'You would rather bear the arrows than the cords,' said Dr. Arthur Maryland. 'It is easier.'

'Depends on the people,' said Primrose.

' "As having nothing, and yet possessing all things," ' Dr. Maryland added rather dreamily.

'I suppose,' said Rollo, with a moment's deep look into Wych Hazel's eyes, 'the free spirit is beyond bonds.'

'That is it, my boy!' exclaimed Dr. Maryland. 'Think—when Paul and Silas were in the dungeon at Philippi—a dreary place, most likely; and they, beaten and bleeding and sore, stretched and confined in the wooden frame which I suppose left them not one moment's ease,—at midnight it was, they fell to such singing and praising that the other prisoners waked up and listened to hear the song.'

Hazel crossed her slender wrists and sat looking at them, imagining the bonds.

'Do you think it is all in me?' she said, with another sudden appeal to Rollo.

Rollo was not a man fond of wearing his heart upon his sleeve. Another momentary glance went through her eyes, as it were, and was withdrawn, before he gave a short, grave 'yes.' Hazel went back to her musings without another word, and only the least bit of a triumphant curl about the corners of her mouth.

'I wonder how it would feel?' she said, crossing and uncrossing her hands.

'What?' said Primrose.

'Bonds—and chains,' said the girl, clasping her wrist tight. 'To have my hands tied!'

'You are not called upon to find out, my dear,' said Dr. Maryland; 'that is not required of you. But remember, Hazel, no bonds are heavy but love wears.'

'Depends upon how they get on, sir,' she said, quickly.

'What?' said the doctor, with a somewhat comic twinkle coming into his eye. 'How is that?'

'I hate bonds, Dr. Maryland!—from the very bottom of my heart.'

'You have never worn the sort I spoke of, my dear,' he said, smiling. 'I never heard anybody complain of them.'

'What sort?' said Hazel. 'Bonds are bonds.'

'But love likes her bonds,' said the doctor.

The girl shook her head. 'She likes her way, sir! in my case. When Mr. Falkirk forbids me to—well, no matter what,—to do something,' she said, dropping her eyes, 'I do suppose I obey better than if I didn't love him. But I hate it all the same. It makes me feel—like my name,' she added with a laugh.

'Love likes her bonds,' the doctor repeated, shaking his head.

'And the arrow that is weighted flies freest against the wind,' Rollo remarked.

'What do you mean by that?' said Primrose. 'Duke, you look very funny with that cat upon your shoulder.'

'Pussy likes it,' said Rollo.

'Dane, have you finished your business with Hazel?' said Dr. Maryland. 'I must be going presently.'

'Well, sir,—if Prim and Arthur will excuse me.'

He brought himself, pussy cat and all, to a chair by Wych Hazel's side. The others drew off a little.

'I am going away,' he said. 'Business takes me to New York for a week or two. Possibly to Chicago; but I hope not. I hope to bring your horses back with me. Do you want to give me any directions respecting them?'

'Directions?—I think not. O yes!' said Hazel, touching her fingers to the cat's head and instantly withdrawing them,—'I want my pony to be very fast. Because——' but there she stopped.

'Well?' said he.

'That is all.'

'It is unfinished.'

'Cannot you do anything without knowing why?'

'Unbusinesslike. But I'll do my best.'

'Well,'—said Hazel, 'I told Mr. Falkirk.—Of course I like to go fast, for its own sake,—and then if I ever had to ride for my life!'—

It was spoken so demurely that only her cheeks betrayed her. Over their treason the girl grew impatient.

'I just want a fast horse. Don't you know what that means, without explanation?'

'Why no,' said he, probably enjoying his advantage though he held it after his usual undemonstrative fashion. Excepting that his eyes took a further advantage which none others ever did. No flattery in them, nor conventional deference, and nothing like Dr. Maryland's benign regard, or Mr. Falkirk's watchful one. Those eyes went down into hers with a sort of grave taking possession, or holding it; something more than benignity, and coming much nearer than watchfulness. Rollo's manner had often an indefinable tinge of the same expression. 'There are so many sorts of fast horses,' he went on. 'Do you want to run for your life? or canter? or trot?'

'Trot in ordinary—run upon occasion.'

'Is trotting your favourite gait?'

'It is more like the wind,' said Wych Hazel. 'I remember one good canter—but all the rest made one think of the snail that went forward three feet and back two.'

'You must have had an experience! I'll try and secure both for you; but I may not be able, just at first. Don't you want to take pussy in safe keeping again? I am afraid she would not approve of my further companionship.'

'Well—give her to me then,' she said, holding out her hands. He smiled a little at that, dislodged pussy and placed her in them, then rose up and offered his own.

A party of gentlemen came up the steps as Dr. Maryland and his companions went down. Clearly, the thoughtful time of the morning was at an end.

CHAPTER XXV.

IN THE GERMAN.

There come, sometimes, in certain lives, certain days and weeks which seem to be all adrift and beyond legislation. The people who might exercise control cannot; and the people will not who can; and so the hours sweep on in a rushing stream of events and consequences, which every now and then flings somebody upon the rocks. Or it may be, in very happy cases, only some thing; but until this is made sure the lookers-on feel anxious.

