'Aunt Milly, no one has said such things to me before.'
'Well, dear!'
'It is beautiful—the idea, I mean—it seems to heal the sore place.'
'I meant it to do so. It is not more beautiful than the filial love that can find rest by a mother's grave. Cardie would never think of doing that. When his paroxysms of pain come on him, he vents himself in long solitary walks, or shuts himself up in his room.'
'Aunt Milly, how did you know that? who told you?'
'My own intuition,' returned Mildred, smiling. 'Come, child, it is long past ten. I wonder what Polly and Dr. Heriot have been doing with themselves all this time. Go to sleep and forget all about these troubles;' and Mildred kissed the tear-stained face tenderly as she spoke.
She found Dr. Heriot alone when she entered the drawing-room. He looked up at her rather strangely, she thought. Could he have overheard any of their conversation?
'I was just coming out to warn you of imprudence,' he said, rising and offering her his chair. 'Sit there and rest yourself a little. Do mothers in Israel generally have such tired faces?' regarding her with a grave, inscrutable smile.
He had heard then. Mildred could not help the rising colour that testified to her annoyance.
'Forgive me,' he returned, leaning over the back of her chair, and speaking with the utmost gentleness. 'I did not mean to annoy you, far from it. Your voices just underneath the window reached me occasionally, and I only heard enough to——'