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He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon it,—,

"Is—is he covered?" murmurs Mona, with difficulty, growing pale, and shrinking backwards. Instinctively she lays her hand on Rodney's arm, as though desirous of support. He, laying his own hand upon hers, holds it in a warm and comforting clasp.,

Over the meadows and into the wood goes Mona, to where a streamlet runs, that is her special joy,—being of the garrulous and babbling order, which is, perhaps, the nearest approach to divine music that nature can make. But to-day the stream is swollen, is enlarged beyond all recognition, and, being filled with pride at its own promotion, has forgotten its little loving song, and is rushing onward with a passionate roar to the ocean.,

"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey.

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"Yes,—so far," returns she, coldly.,

Now, old Sir George Rodney, grandfather of the present baronet, had two sons, Geoffrey and George. Now, Geoffrey he loved, but George he hated. And so great by years did this hatred grow that after a bit he sought how he should leave the property away from his eldest-born, who was George, and leave it to Geoffrey, the younger,—which was hardly fair; for "what," says Aristotle, "is justice?—to give every man his own." And surely George, being the elder, had first claim. The entail having been broken during the last generation, he found this easy to accomplish; and so after many days he made a will, by which the younger son inherited all, to the exclusion of the elder.,

"No man can," said the Raven; "there is only one old Thunder fears; there is but one he cannot kill. It is we. It is the Ravens. Now I will give you some medicine, and he shall not harm you. You shall enter there and try to find among those eyes your wife's, and if you find them tell the Thunder why you came and make him give them to you. Here, now, is a raven's wing. Point this at him and he will be afraid and start back; but if that should fail, take this arrow. Its shaft is made of elk horn. Take this, I say, and shoot it through the lodge.",

"Have you ever read Shelley?" asks he, presently, puzzled by the extreme serenity of her manner.