On a low bed, with his eyes fastened eagerly upon the door, lies Paul Rodney, the dews of death already on his face.,
"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done.",
"'By and by' I shall be your wife," says Mona, archly, "and then my days for receiving flattery will be at an end. Sure you needn't grudge me a few pretty words now.".
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