"I suffer nothing: I have no pain now. I am inexpressibly, happy," replies he, with a smile radiant, though languid. Forgetful of his unfortunate state, he raises his other hand, and, bringing it across the bed, tries to place it on Mona's. But the action is too much for him. His face takes a leaden hue, more ghastly than its former pallor, and, in spite of an heroic effort to suppress it, a deep groan escapes him.,
"He was the Duke of Lauderdale," says Mona, simply. "Here is his card.",
He moves towards the door with "pride in his port, defiance in his eye," as Goldsmith would say..
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