hanged. With sudden anger
she crushed and crumpled up the draft for five hundred in her hand. "'A
token of affection from both!'" she exclaimed, quoting from the letter.
"One lone leaf of Irish shamrock from him would--"

She stopped. "But he will send a message of his own," she continued. "He
will--he will. Even if he doesn't, I'll know that he remembers just the
same. He does--he does remember."

She drew herself up with an effort, and, as it were, shook herself free
from the memories which dimmed her eyes.

Not far away a man was riding towards the clump of trees where she was.
She saw, and hastened to her horse.

"If I told John all I feel he'd understand. I believe he always has
understood," she added with a far-off look.

The draft was still crushed in her hand when she mounted the beloved
horse, whose name now was Shiel.

Presently she smoothed out the crumpled paper. "Yes, I'll take it; I'll
put it by," she murmured. "John will keep on betting. He'll be broke
some day and he'll need it, maybe."

A moment later she was riding hard to meet the man who, before the
wheat-harvest came, would call her wife.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

And I was very lucky--worse luck!
Any man as is a man has to have one vice
God help the man that's afraid of his own wife!
He saw what he wished to see, which is the way of man
Her moral standard had not a multitude of delicate punctilios
Law's delays outlasted even the memory of the crime committed
Searchers after excuses for ungoverned instincts and acts
Sensitive souls, however, are not so many as to crowd each other
She looked too gay to be good
Telling the unnecessary truth
They had seen the world through the bottom of a tumbler
What isn't never was to those that never knew

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of You Never Know Your Luck, Complete
by Gilbert Parker

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