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"I do guess it," she answers, slowly. "Well, kill us both, if it must be so." She lays her arms round Rodney's neck as she speaks, even before he can imagine her meaning, and hides her face on his breast. But which way to go? To Mona all round is an undiscovered country, and for that reason possesses an indiscribable charm. Finally, she goes up the avenue, beneath the gaunt and leafless elms, and midway, seeing a path that leads she knows not whither, she turns aside and follows it until she loses herself in the lonely wood. "Come on," said Morning Star, "let us go and kill those birds.".

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"I hardly like to ask her to do it," says the young man, divided between an overpowering desire to be made "comfortable," as she has expressed it, and a chivalrous fear that the sight of the nasty though harmless flesh-wound will cause her some distress. "Perhaps it will make you unhappy,—may shock you," he says to her, with some anxiety. Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons—brown and white and bronze and gray—come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery resting-place upon her bosom. "Come, then," she says, slowly, "if you will. Though I am not afraid. Why should I be? Do you forget that I am one of themselves? My father and I belong to the people." "Why, Mona?".