lifted it coldly to his lips; and shaking old Bridget
by the hand he was gone.

As the door slammed behind him, again the cold chill of the house struck
me for the sunshine had gone with him. I realized my own unreadiness too
late, and I could have followed him, calling out to him till he should
turn round and come back and hear me tell him that it was all
foolishness about Theobald and I loved only him. Indeed, I got so far as
to run out to the postern gate and look down the street.

But it was as lifeless as when I had come in. There was only my cab, and
the driver dozing on the box and the patient horse standing quietly
between the shafts to break the dead monotony of the lines of black
houses.

CHAPTER XVIII.

FLIGHT

I drank Bridget's strong, sweet tea without protest, and ate the thin
bread and butter, feeling it taste like sawdust in my mouth.

Meanwhile, the good old soul sat and looked at me with a beaming
expression.

"I little thought," she said, "when I rose up this morning, honey-jewel,
of who'd be here before the day was over. Sure, you're pale, love! Maybe
'twas tiring you I was, trapesin' through the house. Maureen 'ud have
something to say to me. She was always terrible jealous of her babies."

I assured her I was not tired. I tried to talk to her about Maureen and
the Abbey and my grandparents, and all the time I felt that she watched
me with an anxious and fond gaze.

"I wouldn't be telling her Ladyship, if I was you, Miss Bawn," she said
suddenly, "about meeting Captain Anthony Cardew here. 'Twould vex her,
so it would. I was surprised to find you talking together. 'Twas the
unluckiest thing in the world that you and him should meet."

"I had met Captain Cardew before, Bridget," I said coldly. "He had
rendered me a service. I'm sure all that old trouble ought to be
forgotten, and I think my grandmother is too good a Christian, and too
reasonable to bear Captain Cardew enmity for something which was no
fault of his."

"That may be, dearie," old Bridget said, with the fond, coaxing way of
our people towards us. "That may be. Still, if I was you, Miss Bawn, I
wouldn't think of Captain Anthony, even if he did do you a service. He's
a beautiful gentleman, and many a lady was mad for him, I know well, and
not his fault either; and many a poor girl, too, because he was so
pleasant. And no woman had ever cause to blame him or do anything but
love him. Still, dear, Master Theobald's the