'Has the fatigue of yesterday gone off, sir?'

'No; but I see the business has come. Can you be comfortable in your mousehole? Let us have the business, my dear. If it is knotty perhaps it will make me forget my ankle.'

'Ah!' she said remorsefully, 'I was talking of fatigue, sir— not of pain. Is the pain very bad?'

'No, my dear; but I was always inclined to the epicurian side of philosophy, and partial to anodynes; or even counter- irritants.'

'Whose bandage have you got on?' she said curiously.

'Whose? My own.'

'Dear sir, I do not mean as to the linen! Mr. Rollo was coming down to teach Gotham, and I wondered which of them took a lesson. That is all.'

'H'm! Ask Gotham,' said Mr. Falkirk.

'I wish I had been here to see,' said Wych Hazel. 'Never mind, I will next time. By the way, sir, did you leave any orders for me yesterday morning with anybody?'

'What do you mean, my dear?' said her guardian, rather opening his eyes. It is to be noted that though he growled and frowned as much as ever, there had come into Mr. Falkirk's mien an undoubted softening of expression since yesterday.

'I merely asked, sir. But now for business. Mrs. Powder is to have a grand explosion in the way of a dinner party next week. And she wants me to come and help touch off the fireworks. May I go?'

'What did you tell her?'

'That I would if you would, sir.'

'Is this the business?'

'Item the first, sir.'

'Well, my dear. Anything conditional upon my movements for some time to come will probably have to be vetoed. But you will have offers of a substitute.'

'The Marylands are going, sir.'

'Of course.'

'Well, Mr. Falkirk, suppose substitutes do offer,—what then?'

'Then you will follow your pleasure, Miss Hazel.'

'Thank you, sir. The next item seems to be a mild form of this: a little evening party at Mrs. Gen. Merrick's. And Mrs. Merrick hearing of your accident, sent a note to say that Miss Bird would convey me to Merricksdale, safe and in good order.'

'Who is Miss Bird?'

'Don't you remember, sir? She came to see me the same morning the Lasalle party came.'

'There are a great many Birds,' said Mr. Falkirk, grumpily, 'and they are not all pigeons.'

'But, my dear Mr. Falkirk, however important such natural history facts may be, they do not exactly meet the case in hand.'

'I don't know whether they meet it or no. Can't you go with Miss Maryland?'

'Not invited, sir.'

'How would you get back?'

'Mrs. Merrick takes charge of that.'

'And didn't think it necessary to inform you how or when?'

'It is only a small party, sir. I should expect to be back early.'

'That needs to be made certain, Miss Hazel, and stipulated for.'

'Well, sir, you shall name the hour.'

'Name it yourself; but be home by half-past eleven. Miss Hazel, I wish, till you have your own horses, you would not go to such places.'

There was a shade of disappointment in her face, but she answered steadily—

'I will not go, sir, if that is really your wish.'

'My dear, we must meet the enemy. In the progress of ladies seeking their fortune that is always understood. What next?'

She hesitated a moment, carefully dressing the petals of a carnation in her hand.

'The third item, sir, is—that if to-morrow afternoon I—will consent to put—my little foot,' said Miss Hazel, evidently mastering a laugh, 'inside the right phaeton—Mr. May will consent to drive.'

'Mr. May! Confound his impudence!' was the by no means doubtful utterance of Miss Hazel's guardian.

Hazel bit her lips and sat demurely waiting further developments.

'Chickaree is in a very exposed situation, Miss Hazel!' Mr. Falkirk remarked, with something a little like a sigh. While, as if to give effect to his words, two well-mounted horsemen at that moment went up the hill, exchanging greetings with the occupants of a landau that was just then making the descent. Wych Hazel looked and laughed.

'It is very comical!' she said. But her guardian was silent. He knew the Enchanted ground had to be met and passed. Perhaps he wished it were well over; but I think the present feeling of discontent relieved itself not even so far.

'And on the whole your three answers are, sir?—' said Hazel, after a pause.

'In your head,' Mr. Falkirk growled. 'You know what they are.'

'My dear sir! one would think they were in your foot!' But then she was silent, and then she began to sing. One thing and another, after her own fitful fashion, in the twilight; and business did not come up again. Only as she went to sleep that night, Miss Kennedy indulged in one profound reflection.

'No,' she said to herself, 'Dr. Maryland was right: Primrose would never do. Get her in a corner, and the most she can say is, "Duke knows." '

So drew on the night of Mrs. Merrick's party; and meantime a rainy day or two saved Mr. Falkirk some trouble, and left the cottage in comparative quiet. But as the night drew near, the clouds cleared away and the sun shone out, and fairer weather could not have been wished for, or wished away.

There had been a running fire of errands and messages between the cottage and the house on the hill, all day. Miss Kennedy was constantly finding out something more that she wanted for the evening, and Dingee went back and forth with notes to Mrs. Bywank and waterproof-covered baskets in return, till Gotham at least lost patience.

'More duds for Miss 'Azel!' he said in displeasure, as Dingee appeared just at nightfall with a final basket. 'It's clean ridikerlous! One dress at a time ought to content any young lady.'

'Now I jes' tell you what, Mas' Gotham,' said Dingee, 'you ain't up to de situation. Pears like de whole countryside after my young mistis!'

Gotham gave a grunt in unsuccessful imitation of his master's growl.

'H'after'er,' he said. 'Looks more as if she was h'after them— wanting fourteen dresses at once.'

Dingee shewed his teeth from ear to ear.

'You bery wise man, Mas' Gotham!' he said. ' 'Spect now you can tell a feller all about dese yere.' And Dingee threw off the white paper which covered what he carried this time, and displayed to Gotham's astonished eyes a basket full of bouquets.

' 'Spect now dese yere growed in Missee Hazel's own greenhouse,' he said, tauntingly, 'seein' she ain't got none! Shouldn't wonder if dey started up spontanous like, arter de shower. How you tink, Mas' Gotham, hey?'

But Gotham was virtuously indignant.

'Miss 'Azel'll get her head worse turned than it h'is now,' he said.

'Heads does turn, fact,' said Dingee, shaking his own. 'Jes' you watch 'em when de horseback gen'lemen dey goes by, Mas' Gotham, and you'll see de heads turn!'

But Gotham had watched enough already to know there was no mistake about that.

'Well,' he said, 'since h'it's 'ere, h'it's 'ere, and 'll 'ave to stay, no doubt. I'll take it to the library.'

'Cotch him first!' said Dingee, moving a little out of reach. 'Where Missee Hazel?'

'Prinking 'erself h'up,' answered Gotham severely.

'Gotham telling fibs!' said the young lady in question, coming up behind him with her light tread. 'Perhaps he had better take himself to the library, and report to Mr. Falkirk. What do you want of me, Dingee? I thought everything was here.'

Dingee had adroitly covered his basket again, but now he drew near and displayed his treasure, adding messages of a somewhat adorned nature, while Wych Hazel read the cards attached to the bouquets. Gotham, standing a little off, looked on indignant as before, and frowned at the flowers and the flushing cheeks drooped over them, as if he had been Mr. Falkirk himself. But when Hazel caught up the basket and ran off to her little corner room, then Gotham did betake himself to the library, though without quite the report suggested.

'Beg pardon, sir,' he said; 'Miss 'Azel 'ave just received a bushel of flowers, sir,—if you choose to be h'aware, sir.'

'A what, Gotham?' said the astonished Mr. Falkirk.

'No person of discretion to detain them at the 'ouse, sir, and so of course they followed Miss 'Azel down 'ere, sir. Boukets enough to last a h'ordinary person all summer, sir. And cards. And ribbands,'—concluded Gotham, beginning to clear the table for tea.

'Look here, Gotham,'—said Mr. Falkirk, from his sofa, whence his eyes followed his serving-man about.

'Yes, sir!' said Gotham, erect and motionless.

'Do you dare to speak of Miss Hazel as an ordinary person?'

'Why, no sir! By no means! Very h'extraordinary, I thought I said, sir—or h'indicated,' replied Gotham, going back to his leisurely motions about the table.

'Have the goodness to remember that it is proper her flowers should be extraordinary.'

'O, you are clearing the table,' Hazel said, flitting in; 'just what I wanted—tea early.'

'Tea never h'is late, Miss 'Azel!' said Gotham in an aggrieved voice.

'I didn't know but it might be to-night,' said the girl provokingly. 'But dear Mr. Falkirk, do you really like to have your books disturbed so often, just for me?'

'My dear,' said Mr. Falkirk rather lazily, brushing one hand over his forehead, 'you have done that for my life generally.'

'My dear Mr. Falkirk!—evidently I have just come in time to receive a shot meant for somebody else. I wonder you allow yourself to fire at random, sir, in that way.'

'Who has been sending you flowers, Miss Hazel?' her guardian asked, without change of tone.

She laughed.

'Shall I leave you the cards, sir—just to pass away the time while I am gone?'

'I'll take them now, Miss Hazel, if you please.' Mr. Falkirk stretched out his hand.

'They are not so precious as to be carried in my pocket, sir. Do you want them before tea?'

'If you please, Miss Hazel!'

'I don't please a bit, sir. I am in a great hurry to go to my dressing. And you know, Mr. Falkirk, you seldom try for "the soul of wit" on such occasions.'

'Does that mean, you refuse me the sight of them?'

'No, sir!—"By no means!"—to quote Gotham,' said Wych Hazel, jumping up. She came back and laid the cards in his hand—quite a packet of them. Mr. Falkirk found names that he knew and names that he did not. He turned them over, speaking some of the names in an inexpressive sotto voce; and then began doubling them up, one after the other, and letting them fall on the floor beside him.

'Have you got a copy of the Arabian Nights in your library, my dear?' he asked. 'I wish you would send for it. I am not posted. I have an indistinct impression of a fight between two rival powers, in which, after a variety of transformations, the one of them in the shape of a kernel of corn was swallowed by the other in some appropriate shape. I should like to study the tactics, watch my opportunity, and make an end of these gentry.' Mr. Falkirk dropped the last card as he spoke.

'Ha! ha!' laughed Wych Hazel in her soft notes. 'You will feel better, sir, when you have had a cup of tea.' And she began preparing it at once. Whether or not Mr. Falkirk felt better he did not say.

