the generations of ancestors whose names, as
Penelope Charlewood had said, had begun with
0, were undoubted historical facts. And there
were genealogical trees with more branches than
could be counted in a long summer's day, to
prove the unsullied and distinguished lineage to
which Mr. Malachi Dawson could lay claim.
And besides, was there not the heirloom? — that
precious heritage of bygone days! Altogether,
it was unspeakably satisfactory.

Clement's favourable report as to the
projected branch line of railway from Ballyhacket
to Dunscorthy had occasioned him to be plunged
temporarily into an unusual press of business.
There were plans to be examined, calculations
to be made, correspondence to be conducted,
and Clement threw himself into the work with
even more than his wonted zeal.

"Mr. Clem puts the steam on, sir," said
Stephens, admiringly, to his master. "He's got
a head on his shoulders, and plenty of good will
to use it, has Mr. Clem."

"There's no necessity to knock yourself up
about this business, Clement," said his father.
"It's only a comparatively small job after all.
For my part, I was in two minds about having
anything to say to it. Our hands are pretty
nearly as full as we can manage, just now."

Miss O'Brien, observing Clement's pale face,
declared he had grown thin since his return from
Ireland, and that he was working himself to death.

"You've never looked like the same creature,
Mr. Charlewood, since that day you ran away
so shabbily and left us in the lurch," said
Geraldine to him one evening after dinner. They
were sitting at one end of the long drawing-
room, and the rest of the family had gathered
to the other extremity of the room, round a table
strewn with maps and guide-books; for the
wedding tour was being decided upon in full conclave.

"Haven't I, Miss O'Brien? Well, in some
cases it may be an advantage to look like a
different creature from oneself."

"Now, you don't imagine it's any use angling
for a compliment from me, do you? And with
such very clumsy bait!"

"I am clumsy, I suppose," said Clement,
dolefully. Then making an effort to rouse
himself, he added, scarcely knowing what he was
saying, "I hope you enjoyed the pic-nic."

Geraldine O'Brien looked at him for a moment
searchingly out of her clear blue eyes, and then
said with a little toss of her head, and perhaps
rather more enthusiasm than the occasion
warranted, "Oh, immensely— quite immensely. I
don't know when I've had such a pleasant day."

"I'm very glad of that," said Clement, simply.

Miss O'Brien coloured; but hers was a face
in which the roses paled or deepened easily.

"I hope you enjoyed your trip," she said.

"Why, that was hardly likely; not but that
I have very often enjoyed my business missions.
Do you know that I saw a great friend of yours
in Ireland?"

"A great friend of mine? Do you mean
Arthur Skidley? I know he's in Dublin. But
I beg to say that, though we are second cousins,
he is not a great friend of mine."

"No; I did not mean Mr. Skidley, though
I saw him too. I meant Lady Popham."

"What, fairy godmother!" cried Geraldine,
clapping her hands. "Oh, you sly, secret
creature, never to tell me one word about it!"

Then Clement explained to her, as well as he
could, that he had hitherto had no opportunity
of speaking to her since his return to Hammerham,
and that he had only paid a hurried visit
to Cloncoolin, driving over from Kilclare and
returning the same night by the train from
Ballyhacket to Dublin.

"And what did she say to you? Didn't she
give you any message for me? Isn't she
charming?"

"She received me very kindly, Miss O'Brien,
and asked me to remain at Cloncoolin; but that
was impossible."

"And do your sisters know that you went to
Cloncoolin? I must tell Penny."

Geraldine was about to call Penelope across
the room and impart the news, when Clement
stopped her hurriedly.

"If you would do me a very great favour,
Miss O'Brien," he said, speaking quickly and
in a low voice, "you would not mention to
any one what I have told you. Not for the
present, that is to say," he continued, meeting
her astonished gaze; "of course my people may
know sooner or later. I told you, because—
because I felt that Lady Popham would naturally
mention my visit when she wrote to you next."

"Your confidence is flattering, Mr. Charlewood,"
said Geraldine, with a laugh that was not
altogether free from a touch of bitterness.

"If to be trusted be flattering, I suppose my
confidence is flattering; because I ask you to
be silent on this matter, and I have faith that
you will be so, when I tell you that your silence
will oblige me very seriously."

"I'll not say another word about it, and
there's my hand on the bargain," said Geraldine,
deftly slipping her small gloved fingers into his
for an instant, under cover of the folds of a lace
scarf she wore. Then she got up and walked to
the table at the other end of the room, and gave
her vote as to the best route from Paris to Italy.

The time sped on, whether employed in work
or play, and brought the wedding morning.
The weather was as bright and cloudless as if
it had been expressly ordered and paid for, and
the sun shed an appropriately golden light upon
the rich equipages and brilliant toilets of the
bridal guests. It even stole into the long dining-
room, where a magnificent repast was set forth
amidst abundance of hothouse flowers, and
touched the gloomy obdurate oak wainscot here
and there with a streak of gilding. The bride
and bridegroom went through the ceremony
with well-behaved placidity, and Augusta looked
exceedingly lovely in her costly nuptial robes.
It was altogether a most successful wedding;
and the only tiny cloud on the general brilliancy
of the proceedings was occasioned by Miss
Fluke, who insisted on making all the responses
in a deep sepulchral voice, and who burst into
a loud fit of weeping as soon as the final words
of the ceremony were uttered. Jane Fluke