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Yew-trees—grown till they form high walls—are cut and shaped in prim and perfect order, some like the walls of ancient Troy, some like steps of stairs. Little doors are opened through them, and passing in and out one walks on for a mile almost, until one loses one's way and grows puzzled how to extricate one's self from so charming a maze. "And perhaps, too, the law may be on his side: there is plenty of time yet for a missing will or a—a—useful witness to turn up. That will," says Mona, musingly, "must be somewhere. I cannot tell you why I think so, but I am quite sure it is still in existence, that no harm has come to it. It may be discovered yet." Yet after a moment or two the smile fades from Mona's mobile lip that ever looks as if, in the words of the old song, "some bee had stung it newly," and a pensive expression takes its place..
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"Is that all?" says Mona, with quick contempt, seeing him pause. "Why, there is nothing in that! I pinned a flower into your coat only yesterday." She tucks up her dignified train in a most undignified haste, while Geoffrey covers up all the finery with the crimson shawl. The white cloud is once more thrown over the dainty cap; all the pretty coloring vanishes out of sight; and Mona, after one last lingering glance at Geoffrey, follows its example. She, too, flies across the rural bridge into the covert of her own small domain. "Yes; it was of them I thought," he says, turning his head away,—"of the—lovers. I wonder if their evening was as lovely as ours?" Like little mice, stole in and out,.
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