'Never mind, I will hear it all to-morrow. I must not let you fatigue yourself after such a journey. Now I will finish the unpacking while you sit and rest yourself.'
Olive was too docile and too really weary to resist. She sat silently watching Mildred's brisk movements, till the puzzled look in the dark eyes passed into drowsiness.
'The Eternal voice,' she murmured, as she laid her head on the pillow, and Mildred bade her good-night, 'it seems to lull one into rest, though a tired child would sleep without rocking listening to it;' and so the slow, majestic washing of the waves bore her into dreamland.
Mildred did not find an opportunity of resuming the conversation until the following afternoon, when Richard had planned a walk to Fairlight Glen, in which Polly reluctantly joined; but Mildred, who knew Roy and his father had much to say to each other, had insisted on not leaving her behind.
She was punished by having a very silent companion all the way, as Richard had carried off Olive; but by and by Polly's conscience pricked her for ill-humour and selfishness, and when they reached the Glen, her hand stole into Mildred's muff with a penitent squeeze, and her spirits rising with the exhilaration of the long walk, she darted off in pursuit of Olive and brought her back, while she offered herself in her place to Richard.
'You have monopolised her all the way, and I know she is dying for a talk with Aunt Milly; you must put up with me instead,' said the little lady, defiantly.
Mildred and Olive meanwhile seated themselves on one of the benches overlooking the Glen; the spot was sheltered, and the air mild and soft for January; there were patches of cloudy blue to be seen through the leafless trees, which looked like a procession of gray, hoary skeletons in the hazy light.
'Woods have a beauty of their own in winter,' observed Mildred, as she noticed Olive's satisfied glance round her. Visible beauty always rested her, Olive often said.
'Its attraction is the attraction of death,' returned her companion, thoughtfully. 'Look at these old giants waiting for their resurrection, to be "clothed upon," that is just the expression, Aunt Milly.'
'With their dead hopes at their feet; you are teaching me to be poetical, Olive. Don't you love the feeling of those crisp yellow leaves crunching softly under one's feet? I think a leaf-race in a high wind is one of the most delicious things in nature.'