"Then I must have an agreement signed. You understand that. And we shall look for cheaper rooms to-day. There is a little street close by where we can manage it. But on the one thing we are determined;--we will not get into debt." CHAPTER VIII. CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1880. On Christmas-day Rachel O'Mahony wrote a letter to her lover at Morony Castle: Cecil Street, Christmas-day, 1880. DEAREST FRANK, You do love me, don't you? What's the use of my loving you, and thinking that you are everything, only that you are to love me? I am quite content that it should be so. Only let it be so. You'll ask me what reason I have to be jealous. I am not jealous. I do think in my heart that you think that I'm--just perfect. And when I tell myself that it is so, I lay myself back in my chair and kiss at you with my lips till I am tired of kissing the space where you ain't. But if I am wrong, and if you are having a good time of it with Miss Considine at Mrs. McKeon's ball, and are not thinking a bit of me and my kisses, what's the use? It's a very unfair bargain that a woman makes with a man. "Yes; I do love you," I say,--"but--" Then there's a sigh. "Yes; I'll love you," you say--"if--" Then there's a laugh. If I tell a fib, and am not worth having, you can always recuperate. But we can't recuperate. I'm to go about the world and be laughed at, as the girl that Frank Jones made a fool of. Oh! Mr. Jones, if you treat me in that way, won't I punish you? I'll jump into the lough with a label round my neck telling the whole story. But I am not a bit jealous, because I know you are good. And now I must tell you a bit more of my history. We got rid of that lovely hotel, paying L6 10s., when that just earned L1. And I have brought the piano with me. The man at Erard's told me that I should have it for L2 10s. a month, frankly owning that he hoped to get my custom. "But Mr. Moss is to pay nothing?" I asked. He swore that Mr. Moss would have to pay nothing, and leave what occurred between him and me. I don't think he will. L30 a year ought to be enough for the hire of a piano. So here we are established, at L10 a month--the first-floor, with father's bedroom behind the sitting-room. I have the room upstairs over the sitting-room. They are small stumpy little rooms,--"but mine own." Who says--"But mine own?" Somebody does, and I repeat it. They are mine own, at any rate till next Saturday.