'But Dr. Heriot would not mind. You do not know him, Aunt Milly. He is so good, so above all that sort of thing. He always said that he thought our friendship for each other so unique and beautiful--he understood me so well when I said Roy was just like my own, own brother.' 'Dear Polly, you must not fret if Roy does not see it in quite the same light at first,' continued Mildred, hesitating. 'He may feel--I do not say he does--as though he has lost a friend.' 'I will write and undeceive him,' she returned, eagerly. 'He shall not think that for a moment. But no, that will not explain all his sorrowful looks and strangeness. He seemed as though he wanted to speak, and yet he shunned me. Oh, Aunt Milly, what shall I do? How can I be happy and at ease now I know Roy is in trouble?' 'Polly, you must listen to me,' returned Mildred, taking her hand firmly, but secretly at her wits' end; even now she could hear voices calling to them from the farther side of the glen. 'This little complication--this difficulty of Roy's--demands all our tact. Roy will not like the others to know he has been here.' 'No! Are you sure of that, Aunt Milly?' fixing her large dark eyes on Mildred. 'Quite sure--he told me so himself; so we must guard his confidence, you and I. I must make some excuse for Richard, who will be back presently; and you must help me to amuse the others, and make time pass till he comes back.' 'Will he be long gone? What is he doing with Roy?' pushing back her hair with strangely restless fingers--a trick of Polly's when in trouble or perplexity; but Mildred smoothed the thick wild locks reprovingly. 'He will drive him for a mile or two until they meet some vehicle; he will not be longer than he can help. Roy has hurt his foot, and cannot walk well, and is tired besides.' 'Tired! he looks worn out; but perhaps we had better not talk any more now, Aunt Milly,' continued Polly, brushing some furtive tears from her eyes; 'there is Dr. Heriot coming to find us.' 'We were just going to scour the woods for you two,' he observed, eyeing their discomposed faces, half comically and half anxiously. 'Were you still looking for Leonard-du-Bray?' But as Polly faltered and turned crimson under his scrutinising glance, Mildred answered for her. 'Polly was looking for me, I believe. We have been sad truants, I know, and shall be punished by cold tea.' 'And Richard--have you not seen Richard?' he demanded in surprise. 'Yes, but he left me before Polly made her appearance; he has gone farther on, and will be back presently. Polly is dreadfully tired, I am afraid,' she continued, as she saw how anxiously he was eyeing the girl's varying colour; but Polly, weary and over-anxious, answered with unwonted irritability-- 'Every one is tired, more or less; these days are apt to become stupid in the end.'