'I only want to justify the impulse that bade me follow you just now,' he returned, with gentle gravity. 'You shall not lose the fruit of your humility through me, Miss Lambert. I am glad you know my sad story, it makes my task an easier one.'
'You must have suffered greatly, Dr. Heriot.'
'Ah, have I not?' catching his breath quickly. 'You do not know, how can you, how a man of my nature loves the woman he has made his wife.'
'She must have been very beautiful.' The words escaped from Mildred before she was aware.
'Beautiful,' he returned, in a tone of gloomy triumph. 'I never saw a face like hers, never; but it was not her beauty only that I loved; it was herself—her real self—as she was to others, never to me. You may judge the power of her fascination, when I tell you that I loved her to the last in spite of all—ay, in spite of all—and though she murdered my happiness. Oh, the heaven our home might have been, if our boy had lived,' speaking more to himself than to her, but her calm voice recalled him.
'Time heals even these terrible wounds.'
'Yes, time and the kindness of friends. I was not ungrateful, even in my loneliness. Since Margaret died, I have been thankful for moderate blessings, but now they cease to content me: in spite of my resolve never to call another woman my wife, I am growing strangely restless and lonely.'
'You have thought of some one; you want my advice, my assistance, perhaps.' Would those churning waters never be still? A fine trembling passed through the folded fingers, but the sweet, quiet tones did not falter. Were there two Mildreds, one suffering a new, unknown pain; the other sitting quietly on a gray boulder, with the water lapping to her very feet.
'Yes, I have thought of some one,' was the steady answer. 'I have thought of my ward.'
'Polly!' Ah, surely those seething waters must burst their bounds now, and overwhelm them with a noisy flood. Was she dreaming? Did she hear him aright?