Heriot's Choice Part 73

'Heartsease, it would have been better for you and me.'

'Heriot, what do you mean?' she whispered, vehemently; 'surely you did not misunderstand me; you could not doubt the sincerity of my words, my love?'

'Neither the one nor the other,' was the quiet reply; 'do I not know my Polly? could I not trust that guileless integrity as I would my own? You need not fear my misunderstanding you; I know you but too well.'

'Are you sure that you do?' clinging to him more closely.

'Am I sure that I am alive? No, Polly, I do not doubt you; when you tell me that you love Roy as though he were your own brother, that you are only sorry for him, and long to comfort him, I believe you. I am as sure that you speak the truth as you know it.'

'And you will trust me?' stroking the coat-sleeve as she spoke.

'Have I not told you so?' reproachfully; 'am I a tyrant to keep you in durance vile, when your adopted brother lies dangerously ill, and you a.s.sure me of your power to minister to him? Miss Lambert, it is by my own wish that Polly goes with you to London; she thinks Roy will not get well unless he sees her again.'

Mildred started. Polly had kept her thoughts so much to herself lately that she had not understood how much was pa.s.sing in her mind; did she really believe that her influence was so great over Roy, that her persuasion would recall him from the brink of the grave? Could Dr.

Heriot credit such a supposition? was not the risk a daring one? He could not be so sure of himself and her; but looking up, as these thoughts pa.s.sed through her mind, she encountered such a singular glance from Dr. Heriot that her colour involuntarily rose; it told her he understood her scruples, but that his motives were fixed, inscrutable; it forbade questioning, and urged compliance with his wishes, and after that there was nothing more to be said.

But in the course of the evening Polly volunteered still further information--

'You know he is going with us himself,' she said, as she followed Mildred into her room to a.s.sist in the packing.

Mildred very nearly dropped the armful of things she was carrying, a pile of Roy's s.h.i.+rts she had been mending; she faced round on Polly with unusual energy--

'Who is going with us? Not Dr. Heriot?'

'Yes; did he not tell you so? I heard him speaking to Mr. Lambert and saying that you were not fit to undertake such a long journey by yourself; he did not count me, as he knew I should lose my head in the bustle; very rude of him, was it not? and then he told Mr. Lambert that he should see Roy and bring him back a report. Oh, I am so glad he is coming,' speaking more to herself than Mildred; 'how good, how good he is.'

Mildred did not answer; but after supper that night, when Dr. Heriot had again joined them, she asked if he had really made up his mind to accompany them.

'You did not tell me of your intention,' she said, a little nettled at his reserve with her.

'No; I was afraid of your raising objections and raising all sorts of useless arguments; regret that I should take so much trouble, and so forth,' trying to turn it off with a jest.

'Are you going on Roy's account?' abruptly.

'Well, not wholly. Of course his medical man's report will be sufficient; but all the same it will be a relief to his father's mind.'

'I suppose you are afraid to trust Polly with me then? but indeed I will take care of her; there is no need for you to undergo such a fatiguing journey,' went on Mildred, pretending to misunderstand him, but anxious if possible to turn him from his purpose.

But Dr. Heriot's cool amused survey baffled her.

'A man has a right to his own reasons, I suppose? Perhaps I think one of my patients is hardly able to look after herself just yet.'

'Oh, Dr. Heriot!' hardly able to believe it though from his own lips; 'this is so like you--so like your usual thoughtfulness; but indeed it is not necessary; Polly will take care of me.'

'I daresay she will,' with a glint of humour in his eyes; 'but all the same you must put up with my company.'

CHAPTER XXIX

THE COTTAGE AT FROGNAL

'Whose soft voice Should be the sweetest music to his ear.'--Bethune.

The journey was accomplished with less difficulty and fatigue than Mildred had dared to expect.

Dr. Heriot's attentions were undemonstrative but unceasing. For a greater part of the way Mildred lay back amongst her snug wrappings, talking little, but enjoying to the full the novelty of being the object of so much care and thought. 'He is kind to everybody, and now he has taken all this trouble for me,' she said to herself; 'it is so like him--so like his goodness.'

They were a very quiet party. Dr. Heriot was unusually silent, and Polly sat watching the scenery and flying milestones with half-dreamy absorption. When darkness came on, she nestled down by Mildred's side.

From his corner of the carriage, Dr. Heriot secretly peered at the faces before him, under the guttering oil-lamp. Mildred's eyes had closed at last from weariness; her thin cheek was pressed on the dark cus.h.i.+on. In spite of the worn lines, the outline of the face struck him as strangely fair; a fine nature was written there in indelible characters; even in the abandonment of utter weariness, the mouth had not relaxed its firm sweet curve; a chastened will had gradually smoothed the furrows from the brow; it was as smooth and open as a sleeping child, and yet youth had no part there; its tints and roundness had long ago fled.

How had it been that Polly's piquant charms had blinded him? As he looked at her now, half-lovingly, half-sadly, he owned that she could not be otherwise than pretty in his eyes, and yet the illusion was dispelled; but even as the thought pa.s.sed through his mind, Polly's dark eyes unclosed.

