Little Polly wiped her eyes after her happy thoughts; for the shower had
passed, and the gleam of sunshine augmented till her face grew dimpled,
and she went on stitching busily. It was very evident that she had some
consolation--some pleasant unguent for the irritation caused by Aunt
Lloyd; for at the end of half an hour she was singing away at some old
Welsh ditty, in a sweet, bird-like voice, filling up, when she forgot
the words, with a melodious little hum, which was only checked on the
appearance of her tyrant, that lady mating occasional incursions.
Sometimes Aunt Lloyd required table linen; then she came to unlock the
press where the dessert was laid out, and hand it to the footman,
counting the fruit on the dishes as she did so.
"Now, Robert, what are you looking at there?" she said, sharply, as she
caught the man's eyes straying in the direction of Polly. "Mind your
work, if you please."
Polly did not get snubbed, for she had been bending diligently over her
stitching, which, as soon as the tray of dessert had gone, came in for a
close inspection; but, as it was very neatly done, there was no
complaint.
"Hold out your hands, child," said Mrs Lloyd, suddenly; and she
examined the finger roughened by the hard material and contact with the
needle. "Ah, that stuffs too stiff; it shall be washed first. Mend
those."
The linen was doubled up, put away, and some soft material placed in the
girl's hands, over which she had been diligently at work one hour, when
Mrs Lloyd returned for coffee from her stores, with which she again
departed, muttering about "Such a set to bring down!" and Polly's
musical little voice began once more.
Let's see: the dictionary says that an enchanter is one who calls down
by chanting or singing--one who practises sorcery by song. Polly, then,
must have been an enchantress, for her little ditty about the love of
some deserted maid had the effect of bringing cousin Humphrey Lloyd
through the shrubbery to the open window of the housekeeper's room; and
just in the midst of one of the sweetest of the little trills there was
a rustle amongst the laurels, and a deep voice whispered "Polly!"
"Oh, my!" ejaculated Polly, dropping her work, and starting farther from
the window. "What will aunt say?"
Now, her instructions had been stringent; and knowing that it would be
like high treason to speak to Humphrey, she determined that she would
not, just as an industrious young needle, which had been warned not to
get rusty by associating with common bits of steel, might have gone on
busily through its work like the one Polly held in her hand.
But supposing that, instead of a common piece of steel, a magnet that
had been rubbed with the loadstone of love should come in its way, what
could the poor needle do?
Even as did little Polly--vow that aunt would be so cross; and then feel
herself drawn, drawn closer and closer to the iron-barred window, till
her little hands were caught in two strong, muscular fists, which
pressed them so hard that they almost hurt.
"Oh! you mustn't, mustn't come!" sobbed Polly. "If aunt found it out
she would almost kill me!"
"No, no, little one," said Humphrey; "why should she?"
"You--you don't know aunt," whispered Polly. "She's ordered me not to
speak to you."
"Not to speak to me!"
"Yes; nor to any one else. She would be so angry if she knew. You
don't want to get me scolded."
"No, no," he whispered--"not for worlds."
"Pray, pray, go then; and you must not speak to me any more."
"But Polly, dear Polly," whispered Humphrey, "tell me one thing, and
then I'll go and wait years and years, if you like, only tell me that."
Humphrey stopped short, for a singular phenomenon occurred. Polly's
fingers seemed to suddenly change from within his hands to his wrists,
and to become bony and firm, a sharp voice at the same moment
exclaiming--
"Who's this?"