'Heriot, what do you mean?' she whispered, vehemently; 'surely you did not misunderstand me; you could not doubt the sincerity of my words, my love?'
'Neither the one nor the other,' was the quiet reply; 'do I not know my Polly? could I not trust that guileless integrity as I would my own? You need not fear my misunderstanding you; I know you but too well.'
'Are you sure that you do?' clinging to him more closely.
'Am I sure that I am alive? No, Polly, I do not doubt you; when you tell me that you love Roy as though he were your own brother, that you are only sorry for him, and long to comfort him, I believe you. I am as sure that you speak the truth as you know it.'
'And you will trust me?' stroking the coat-sleeve as she spoke.
'Have I not told you so?' reproachfully; 'am I a tyrant to keep you in durance vile, when your adopted brother lies dangerously ill, and you assure me of your power to minister to him? Miss Lambert, it is by my own wish that Polly goes with you to London; she thinks Roy will not get well unless he sees her again.'
Mildred started. Polly had kept her thoughts so much to herself lately that she had not understood how much was passing in her mind; did she really believe that her influence was so great over Roy, that her persuasion would recall him from the brink of the grave? Could Dr. Heriot credit such a supposition? was not the risk a daring one? He could not be so sure of himself and her; but looking up, as these thoughts passed through her mind, she encountered such a singular glance from Dr. Heriot that her colour involuntarily rose; it told her he understood her scruples, but that his motives were fixed, inscrutable; it forbade questioning, and urged compliance with his wishes, and after that there was nothing more to be said.
But in the course of the evening Polly volunteered still further information—
'You know he is going with us himself,' she said, as she followed Mildred into her room to assist in the packing.
Mildred very nearly dropped the armful of things she was carrying, a pile of Roy's shirts she had been mending; she faced round on Polly with unusual energy—