"I'm going to take you home," said Doctor, who feared mischief from Polly's present state of strong excitement. "I expect you have gone through a fright and have had some punishment. The minute, too, we find out that we are really naughty, our punishment begins, as well as our forgiveness. I shall very likely punish you, child, but be satisfied, I forgive you freely. Now home, and to bed, and no talk of anything to-night, except a good supper, and a long restful sleep. Come, Polly, what's the matter? Do you object to be carried?" "But not in your arms, father. I am so big and heavy, it will half kill you." "You are tall, but not heavy, you are as light as a reed. Listen! I forbid you to walk a step. When I am tired there are two men to help me. Simpkins, will you and George give Maggie a hand, and keep close to us. Now, we had better all get home as fast as possible." It was more than half-past ten that night before Polly and the Doctor returned to Sleepy Hollow. But what a journey home she had! how comforting were the arms that supported her, how restful was the shoulder, on which now and then in an ecstasy to love and repentance, she laid her tired head! The stars were no longer terrible, far-off, and lonely, but near and friendly, like the faces of well-known friends. The moor ceased to be a great, vast, awful solitude, it smelt of heather, and was alive with the innumerable sounds of happy living creatures--and best of all, mother herself seemed to come back out of the infinite, to comfort the heart of the sorrowful child. CHAPTER XX. LIMITS. "And _now_, Maria, I want to know what is the meaning of all this," said the Doctor. It was late that night, very late. Polly was in bed, and Helen lay in her little white bed also close to Polly's side, so close that the sisters could hold each other's hands. They lay asleep now, breathing peacefully, and the Doctor, being satisfied that no serious mischief had happened to any of his family, meant to have it out with his sister-in-law. Mrs. Cameron was a very brave woman, or at least she considered herself so; it was perfectly natural that people should fear her, she did not object to a little wholesome awe on the parts of those who looked up to her and depended on her words of wisdom. To be afraid on her own part was certainly not her custom, and yet that evening, as she sat alone in the deserted old drawing-room, and listened to the wind as it rose fitfully and moaned through the belt of fir-trees that sheltered the lawn; as she sat there, pretending to knit, but listening all the time for footsteps which did not come, she did own to a feeling which she would not describe as fear, but which certainly kept her from going to bed, and made her feel somewhat uncomfortable.