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"I don't think you can make an inquiry about the bygone days of chivalry," she says, somewhat stiffly, and, having shaken the hand of her bewildered friend, and pecked gently at her cheek, she sails out of the room, disheartened, and wounded in spirit. "Oh, quite. They used to take me all over the college, and sometimes to the bands in the squares. They were very good to me." "I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you unhappy,—may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety..

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"Perhaps I feel nervous because of all the unhappy things one hears daily," goes on Mona, in a subdued voice. "That murder at Oola, for instance: that was horrible.' "In company with so divine a face, no rancorous thoughts could live," said the duke on one memorable occasion, alluding to Mona, which speech was rather a lofty soat for His Grace, he being for the most part of the earth, earthy. After a little time she succeeds in partially lifting the cloud that has fallen on her brother. He has grown strangely fond of her, and finds comfort in her gentle eyes and sympathetic mouth. Like all the rest, he has gone down before Mona, and found a place for her in his heart. He is laughing at some merry absurdity of hers, and is feeling braver, more hopeful, when a little chill seems to pass over him, and, turning, he confronts a tall dark young man who has come leisurely—but with a purpose—to where he and Mona are standing. Here the old woman at the fire, who has been getting up and down from her three-legged stool during the past few minutes, and sniffing at the pot in an anxious manner, gives way to a loud sigh of relief. Lifting the pot from its crook, she lays it on the earthen floor..