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Creeping through the grass behind this person, something was slowly drawing near to him. There was no noise, the watcher heard nothing; still he sat there, looking out over the prairie, and turning his head neither to the right nor the left. This thing behind him kept creeping closer, and presently it was so near it could touch the man. Perhaps then there was some little rustle of the grass, and the watcher turned his head. It was too late. A strong arm around his neck bent his head back, a hand covered his mouth, a long stone knife was thrust into his breast, and he died in silence. The fading light had kept people in the camp from seeing what had happened.,

Then Geoffrey offers Mona his hand, and leads her to the centre of the polished floor. There they salute each other in a rather Grandisonian fashion, and then separate.,

"He's covered, safe enough. They've throwed an ould sheet over him,—over what remains of him this cruel day. Och, wirra-wirra!" cries the woman, suddenly, throwing her hands high above her head, and giving way to a peculiar long, low, moaning sound, so eerie, so full of wild despair and grief past all consolation, as to make the blood in Rodney's veins run cold.,

Spreads like an ocean hung on high."

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A branch of a tree overspreading the water catches his attention. It is not strong, but it suggests itself as a means to the desired end. It is indeed slim to a fault, and unsatisfactory to an alarming degree, but it must do, and Geoffrey, swinging himself up to it, tries it first, and then standing boldly upon it, leans over towards the spot where the fern can be seen.,

"I sha'n't want to see them, perhaps," says Mona, apologetically, "but how shall I avoid it?",

"What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly distressed at her apparent grief.,

"And after that what will remain to you?" asks she, pale but collected. "It is bare comfort when hatred alone reigns in the heart. With such thoughts in your breast what can you hope for?—what can life give you?"