"The ruffian!" savagely exclaimed Gerald. "If I don't wring his heart for this may I inherit everlasting torture."
How he fulfilled his oath we shall see in time.
In no very enviable mood, Frank Carolan sought his humble home; bitterly he repented ever having known Desmond, and firmly he resolved to give up all acquaintance which had grown out of this association, and depend for the future upon his own honest exertions. Brave resolve, seriously and sacredly intended at the time, as all good resolutions usually are.
The only being that Frank cared for in the world was his sister Mary—a bright and beautiful young creature, just bursting into womanhood, graceful as a wild fawn, and as timid; unselfishly and wholly, with a most absorbing love, he loved her. Upon reaching home, he found her in tears, grieving for his prolonged absence, for it was early morning; but the moment he appeared, the rain-drops of sorrow fled, and joy's own bright ray sparkled in her face once more.
"Where have you been so late, dear Frank?" she murmured, as he kissed her dewy eyes.
"Where, I solemnly promise, my own Mary, never to go again."
"You were with Gerald Desmond, were you not?"
"I was! But he and I are brothers, friends, no longer."
"The saints be praised for it," fervently cried his sister. "There is something about Desmond's eyes that frightens me. 'Tis good for neither of us that he should be too near."