So felt Mr. Falkirk, a prisoner still with his lame ankle; so felt (probably) Mr. Rollo, called suddenly away by business a hundred miles off. So certainly felt Mrs. Bywank, watching her young lady with motherly eyes. But the young lady herself felt quite at ease, and as she had said, 'content.' Why not? With flowers by day and serenade by night; with game from every bag and trout from every hook; with cavaliers starting up out of greensward and woodland whenever she went out; with carriages and horsemen always at the door when she was at home. The serenades indeed were shared impartially with Mr. Falkirk and Gotham; for Wych Hazel still kept her room in the cottage, and was there by night. But the days were often spent in the house on the hill; and the distance between the two was often—to say the least—not made alone. The new saddle-horses had not yet arrived, and no others were countenanced by Mr. Falkirk; but such walks had their facilities, even without the possible indoor extensions which sometimes took place. And for evening purposes an equipage had been arranged which relieved Miss Kennedy of all dependence on her neighbours. Mr. Falkirk's prostrate condition prevented her giving any entertainments as yet; but she went everywhere, with Gotham—grim and trusty—upon the box; and more and more the days, as they went on, brought everybody to her feet. It was excellent fun! For it is really delightful to be liked; and admiring looks you cannot quite meet have yet their fascination, and the words you scarce hear have their charm. Altogether there was a strong flavour of enchantment abroad; and it seemed probable that the prince was somewhere. The princess had not seen him yet, that she knew of; but undoubtedly she was learning that some day she might. Yet Hazel took the knowledge in a pretty way. Too innately true to flirt, too warm-hearted to trifle, too real a woman to follow in the steps of Kitty Fisher; and, it may be said, thinking far too much of herself to descend from her vantage ground of feminine reserve. Perhaps there was no one thing which caught and held her admirers like this: the real girlish dignity which made them keep their proper distance. The most unscrupulous of them all would as soon have dared anything as to venture (to her) an unauthorized touch, or a word that savoured of freedom. So far, she went safe through the fire. If she could have known, poor child, what sort of a fire it was; if her thoughts had even dimly imagined what men old in the world may be; no kid glove nor silken tissue would have been deemed thick enough to fend off the contact. But she knew nothing of all that, except by the instinct which now and then gave her a sudden sheer. As it was, she was intensely amused, and half out of her wits with fun and frolic and utter light heartedness; seeing no harm, imagining no evil; quite regardless of Mrs. Bywank's wise maxim that what men of sense disapprove, a woman—as a rule—had better not do. And for a while there were not men of sense at hand to give her counsel.

Mr. Falkirk looked on from too great a distance to point his strictures; Gotham's grumbles over the serenades and the cavaliers only helped the excitement. And since Mr. Falkirk would not let her fling her written thanks out of the window, the spoken thanks followed, as a matter of course, and effected quite as much.

And yet, you will say, no harm came, and everything was as it should be. Well, there are some who plunge through the mud ankle-deep; and there are others that got but over shoe; and here and there one that crosses on tiptoe; but you would rather that they all chose a better road. And intoxication is not a good thing, whatever may be the means thereto; and the sweet, fresh years of which Dr. Maryland had spoken, were quite too precious to be spun off to the music of Strauss, or wilted down by late hours, or given up wholly to hearing that Miss Kennedy was the one of all the world. Not so do natures enlarge and characters develop to their fairest proportions; not so do souls grow strong and noble for the coming work of life.

Kitty Fisher was not exactly jealous of all this—or had too much sense to shew it; but deep in her heart she did wish she could dismount Wych Hazel from her pedestal, that comparisons might be made on level ground. Kitty would not have been timid, for the world; and yet the shy blushes which came as freely as ever to Miss Kennedy's cheeks did somehow give her a pang. And while nothing could have bought off her daring speech and behaviour, she yet knew it was a pretty thing to have the deference which always approached the young lady of Chickaree.

'I must get that out of her,' she said to herself. 'She's bound to give it up. Wait till I get her fairly into the German!'

And so far she succeeded. Miss Kennedy did get 'fairly in,'— but as yet the rest of the plan had failed. Hazel danced, and led, and followed, in the wildest gaiety, within certain limits; beyond them she would not go; meeting all Kitty Fisher's proposals with a look of incredulous disgust and surprise that generally cut short the business for that time. And gentlemen who stood by laughed and applauded; and if Hazel had known just why they clapped hands, and just what she was avoiding, she would have wanted to stand no longer in their neighbourhood just then.

Balls followed dinners, and one German came close on the heels of another, with pic-nics, boating parties, croquet parties, and open-air breakfasts; and everywhere the young queen held her court; with beauty, and grace, and money, and a faultless toilet.

Now in the selfishness of this self-seeking world, our interest in a thing, our judgment of it, does very much depend upon its connection with ourselves. Have we any shares in the field for sale?—if not, why, manage it as you will, sunshine and clouds are alike to us. But if we have, the interest of the matter changes at once, and we are blind no more.

Following upon sundry other festivities came a brilliant German at Mme. Lasalle's. Thither came everybody, in proper time; thither, rather late, and fresh-returned from his journey, came Mr. Rollo; and making his way easily along, through rooms ablaze with light and almost faint with flowers, he reached a point where 'The Thread of Destiny' was in full progress, tangling itself up about Wych Hazel. It was impossible not to make her the centre of the group, though six ladies stood there together; and about them all, one end of a long white ribband in his hand, danced Mr. Nightingale—not saying, exactly—

'I wind, I wind, Hoping my true love to find'—

but perhaps thinking it in his heart; for when coil after coil had gone round the blooming prisoners, and the white sheen came suddenly to an end at Wych Hazel, it was with very evident satisfaction that Mr. Nightingale took her hand and led her out—his partner by the thread of destiny.

Nothing could be prettier than she was through it all; neither giggling nor smirking, nor making remarks like Miss Powder and the rest; her lovely shoulders veiled beyond all reach of criticism, her eyes intent upon the ribband, her thoughts intent upon the game. So that when all came to a climax at her, she laughed right out—the merriest laugh of glee and satisfaction. Very pretty!—was it anything more? Do you (apart from dancing) give your daintiest possessions into common hands? Why, you will not let a servant even dust the china shepherdess on your mantel-piece!—but any hands that you know— and any that you don't know—may touch and clasp and support the young daughters and sisters of your love, and whirl them about the room, as you would not have your shepherdess treated for all the world.

Cajolements did not avail that evening to induce Mr. Rollo to dance; and they were tried. He was in what Wych Hazel might have called a very Spanish mood. Not to her; indeed he never approached her nor sought to interrupt the pretensions of those who crowded round her, courting her favour and worshipping her pleasure, and craving to be made ministers of the same. She was in a throng, and he did not try to penetrate it. Why he stayed so long was a mystery; for what is a German if you do not dance? He was not a mere idle spectator, nor idle at all, it is true; he made himself busy enough, taking elderly ladies to supper and serving younger ones with beef- tea; but those are not engrossing amusements. Mme. Lasalle declared he was very useful; and watched to see what it meant; but beyond that he could not be seen to look at anybody in particular, she could resolve herself of nothing. Certainly he took leave a little before Wych Hazel left the room; they were not together, the lady was sure.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE ROCKAWAY.

