'I pray, Aunt Milly? I, who have treated her so cruelly? I, who have flung hard words to her, who have refused to forgive her? I----' and he hid his pale, convulsed face in his hands again. 'But you have forgiven her now, you do her justice. You believe how truly she loved, she will ever love you.' 'Too late,' he groaned. 'Yes, I see it now, she was too good for us; we made her unhappy, and God is taking her home to her mother.' 'Then you will let her go, dear Cardie. Hush, it would break her heart to see you so unhappy;' and Mildred knelt down on the grass beside him, and stroked back the dark waves of hair tenderly. She knew the pent-up anguish of weeks must have its vent, now that his stoical manhood had broken down. Remorse, want of rest, deadly conflict and anxiety, had at last overcome the barrier of his reserve; and, as he flung himself down beside her, with his face hidden in the bracken, she knew the hot tears were welling through his fingers. For a long time she sat beside him, till his agitation had subsided; and then, in her low, quiet voice, she began to talk to him. She spoke of Olive's purity and steadfastness of purpose, her self-devotedness and power of love; and Richard raised his head to listen. She told him of those Sunday afternoons spent by her mother's grave, that quiet hour of communion bracing her for the jars and discords of the week. And she hinted at those weary moods of perpetual self-torture and endless scruple, which hindered all vigorous effort and clouded her youth. 'A diseased sensibility and overmuch imagination have resulted in the despondency that has so discouraged and annoyed you, Richard. She has dwelt so long among shadows of her own raising, that she has grown a weary companion to healthier minds; her very love is so veiled by timidity that it has given you an impression of her coldness.' 'Blind fool that I was,' he ejaculated. 'Oh, Aunt Milly, do you think she can ever forgive me?' 'There can be no question of forgiveness at all; do not distress her by asking for it, Richard. Olive's heart is as simple as a little child's; it is not capable of resentment. Tell her that you love her, and you will make her happy.' Richard did not answer for a minute, his thoughts had suddenly taken a new turn. 'I never could tell how it was she read me so correctly,' he said at last; 'her telling my father, and not me, was so incomprehensible.' 'She did not dare to speak to you, and she was so unhappy; but, Richard, even Olive does not hold the clue to all this trouble.' He started nervously, changed colour, and plucked the blades of grass restlessly. But in his present softened mood, Mildred knew he would not repulse her; trouble might be near at hand, but at least he would not refuse her sympathy any longer.