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Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts out crying afresh. In the background partly hidden by the gathering gloom, some fifteen men, and one or two women, are all huddled together, whispering eagerly, with their faces almost touching. The women, though in a great minority, are plainly having the best of it. "Well," asked the old woman, "for whom are you mourning?".
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"'Tis the English gintleman, miss,—Misther Rodney. He wants to see ye," says the fair Bridget, putting her head in at the doorway, and speaking in a hushed and subdued tone. CHAPTER XXXVII. "Misfortunes seem to crowd upon us," says Lady Rodney, bitterly. "It shall be as you say," replied the Wolf; "our new friend will be glad.".
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