'Chriss, Chriss, what a Radical you are,' returned Mildred. She was a little weary of Chriss's childish chatter. They were in the deep lane skirting Podgill now; just beyond the footbridge Polly and Dr. Heriot were standing waiting for them.
'Is the tangle all gone?' he asked presently. 'Are you quite happy again, Heartsease?'
'Yes, very happy,' she assured him, with a bright smile, and he felt a pressure of the hand that rested on his arm.
'What a darling she is,' he thought to himself somewhat later that night, as he walked across the market-place, now shining in the moonlight 'Little witch, how prettily she acted that speech of Perdita, her eyes imploring forgiveness all the time for her mischief. The child has deep feelings too. Once or twice she made me feel oddly. But I need not fear; she will make a sweet wife, I know, my innocent Polly.'
But the little scene haunted his fancy, and he had an odd dream about it that night. He thought that they were in the grassy knoll again looking over the Scar, and that some one pushed some withered herbs into his hands. 'Here's rue for you, and there's some for me; you may wear your rue with a difference,' said a voice.
'Unkind Polly!' he returned, dropping them, and stretched out his arms to imprison the culprit; but Polly was not there, only Mildred Lambert was there, with her elbow on her knee, looking sadly over the Scar.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE DESERTED COTTON-MILL IN HILBECK GLEN
Hey the green ribbon! we kneeled beside it,
We parted the grasses dewy and sheen;
Drop over drop, there filtered and slided
A tiny bright beck that trickled between.
Tinkle, tinkle, sweetly it sung to us,
Light was our talk as of faëry bells—
Faëry wedding-bells faintly rung to us
Down in their fortunate parallels.—Jean Ingelow.