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"You are not well, are you, Mrs. Geoffrey?" he says, sympathetically, getting up from his own chair to lean tenderly over the back of hers. Nolly is nothing if not affectionate, where women are concerned. It gives him no thought or trouble to be attentive to them, as in his soul he loves them all,—in the abstract,—from the dairymaid to the duchess, always provided they are pretty.,She tucks up her dignified train in a most undignified haste, while Geoffrey covers up all the finery with the crimson shawl. The white cloud is once more thrown over the dainty cap; all the pretty coloring vanishes out of sight; and Mona, after one last lingering glance at Geoffrey, follows its example. She, too, flies across the rural bridge into the covert of her own small domain.,"You are at Mangle Farm," returns she. Then, judging by the blank expression on his face that her words bring him no comfort, she continues with a smile, "That doesn't seem to help you much, does it?","Eh?" says Mona, innocently, and stares at him with an expression so full of bewilderment, being puzzled by his tone more than his words, that presently Mr. Rodney becomes conscious of a feeling akin to shame. Some remembrance of a line that speaks of "a soul as white as heaven" comes to him, and he makes haste to hide the real meaning of his words.,"You evidently want to get rid of me," says Rodney, discouraged, taking up his hat. He takes up her hand, too, and holds it warmly, and looks long and earnestly into her face.,The old women said, "At the Point of Rocks—on Sun River—there is a camp. There is a piskun there.","Bridget," says Mona, "will you go in and get me a cup of tea before I go to bed? I am tired.","How can I thank you?" says Maxwell, "for all——","You've been reading novels," says Rodney, contemptuously.,"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are wool-gathering.","If he is as fat as you say, he will be a good mark for a bullet," says Mr. Rodney, genially, almost—I am ashamed to say—hopefully. "I should think they would easily pot him one of these dark night that are coming. By this time I suppose he feels more like a grouse than a man, eh?—'I'll die game' should be his motto.","He has stolen the will. Taken it away. That paper you hold must have fallen from him, and contains the directions about finding the right panel. Ah! what shall we do now?".