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"But why?" asks Mona, in amaze. "Didn't he wear one?","Yet, in spite of what you say, you turn from me, you despise me," exclaims he, with some growing excitement.,She looks at him as she says this, fearlessly, honestly, and without a suspicion of coquetry.,"Yes; Gabriel—poor Gabriel and Evangeline," returns she, too wrapped up in recollections of that sad and touching tale to take to heart his meaning:—,"Well, Gee whitticker!" he exclaimed. "Who do you s'pose had the nerve to take it?","Then I will sing you a song I was sent last week," says Mona, and forthwith sings him "Years Ago," mournfully, pathetically, and with all her soul, as it should be sung. Then she gives him "London Bridge," and then "Rose-Marie," and then she takes her fingers from the piano and looks at him with a fond hope that he will see fit to praise her work.,"That word shall never pass my lips again in your company,—never, I swear!" says he, "until you give me leave. My darling," in a low tone, "if you could only know how vexed I am about the whole affair, and my unpardonable conduct! Yet, Mona, I will not hide from you that this little bit of senseless heather has made me happier than I have ever been before.",Dido opened her clenched fist. The Voodoo stone lay in the palm of her hand.,"Say who you think killed Maurice.","Well, I like that!" says her brother. "And pray what was to happen if I didn't? I gave 'em ten minutes; quite sufficient law, I think. If they couldn't get it over in that time, they must have forgotten their native tongue. Besides, I wanted to get down; the forked seat in the laurel was not all my fancy had painted it in the beginning, and how was I to know when they were gone unless I looked? Why, otherwise I might be there now. I might be there until next week," winds up Mr. Darling, with increasing wrath.,"A mere nothing," says Nicholas, airily; "we were merely chaffing him a little, because you know what a mess he makes of anything of that sort he takes in hand.",Mona takes no notice of his words, but still stands by the table, with her hands folded, her long white robes clinging to her, her eyes lowered, her whole demeanor like that of some mediæval saint. So thinks Rodney, who is gazing at her as though he would forever imprint upon his brain the remembrance of a vision as pure as it is perfect..