Heriot's Choice: A Tale

by Rosa Nouchette Carey

'Your life is so perfect—so beautiful, Mildred,' she said, once, when the latter had pressed her almost with tears in her eyes, 'that I could not break in upon it with my sad face and moping ways. I should be more wretched than I am now.'

'But at least you might have some lady with you; such perfect loneliness is good for no one. I cannot bear to think of you living in a corner of that great house all by yourself,' returned Mildred, almost vexed with her obstinacy; and, indeed, the girl was very difficult to understand in those days.

'I have no friends but all of you dear people,' she answered, in the saddest voice possible, 'and I will not trouble you. I could not tolerate a stranger for a moment. Mildred, you must not be hurt with me; you do not know. I must have my way in this.'

And though Mildred shook her wise head, and Dr. Heriot entered more than one laughing protest against such determined self-will, they were obliged to yield.

It was a strange life for so young a woman, and would have tried the strongest nerves; but the only wisdom that Ethel Trelawny showed was in not allowing herself an idle moment. The old dreaming habits were broken for ever, the fastidious choice of duties altogether forgotten; her days were chiefly devoted to her steward and tenants.

Richard, returning from his parochial visits to some outlying village, often met her, mounted on her beautiful brown mare, Zoê. Sometimes she would stop and give him her slim hand, and let him pet the mare and talk to her leaning on Zoê's glossy neck; but oftener a wave of the hand and a passing smile were her only greeting. Richard would come in stern and weary from these encounters, but he never spoke of them.

It was in the following spring that Boy and Polly were married.

Roy had been successful and had sold another picture, and as Mr. Lambert was disposed to be liberal to his younger son, there was no fear of opposition from Polly's guardian, even if he could have resisted the pleadings of the young people.

But, after all, there was no actual imprudence. If Roy failed to find a continuous market for his pictures, there was still no risk of positive starvation. Mr. Lambert had been quite willing to listen to Richard's representations, and to settle a moderate sum on Roy; for the present, at least, they would have enough and to spare, and the responsibility of a young wife would add a spur to Roy's genius.

Richard was not behind in his generosity. Already his frugality had amassed a few hundreds, half of which he placed in Roy's hands. Roy spent a whole day in Wardour Street after that. A wagon, laden with old carved furniture and wonderful bric-à-brac, drew up before The Hollies. New crimson velvet curtains and a handsome carpet found their way to the old studio. Polly hardly recognised it when she first set foot in the gorgeous apartment, and heaved a private sigh over the dear old shabby furniture. A little carved work-table and a davenport of Indian wood stood in a corner appropriated to her use; a sleep-wooing couch and a softly-cushioned easy-chair were beside them. Polly cried a little with joy when the young husband pointed out the various contrivances for her comfort. All the pretty dresses Dr. Heriot had given her, and even Aunt Milly's thoughtful present of house-linen, which now lay in the new press, with a sweet smell of lavender breathing through every fold, were as nothing compared to Roy's gifts. After all, it was an ideal wedding; there was youth, health, and good looks, with plenty of honest love and good humour.