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"What are you picking up?" called the son-in-law.,

"Wide open.",

And Jack is greatly pleased with them, and, seeing everything just now through a rose-colored veil, tells him self he is specially blessed in his own people, and that Geoffrey and old Nick are two of the decentest old men alive. Yet he too is a little distrait, being lost in an endeavor to catch Violet's eyes,—which eyes refuse persistently to be so caught.,

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Presently he came to another lodge, and the man who owned it came out and spoke to him, asking where he was going. The young man said, "I am looking for my dead wife. I mourn for her so much that I cannot rest. My little boy too keeps crying for his mother. They have offered to give me other wives, but I do not want them. I want the one for whom I am searching.",

"The poor fellow is calling for you, Mona, incessantly," he says. "It remains with you to decide whether you will go to him or not. Geoffrey, you should have a voice in this matter, and I think she ought to go.",

As for the Australian, he has grown pale indeed, but is quite self-possessed, and the usual insolent line round his mouth has deepened. The dogs have by no means relaxed their vigil, but still crouch before him, ready for their deadly spring at any moment. It is a picture, almost a lifeless one, so motionless are all those that help to form it. The fading fire, the brilliant lamp, the open window with the sullen night beyond, Paul Rodney standing upon the hearthrug with folded arms, his dark insolent face lighted up with the excitement of what is yet to come, gazing defiantly at his cousin, who is staring back at him, pale but determined. And then Mona, in her soft white gown, somewhat in the foreground, with one arm (from which the loose sleeve of the dressing-gown has fallen back, leaving the fair rounded flesh to be seen) thrown around her husband's neck, is watching Rodney with an expression on her face that is half haughtiness, half nervous dread. Her hair has loosened, and is rippling over her shoulders, and down far below her waist; with her disengaged hand she is holding it back from her ear, hardly knowing how picturesque and striking is her attitude, and how it betrays each perfect curve of her lovely figure.,

"Violet, play us something," says Geoffrey, who has quite entered into the spirit of the thing, and who doesn't mind his mothers "horrors" in the least, but remembers how sweet Mona used to look when going slowly and with that quaint solemn dignity of hers "through her steps."