ashe
and Owen, by refusing to go to inspect the scene of Kathleen's fatal
repulse.

True to his appointment, Owen arrived alone on a car chosen with all
regard to Horatia's comfort, and was most actively attentive in settling
on it the ladies and their luggage, stretching himself out on the
opposite side, his face raised to the clouds, as he whistled an air; but
his eye was still restless, and his sister resolved on questioning him.

Opportunities were, however, rare; whether or not with the design of
warding off a _tete-a-tete_, he devoted himself to his cousin's service
in a manner rare to her since she had laid herself out to be treated as
though her name were Horace instead of Horatia. However, Lucilla was not
the woman to be balked of a settled purpose; and at their hotel, at
Dublin, she nailed him fast by turning back on him when Horatia bade them
good night. 'Well, what do you want?' he asked, annoyed.

'I want to speak to you.'

'I hope it is to beg me to write to ask Honor to receive you at home, and
promise to behave like a decent and respectable person.'

'I want neither a judge nor an intercessor in you.'

'Come, Lucy, it really would be for every one's good if you would go and
take care of poor Honor. You have been using her vilely, and I should
think you'd had enough of Rashe for one while.'

'If I have used her vilely, at least I have dealt openly by her,' said
Lucilla. 'She has always seen the worst of me on the surface. Can you
bear to talk of her when you know how you are treating her?'

He coloured violently, and his furious gesture would have intimidated
most sisters; but she stood her ground, and answered his stammering
demand what she dared to imply.

'You may go into a passion, but you cannot hinder me from esteeming it
shameful to make her mission a cover for associating with one whom she
would regard with so much horror as Jack Hastings.'

'Jack Hastings!' cried Owen, to her amazement, bursting into a fit of
laughter, loud, long, and explosive. 'Well done, Rashe!'

'You told her so!'

'She told me so, and one does not contradict a lady.'

'Something must have put it into her head.'

'Only to be accounted for by an unrequited attachment,' laughed Owen;
'depend on it, a comparison of dates would show Hastings's incarceration
to have been the epoch of Rashe's taking to the high masculine line--

'"If e'er she loved, 'twas him alone
Who lived within the jug of stone."