all events, I am your debtor
for that horse. Do you want more?"

"There, that's enough,--two hundred will do," said O'Shea, taking the
notes from his fingers; "even if I have to make a bolt of it, that will
be ample."

"This looks badly for your wager, O'Shea. It may lose you the widow, I
suspect."

"Who knows?" said O'Shea, laughing. "Circular sailing is sometimes the
short cut on land as well as sea. If you have any good news for me
from Downing Street, I 'll shy you a line to say where to send; and so,
good-bye."

And Agincourt shook his hand cordially, but not without a touch of envy
as he thought of the mission he was engaged in.

CHAPTER III. SOME LAST WORDS

While Agincourt and O'Shea thus sat and conversed together, there was
another fireside which presented a far happier picture, and where old
Sir William sat, with his son and May Leslie, overjoyed to think that
they were brought together again, and to separate no more. Charles had
told them that he had determined never to leave them, and all their
thoughts had gone back to the long, long ago, when they were so united
and so happy. There was, indeed, one theme which none dared to touch.
It was ever and anon uppermost in the mind of each, and yet none had
courage to adventure on it, even in allusion. It was in one of the
awkward pauses which this thought produced that a servant came to say
Mrs. Morris would be glad to see Charles in her room. He had more than
once requested permission to visit her, but somehow now the invitation
had come ill-timed, and he arose with a half impatience to obey it.

During the greater part of that morning Charles Heathcote had employed
himself in imagining by what process of persuasion, what line of
argument, or at what price he could induce the widow herself to break
off the engagement with his father. The guarded silence Sir William had
maintained on the subject since his son's arrival was to some extent an
evidence that he knew his project could not meet approval. Nor was the
old man a stranger to the fact that May Leslie's manner to the widow had
long been marked by reserve and estrangement This, too, increased Sir
William's embarrassment, and left him more isolated and alone. "How
shall I approach such a question and not offend her?" was Charles's
puzzle, as he passed her door. So full was he of the bulletins of her
indisposition, that he almost started as he saw her seated at a table,
writing away rapidly, and