England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Families -- Fiction
'Sue is more faithful to him than I,' thought the girl, with a sigh. The
studio seemed more cheerful than the dark, cold passage. Sue's repulse
had saddened her still more. When Dr. Heriot returned some time
afterwards, he found her curled up in the great arm-chair, with her face
buried in her hands, not crying, as he feared, but with pale cheeks and
wide distended eyes that he was troubled to see.
'My poor Polly,' smoothing her hair caressingly.
Polly sprang up.
'Oh, Heriot, how long you have been. I have been so frightened; is
he--will he live?' the stammering lips not disguising the terrible
anxiety.
'There is no doubt of it; but he has been very ill. No, my dear child,
you need not fear I shall misunderstand you,' as Polly tried to hide her
happy face, every feature quivering with the joyful relief. 'You cannot
be too thankful, too glad, for he has had a narrow escape. Aunt Milly
will have her hands full for some time.'
'I thought if he died that it would be my fault,' she faltered, 'and
then I could not have borne it.'
'Yes--yes--I know,' he returned, soothingly; 'but now this fear is
removed, you will be our Heartsease again, and cheer us all up. I cannot
bear to see your bright face clouded. You will be yourself again, Polly,
will you not?'
'I will try,' she returned, lifting up her face to be kissed like a
child. She had never but once offered him the most timid caress, and
this maidenly reserve and shyness had been sweet to him; but now he told
himself it was different. Alas! he knew her better than she knew
herself, and there was sadness in his looks, as he gently bade her
good-night. She detained him with some surprise. 'Where are you going,
Heriot? you know there is plenty of room; Richard said so.'
'I shall watch in Roy's room to-night,' he replied. 'Richard looks worn
out, and Aunt Milly must recruit after her journey. I shall not leave
till the middle of the day to-morrow, so we shall have plenty of time to
talk. You must rest now.'
'Are you going away to-morrow?' repeated Polly, looking blank. 'I--I had
hoped you would stay.'
'My child, that would be impossible; but Richard will remain for a few
days longer. I will promise to come back as soon as I can.'
'But--but if you leave me--oh, you must not leave me, Heriot,' returned
the girl, with sudden inexplicable emotion; 'what shall I do without
you?'
'Have I grown so necessary to you all at once?' he returned, and there
was an accent of reproach in his voice. 'Nay, Polly, this is not like
your sensible little self; you know I must go back to my patients.'
'Yes, I know; but all the same I cannot bear to let you go; promise me
that you will come back soon--very soon--before Roy gets much better.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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