There are two tombs close to each other in the strangers’ burial-place at Rome: they cover those for whom life, unequally long, terminated in the same month. The one is of a woman, bowed with the burden of many years: the other darkens over the dust of the young artist.
CHAPTER XXV.
Think upon my grief,
And on the justice of my flying hence,
To keep me from a most unholy match.—SHAKSPEARE.
“But are you quite sure,” said General St. Leger, “are you quite sure that this girl still permits Mordaunt’s addresses?”
“Sure!” cried Miss Diana St. Leger, “sure, General! I saw it with my own eyes. They were standing together in the copse, when I, who had long had my suspicions, crept up, and saw them; and Mr. Mordaunt held her hand, and kissed it every moment. Shocking and indecorous!”
“I hate that man! as proud as Lucifer,” growled the General. “Shall we lock her up, or starve her?”
“No, General, something better than that.”
“What, my love? flog her?”
“She’s too old for that, brother; we’ll marry her.”