When, however, a little later, that young lady came forth to her carriage, attended as usual by a retinue of servitors, a single figure was standing by her carriage door. He stood aside to let the devotees put Wych Hazel into the little rockaway which was her sole present equipage; but when the last words had been said and the last man stepped back, Rollo stood at the door before Dingee had time to shut it.

'Will you give me a seat as far as Mr. Falkirk's?' he said, looking in.

Now when you have not seen a person for six weeks or so, a request for a seat in your carriage is not generally the opening remark, and Wych Hazel paused in a sort of astonishment. Then another thing made her hesitate.

'If you will answer it to Mr. Falkirk,' she said. 'You know I am forbidden to give any one a seat in my carriage. Have you a special permit, Mr. Rollo?'

'I never ask for what I cannot have,' he said, jumping in. And then he offered her his hand. 'How do you do?'

'Very well. I should think that must make you an adept in Prim's beloved art of waiting,' said Wych Haze.

'If the lesson must be learnt, I would rather wait before asking. After that, I believe I do not know how to practise it. How do you feel about waiting for your horses?'

'Feeling is dead, and impatience is all tired out with hard work and want of sympathy. So it is pretty quiet just now.'

'Want of sympathy?' he said, inquiringly.

'Yes. I used to fume about it a little, but Mr. Falkirk only said "My dear," and a few other things of a cooing nature.'

'I believe I have brought you what you will like.'

'O, have you?' said the girl, with her musical intonations, and a degree of eagerness which spoke impatience in fair condition. 'You are very good to take so much trouble, Mr. Rollo! But I am more glad than you can imagine.'

'Then I am very glad,' said he. 'Will you trust me to drive you the rest of the way, if I displace Mr. Gotham? I share your infirmity of impatience sometimes.'

'An infirmity, you call it?—Well, displace anybody you like, but me,' said Wych Hazel, arranging herself in a small luxury of fatigue against the not too luxurious back of the rockaway. Her companion was silent a few minutes until the carriage passed out from the Moscheloo grounds and had gone a few rods; then he tapped Mr. Falkirk's factotum on the shoulder.

'Mr. Gotham,' said he, in tones of pleasant authority, 'I can't stand anybody's driving but my own to-night. Stop, if you please. You and Dingee may take a place with my man; my trap is just behind. Tell him to keep close and follow.'

'Sorry to do h'anything that looks un'ansome, sir,' said Gotham, swallowing his surprise with the adroitness of long practice, 'but I 'ave Miss 'Azel in charge, sir.'

'You had, my friend. I will relieve you. Come, jump out, and don't keep your young lady waiting.' The voice was of calm authority which most people understand and obey. And Wych Hazel laughed.

'I'm sure I can't say what Mr. Falkirk will think, sir!' said Gotham, in a displeased voice. ' 'Owever—I will h'assume it's h'all right, sir.—Though why he couldn't drive his h'own team, if he'd such an 'ankering for the ribbands,' he muttered to Dingee as he got down, 'I'm sure is a perplexity.'

'Wanted to drive Missee Hazel,' said Dingee, climbing like a cat into the other conveyance, and proceeding to drive Mr. Rollo's man nearly out of his wits. 'You never does sound de gen'lman, Mas' Gotham. Telled you so long ago.'

Having got his wish, Mr. Rollo drove regularly enough for a mile or two; till all carriages going their way had passed before or dropped behind or turned off, and they had the road entirely to themselves. The moon was riding high, and though an old moon, gave enough light to make driving a thing of no difficulty. Thus far Rollo had driven in comparative silence, with only a word or two occasionally to Wych Hazel. He had not removed himself by any means out of her companionship, but throwing himself sideways on the front seat of the carriage, looked sometimes out and sometimes in. Now, when the road was their own, and the old horse could find his way along with very little guiding, and the moonlight seemed to illuminate nothing so much as the stillness, Rollo turned his head and spoke.

'Miss Kennedy, do you like to have people come suing to you with petitions?'

'I think I might—if I could answer them myself,' she said, thinking of some that had been preferred that night. 'But when my yes or no depends on somebody else, it is rather stupid. One tires of a perpetual referee at one's back.'

'This depends on nobody but you. But I am rushing into the middle of things,' said Rollo, giving the old steed an intimation that he need not absolutely fall back upon walking. 'Miss Kennedy, I am coming to you with a great petition to- night—and I am too impatient to wait for it.'

'Mr. Rollo with a petition!' said Wych Hazel. 'And impatient! Well—then why does he wait?'

His voice told well enough why he waited, at least in part; the earnestness of it was so blended with not a little anxiety and not a little tenderness. He spoke slowly.

'Miss Hazel,' he said, 'you have neither father nor mother nor brother nor sister. I am almost as much alone in the world. May I speak to you as one who knows what it means?'

' "It?"—being alone?' she said.

'Just that. Having no one near enough to care or dear enough to dare, what would be for your happiness. As it is so with you, and I know it, may I for once step into the gap, without being too severely punished by you for my venturing?'

'Why I thought you always ventured,—everything!' she said, stirring up now in her surprise.

'Then shall I make my petition? I never dared so much in my life as I am daring now.'

'Of course you may make it,' said Wych Hazel. 'As fast as you like. I shall begin to be impatient too.'

'If you choose to question me for my reasons, I will have the honour to give them. Or if you ask what right I have to move in the matter, I will answer that, too.'

'Beforehand?'

'Certainly. If you wish.'

'No matter,' she said, with a slight laugh which was yet a little disturbed. What was looming up behind this barricade of preliminaries? 'I thought you based your right just now— But never mind. Go on, please.'

He was silent nevertheless a minute, while the old horse came to an unchallenged slow walk. Then Rollo ungloved his right hand and held it out.

'I cannot see your face,' said he. 'Give me your hand, so that I may know, while I hold it, that you are not displeased.'

'Why, Mr. Rollo?' said Hazel, with the same half laugh, 'you are very—extraordinary! It strikes me your one petition covers a good many. Must I take the glove off?—if you are to be indulged.'

'There!' said he, taking her hand in the same warm firm grasp she had known before. 'I am going to ask you to promise me something—that it will not be pleasant to promise. Miss Hazel'—speaking low and slowly—'do not dance round dances any more!'

The tone was low, also it was very earnest and very grave.

'What?' she said, in a sort of but half comprehending way. 'Why not? what is the matter with them? I am hardly the least bit tired.'

