Night is creeping up over the land. Already in the heavens the pale crescent moon just born rides silently,—,
"Oh, Geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to Ireland and met Mona? Because if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to marry each other, and then what would have become of poor Jack?",
"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him.".
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