Part 65 (2/2)

He took her hands and pressed them; he looked at her very kindly, though he smiled still.

”Yes, it undoes all the mistakes, doesn't it?” he said. ”At least I hope it will,” he added the next moment with a laugh.

”It's really the only way to be married,” declared Cecily.

”Well, for you people--for you extraordinary Tristrams--I dare say it is,” said Mina.

”You'll come?” Cecily implored.

”She couldn't keep away,” mocked Harry. ”She's got to see the end of us.”

”Yes, and our new beginning. Oh, what Blent's going to be, Mina! If you don't come with us now, we won't let you stay at Merrion.”

”I'm coming,” said Mina. Indeed she would not have stayed away. If she had needed further inducement the next moment supplied it.

”You're to be our only confidant,” said Harry.

”Yes! Till it's all over, n.o.body's to know but you, Mina.”

The Imp was. .h.i.t on her weak spot. She was tremulously eager to go.

”Eight o'clock! Oh, can we be ready, Cecily?”

”Of course we shall be ready,” said Cecily scornfully.

Harry had taken his hat from the table and came up to shake hands. He was imperturbably calm and business-like.

”Don't run it too fine,” he said. ”Good-night, Madame Zabriska.”

She gave him her hand and he held it for a moment. He grew a little grave, but there was still a twinkle in his eye.

”You're a good friend,” he said. ”I shall come on you again, if I want you, you know.” He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

”I don't know that I care much about anything except you two,” stammered Mina.

He gripped her hand again. She seemed well paid. He held out his hand to Cecily. Mina understood.

”I shall be up a little while, Cecily. Come to me before you go to bed,”

she said; and she stood in the hall, watching them as they walked out together. There was joy in her heart--ay, and envy. The two brought tears to her eyes and struggled which should make the better claim to them. ”But they do like me!” she said in a plaintive yet glad little cry, as she was left alone in the silent old hall.

So still was the night that a man might hear the voice of his heart and a girl the throb of hers. And they were alone; or only the friendly murmur of old Blent was with them, seeming to whisper congratulations on their joy. Her arm was through his, very white on his sleeve, and she leant on him heavily.

”After tempests, dear,” said he.

”There shall be no more, no more, Harry.”

”Oh, I don't know that. I shall like you in them perhaps. And there may be one more, anyhow.”

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