he murmured faintly,
“My own Rosaleen!”
So Denis went to tend the horses, drawing his sleeve across his eyes and hating Lady Clancarty from the bottom of his simple devoted heart.
“The foine lady,” he muttered; “faix—I’d loike ter make her shid a tear or two—fer all her bright eyes an’ her red cheeks—th’ heartless colleen!”
CHAPTER XXII
“UNTIL DEATH US DO PART”
IT was nearly a week later and Lady Betty’s chair was passing down the main street of Newmarket when she espied Denis at the corner of a lane that ran between a mercer’s shop and Drake’s. She stopped her chair, and springing from it ran after him, ran quite regardless of the people in the street who stood gaping at the charming young woman running after a groom. She overtook him at the end of the lane; they were behind the mercer’s shop, and Denis started at the sight of her and stood irresolute, eying her grimly. She snatched the vizard from her face.
“Where is your master?” she demanded breathlessly, “where is Lord Clancarty?”