Heriot's Choice Part 67

The shadows had all fled now, the firelight gleamed warmly on the couch, where Mildred was sitting in her blue dress, and on Dr. Heriot's dark face as he threw himself down in the easy-chair that, as he said, looked so inviting.

'Polly is tired, and so am I. We have been having an argument that lasted us all the way from Appleby.' And he leant back his head on the cushions, and looked up lazily at Polly as she stood beside him in her soft furs, swinging her hat in her hand and gazing into the fire.

'Polly, do be reasonable and sit down!' he exclaimed, coaxingly.

'I cannot, I shall be late for tea; I--I--do not wish to say anything more about it,' she panted, somewhat unsteadily.

'Nay, Heartsease,' he returned, gravely, 'this is hardly using me well; let us refer the case to Aunt Milly. This naughty child,' he continued, imprisoning her hand, as she still stood beside him--and Mildred noticed now that she seemed to lean against the chair for support--'this naughty Polly of ours is giving me trouble; she will have it she is too young to be married.'

Mildred put her hand suddenly to her heart; a troublesome palpitation oppressed her breathing. Polly hung her head, and then a sudden resolution seized her.

'Let me go to Aunt Milly. I want to speak to her,' she said, wrenching herself gently from his hold; and as he set her free, she dropped on the rug at Mildred's side.

'You must not come to me to help you, Polly,' said Mildred, with a faint smile; 'you must be guided in this by Dr. Heriot's wishes.'

'Ah, I knew you would be on my side, Miss Lambert; but you have no idea how obstinate she is. She declares that nothing will induce her to marry until her nineteenth birthday.'

'A whole year!' repeated Mildred, in surprise. She felt like a prisoner, to whom the bitterness of death was past, exposed to the torturing suspense of a long reprieve.

'Oh, Aunt Milly, ask him not to press me,' pleaded the girl; 'he is so good and patient in everything else, but he will not listen to me in this; he wants me to go home to him now, this Christmas.'

'Why should we wait?' replied Dr. Heriot, with an unusual touch of bitterness in his voice. 'I shall never grow younger; my home is solitary enough, Heaven knows; and in spite of all my kind friends here, I have to endure many lonely hours. Polly, if you loved me, I think you would hardly refuse.'

'He says right,' whispered Mildred, laying her cold hand on the girl's head. 'It is your duty; he has need of you.'

'I cannot,' replied Polly, in a choked voice; but as she saw the cloud over her lover's brow, she came again to his side, and knelt down beside him.

'I did not mean to grieve you, dear; but you will wait, will you not?'

'For what reason, Polly?' in a sterner voice than she had ever heard from him before.

'For many reasons; because--because--' she hesitated, 'I am young, and want to grow older and wiser for your sake; because--' and now a low sob interrupted her words, 'though I love you--dearly--ah, so dearly--I want to love you more, as I know I shall every day. You must not be angry with me if I try your patience a little.'

'I am not angry,' he repeated, slowly, 'but your manner troubles me. Are you sure you do not repent our engagement--that you love me, Polly?'

'Yes, yes; please do not say such things,' clinging to him, and crying as though her heart would break.

They had almost forgotten Mildred, shrinking back in the corner of her couch.

'Hush! Heartsease, my darling--hush! you distress me,' soothing her with the utmost tenderness. 'We will talk of this again; you shall not be hampered or vexed by me. I am not so selfish as that, Polly.'

'No, you are goodness itself,' she replied, remorsefully; and now she kissed his hand--oh, so gratefully. 'But you must never say that again--never--never.'

'What?'

'That I do not love you; it is not the truth; it cannot be, you know.

You do not think it?' looking up fearfully into his face.

'I think you love me a little,' he answered, lightly--too lightly, Mildred thought, for the gloomy look had not pa.s.sed away from his eyes.

'He is disappointed; he thinks as I do, that perfect love ought to cast out fear,' she said to herself.

But whatever were his thoughts, he did not give utterance to them, but only seemed bent on soothing Polly's agitation. When he had succeeded, he sent her away, to get rid of all traces of tears, as he said, but as the door closed on her, Mildred noticed a weary look crossed his face.

