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"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him." Her meaning, in spite of her, is clear; but Geoffrey doesn't dare so much as to think about it. Yet in his heart he knows that he is glad because of her words. "I see no reason why she should not talk to any man she pleases. I know her well enough to trust her anywhere, and am deeply thankful for such knowledge. In fact," with some passion, sudden but subdued, "I feel as though in discussing her in this cold-blooded fashion I am doing her some grievous wrong.".
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"We," said the Raven chief, "are those who carry the raven (Măs-to-pāh´-tă-kīks). Of all the fliers, of all the birds, what one is so smart as the raven? None. The raven's eyes are sharp, his wings are strong. He is a great hunter and never hungry. Far off on the prairie he sees his food, or if it is deep hidden in the forest it does not escape him. This is our song and our dance." Lights are blazing, fiddles are sounding; all the world is abroad to-night. Even still, though the ball at the Towers has been opened long since by Mona and the Duke of Lauderdale, the flickering light of carriage-lamps is making the roads bright, by casting tiny rays upon the frosted ground. "Surely," thinks Mona to herself, "this strange young man is not altogether bad. He has his divine touches as well as another." "I am not Mr. Rodney: Jack is that. Can't you call me anything else?".
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