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"I sha'n't mind it very much," says Mona, earnestly. "It will be after all, only one half hour out of my whole day." "'Him'?—whom?"—demands her husband, with pardonable vivacity. Mona hardly hears him. She is thinking of Nicholas's face as it was half an hour ago when he had leaned against the deserted doorway and looked at pretty Dorothy..

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But Mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of Lady Rodney. As this is the idea that has haunted every one since the disclosure, and that they each and all have longed but feared to discuss, they now regard Nolly with admiration,—all save Lady Rodney, who, remembering her unpleasant insinuations of an hour ago, moves uneasily in her chair, and turns an uncomfortable crimson. "Very soon, Mickey," says Mona, without turning her head. But, though her words are satisfactory, her tone is not. There is a lazy ring in it that speaks of anything but immediate action. Mickey disbelieves in it. Creeping through the grass behind this person, something was slowly drawing near to him. There was no noise, the watcher heard nothing; still he sat there, looking out over the prairie, and turning his head neither to the right nor the left. This thing behind him kept creeping closer, and presently it was so near it could touch the man. Perhaps then there was some little rustle of the grass, and the watcher turned his head. It was too late. A strong arm around his neck bent his head back, a hand covered his mouth, a long stone knife was thrust into his breast, and he died in silence. The fading light had kept people in the camp from seeing what had happened..