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"When you got the pistol so cleverly into your own possession, why on earth didn't you shoot him?" demands Mr. Darling, gloomily, who evidently feels bloodthirsty when he thinks of the Australian and his presumptuous admiration for the peerless Mona. "My son, you are very unhappy. I know why you have come this way. You are looking for your wife who is now in the ghost country. It is a very hard thing for you to get there. You may not be able to get your wife back, but I have great power and I will do for you all that I can. If you act as I advise, you may succeed." "Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old woman," says the duchess, equably..
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"Do you?" says Geoffrey, in a tone that means much. For Geoffrey the prelude has been played, and now at last he knows it. Up and down the little hall he paces, his hands behind his back, as his wont when deep in day-dreams, and asks himself many a question hitherto unthought of. Can he—shall he—go farther in this matter? Then this thought presses to the front beyond all others:—"Does she—will she—ever love me?" "Aren't you?" says Mona, in her tender fashion, that implies so kind a doubt. Raising one hand (the other is imprisoned), she draws his face down to her own. "I wouldn't have you altered in any way," she says; "not in the smallest matter. As you are, you are so dear to me you could not be dearer; and I love you now, and I shall always love you, with all my heart and soul." "I felt nothing, nothing, but the one thing that I was powerless to help you," says Mona, passionately; "that was bitter.".
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