Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So late!—the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign.,
"Come here an' sit down, lad," says old Scully, unknowing of their secret mirth, "an' tell me all about it, from start to finish,—that Ryan's a thundering rogue,—while Mona sees about a bed for ye.",
"Oh, do not open that—do not!" says Mona, hastily, in an agony of fear, to judge by her eyes, laying a deterring hand upon his arm..
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