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"I shall tell you," exclaims she, in a higher tone, her pale-blue eyes flashing. "Two hours ago my own maid received a note from Paul Rodney's man directed to your wife. When she read it she dressed herself and went from this house in the direction of the wood. If you cannot draw your own conclusions from these two facts, you must be duller or more obstinate than I give you credit for." "I wonder you do not hate me," says Mona, with a brokenhearted sob, "when you remember I am of the same blood as these wretches." "The boys send it to me. Anything new that comes out, or anything they think will suit my voice, they post to me at once.".
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Two tears gather, and roll slowly down Mona's white cheeks. And then somehow her thoughts wander back to the old farmhouse at the side of the hill, with the spreading trees behind it, and to the sanded floor and the cool dairy, and the warmth of the love that abounded there, and the uncle, who, if rough, was at least ready to believe her latest action—whatever it might be—only one degree more perfect than the one that went before it. These sounds, vague and harmonious as they are, yet full of mystery and unexplained sadness, but serve to heighten the fear that chills her heart. "Tell me why you hesitated in your speech a while ago. Talking of Rodney's giving you the will, you said he offered to give it you if—if——What did the 'if' mean?" She motions impatiently with her hand, and Geoffrey, being compelled to it by her vehemence, draws a high chair close to that part of the wall that seems to have claimed her greatest attention..
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