'Yes, Polly—my bright-faced Polly. Miss Lambert, you must not grow pale over it; I am not robbing Aunt Milly of one of her children. Polly belongs to me.'
'As thy days so shall thy strength be;' the words seemed to echo in her heart. Mildred could make nothing of the pain that had suddenly seized on her; some unerring instinct warned her to defer inquiry. Aunt Milly!—yes, she was only Aunt Milly, and nothing else.
'You are right; Polly belongs to you,' she said, looking at him with wistful eyes, out of which the tender, shining light seemed somehow faded, 'but you must not sacrifice yourself for all that,' she continued, with the old-fashioned wisdom he had ever found in her.
'There you wrong me; it will be no sacrifice,' he returned, eagerly. 'Year by year Polly has been growing very dear to me. I have watched her closely; you could not find a sweeter nature anywhere.'
'She is worthy of a good man's love,' returned Mildred, in the same calm, impassive tone.
'You are so patient that I must not stint my confidence!' he exclaimed. 'I must tell you that for the last two years this thought has been growing up in my heart, at first with reluctant anxiety, but lately with increasing delight. I love Polly very dearly, Miss Lambert; all the more, that she is so dependent on me.'
Mildred did not answer, but evidently Dr. Heriot found her silence sympathetic, for he went on in the same absorbed tone—
'I do not deny that at one time the thought gave me pain, and that I doubted my ability to carry out my plan, but now it is different. I love her well enough to wish to be her protector; well enough to redeem her father's trust. In making this young orphan my wife, I shall console myself; my conscience and my heart will be alike satisfied.'
'She is very young,' began Mildred, but he interrupted her a little sadly.
'That is my only remaining difficulty—she is so young. The discrepancy in our ages is so apparent. I sometimes doubt whether I am right in asking her to sacrifice herself.'