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Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour.","Yes. When talking then of supplanting Sir Nicholas at the Towers, you spoke of your project as a 'splendid scheme.' What did you mean by it? I cannot get the words out of my head since. Is 'scheme' an honest word?",As he reaches the broad stream that divides him from the land he would reach, he pauses and tries to think of any decent excuse that may enable him to walk with a bold front up to the cottage door. But no such excuse presents itself. Memory proves false. It refuses to assist him. He is almost in despair.,Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon her.,"Yes, I excuse you," he says, with a curious stress upon the pronoun, and a rather strained smile. The room is filling with other people, the last dance having plainly come to an end. Geoffrey, taking Mona's arm, leads her into the hall.,"Well, I noticed that, too. There did seem to be a great scarcity of that raw material," answers Darling, lightly. "Yet they are a fine race in spite of it. I'm going over again to see my friend Terry before very long. He is the most amusing fellow, downright brilliant. So is his hair, by the by,—the very richest crimson.","Quite sure," says Mona, and then she laughs aloud—a sweet, joyous laugh,—and clasps her hands together with undisguised delight and satisfaction.,"Her angel's face,At his touch, at his glance, the first sense of comfort Mona has felt since her entry into the room falls upon her. This man, at least, is surely of the same kith and kin as Geoffrey, and to him her heart opens gladly, gratefully.,"Well, just wait till I tuck up the tail of my gown," says Mrs. Geoffrey, airily flinging her pale-blue skirt over her white bare arm.,This happened long ago.,"You see me," says the man, sullenly; "an' ye may guess my errand." He fingers the trigger of his gun in a terribly significant manner as he speaks..