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But presently, seeing the author of her mirth does not rise from his watery resting-place, her smile fades, a little frightened look creeps into her eyes, and, hastening forward, she reaches the bank of the stream and gazes into it. Rodney is lying face downwards in the water, his head having come with some force against the sharp edge of a stone against which it is now resting. Some stories of this kind are these: "Come home," says Mona, faintly. Now the actual danger is past, terror creeps over her, rendering her a prey to imaginary sights and sounds. "There may be others. Do not delay.".
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"How many hours there are in the night that we never count!" says Geoffrey, impatiently. "Good-night, Mona! To-morrow's dawn I shall call my dearest friend." 'Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure "Ah!" replied her father; "it must always be as he says"; and they spoke no more about it. "What are you talking about?" asks Geoffrey, joining Mona and her companion..
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