Yet Fanny Challoner would scarcely have accepted Mohun's good offices if she had guessed that the blood of her seducer and tyrant was on his hand. She never suspected it, and so went gratefully to the home he found for her; and there she lives yet, tranquil and contented, though always sad and humble, among people who know nothing of her history and love her dearly, trying her best to be useful in her generation—alone in her cottage, that nestles under a sunny cliff, just above the white spray-line of the Irish Sea.
CHAPTER XXV.
"Let me see her once again.
Let her bring her proud dark eyes,
And her petulant quick replies;
Let her wave her slender hand
With its gesture of command,
And throw back her raven hair
With the old imperial air;