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The man cut the string that held the eyes, and his wife stood beside him. "Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, "I have heard of it. A third son would be poor, of course, and—and worldly people would not think so much of him as of others. Is that so?".
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And now Mona knows no more nervousness, but with a steady and practised hand binds up his arm, and when all is finished pushes him gently (very gently) from her, and "with heart on her lips, and soul within her eyes," surveys with pride her handiwork. "Kitty, can I do anything for you?" asks Mona, in a gentle whisper, bending over her and taking the hand that lies in her lap between both her own, with a pressure full of gentle sympathy. "I know there is nothing I can say but can I do nothing to comfort you?" "I am indeed dear to you, I think," says Mona, softly and thankfully, growing a little pale through the intensity of her emotion. "Perhaps you are tired of staying here," says Mona, with compunction, turning to Geoffrey, "and would like to go home? I suppose every one cannot love this spot as I do. Yes," rising, "I am selfish. Do come home.".
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