But Polly did not answer; she only hid her red quivering hand under her work, as though she feared Dr. Heriot would see it. But the next moment the work was thrown lightly to the ground, and Dr. Heriot's fingers were gently stroking the ill-used hand. 'Poor little Polly; does he often treat you to such a rough hand-shake?' he said, with a half-amused, tender smile. 'No, never,' she stammered; but then, as though gaining courage from the kind face looking down at her, 'Oh, Heriot, I am so glad he is gone. I--I want to speak to you.' 'Is that why you have been so silent?' drawing her nearer to him as she stood beside him on the rug. 'Little Heartsease, did you like my new name?' 'Don't, Heriot; I--I do not understand you; I have not been faithful at least.' 'Not in your sense of the word, perhaps, dear Polly, but in mine. What if your faithfulness should save us both from a great mistake?' 'I--I do not understand you,' she said again, looking at him with sad, bewildered eyes. 'You shall talk to me presently; but now I want to speak to you. Heriot, I was wrong to come here--wrong and self-willed. Aunt Milly was right; I have done no good. Oh, it has all been so miserable--a mistake from beginning to end; and then I thought you would never come.' 'Dear Polly, it could not be helped. Neither can I stay now.' 'You will not go and leave me again?' she said, faltering and becoming very pale. 'Heriot, you must take me with you; promise me that you will take me with you.' 'I cannot, my dear child. Indeed--indeed--I cannot' 'Then I will go alone,' she said, throwing back her head proudly, but trembling as she spoke. 'I will not stay here without you--not for a day--not for a single day.' 'But Roy wants you. You cannot leave him until he is better,' he said, watching her; but though she coloured perceptibly, she stood her ground. 'I was wrong to come,' she returned, piteously. 'I cannot help it if Rex wants me. I know he does. You are saying this to punish me, and because I have failed in my duty.' 'Hush, my child; I at least have not reproached you.' 'No, you never reproach me; you are kindness itself. Heriot,' laying down her face on his arm, and now he knew she was weeping, 'I never knew until lately how badly I have treated you. You ought not to have chosen a child like me. I have tried your patience, and given you no return for your goodness; but I have resolved that all this shall be altered.' 'Is it in your power, Polly?' speaking now more gravely. 'It must--it shall be. Listen to me, dear. You asked me once to make no unnecessary delay, but to be your wife at once. Heriot, I am ready now.' 'No, my child, no.'