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Carthy, having caught Mona's arms from behind just a little above the elbow, holds her as in a vice. There is no escape, no hope! Finding herself powerless, she makes no further effort for freedom, but with dilated eyes and parted, bloodless lips, though which her breath comes in quick agonized gasps, waits to see her lover murdered almost at her feet. "Now say a short prayer," says Ryan, levelling his gun; "for yer last hour has come." "Ah! Then you refuse to answer me," says Mona, hastily, if somewhat wearily. "Yet I feel sure—I know," she says, tremulously, "you are hiding something from me. Why do you not look at me when you answer my questions?".

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"Yes, it was I," she says. "And why shouldn't I? Is it to see you drown I would? I—I didn't want you to find out; but"—quickly—"I would do the same for any one at any time. You know that." "She took her to see the lake. Mona, you know, raves about it, when the moon lights it up. "I think I should like your mother," she says, naively and very sweetly, lifting her eyes steadily to his. "She is handsome, of course; and is she good as she is beautiful?" "He did lower them. He, too, must live; and, at all events, no persecution can excuse murder," says Mona, undaunted. "And who was so good to you as Mr. Moore last winter, when the famine raged round here? Was not his house open to you all? Were not many of your children fed by him? But that is all forgotten now; the words of a few incendiaries have blotted out the remembrance of years of steady friendship. Gratitude lies not with you. I, who am one of you, waste my time in speaking. For a very little matter you would shoot me too, no doubt!".