en-parties."

Lord Mallow had no share in this conversation, for the Duke had
buttonholed him, and was giving him a detailed account of the
cart-horse's symptoms.

The little party dispersed soon after this, and did not foregather
again until just before dinner, when the people who had been to see the
ruins were all assembled, full of their day's enjoyment, and of sundry
conversational encounters which they had had with the natives of the
district. They gave themselves the usual airs which people who have
been laboriously amusing themselves inflict upon those wiser
individuals who prefer the passive pleasure of repose, and made a merit
of having exposed themselves to the meridian sun, in the pursuit of
archaeological knowledge.

Lady Mabel looked pale and weary all that evening. Roderick was so
evidently distrait that the good-natured Duke thought that he must be
worrying himself about the cart-horse, and begged him to make his mind
easy, as it was possible the animal might even yet recover.

Later on in the evening Lady Mabel and Lord Mallow sat in the
conservatory and talked Irish politics, while Rorie and the younger
members of the house party played Nap. The conservatory was deliciously
cool on this summer evening, dimly lighted by lamps that were half
hidden among the palms and orange-trees. Lady Mabel and her companion
could see the stars shining through the open doorway, and the mystical
darkness of remote woods. Their voices were hushed; there were pauses
of silence in their talk. Never had the stirring question of Home Rule
been more interesting.

Lady Mabel did not go back to the drawing-room that evening. There was
a door leading from the conservatory to the hall; and, while Rorie and
the young people were still somewhat noisily engaged in the game of
Napoleon, Lady Mabel went out to the hall with Lord Mallow in
attendance upon her. When he had taken her candle from the table and
lighted it, he paused for a moment or so before he handed it to her,
looking at her very earnestly all the while, as she stood at the foot
of the staircase, with saddened face and downcast eyes, gravely
contemplative of the stair-carpet.

"Is it--positively--too late?" he asked.

"You must feel and know that it is so," she answered.

"But it might have been?"

"Yes," she murmured with a faint sigh, "it might have been."

He gave her the candlestick, and she went slowly upstairs, without a
word of good-night. He stood in