'You think it does not augur want of love? Well, you may be right; I only profess to understand one girl,'—with a sigh—'and I can read her like a book; but Roy, Aunt Milly—what must we do about Roy?'
Mildred shook her head dejectedly.
'He must not come here under the circumstances, it would not be possible or right; he has done mischief enough already.'
'Surely he did not betray himself?' in Richard's sternest voice; 'he assured me over and over again that he had not said a word which Dr. Heriot might not hear.'
'No; he commanded himself wonderfully; he only forgot himself once, and then, poor lad, he recollected himself in time,—but she must have noticed how badly it went with him—there was heart-break in his face.'
'I had sad work with him for the first two miles,' returned Richard. 'I was half afraid of leaving him at all, he looked and spoke so wildly, only my threat of telling my father brought him to reason; he begged—he implored me to keep his secret, and that no one but you and I should ever know of his madness.'
'There would be nothing gained by telling my brother,' returned Mildred.
'Certainly not; it would be perfectly useless, and fret him beyond measure; he would take Roy's trouble to heart, and have no pleasure in anything. How thankful I am, Aunt Milly, that I have already planned my London journey for the day after to-morrow.'
'Yes, indeed, I shall feel easier when he is under your care.'
'I must invent some excuse for being absent most of the day to-morrow; I cannot bear to think of him shut up in that wretched inn, and unable to stir out for fear of being recognised. He was very lame, I remember; I must find out if he has really injured his foot.'