She wondered vaguely over the young clergyman's denseness all the evening. Hugh had a stronger developed passion for music, and was further endowed with a deep rich baritone voice. As Olive heard him joining in the family glees, or beating time to Polly's nicely-executed pieces, she marvelled all the more over this omitted harmony in his nature. She had at last made her escape from the crowded, brilliantly-lighted room, and was pacing the dark terrace, pondering over it still when Mildred found her. 'Are you tired of us, Olive?' 'Not tired of you, Aunt Milly. I have scarcely spoken to you to-day, and it is your birthday, too,' putting her arm affectionately round Mildred, and half leaning against her. In her white dress Olive looked taller than ever. Richard was right when he said Livy would make a fine woman; she looked large and massive beside Mildred's slight figure. 'Dear Aunt Milly, I have so wanted to talk to you all the evening, but they would not let me.' Mildred smiled fondly at her girl; during the last three years, ever since her illness, she had looked on Olive as a sacred and special charge, and as care begets tenderness as surely as love does love, so had Olive's ailing but noble nature gained a larger share of Mildred's warm affections than even Polly's brightness or Chriss's saucy piquancy could win. 'Have you been very happy to-night, dear?' she asked, softly. 'Have you been satisfied with Olive's ovation?' 'Oh, Aunt Milly! it has made me too glad; did you hear what Cardie said? it made me feel so proud and so ashamed. Do you know there were actually tears in papa's eyes when he kissed me.' 'We are all so proud of our girl, you see.' 'They almost make me cry between them. I wanted to get away and hide myself, only Mr. Marsden would go on talking to me.' 'Yes, I heard him; he was very amusing; he is full of queer hobbies.' 'I cannot help being sorry for him, he must lose so much, you know; poetry is a sort of sixth sense to me.' 'Darling, you must use your sweet gift well.' 'That is what I have been thinking,' laying her burning face against her aunt's shoulders, as they both stood looking down at a glimmer of shining water below them. 'Aunt Milly, do you remember what you said to comfort me when I was so wickedly lamenting that I had not died?' Mildred shook her head. 'I only know I lectured you soundly.' 'Oh! Aunt Milly, and they were such dear, wise words that you spoke, too; you told me that perhaps God had some beautiful work for me to do that my death would leave unfinished. Do you think' (speaking softly and slowly) 'that I have found my work?' 'Dear, I cannot doubt it; no one who reads those lovely verses of yours can dispute the reality of your gift. You have genius, Olive; why should I seek to hide it?' 'Thank you, Aunt Milly. Your telling me will not make me proud; you need not be afraid of that, dear. I am only so very, very grateful that I have found my voice.' 'Your voice, Olive!'