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"I have nothing in my head," says Mona, tearfully. At this he would have drawn her into his arms, hoping her gayety may mean forgiveness and free absolution for all things said and done the day before; but she recoils from him. "But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?".
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"If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still tormenting herself with unseen evils,—"if ever I should see discontent in your eyes, how would it be with me then?" "Well?" says Sir Nicholas, as a deadly silence continues for some time after their departure, "what do you think of her?" The fire blazes up fiercely, and anon drops its flame and sinks into insignificance once more. Again the words that bear some vague but as yet undiscovered meaning haunt Mona's brain. "A splendid scheme." A vile conspiracy, perhaps. Oh, that she might be instrumental in saving these people from ruin, among whom her lot had been cast! But how weak her arm! How insufficient her mind to cope with an emergency like this! "You speak like a book," says Rodney, with an unlovely laugh; "but advice seldom cures. I only know that I have learned what stagnation means. I may alter in time, of course, but just at present I feel that.
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