quiet happiness, as though an outward type of the peacefulness and joy
which made a heaven of the home of the young married folk. Considine's
life had not been an eventful one. The only disturbing element which he
had ever known was in his wooing of Mary Winston, and the long-continued
objection of her ambitious parents, who expected a brilliant match for
their only daughter. When Mr. and Mrs. Winston had discovered the
attachment of the young barrister, they had tried to keep the young
people apart by sending their daughter away for a long round of visits,
having made her promise not to correspond with her lover during her
absence. Love, however, had stood the test. Neither absence nor neglect
seemed to cool the passion of the young man, and jealousy seemed a thing
unknown to his sanguine nature; so, after a long period of waiting, the
parents had given in, and the young folk were married.

They had been living in the cottage a few months, and were just
beginning to feel at home. Gerald Burleigh, Joshua's old college chum,
and himself a sometime victim of Mary's beauty, had arrived a week
before, to stay with them for as long a time as he could tear himself
away from his work in London.

When her husband had quite disappeared Mary went into the house, and,
sitting down at the piano, gave an hour to Mendelssohn.

It was but a short walk across the common, and before the cigars
required renewing the two men had reached the gipsy camp. The place was
as picturesque as gipsy camps--when in villages and when business is
good--usually are. There were some few persons round the fire, investing
their money in prophecy, and a large number of others, poorer or more
parsimonious, who stayed just outside the bounds but near enough to see
all that went on.