"Oh, yes, you will; besides I do not wish you to come." There was
an end of it for Ida, and Mrs. Talboys and O'Brien walked off
together, while we all looked into each other's faces.

"It would be a charity to go with them," said Mackinnon.

"Do you be charitable, then," said his wife.

"It should be a lady," said he.

"It is a pity that the mother of the spotless cherubim is not here
for the occasion," said she. "I hardly think that any one less
gifted will undertake such a self sacrifice." Any attempt of the
kind would, however, now have been too late, for they were already
at the bottom of the hill. O'Brien had certainly drunk freely of
the pernicious contents of those long-necked bottles; and though no
one could fairly accuse him of being tipsy, nevertheless that which
might have made others drunk had made him bold, and he dared to do--
perhaps more than might become a man. If under any circumstances he
could be fool enough to make an avowal of love to Mrs. Talboys, he
might be expected, as we all thought, to do it now.

We watched them as they made for a gap in the wall which led through
into the large enclosed space of the old circus. It had been an
arena for chariot games, and they had gone down with the avowed
purpose of searching where might have been the meta, and
ascertaining how the drivers could have turned when at their full
speed. For awhile we had heard their voices,--or rather her voice
especially. "The heart of a man, O'Brien, should suffice for all