rry
seated by the fire, drinking a brew of Madam's tea and conversing
with her joyously about his trip and what he had seen of the new
railroad. It was curious how he had succeeded in bringing her to take
an interest in things quite alien to her. The very atmosphere of
the cabin seemed to be cleared by his presence, big, genial, and
all-embracing. Certainly nothing of the recluse appeared in his
demeanor. Only when they were alone in their own quarters did he
show occasionally a longing for the old condition of unmolested
tranquillity. To go to his dinner at a set hour, no matter how well
prepared it might be, annoyed him.

"There's no reason in life why they should get a meal ready merely
because a timepiece says twelve o'clock. Let them wait until a man's
hungry," he would grumble. Then, arrived at the cabin, he would be all
courtesy and geniality.

When Harry rallied him on his inconsistency, he gravely replied: "An
Irish gentleman is an Irish gentleman the world over, no matter where
you find him, in court, camp, or wilderness; it's all one to him. Why
do you think I brought that mirror you shave by all the way up the
mountain? Why, to have a body to look at now and again, and to
blarney, just that I might not forget the trick. What was the good of
that, do you ask? Look at yourself, man. You're a dour Scotchman,
that's what you are, and you keep your humor done up in a wet blanket,
and when it glints out of the corner of your eye a bit, you draw down
the corners of your mouth to belie it. What's the good of that, now?
The world's a rough place to walk in for the most part, especially for
women, and if a man carries a smile on his face and a bit of blarney
on the tip of his tongue, he smooths the way for them. Now, there's
Madam Manovska. What would you and Amalia have done to her? Driven her
clean out of her head with your bungling. In a case like hers you must
be very discreet, and lead her around, by the way she wants to go, to
a place of safety."

Harry smiled. Since his avowal to Amalia of his determination to make
expiation for the crime that clouded his life, he had grown more
cheerful and less restrained in manner. He would accept the present
happiness, and so far as he could without wrong to her, he would fill
his hours with the joy of her companionship, and his love should
dominate him, and his heart should revel in the thought of her, and
her nearness to him; then when the spring should come and melt