I—well, I lost my temper. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. CHAPTER XXXI. ‘It is Yol—’ She broke off abruptly, her face collapsing into an expression of acute consternation. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. The phone did not ring. Dare we look back upon the darkened vista, and, in imagination retrace the path we have trod? With how many vain hopes is it shaded! with how many good resolutions, never fulfilled, is it paved! Where are the dreams of ambition in which, twelve years ago, we indulged? Where are the aspirations that fired us—the passions that consumed us then? Has our success in life been commensurate with our own desires—with the anticipations formed of us by others? Or, are we not blighted in heart, as in ambition? Has not the loved one been estranged by doubt, or snatched from us by the cold hand of death? Is not the goal, towards which we pressed, further off than ever—the prospect before us cheerless as the blank behind?—Enough of this. Capes saw her, felt for her, cared for her greatly, even if he did not love her. We'll be upon the ban-dogs before they can shake their trotters!" And the alarm was sounded more loudly than ever.
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