our.

"You have caused her a good many," the General said grimly. "Not
willingly, I am sure of that, or I wouldn't be here. Haven't you heard
how she suffered? Why, God bless my soul, I was afraid at one time that
I might be going to lose her; and all through you, young man--all
through you. Now I'll have no more shilly-shally. If Nell is fond of you
and you are fond of Nell----"

"God knows how I love her!" Langrishe cried out, a glow of passion
lighting up his worn, dark face. "But you don't understand, Sir Denis. I
feel sure you don't understand. I have nothing in the world but my
sword. My uncle, Sir Peter, gave me that. He gave me nothing else. Lady
Langrishe, who nursed my uncle through an attack of the gout before he
married her, has just presented him with an heir. I have no hopes from
my uncle. If I lose my sword-arm I lose everything. I am likely to lose
my sword-arm, Sir Denis."

"Whether you do or whether you do not is in the hands of God," the
General said. "I don't think Nell will mind very much if your sword-arm
is ineffectual or not. You've done enough for honour, anyhow. And I'm
not going to betray any more of the child's secrets. You'd better come
and hear them yourself. I'll tell you what: come on Christmas Day. Come
to lunch and bring your bag with you. I daresay you won't want to cut
your visit short?"

"You really mean it, Sir Denis?"

"Mean it, my lad? I've meant it for a long time. I've watched your
career, Langrishe. I know pretty well all about you. You'd never give me
credit for half the cunning I've got." The General rubbed his hands
softly together and tried to look Machiavellian, failing ludicrously in
the attempt. "There's no man I would more willingly trust my girl to.
Why, I went after you to Tilbury when you were going out--to find out
what you meant. I'll tell you about it."

For the moment the General forgot completely how he had man[oe]uvred in
the second place to marry Nelly to Robin Drummond. In fact, he didn't
remember about it till he was going home, and then, after a momentary
shamefacedness about his unintentional disingenuousness, he decided,
like a sensible man, that there was no use talking about that now.

Before that time, however, he had lunched with Mrs. Langrishe and her
son after a talk with the latter. Now that he had succeeded in breaking
down the lover's scruples, Godfrey Langrishe was only too anxious to
fling himself into the next train and be carried off