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When the dark, wayward, handsome young man went away, her heart went with him, and she alone perhaps knew anything of him after his departure. To his father his absence was a relief; he did not disguise it; and to his brother (who had married, and had then three children, and had of late years grown estranged from him) the loss was not great. Nor did the young madam,—as she was called,—the mother of our present friends, lose any opportunity of fostering and keeping alive the ill will and rancor that existed for him in his father's heart. Kneeling down by her, Dorothy lays her head upon Mona's knee, and bursts out crying afresh. "Very well, then: we will make the attempt," says he, gayly. "'Nothing venture, nothing have.'".

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"There, don't cry, and you shall have it all your own way," he says, with a sigh. "To-morrow we will decide what is to be done." "But you said if the buffalo would only jump over, you would marry one of them. Look, the piskun is full." "Is your brother, Mr. Rodney, like you?" asks Mona presently. To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,—the breaking of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate but the last change of all..