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All this she breathes forth in disjointed sentences as she rushes, like a light-footed deer, across the ploughed land into the wet grass beyond. "Go!" she says, in a choked voice, and with a little passionate sob, pointing to the door. "You have done mischief enough." Her gesture is at once imperious and dignified. Then in a softer voice, that tells of sorrow, and with a deep sigh, "At least," she says, "I believed in your honor!" To-day is "so cool, so calm, so bright," that Geoffrey's heart grows glad within him as he walks along the road that leads to the farm, his gun upon his shoulder, his trusty dog at his heels..
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"Well, he was different," says Mona, giving in ignominiously. "I couldn't care for him either; but what I said is true all the same. Other people would not like me." "I have read so few," she says, wistfully, and with hesitation. Then, shyly, "I have so few to read. I have a Longfellow, and a Shakspeare, and a Byron: that is all." "It is all her doing," says the old man,—"Mona's, I mean. She loves those flowers more than anything on earth, I think. Her mother was the same; but she wasn't half the lass that Mona is. Never a mornin' in the cowld winter but she goes out there to see if the frost hasn't killed some of 'em the night before." "Ah! Tobacco! First introduced by Sir Walter Raleigh," murmurs Lady Lilias, musingly. "Too modern, but no doubt correct and in keeping. Your uncle, then,"—looking at Mona,—"is beyond question an earnest student of our faith.".
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