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 "Botheration!" shouted Kinvig; "but wait here, Christian, and I'll be back." Then, turning to the young weaver—"Show this gentleman the action of the loom, my girl."

When the door had closed behind Mr. Kinvig, Christian raised his eyes to the young woman's face. There was silence between them for a moment. The window of the room was open, and the salt breath of the ocean floated in. The sea's deep murmur was all that could be heard between the clicks of the levers. Then Christian said, softly:

"Mona, have you decided? Will you go back?"

The girl lifted her eyes to his. "No," she answered, quietly.

"Think again, Mona; think of me. It isn't that I couldn't wish to have you here—always here—always with me—"

The girl gave a little hard laugh.

"But think of the risk!" continued Christian, more eagerly. "Is it nothing that I am tortured with suspense already, but that you should follow me?"

"And do I suffer nothing?" said she.

There was no laughter on Christian's lips now. The transformation to earnest pallor was startling.

"Think of my father," he said, evading the girl's question. "I have all but impoverished him already with my cursed follies, and little does he dream, poor old dad, of the utter ruin that yet hangs over his head."

There was a pause. Then, in a tenderer tone:

"Mona, don't add to my eternal worries. Go back

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