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"Go back to Bantry," says Mona, not heeding his evident surprise, "at once,—now. Do not delay. There are those waiting for you on the Tullymore road who will take your life. I have run all this way to warn you. Oh, go back, while there is yet time!",

"Well; there isn't much, is there?" says Mona, pleasantly.,

"I wish you would not talk of being buried," says Mona, with a sob. "There is no comfort in the tomb: there our dust may mingle, but in heaven our souls shall meet, I trust,—I hope.",

Thus adjured,—though in truth he requires little pressing, having been devoured with a desire since early dawn to reveal the hidden knowledge that is in his bosom,—Geoffrey relates to them the adventure of the night before. Indeed, he gives such a brilliant coloring to the tale that every one is stricken dumb with astonishment, Mona herself perhaps being the most astonished of all. However, like a good wife, she makes no comments, and contradicts his statements not at all, so that (emboldened by her evident determination not to interfere with anything he may choose to say) he gives them such a story as absolutely brings down the house,—metaphorically speaking.

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"Ever heard of Botany Bay?" asks he, idly; but, this question being distinctly frivolous, she takes no notice of it. "Well, it's in Ireland," he goes on, after a slight but dignified pause. "You have heard of the Emerald Isle, I suppose? It's the country where they grow potatoes, and say 'bedad'; and Bantry is somewhere south, I think. I'm never very sure about anything: that's one of my charms.",

Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened by this speech, as might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, quench the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and passionate.,

"Yes, I hear you. But must you say this? Have I ever sought a quarrel with—Geoffrey's mother?",

It was very late. The Seven Stars had come to the middle of the night, yet again they heard the feast shout from the far end of the camp. In this lodge the men were painted with streaks of red, and their hair was all pushed to one side. After the feast the chief said, "We are different from all others here. We are called the Braves (Mŭt´-sĭks). We know not fear; we are death. Even if our enemies are as many as the grass we do not turn away, but fight and conquer. Bows are good weapons, lances are better; but our weapon is the knife."