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Far down below lies the bay, calm and placid. Not a ripple, not a sigh comes to disturb its serenity or mar the perfect beauty of the silver pathway thrown so lightly upon it by the queen of heaven. It falls there so clear, so unbroken, that almost one might deem it possible to step upon it, and so walk onwards to the sky that melts into it on the far horizon. But Mona does not hear this last addition; she is moving a chair a little to one side, and the faint noise it makes drowns the sound of his voice. This perhaps is as well. Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind Mangle Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday..
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"Why don't you call me Nicholas, as Geoffrey does?" One night he came to the home of a wolf. "Hah!" said the wolf; "what are you doing so far from your home?" "I sha'n't want to see them, perhaps," says Mona, apologetically, "but how shall I avoid it?" "Very well. I shall not ask you to break it. But I shall stay on here. And if," says this artful young man, in a purposely doleful tone, "anything should happen, it will——".
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