The girl went off to her dressing. And just before the hour when Miss Bird must arrive she came silently in again and stood before her guardian. If Mr. Falkirk thought of humming- birds then, it could only have been of the tropical species. A dark dress, that shimmered and glittered and fell into shadows with every motion, first caught his eye; but then Mr. Falkirk saw that it was looped with bouquets. Now either Miss Hazel's admirers had differing tastes, or a different image of her, or else each sent what he could get; for the bouquets were extremely diverse. A bunch of heath and myrtle held up the dress here, a cluster of crimson roses held it back there; another cluster of gold and buff, a trailing handful of glowing fuchsias—there is no need to go through the list. But she had arranged them with great skill to set each other off; tied together by their own ribbands, catching up the shimmer of her dress.

Mr. Falkirk looked, and the fact that his face expressed nothing at all was rather significant. One glance at the girl's face he gave, and turned away.

'Take care, my dear,' he said.

'Of what, sir?'

'How do you know but those flowers are bewitched? You would not be the first woman who had put on her own chains.'

She smiled—rather to herself than him—throwing her little white cloak over her shoulders; and then, girl-like, went down on one knee and kissed her guardian's hand.

'Good-night, sir,' she said. The carriage came, and she was gone.

CHAPTER XXI.

MOONSHINE.

After the day of rain, and the afternoon of clearing wind and clouds, the evening of Mrs. Merrick's party passed into one of those strange, unearthly nights when the whole world seems resolved into moonlight and a midsummer night's dream. So while gas and hot-house flowers had it all their own way in the house at Merricksdale, over the rest of the outside world the wondrous moonlight reigned supreme. Not white and silvery, but as it were gilded and mellowed with the summer warmth. Step by step it invaded the opening ranks of forest trees; and dark shadows wound noiselessly away from the close pursuit. Not a wind whispered; not a moving thing was in sight along the open road. Except indeed Mr. Rollo, who—not invited to Mrs. Merrick's, and just returned from a short journey—was getting over the ground that lay between the railway station and home on foot. And his way took him along the highway that stretched from Crocus to the gates of Chickaree.

Now moonlight is a very bewildering thing—and thoughts do sometimes play the very will-o'-the-wisp with one. And when somebody you know is at a party, there is a funny inclination to go through the motions at least, and be up as late as anybody else. So it was with a somewhat sudden recollection that Mr. Rollo bethought him of what his watch might say. Just then he was in a belt of shadow, where trees crowded out the moon; but the next sharp turn of the road was all open and flooded with the yellow light.

It would be quite too much to suppose that the gentleman in question was particularly open to impressions—and it is certain that his thoughts at that minute were well wrapped up in their own affairs; and yet as he went round the turn, passing out of the line of shadow into absolute moonshine again, there came upon him a strange sense of some presence there besides his own. But what the evidence was, whether it had smote upon his eye or upon his ear, of that Mr. Rollo was profoundly ignorant. Yet it is safe to say that he came out of his musings and looked about him. Only a midsummer night's dream still: the open road for a mile ahead in full view, the dark line of trees on each side as motionless as if asleep. But the utter hush was perhaps more suggestive than the stir of a breezy night: it seemed as if everything was listening and held its breath to hear.

The gentleman in question, however, was not one to let slip such a suggestion to his nerves—or his senses. His nerves were of the coolest and steadiest kind; he could depend on them for getting up no shams to puzzle him; and his senses had had capital training. Eye and ear were keen almost as those of some of the wild creatures whose dependence they are; and Rollo had the craft and skill of a practised hunter. So instead of dismissing the fancy that had struck him, as most men would, he fell noiselessly into the shadow again, with eyes and ears alive on the instant to take evidence that might be relied on. But nothing stirred. Nothing shewed. Except as before, the yellow moonlight and the dark trees. Rollo was a hunter, and patient. He stood still. The shadowy edges of the stream of light changed slowly, slightly, and still the evidence he looked for did not come. Nothing seemed to change but those dark fringes; only now some wave of the branches as the wind began to rise, let in the moonlight for a moment upon a small white speck across the road. He thought so: something whiter than a wet stone or a bleached stick,—or it might be fancy. Noiselessly and almost invisibly, for Dane could move like an Indian, and with such quickness, he was over the road and at the spot. There was no mistaking the token—it was a little glove of Wych Hazel's. Evidently dropped in haste; for one of her well-known jewelled fastenings lay glittering in his hand. But—Mrs. Gen. Merrick lived quite in another quarter of the world; and in no case did the direct road from Merricksdale lead by here.

If Rollo's senses had been alive before, which was but their ordinary and normal condition, he was now in the frame of mind of a Sioux on the war-path, and in corresponding alertness and acuteness of every faculty. The little glove was swiftly put where it would furnish a spot of light to no one else; and in breathless readiness for action, though that is rhetorical, for Rollo's breath was as regular and as calm as cool nerves could make it, he subsided again into the utter inaction which is all eye and ear. And then in a few minutes, from across the road again, and near where he was at first, came these soft words:

'Mr. Rollo—will you give quarter if I surrender at discretion? Just to save you trouble—and let me get home the quicker.'

In the next instant the gentleman stood by the lady's side. Well for him that he was a hunter, and that habit is a great thing; for he made no exclamations and showed no disturbance, though Wych Hazel in the woods at that time of night, was a thing to try most people's command of words at least. Only in the spring which brought him across the road he had spoken the one word "Hazel!" louder than an Indian would have done. Then he stood beside her. Wych Hazel herself—bareheaded, without gloves, her little white evening cloak not around her shoulders, but rolled up into the smallest possible compass, and held down by her side. She had been standing in the deepest depth of shadow under a low drooping hemlock, and now came out to meet him. But she seemed to have no more words to give. That something had happened, was very clear. Rollo's first move was to take the girl's hand, and the second to inquire in a low voice how she came there. The hand-touch was not in compliment, but such a taking-possession clasp as Hazel had felt from it before; one that carried, as a hand-clasp can, its guaranty of protection, guidance, defence.

Hazel did not answer at first—only there went a shiver over her from head to foot; and her hand was as cold as ice.

'I am very glad to find you, Mr. Rollo,' she said in a sort of measured voice; he could not tell what was in it.—'Will you walk home with me?'

Rollo's answer was not in a hurry. He first took from Wych Hazel her little bundle of the opera cloak, shook it out, and put it around her shoulders, drawing the fastening button at the throat; then taking the little cold hand in his clasp again, and with the other arm lingering lightly round her shoulders, he asked her "what had happened?"

People are different, as has been remarked. There was nobody in the world that could have put the question to Wych Hazel as he put it, and afterwards she could recognize that. Mr. Falkirk's words would have been more anxious; Dr. Maryland's would have been more astonished; and any one of Miss Hazel's admirers would have made speeches of surprise and sympathy and offered service. Rollo's was a business question, albeit in its somewhat curt accentuation there lurked a certain readiness for action; and there was besides, though indefinably expressed, the assumption of a right to know and a very intimate personal concern in the answer. How his eyes were looking at her the moonlight did not serve to shew; they were in shadow; yet even that was not quite hid from the object of them; and the arm that was round her was there, not in freedom-taking, but with the unmistakeable expression of shelter. So he stood and asked her what had happened.

'Thank you,' she said in the same measured tone. 'I am not cold—I think. But it is safe now. Will you walk home very fast, please? I promised Mr. Falkirk that I would be home by eleven!'—There was an accent of real distress then.

'Do you know what o'clock it is now?' said Rollo, drawing out his watch.

'I hoped—a while ago—it was near morning.'

He did not say what time it was. He put the little hand on his arm, guided Hazel into the road, and began his walk homeward, but with a measured quiet pace, not 'very fast.'

'Why did you wish it was morning?' he asked in the same way in which he had spoken before. No haste in it; calm business and self-possession; along with the other indications above mentioned. It was cool, but it was the coolness of a man intensely alive to the work in hand; the intonation towards Wych Hazel very gentle.

'I thought I had to walk home alone,' she said simply. 'And I wanted the time to come.'

'Please tell me the meaning of all this. You went to Merricksdale this evening—last evening?'

'Yes.' Words did not come readily.

Rollo added no more questions then. He went steadily on, keeping a gentle pace that Wych Hazel could easily bear, until they came to the long grey stone house where she had once run in from the storm. At the gate Rollo paused and opened it, leading his companion up to the door.

'I am going to take you in here for a little while,' he said. 'We will disturb nobody—don't fear; I have a key.'

'In here?' she said, rousing up then. 'O no!—I must go home, Mr. Rollo. Did you bring me this way—I did not notice.'

'You shall go home just as soon as possible,' he said; 'but come in here and I will tell you my reasons for stopping.'

The door opened noiselessly. The moonlight showed the way, shining in through the fanlights, and Rollo pushed open the door of the library and brought his charge in there. The next thing was to strike a match and light two candles. The room looked very peaceful, just as it had been deserted by the family a few hours before; Rosy's work basket with the work overflowing it, the books and papers on the table where the gentleman had been sitting; the chairs standing where they had been last used. Past the chairs Rollo brought Wych Hazel to the chintz sofa and seated her there with a cushion at her back; drew up a foot cushion, and unfastened her opera cloak. All this was done with quiet movements and in silence. He left her then for a few minutes. Coming back, presented her on a little tray a glass of milk and a plate of rusks.

'I could get nothing else,' said he, 'without rousing the people up to give me keys. But I know the way to Prim's dairy— and I know which are the right pans to go to. Miss Prudentia always objected to that in me.'

'But I cannot see anybody—nor speak to anybody—nor do anything—till I have seen Mr. Falkirk,' said Hazel, looking up at him with her tired eyes. 'Indeed I am not hungry.'

He stood before her and bade her 'drink a little milk—it was good.'

Her brows drew together slightly, but—if that was the quickest way she would take that—and so half emptied the tumbler and set it down again.

'Now let us go.'

He at down before her then.

'Is there anything in what has happened to-night which makes you wish to keep it from the rest of the world? except of course Mr. Falkirk and me?'

If his object was to rouse her from the mechanical way in which she had hitherto moved and spoken, success is rarely more perfect. Crimson and scarlet and all shades of colour went over her face and neck at the possible implications in his words; but she drew herself up with a world of girlish dignity, and then the brown eyes looked straight into his.

'It is nobody's business,' she answered. 'So far.—No further.'

He smiled. 'You mistake me,' he said, very pleasantly. 'That is my awkwardness. It is nobody's business—except Mr. Falkirk's and mine. But you know very well that fact is no bar to people's tongues. And sometimes one does not choose to give them the material—and sometimes one does not care. My question meant only, do you care in this instance? and was a practical question.'

'What do you mean?' she said, quickly. 'Say out all that is in your mind. How can I judge of it by inches.'