How her heart yearned to comfort him!

'Right or wrong, I suppose I must abide by her decision, he said at last, speaking more to himself than to her. That roused her.

'I do not think so,' she returned, speaking with her old energy. 'Give her a little time to get used to the idea, and then speak to her again.

The thought of Christmas has startled her. Perhaps Easter would frighten her less.'

'That is just it. Why should it frighten her?' he returned, doubtfully.

'She has known me now for three years. I am no stranger to her; she has always been fond of me; she has told me so over and over again. No,' he continued, decidedly, 'I will not press her to come till she wishes it.

I am no boy that cannot bear a disappointment. I ought to be used to loneliness by this time.'

'No, no; she shall not treat you so, Dr. Heriot. I will not have it.

I--some one will prevent it; you shall not be left lonely for another year--you, so good and so unselfish.' But here Mildred's excitement failed; a curious numb feeling crept over her; she fancied she saw a surprised look on Dr. Heriot's face, that he uttered an exclamation of concern, and then she knew no more.

CHAPTER XXVII

COOP KERNAN HOLE

'The great and terrible Land Of wilderness and drought Lies in the shadows behind me-- For the Lord hath brought me out.

'The great and terrible river I stood that night to view Lies in the shadows before me-- But the Lord will bear me through.'--Poems by R. M.

Mildred felt a little giddy and confused when she opened her eyes.

'Is anything the matter? I suppose I have been a little faint; but it is nothing,' she said, feebly. Her head was on a soft pillow; her face was wet with cold, fragrant waters; Polly was hanging over her with a distressed expression; Dr. Heriot's hand was on her wrist.

'Hush, you must not talk,' he said, with a grave, professional air, 'and you must drink this,' so authoritatively that Mildred could not choose but to obey. 'It is nothing of consequence,' he continued, noticing an anxious look on her face; 'the room was hot, and our talk wearied you. I noticed you were very pale when we came in.' And Mildred felt relieved, and asked no more questions.

She was very thankful for the kindness that shielded her from all questioning and comment. When Dr. Heriot had watched the reviving effects of the cordial, and had satisfied himself that there would be no return of the faintness, he quietly but peremptorily desired that Polly should leave her. 'You would like to be perfectly alone for a little while, would you not?' he said, as he adjusted the rug over her feet and placed the screen between her and the firelight, and Mildred thanked him with a grateful glance. How could he guess that silence was what her exhausted nerves craved more than anything?

But Dr. Heriot was not so impervious as he seemed. He was aware that some nervous malady, caused by secret anxiety or hidden care, was wasting Mildred's fine const.i.tution. The dilated pupils of the eyes, the repressed irritability of manner, the quick change of colour, with other signs of mental disturbance, had long ago attracted his professional notice, and he had racked his brains to discover the cause.

'She has over-exerted herself, or else she has some trouble,' he said to himself that night, as he sat beside his solitary fire. She had crept away to her own room during the interval of peace that had been allowed her, and he had not suffered them to disturb her. 'I will come and see her to-morrow,' he had said to Olive; 'let her be kept perfectly quiet until then;' and Olive, who knew from experience the soothing effects of his prescription, mounted guard herself over Mildred's room, and forbade Polly or Chriss to enter.

Dr. Heriot had plenty of food for meditation that night. In spite of his acquiescence in Polly's decision, he felt chilled and saddened by the girl's persistence.

For the first time he gravely asked himself, Had he made a mistake? Was she too young to understand his need of sympathy? Would it come to this, that after all she would disappoint him? As he looked round the empty room a strange bitterness came over him.

'And it is to this loneliness that she will doom me for another year,'

he said, and there was a heavy cloud on his brow as he said it. 'If she really loved me, would she abandon me to another twelvemonth of miserable retrospection, with only Margaret's dead face to haunt me with its strange beauty?' But even as the thought pa.s.sed through him came the remembrance of those clinging arms and the dark eyes shining through their tears.