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An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home presently from their work.,Mīka´pi travelled onward.,"Earth putteth on the borrow'd robes of heaven,,"To what part of Ireland?","You can see it now if you wish," says Mona, quickly, the thought that she may be able to entertain him in some fashion that will not require conversation is dear to her. She therefore takes his arm, and leads him out of the ballroom, and across the halls into the library, which is brilliantly lighted, but just at this moment empty.,"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!","Are you going no farther?" asks Rodney, hoping sincerely she will say "No." She does say it.,"I am staying at a shooting-lodge called Coolnagurtheen. Do you know where that is.","You terrify me," says Geoffrey, with a grimace. "You think, then, that Mona is pretty?","Mona! Are you crying for me?" says Paul Rodney, as though surprised. "Do not. Your tears hurt me more than this wound that has done me to death.",Hame, hame to my ain countrie,,She is sad and depressed before she reaches the hall door, where she is unfortunate enough to find a carriage just arrived, well filled with occupants eager to obtain admission..