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"Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have all its feathers off, of course.",

"O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?",

"Oh, if—if—if!" interrupts he. "Is it that you are afraid for yourself? Remember there is 'beggary in the love that can be reckoned.'",

"Yes, Geoffrey and I have made a discovery,—a most important one,—and it has lain heavy on our breasts all day. Now tell them everything about last night, Geoff, from beginning to end."

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"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in his tone.,

"She has got one nose and two eyes, just like every one else," says Nolly. "That is rather disappointing, is it not? And she attitudinizes a good deal. Sometimes she reclines full length upon the grass, with her bony elbow well squared and her chin buried in her palm. Sometimes she stands beside a sundial, with her head to one side, and a carefully educated and very much superannuated peacock beside her. But I dare say she will do the greyhound pose to-day. In summer she goes abroad with a huge wooden fan with which she kills the bumble-bee as it floats by her. And she gowns herself in colors that make one's teeth on edge. I am sure it is her one lifelong regret that she must clothe herself at all, as she has dreams of savage nakedness and a liberal use of the fetching woad.",

Of Violet Mansergh—who is still at the Towers, her father being abroad and Lady Rodney very desirous of having her with her—she knows little. Violet is cold, but quite civil, as Englishwomen will be until they know you. She is, besides, somewhat prejudiced against Mona, because—being honest herself—she has believed all the false tales told her of the Irish girl. These silly tales, in spite of her belief in her own independence of thought, weigh upon her; and so she draws back from Mona, and speaks little to her, and then of only ordinary topics, while the poor child is pining for some woman to whom she can open her mind and whom she may count as an honest friend "For talking with a friend," says Addison, "is nothing else but thinking aloud.",

Mona shivers. Getting up from her lowly position, she draws back the curtains of her window and looks out upon the night. It is brilliant with moonlight, clear as day, full of that hallowed softness, that peaceful serenity, that belongs alone to night.