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"Oh, it is dreadfully late!" says Mona, with much compunction. "Come, let us hurry.","It is very hard on Sir Nicholas," says Mona, who would not call him "Nick" now for the world.,It is ten days later. The air is growing brisker, the flowers bear no new buds. More leaves are falling on the woodland paths, and the trees are throwing out their last bright autumn tints of red and brown and richest orange, that tell all too plainly of the death that lies before them.,She makes various attempts at thinking it out. She places her pretty hands upon her prettier brows, under the mistaken impression common to most people that this attitude is conducive to the solution of mysteries; but with no result. Things will not arrange themselves.,"What a curious child you are!" he says, at length. "You are never the same for two minutes together.","I have given it," returns she, in a low tone,—so low that he has to bend to hear it. "Do not be angry with me, do not—I——","I shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down her cheeks.,"Thief!" echoes Paul in a terrible tone. His whole face quivers, A murderous light creeps into his eyes.,"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he speaks.,Other wise words she spoke to him, telling him what he should do; also she gave him a bundle of mysterious things which would help him on his journey.,"No; he is not like me," he says, abruptly: "he is a much better fellow. He is, besides, tall and rather lanky, with dark eyes and hair. He is like my father, they tell me; I am like my mother.","Then you have something on your mind. You have not been your usual perfect self all the morning.".