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"Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it.,But Mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to alter the sobriquet given her so long ago now. With much gentleness she tells Lady Rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her than any other could ever be; that to be Mrs. Geoffrey is the utmost height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only cause her pain and a vague sense of loss.,In the distance a woman is bending over a keeler making up a huge mass of butter into rolls, nicely squared and smoothed, to make them look their best and handsomest to-morrow.,"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely.,Not many nights after that the woman's child died, and she cried a great deal for it. She said to Old Man, "Let us change this. The law that you first made, let that be the law.","Tell us, Jenkins," says Nicholas, hastily.,"Yet he dares to admire you?" is what he does say, after a decided pause.,She pauses. But for the absurdity of the thing, Mr. Rodney would swear there is hope in her tone.,"You have," says Nolly.,"Oh, poor Nicholas!" says Mona sadly, "and poor little Doatie!",Flattery goes a long way with most men, but in this instance the subtle poison touches Mr. Rodney even more than it pleases him. He presses the hand that rests upon his arm an eighth of an inch nearer to his heart than it was before, if that be possible.,"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?".