'Do you think I might go with you, Cardie?' for Mildred was secretly yearning to comfort her boy, but Richard instantly put a veto on her proposal. 'It would not be safe, Aunt Milly; it will excite less questioning if I go alone; you must be content to trust him to me. I will bring you a faithful report to-morrow evening;' and as Mildred saw the wisdom of the reasoning she resolved to abide by it. But she passed a miserable night. Roy's haggard face and fierce reckless speeches haunted her. She dreaded to think of the time when Richard would be obliged to return to Oxford, and leave Roy to battle alone with his misery. She wondered what Richard would think if she were to propose going up to him for a month or two; she was becoming conscious herself of a need of change,--a growing irritability of the nerves chafed her calm spirit, daily suffering and suppression were wearing the brave heart sadly. Mildred, who ailed nothing ordinarily, had secret attacks of palpitation and faintness, which would have caused alarm if any one had guessed it, but she kept her own counsel. Once, indeed, Dr. Heriot had questioned her. 'You do not look as well as you used, Miss Lambert; but I suppose I am not to be consulted?' and Mildred had shaken her head laughingly. But here was work for the ministering woman--to forget her own strange sorrow in caring for another;--Roy needed her more than any one; Olive could be safely left in charge of the others. Mildred fell asleep at last planning long winter evenings in the young artist's studio. The next day seemed more than usually long. Polly, who looked as though she had not slept all night, spent her time in listlessly wandering about the house and garden, much to Olive's mild wonder. 'I do wish you would get something to do, Polly,' she said more than once, looking up from her writing-table at the sound of the tapping heels; 'you have not practised those pieces Dr. John ordered from London.' 'Olive is right; you should try and occupy yourself, my dear,' observed Mildred, looking up from her marking; piles of socks lay neatly beside her, Mr. Lambert's half-stitched wrist-band was in her lap. She looked with soft reproving eyes at poor restless Polly, her heart all the time very full of pity. 'How can you ask me to play?' returned Polly, in a resentful tone. 'Play when Roy was ill or in some dreadful trouble--was that their love for him? When Mildred next looked up the girl was no longer standing watching her with sad eyes; across the beck, through the trees, she could see the shimmer of a blue dress; a forlorn young figure strolled aimlessly down the field path and paused by the weir. Of what was she thinking? Were her thoughts at all near the truth--'Don't forget me; think of your old friend Roy!'--were those words, said in the saddest voice she had ever heard, still ringing in her ears.