Silence. Mildred shuffled uneasily from one foot to another, rolled her handkerchief into a ball, and felt supremely uncomfortable. She had been irritated into speaking with unbecoming warmth, but the words had no sooner passed her lips than conscience began to prick. She longed for Lady Sarah to say something sharper, more unreasonable than ever, so that she might feel that she was the injured person, and get rid of this horrible feeling of guilt. But Lady Sarah did not speak. Was she too angry to find words? Was she gathering her energies for an outburst of indignation? The silence grew oppressive. Mildred longed to be allowed to rejoin her companions, and raised her eyes with impatient defiance. Mercy! What was this that she saw? This pitiful, huddled-up figure, these trembling hands and quivering features down which the salt, difficult tears of age were trickling? They could never, never belong to the self-possessed and fashionable lady of a moment before! Mildred gave one gasp of horror, and threw herself on her knees beside the chair. "Oh! what have I said? what have I said? Oh, the wicked, wicked, detestable creature that I am! Lady Sarah, Lady Sarah, don't cry! Oh, please don't cry, please don't cry! You will break my heart if you go on like this!" Her voice trembled, she clasped her arms round the old lady's waist, and swayed with her from side to side, echoing sob for sob, while ever and anon broken utterances fell painfully on her ear. "--Cumberer of the ground! Cumberer of the ground! Alone in the world.--No one to care! Oh, dear Lord, let me be done with it--let me die!" "No! no! no!" cried Mildred, in a paroxysm of remorse. She folded the thin figure more closely in her arms, and laid her soft, warm cheek against the quivering face. "Don't talk like that--don't! I can't bear it. I can never be happy again as long as I live if you won't forgive me, and promise to be friends! I was sorry the moment after I played that trick upon you. It spoiled my pleasure at the picnic. If you had asked me gently I would have told you how sorry I was, but I have such a dreadful temper. I fly into a passion, and then I don't know what I say. Do please forgive me, and stop crying! There--there's my handkerchief; let me dry your eyes!" Lady Sarah trembled. "You are very good. I don't blame you, poor child. You are an honest lassie, and I've tried your temper many a time. I was young and bright, too, once on a day, but that's all past now. I am nothing but a fretful, selfish, old woman, a burden to everybody, without chick or child to care what becomes of me." "Don't say that. I'll love you! I'd like to love you if you will let me. You see it has all been a mistake. I thought you were cold and cross, and didn't care, but if you are only sad and lonely, why, then, I _do_ love you!" cried Mildred impetuously; "for I'm sure I should be fifty thousand times nastier myself if I were in your place."