"Come over to the window, and I will tell you," says Mrs. Geoffrey.

"He--he--you must take no notice of it, Geoffrey, but he wanted to kiss me. He offered me the will for one kiss, and----"

"You didn't get possession of it in that way?" asks he, seizing her hands and trying to read her face.

"Oh, no! But listen to my story. When he saw how I hated his proposal, he very generously forgave the price, and let me have the doc.u.ment a free gift. That was rather good of him, was it not? because men like having their own way, you know."

"Very self-denying of him, indeed," says Geoffrey, with a slight sneer, and a sigh of relief.

"Had I given in, would you have been very angry?" asks she regarding him earnestly.

"Very."

"Then what a mercy it is I didn't do it!" says Mona, naively. "I was very near it, do you know? I had actually said 'Yes,' because I could not make up my mind to lose the deed, when he let me off the bargain.

But, if he had persisted, I tell you honestly I am quite sure I should have let him kiss me."

"Mona, don't talk like that," says Geoffrey, biting his lips.

"Well, but, after all, one can't be much of a friend if one can't sacrifice one's self sometimes for those one loves," says Mrs. Geoffrey, reproachfully. "You would have done it yourself in my place!"

"What! kiss the Australian? I'd see him--very well--that is--ahem! I certainly would not, you know," says Mr. Rodney.

"Well, I suppose I am wrong," says Mona, with a sigh. "Are you very angry with me, Geoff? Would you ever have forgiven me if I had done it?"

"I should," says Geoffrey, pressing her hands. "You would always be to me the best and truest woman alive. But--but I shouldn't have liked it."

"Well, neither should I!" says Mrs. Geoffrey, with conviction. "I should perfectly have hated it. But I should never have forgiven myself if he had gone away with the will."

"It is quite a romance," says Jack Rodney: "I never heard anything like it before off the stage." He is speaking to the room generally. "I doubt if any one but you, Mona, would have got the will out of him. He hates the rest of us like poison."

"But--bless me!--how awfully he must be in love with you to resign the Towers for your sake!" says Nolly, suddenly giving words to the thought that has been tormenting him for some time.

As this is the idea that has haunted every one since the disclosure, and that they each and all have longed but feared to discuss, they now regard Nolly with admiration,--all save Lady Rodney, who, remembering her unpleasant insinuations of an hour ago, moves uneasily in her chair, and turns an uncomfortable crimson.

Mona is, however, by no means disconcerted; she lifts her calm eyes to Nolly's, and answers him without even a blush.

"Do you know it never occurred to me until this afternoon?" she says, simply; "but now I think--I may be mistaken, but I really do think he fancies himself in love with me. A very silly fancy, of course."

"He must adore you; and no wonder, too," says Mr. Darling, so emphatically that every one smiles, and Jack, clapping him on the back, says,--

"Well done, Nolly! Go it again, old chap!"

"Oh, Mona, what courage you showed! Just imagine staying in the library when you found yourself face to face with a person you never expected to see, and in the dead of night, with every one sound asleep! In your case I should either have fainted or rushed back to my bedroom again as fast as my feet could carry me; and I believe," says Dorothy, with conviction, "I should so far have forgotten myself as to scream every inch of the way."

"I don't believe you would," says Mona. "A great shock sobers one. I forgot to be frightened until it was all over. And then the dogs were a great support."

"When he held the pistol to your forehead, didn't you scream then?" asks Violet.

"To my forehead?" says Mona, puzzled; and then she glances at Geoffrey, remembering that this was one of the slight variations with which he adorned his tale.

"No, she didn't," interposes he, lightly. "She never funked it for a moment: she's got any amount of pluck. He didn't exactly press it against her forehead, you know; but," airily, "it is all the same thing."

"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.

"Ah! sure you know I wouldn't do that, now," returns she, with a stronger touch of her native brogue than she has used for many a day; at which they all laugh heartily, even Lady Rodney chiming in as easily as though the day had never been when she had sneered contemptuously at that selfsame Irish tongue.

"Well, 'All's well that ends well,'" says Captain Rodney, thoughtlessly.

"If that delectable cousin of ours would only sink into the calm and silent grave now, we might even have the t.i.tle back without fear of dispute, and find ourselves just where we began."

It is at this very moment the library door is suddenly flung open, and Jenkins appears upon the threshold, with his face as white as nature will permit, and his usually perfect manner much disturbed. "Sir Nicholas, can I speak to you for a moment?" he says, with much excitement, growing positively apoplectic in his endeavor to be calm.

"What is it, Jenkins? Speak!" says Lady Rodney, rising from her chair, and staying him, as he would leave the room, by an imperious gesture.

"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."

Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward.

"Shot himself! How?" she says, hoa.r.s.ely, her bosom rising and falling tumultuously. "Jenkins, answer me."

"Tell us, Jenkins," says Nicholas, hastily.

"It appears he had a pocket-pistol with him, Sir Nicholas, and going home through the wood he stumbled over some roots, and it went off and injured him fatally. It is an internal wound, my lady. Dr. Bland, who is with him, says there is no hope."

"No hope!" says Mona, with terrible despair in her voice: "then I have killed him. It was I returned him that pistol this evening. It is my fault,--mine. It is I have caused his death."

This thought seems to overwhelm her. She raises her hands to her head, and an expression of keenest anguish creeps into her eyes. She sways a little, and would have fallen, but that Jack Rodney, who is nearest to her at this moment, catches her in his arms.

"Mona," says Nicholas, roughly, laying his hand on her shoulder, and shaking her slightly, "I forbid you talking like that. It is n.o.body's fault. It is the will of G.o.d. It is morbid and sinful of you to let such a thought enter your head."

"So it is really, Mrs. Geoffrey, you know," says Nolly, placing his hand on her other shoulder to give her a second shake. "Nick's quite right.

Don't take it to heart; don't now. You might as well say the gunsmith who originally sold him the fatal weapon is responsible for this unhappy event, as--as that you are."

"Besides, it may be an exaggeration," suggests Geoffrey "he may not be so bad as they say."

"I fear there is no doubt of it, sir," says Jenkins, respectfully, who in his heart of hearts looks upon this timely accident as a direct interposition of Providence. "And the messenger who came (and who is now in the hall, Sir Nicholas, if you would wish to question him) says Dr.

Bland sent him up to let you know at once of the unfortunate occurrence."

Having said all this without a break, Jenkins feels he has outdone himself, and retires on his laurels.

Nicholas, going into the outer hall, cross-examines the boy who has brought the melancholy tidings, and, having spoken to him for some time, goes back to the library with a face even graver than it was before.

"The poor fellow is calling for you, Mona, incessantly," he says. "It remains with you to decide whether you will go to him or not. Geoffrey, _you_ should have a voice in this matter, and I think she ought to go."

"Oh, Mona, do go--do," entreats Doatie, who is in tears. "Poor, poor fellow! I wish now I had not been so rude to him."

"Geoffrey, will you take me to him?" says Mona, rousing herself.

"Yes. Hurry, darling. If you think you can bear it, you should lose no time. Minutes even, I fear, are precious in this case."

Then some one puts on her again the coat she had taken off such a short time since, and some one else puts on her sealskin cap and twists her black lace round her white throat, and then she turns to go on her sad mission. All their joy is turned to mourning, their laughter to tears.