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"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She cares for me just about as much as I care for her,—which means exactly nothing." "Yes, deliberately," returns he, with wilful recklessness. "Mona, it is not—it cannot be—but is it?" asks he incoherently..
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"Get off now, my brother, get off," said the bear. "There is the camp of your people. I shall leave you"; and at once he turned and went off up the mountain. And by degrees, beneath her influence, Mona grows pale and distrait and in many respects unlike her old joyous self. Each cold, reproving glance and sneering word,—however carefully concealed—falls like a touch of ice upon her heart, chilling and withering her glad youth. Up to this she has led a bird's life, gay, insouciant, free and careless. Now her song seems checked, her sweetest notes are dying fast away through lack of sympathy. She is "cribbed, cabined, and confined," through no fault of her own, and grows listless and dispirited in her captivity. yet there is grandeur, too, in the scene around, and a beauty scarcely to be rivalled by June's sweetest efforts. "Black Bess.".
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