as he could, to
disbelieve this; but there it went--away--away--and Oliver had to come
down from his stone, put on his clothes again, and find how thirsty he
was.

There was hope still, he felt--great hope: but he must keep it from
Mildred, who was in no condition to bear the disappointment of such a
hope. He doubted whether Ailwin could control her tongue and her
countenance, while possessed of such news. It would be hard not to be
able to tell any one of what so filled his thoughts; and he resolved to
see first what state Roger was in.

When he reached the tent, Roger was not there. Ailwin could not tell
where he was. He had staggered away, like a drunken person, she said--
he seemed so giddy; but she could not leave Mildred to see after him,
though he had spoken to a lord; if indeed that could be true of a boy
like him. Ailwin looked up at the clouds, every moment, as she spoke;
and Mildred shivered, as if she missed the morning sunshine. Oliver saw
that he must make ready for the storm, before he prepared for what might
follow. He and Ailwin pulled down the long piece of cloth from its
support, doubled it again and again, and put Mildred into the middle of
it. Oliver longed to lay her under a leafy tree; but he dared not, on
account of the lightning, which was already beginning to flash. He and
Ailwin set up the deal table as a sort of penthouse over her; and then
busied themselves, in her sight, in piling together everything else they
had, to keep as many articles as possible from spoiling.

Oliver was just thinking that he might slip away to seek Roger, when he
saw that Mildred was sobbing, under the heap of cloth they had laid upon
her. In a moment he was by her side, saying--

"What is the matter, dear? Are you afraid of the storm? I never knew
you afraid of thunder and lightning; but perhaps you may be now, because
you are ill."

"No," sobbed Mildred.

"I cannot help being glad of this storm," continued Oliver, "though it
is disagreeable, at the time, to people who have no house to go to. I
hope it will clear the air, and freshen it; and that is the very thing
we want, to make you better."

"It is not that, Oliver. I don't mind the storm at all."

"Then what makes you cry so, dear? Is it about Geordie?"

"Yes. Something about him that I don't think you know; something that I
shall never bear to think of. It will make me miserable as long as I
live. Do you know, I was tired of nursin