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For Geoffrey the prelude has been played, and now at last he knows it. Up and down the little hall he paces, his hands behind his back, as his wont when deep in day-dreams, and asks himself many a question hitherto unthought of. Can he—shall he—go farther in this matter? Then this thought presses to the front beyond all others:—"Does she—will she—ever love me?","Yes, do, alannah!" says the old lady, standing with one hand upon her hips and the other holding tightly a prodigious "Champion." "'Twill set ye up afther yer walk.","Do not stir," says Mona, hastily, pointing to the bloodhounds. Allspice has risen—so has the hair on his back—and is looking thunder-claps at Paul. A low growl breaks from him. He is plainly bent upon reducing to reason whosoever shall dispute the will of his beloved mistress. "The dogs know their orders, and will obey me. Down, Allspice, down. You will do well, sir, to remain exactly where you are," continues Mona.,"But in that apron, miss, and wid yer arms bare-like, an' widout yer purty blue bow; law, Miss Mona, have sinse, an' don't ye now.",The teapot, meanwhile, is calmly ignoring its rage, and is positively turning up its nose at it. It is a very proud old teapot, and is looking straight before it, in a very dignified fashion, at a martial row of cups and saucers that are drawn up in battle-array and are only waiting for the word of command to march upon the enemy.,But Geoffrey to whom the situation has its charm, takes up the broken thread.,"Welcome, friend," said the chief of the Ravens; "sit down there," and he pointed to a place. Soon food was placed before the poor man.,"Yes, very beautiful," he answers, thinking of the stately oaks and aged elms and branching beeches that go so far to make up the glory of the ivied Towers.,When they had taken the skins from these animals, they set up poles and put the hides over them, and so made a shelter to sleep under.,"Now, this is kind,—very kind," says the little man, approvingly, shaking both their hands. "And so soon, too; no time lost. Poor soul! he is calling incessantly for you, my dear Mrs. Geoffrey. It is a sad case,—very—very. Away from every one he knows. But come in; come in.",You have heard the Thunder, for he is everywhere. He roars in the mountains, and far out on the prairie is heard his crashing. He strikes the high rocks, and they fall to pieces; a tree, and it is broken in slivers; the people, and they die. He is bad. He does not like the high cliff, the standing tree, or living man. He likes to strike and crush them to the ground. Of all things he is the most powerful. He cannot be resisted. But I have not told you the worst thing about him. Sometimes he takes away women.,"I have disappointed you," she says, tremulously, tears rising quickly. "I am a failure! I am not like the others.".