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"My dear mother, you forget the path leading from the southern gate to Plumston Road has been open to the public for generations. He was at perfect liberty to walk there." "I am sorry I can tell you nothing," says Mona, shaking her head. "I was never in this wood before; I know nothing of it." "Hist, Miss Mona! hist!" says this voice close at Mona's ear. She starts violently..
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"My best beloved," he says, with passionate fondness, beneath his breath; but she hears him, and wonders vaguely but gladly at his tone, not understanding the rush of tenderness that almost overcomes him as he remembers how his mother—whom she has been striving with all her power to benefit—has been grossly maligning and misjudging her. Truly she is too good for those among whom her lot has been cast. 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. "I have nothing in my head," says Mona, tearfully. Hame, hame to my ain countrie,.
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