'You have not enlightened me,' he said, 'and I can judge of nothing. Do you wish to get home without letting anybody know you have been out? or may I call Primrose down and give you into her hands to be taken care of? Surely you know my other question referred not to anything but the impertinence of the world generally.'

'O! I will go home!' she said, rising up. 'I cannot see anybody. And Mr. Falkirk!—He might send for me!'

'Mr. Falkirk is fast asleep,' said Rollo. 'He will have concluded that you were kept at Mrs. Merrick's. Sit down again, and rest,' he said, gently putting her back on the cushions, (he had risen when she rose)—'we are not ready to go quite yet. You must take breath first. And we must not rouse up Chickaree at this hour. If you were known to have staid with Miss Maryland—would not that be the best way?'

'How is one to know the best, where all are bad?'—Hazel rested her head in her hands and sat thinking.

'No,' said he quietly—'we'll try and not have that true. If you could trust me with the story of the evening, I might be able to judge and act better for you.'

'Did you bring me here that I might not get home at such an hour?' she said suddenly, looking up.

'I promised to tell you my reasons. Yes, that was one of them. The people at Chickaree must not know of your coming home in the middle of the night, on foot. If I take you home at a fair hour in the morning, it will be all right. Not on foot,' said he, smiling. He was so composed and collected, that his manner had everything in it to soothe and reassure her. Not the composure of one who does not care, but of one who will take care.

'And Mr. Falkirk would say the same,'—she spoke as if reasoning the matter out with herself. 'Then I must wait. But do not call anybody. Mayn't I sit here just quietly by myself?'

'Suppose you take possession of one of Prim's spare rooms, and astonish the family at breakfast? All you need say is that you came after they were all gone to their rooms. Dr. Maryland will never seek for a reason. And Prim will never ask for one. But if you prefer it, I will take you home before they are up.'

'Just as you please,' she answered wearily: indeed weariness was fast getting the upper hand. 'You must want rest, I should think. What were you doing there?' she asked with her former suddenness. 'Were you looking for me? Did you know where I was—not?'

'No,' he said, smiling again, 'I had been to Troy to look at some horses, about which I had been in correspondence; and wishing to be here to-morrow—that is, to-day!—it pleased me to take a night train which set me down at Henderson; no nearer; I was walking across country to get home. And I feel as if I never should be "tired" again. Come—you can have some time of rest at least; and I will carry you home before or after breakfast, just as you please.'

Upstairs with noiseless footfalls—and Rollo reminding Wych Hazel which was Primrose's room, indicated another close by, within which he said he believed she would find what she wanted. That room was always kept in order for strangers; and no strangers were in the house now.

'Primrose will come to you in the morning,' he said, 'unless you wish to go before that?'

Wych Hazel turned and held out her hand.

'Thank you!' she said. Then in answer to his last words—'I shall be ready for either.'

Wherein, however, Miss Kennedy made a mistake. For having once put herself down on the fresh white bed, sleep took undisputed possession and held it straight on. Neither rousing bell nor breakfast bell roused her; nor opening door—if any opened; nor steps—if any came. Sleep so profound that she never turned nor stirred nor raised her cheek from the hand where first she laid it down. And the sun was getting a new view of the western slopes of the Chickaree woods, before the young mistress thereof sat up in her strange room and looked about her.

'Well, you are awake at last!' cried Prim, bending to kiss her. 'I am glad! though I was glad to have you sleep, too. How tired you were!'

Wych Hazel passed her hands over her face; but the newt move was to put her arms round Prim's neck and for a moment her head on Prim's shoulder. Then she sprang up and hurriedly shook her dress into some sort of order.

'O! I have slept a great deal too long,' she said.

'Why? No, you have slept just enough. Now you would like to change your dress. There is a valise full of things from home for you. And when you are ready you shall have some breakfast, or dinner, or tea, just which you like to call it.'

Primrose could not read the look and flush that greeted the valise; and indeed she needed an entire new dictionary for her friend this day. When Hazel made her appearance down stairs, hat in hand, she had more things in her face than Prim had ever met, even in dreams. Dr. Maryland was not there; the table was spread in the library, where the afternoon light poured in through its green veil of branches and leaves; and Prim gave her guest a new greeting, as glad as if she had given her none before.

'I'm sure of having you hungry, now, Hazel,' she exclaimed. 'I didn't know what was best to give you; but Duke said coffee would be sure to be right.'

'I wonder if you ever suggest anything which he does not think is "sure to be right"?' said Wych Hazel. 'I wonder if anybody down here ever makes a mistake of any sort?'

'Mistakes? oh! plenty,' said Primrose. 'I do; and I suppose Duke does. I don't know about papa. Now, dear Hazel, sit down. Duke will be here directly.'

And Primrose cut bread and poured out coffee and supplied her guest, in a sort of passion of hospitality.

To say that the guest was as hungry as she should have been after such a fast, would be perhaps too much; last night was still too fresh for that; but seventeen has great restorative powers at command, and Prim's coffee was undeniably good. Hazel grew more like herself as the meal went on, though her eyes kept their tired look, and her manner was a trifle abstracted. But Prim asked no questions; only hovered about her with all sorts of affectionate words and ways, till Rollo came in. He sat down and began to make himself generally useful, in his wonted manner.

'Duke,' said Primrose, 'Miss Kennedy has been asking me if we ever make mistakes in this house!'

'What did you tell her?'

'Why you know what I told her. I am not sure about papa; but the rest of us don't boast of infallible wisdom.'

'Do you mean that he does?' said Duke, drily. At which Primrose laughed. 'Have you been asleep, Miss Hazel?'

'Beyond reach of all earthly things. Have you?'

Rollo remarked that he never got so far as that.

'No,' said Primrose, 'I never saw such a sleeper. He'll be sound asleep, sound and fast; not dreaming nor stirring; and if there comes the least little sound that there oughtn't to be, he's up and broad awake and in possession of all his senses in a minute.'

'How do you know?' said the subject of this description.

'I know,' said Primrose. 'Thunder wouldn't waken him; and the turning of a key in a lock would—suppose it was a time or place when the lock ought not to be turned.'

'Very interesting details!' said Rollo. 'They may be useful in the study of psychology—or physiology. Which is your favourite study, Miss Hazel?'

'Whichever will throw the most light upon this; Prim, can he also detect "the least little sound that oughtn't to be,' when there is none at all?' said Hazel thinking of last night.

'No, he can't,' said Rollo, shaking his head. 'That's a physiological question. But here is one in psychology: Can a person be sensible of an unknown presence when yet there is none?'

'Ah!' she said, drawing a long breath and growing grave all at once, 'I wish one might! It would have been a comfort.'

'Well,' said he, 'I think I can resolve that question.'

'Duke, what are you talking of? You have got out of philosophy into metaphysics,' said Prim.

'She is the philosopher of the family,' said Rollo, by way of explanation to Hazel. 'But she has made a mistake. As she confesses she does make them, I may remark that.'

'Why, you are talking of perceiving what does not exist!' cried Prim.

'Is that what you call metaphysics? I should call it nonsense.'

'I never supposed you were talking nonsense, Duke.'

'No,' said Duke. 'That would be a mistake. No, I was speaking, Prim, of the detection, by no visible or intelligible means, of what we are not aware has existence.'

'By no intelligible means,' said Prim. 'You mean, knowing a person is coming, that you have not heard is coming—and such things?'

'And knowing a person is near, who you had thought was very far off.'

'Yes,' said Prim thoughtfully; 'I know. It is very curious.'

'Witches, for instance?' said Hazel, with perfect gravity.

'No,' said Prim earnestly, 'I don't mean out-of-the-way people at all; though it is something "uncanny"—as it seems;—queer; I have heard of instances.'

'I have felt them,' said Rollo.

Primrose went into a brown study over the question.

'But do you think,' Rollo went on gravely addressing Wych Hazel, 'that this sort of mental action can take place except where there are strong sympathetic—or other—relations between the parties?'

'So that the magnet finds out the iron, when it would pass by the lead?—is that what you mean?'

A significant, quick, keen look; and then Rollo said, very gravely,

'But it strikes me we have got the thing reversed. Is it not rather the iron that finds the magnet?'

'The magnet must be conscious too,' said Hazel. 'And I think it moves—where the iron is in sufficient quantity.'

'It would be a poor rule that wouldn't work both ways,' said Rollo, with dry simplicity.

'What are you talking about?' said Primrose. 'Do give Hazel some more raspberries. I am inclined to think this, Duke—'

'Well?'

'I am inclined to think that in those cases you have been speaking of, there is testimony of the person's presence, only it is in some such little slight things as were insufficient to draw attention to themselves, and only, by natural association of ideas, suggested the person.'

'What do you think, Miss Hazel?'

But she shook her head.

'If you go off to people—I should say, sometimes, that could not be.'

'So should I,' said Rollo.

'Why?' said Primrose.

'I cannot find in my consciousness, or memory, any corroboration of your theory.'

'I think I can in mine. Sometimes, at least.'

'Those are not my times,' said Rollo.

'And I don't know but you are right, too,' said Primrose, musing. 'I remember, that day you were coming home, I had not the least reason to think so, and yet you were in my mind all day.'

'What is your explanation then?' said he, smiling at her.

Prim was not ready with it; and before she was ready to speak again, Wych Hazel was informed that her escort was at her service.

Dr. Maryland's little old chaise was at the door. Rollo put Miss Kennedy in it and took the reins. It was late in the sweet Summer afternoon; the door and the road and the fields looked exceedingly unlike the same things seen in shadow and moonlight last night. Rollo never referred to that, however; he was just as usual; took care that Wych Hazel was comfortably seated, and made careless little remarks, in his wonted manner. Various people passed them; many were the greetings, answered for the most part very sedately by the young lady of Chickaree. But just as they entered the outskirts of her own domain, Rollo felt his companion shrink towards him with a sudden start. Then instantly she sat upright in her place. Two or three horsemen were in sight, at different distances; one, the nearest, was a stranger to Rollo. A remarkably handsome man, splendidly mounted, faultlessly dressed; riding his grey with the easy grace of a true cavalier. He uncovered before he was near enough to do more, and then bent even to his saddle-bow before Miss Kennedy. And to him, turning full upon him, did Miss Kennedy administer the most complete, cool, effectual cut that Mr. Rollo had ever seen bestowed. The rider's face turned crimson as he passed on.

Rollo made no sort of remark; drove gently, let the old horse come to a walk; and at last, throwing himself back into the corner of the chaise, so as to have a better look at his companion, he said:

'Does daylight and rest make a difference, and are you inclined to trust me with the explanation of what happened last night? I should be grateful.'

He could see now with what extreme effort she had done her work of execution—lip and chin were in a tremor.

