'I can pray with pureness For her welfare now-- Since the yearning waters Bravely were pent in. God--He saw me cover, With a careless brow, Signs that might have told her Of the work within.'--Philip Stanhope Worsley. The pretty shaded lamps were lighted in the drawing-room; a large gray moth had flown in through the open windows and brushed round them in giddy circles. Polly was singing a little plaintive French air, Roy's favourite. _Tra-la-la, Qui va la_, it went on, with odd little trills and drawn-out chords. Olive's book had dropped to her lap, one long braid of hair had fallen over her hot cheek. Mildred's entrance had broken the thread of some quiet dream,--she uttered an exclamation and Polly's music stopped. 'Dear Aunt Milly, how late you are, and how tired you look!' 'Yes, I am tired, children. I have been to Stenkrith, and Dr. Heriot found me, and we have had a long talk. I think I have missed my tea, and----' 'Aunt Milly, you look dreadful,' broke in Polly, impulsively; 'you must sit there,' pushing her with gentle force into the low chair, 'and I shall go and bring you some tea, and you are not to talk.' Mildred was only too thankful to submit; she leant back wearily upon the cushions Polly's thoughtfulness had provided, with an odd feeling of thankfulness and unrest;--how good her girls were to her. She watched Polly coming across the room, slim and tall, carrying the little tea-tray, her long dress flowing out behind her with gentle undulating movement. The lamplight shone on the purple cup, and the softly-tinted peach lying beside it, placed there by Polly's soft little fingers; she carried a little filagree-basket, a mere toy of a thing, heaped up with queen's cakes; a large creamy rose detached itself from her dress and fell on Mildred's lap. 'This is the second time you have shivered, and yet your hands are warm--oh, so warm,' said the girl anxiously, as she hung over her. Mildred smiled and roused herself, and tried to do justice to the little feast. 'They had all had a busy day,' she said with a yawn, and stretching herself. The vicarage had been a Babel since early morning, with all those noisy tongues. Yes, the tea had refreshed her, but her head still ached, and she thought it would be wiser to go to bed. 'Please do go, Aunt Milly,' Olive had chimed in, and when she had bidden them good-night, she heard Polly's flute-like voice bursting into _Tra-la-la_ again as she closed the door; _Qui va la_ she hummed to herself as she crept wearily along. The storm had broken some miles below them, and only harmless summer lightning played on the ragged edges of the clouds as they gleamed fitfully, now here, now there; there were sudden glimpses of dark hills and a gray, still river, with some cattle grouped under the bridge, and then darkness.