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CHAPTER XIII.,There is both dignity and tenderness in her tone. She gazes at him earnestly for a moment, and then suddenly slips one arm round his neck.,The very air is still. There is no sound, no motion, save the coming and going of their own breath as it rises quickly from their hearts, filled full of passionate admiration for the loveliness before them.,An old crone is sitting over a turf fire that glows and burns dimly in its subdued fashion. Hanging over it is a three-legged pot, in which boil the "praties" for the "boys'" dinners, who will be coming home presently from their work.,"It is here," says Mona, rather pleased at his remembering this promise of hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to open a secret drawer, in which lies the picture in question.,And warms, but not illumines.",About a week after her arrival—she having expressed her admiration of ferns the night before—he draws her hand through his arm and takes her to his own special sanctum,—off which a fernery has been thrown, he being an enthusiastic grower of that lovely weed.,"And your brother?","But you said you knew the entire locality,—couldn't be puzzled within a radius of thirty miles. How far are we from home?","I am so glad you have come, darling," says little Dorothy, taking off her hat, and laying it on a chair near her.,"Yes, you do," says Mona, with a little obstinate shake of her head. "You call us dirty, for one thing.","Brilliantly.".