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"I don't suppose any one will take the slightest notice of him," says Violet: "that is one comfort.",She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound lies here," and once more turns to the door.,"From Mr. Moore." A mischievous light comes into her face as she says this, and she laughs aloud. "But, I assure you, not as a love-token. He gave them to me when they were quite babies, and I reared them myself. Are they not lovely? I call them? 'Spice' and 'Allspice,' because one has a quicker temper than the other.",To her it is an awful moment. Never before has she stood face to face with dissolution, to wait for the snapping of the chain,—the breaking of the bowl. "Neither the sun nor death," says La Rochefoucauld, "can be looked at steadily;" and now "Death's thousand doors stand open" to receive this man that but an hour agone was full of life as she is now. His pulses throbbed, his blood coursed lightly through his veins, the grave seemed a far-off destination; yet here he lies, smitten to the earth, beaten down and trodden under, with nothing further to anticipate but the last change of all.,"I feel no pain," returns he, gallantly.,"I hope you are enjoying yourself," she says, presently, hardly knowing what else to say.,The girl hid her face in her robe and brushed the ground with the point of her moccasin, back and forth, back and forth, for she was thinking.,"The village is two miles farther on. I think you had better come in and breakfast here. Uncle will be very glad to see you," she says, hospitably. "And you must be tired.","But why?" demands he, dense as men will be at times. Then, as she refuses to enlighten his ignorance, slowly the truth dawns upon him.,The person answered him, "That is Wind Sucker's heart.","It was some joke, of course?" goes on Violet, not having received any answer to her first question.,"I hope with all my heart you will," says Mona..