'WHICH SHALL IT BE?'
'She looked again, as one that half afraid
Would fain be certain of a doubtful thing;
Or one beseeching, "Do not me upbraid!"
And then she trembled like the fluttering
Of timid little birds, and silent stood.'
Jean Ingelow.
Dr. Heriot started for London the day after he had received Mildred's letter; as he intended, his appearance took them all by surprise.
Mildred was the first to detect the well-known footsteps on the gravelled path; but she held her peace. Dr. Heriot's keen glance, as he stood on the threshold, had time to scan the features of the little fireside group before a word of greeting had crossed his lips; he noticed Polly's listless attitude as she sat apart in the dark window-seat, and the moody restlessness of Roy's face as he lay furtively watching her. Even Mildred's heightened colour, as she bent industriously over her work, was not lost on him.
'Polly!' he said, crossing the room, and marvelling at her unusual abstraction.
At the sound of the kind, well-known voice, the girl started violently; but as he stooped over her and kissed her, she turned very white, and involuntarily shrank from him, but the next moment she clung to him almost excitedly.
'Oh, Heriot, why did you not come before? You knew I wanted you—you must have known how I wanted you.'
'Yes, dear, I knew all about it,' he replied, quietly, putting away the little cold hands that detained him, and turning to the others.