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"I suppose she is a Roman Catholic," says Sir Nicholas musingly.,The stream, though insignificant, is swift. Placing her strong young arms, that are rounded and fair as those of any court dame, beneath Rodney, she lifts him, and, by a supreme effort, and by right of her fresh youth and perfect health, draws him herself to land.,"If you wish," he says, in a courteous tone, but one full of coldness; and so they commence their homeward journey.,She lays her hand upon her heart, as though she would say, "The wound lies here," and once more turns to the door.,"There can be scarcely any question about that," says Lady Rodney, unwilling to let any occasion pass that may permit a slap at Mona.,They have reached the farm again by this time, and Geoffrey, taking up the guns he had left behind the hall door,—or what old Scully is pleased to call the front door in contradistinction to the back door, through which he is in the habit of making his exits and entrances,—holds out his hand to bid her good-by.,"But, my dearest, why? There is not the slightest danger now, and my horse is a good one, and I sha'n't be any time getting——",Later on, when they open the paper that had been given by the dead man into the keeping of Dr. Bland, and which proves to be his will, duly signed and witnessed by the gamekeeper and his son, they find he has left to Mona all of which he died possessed. It amounts to about two thousand a year; of which one thousand is to come to her at once, the other on the death of his mother.,A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern can be seen.,Overcome by the heat of the fire, her luncheon, and the blessed certainty that for this one day at least no one is to be admitted to her presence, Lady Rodney has given herself up a willing victim to the child Somnus. Her book—that amiable assistant of all those that court siestas—has fallen to the ground. Her cap is somewhat awry. Her mouth is partly open, and a snore—gentle, indeed, but distinct and unmistakable—comes from her patrician throat.,"Alas! Geoffrey has told me everything," says Mona, "That is why I am now seeking for you. I thought, I knew, you were unhappy, and I wanted to tell you how I suffer with you.","Did she have both together on her knee?" asks Dorothy, vaguely. "She must have found it heavy.".