This was in February, but his sister evidently felt some uneasiness on the subject, for she recurred to it several times, and when nothing led to the remark, observed to Cornelius with a wistful look—
"I hope it may be well hung, Cornelius."
"I hope so," he quietly replied.
At length came the day on which this interesting fact was to be ascertained. A bright May day it was; Cornelius wished to go alone, "there always was such a crowd on the first day," and had his wish. We stayed at home trying to seem very careless, very indifferent, but Miss O'Reilly could not work and I could not study. We began sudden conversations on common-place themes, that broke off as they had commenced, at once and without cause. Of the real subject that occupied our thoughts we never spoke. I went up and down the house with unusual restlessness, ever coming back to the window that overlooked the Grove.
"I should like to know what you mean by it?" suddenly asked Miss
O'Reilly. "Why do you look out of that window?"
"Cornelius told me he would come by the Grove."
"And why do you fidget about his coming back on this particular day? Just get out of my light, if you please."
I obeyed; but the next thing Kate did herself was to open the window and look down the Grove. The day was waning; Cornelius did not return; she could not keep in, but said anxiously—
"I am afraid it is not well hung, after all."
"I am afraid it is not," I replied, for I too began to feel very uncomfortable.