'It was no want of trust, Mr. Rollo—I meant you should know. But—I could not tell you first,' she said rather timidly. 'I thought, perhaps, you would take the trouble to come in and hear me tell Mr. Falkirk.'

'Thank you,' he said, 'I am grateful.' And no more passed on the subject until the chaise reached the cottage.

CHAPTER XXII.

A REPORT.

Just glancing round at her companion to make sure that he followed, taking off her hat as she went, Hazel passed swiftly into the cottage and into Mr. Falkirk's study, to the foot of his couch—and there stood still. Very unlike the figure of last evening,—in the simplest pale Summer dress, with no adornment but her brown hair, and yet as Mr. Falkirk looked, he thought he has never seen her look so lovely. She was surely changing fast; the old girlish graces were taking to themselves the richer and stronger graces of womanhood; and like those evening flowers that open and unfold and gather sweetness if you but turn aside for a moment, so she seemed to have altered, even since her guardian's last look. The broad gipsy hanging from her hand, her long eyelashes drooped,—so she stood. Mr. Falkirk looked and took the effect of all this in a glance two seconds long, during which, something held his tongue. Then as his eye caught the figure that entered following her, it darted towards him a look of sudden surprise and suspicion. Than changed, however, almost as soon, and his eyes came back to his ward. But there is no doubt Mr. Falkirk scowled.

'So, Miss Hazel,' he began, in his usual manner, 'you found you could not manage other people's carriages last night?'

'Not the right ones, sir. Will you ask Mr. Rollo to sit down, Mr. Falkirk? It is due to me that he should hear all I have to say.'

'It is not due to anybody that you should say it standing,' said Rollo, wheeling up into convenient position the easiest chair that the room contained. She made him a slight sign of acknowledgement, but yielded only so far as to lay her hand on the chair back. Probably it was pleasant to touch something. Rollo stepped back to the mantlepiece and stood there, but not touching it or anything.

'It appears to me, Miss Hazel,' said the recumbent master of the house, 'that the invitation must come from you.'

'I have not been invited myself, sir, yet.'

'I do not recollect inviting you to be seated yesterday, my dear; is to-day different from yesterday?'

'Unless I have forgotten the frown which welcomed me then, sir. I suppose you have but a faint idea of the looming up of your brows just now.'

'What?' said Mr. Falkirk. 'Don't you know, Miss Hazel, a man's brows are not within his range of vision? and I deny that he is responsible for them. Am I frowning now?'

'Not quite so portentously, sir.'

'Then you need not stand so particularly, need you? I wonder, if I looked so fierce, how Rollo dared to offer you the civility of a chair in my presence; but people are different.'

'But I cannot sit there,' she said, with a glance towards the bringer of the chair, as she passed by its reposeful depths. 'Not now. If Mr. Rollo will make himself comfortable in his own way, I will in mine.' And Hazel brought a foot cushion to the couch and sat down there; a little turned away from the third member of the party; who however did not change his position.

'Is there business?' said Mr. Falkirk glancing from one to the other.

The girl gave him a swift glance of wonder.

'You used to think it was business, sir, to know what had become of me. Did you sleep well last night, Mr. Falkirk?'

'Why should I, any more than you?' said Mr. Falkirk in his old fashion of growling. 'Day is the proper time for sleeping, in the fashionable world.'

It made her restless—this keeping off the subject of which her thoughts were full. Didn't he mean to ask any questions?

'Why should not I have slept, sir?—if you come to that. The fashionable world was not to hold me beyond eleven.'

'So I understood, and endeavoured to stipulate,' said Mr. Falkirk, 'but I am told you were so late in returning that you would not come home, and preferred, somewhat inexplicably, disturbing Miss Maryland to disturbing me.'

'Is that what you think?' she answered, simply. 'That I broke my word? Mr. Falkirk, I began returning as you say, at a quarter past eleven.'

'I never expected you to get off before that, my dear. Then what was the matter?'

The girl hesitated a moment, and then one of her witch looks flashed through in spite of everything.

'I fell into Charybdis, sir, that was all.'

'I do not remember any such place between here and Merricksdale,' said Mr. Falkirk. 'Was it enchantment, my dear?' But his face was less careless than his words. Hers grew grave again at once; and, wasting no more time, Miss Kennedy addressed herself to business.

'I had arranged it all with Miss Bird,' she said, 'on the way there. She had a headache and was glad of an excuse to get away early. It was "a small party," I found, when you were in the house and the rest were out of doors, but otherwise everybody was there—and nearly everybody else. The trees were all lights and flowers; and supper tables stood ready from the first; and you know what the moon was. So altogether,' said Miss Hazel, 'it was hard to remember anything about time, and especially to find out. I fancied that Mrs. Merrick had told about my going early,—watches seemed so very uncertain, and so many of them had stopped at nine o'clock. It was only by a chance overhearing that I knew when it was half-past ten. I lost just a few minutes then, manoeuvring,—for I did not want "everybody" to see me to the carriage; but when I had vanished into the house, and found Mrs. Merrick, Miss Bird was not there. She had gone home an hour before, her head being worse, they said.'

Mr. Falkirk said nothing, but his thick brows grew together again.

'Mrs. Merrick said it was not the least matter; her coachman unfortunately was sick, but fifty people would be only too happy. I said everybody but me wished to stay late,—O, no, not at all!—here was Mr. May, going in five minutes, with his sister. They would be "delighted". I could not well tell her, sir,' said Wych Hazel, with a look at her guardian, 'all that occurred to me in the connection, but I suppose I negatived Mr. May in my face, for Mrs. Merrick went on. "Mr. Morton, then,—the most luxurious coach in the county." He too was going at once—if I did. Or, if I did not mind the walk, her brother-in-law would take charge of me at any moment with pleasure.'

Certainly Mr. Falkirk outdid himself in scowling, at this point.

'Well—I must get home somehow,' she said with another glance,— 'and the coach would never do, and the phaeton was tabooed. But I knew Mrs. Merrick's sister was Mrs. Blake; and so, thinking of the old doctor, I said at once that I would walk, and ran upstairs for my cloak. And then I found out,' said Wych Hazel slowly, 'that the are two sorts of brothers-in- law.'

Nobody interrupted her, nor spoke when she paused. The little room was very still, except from the movements the girl made herself.

'This was the wrong one. No old doctor Blake at all, but a younger brother of Gen. Merrick. What could I do?' she said, with a half appealing look that went for a second further than her guardian. 'Already my promise was in peril; and there was Mr. Morton beseeching me into his coach—and I could not get up a fuss.' It was very pretty and characteristic, the unconscious way in which she brought in—and left out—the third one in the room. Sometimes forgetting everybody but her guardian, and giving him details that were plainly meant for his ears alone; then, with a sudden blush and stop, remembering that there was another listener standing by. On such occasions she would generally turn her face a little more away and out of sight, and then begin again, in a tone that meant to keep clear of all further special confidences in that direction. The third member of the party stood perfectly still and made no remark whatever.

'Well?' said Mr. Falkirk, with rather a short breath, as the girl paused.

'There was nothing left for me but the walk—unless a fuss, and a half dozen more standing round. Then Mr. Morton said he should walk, too, at least as far as the cross-road, and let the carriage follow at a foot pace in case I should turn weary. If he had been half as anxious about my weariness as he professed,' said the girl, with a curl of her lips, 'he would have tried how fast his horses could go for once, with him behind them. But I could not tell him that any plainer than I did.'

'You tried to make him drive and leave you?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'I tried to make him let me alone, sir,' said the girl flushing. 'As to the way, I made no suggestions. So we walked on, and Mr. Morton made himself exceedingly—disagreeable.'

'Too officious? Or too presumptuous? He's an ass!' said Mr. Falkirk, who was plainly getting restive. 'Which, Hazel?'

'Unbearable I called it, sir. I was in no mood for nice definitions. And I couldn't have been tired then if we had walked through the moonlight straight on to the moon! But—I had been lectured so much about self-control' (an invisible glance went here) 'that, somehow, he seemed to keep his patience the better, the more I lost mine. I never remember your telling me, sir, that my wilful moods were particularly becoming, but I began to think it must be so; and actually thought of trying a little complaisance.' Whereat, Miss Hazel brought herself to a sudden stop.

'My dear!' said Mr. Falkirk. 'What was the other man about?'

'He was walking on the other side,' said Hazel, her voice changing. 'But he left me to Mr. Morton, in effect, and scarcely said three words all this time. I trusted his thoughts were too busy with Miss Powder, to notice what went on near by.'

'This is what comes of what you erroneously term dancing on the branches of trees!' said Mr. Falkirk, in a great state of disgust. 'But I have no idea I should have gone to that woman's if I had been free. More comes of it than I reckoned upon, or than six weeks will see me through. Well, you got rid of him at last, I suppose; and walked all the way to Dr. Maryland's in your slippers!'

'My dear Mr. Falkirk!—slippers at an out-door party! Yes, I "got rid of him," as you say, when we reached the turning to Morton Hollow,' Hazel went on, rather slowly, the shadow coming into her tone again. 'And then, after that, I found out why my other companion had been so silent.'

'Found out! He had not been taking too much?'

'I told you the supper tables stood ready all the evening,' said the girl, sinking her voice; 'and—it was plain—now—what he had found there.'

The silence now, rather than any words, bade her go on. She caught her breath a little, mastering her excitement.

'I knew, presently, what I must do. And when. You have told me, sir, sometimes, that I was too hasty to resolve and to do,—I had to be both now.'

'What did you do?' said her guardian.

'I must get away. And on the instant. For, just beyond, the woods ceased, and there was a long stretch of open road. I thought, in that second, that my cloak might be caught. So, with my free hand I unfastened it—I don't know how I ever did it!' said the girl, excitedly, 'unless, as Byo says, mamma's prayers were round me!—but I slipped the cloak from my shoulders and tore away my other hand, and sprang into the woods.'

They could almost hear her heart beat, as she sat there.

'Into the woods alone!' cried Mr. Falkirk. 'Then—Go on, my dear,' he said, his voice falling into great gentleness.

'Things came so fast upon me then!' she said with a shiver. 'I had said, in that moment, "I can but try,"—and now I felt that if you try—some things—you must succeed. To fail, then, would be just a game of hide-and-seek. That was the first thought. I must keep ahead, if it killed me. And then—instantly—I knew that to do that I must not run!'—

'What did you do?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'I might not be the fastest; and, if I ran, I should maybe not know just where—he—was,—nor when the pursuit was given up. I must pass from shadow to shadow; moving only when he moved; keeping close watch; until he got tired and went back.'

