"No, no, Sir," replied Ireton. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. ’ Roding started. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. It was on the eve of that memorable rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. 132 “I thought you wanted me—you told me so when we kissed in the park!” He cried.
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