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It was in the boudoir they were sitting, and Violet was dressed in some soft gray dress that shone and turned into palest pearl as she moved. It was his mother's boudoir, the room she most affects, with its crimson and gray coloring and its artistic arrangements, that blend so harmoniously, and are so tremendously becoming to the complexion when the blinds are lowered. How pretty Mona would look in a gray and crimson room? how——,"You have come!" cries he, in a tone Mona has never heard before, and then—there is no mistake about the fact that he and the shadow have embraced each other heartily.,The little pathetic insinuation is as perfect as it is touching.,This brings the skirmish to an end. Carthy, seeing all is lost, caves in, and, regardless of the prostrate figure of his companion, jumps hurriedly over the low wall, and disappears in the night-mist that is rolling up from the bay.,"Dorothy," says a voice outside at this very instant, so exactly as Doatie pauses that both she and Nicholas start simultaneously.,"Sure they all admire me," says Miss Mona, with an exasperating smile, meant to wither.,Violet is growing as nearly frightened as good breeding will permit at the protracted sobbing, when Sir Nicholas speaks.,"Where does he write from?" asks Violet.,The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land.,"How Rome and Spain would enchant you," he says watching her face intently, "and Switzerland, with its lakes and mountains!","I shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down her cheeks.,She makes him no answer..