Hazel leaned her head on her hands, as if the mere recollection were all she could bear.

'My dear!—exclaimed Mr. Falkirk. 'Did you keep up the game long?'

'I do not know, sir,' she said, wearily; 'it seemed—' she stopped short,—then went on:

'I knew my dress was dark enough to pass notice; and as softly as I could I rolled up my white cloak and took off my gloves, lest any chance light might fall on them. My steps were steady—the others not: so far I had the advantage. Several times I heard my name—I think the surprise must have sobered him a little, for he called to me that that was not the road. But how long it went on, I cannot tell.'

'Till he gave it up?'

'Yes. At last, I saw him go back to the road, and heard his tread there, turning back the way we had come. Past me. And again I had to wait. Only I crept to the edge of the trees, where I could see far down the moonlight, and watch the one moving shadow there, that it did not turn off again among the shadows where I stood. And then I began to think I could not go on towards home along that open stretch before me,—for at least a mile there were only fields and fences on either hand. I had noticed it when we drove along in the evening. I could not go back towards Mrs. Merrick's. Then I remembered, in my ride upon Vixen, finding a short cut from this road to one from Dr. Maryland's. And I thought if I could once get to that, I should find unbroken woodland, where I could pass along unseen. For that, however, I must cross the road—in the full, clear light. And what that was!—'

'But I went safe,' she began again, 'and reached the shadows on the other side before there came sounds upon the road once more, and the full stream of late people began to come rattling down from Merricksdale.'

'Yes!'—Mr. Falkirk's word was rather breathless.

'At first, when I saw the first carriage, I thought I would speak and claim protection. But that held only men. And then came others on foot—and some that I knew. And it seemed to me, that instead of speaking I almost shrank into a shadow myself. And when there came a little interval, so that I dared move, I sprang away again, and went through the woods as fast as I could go, and go softly. The belt is not broad there, I suppose,' she said after another pause; 'and I reached the other road and went on while in the darkness, along the edge. But I think by this time I must have been tired, I grew so suddenly trembling and unsteady. And the night was so still, and yet I seemed to hear steps everywhere. I could not bear it any longer; and I thought I would just be quiet and wait for the day. Only—so far my wits served me yet—I must once more cross the road; for the moon was sinking westward now, and the level rays came in about my feet.'

'I thought I could not do it at first,' she said, with a voice that told more than the words,—'go out into that stream of light; but then I did; and hid myself in the branches of a great hemlock, and waited there.'

'And then I found Mr. Rollo,—and I knew that I might trust him.'

With which most unconscious full-sized compliment, the girl crossed her arms upon her lap, and laid her face down upon them, and was still.

'How did she found you?' demanded Mr. Falkirk with unceremonious energy. The answer was in an undertone:

'I found her.'

Mr. Falkirk was silent again.

'No,' said Wych Hazel, without raising her head, and again not stopping to measure her words. 'You would have stood there till this time, if I had not spoken!'

'Would I?' said Rollo.

'And how came you to be there at all at that time of night?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'On my way from the cars.'

'Cars, where?'

'Henderson.'

'Walk from Henderson!' said Mr. Falkirk.

'Save time. I wanted to be here to-day.' The answers were all short and grave, as a man speaks who has no words that he wants to say.

'And Mr. Rollo thought', said Hazel, looking up, 'that it was better for me to come home from Dr. Maryland's than from the woods. And—when he spoke of it—I supposed you would say that too, Mr. Falkirk.'

But Mr. Falkirk vouchsafed no corroboration of this opinion.

'Did I do well, sir?' she said a little eagerly, but meaning now the whole night's work. 'Did I do ill? Was I a bit like your old ideal—"a woman" and "brave"? Or was I only a girl, and very foolish?' They were so silent, these men!—it tried her. Did they, in their worldly wisdom, see any better way out of her hard places, than her seventeen years' inexperience had found, at such a cost? The brown eyes looked searchingly at Mr. Falkirk, and again for an instant went beyond him to Mr. Rollo.

'Answer, Mr. Falkirk!' said the younger man.

'My dear,' said Wych Hazel's guardian, 'if I had been a quarter as much a man as you have proved yourself a woman, your bravery never would have been so tried.'

'And the bravery was as much as the womanliness!' said the other, in the short, terse way of all his words this afternoon; no air of compliment whatever hanging about the words.

She answered with only a deep flush of pleasure, and eyes that went down now, and a smile just playing round the corners of her mouth—the first that had been there that afternoon. It may be remarked that there was no pleasure in either of the other faces.

'Who knows about this?' said Mr. Falkirk, suddenly.

'Nobody,' said Rollo.

'Not Miss Maryland?'

'I could answer for her; but she knows nothing.'

Wych Hazel looked up, listening. It was interesting to hear somebody else talk now. Talk was stayed, however. Both men were thinking; their thoughts did not run easily into spoken words. Or not while she was present; for after a sudden excursion up stairs to see what notes and messages might need attention, on returning she found the two deep in talk; Rollo seated near the head of Mr. Falkirk's couch, and bending towards him. He sprang up as Wych hazel came in and took leave; shaking Mr. Falkirk's hand cordially and then clasping Wych Hazel's. For the first time then a gleam of his usual gay humour broke on his lips and in his eye, as he said softly:

'I should have made you speak before that!'

CHAPTER XXIII.

KITTY FISHER.

Nothing but the most superb propriety was to be expected at Mrs. Powder's; nevertheless Wych Hazel went escorted by Prim and Rollo in Dr; Maryland's rockaway. Dr. Maryland himself had been persuaded to the dinner, and it was on his arm Miss Kennedy made her entrance upon the company. Something unlike anything the doctor had ever taken charge of before,—in a dress of tea-rose colour this time, and with only tea-roses for trimming.

It was not a large company assembled for dinner, though everybody was expected in the evening. This was a different affair from Merricksdale; on old proud family name in the mistress of the mansion; old fashioned respectability and modern fashion commingled in the house and entertainment; the dinner party very strictly chosen. Beyond that fact, it was not perhaps remarkable. After dinner Dr. Maryland went home; and gayer and younger began to pour in. Following close upon Mrs. Merrick's entertainment, this evening too had the adornment of the full moon; and as this party also was an out- door one, as much as people chose to have it so, the adornment was material. A large pleasure ground around the house, half garden, half shrubbery, was open to promenaders; and at certain points there were lights and seats and music and refreshments; the last two not necessarily together. On this pleasure ground opened the windows of the drawing room and to this led the steps of the piazza; and so it came to pass in the course of the evening that the house was pretty well deserted of all but the elderly part of the guests.

In this state of things, said elderly portion of the company might as well be at home for all the care they are able to bestow on the younger. Wandering in shadow and light, in and out through the winding walks, blending in groups and scattered in couples, the young friends of Mrs. Powder did pretty much as they pleased. But one thing Wych Hazel had cause to suspect as the evening wore on, that though her guardian proper was fast at-home, she had an active actual guardian much nearer to her, and in fact never very far off for long at a time. Indeed he paraded no attentions, either before Wych Hazel's eyes or the eyes of the public; but if she wanted anything, Rollo found it out; if she needed anything, he was at hand to give it. His care did not burden her, nor make itself at all conspicuous to other people; nevertheless she surely could not but be conscious of it. This by the way.

Dr. Maryland had not been gone long; the new arrivals were just pouring in; when a seat beside Wych Hazel was taken by Mr. Nightingale.

'You were at Merricksdale the other night?' he said after the first compliments.

'Yes, for a while.'

'I knew you would be. I was in despair that I could not get there;—but engagements—contretemps—held us fast. I see now how much I lost.'

'Then you are released from imaginary evils,—that must be a comfort.'

'Do you know,' said Stuart, 'I think the toilet is a fine art?'

She did not answer, looking at two or three somewhat remarkable specimens of the art that just then swept by.

'Who is Miss Fisher, Mr. Nightingale?' she asked suddenly.

'O don't you know Kitty? To be sure, she has just come.'

'No, I do not know her. May I know who she is?'

'Not to know her, argues—Well, it isn't so extreme a case as that. Miss Fisher, for character, is the most amiable of persons; for accomplishments, she can do everything; for connections, (do you always want to know people's connections?) she is a niece, I believe, of Dr. Maryland's.'

'Of Dr. Maryland's!—O that is good,' said Wych Hazel. 'Is she like Primrose?'

'She is more—like—a purple snap dragon,' said Stuart, reflectively. 'Do you read characters in flowers? and then look out for their moral prototypes in the social world?'

'I do not believe I ever had the credit of "looking out" for anything!—Good evening, Mr. Simms.'

' "It was the witching hour of night!" '—quoted Mr. Simms with a deprecating gesture. 'Really, Miss Kennedy, I do not see why the story books make it out such a misfortune for a man to be turned to stone. I think, in some circumstances, it is surely the best thing that can happen to him. There is Nightingale, now—he would feel no end better for a slight infusion of silica!'—and with another profound reverence, Mr. Simms moved off.

'I should like to see the philosopher that would make an infusion of silica!' muttered Stuart. 'He's never drunk it. What is the use of poets in the world, Miss Kennedy?'

'To furnish people with quotations—as a general thing,' said Wych Hazel.

'Precisely my idea. And that's stupid, for people don't want them. It looks bright out among Mrs. Powder's bushes—shall we go and try how it feels?'

It was pretty, and pleasant. Moonlight and lamps do make a witching world of it; and under the various lights flitted such a multitude of gay creatures that Mr. Falkirk's favourite allusion to Enchanted ground would have been more than usually appropriate. All the colours in the rainbow, gleaming by turns in all possible alternations and degrees of light and shadow; a moving kaleidoscope of humanity; the eye at least was entertained. And Stuart endeavoured to find entertainment for the ear of his companion. They wandered up and down, in and out; not meeting many people; in the changing lights it was easy to miss anybody at pleasure. In the course of the walk Stuart begged for a ride with Miss Kennedy, again negatived on the plea that Miss Kennedy's horses were not yet come. Stuart immediately besought to be allowed to supply that want for the occasion. His aunt had a nice little Canadian pony.

'I cannot tell,' said Wych Hazel, gaily. 'You know I must ask Mr. Falkirk.'

'You do not mean that?' said Stuart.

'Why of course I mean it.'

'Is it possible you are in such bondage? But by the way, there is going to be some singing presently, which I think you will like. I have been counting upon it for you.'