'You don't know!' he said, with a slight pressure of the hand he held. 'You don't know. This is why not, Miss Hazel—that I would not see my sister in them. Do you understand?'

'O yes,' she answered. 'I have seen people before who did not like dancing,—two or three, perhaps. But there is always somebody to dislike everything, I think. You do not enjoy it yourself, Mr. Rollo,—and so you do not know.'

'I have danced twenty dances where you have danced one. I know what they are made of. You only know how they look.'

'Hardly that,' said Wych Hazel. 'I know a little how they feel. I have never had an outside view, I believe.'

'Can you do me the great honour to take my view,—and my word for it?'

'If you liked flying to music as well as I do, you would take mine,' she said. 'Air is better than earth, when you can get it.'

'Do you think I would wish to interfere with your pleasure, or presume to interfere with your actions, without reasons so strong that I can hardly express their significance? Believe me, if you knew these round dances as well as I know them, you would never be mixed up in one of them any more.'

'Mixed up?' said Wych Hazel. 'Do you suppose I do all the wild things some people do, Mr. Rollo?'

'No,' he said; but he left his plea standing.

'Well then what is the matter? If ever you hear of my "exchanging hospitalities," I will give you leave for a lecture a mile long.'

'Your eyes are innocent eyes and do not see. Can you not trust me far enough to act upon my knowledge, and distrust yours?'

'But trusting you does not make me distrust myself,' she said. 'And even Prim confessed to me once that you do occasionally make mistakes.'

'I do not in this,' said he, very gravely. 'Yet there is no particular reason why you should believe me. Miss Kennedy—you cannot continue this pastime, and keep yourself.'

'What do you mean?' she said quickly.

'You cannot remain just what you are.'

'Mr. Falkirk thinks there is room for improvement,' said Wych Hazel, with some coldness; 'but your words seem to point the other way. Perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me at once all that you think it needful I should hear in the connexion.'

'You need not take that tone,' he said; 'but perhaps I must displease you. Miss Kennedy, I have always thought of you as one who would never permit a liberty to be taken with her.'

'I am happy that we agree for once,' she said, with a lift of the eyebrows and a voice to match. 'It is precisely the way in which I have always thought of myself.'

'Follow that out!' said he half laughing, and at the same time clasping a little closer the hand he held.

'Well—I have followed it out all my life. I never do, Mr. Rollo.'

'Not knowingly. But— How shall I tell you!' said he, in a sort of despair. And the old horse found it was necessary for him to move on.

'It must be said!' he broke out again, 'and there is no one but me to do it. Miss Hazel, you allowed liberties to be taken with you to-night.'

The little hand he was holding shrank perceptibly. Not twitching itself away, but as it were withdrawing itself into itself, and away from him. Otherwise she sat absolutely still.

'Unconsciously,' he went on. 'You did not know it. The pleasure of the play kept you from knowing what it implied.'

'Allowed, did you say?'

'Look back and think,' said he, calmly.

'As if they could, without my knowing it!' she exclaimed. 'As if they would!'—

'Look back and think,' he said.

'Well,' said Wych Hazel, 'look back and think! And I find the most extreme deference, and—nothing else that touches the question.'

He drew a sort of short, impatient sigh, and waited a moment. Then leaned over towards her again and spoke slowly.

'Six weeks ago,' he said, 'two little hands would not come near enough to my shoulder to take the kitten from it. And I loved them for the distance they kept.'

The girl drew suddenly back, freeing her hand now with a swiftness that told of a deep hurt somewhere. For a moment she did not speak—then only a breathless—

'Well?'

'Is that displeasure?' he said.

'When have I shortened the distance?' But the words were defiant with pain, not anger. And Rollo on his part remained perfectly still and perfectly silent, not even seeming to know how the old horse was going to please himself.

Nothing could have been more still, outwardly, than the white- robed figure in the corner,—and nothing need be more inwardly tumultuous.

'If it was an open wagon,' she thought to herself, 'I should jump out—over the back or somewhere!' O this having men talk to one! And what was he talking about? and what had she done?— she who had done nothing! Except—'dance better than ever anybody danced before!' 'For the distance they kept'—and when did not her hands keep their distance from every one! How many times that very evening had she been voted 'cruel,' for refusing some favour which other girls granted freely? Mr. Rollo, too!—who had praised her 'womanliness'—But with that the womanish element prevailed, and there came a quiver of lip, and for an instant her hands were folded across her eyes. Then down again, to hold each other in order.

And yet her hand had been on twenty shoulders that evening, and twenty arms had encircled her!

There was an interval of some length.

'Miss Hazel,' said Rollo at length, and his voice was clear and manly, 'have I offended you?'

'No,'—under her breath. 'I—suppose not.'

'Do you want me to give, if I can, some justification of myself?'

'There is none. Except that you did not mean to say what you said.'

'I meant no justification of my words,' said he, gently but steadily. 'If you want that, it is, that they were spoken to save you from harm.'

'Ah!' she said with a half cry,—then checked herself. 'What else does Mr. Rollo wish to justify?'

'Only my right to speak them;—if you did, as you might,— question it.' He paused a little, and went on. 'I can give you only half of my plea, but half will do. It is, that your father and mother dearly loved mine.'

It was all Hazel could do to bear her mother's name just then. Her hands took a sudden grip of each other, but no answer came. Not for some time: then words low and softly spoken—

'I think I asked for no plea, Mr. Rollo.'

'Then if you are content with it,' said he, in a lighter tone, 'give me your hand once more, only for a moment this time.'

She hesitated—then held it out. He bent down and gave it a swift, earnest kiss; after which he turned his attention to his driving duties, for some time neglected, till Mr. Falkirk's cottage was gained. As he took Wych Hazel out of the carriage, he said,

'It's so late, if you don't forbid me, I am going up to my old friend, Mrs. Bywank, to ask her to give me lodging to-night.'

Hazel bowed her head in token that he might do as he pleased, giving no other reply. But it is safe to say that, by this time, ideas and thoughts and feelings and pain, and—'other things,' as she would have phrased it, were so inextricably mixed up in the girl's head, that she hardly knew which was which and which was not. She walked steadily in,—then gave about two springs to her brown corner room, and locked the door.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE GERMAN AT OAK HILL.

Mr. Falkirk was not disturbed that night with being told anything. But when the sun had risen fair and clear over the green world of Chickaree, and Gotham moved silently about the breakfast-table, Mr. Falkirk might notice from his sofa that but one cup and saucer stood on the tray, and but one plate near to bear it company. If Mr. Falkirk's nerves were not in order, they might have been tried; for Gotham certainly seemed to have borrowed the cat's shoes for the occasion.

'Why don't you set the table as usual?' came pretty peremptorily from the sofa.

'Miss 'Azel 'ave sent word she was h'asleep, sir,' said Gotham, with extra dignity.

'Then why don't you wait till she is awake, slowhead? as usual. It is not eight o'clock yet.'

'H'also that she 'as no h'intentions of h'ever waking h'up, sir.'

So Mr. Falkirk took his breakfast with a dissatisfied mind. For it is safe to say, he was so accustomed by this time to his gay little ward's company and ministrations, that coffee was not coffee without her. Gotham did his duty in a more than usually taciturn fashion, and Mr. Falkirk's breakfast was at an end before the factotum unburdened his mind.

'Beg pardon, sir,' he said, drawing himself up behind his master; 'but 'ow are your h'orders concerning Miss 'Azel to be h'understood, sir?'

'Orders?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'You distinctly said and h'indicated, sir, that I was to drive Mis 'Azel to and from, sir,—if my mind serves me,' said Gotham.

'And if my mind serves me, you have driven her forty times.'

'Quite correct, sir,—and more,' said Gotham. 'The point h'is, Mr. Falkirk, what's to be done when young gents come taking the h'orders h'out of my very 'ands, sir?'

'Knock 'em down.'

'The first natural h'impulse, sir. But put a case that they're in the knockin' down style too?—then I'm left in the road, and Miss 'Azel without a protector.'

'Who's been knocking you down now, Gotham?'

'No one, sir;—I 'ope I know my business better,' said Gotham. 'I speak of the h'inevitable. And Mr. Rollo would drive Miss 'Azel 'ome last night, and she gave me no better h'assistance than one of her laughs, sir.' Clearly it rang in his ears yet.

'You had better not meddle with what don't belong to you, my friend. If Miss Hazel had desired your assistance, it would have been time enough to give it to her.'

'Very good, sir,—h'all settled, sir,'—and Gotham carried off the tray with a face of mixed perplexity and wisdom that was funny to see. But the sunshine crept on through the little study, and it was well-nigh time to set the table again, before the door opened softly and Wych hazel came in: two exquisite roses in her cheeks, in her hand—by way of excuse—a basket of wonderful hot-house grapes. How glad she had been to take them from Dingee at the door.

'Well, my dear!' said Mr. Falkirk, with an accent of unmistakeable pleasure, and something behind it, 'you have slept long to-day. Were you home so late?'

'I suppose it was late, sir. I lost no time, and so took no note. How do you do to-day, Mr. Falkirk?'

'Able to move, I think. I shall get about in a day or two more.'

'Here are some grapes, sir, to hasten the cure.' She put the basket in his hand, and passed on to a low seat at the head of the sofa. Mr. Falkirk looked at them, and his tone changed to the accustomed growl.

'Where are these from?'

'Major Seaton, I believe, is responsible,' said the girl carelessly.

'How many several people are after you at this present, Miss Hazel?'

'Difficult to say, sir, without more extensive inquiries than I have made. Your words do not put an attractive face upon the matter.'

'Is there any such thing in the lot?' asked Mr. Falkirk, discontentedly.

'As an attractive face? O yes, sir, several. Quite a number, I should say,' replied Miss Hazel, with a critical air.

'And all of them at Moscheloo?'

'All what, sir? Your English is hardly so pointed as usual—if you will excuse me for saying it.'

'You were speaking of attractive faces, my dear. I should say that your syntax wanted attention.'

'I did not know but you referred to "the lot," ' said Wych Hazel. 'There was the usual mingling, I think, of attractive and unattractive.'

Mr. Falkirk was silent till dinner was served, and then attended to that.

'Mr. Falkirk,' Hazel began suddenly, when Gotham had retired, 'I believe you could move now. Come!—go with me to Oak Hill to-night,—will you, sir?'

'Oak Hill,' said her guardian. 'Mrs. Seaton's. What is to be done there?'

'A promenade concert—nominally.'

'That sounds something to me like a dancing dinner. What does it mean, my dear?'

'Just what I said, in the first place, sir. If Kitty Fisher and the Powders are there, it may turn into something else.'

'And what does a promenade concert turn into, when it is enchanted?' said Mr. Falkirk.

'A succession of dances—it might.'

'Well, my dear—what should I do in a succession of dances?'

She laughed,—just a little. Laughs were not ready to-night. 'Sit still, sir, and watch me.'

'It strikes me I do enough of that as it is, without going to Oak Hill. Do you want more than you will have to watch you?'

The word jarred. She was silent a minute. Then earnestly—

'I wish you would, Mr. Falkirk.'

A new expression on Mr. Falkirk's face shewed that a new idea had occurred to him.

'What does this mean?' he asked gently, bending on his ward one of his keen looks from under the thick eyebrows.

She answered without looking at him,

'It means what is says, sir.'

'What is the matter, my dear?' came more sympathizingly than Mr. Falkirk's wont. It was even a little low and tender.

'Why, Mr. Falkirk—it is such an unreasonable request, that you should be so keen after reasons?'

'I do not know that it is unreasonable, but you know that it is unwonted. You have not been apt to wish for more guarding than you have had, Miss Hazel. Cannot you tell me what makes you desire it now?'

Mr. Falkirk did not growl now, nor draw his brows together; he was in patient earnest, seeing cause.

'I did not say to guard me, sir. Sometimes,' said Hazel, choosing her words, 'sometimes it might be pleasant to have somebody in the room to whom I was supposed to belong—just a little bit. How do you like Major Seaton's grapes, Mr. Falkirk?'

Mr. Falkirk drew his brows together now, and spite of his weak ankle got up and paced across the floor thoughtfully. Then came to a sudden stop in front of Wych Hazel.

'Has anybody annoyed you?' he asked.

'By "annoyed" you mean?—'

'Made you feel the want of a protector; or of somebody, as you say, that you belong to.' Mr. Falkirk's brows were drawing very thick together indeed.

