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Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned., "Good-by," says Mona, softly, giving him her hand. He keeps it fast in both his own. Just at this moment it dawns upon her for the first time that this man loves her with a love surpassing that of most. The knowledge does not raise within her breast—as of course it should do—feelings of virtuous indignation: indeed, I regret to say that my heroine feels nothing but a deep and earnest pity, that betrays itself in her expressive face., At which Mona turns round to him a face very pale, but full of such love as should rejoice the heart of any man, and says, tremulously,—.