"But how could I help it?" says Mona, simply. "Oh, what a wretched state this country is in! turmoil and strife from morning till night. And yet to talk to those very people, to mix with them, they seem such courteous, honest, lovable creatures!",
Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediæval saint. So thinks Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect.,
Perhaps, just at first, surprise is too great to permit of his feeling either astonishment or indignation. He looks from Paul Rodney to Mona, and then from Mona back to Rodney. After that his gaze does not wander again. Mona, running to him, throws herself into his arms, and there he holds her closely, but always with his eyes fixed upon the man he deems his enemy..
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