During the hour that followed, while they waited in suspense for Richard, Polly continued in the same variable mood. She laughed and talked feverishly; a moment"s interval in the conversation seemed to oppress her; when, in the twilight, Dr. Heriot"s hand approached hers with a caressing movement, she drew herself away almost petulantly, and then went on with her nonsense.
Mildred"s brow furrowed with anxiety as she watched them. She could see Dr. Heriot was perplexed as well as pained by the girl"s fitful mood, though he bore it with his usual gentleness. After her childish repulse he had been a little silent, but no one but Mildred had noticed it.
The others were talking merrily among themselves. Olive and Mr. Marsden were discussing the merits and demerits of various Christian names which according to their ideas were more or less euphonious. The subject seemed to interest Dr. Heriot, and during a pause he turned to Polly, and said, in a half-laughing, half-serious tone--
"Polly, when we are married, do you always mean to call me Dr. Heriot?"
For a moment she looked up at him with almost a scared expression. "Yes, always," she returned at last, very quietly.
"But why so, my child," he replied, gravely, amusing himself at her expense, "when John Heriot is my name?"
"Because--because--oh, I don"t know," was the somewhat distressed answer. "Heriot is very pretty, but John--only Aunt Milly likes John; she says it is beautiful--her favourite name."
It was only one of Polly"s random speeches, and at any other time would have caused Mildred little embarra.s.sment; but anxious, jaded, and weary as she was, her feelings were not so well under control, and as Dr.
Heriot raised his eyes with a pleased expression as though to hear it corroborated by her own lips, a burning blush, that seemed to scorch her, suddenly rose to her face.
"Polly, how can you be so foolish?" she began, with a trace of real annoyance in her clear tones; but then she stopped, and corrected herself with quiet good sense. "I believe, after all, it is my favourite name. You know it belonged to the beloved disciple."
"Thank you," was Dr. Heriot"s low reply, and the subject dropped; but Mildred, sick at heart, wondered if her irritability had been noticed.
The pain of that dreadful blush seemed to scorch her still. What would he think of her?
Her fears were not quite groundless. Dr. Heriot had noticed her sudden embarra.s.sment, and had quickly changed the subject; but more than once that night he went over the brief conversation, and questioned himself as to the meaning of that strange sudden flush on Mildred Lambert"s face.
Most of the party were growing weary of their enforced stay, when Richard at last made his appearance in the glen. The moon had risen, the heavy autumnal damps had already saturated the place, the gipsy fire had burnt down to its last ember, and Etta sat shivering beside it in her red cloak.
Richard"s apologies were ample and sounded sincere, but he offered no explanation of his strange desertion. The wagonette was waiting, he said, and they had better lose no time in packing up. He thought even Polly must have had enough of her beloved cotton-mill.
Polly made no answer; with Richard"s reappearance her forced spirits seemed to collapse; she stood by listlessly while the others lifted the hampers and wraps; when the little cavalcade started she followed with a step so slow and flagging that Dr. Heriot paused more than once.
"Oh, Heartsease, how tired you are!" he said, pityingly, "and I have not a hand to give you. Wrap yourself in my plaid, darling. I have seen you shiver more than once." But she shook her head, and the plaid still trailed from her arm over the dewy gra.s.s.
But Mildred noticed one thing. She saw, when the wagonette had started along the dark country road, that Dr. Heriot had taken the plaid and wrapped it round the weary girl; but she saw something else--she saw Polly steal timidly closer to the side of her betrothed husband, saw the kind arm open to receive her, and the little pale face suddenly lay itself down on it with a look of weariness and grief that went to her heart.
CHAPTER XXVI
"IS THAT LETTER FOR ME, AUNT MILLY?"
"When dark days have come, and friendship Worthless seemed, and life in vain, That bright friendly smile has sent me Boldly to my task again;
It has smiled on my successes, Raised me when my hopes were low, And by turns has looked upon me With all the loving eyes I know."
Adelaide Anne Procter.
There was a long troubled talk between Mildred and Richard that night.
Richard, who had borne his own disappointment so bravely, seemed utterly downcast on his brother"s account.
