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"To my forehead?" says Mona, puzzled; and then she glances at Geoffrey, remembering that this was one of the slight variations with which he adorned his tale. "You may as well call it a train; people like it better," says Geoffrey. "I'm sure I don't know why, but perhaps it sounds better." She did not answer, and without saying anything more he led her up over the bluff and out on the prairie..

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"Why need you go until after Christmas?" she says, in a tone so low that he can barely hear her. But Mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to alter the sobriquet given her so long ago now. With much gentleness she tells Lady Rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her than any other could ever be; that to be Mrs. Geoffrey is the utmost height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only cause her pain and a vague sense of loss. He raises his hat, and, turning abruptly away, is soon lost to sight round a curve in the winding pathway. He walks steadily and with an unflinching air, but when the curve has hidden him from her eyes he stops short, and sighs heavily. Tired at length, and feeling somewhat chilled, Mona rouses herself from her reverie, and, followed by her two faithful guardians, moves towards the staircase. Passing the armored men that stand in niches along the walls, a little sensation of fear, a certain belief in the uncanny, runs through her. She looks in a terrified fashion over her left shoulder, and shudders perceptibly. Do dark fiery eyes look upon her in very truth from those ghastly visors?—surely a clank of supernatural armor smote upon her ear just then!.