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Mona, whose Irish blood by this time is at its hottest, on finding herself powerless to restrain the movements of Carthy any longer, had rushed to the wall near, and, made strong by love and excitement, had torn from its top a heavy stone. This old woman had a kind heart. She made him moccasins—seven pairs; and gave him also a sack of food—pemican, dried meat, and back fat. "How can I go," he says, without daring to look at her, "until, at least, I ask for forgiveness?" He feels more nervous, more crushed in the presence of this little wounded Irish girl with her pride and her grief, than he has ever felt in the presence of an offended fashionable beauty full of airs and caprices. "Mona, love makes one cruel: I ask you to remember that, because it is my only excuse," he says, warmly. "Don't condemn me altogether; but forgive me once more.".
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"You are doing it beautifully: keep it up," whispers he back: "she'll give you something nice if you sustain that look for five minutes longer. Now!—she is looking; hurry—make haste—put it on again!" This last remark, being in a degree ungenerous, causes a sensation. A young man, stepping out from the confusion, says, very earnestly,— "You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he speaks. But Mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of Lady Rodney..
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