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"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it. When she knows Mona she will love her,—who could help it? so he argues; and for this reason he keeps silence until such time as, his marriage being a fait accompli, hopeless expostulation will be of no avail, and will, therefore, be suppressed. "No, I am not afraid," says the girl, resisting his effort to put himself before her; and when he would have spoken she puts up her hands, and warns him to keep silence..
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She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt quotation from the one book she has studied very closely. At this Mona laughs unrestrainedly; and Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, says,— And so they are married, and last words are spoken, and adieux said, and sad tears fall, and for many days her own land knows Mona no more. "Yes, they are pretty, but insignificant," says the Æsthete, contemptuously. "Paltry children of the earth, not to be compared with the lenten or the tiger lily, or the fiercer beauty of the sunflower, or the hues of the unsurpassable thistle!".
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