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"Your daughter is over there with the buffalo. She says 'Wait,'" said the magpie when he had flown back to the poor father. She beckons to the dogs, and they, coming up to her, follow her out of the room and along the corridor outside their soft velvet paws making no sound upon the polished floor. She has brought with her no lamp. Just now, indeed, it would be useless, such "a wide and tender light," does heaven's lamp fling upon floor and ceiling, chamber and corridor. "I have heard of you," says Mona, quietly. Then, pointing towards that part of the wood whither he would go, she says, coldly, "I regret I cannot tell you where this path leads to. Good-morning." "Yes. I forgive you," she says, almost in a whisper, with a seriousness that amounts to solemnity..