'Are we near London? oh, how tired I am!' she said, with a weary, petulant sigh. 'I cannot sleep like Aunt Milly; and the darkness and the swinging make me giddy. One can only see great blanks of mist and rus.h.i.+ng walls, and red eyes blinking everywhere.'

Dr. Heriot smiled over the girl's discontent. 'You will see the lights of the station in another ten minutes. Poor little Heartsease. You are tired and cold and anxious, and we have still a long drive before us.'

'It has not been so long after all,' observed Mildred, cheerfully. She did not feel cold or particularly tired; pleasant dreams had come to her; some thoughtful hand had drawn the fur-lined rug round her as she slept. As they jolted out of the light station and into the dark Euston Road beyond, she sat thoughtful and silent, reviewing the work that lay before her.

It was late in the evening when the travellers reached the little cottage at Frognal. Roy had taken a fancy to the place, and had migrated thither the previous summer, in company with a young artist named Dugald.

It was a low, old-fas.h.i.+oned house, somewhat shabby-looking by daylight, but standing back from the road, with a pleasant strip of garden lying round it, and an invisible walk formed of stunted, p.r.i.c.kly shrubs, which had led its owner to give it the name of 'The Hollies.'

Roy had fallen in love with the straggling lawn and mulberry trees, and beds of old-fas.h.i.+oned flowers. He declared the peonies, hollyhocks, and lupins, and small violet-and-yellow pansies, reminded him of Castlesteads Vicarage; for it was well known that Mr. Delaware clave with fondness to the flowers of his childhood, and was much given to cultivate all manner of herbs, to be used medicinally by the poor of the neighbourhood.

A certain long, low room, with an out-of-the-way window, was declared to have the north light, and to be just the thing for a studio, and was shared conjointly by the young artists, who also took their frugal meals together, and smoked their pipes in a dilapidated arbour overlooking the mulberry-tree.

Mildred knew that Herbert Dugald was at the present moment in Mentone, called thither by the alarming illness of his father, and that his room had been placed at Roy's disposal. The cottage was a large one, and she thought there would be little difficulty in accommodating Polly and herself; and as Mrs. Madison had no other lodgers, they could count on a tolerable amount of quiet and comfort; and in spite of the quaintness and homeliness of the arrangements, they found this to be the case.

Dr. Heriot had telegraphed their probable arrival, so they were not unexpected. Mrs. Madison, an artist's widow herself, welcomed them with unfeigned delight; her pleasant, sensible Scotch face broadened with smiles as she came forward to meet them.

'Eh, he's better, poor lad, though I never thought to say it,' she said, answering Mildred's anxious look. 'He would not let me write, as I wished, for fear of alarming his father, he said; but as soon as the letter was posted, he made me telegraph for his brother; he arrived last evening.'

'Richard!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mildred, feeling things were worse than even she had expected; but at that moment Richard appeared, gently closing the door behind him.

'Hus.h.!.+ he knows you are here;--you, I mean, Aunt Milly,' perceiving Polly now, with some surprise; 'but we must be very careful. Last night I thought we should have lost him. Ah, Dr. John, how good of you to bring them! Come in here; we expected you, you see, Aunt Milly,' and he led them into poor Roy's sitting-room.

There was a blazing fire in the studio; the white china tiles reflected a pleasant glow and heat; the heavy draperies that veiled the cross-lights looked snug and dark; tea was on the little round table; a large old-fas.h.i.+oned couch stood, inviting, near. Richard took off Mildred's bonnet and hung it on an empty easel; Polly's furs found a place on a wonderfully carved oak-chest.

There was all the usual lumber belonging to a studio. Richard, in an interval of leisure, had indeed cleared away a heterogeneous rubbish of pipes, boxing-gloves, and foils, but the upper part of the room was a perfect chaos of portfolios, books, and musical instruments, the little square piano literally groaned under the dusty records; still there was a wide s.p.a.ce of comfort round the tiled fireplace, where all manner of nursery tales leaped into existence under the kindling flame, with just enough confusion to be quaint and picturesque.

Neither Mildred nor Polly found fault with the suit of armour and the carved chair, that was good for everything but to sit upon; the plaster busts and sham bronzes struck them as beautiful; the old red velvet curtain had an imposing effect, as well as the shreds and sc.r.a.ps of colour introduced everywhere. Roy's velvet coat and gold-ta.s.selled smoking-cap lay side by side with an old Venetian garment, stiff with embroidery and dirt. Polly touched it caressingly as she pa.s.sed.

Mildred's eyes had noted all these surroundings while she sat down on the couch where Roy had tossed for so many, many days, and let Richard wait on her; but her anxious looks still mutely questioned him.

'You shall go in and see him directly you are rested and have had some tea,' said Richard, busily occupying himself with the little black kettle. 'He heard your bell, and made a sign to me to come to you; he has been wis.h.i.+ng for you all night, poor fellow; but it was his own fault, telegraphing to me instead.'