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"I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?" It is a triumph, if Mona only knew it, but she is full of sad reflections, and is just now wrapped up in mournful thoughts of Nicholas and little Dorothy. Misfortune seems flying towards them on strong swift wings. Can nothing stay its approach, or beat it back in time to effect a rescue? If they fail to find the nephew of the old woman Elspeth in Sydney, whither he is supposed to have gone, or if, on finding him they fail to elicit any information from him on the subject of the lost will, affairs may be counted almost hopeless. The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful..
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At this moment they come to a high bank, and Geoffrey, having helped Mona to mount it, jumps down at the other side, and holds out his arms to assist her to descend. As she reaches the ground, and while his arms are still round her, she says, with a sudden effort, and without lifting her eyes, "There is very good snipe-shooting here at Christmas." "The question was strictly in bad taste," says Lady Rodney again. "No well-bred man would ask it. I can hardly believe I know him. He must have been some impossible person." "Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her. "Why should you bear malice to any one?" says Mona uneasily..
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