g him, and hearing him cry; and
I gave it up--the only thing I could do for him! I asked Ailwin to take
him. And in two days he was dead; and I could never do anything for him
any more."

Here a burst of grief stopped her voice. Her brother said, very
solemnly,--

"Now, Mildred, listen to me,--to the little I can say--for you know I
cannot, in this place, stay and talk with you as we should both like,
and as we might have done at home. I think you were almost always very
kind to Geordie; and I am sure he loved you very dearly. But I have
heard mother say that the worst part of losing dear friends is that we
have to blame ourselves, more or less, for our behaviour to them,--even
to those we loved the very most. So I will not flatter you, dear:
though I don't at all wonder at your being tired of hearing Geordie cry
that day. I will not say whether you were right or wrong; but only put
you in mind that we may always ask for pardon. Remember, too, that you
may meet Geordie again; and perhaps be kinder to him than we ever are to
one another here. Now I will go, and come back again soon."

"Stop one minute," implored Mildred. "I dreamed that you all went away
from this hill, and left me alone."

As she said this, she looked at her brother, with such a painful
wistfulness, that he saw that she had had a fever-dream, and was not yet
quite clear from its remains. He laughed, as at something ridiculous;
which Mildred seemed to like: and then he reminded her more gravely,
that they could not get away from this place if they would. If an
opportunity should occur, he assured her he would not leave hold of her
hand. Nothing should make him step into a boat without her. Poor
Mildred had fancied, bewildered as she was this morning, that if Oliver
knew of what she had done about George, he would think himself justified
in leaving her to perish on the hill; and yet she could not help telling
him. Her mind was relieved, for the present, and she let him go.

He found Roger where he first looked for him,--near the mummy. The poor
lad was too ill to stand; but he lay on the slimy bank, poking and
grubbing, with a stick and with his fingers, as deep in the soft soil as
he could penetrate. Oliver saw that he had found some more
curiosities;--bunches of nuts,--nuts which were ripening on the tree
many hundreds of seasons ago; but which no hand had plucked till now.
Oliver could neither wonder nor admire, at this moment: no