"I would rather have had this happen to any of us but Roy," he said, walking up and down Mildred"s room that night.
"Hush, Richard, she will hear us," returned Mildred, anxiously; and then he came and rested his elbow on the sill beside her, and they talked in a low subdued key, looking over the shadowy fells and the broad level of moonlight that lay beneath them.
"You do not know Roy as well as I do. I believe he is physically as well as morally unfit to cope with a great sorrow; where other men fight, he succ.u.mbs too readily."
"You have your trouble too, Cardie; he should remember that."
"I have not lost hope, Aunt Milly," he returned, gravely. "I am happier than Rex--far happier; for it is no wrong for me to love Ethel. I have a right to love her, so long as no one else wins her. Roy will have it Polly has jilted him for Heriot."
"Jilted him! that child!"
"Yes, he maintains that she loves him best, only that she is unconscious of her own feelings. He declares that to his belief she has never really given her heart to Heriot. I am afraid he is right in declaring the whole thing has been patched up too hastily. It has always seemed to me as though Polly were too young to know her own mind."
"Some girls are married at eighteen."
"Yes, but not Polly; look what a child she is, and how quiet a life she has led for the last three years; she has seen no one but ourselves, Marsden, and Heriot; do you know, gentle as he is, she seems half afraid of him."
"That is only natural in her position."
"You think it does not augur want of love? Well, you may be right; I only profess to understand one girl,"--with a sigh--"and I can read her like a book; but Roy, Aunt Milly--what must we do about Roy?"
Mildred shook her head dejectedly.
"He must not come here under the circ.u.mstances, it would not be possible or right; he has done mischief enough already."
"Surely he did not betray himself?" in Richard"s sternest voice; "he a.s.sured me over and over again that he had not said a word which Dr.
Heriot might not hear."
"No; he commanded himself wonderfully; he only forgot himself once, and then, poor lad, he recollected himself in time,--but she must have noticed how badly it went with him--there was heart-break in his face."
"I had sad work with him for the first two miles," returned Richard. "I was half afraid of leaving him at all, he looked and spoke so wildly, only my threat of telling my father brought him to reason; he begged--he implored me to keep his secret, and that no one but you and I should ever know of his madness."
"There would be nothing gained by telling my brother," returned Mildred.
"Certainly not; it would be perfectly useless, and fret him beyond measure; he would take Roy"s trouble to heart, and have no pleasure in anything. How thankful I am, Aunt Milly, that I have already planned my London journey for the day after to-morrow."
"Yes, indeed, I shall feel easier when he is under your care."
"I must invent some excuse for being absent most of the day to-morrow; I cannot bear to think of him shut up in that wretched inn, and unable to stir out for fear of being recognised. He was very lame, I remember; I must find out if he has really injured his foot."
"Do you think I might go with you, Cardie?" for Mildred was secretly yearning to comfort her boy, but Richard instantly put a veto on her proposal.
"It would not be safe, Aunt Milly; it will excite less questioning if I go alone; you must be content to trust him to me. I will bring you a faithful report to-morrow evening;" and as Mildred saw the wisdom of the reasoning she resolved to abide by it.
But she pa.s.sed a miserable night. Roy"s haggard face and fierce reckless speeches haunted her. She dreaded to think of the time when Richard would be obliged to return to Oxford, and leave Roy to battle alone with his misery. She wondered what Richard would think if she were to propose going up to him for a month or two; she was becoming conscious herself of a need of change,--a growing irritability of the nerves chafed her calm spirit, daily suffering and suppression were wearing the brave heart sadly. Mildred, who ailed nothing ordinarily, had secret attacks of palpitation and faintness, which would have caused alarm if any one had guessed it, but she kept her own counsel.
Once, indeed, Dr. Heriot had questioned her. "You do not look as well as you used, Miss Lambert; but I suppose I am not to be consulted?" and Mildred had shaken her head laughingly. But here was work for the ministering woman--to forget her own strange sorrow in caring for another;--Roy needed her more than any one; Olive could be safely left in charge of the others. Mildred fell asleep at last planning long winter evenings in the young artist"s studio.