made search for this will, it was nowhere to be found! Nor have we heard tale or tidings of it ever since Though of the fact that it was duly signed, sealed, and delivered there is no doubt."

"How strange!" says Mona. "But how then did you manage?"

"Well, just then it made little difference to us, as, shortly after my grandfather went off the hooks, we received what we believed to be authenticated tidings of my uncle's death."

"Yes?" says Mona, who looks and is, intensely interested.

"Well, belief, however strong, goes a short way sometimes. An uncommon short way with us."

"But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?"

"No, it didn't: it made it all wrong. But for that lie we should not be in the predicament in which we now find ourselves. You will understand me better when I tell you that the other day a young man turned up who declares himself to be my uncle George's son, and heir to his land and t.i.tle. That _was_ a blow. And, as this wretched will is not forthcoming, I fear he will inherit everything. We are disputing it, of course, and are looking high and low for the missing will that should have been sought for at the first. But it's very shaky the whole affair."

"It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he could have hugged her on the spot.

"It is very hard on Nick," he says disconsolately.

"And he is your cousin, this strange young man?"

"Yes, I suppose so," replies Mr. Rodney, reluctantly. "But he don't look like it. Hang it, you know," exclaims he, vehemently, "one can stand a good deal, but to have a fellow who wears carbuncle rings, and speaks of his mother as the 'old girl,' call himself your cousin, is more than flesh and blood can put up with: it's--it's worse than the lawsuit."

"It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him "Nick" now for the world.

"Harder even than you know. He is engaged to one of the dearest little girls possible, but of course if this affair terminates in favor of--" he hesitates palpably, then says with an effort--"my cousin, the engagement comes to an end."

"But why?" says Mona.

"Well, he won't be exactly a catch after that, you know," says Rodney, sadly. "Poor old Nick! it will be a come-down for him after all these years."

"But do you mean to tell me the girl he loves will give him up just because fortune is frowning on him?" asks Mona, slowly. "Sure she couldn't be so mean as that."

"It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know."

"I _don't_ know," says Mona unconvinced. "I would go against all the people in the world rather than be bad to you. And to forsake him, too, at the very time when he will most want sympathy, at the very hour of his great trouble. Oh! that is shameful! I shall not like her, I think."

"I am sure you will, notwithstanding. She is the gayest, brightest creature imaginable, just such another as yourself. If it be true that 'birds of a feather flock together,' you and she must amalgamate. You may not get on well with Violet Mansergh, who is somewhat reserved, but I know you will be quite friends with Doatie."

"What is her name?"