"Let us sit down in one of these recesses, Phil. It is pleasanter than walking about, and the wind is so cool and refreshing."
"The moon will be up presently, Millie. You will like that."
"Yes, indeed, I shall. I remember how beautiful it was on moonlight nights at Chormouth. There was a broad pathway of silvery waves right across the sea as far as the eye could reach. I used to think how nice it would be to row in a little boat right up the glittering road of light; for it was so lovely that I fancied it must surely lead to heaven. Phil," Millie continued solemnly, "do you know that I saw it again last night in a dream?"
Her brother thought that she was going to tell him what she had dreamed about, but Millie was silent, with a far-away look in her eyes, as she gazed up into the sky. Presently she gave a little sigh, and, rousing herself, said:
"Is the river pretty by moonlight, Phil?"
"Of course it's nothing like the sea," he replied; "but you will be able to judge for yourself in a few minutes. Are you cold, Millie? Here, let me draw your scarf close round your throat, and wind the end again—so." He was always careful of Millie.
"Thank you," she said, "but I am not cold. Phil," she added after a pause, "don't you think it's strange that Miss Crawford has not been since that day when she brought the cherries?"
"Perhaps her brother is worse. When was it she came?"
"A fortnight ago yesterday. Perhaps if she doesn't come soon, she will write. I wish when I go to her house to tea you could come too, Phil dear."
"No, thank you, Millie, I'd rather not. I like you to go, but I should feel uncomfortable in a grand house like hers."