That is the dreadful truth. “Yes. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. Suddenly he burst into wild laughter; but equally as suddenly something strangled the sound in his throat. " "It shall be, Sir," replied Ireton, bowing.
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