Then Mona hears the sound of trapesing feet on the avenue and the various voices of people passing under her window.
“Serve her right, though! We want no Huns settling here on the island.”
“No, nor no good Manx money going over to Germany neither.”
A moment later the Advocate comes into the house.
“I’m sorry the sale has not been as good as we expected, miss. The total receipts will scarcely cover the valuation.”
“Then there’s nothing left for me—nothing whatever?”
“Nothing! I’m sorry, very sorry.”
Mona, who had risen, sinks back into her seat as if stunned. After a while, the Advocate having gone, she hears the barking of dogs, the shouting of men, the bleating of sheep and the lowing of cattle. The stock are being driven back to the hill by the servants of their new owner.
At length there is silence. It is not at first that Mona is able to realize the full meaning of what has happened, but at last it falls on her. America is closed to her now. And that means that there is no place left to her in the world!