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Of Lady Rodney's studied dislike Mona's sensitive nature could not long remain in ignorance; yet, having a clear conscience, and not knowing in what she has offended,—save in cleaving to the man she loves, even to the extent of marrying him,—she keeps a calm countenance, and bravely waits what time may bring. "Yes, I have got it," also in a subdued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it is just too lovely! It's downright delicious; and satin, too! It must"—reproachfully—"have cost a great deal, and after all you told me about being poor! But," with a sudden change of tone, forgetting reproach and extravagance and everything, "it is exactly the color I love best, and what I have been dreaming of for years." "Oh, yes," says Mona, brightening even under this small touch of friendliness. "I'm very fond of it, too. I can get through all the steps without a mistake.".
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It is Paul Rodney. Her eyes have grown darker; her mouth is stern. To Rodney, who is watching her anxiously, she seems positively transformed. What a terrible power lies within her slight frame to feel both good and evil! What sad days may rest in store for this girl, whose face can whiten at a passing grievance, and whose hands can tremble at a woe in which only a dependant is concerned! Both sorrow and joy must be to her as giants, strong to raise or lower her to highest elevations or lowest depths. "You are candor itself," returns he, with a short laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Of course I am bound to hope your wish may be fulfilled. And yet I doubt it. I am nearer my object to-night than I have ever been before; and," with a sardonic smile, "yours has been the hand to help me forward." Yew-trees—grown till they form high walls—are cut and shaped in prim and perfect order, some like the walls of ancient Troy, some like steps of stairs. Little doors are opened through them, and passing in and out one walks on for a mile almost, until one loses one's way and grows puzzled how to extricate one's self from so charming a maze..
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