"She is Lord Steyne's second daughter. The family name is Darling. Her name is Dorothy."

"A pretty name, too."

"Yes, old-fashioned. She is always called Doatie Darling by her familiars, which sounds funny. She is quite charming, and loved by every one."

"Yet she would renounce her love, would betray him for the sake of filthy lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that."

"It is the way of her world. There is more in training than one quite knows. Now, you are altogether different. I know that; it is perhaps the reason why you have made my heart your own. Do not think it flattery when I tell you there are very few like you, Mona, in the world; but I would have you be generous. Do not let your excellence make you harsh to others. That is a common fault; and all people, darling, are not charactered alike."

"Am I harsh?" says Mona, wistfully.

"No, you are not," says Geoffrey, grieved to the heart that he could have used such a word towards her. "You are nothing that is not sweet and adorable. And, besides all this, you are, I know, sincerity itself.

I feel (and am thankful for the knowledge) that were fate to 'steep me in poverty to the very lips,' you would still be faithful to me."

"I should be all the more faithful: it is then you would feel your need of me," says Mona, simply. Then, as though puzzled, she goes on with a little sigh, "In time perhaps, I shall understand it all, and how other people feel, and--if it will please you, Geoffrey--I shall try to like the girl you call Doatie."

"I wish Nick didn't like her so much," says Geoffrey, sadly. "It will cut him up more than all the rest, if he has to give her up."

"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would it--would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?"

Rodney is deeply touched.

"No, darling, no; I am afraid not," he says, very gently. But for the poor child's tender earnestness and good faith, he could almost have felt some faint amus.e.m.e.nt; but this offering of hers is to him a sacred thing, and to treat her words as a jest is a thought far from him.

Indeed, to give wilful offence to any one, by either word or action, would be very foreign to his nature. For if "he is gentil that doth gentil dedis" be true, Rodney to his finger-tips is gentleman indeed.

It is growing dusk; "the shades of night are falling fast," the cold pale sun, that all day long has cast its chill October beams upon a leafless world, has now sunk behind the distant hill, and the sad silence of the coming night hath set her finger with deep touch upon creation's brow.

"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of late? I seem to be always antic.i.p.ating evil."

Down from the mountain's top the shadows are creeping stealthily: all around is growing dim, and vague, and mysterious, in the uncertain light.

"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued voice. "That murder at Oola, for instance: that was horrible.'

"Well but a murder at Oola isn't a murder here, you know," says Mr.

Rodney, airily. "Let us wait to be melancholy until it comes home to ourselves,--which indeed, may be at any moment, your countrymen are of such a very playful disposition. Do you remember what a lively time we had of it the night we ran to Maxwell's a.s.sistance, and what an escape he had?"

"Ay! so he had, an escape _you_ will never know," says a hoa.r.s.e voice at this moment, that makes Mona's heart almost cease to beat. An instant later, and two men jump up from the dark ditch in which they have been evidently hiding, and confront Rodney with a look of savage satisfaction upon their faces.

At this first glance he recognizes them as being the two men with whom Mona had attempted argument and remonstrance on the night elected for Maxwell's murder. They are armed with guns, but wear no disguise, not even the usual band of black c.r.a.pe across the upper half of the face.

Rodney casts a quick glance up the road, but no human creature is in sight; nor, indeed, were they here, would they have been of any use. For who in these lawless days would dare defy or call in question the all-powerful Land League?

"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is absolutely frozen with fear.

"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he speaks.

"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast.

"Stand back," says Ryan, savagely. "Stand back, I tell ye, unless ye want a hole in yer own skin, for his last moment is come."

"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever treats a woman with roughness.

"Ha! That's right," says Ryan. "You hold her, Carthy, while I give this English gentleman a lesson that will carry him to the other world. I'll teach him how to balk me of my prey a second time. D'ye think I didn't know about Maxwell, eh? an' that my life is in yer keepin'! But yours is in mine now," with a villanous leer "an' I wouldn't give a thraneen for it."

Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the elbow, holds her as in a vice. There is no escape, no hope! Finding herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with dilated eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes in quick agonized gasps, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer last hour has come."

"Has it?" says Rodney, fiercely. "Then I'll make the most of it," and before the other can find time to fire he flings himself upon him, and grasps his throat with murderous force.

In an instant they are locked in each other's arms. Ryan wrestles violently, but is scarcely a match for Rodney, whose youth and training tell, and who is actually fighting for dear life. In the confusion the gun goes off, and the bullet, pa.s.sing by Rodney's arm, tears away a piece of the coat with it, and also part of the flesh. But this he hardly knows till later on.

To and fro they sway, and then both men fall heavily to the ground.

Presently they are on their feet again, but this time Rodney is master of the unloaded gun.

"Leave the girl alone, and come here," shouts Ryan furiously to Carthy, who is still holding Mona captive. The blood is streaming from a large cut on his forehead received in his fall.

"Coward!" hisses Rodney between his teeth. His face is pale as death; his teeth are clenched; his gray eyes are flaming fire. His hat has fallen off in the struggle, and his coat, which is a good deal torn, betrays a shirt beneath deeply stained with blood. He is standing back a little from his opponent, with his head thrown up, and his fair hair lying well back from his brow.

"Come on," he says, with a low furious laugh, that has no mirth in it, but is full of reckless defiance. "But first," to Ryan, "I'll square accounts with you."

Advancing with the empty gun in his hands, he raises it, and, holding it by the barrel, brings it down with all his might upon his enemy's skull.

Ryan reels, staggers, and once more licks the dust. But the wretched weapon--sold probably at the back of some miserable shebeen in Bantry for any price ranging from five-and-six to one guinea--snaps in two at this moment from the force of the blow, so leaving Rodney, spent and weak with loss of blood, at the mercy of his second opponent.

Carthy, having by this time freed himself from Mona's detaining grasp,--who, seeing the turn affairs have taken, has clung to him with all her strength, and so hampered his efforts to go to his companion's a.s.sistance,--comes to the front.

But a hand-to-hand encounter is not Mr. Carthy's forte. He prefers being propped up by friends and acquaintances, and thinks a duel _a la mort_ a poor speculation. Now, seeing his whilom accomplice stretched apparently lifeless upon the ground, his courage (what he has of it), like Bob Acres', oozes out through his palms, and a curious shaking, that surely can't be fear, takes possession of his knees.

Moreover, he has never before had a gun in his own keeping; and the sensation, though novel, is not so enchanting as he had fondly hoped it might have been. He is plainly shy about the managing of it, and in his heart is not quite sure which end of it goes off. However, he lifts it with trembling fingers, and deliberately covers Rodney.

Tyro as he is, standing at so short a distance from his antagonist, he could have hardly failed to blow him into bits, and probably would have done so, but for one little accident.

Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had torn from its top a heavy stone.

Now, turning back, she aims carefully for Carthy's head, and flings the missile from her. A woman's eye in such cases is seldom sure, and now the stone meant for his head falls short, and, hitting his arm, knocks the gun from his nerveless fingers.

This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves in, and, regardless of the prostrate figure of his companion, jumps hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is rolling up from the bay.

Rodney, lifting the gun, takes as sure aim as he can at the form of the departing hero; but evidently the bullet misses its mark, as no sound of fear or pain comes to disturb the utter silence of the evening.

Then he turns to Mona.

"You have saved my life," he says, in a tone that trembles for the first time this evening, "my love! my brave girl! But what an ordeal for you!"

"I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help you," says Mona, pa.s.sionately; "that was bitter."

"What spirit, what courage, you displayed! At first I feared you would faint----"

"While you still lived? While I might be of some use to you? No!" says Mona, her eyes gleaming. "To myself I said, there will be time enough for that later on." Then, with a little dry sob, "There will be time to _die_ later on."

Here her eyes fall upon Ryan's motionless figure, and a shudder pa.s.ses over her.