For a long minute silence reigned, all three actors in the little comedy listening to the heavy footsteps retreating down the passage, Carstares with one arm still around my lady’s waist and a rather strained look on his face. Molly instinctively felt that something beyond her ken was in the air, and glanced fearfully up at the white face above her. The expression in the blue eyes fixed on her husband made her turn sharply to look at him. She found that he was staring at my lord as though he saw a ghost. She wanted to speak, to relieve the tension, but all words stuck in her throat, and she could only watch the dénouement breathlessly. At last O’Hara moved, coming slowly towards them, reading John’s countenance. Some of the wonder went out of his face, and, as if he sensed the other’s agony of mind, he smiled suddenly and laid his hands once more on the straight, stiff shoulders.
“Jack, ye rascal, what do ye mean by hugging and kissing me wife under me very eyes?”
Molly all at once remembered the position of her “Cousin Harry’s” arm, and gave a little gasp, whisking herself away.
My lord put out his hands and strove to thrust his friend off.
“Miles, don't forget—don't forget—what I am!”
The words were forced out, but his head was held high.
“Tare an’ ouns, man! And is it meself that’ll be caring what ye may or may not be? Oh, Jack, Jack, I’m so pleased to see ye, that I can scarce realise ’tis
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