Milbanke coloured--not quite sure whether the declaration was
propitious or the reverse.

"Certainly!--certainly!" he broke in nervously. "I think your view is
a--a very sensible one."

Mrs. Asshlin shook her head in speechless disapproval.

"And what is to become of Nance?" she asked, after a moment's pause.

Again Milbanke glanced uncertainly at Clodagh.

"My idea," he began deprecatingly, "was to place the child at a good
English school. But for the first year or two I think that perhaps
Clodagh might be allowed to veto any arrangement I may make."

Clodagh stepped forward suddenly and impulsively.

"Do you mean that?" she asked.

He bent his head gravely.

"Then--then let us take her with us to Florence. 'Twould make me
happier than anything under the sun."

The words were followed by a slightly dismayed pause. Although he
strove bravely to conceal the fact, Milbanke's face fell. And Mrs.
Asshlin became newly and markedly shocked.

"My dear Clodagh----" she began sternly.

But Milbanke put up his hand.

"Pray say nothing, Mrs. Asshlin!" he broke in gently. "Clodagh's wishes
are mine."

The blood surged into Clodagh's face in a wake of spontaneous relief.

"You mean that?" she said again.

Once more he bent his head.

"Then I'll marry you any time you like," she said with a sudden,
impulsive warmth.

And in due time the day of the marriage dawned. After careful
consideration, every detail had been arranged and all difficulties
smoothed away. The ceremony was to take place in the small,
unpretentious Protestant church at Carrigmore, where, Sunday after
Sunday, since the days of her early childhood, Clodagh had listened to
the Word of God, and had sent up her own immature supplications to
heaven. The marriage--which of necessity was to be of the most private
nature--was fixed for the forenoon; and it had been arranged that
immediately upon its conclusion, Clodagh, Nance, and Milbanke should
repair to Mrs. Asshlin's cottage, from which--having partaken of
lunch--they were to start upon their journey without returning to
Orristown.

The wedding morning broke grey and mild, presaging a typical Irish day.
After a night of broken and restless sleep, Clodagh woke at six; and
slipped out of bed without disturbing Nance.

For the first moment or two she sat on the side of her bed, her hands
locked behind her head, her bare feet resting upon the uncarpeted
floor. Then suddenly the sight of the lon