"You and I appreciate Jack, if she doesn't, don't we, Mona?" she says, with pretty malice, echoing Mona's merriment. After which the would-be lecture comes to an end, and the three girls, clothing themselves in furs, go for a short walk before the day quite closes in.,
Indeed, no sound disturbs the sacred silence save the crisp rustle of the dead leaves, as they are trodden into the ground.,
"Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale,
Again she has grown silent, as though oppressed with thought; and he too is mute, but all his mind is crowded with glad anticipations of what the near future is to give him. He has no regrets, no fears. At length, struck by her persistent taciturnity, he says, "What is it, Mona?"
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"You are indeed," he says, in a tone so grateful that it ought to have betrayed to her his meaning. But grief and disappointment have seized upon her.,
Must she go back for a candle? Must she pass again all those belted knights upon the staircase and in the upper gallery? No! rather will she brave the darkness of the more congenial library, and—but soft—what is that? Surely a tiny gleam of light is creeping to her feet from beneath the door of the room towards which she wends her way.,
But when they came to look for the will, lo! it was nowhere to be found. Each drawer and desk and cabinet was searched to no avail. Never did the lost document come to light.,
Mrs. Rodney, however, has been foraging on her own account during this brief interlude, and now brings triumphantly to light a little basin filled with early snowdrops.
The moments come and go. The fire is dying out. No sound but that of the falling cinders comes to disturb the stillness that reigns within the library. Mona is vaguely, wondering what the end of it all will be. And then at last the silence is broken. A noise upon the gravel outside, a quick rush up the balcony steps; some one emerges from the gloom of the night, and comes into the room through the open window. Mona utters a passionate cry of relief and joy. It is Geoffrey!
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"And do say it is like it," says Mona, entreatingly.
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It’s a Quan-Yuan
He has stooped very much over indeed. His hand is on the fern; he has safely carefully extracted it, roots and all (one would think I was speaking of a tooth! but this is by the way), from its native home, when cr-r-k goes something; the branch on which he rests betrays him, and smashing hurls him head downwards into the swift but shallow stream below.
hchnq-Xu,
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Slowly he draws from his pocket a paper, folded neatly, that looks like some old parchment. Mona draws her breath quickly, and turns first crimson with emotion, then pale as death. Opening it at a certain page, he points out to her the signature of George Rodney, the old baronet.
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Halin-Chen Response,
>"At home," returns he. He is gazing out of the window, with his hands clasped behind his back, and does not pay so much attention to her words as is his wont.
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