Cashel Byron's Profession

In the month of May, seven years after the flight of the two boys

from Moncrief House, a lady sat in an island of shadow which was

made by a cedar-tree in the midst of a glittering green lawn. She

did well to avoid the sun, for her complexion was as delicately

tinted as mother-of-pearl. She was a small, graceful woman, with

sensitive lips and nostrils, green eyes, with quiet, unarched brows,

and ruddy gold hair, now shaded by a large, untrimmed straw hat. Her

dress of Indian muslin, with half-sleeves terminating at the elbows

in wide ruffles, hardly covered her shoulders, where it was

supplemented by a scarf through which a glimpse of her throat was

visible in a nest of soft Tourkaris lace. She was reading a little

ivory-bound volume--a miniature edition of the second part of

Goethe's "Faust."

As the afternoon wore on and the light mellowed, the lady dropped

her book and began to think and dream, unconscious of a prosaic

black object crossing the lawn towards her. This was a young

gentleman in a frock coat. He was dark, and had a long, grave face,

with a reserved expression, but not ill-looking.

"Going so soon, Lucian?" said the lady, looking up as he came into

the shadow.

Lucian looked at her wistfully. His name, as she uttered it, always

stirred him vaguely. He was fond of finding out the reasons of

things, and had long ago decided that this inward stir was due to

her fine pronunciation. His other intimates called him Looshn.

"Yes," he said. "I have arranged everything, and have come to give

an account of my stewardship, and to say good-bye."

He placed a garden-chair near her and sat down. She laid her hands

one on the other in her lap, and composed herself to listen.

"First," he said, "as to the Warren Lodge. It is let for a month

only; so you can allow Mrs. Goff to have it rent free in July if you

still wish to. I hope you will not act so unwisely."

She smiled, and said, "Who are the present tenants? I hear that they

object to the dairymaids and men crossing the elm vista."

"We must not complain of that. It was expressly stipulated when they

took the lodge that the vista should be kept private for them. I had

no idea at that time that you were coming to the castle, or I should

of course have declined such a condition."

"But we do keep it private for them; strangers are not admitted. Our

people pass and repass once a day on their way to and from the

dairy; that is all."