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A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern can be seen. "Ah, it is you!" cries she, her face growing glad again. It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow luxurious calm.".
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"Now, that is the first unkind thing you have ever said to me," retorts he. "Yes, I shall say——" anxiously. "No!" says Nicholas; meaning, "How very delightful!" And then she falls upon her knees again, and Geoffrey in the background, though unseen, kneels too; and Mona, in a broken voice, because she is crying very bitterly now, whispers some words of comfort for the dying..
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