The whole of the long north gallery is flooded with its splendor. The oriel window at its farther end is lighted up, and from it can be seen a picture, living, real, that resembles fairy-land.,
"Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her.,
"Will that take her long?" asks Mona, somewhat wistfully, feeling, without understanding, some want in his voice..
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