'Is there?' she said,—'where? You are right in the fact, Mr. Nightingale, but quite wrong as to terms. I mean, the terms give a false impression of the fact. Where is the music to be, Mr. Rollo?' For Rollo, prowling about in the shrubbery, had at the moment joined them. He answered rather absently, that he believed it was to be in the garden.

'Do you understand, Mr. Nightingale?'—Wych Hazel resumed, turning to her other companion—'that is a mistake.'

'Can you prove it? But apropos, I am right in supposing that you are fond of music? That is true, isn't it?'

'Very true!'—But she was thinking.—'Mr. Rollo, how can you always say what you mean, without saying what you do not mean?' she asked suddenly.

'Choose your audience,' said Rollo.

'I like to say what I mean to anybody!'

'It is a great luxury. But the corresponding luxury of being understood, is not always at command. Have you been puzzling Mr. Nightingale?' he asked in an amused voice.

'Only presenting my ideas wrong end first, as usual. Is Miss Fisher here to-night?—and do you like her, Mr. Rollo?'

'Miss Fisher?—Kitty?—I have not seen her since I came home from Europe. But there is Prim. I must go and take care of her.'

He disappeared. The walk and talk of the two others was prolonged, until faint sweet notes of wind instruments from afar called them to join the rest of the world.

There was quite a little company gathered at this point, a small clearing in the shrubbery around one side of which seats were placed. Here the music lovers (and some others) were ranged, in a tiny semi-circle, half in shadow, half in light, as the lamps and moonbeams served. The light came clear upon half the little spot of greensward; glittering on leaves and branches beyond, glanced on the tops of trees higher up. A lively chitter-chatter was going on, after the fashion of such companies, when Wych Hazel came up, but a moment after the first notes of the music struck their ears, and all was as hushed as the moonlight itself. Only the notes of the harmony floated in and out through the trees; nothing else moved.

Mrs. Powder had managed to secure some good musical talent, for the performance was of excellent quality. Perhaps summer air and moonbeams helped the effect. At any rate, the first performance, a duet between a flute and a violin, was undoubtedly listened to; and that is saying much. The performers were out of sight. Then a fine soprano voice followed, in a favourite opera air.

Wych Hazel was seated near one end of the semi-circle, with Primrose just behind her; both of them in shadow. Rollo had been standing in the full light just before them; but during the singing he was beckoned away and the spot was clear. In two minutes more Stuart Nightingale had brought a camp chair to Wych Hazel's side. He was quiet till the song was over and the little gratified buzz of voices began. Under this cover he spoke low—

'Have you two guardians, Miss Kennedy?'

'One has answered all my purposes hitherto,' she answered with a laugh. 'Do I seem to need another?'

'Seem to have another. Pardon me. Do you like to be taken care of?' He spoke in her own tone.

'By myself—best! If I must speak the truth.'

'Ah, I thought so! who else can do it so well? A fine woman needs no other control than her own. Am I to be disappointed of that ride?' He was speaking very softly.

'Well, I will prefer my request,' said Hazel. 'I wish I could say yes, at once. But how shall I let you now?'

Prim's hand touched her shoulder at this instant, for delicious notes of two voices stole upon the air from the hiding place of Mrs. Powder's troup. The lady's voice they had heard before; it was one of great power and training, and it came now mingling with a sweet full bass voice. There was no more talking until the music ended. It was a fine bit from a German opera.

'How do you like that?' Stuart asked.

Hazel drew a deep breath. 'Can you tell how you like things?' she said.

'Yes!' said Stuart. 'After we get that ride I am talking of, I'll tell you how I liked it. By the way, I will do myself the honour to be the receiver of your answer concerning it. But this pleasure—no,—yes, I do know why I enjoy it; but it is not because the voices are fine or the music expressive. Can you guess?'

'Not for the music, and not for the voices!' said the girl looking at him.

'A puzzle, isn't it?' said Stuart. 'No; the music expresses nothing to me—this sort of music; and voices are voices—but—I care only for voices that I know.'

Another little word of warning from Prim behind her,—'O Hazel, listen!'—prevented any reply; and Stuart's 'Yes, this is something, now,'—made it unnecessary. And the singing would have made it impossible. A man's voice alone; the same rich, full, sweet bass; in the ballad of the "Three Fishers." Whether Mr. Nightingale had divined that somebody was near who knew Wych Hazel, or merely acted on general prudential motives, he left his seat and stood a little apart while the ballad was sung.

'Do you like that?' Primrose whispered.

'The voice—not the ballad.'

'Nor I either,' said Prim. 'I don't see what he sings it for.'

There was but a moment's interval, and then the same voice began another strain, so noble, so deep, so thrilling, that every breath was held till it had done. The power of the voice came out in this strain; the notes were wild, pleading, agonizing, yet with slow, sweet human melody. The air thrilled with them; they seemed to float off and lose themselves through the woods; sadly, grandly, the song breathed and fell and ceased. Wych Hazel did not speak nor stir, nor look, except on the ground, even when the last notes had died away. Only her little hands held each other very close, her cheeks resting on them.

'Yes, I know,' said Primrose softly. 'That is Handel.'

Stuart Nightingale presently slid back to his seat; and now there came a stir; the music was discontinued. In a few minutes Rollo came bringing refreshments; Mr. Nightingale bestirred himself in the same cause; and presently they were all eating ices and fruits. At which juncture Miss Josephine joined herself to the party, with one or two of her sort, while several gentlemen began to "fall in," behind Miss Kennedy.

'Did you have a good time at Merricksdale?' Josephine asked.

'Not better than usual,' Hazel answered.

'Danced, didn't you? I wanted mamma to have dancing to-night, and she wouldn't. She's so awfully slow! O Mr. Rollo, do you like dancing?'

'On anything but my own feet,' said Rollo.

'Anything but your own feet? How can you dance on anything but your own feet?'

'My horse's feet? Or what do you think of a good yacht and a good breeze?'

'Horrid! I never want to be in one. And don't you like dancing? O why? Don't you, Miss Kennedy? don't you, Mr. Nightingale?'

'Depends on the dance,' said Stuart. 'And on my partner.'

'O it don't signify what partner you have. In fact, you dance with everybody, you know. That is the best fun. Don't you like the German, Miss Kennedy?'

'Not with everybody,' said Miss Kennedy, thinking of possible partners.

'O but you must, you know, in the German—and that's the fun. I don't think anything else is fun. Of course the people are all proper. Don't you like the German, Mr. Rollo?'

'I do not dance it.'

'Not? Don't you? O why? You do dance, I know, for I've seen you; you waltz like a German, a man, I mean. Why don't you dance the German?'

'How does a German—a man, I mean—waltz, Miss Phinney? as distinguished from other nationalities?' Stuart asked.

'O, different.'

'Wont you tell us in what way? This is interesting.'

'It wont help you,' said Josephine; 'and you dance well, besides. A German waltzes slow and elegantly.'

'And other people?'—

'You may laugh, but it's true; I've noticed it. An Englishman sways and a Frenchman spins, but a German floats. O it's just delicious! Why dont you dance the German, Dane Rollo? You're not pious.'

Rollo did not join in the general smile. He answered composedly—

'What I would not let my sister do, Miss Josephine, I am bound not to ask of another lady.'

'Why wouldn't you let your sister? You haven't got one, and don't know. But that's being awfully strict. I had no idea you were so strict. I thought you were jolly.'

'Could you hinder your sister?' Stuart asked with a slight laugh. The answer was, however, unhesitating.

'Why would you hinder her?' repeated Josephine.

'Ask Kitty Fisher.'

'Kitty? Does she know? And why shouldn't you tell us as well as her?'

Rollo took Miss Kennedy's plate at the instant and went off with it.

'That's all bosh,' said Josephine. 'I like people that are jolly. The German is real jolly. Last week we danced it with candles—it was splendid fun.'

'Not here?' said one of the gentlemen.

'Here? No. You bet. My mother is my mother, and nobody ever charged her with being jolly, I suppose.'

'How could you dance with candles?' said Primrose's astonished voice.

'Yes. Six of us had great long wax candles, lighted; and we stood up on a chair.'

'Six of you on a chair!'

'The old question of the schoolmen!'—cried Nightingale, bursting into a laugh.

'Of course on six chairs, I mean. Of course. Six of us on a chair!'—

'But what did you get on chairs for?'

'Why!—then the gentlemen danced round us, and at the signal— the leader gave the signal—the gentlemen jumped up as high as they could and tried to blow out our lights; and they had to keep step and jump; and if any gentleman could blow out the candle nearest him he could dance with that lady. Didn't we make them jump, though! We held our candles up so high, you know, they could not get at them. Unless we liked somebody and wanted him for a partner. O we had a royal time!'

'Did the gentlemen dance—and blow—indiscriminately?' inquired Miss Kennedy with a curl of her lips.

'No, no!—how you do tell things, Josephine!' said Miss Burr. 'Two gentlemen for each chair,—and whichever of the two put the candle out, he danced with the lady.'

'Kitty had four or five round her chair'—said Josephine.

'And couldn't the lady help herself?' inquired Primrose, in a tone of voice which called forth a universal burst of laughter.

'Why we did,' said Josephine. 'If you don't like a man, you hold the candle up out of his reach.'

'You couldn't baffle everybody so,' remarked Mr. Kingsland. Several gentlemen had come up during the talk, closing in round Miss Kennedy.

'Mr. Rollo is right about one thing,' said Miss Burr; 'nobody has seen the German who has not seen it led by Kitty Fisher. You should see her dance it, Miss Kennedy.'

'Yes, you should,' echoed Mr. May, 'I had rather look on than be in it, for my part.'

'What do you think she did at Catskill the other day?' said Miss Burr. 'She took a piece of ice between her teeth, and went round the piazza asking all the gentlemen to take a bite.'

'Clever Kitty! She'll work that up into a new figure—see if she dont,'—said Mr. Kingsland.

'To be called the noli me tangere!' said Mr. May. 'Partners secured at the melting point.' The other gentlemen laughed.

'I see you and Kitty are at swords' points yet,' said Miss Burr.

'No,' put in Rollo—'she likes a foil better than a rapier.'

'Certainly it does not sound as if she was like you, Primrose,' observed Wych Hazel.

'Like Miss Maryland!—Hardly,' said Mr. May. 'Nor like any one your thoughts could even imagine,' he added softly.

It was growing late now, and the moon gradually passing along behind the trees, found a clear space at this point, and looked down full at the little party to see what they were about. Just then, from the distance, came a stir and a murmur and sound of laughing voices.

