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At this moment one of the pigeons—a small, pretty thing, bronze-tinged—flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though imploring more corn.,It is the first time he has ever used the tone of authority towards her, and involuntarily she shrinks from him, and glances up at him from under her long lashes in a half frightened, half-reproachful fashion, as might an offended child.,Each moment of delay only helps to increase her nervous excitement.,He lifts his head here, and laughs aloud, a short, unmirthful laugh.,"Is she—is she noisy?" she asks, in a faltering tone.,"An' what brought him home, the murdherin' scamp," says Miss Bridget, with more vehemence than politeness, "instid of stayin' wid ye to see ye came to no harm?","I am thinking that the man we saw before going into Kitty's cabin is the murderer!" she says, with a strong shudder.,"Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I am not fit to be that, and——",Instinct warns her of treachery; common sense belies the warning. To which shall she give ear?,"Oh, if you were determined—" returns she, with a shrug.,On the middle of the rustic bridge before mentioned he stops her, to say, unexpectedly,—,"I suppose so," she says, in a voice from which all joy has flown. "And it is only natural; you will be happier there." She is looking straight before her. There is no quiver in her tone; her lips do not tremble; yet he can see how pale she has grown beneath the vivid moonlight..