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"It doesn't matter. Come upstairs with me, Mona. I want to tell you all about it," says Doatie. The reaction has set in, and she is again tearful, and reduced almost to despair. "I thought so all along," says Geoffrey, gravely. "I don't mind," says Mona. "We are Paddies, of course.".
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"Then don't," says Rodney, furiously, and flinging her hands from him, he turns and strides savagely down the hill, and is lost to sight round the corner. And by degrees, beneath her influence, Mona grows pale and distrait and in many respects unlike her old joyous self. Each cold, reproving glance and sneering word,—however carefully concealed—falls like a touch of ice upon her heart, chilling and withering her glad youth. Up to this she has led a bird's life, gay, insouciant, free and careless. Now her song seems checked, her sweetest notes are dying fast away through lack of sympathy. She is "cribbed, cabined, and confined," through no fault of her own, and grows listless and dispirited in her captivity. "Oh, my lady, if I must speak," cries the old man, "but it is terrible news to tell without a word of warning. Mr. Paul Rodney is dying: he shot himself half an hour ago, and is lying now at Rawson's Lodge in the beech wood." "My bow is broken. I cannot," said Broken Bow sadly..
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