"You have given me great happiness," he repeated. "And now, good-bye, my dear, good-bye." A day or two later Carrickmoyle was startled by the news that Lord Glengall had sailed for Australia. CHAPTER XVII. "THOUGH 'TWERE TEN THOUSAND MILE." "I wish something would happen," said Sylvia; "it is the longest summer I have ever known." Sylvia was wearing black for Miss Spencer, who had passed away peacefully a few weeks after that talk with Pamela. When the legal formalities were completed, Sylvia would be _châtelaine_ of Dovercourt; but her interest in her inheritance seemed very slight. "By-and-by," she had said, "I shall be glad to know that I have money to do things with; but just at present I can only remember what it is that has made me rich." [Illustration: "I thought you were going to marry him, Bridget."] "Why not have Mr. Baker or Mr. St. Quintin to tea quietly?" suggested Pam. "I am sure they are longing to come, and they would cheer you up." But Sylvia would not. She preferred to wander from the house to the garden with the dogs at her heels, or to stray from one room to another, having a desultory chat with her father, who was now up and about, or with Mary, cheerfully sewing her bridal clothes, usually ending up with a visit to Bridget in the kitchen. Bridget quite agreed with Sylvia about the dulness of the house, and suggested the same remedy for it as Pamela had done. "Have a bit of company, child," she said. "Sure, her that's gone (the heavens be her bed!) 'ud be the last to grudge the young what's natural to the young, let alone that I hear young Mr. St. Quintin's that mopy that they say 'tis to horse-racin' he's took, wid the design of breakin' his neck by way of divarsion." "Don't talk such nonsense, Bridget," said Sylvia languidly. "The horse is not born that could unseat Mr. St. Quintin. He can stick on like grim death. But I don't feel that company, such company as I could get, would be any good to me. I don't like young people, Bridget." "Well, sorra such a house I ever was in," said Bridget, scandalised. "Never mind, Bridget dear," said Sylvia, who had temporarily lost her taste for sharp argument with Bridget. "I suppose I was born old." "Listen to her," cried Bridget, "an' she wid the lightest feet, aye, an' the purtiest face in the barony! Between you and Miss Pamela, me heart's fairly bruk. There's Miss Pamela, that ought to be goin' to be married a week from next Tuesday, goin' round as mopy as a chicken wid the pip. I never seen such goin's on anywhere I was." "It certainly _is_ time," said Sylvia again, "that something should happen, and, short of marrying myself, Bridget, I'll do anything to bring it about."