Then, with a tired “Good-night! Now go to sleep like a good girl,” and without waiting for more, Hannah left the room to return to Priscilla, and Polly was left in the darkness and the silence again.
The big clock in the corner ticked out the seconds with slow distinctness; a little screech-owl in the branches of the big oak-tree just beyond the window repeated its dismal, quivering call. Polly buried her face in the pillows and trembled. She had thought she was unhappy before, when Priscilla’s sickness was the only weight upon her heart. But now there was a worse one added to that. The knowledge that she would be held responsible for the accident and whatever resulted from it.
Poor Polly! She had quite forgotten the little tiff of the morning but now it came back to her with cruel clearness for Hannah’s words showed plainly enough that Priscilla had not forgotten. What could she say the next morning when Mrs. Duer should ask her if what Priscilla said was true? For what Priscilla said was true: Polly could not deny it. It was true Polly had shaken Priscilla and Priscilla “to pay her back” it appeared, had leaned over the ledge of the Lodge. She saw it all now. So it was true also that Priscilla’s fall was somehow due to Polly’s temper. It all seemed very terrible and confusing and hopeless. She knew in her heart that she was not utterly to blame and yet—and yet she could not reason out her excuse and she could not explain. She heard the clock strike “Twelve!”—“one”—“two”—and then, at last, worn out and thoroughly miserable she fell asleep and slept until long after her usual time for rising.
This morning there was no kindly Hannah to oversee her bath; no friendly Priscilla to frolic with. Everything was lonely, still, and discouraging. She ate her breakfast in silence and then wandered off to the nursery window and gazed out disconsolately into the blinding brightness of the sunny grounds below. Presently she heard the sound of wheels crunching on the gravel of the driveway and saw the doctor’s carriage swing briskly around the sweep in front of the house. She slipped quickly down-stairs and flew breathlessly out into the vestibule, just in time to meet Dr. Crosby on his way into the hall.
“Good-morning, little lady!” he said genially, resting a kind hand for a moment upon her shoulder and looking narrowly into her pale, anxious, tear-stained face. “And how do you do this fine, hot morning?”
Polly nodded gratefully and tried to say, “Very well, I thank you,” but could not quite accomplish it. The doctor saw she had something upon her mind and patiently waited to learn what it was. At last she was able to speak.
“Priscilla,” she stammered. “Is Priscilla going to—going to—be worse?”
“Why, bless your heart, no,” Dr. Crosby replied promptly. “On the contrary Priscilla is going to be better very soon, quite well, in fact. When I left her at four o’clock this morning she was sleeping soundly, and if she has rested well ever since, we’ll have her up and about in no time. So don’t be down-hearted, child. I suppose you are the Polly Priscilla has had so much to say about, and you’re fretting because she has sick notions and doesn’t want to see you? Pooh, pooh! never mind that! We’ll send her away somewhere for a few weeks for a change, and by the time she comes back she will have forgotten all about it and you’ll be as good friends as ever,” and with that, and an encouraging pat upon the head, the good-hearted doctor hurried up-stairs.
Polly crept back to the nursery only half-comforted. Priscilla might be better and, if she were, of course, that would be an immense relief, but in the meantime she was angry at Polly and would have to be taken away before she would get over it.