'She's coming this minute!' said Mr. Kingsland. ' "Talk about angels"!—Your curiosity will soon be fed, Miss Kennedy,—and may, perchance, like other things, grow by what it feeds on. Here comes the redoubtable Kitty herself!—Miss Fisher!—my poor eyes have seen nothing since they last beheld you!'

'Don't see much in ordinary,' said a gay voice; and a young lady,—too young, alas, for the part she was playing!—swept into the circle. A very handsome girl, with a coronet of fair hair, from which strayed braids and curls and crinkles and puffs and bands and flowers and ribbands; her dress in the extremest extremity of the fashion, very long, very low; with puffs and poufs innumerable; the whole borne up by the highest and minutest pair of heels that ever a beguiling shoemaker sent forth. She nodded, laughing, and held out her hands right and left.

'How d'ye do, Stephen?—Mr. Richard May!'—with a profound reverence. 'And if there isn't our Norwegian back again! Glad to see you, Mr. Rollo. Have you leaned how to spell your name yet?'

But to this lady Rollo gave one of his Spanish salutations; while Phinny Powder jumped up and exclaimed with pleasure, and Primrose uttered from behind them her quiet 'how d'ye do Kitty?' Wych Hazel on her part had risen too—drawing a little back from the front, in the sudden desire for a distant view first.

'I see,' Miss Fisher went on, speaking to Rollo.—'The e in the middle as usual, and the i and the g to keep it there. Why, Prim, my dear child!—you here? Among all these black coats of unclerical order?—How do you do?'—with an embrace. 'And how is my uncle?—But where is Miss Kennedy? I am dying to see Miss Kennedy!—and they told me she was here.'

'The time to die is—after you have seen Miss Kennedy,' said Mr. Kingsland.

'To my face!' said Kitty. 'Well!—That is she, I know, behind Mr. May. Introduce us Richard, please.'

Mr. May stepped aside, and with extreme formality presented Miss Fisher to the lady of Chickaree. Kitty touched hands,—and paused, forgetting to take her own away. The young 'unwonted' face was certainly a novelty to her. And a surprise.

'We shall all be jealous of her for her little mouth,' was her first remark. 'Don't everybody generally kiss you, child, that comes near enough?'

Wych Hazel withdrew her hand, stepping back again in her astonishment, and surveying Miss Fisher.

'People do not—generally—come near enough,' she said, as well as it could be said.

There was a little round of applause from the gentlemen at that. Kitty Fisher nodded, not at all displeased.

'She'll do,' she said. 'I was afraid she was nothing but a milksop,—all strawberries and cream. I vow she's handsome!'

'Handsome is that handsome does,' said Rollo. 'Miss Kitty, will you sit down and take things calmly?'—offering a chair.

'Yes, I'll take the chair; and Miss Kennedy and I'll divide the civil speech between us,' said Kitty Fisher, placing herself close by Hazel. 'It's awfully nice here. What are you all about?'

'Just unable to get on for want of Miss Fisher,' said Stuart. 'Calling for you, in fact.'

'Echo answering "Where?" and all that,' said Kitty.

'Not at all. Echo said you were coming.'

'No dancing to-night?—awfully slow, isn't it? Beg pardon, Phinny; but you think just so yourself. Go off and start up the band into a waltz, and we'll have it out before the old lady gets the idea into her head. Come?'

Phinny started off on the instant with such energy and goodwill to her errand, that in a few minutes the burst of a waltz air in the immediate neighbourhood of the parties requiring it, said that Miss Josephine had been successful. And she said it herself.

'There!' she exclaimed; 'we've got it. Mamma'll never care, if she hears, nor know, if she sees. Come! Here are enough of us.'

One and another couple sailed off from the group. Stuart offered his hand to Wych Hazel. 'You waltz?' he said.

She gave hers readily. The music had put her on tiptoe. And presently the little green was full of flying footsteps and fluttering draperies. As many as there was room for took the ground; but there was good room, and the waltz was spirited. Some stood and looked on; some beat time with their feet. In a shadow of the corner where they had been talking, stood Prim and Rollo; not beating time. Prim put her hand on his arm, but neither spoke a word.

'Shall we take a tangent,—and finish our stroll?' whispered Stuart, when they had whirled round the circle several times.

'If you like,—one is ready for anything in such a night,' said Hazel gleefully. She had gone round much like a thistledown, with a child's face and movement of pleasure. So, suddenly and silently, as they were passing one of the alleys that led out from the little green, Stuart and his partner disappeared from the eyes of the spectators. It was certainly a pleasant night for a stroll. The light made such new combinations of old things, took and gave such new views; the pleasure of looking for them and finding them was ensnaring. Then the air was very sweet and soft, and—so was Stuart's conversation.

Gliding on from one thing to another, even as their footsteps went,—mingling fun and fancy and common-place and flattery in a very agreeable sort of pot-pourri,—so they followed down one alley of the shrubbery and up another; winding about and about, but keeping at a distance from other people. Until, much too soon for Stuart's intent, they were suddenly and quietly joined at a fork of the paths by Rollo, with Miss Fisher on his arm.

As the waltz ceased, Rollo had secured without difficulty the companionship of Miss Fisher for a walk; and Miss Fisher never knew how peculiar a walk it was, nor imagined that her cavalier was following a very fixed and definite purpose of his own. Nothing seemed less purposeful than the course they took; it was no course; from one path diverging into another, changing from one direction to another; a hunted hare would scarce make more doublings, or anything else, except the dog in chase of the hare. Kitty only knew that she was very well amused; her companion never left that doubtful, nor allowed her much leisure to make inconvenient observations; and, in short, Kitty did not care where they went!—and Rollo did care. So it fell out, that quite suddenly, and as much to his companion's surprise as anybody's, quite easily and naturally they stepped out of one walk into another just as Wych Hazel and her attendant came to the same spot.

'Your old proverbs are all stuff,' Kitty was saying to her companion. 'I do think she's the prettiest thing I ever saw. Only she don't know her tools. Just wait till I've had her in training a while!'

'Miss Kennedy,' said Rollo, 'how would you like to be in training?' They had somehow joined company with Stuart and Wych Hazel, not by the former's good will, but he could not manage to help it.

'I may as well reserve my views on that subject for somebody who wants to try,' said the girl, with a laugh. She had not heard Kitty Fisher.

'On what point just now do you think you need it?'

'I am in an extremely contented state of mind "just now," thank you, Mr. Rollo.'

'Miss Fisher would not think that proves anything.'

'Does Miss Kitty offer her services as trainer?' asked Stuart.

'Now just wait, both of you,' said Kitty Fisher, 'and let Miss Kennedy get used to me a little. She's awfully shocked, to begin with; and you're trying to make believe she'll never get over it.'

A slight gesture of Miss Kennedy's head, unseen by Miss Kitty, seemed to say that was extremely probable.

'You should let her get accustomed to you by degrees,' said Stuart. 'Hover about in the middle distance, suppose, without getting out of the range of vision—so that you may make your approaches to her heart through her eyes. That is an excellent way.'

'Is it?' said Kitty. 'You've tried all ways, I presume. But I notice that just now you seem to prefer the ear as a medium. Wouldn't she be splendid in the "Thread of Destiny," Stuart?'

'I should think so, if I were at the end of the thread!'

'You would not suppose it, Miss Kennedy,' said Rollo; 'but the "Thread of Destiny" is a silk ribband. The destiny is not therefore always silken.'

'Much you know about it!' said Kitty. 'I just wish I could see you thoroughly wound up for once, with Bell Powder and two or three other people.'

'Wych Hazel was growing rather weary of the talk. 'Who were the singers to-night, Mr. Nightingale?' she said, pitching her voice for his benefit alone.

'Really,' said he, in an answering tone, 'I am not musical enough to be certain about it. Voices in common speech I can understand and appreciate; but in this kind of manifestation— Mrs. Powder knows her business. She had secured the right sort of thing. The principal singer is a lady who has studied abroad; they are all visitors or dwellers in the neighbourhood. Did you like the performance?'

'Some of it; but the singing above all. You cannot understand that?'

'If you and Miss Kennedy want to whisper,' said Kitty Fisher, 'fall back a little, can't you, Mr. Nightingale? or turn down another path. It disturbs my own train of thought, this trying to hear what other people say.'

'Nobody would suspect Miss Fisher,' said Rollo, dryly, 'of being unwilling that anybody should hear what she has to say.'

'Do you know,' said Kitty, turning upon him with an emphasizing pressure of the arm she held, 'what my thoughts really are at work upon?'

'Yes.'

'Let's hear. Tell me, and I'll tell you.'

'I do not think,' said Rollo, slowly,—'it would be expedient.'

'Fudge! You know you couldn't. I have been trying to find out what so extremely sedate a person was after when he undertook to walk me round in the moonlight!'

And in defiance of everything, Wych Hazel's soft 'Ha! ha!' responded,—a little as if the question had perplexed her too.

'Have you had a good time?' said Rollo coolly.

'Very!—which makes it the more puzzling. Did Mr. Rollo ever walk with you in the moonlight, Miss Kennedy?'

'Yes.'

'Have a good time?' said Kitty.

The girl hesitated; but among her accomplishments the art of pretty fibs had not been included. The truth had to come out in some shape.

'So far as Mr. Rollo could make it,'—she said at last.

O how Kitty Fisher laughed! and the gentlemen both smiled.

'Why, that is capital!' she cried. 'I couldn't have done better myself!' Wych Hazel blushed painfully; but Rollo's answer was extremely unconcerned.

'I don't always give people a good time,' he said. 'You are fortunate, Miss Kitty. I am impelled to ask, in this connection, how long Mrs. Powder expects us to make our good times this evening?'

Upon comparing watches in the moonlight, it was found that the night was well on its way. There was nothing more to do but to go home.

On the way home, a little bit of talk occurred in the rockaway, which may be reported. Going along quietly in the bright moonlit road, Rollo driving, Primrose suddenly asked a question—

'Didn't you use to be a great waltzer, Duke?'

'A waltzer?—yes.'

'Then what made you not waltz to-night?'

Rollo leaned back against one side of the rockaway, and answered, while the old horse walked leisurely on—,

'I have looked at the subject from a new point of view, Prim.'

'Have you?—From what point of view, Duke?' said Primrose, much interested.

'I have made up my mind,' said Rollo slowly, 'I shall waltz no more,—except with the lady who will be my wife. And when I waltz with her,—she will waltz with nobody else!'

Prim sat back in her corner, and spoke not a word more.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE LOSS OF ALL THINGS.

'And how do you like your new neighbour, Prim?' said the young Dr. Maryland the first night of his return home. He had talked all tea-time to the collective family without once mentioning Miss Kennedy's name, and now put the question to his sister as they sat alone together in the twilight.