'No, I think not,' she answered. 'Not intentionally. People are very good to me; very respectful, I believe. But I must go and see that my dress is in order. I shall wear blue to-night, Mr. Falkirk—and you like blue.' She made him a profound little courtesy, and danced off out of the room.

Mr. Falkirk's cogitations, to judge by his eyebrows, were also profound, when his ward had left him alone. They did not issue in any resolve to re-enter the gay world, however, which had never been Mr. Falkirk's sphere; and Miss Kennedy went to Oak Hill alone. Had she been made to 'feel her want of a protector?'—On the contrary!—Or 'annoyed' in any other sense?— that was far too soft a word. And so she stepped from her carriage in company with many thoughts, and came out upon the assembled light and colour as stately as if she had been the only right line in the universe. A bevy of her friends were round her directly.

'Hazel,' said Phinny Powder, 'we are going to run this concern into a German as soon as it has run long enough in its own name. I am so glad you are here; and in blue. Keep near me, won't you, because it'll just set me off, and some dresses kill me.'

'How can she keep near you, you giddy creature?' said Mme. Lasalle. 'Hazel' (whispering), 'Stuart bade me engage you to lead the German with him. May I tell him you will?'

'O Hazel,' cried Josephine again, 'we are going to have such fun. Kitty is going to let us into some new figures, and they are considerably jolly, I tell you!'

'Are they?' said Hazel. 'But the music comes first, Mme. Lasalle, and I may not stay for the German. And I have promised the first walk to Mr. May.'

'Not stay for the German!'—'Not stay for the German?' was echoed in so many various tones of despair that it had to be answered again.

'I only said I might not,' said Wych Hazel. 'Good evening, Mr. May.'—And Miss Kennedy swept off, to the opening burst of music from the band.

Now there are other sounds besides music at a promenade concert, and many things not strictly harmonious are said and done under cover of its trombones and violins. Wych Hazel indeed walked unremittingly,—it suited her mood that night; but many sat and talked, very regardless of the music, and not too mindful of other ears. And so after a while a group gathered round Kitty Fisher, to discuss the coming German and pick up a few hints touching the promised new figures. Wych Hazel had just passed, escorted on either hand: her dark-blue robe and white laces setting her off to perfection. For a minute eyes alone were busy.

'That girl provokes me to death with her high dresses!' said Kitty Fisher. 'Such ridiculous nonsense!'

'I'm not so sure as to that,' said Miss May. 'Dick raves about it.'

'Dick raves about her altogether,' said Kitty,—'so of course he has to include her dress.'

'Well, George said that other shoulders might as well retire if her's ever came fairly out,' said little Molly Seaton, who was taking her first sips of society, and looked up to Miss Kennedy as the eighth and ninth wonder of the world combined.

'I don't care,' said Kitty Fisher, 'I'll have 'em out! I vow I will. It's a fraud on society.'

'Society can afford to be a loser now and then,' said Mr. Kingsland, softly insinuating himself among the ladies;—'it gets so much more than its due between whiles!'

'It's prudish,' said Phinny, disregarding this sentiment,— 'that's what it is. Do you suppose it's that old wretch of a guardian keeps her in leading strings? Now she talks of not staying to the German.'

'The Sorceress is in one of her moods to-night,' said Mr. Kingsland. 'Murky. Flashes coming so thick and fast, that I declare I've been winking all the evening.'

'Stephen,' said Miss Kitty, 'if you'll help get up the "Handkerchief" by and by, and get her into the thick of it before she knows where she's going, I'll give you the first pair of blue gloves I can spare.'

'Great offer,' said Mr. Kingsland; 'but to-night the Sorceress prefers walking.'

'Stuff!—who cares what she prefers?'

'Some nine-tenths—and a fraction—of all the men here,—myself included,' said Mr. Kingsland.

'You are the fraction, or you'd manage it,' retorted Kitty. 'It's doubtful if she would dance with you.'

'She will not dance with anybody this night,' said Mr. Kingsland.

'How do you know?'

'Said so. And what Miss Kennedy has said, she does.'

'Why, she couldn't dance in that long train,' said Molly Seaton.

'Little goose!' said Kitty Fisher, 'she would hang that over her partner's arm.'

'Would she!' said Mr. Kingsland, with a slight whistle. 'I asked her to do it once: I think I shall not again.'

'She'd rather talk to six men than dance with one, I suppose,' said Miss Fisher, eyeing the girl who stood now leaning against a tree in the distance.

'And the post of the seventh looks so inviting!' said Mr. Kingsland, rising and strolling off.

'Isn't it too much!' said Kitty Fisher. 'See here, girls and boys, listen,'—and heads and voices too went down below recognition.

A little later in the evening, Gotham from his seclusion in the servants' quarters was summoned to speak to a lady. He found awaiting him, not his mistress, but a wonderful pyramid of white tarletan from which issued a voice.

'Miss Hazel is going to spend the night with Mrs. Seaton, and she sends you word that you may go home and come back for her at eight o'clock in the morning.'

'Ain't that clever?' said Phinny to the cavalier on whose arm she leaned, as they retraced their way towards the lighted portion of the grounds. 'Now I have disposed of one trouble.'

All unconscious of this machination Wych Hazel kept on her walk—the only thing she could decide to do to-night. In fact the girl hardly knew her own mood. Of course the strictures that had been made were all unfounded, as touching her; but the words had given such pain at the time, that the very idea of dancing made her wince as if she heard them again. That would wear off, of course, but for the present she would walk; and had, as Molly guessed, put on her long train as a token. But when the concert began to tend towards the German, another fancy seized her: to stay and look on, and get that outside view which was almost unknown. And so when the first set was forming she released Major Seaton for his partner, and again took Mr. May's arm and walked towards the dancers.

'My dear,' said Mme. Lasalle, coming up on the other side, 'are you not dancing?'

'As you see, Madame!' said Hazel, with a slight bend and laugh.

'You not dancing! What's the matter?'

'Well—you will find it is a freak, or I tired myself last night, or I want to make a sensation—according to whom you ask,' said Wych Hazel.

'You are not forbidden?' whispered the lady, in a lower tone.

'No, Madame.'

'You seem to have so many guardians,' the lady went on,—'and guardians are selfish, my dear; horribly selfish. For that, I think all men are, whether guardians or not.'

