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Two tears gather, and roll slowly down Mona's white cheeks. And then somehow her thoughts wander back to the old farmhouse at the side of the hill, with the spreading trees behind it, and to the sanded floor and the cool dairy, and the warmth of the love that abounded there, and the uncle, who, if rough, was at least ready to believe her latest action—whatever it might be—only one degree more perfect than the one that went before it. The house, is home-like, sweet, and one which might perhaps day by day grow dearer to the heart; and this girl, this pretty creature who every now and then turns her eyes on Geoffrey, as though glad in a kindly fashion to see him there, seems a necessary part of the whole,—her gracious presence rendering it each moment sweeter and more desirable. "My precept to all who build is," says Cicero, "that the owner should be an ornament to the house, and not the house to the owner." "I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with empressement. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer to you.".

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Then she rises upon her elbow, and notices how the light comes through the chinks of the shutters. It must be day indeed. The dreary night has fled affrighted; the stars hide their diminished rays. Surely "And have you walked from Coolnagurtheen this morning? Why, it is eight miles from this," says she, taking no notice of his last speech. "You could have had no breakfast!" Ill luck has attended his efforts to-day, or else his thoughts have been wandering in the land where love holds sway, because he is empty-handed. The bonnie brown bird has escaped him, and no gift is near to lay at Mona's shrine. "Do you know," he says, slowly, staring at her the while, "you are the most beautiful woman I ever saw?".