Others have a house empty and garnished, in
which neither Love nor Hope dwells. A self, with no God to protect
from it, a self unrulable, insatiable, makes of existence to some
the hell called madness. Godless man is a horror of the
unfinished--a hopeless necessity for the unattainable! The most
discontented are those who have all the truthless heart desires.
Thoughts like these were coming and going in Donal's brain, when he
heard a slight sound somewhere near him--the lightest of sounds
indeed--the turning of the leaf of a book. He raised his head and
looked, but could see no one. At last, up through the tree-boles on
the slope of the hill, he caught the shine of something white: it
was the hand that held an open book. He took it for the hand of a
lady. The trunk of a large tree hid the reclining form. He would
go back! There was the lovely cloth-striped meadow to lie in!
He rose quietly, but not quietly enough to steal away. From behind
the tree, a young man, rather tall and slender, rose and came
towards him. Donal stood to receive him.
"I presume you are unaware that these grounds are not open to the
public!" he said, not without a touch of haughtiness.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Donal. "I found the gate open, and
the shade of the trees was enticing."
"It is of no consequence," returned the youth, now with some
condescension; "only my father is apt to be annoyed if he sees any
one--"
He was interrupted by a cry from farther up the hill--
"Oh, there you are, Percy!"
"And there you are, Davie!" returned the youth kindly.
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