Heriot's Choice Part 65

The next day seemed more than usually long. Polly, who looked as though she had not slept all night, spent her time in listlessly wandering about the house and garden, much to Olive's mild wonder.

'I do wish you would get something to do, Polly,' she said more than once, looking up from her writing-table at the sound of the tapping heels; 'you have not practised those pieces Dr. John ordered from London.'

'Olive is right; you should try and occupy yourself, my dear,' observed Mildred, looking up from her marking; piles of socks lay neatly beside her, Mr. Lambert's half-st.i.tched wrist-band was in her lap. She looked with soft reproving eyes at poor restless Polly, her heart all the time very full of pity.

'How can you ask me to play?' returned Polly, in a resentful tone. 'Play when Roy was ill or in some dreadful trouble--was that their love for him? When Mildred next looked up the girl was no longer standing watching her with sad eyes; across the beck, through the trees, she could see the shimmer of a blue dress; a forlorn young figure strolled aimlessly down the field path and paused by the weir. Of what was she thinking? Were her thoughts at all near the truth--'Don't forget me; think of your old friend Roy!'--were those words, said in the saddest voice she had ever heard, still ringing in her ears.

It was late in the evening when Richard returned, and he beckoned Mildred softly out of the room. Polly, who was sitting beside Dr.

Heriot, followed them with wistful eyes, but neither of them noticed her.

Richard gave a very unsatisfactory report. He found Roy looking ill in body as well as in mind, and suffering great pain from his foot, which was severely contused, though he obstinately refused to believe anything was really the matter, and had firmly declared his intention of accompanying his brother to London. His excitement had quite subsided, but the consequent depression was very great. Richard believed he had not slept, from the pain of his foot and mental worry, and being so near home only made his desolation harder to bear.

He had pencilled a little line to Polly, which he had begged Richard to bring with his love, and at the same time declared he would never see her again when she was once Dr. Heriot's wife; and, when Richard had remonstrated against the weakness and moral cowardice of adopting such a line of action, had flamed up into his old fierceness; she had made him an exile from his home and all that he loved, he had no heart now for his profession, he knew his very hand had lost its cunning; but not for that could he love her the less or wish her ill. 'She is Polly after all,' he had finished piteously, 'the only girl I ever loved or cared to love, and now she is going near to spoil my whole life!'

'It was useless to argue with him,' Richard said; 'everything like advice seemed to irritate him, and no amount of sympathy could lull the intolerable pain.' He found it answer better to remain silent and let him talk out his trouble, without trying to stem the bitter current. It went to Mildred's heart to hear how the poor lad at the last had broken down utterly at bidding his brother good-bye.

'Don't leave me, d.i.c.k; I am not fit to be left,' he had said; and then he had thrown himself down on the miserable couch, and had hidden his face in his arms.

'And the note, Richard?'

'Here it is; he said you might read it, that there was not a word in it that the whole world might not see--she could show it to Heriot if she liked.'

'All the same, I wish he had not written it,' returned Mildred, doubtfully, as she unfolded the slip of paper.

'Dear Polly,' it began, 'I fear you must have thought me very strange and unkind last evening--your reproachful eyes are haunting me now. I cannot bear you to misunderstand me. "No one shall come between us." Ah, I remember you said that; it was so like you, dear--so like my Polly!

Now you must try not to think hardly of me--a great trouble has befallen me, as Aunt Milly and Richard know, and I must go away to bear it; no one can help me to bear it; your little fingers cannot lighten it, Polly--your sympathy could not avail me; it is my own burden, and I must bear it alone. You must not fret if we do not meet for some time--it is better so, far better. I have my work; and, dear, I pray that you may be very happy with the man you love (if he be the one you love, Polly).'

'Oh, Richard, he ought not to have said that!'

'She will not understand; go on, Aunt Milly.'

'But there can be no doubt of that, he is a good man, almost worthy of my Polly; but I must not say that any longer, for you are Heriot's Polly now, are you not? but whose ever you are, G.o.d bless you, dear.--Roy.'

