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"A little bird whispered it to us," explains Geoffrey, lightly. Then, taking pity on Nolly's evident agony, he goes on "that is, you know, we guessed it; you were so long absent, and—and that.",

Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, that is her special joy,—being of the garrulous and babbling order, which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a passionate roar to the ocean.,

"I shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down her cheeks.,

"Oh, I got the ould man to bed hours ago; for I knew if he stayed up that he'd get mortial wearin', an' be the death of us if he knew ye were out so late. An' truth to say, Miss Mona," changing her tone from one of extreme joy and thankfulness to another of the deepest censure, "'twas the world an' all of bad behavior to be galavantin' out at this hour."

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On his way home Cold Maker again passed the Sand Hills. Entering the country was an old woman bent with age and crippled.,

"Oh, may I niver agin see the light," cries this excitable damsel, rushing out to Mona, "if I iver hoped to lay eyes on yer face again! Where were ye at all, darlin'? An' I breakin' me heart wid fear for ye. Did ye know Tim Ryan was out to-night? When I heerd tell of that from that boy of the Cantys', I thought I'd have dhropped. 'Tis no good he's up to. Come in, asthore: you must be near kilt with the cowld.",

Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth from those ghastly visors?—surely a clank of supernatural armor smote upon her ear just then!,

Geoffrey is nowhere just at this moment. Doatie and Nicholas are sitting hand in hand and side by side in the library, discussing their own cruel case, and wondering for the thousandth time whether—if the worst comes to the worst (of which, alas! there now seems little doubt)—her father will still give his consent to their marriage, and, if so, how they shall manage to live on five hundred pounds a year, and whether it may not be possible for Nicholas to get something or other to do (on this subject they are vague) that may help "to make the crown a pound."