two, she and this simple lad, might have uncovered to the other the bleeding wound that each carried hidden in the breast. And that great moment was yet to come, though she knew it not.
Love is a selfish thing, let us say what we will of it besides.
"Danny," said Mona, "have you seen anything more of Christian?"
"Yes," said the lad. Some momentary remorse on Mona's part compelled her to glance into Danny's face. There was no trace of feeling there. It was baffled love, and not jealousy, that had taken the joy out of Danny's life. And as yet the lad had not once reflected that if Mona did not love him it was, perhaps, because she loved another.
"He isn't going," continued Danny.
"Thank God," said Mona, fervently. "And Kisseck, does he still mean to go?"
"Ay, of coorse he's going. It'll be to-morrow, it seems. I'm to go, too."
"Danny, you must not go," said Mona, dropping Ruby's hand to take hold of the lad's arm. He glanced up vacantly.
"Seems to me it doesn't matter much what I do," he said.
"But it does matter, Danny. What these men are attempting is crime—black, cruel, pitiless crime—murder, no less."
"That's what the young masther was sayin'," answered the lad, absently; "and the one of them hadn't a word to say agen it."
