Aunt Milly was the universal sympathiser, as usual. Richard's patience would have been sorely put to proof, but for those grave-toned talks in the wintry twilights, with which the gray sea and sky seemed so strangely to harmonise. In spite of his unselfishness, the sight of his brother's happiness could not fail to elicit at times a disturbing sense of contrast. Who could tell what years rolled between him and the fruition of his hope? 'In patience and confidence must be your strength, Richard,' Mildred once said, as they stood looking over the dim waste of waters, gray everywhere, save where the white lips touched the shore; behind them was the dark Castle Hill; windy flickers of light came from the esplanade; far out to sea a little star trembled and wavered like the timid pioneer of unknown light; a haze of uncertainty bordered earth and sky; the soft wash of the insidious waves was tuneful and soothing as a lullaby. The neutral tints, the colourless conditions, neither light nor dark, even the faint wrapping mist that came like a cloud from the sea, harmonised with Mildred's feelings as she quoted the text softly. An irrepressible shiver ran through the young man's frame. Waiting, did he not know what was before him--years of uncertainty, of alternate hopes and fears. 'Yes, I know,' he replied, with an accent of impatience in his voice. 'You are right, of course; one can only wait. As for patience, it is hardly an attribute of youth; one learns it by degrees, but all the same, uncertainty and these low gray skies oppress one. Sea-fog does not enhance cheerfulness, Aunt Milly. Let us go in.' Richard's moods of discontent were brief and rare. He was battling bravely with his disappointment. He had always been grave and staid beyond his years, but now faintly-drawn lines were plainly legible in the smooth forehead, and a steady concentrated light in the brown eyes bore witness to abiding and careful thought. At times his brother's unreasoning boyishness seemed almost to provoke him; want of earnestness was always a heinous sin in his judgment. Roy more than once winced under some unpalatable home-truth which Richard uttered in all good faith and with the best intentions in the world. 'Dick is the finest fellow breathing, but if he would only leave off sermonising until he is ordained,' broke out Roy, with a groan, when he and Mildred were alone; but Mildred was too well aware of their affection for each other to be made uneasy by any petulance on Roy's part. He would rail at his brother's advice, and then most likely digest and follow it; but she gave Richard a little hint once. 'Leave them alone; their happiness is still so new to them,' pleaded the softhearted woman. 'You can't expect Rex to look beyond the present yet, now Polly is with him--when he is stronger he will settle down to work.' And though Richard shook his head a little incredulously, he wisely held his peace.