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"Mona, do you think Elise is right? she is so very positive; are you sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" Or—,"What are you doing?" asks Geoffrey, presently, when they have returned to everyday life.,"And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time yet for a missing will or a—a—useful witness to turn up. That will," says Mona, musingly, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come to it. It may be discovered yet.",Three Bulls, chief of the camp, was a great man. He had a fierce temper, and when he spoke, people hurried to do what he ordered, for they feared him. He never talked loud nor called any one by an ill name. When any one displeased him or refused to do what he said he just smiled and then killed the person. He was brave. In battle with enemies he was the equal of twenty men, rushing here, there, into the thickest of the fights, and killing—always with that silent, terrible smile on his face. Because he was such a great warrior, and also because he was generous, helping the poor, feasting any who came to his lodge, he was the head chief of the Blackfeet.,Mona is the first to recover herself.,"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I trust to that and careful observation to reform me.",Rodney's heart throbs with passionate relief, yet shame covers him; for he himself, one day, had given her that heather, tied, as he remembers, with that selfsame grass; and she, poor child, had kept it ever since. She had treasured it, and laid it aside, apart from all other objects, among her most sacred possessions, as a thing beloved and full of tender memories; and his had been the hand to ruthlessly lay bare this hidden secret of her soul.,"Then I suppose when there you were too young to go out?" pursues the poor duchess, striving for information.,The breeze is so light that hardly a trembling of the leafless branches breaks the deadly silence that reigns all round:,"Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," exclaims he, with some growing excitement.,"Poor old soul!" says Sir Nicholas.,Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So late!—the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign..