much to be done and talked of that afternoon at the Parsonage.
First, there was a long lesson to be given to little Ailie; then, at
least an hour was spent in following Mrs. Gwynne round the garden, and
hearing her dilate on the beauty of her hollyhocks and dahlias.

"I shall have the finest dahlias in the country next year," said the
delighted old lady.

Next year! It seemed to Olive as if she were talking of the next world.

In some way or other the hours went by; how, Olive could not tell. She
did not see, hear, or feel anything, save that she had to make an
effort to appear in the eyes of Harold, and of Harold's mother, just
as usual--the same quiet little creature--gently smiling, gently
speaking--who had already begun to be called "an old maid"--whom no one
in the world suspected of any human passion--least of all, the passion
of _love_.

After this early dinner Harold went out. He did not return even when
the misty autumn night had begun to fall. As the daylight waned and the
firelight brightened, Olive felt terrified at herself. One hour of
that quiet evening commune, so sweet of old, and her strength and
self-control would have failed. Making some excuse about Christal, she
asked Mrs. Gwynne to let her go home.

"But not alone, my dear. You will surely wait until Harold comes in?"

"No, no! It will be late, and the mist is rising. Do not fear for me;
the road is quite safe; and you know I am used to walking alone," said
Olive, feebly smiling.

"You are a brave little creature, my dear. Well, do as you will."

So, ere long, Olive found herself on her solitary homeward road. It lay
through the churchyard. Closing the Parsonage-gate, the first thing she
did was to creep across the long grass to her mother's grave.

"Oh, mother, mother! why did you go and leave me? I should never have
loved any one if my mother had not died!"

And burning tears fell, and burning blushes came. With these came also
the horrible sense of self-degradation which smites a woman when she
knows that, unsought, she has dared to love.

"What have I done," she cried, "O earth, take me in and cover me! Hide
me from myself--from my misery--my shame." Suddenly she started up.
"What if he should pass and find me here! I must go. I must go home."

She fled out of the churchyard and down the road. For a little way she
walked rapidly, then gradually slower and slower. A white mist arose
from the meadows; it folded round her like a shrou