'O Arthur, very much.'

'You see a good deal of her?' was the next question, asked after a pause.

'Y—es,' said Primrose, doubtfully, 'At least, when I am with her I think I do; when I am away from her it seems little.'

'I must ride over there and call, to-morrow,' said Dr. Arthur. 'Will you go too?'

And so it fell out that Dingee was summoned to the door next day to usher in the party.

'Yes'm, Miss Ma'land—Miss Hazel, she in, sure!—singin' to herself in de red room,'— and Dingee led the way.

It was a new room to most of the guests. A room that seemed two sides woodland and one side sunshine. Walls with deep crimson hangings, and carpets of the same hue; and quaint old carved oak chairs and tables, and a bookcase or two, and oaken shelves and brackets against the crimson of the walls. The morning had been cool enough, there at Chickaree, for a wood fire, though only the embers remained now; and in front of where the fire had been, sat the young mistress of the house half hid in a great arm-chair. Soft white folds fell all around her, and two small blue velvet slippers took their ease upon a footstool; with white laces giving their cobweb finish here, there and everywhere. A book was in her hand, and on her shoulder the grey kitten purred secure, in spite of the silky curls which now and then made puss into a pillow. Now and then. For while Miss Kennedy sometimes made believe to read, an sometimes really sang—pouring out scraps of song like a wild bird—yet in truth her attention was oftenest given to the great picture which hung in one recess. And then her head went down upon the grey kitten. Just now, when the visitors came in, she was searching for the notes of that last song at Mrs. Powder's; trying apparently, to catch it and bring it back; her girl's voice endeavouring to represent that which her girl's heart had never known.

The picture—I may describe it here—was that of a young man bound to a tree and pierced with arrows. No human witnesses in sight, except in the extreme distance; and over sky and earth no sunlight, but instead the deepening shadows of night. But the presence of the one was not noticed, nor the presence of the other missed. Away from earth, and lifted above suffering, the martyr's eyes looked to the opening clouds above his head, where were light, and heavenly messengers, and the palm- branch, and the crown. Something in the calm clear face checked Miss Kennedy's bursts of song as often as she turned that way—the high look so beyond her reach.

'What are you doing, Hazel?' said Prim's sweet voice.

'Puzzling,'—said Hazel, jumping up, and lifting one hand to support the kitten. 'Dr. Maryland, I am very glad to see you! O Prim, how happy you must be!'

'You didn't look in the least like a person in a puzzle,' said Primrose, after the first compliments were passed. 'What could you be puzzling about, dear?'

'That picture. It always puzzles me. And so when I get befogged over other things, I often come here and add this to the number.'

'You are hardly far enough on in your studies yet, Miss Kennedy, to understand that picture,' said Dr. Arthur, who was considering it very intently himself.

'My studies! Painting, do you mean? Or what do you mean?' said Wych Hazel.

'What does the picture say to you, Miss Kennedy?'

'That is just what I cannot find out,' said Hazel, jumping up again and coming to stand at his side. 'I cannot read it a bit.'

'You have not learned the characters in which it is written, yet,' said Dr. Arthur, with a glance at her.

'She had not learned much,' said Primrose, smiling.

'Can you read it?' said Hazel, facing round.

'Why yes, Hazel.'

'Well,' said the girl, half impatiently, 'then how come I to be such an ignoramus?'

'There are some things,' said Dr. Arthur, with another swift look at his companion, 'which everybody can learn at once. But there are others, Miss Kennedy, which sometimes must wait until the Lord himself sets the lesson. I think this is one of those.'

'I shall ask your father,' said Hazel, decidedly. 'He always thinks I ought to know everything at once.'

'Oh, Hazel, my dear, how can you say so?' cried Prim. 'Indeed, papa is never so unreasonable. And there he is this minute, and you can ask him.'

The long windows of the room looked upon a stretch of greensward spotted with trees. Coming across this bit of the grounds, Dr. Maryland and Rollo saw one of the windows open, and caught sight also of the party within. Even as Dr. Maryland's daughter spoke, they stepped upon the piazza and came into the room.

'That is a picture of the loss of all things,' Dr. Arthur was saying. 'How would you be able to understand?' But then he stepped back, and left the explanation in other hands.

' "The loss of all things!" ' Hazel repeated, bewildered. 'How do you do, Mr. Rollo?—Dr. Maryland, there is always some special reason why I am especially glad to see you!'

'What is the reason now, my dear?' said the doctor, with a very benign look on his face.

'These two people,' said Wych Hazel, with an airy gesture of her head towards her other guests, 'find me in a puzzle and push me further in. And I want to be pulled out.'

'In what direction shall I pull?' asked the doctor.

'Well, sir,—O Mr. Rollo, don't you want the cat?—I know you like cats,' said Hazel, 'and she is in my way.—It is only about my old picture here, Dr. Maryland, which they pretend to understand. Dr. Arthur says it means "the loss of all things,"—and that does not clear up my ideas in the least. Why must I "wait" to know what it means?' she added, linking her hands on the Doctor's arm, and raising her eager, vivid face to his. 'Prim says I "don't know much"—but I do not see why that should hinder my learning more.'

How strong the contrast with the martyr's face! how high and still and calm the look of him who had overcome! How tender, how open to sorrow, how susceptible of loss, that of the girl on whom as yet the rough winds had not blown! Dr. Arthur's eyes went soberly from one to the other. Rollo had taken the little cat from its position on its mistress's shoulder, and now stood with it established on his own, quietly and somewhat gravely attending to what was going on.

'What do you want to learn, my dear?' said Dr. Maryland, on his part gazing at the picture now.

'That picture always perplexes me,' said Hazel. 'What does it mean? And why do I love it so much, not knowing what it means?'

Standing and looking at the picture, Dr. Maryland answered in the words of Paul: ' "What mean ye to weep and to break mine heart? for I am ready not to be bound only, but also to die at Jerusalem for the name of the Lord Jesus." '

'But papa,' said Primrose, 'that doesn't tell her what it means. Didn't Arthur say right—"The loss of all things"?'

'It means,' said Dr. Maryland,—'Human weakness and God's strength. Human emptiness and God's fulness. Earthly defeat and heavenly victory. How should you understand it, my dear, who have not begun the fight yet?'

'But then, papa, why does she love it so much?'

Dr. Maryland hesitated, and it was Rollo who answered:

'Because the fight is in her.'

'That's a queer way of putting it,' said Dr. Maryland; 'but perhaps it's true. I hope it is.'

The girl gave a swift look over her shoulder which it is to be hoped Mr. Rollo liked, as it was meant for him. So sparkling with the joy of being understood, so stirred with that sudden new life and purpose which appreciation wakes up in some natures. It was but an instant—then her eyes came back to Dr. Maryland, and were all quiet again. He did not think so, evidently. Which was right? Of what did he doubt her capable?

'Weakness,' 'emptiness,' 'defeat,' she said, recalling his words. 'Is that what I am to find?'

'You do not think it possible,' said Dr. Maryland.

'How should she, papa?' said Primrose.

'Well, my dear, it is not possible she should. And yet, Hazel, these are the only way to find strength, fulness, and victory. It is a problem to you, my dear; only to be worked out.'

'Does every one work it out, papa?'

'No, my dear; two thirds of men never do. And so they go on forever saying, "Who will shew us any good?" '

'He did not find defeat,' said Hazel, looking at the martyr's face, and somehow forgetting the arrows and the cords.

'The story is,' said Dr. Maryland, 'that he was an officer, high in trust and command, in the service of the Emperor (Diocletian.). For owning himself a Christian, he was stripped of power and place, delivered into the will of his enemies, to be bound to a tree and shot to death with arrows. There is the human defeat, my dear Hazel. What you see in the face there, is the mental victory;—some of the struggle, too.'

' "Mental victory" '—she said half to herself, considering the words. 'I ought to be equal to that. Did you mean "defeat," Dr. Arthur, by "the loss of all things?" '

'No,' said Dr. Arthur, 'I meant anything but that. I meant nothing worse than the exchange of a handful of soiled paper for both the hands full of solid gold.'

'Ah you all talk such riddles!' said the girl, knitting her brows. 'What would it be to me, I mean? That I should lose Chickaree?—but that is impossible.'

'It was said,' Dr. Maryland answered,—'and the Lord said it— "Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot by my disciple." '

'Yes, sir, but—' she said quickly,—then checked herself.

'Well, my dear? My words will come best in answer to your questions, for then they can meet the very point of your difficulty.'

'You will not think me disrespectful, sir?—I was going to say, you do not do that'—said Hazel, hesitating over her words. 'None of you. You have Prim and Dr. Arthur,—and Dr. Arthur comes home, and then Prim has her brother. And there is the pretty house, and books, and engravings. I don't know anything about Mr. Rollo, of course,' she said, correcting herself, 'but I mean the rest of you.'

'May we sit down?' said Dr. Maryland, 'Dane and I have walked up from Mr. Falkirk's. Unless Dane likes to stand to accommodate the cat!' said the doctor with a humourous glance at the shoulder where pussy sat with shut eyes, purring contentedly. 'It's a fair question, Hazel; and an easy mistake. But my dear, so far as I know, Prim and Arthur and I have not kept anything. For myself,' said Dr. Maryland, lifting up a bright face, 'all that I have is my Master's. I am not the owner even of myself. So long as his service bids me use the things entrusted to me in the way I am doing, I will use them so. And whenever his honour, or his work, calls me to give up anything or everything of all these—my home, my children, or my own life—I am ready; it is the Lord's now; he shall do with them all what he will. Do you understand?'

'And Arthur and I would say the same,' added Primrose.

Her brother answered in the words so long age written, so many times lived out. ' "Not a myself—but Christ; not a my will—but Christ. Not a mine ease, or my profit, or my pleasure, but Christ." '

The girl looked from one to the other, as each spoke, with a flash of sympathy; even as thoughts stir and kindle at the sound of a bugle call, while yet they know not what it says. But then she turned suddenly round and looked at Rollo. An expectant look, that waited for him to speak,—that gathered—or he fancied so—a shade of disappointment as it turned away again to the face on the wall. She sat silent, leaning her chin upon her hands. His look had been perfectly grave, thoughtful and quiet; but otherwise did not reveal itself. There was a general silence. Then Dr. Maryland said,

'Do you understand the paradox, my dear?'

'I think I must be the paradox myself,' Hazel answered with a half laugh. 'I could do that—I could bear the arrows: I think I could. But you never saw anybody, sir, that liked giving up— anything—less than I do.'