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"Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they mend." "Why make a fool of me?" the poor man asked. "My heart is sad. I am crying." He covered his head with his robe and wept. "That's me," says Mona, glancing at him archly from under her long lashes..

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"Ah! Then you refuse to answer me," says Mona, hastily, if somewhat wearily. He drops her arm, and looks as though he is prepared to drop her acquaintance also, at a moment's notice. The short daylight fades; the wind grows higher; the whole scene is curious, and very nearly fantastical. The pretty girl in her clinging satin gown, and her gleaming neck and arms, bare and soft and white, and the tiny lace-fringed cap that crowns her fairness. The gaunt trees branching overhead that are showering down upon her all their fading wealth of orange and crimson and russet-colored leaves, that serve to throw out the glories of her dress. The brown-green sward is beneath her, the river runs with noiseless mirth beside her, rushing with faint music over sand and pebble to the ocean far below. Standing before her is her lover, gazing at her with adoring eyes. At this his honor requests Mickey to step into the hall, and with his own hands administers to him a glass of whiskey, which mightily pleases the son of Erin, though he plainly feels it his duty to make a face at it as he swallows it off neat. And then Geoffrey sallies forth and goes for the promised covey, followed closely by the excited Mickey, and, having made account of most of them, presses backsheesh into the hands of his informant, and sends him home rejoicing..