'Just now,' said Wych Hazel, 'I am the selfish one,—keeping Mr. May from dancing.' Which supposed view of the case Mr. May, like a wise man, did not try to answer—just then.

The German began. One or two ordinary figures first, but watched by Wych Hazel with eager eyes.

'Yes, of course!' she said to herself, as Kitty Fisher went round with her head on her partner's shoulder,—'if he thought I did that.' Could he think it?—the little white glove tips so nearly withdrew themselves from the black coat-sleeve they were touching, that Mr. May turned to ask if she was tired and wished to sit down.

But motions that were pretty to look at followed: each couple in turn passing through an avenue of little coloured flags, which held out by the motionless couples on either side, met and crossed over the heads of the dancers. Down came Stuart Nightingale and Miss Fisher, and Mr. Burr and Phinny Powder, and Major Seaton and Miss May,—Wych Hazel looked on, smiling, and with a stir of her little right foot. How often she had come down just so! Then began a figure that she did not know: they were going to 'practise,' Kitty Fisher called out, recommending her to come.

'You won't know how next time.'

'Thank you, I can learn by looking on.'

And so she stood still and watched. Watched to see the ladies, armed with long reins and a whip, driving their partners cheerfully from point to point, with appropriate gestures and sounds and frolic. The little bells tinkled gleefully, the many-coloured leading-strings mingled in a kaleidoscope pattern.

'Symbolical,' Mr. Kingsland remarked, standing near. 'This is the "Bridle" figure, Miss Kennedy.'

'Unbridled' would be a better name, Miss Kennedy thought, but she said not a word; only her lips curled disdainfully. But, 'driving men is easy work,' as Phinney Powder said, and so this 'practice' soon gave way to another still more striking. The ladies ranged themselves, standing well apart from each other, and among the gentlemen was a general flutter of white handkerchiefs. What were they going to do? 'Bonds' was the word that occurred to Hazel this time, as she stood leaning a little forward in interested expectation. And so it proved,— but not just as she had expected. To be tied by the hand would be bad enough, but by the foot!—and yet,—yes, certainly Major Seaton's handkerchief was round Kitty Fisher's pretty ankle—to the discomfiture of several other handkerchiefs of like intentions,—and Miss Powder had Stuart Nightingale at her feet,—and Phinny—

But who did it for whom, Wych Hazel scarcely thought until afterwards. She looked on for a minute at the scuffling, laughing, romping; then drew back with a deep flush.

'Did they think they could do that with me!' she said, under her breath. And what could her companion do but feel ashamed of every man he had ever seen do 'that' for any woman?

The course of things was changed after a time by Mr. Nightingale's coming up and asking her to walk. He had made over the 'practice' to somebody else, professing that he knew the figures already. Perhaps somewhat in his companion's manner struck him, for he remarked, quite philosophically, as they moved into the shadow of the shrubbery, that 'society is a problem!'

'Is it?' said Hazel, to whom problems (out of books) were as yet in a happy distance. 'What needs solution, Mr. Nightingale?'

'Is it possible you do not see?'

'Not a bit. I did not know society was deep enough to be called a problem.'

' "Glissez, mortels; n'appuyez pas." '

'Well, people do not,' said Wych Hazel.

'And had best not. Nothing is more graceful than the state of bold and brave innocence.'

Hazel mused a little at that, half unconsciously getting up a problem of her own. Was he talking of her 'innocence?' did he, too, see things which she did not? And was this another warning? Yet no one more forward to draw her into round dances than Stuart Nightingale. He began again in another tone.

'You are determined not to dance to-night?'

'Yes. Am I part of the problem?'

He laughed a little. 'You would not be a true woman if you were not.'

'You may as well give up trying to understand me,' said Wych Hazel, gaily. 'Mr. Falkirk and I have been at it for years, and the puzzle is a puzzle yet.'

'Confess, you like to be a puzzle.'

'One may as well make the best of one's natural advantages,' said Hazel with a laugh. 'I suppose if I were what people call "limpid," and "transparent," I might like that too.' But the clear girlish purity of the depths referred to was as transparent as the Summer blue.

'Have you ever been told,' said Stuart, lowering his voice a little, 'of your very remarkable resemblance to one of the greatest puzzles of history?'

'No,' said Hazel. 'And you do not know me well enough to tell what I resemble.'

'Pardon me—pardon me! Do you think I could not have told, after that one first meeting in the wood?'

'If you could,' said Wych Hazel, with a lift of her eyebrows, 'I cannot imagine how society can be a problem to you, Mr. Nightingale.'

'There never was but one woman, of those whose pictures have come down to us, whose mouth could be at once so mischievous and so sweet. You are aware the mouth is the index to the character?'

Hazel answered with some reserve (direct compliments always gave her a check)

'No—Yes. I have heard people say so.'

'And you know the woman I mean?'

'She is bound to be a witch!—but further than that—'

'The likeness is really remarkable,' said Stuart, seriously; 'you have the Mary Stuart brow exactly, and the mouth, as I said; and I think, as far as difference of colour admits similarity of effect, the eyes have the same trick of power. I suppose you like power?'

'I suppose I should! Mr. Falkirk ties up all my power, and labels it "Edge tools," ' said Wych Hazel.

'I suppose it cuts its way out, and so justifies him. Don't you have your own way generally?'

'Well, between taking it, and coaxing it out, and refusing to take any other, I do have it sometimes,' said Wych Hazel.

'Is Mr. Falkirk much of an ogre? I do not know him. Difficult to manage?'

'He thinks I am,' said Wych Hazel. 'No, he is not an ogre at all, except officially.'

'Does he pretend to exercise much supervision over your doings?'

'Pretend?' she repeated. 'He has the right, Mr. Nightingale. And did ever a man have a right and not give it an airing now and then?'

Stuart laughed, and laughed again. 'Don't be hard on us!' he pleaded.

'Truth is not slander.'

'But are not women as fond of power, and wont to exercise it as ruthlessly, as ever men are?'

'It is not a strong power, if they do.'

'Take care,' said Stuart. 'Honour bright!—while Mr. Falkirk thinks things go according to his will, don't they really go by yours?'

'No,' said Wych Hazel, 'when he thinks they do, they do,—when they do not, he knows it.'

