'Yes, I see.' Mildred did not say more. She felt the time was not come for dealing with the strange idiosyncrasies of a peculiar and difficult character. She was ignorant as yet what special gifts or graces of imagination lay under the comprehensive term of 'bookishness,' which had led her to fear in Olive the typical bluestocking. But she was not wrong in the supposition that Olive's very goodness bordered on faultiness; over-conscientiousness, and morbid scrupulosity, producing a sort of mental fatigue in the onlooker--restfulness being always more highly prized by us poor mortals than any amount of struggling and perceptible virtue. Mildred was a true diplomatist by nature--most womanly women are. It was from no want of sympathy, but an exercise of real judgment, that she now quietly concluded the conversation by the suggestion that they should go home. Mildred had the satisfaction of hearing her brother preach that evening, and, though some of the old fire and vigour were wanting, and there were at times the languid utterances of failing strength, still it was evident that, for the moment, sorrow was forgotten in the deep earnestness of one who feels the immensity of the task before him--the awful responsibility of the cure of souls. The text was, 'Why halt ye between two opinions?' and afforded a rich scope for persuasive argument; and Mildred's attention never wavered but once, when her eyes rested for a moment accidentally on Richard. He and Roy, with some other younger members of the congregation, occupied the choir-stalls, or rather the seats appropriated for the purpose, the real choir-stalls being occupied by some of the neighbouring farmers and their families--an abuse that Mr. Lambert had not yet been able to rectify. Roy's sleepy blue eyes were half closed; but Richard's forehead was deeply furrowed with the lines of intense thought, a heavy frown settled over the brows, and the mouth was rigid; the immobility of feature and fixed contraction of the pupils bespeaking some violent struggle within. The sunset clouds were just waning into pallor and blue-gray indistinctness, with a lightning-like breadth of gold on the outermost edges, when Mildred stepped out from the dark porch, with Polly hanging on her arm. 'Is that Jupiter or Venus, Aunt Milly?' she asked, pointing to the sky above them. 'It looks large and grand enough for Jupiter; and oh, how sweet the wet grass smells!' 'You are right, my little astronomer,' said a voice close behind them. 'There is the king of planets in all his majesty. Miss Lambert, I hope you recognise an old acquaintance as well as a new friend. Ah, Polly! Faithful, though a woman! I see you have not forgotten me.' And Dr. Heriot laughed a low amused laugh at feeling his disengaged hand grasped by Polly's soft little fingers. The laugh nettled her.