'I wonder,' mused the girl, with a sort of sorrowful humour, 'who this Clarice was--Mrs. Madison's grandmother or great-grandmother most likely, for of course she married--that broad, smiling face could not belong to an old maid; she was some squire or farmer's wife most likely, and he bought her that hat in London when they went up to see the Green Parks, and St. James's, and Greenwich Hospital, and Vauxhall,--she had a double chin, and got dreadfully stout, I know, before she was forty. And I wonder,' she continued, with unconscious pathos, 'if this Clarice liked the squire, or farmer, or whatever he may be, as I like Heriot. Or if, when she was young, she had an adopted brother who gave her pain; she looks as though she never knew what it was to be unhappy or sorry about anything.' Polly's fanciful musings were broken presently by Mildred's entrance; she accosted the girl cheerfully, but there was no mistaking her pale, harassed looks. 'It is nearly twelve, you ought not to have waited for me, my dear; there was so much to do--and then Richard kept me.' 'Where is Richard?' asked Polly, abruptly. 'He has gone to bed; he is to have Mr. Dugald's room. Dr. Heriot is sitting up with Roy.' 'Yes, I know. Oh, Aunt Milly, he says there is no doubt of his living; the inflammation has subsided, and with care he has every hope of him.' 'Thank God! He will tell his father so; we none of us knew of his danger till it was past, and so we were saved Richard's terrible suspense; he has been telling me about it. I never saw him more cut up about anything--it was a sharper attack than we believed.' 'Could he speak to you, Aunt Milly?' 'Only a word or two, and those hardly audible; the breathing is still so oppressed that we dare not let him try--but he made me a sign to kiss him, and once he took hold of my hand; he likes to see us there.' 'He did not mind Dr. Heriot, then?' and Polly turned to the fire to hide her sudden flush, but Mildred did not notice it. 'He seemed a little agitated, I thought, but Dr. Heriot soon succeeded in calming him; he managed beautifully. I am sure Roy likes having him, though once or twice he looked pained--at least, I fancied so; but you have no idea what Dr. Heriot is in a sickroom,' and Mildred paused in some emotion. She felt it was impossible to describe to Polly the skilful tenderness with which he had tended Roy; the pleasant cordiality which had evaded awkwardness, the exquisite sympathy that dealt only with present suffering; no, it could only be stored sacredly in her memory, as a thing never to be forgotten. The girl drooped her head as Mildred spoke. 'I am finding out more every day what he is, but one will never come to the bottom of his goodness,' she said, humbly. 'Aunt Milly, I feel more and more how unworthy I am of him,' and she rested her head against Mildred and wept. There was a weary ring in Mildred's voice as she answered her.