It is dreary waiting. No sleep comes to her eyes; she barely moves; the dogs slumber drowsily, and moan and start in their sleep, "fighting their battles o'er again," it may be, or anticipating future warfare. Slowly, ominously, the clock strikes twelve. Two hours have slipped into eternity; midnight is at hand!,
"Ye—es; he will do," says Mona, after a second's careful thought, and even now reluctantly.,
"Is your brother, Mr. Rodney, like you?" asks Mona presently..
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