“If there is someone else, Eileen, perhaps not, and yet—and yet—how often have you lectured me about being idle and good-for-nothing! Would to Heaven I had awakened, and listened to you sooner.” She buried her face in her hands. “I suppose I ought not to ask if there is someone else,” he said, watching her. “It would sound like an impertinence, wouldn’t it?” “Oh, Jack, don’t talk like this,” she begged. “Please, please forget about me. It hurts me so much to feel that I am hurting you.” “No, I can’t forget,” he answered very firmly. “I don’t want to; but I have no right to bother you with my love, when I have nothing in the world to offer. But I am going away, Eileen. I am going right away out of the country altogether, and some day, if I have succeeded, I shall come back; and if you are free I shall tell you again what I have told you to-day.” “You are going away!” she repeated incredulously, sitting up and gazing at him with questioning eyes. “Going away!—out of the country!” “Yes. I ought to have gone before.” “But the aunties, Jack!—whatever will the aunties do?” “I am afraid they will feel it very much, but I know they will understand, and I must go.” “But where to? Have you actually arranged it?” “Yes. There is a man is Newry named Wilkinson—I don’t know if you know him. He is home from the Argentine for a few months’ holiday. He has a large cattle ranch out there, and he wants me to go back with him. I have decided to go.” “Oh, Jack!” was all she could say. “Need it have been so far?” “Beggars can’t be choosers,” with a wintry smile. “I believe it is a good thing. Wilkinson is a nice fellow, and he has done very well in the ten years he has been out there. We were chums at school, you know, and he offers me a better job than anyone else would.” “Poor aunties! It will half kill them.” There was a long silence, then Jack spoke again: “I hoped—perhaps—that is,” he began hesitatingly—“Eileen, couldn’t you give me one word of hope to live on all the years I must be away?” He drew nearer and sat on the arm of her chair, as he had so often done through the time they had grown up together. “You’ll miss me a little, perhaps, and wish I could come back sooner—tell me, Eileen, that you’ll miss me.” “We shall miss you terribly, Jack,” she answered, struggling to keep back the tears. “England will not be the same without you. Mother and Paddy and I will miss you terribly.” “Is that all?” He leant forward and clasped one hand over both hers, looking hard into her face. “Is that all, Eileen!” and his voice was a prayer. “I’m afraid so, Jack. Oh! I wouldn’t have hurt you like this for the world. I never dreamt! I never thought! Are you sure you mean it, Jack?—Isn’t it just a dream or something?” “No, it is not a dream—I mean every word of it—but there is nothing for you to blame yourself about, and you must never do so. I think, perhaps, there is someone else—I was half afraid—only I wanted so to think it was a mistake.”