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Lady Rodney, too, is quite happy. Everything has come right; all is smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending fear. With Paul Rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and Mona's greatness of heart has subdued the former. She has conquered and laid her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors flying.,

During the past month he has grown singularly domestic, and fond of home and its associations. Perhaps Violet has something to do with this, with her little calm thoroughbred face, and gentle manners, and voice low and trainante. Yet it would be hard to be sure of this, Captain Rodney being one of those who have "sighed to many," without even the saving clause of having "loved but one." Yet with regard to Mona there is no mistake about Jack Rodney's sentiments. He likes her well (could she but know it) in all sincerity.,

"How I wish it didn't!" says Mona, with a sigh.,

CHAPTER XXXI.For a second Mona's courage fails her, and then it returns with threefold force. In truth, she is nearer death at this moment than she herself quite knows.

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Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons—brown and white and bronze and gray—come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery resting-place upon her bosom.,

"Her form!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, surveying the tiny Mrs. Lennox from head to foot in sheer wonderment. "She need hardly pride herself on that. She hasn't much of it, has she?",

Lights are blazing, fiddles are sounding; all the world is abroad to-night. Even still, though the ball at the Towers has been opened long since by Mona and the Duke of Lauderdale, the flickering light of carriage-lamps is making the roads bright, by casting tiny rays upon the frosted ground.,

Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying perdu in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or reason.