Mildred folded the letter sadly.

'He has betrayed himself in every line,' she said, slowly and thoughtfully. 'Richard, it will break my heart to do it, but I think Polly ought not to see this; we must keep it from her, and one day we must tell Roy.'

'I was afraid you might say so, but if you knew how he pleaded that this might be given to her; he seemed to think it would hinder her fretting.

"She cares for me more than any of you know--more than she knows herself," he said, as he urged me to take it.'

'What must we do? I It will set her thinking. No, Richard, it is too venturesome an experiment.'

But Mildred's wise precautions were doomed to be frustrated, for at that moment Polly quietly opened the door and confronted them.

The two conspirators moved apart somewhat guiltily.

'Am I interrupting you? I knocked, but no one answered. Aunt Milly looks disconcerted,' said Polly, eyeing them both with keen inquisitive glance. 'I--I only wanted to know if Richard has brought me a message or note from Roy?'

Richard hesitated and looked at Mildred. This business was making him anxious; he would fain wash his hands of it.

'Why do you not answer?' continued the girl, palpitating a little. 'Is that letter for me, Aunt Milly?' and as Mildred reluctantly handed it to her, a reproachful colour overspread Polly's face.

'Were you keeping this from me? I thought people's letters were sacred property,' continued the little lady, proudly. 'I did not think you could do such a thing, Aunt Milly.'

'Dear Polly!' remonstrated Richard; but Mildred interposed with quiet dignity--

'Polly should be just, even though she is unhappy. Roy wished me to read his letter, and I have done so.'

'Forgive me!' returned Polly, almost melting into tears. 'I know I ought not to have spoken so, but it has been such a miserable day,' and she leant against Mildred as she read the note.

She read it once--twice--without comment, and then her features began to work.

'Dear Aunt Milly, how unhappy he is--he--Roy; he cannot have done anything wrong?'

'No, no, my precious; of course not!'

'Then why must we not help him to bear it?'

'We can pray for him, Polly.'

'Yes, yes, but I cannot understand it,' piteously. 'I have always been Roy's friend--always, and now he has made Richard and you his confidants.'

'We are older and wiser, you see,' began Richard, with glib hypocrisy, which did not become him.

Polly stamped her little foot with impatience.

'Don't, Richard. I will not have you talk to me as though I were a child. I have a right to know this; you are all treating me badly. Roy would have told me, I know he would, if Aunt Milly had not come between us!' and she darted a quick reproachful look at Mildred.

'It is Polly who is hard on us, I think,' returned Mildred, putting her arm gently round the excited girl; and at the fond tone Polly's brief wrath evaporated.

'I cannot help it,' she returned, hiding her face on Mildred's shoulder; 'it is all so wretched, everything is spoiled. Roy is not pleased that I am going to be married, he seems angry--put out about it; it is not that--it cannot be that that is the matter with him? Why do you not answer?' she continued, impatiently, looking at them both with wide-open innocent eyes. 'Roy cannot be jealous?'

Mildred would have given worlds to have been able to answer No, but, unused to evasion of any kind, the prudent falsehood died a natural death upon her lips.

'My dear Polly, what makes you so fanciful?' she began with difficulty; but it was enough,--Mildred's face could not deceive, and that moment's hesitating silence revealed the truth to the startled girl; her faithful friend was hurt, jealous.

'You see yourself that Rex wants you to be happy,' continued Mildred, somewhat inconsequently.

'I shall be happy if he be so--not unless,' replied the girl, a little sadly.

Her pretty pink colour had faded, her hands dropped from Mildred's shoulder; she stood for a long time quiet with her lips apart, her young head drooping almost to her breast.

'Shall you answer his letter, Polly?' asked Richard at last, trying to rouse her.

'Yes--no,' she faltered, turning very pale. 'Give my love to him, Richard--my dear love. I--I will write presently,' and so saying, she slowly and dejectedly left the room.

'Aunt Milly, do you think she guesses?' whispered Richard, when she had gone.