'Then you are not free. That is hard!—hard upon you. A mother's authority is one thing; a guardian's, I should think, is something very different. Does he interfere with your dancing?'

'No.'—Hazel herself hardly knew why words suddenly became scarce.

'I thought you were very fond of it.'

'O, I am!'

'Then why will you not honour me and please yourself to- night?'

' "Why" is safe, while "why" keeps hid. All women know that,' said Wych Hazel.

'You best of all,' said Stuart. 'I dare say it is just to make us miserable. But now I am coming to you with a more serious request. Will you help us in some private theatricals?'

'I?—O, I could not. I know nothing about the matter. Never went to a theatre in my life, to begin with.'

'So much the better. I know you will do it to perfection. In the first place you are not vain; and in the second place you are independent; and an actor should be free in both respects. And of positive qualifications you are full. Say you will try!'

'I am the worst person to make believe that ever you saw,' said Wych Hazel. 'I doubt if I could counterfeit anybody else for ten minutes.'

'Precisely!' said Stuart in a contented tone. 'You would not counterfeit. Good acting is not counterfeiting—it is nature. You will help us? Say you will!'

'O, if I can—certainly.'

Before Wych Hazel's lips had fairly got the words out, the two found themselves suddenly flush with Mr. Rollo, standing by the side of the way under a laburnum tree, which was hung with lights instead of its natural gold pendants.

Swiftly as only thoughts can, they rushed through the girl's mind on the instant. Then he was here! And of course he knew she was not dancing,—and of course he must think—There was another figure beginning—she might go and join that. No!—not with him to look on, making mental comments: that would be simply unendurable. Then she must tell him it was not for what he had said. And she could not tell him that, because it was!— Only in a different way. And how was she to talk to him of 'ways,' or of anything else, after last night? The result of all which lucubrations was, that she bent her head gravely—and it may be said somewhat lower than usual—in silent acknowledgment of Mr. Rollo's presence. She was desperately afraid of him to-night. But though he stepped up and spoke to her, it was in the indifferent tone of ordinary business.

'On my way here I got something that I think I ought to give to you. By and by, when you are at leisure, will you command my presence?'

'I can take it now.'

'No,' said he carelessly, 'I will not interrupt you. I should have to explain. I will be on the lawn in front of the concert-saloon when you want me.'

He bowed and fell back from them.

'Have you two guardians?' said Stuart slyly.

'No.'

'Just a little more assurance than necessary, in his communication.'

'What do you consider the proper amount?' said Wych Hazel, retreating to carelessness in her turn.

'I should not dare offer any,' said Stuart. 'It is with nothing of the kind that I venture to ask if you will ride with me to-morrow.'

'Ah, I would if I could!' said the girl longingly. 'I would give almost anything to be on horseback again. But my horses have not come, and till then I must wait.'

'Let me offer one of my aunt's horses!' said Stuart eagerly. But Hazel shook her head.

'I cannot take it—Mr. Falkirk will let me mount none but my own.'

'Is it reasonable to yield obedience so far, and with so little ground?'

'It is comfortable,' said Hazel with a laugh. 'O yes, I suppose it is reasonable, too.'

The walk went on and the talk; each in its way wandering along through moonlight and among flowers, and then Hazel bethought her that what she had to do must be done before she went home. So mustering up her courage, she seated herself on one of the broad stone steps at the side door, and despatched her escort to the front for Mr. Rollo. Presently he came, and sat down beside her.

'At what hour did you order your carriage?' he asked in a low tone.

'Gotham was to wait.'

'He has gone home. I met him as I came.'

'Gone home? O he is only driving around to keep his horse awake. It is not a fiery turnout, by any means.'

'He has gone home,' Rollo repeated smiling, 'and I did not know enough to order him about again. But I sent word to Mr. Falkirk that I would take care of you.'

The girl's brows lifted, then drew slightly together.

'Thank you—,' she said, with rather stately hesitation,—'but as Mr. Falkirk will send Gotham straight back, I had better wait.'

'After my message, Mr. Falkirk will not do that,' said Rollo, looking at his watch. 'It is half-past twelve o'clock.'

Hazel leaned her chin in her hand and looked off into the moonshine. She did not feel like being 'taken care of,' a bit, to-night.

'I am afraid circumstances are affecting Mr. Falkirk's mind,' she said at last, with a tone just a trifle provoked; for half-past twelve was a stubborn fact to deal with. 'Well, Mr. Rollo—if I can by no means save you the trouble, at what hour will it please you to take it?'

'As there are evidently plots against you, suppose you come to the other side-door, and let us go off without speaking to anybody?'

And so it came to pass that in a few minutes more they were comfortably driving homewards, without supervision, the silent groom behind them not counting one.

They were in a light phaeton, with a new horse in it which could go; the old moon was just rising over the trees; the road free, the pace good. The gentleman's tone when he spoke was rather indicative of enjoyment.

'Who is plotting against you?'

'Plotting!—'

'And now disappointed?'

'O, it is just some of Gotham's stupidity,' said Wych Hazel, with a voice not yet at rest: she had been oddly conscious of wishing that no one should hear her whispered good-night to Mrs. Seaton and follow to see with whom she went home. 'He and I are always at cross purposes.'

'A lady in a white dress brought him the message, he says. But to change the subject—What is your favourite pleasure?'

'Riding the wind.'

'Do you remember once—a great while ago—promising to give me an afternoon some time?'

'Did I? it must have been a great while,' said Wych Hazel. 'O yes, I do remember. Well?'

'Will you put to-morrow afternoon at my disposal?'

'If the thing to be done is within walking distance. Mr. Falkirk will not let me ride.'

'I have brought home, I think, a nice little saddle horse, which I should like to have you try,' Rollo went on, not heeding this.

'Oh!' she said, with unmistakeable longing. 'But he has made me refuse at least five-and-forty just such horses this summer.'

'He will be amenable to reason to-morrow,' said Rollo comfortably. 'Shall I tell you what I want to do with you after I have got you on horseback?'

'Let me run—I hope,' said Wych Hazel.

'I am going to take you where you have never been yet; through Morton Hollow and the mills, to see my old nurse, who lives a little way beyond them.'

'I am not going through Morton Hollow,' said Hazel, decidedly.

'Why not?'

'You never heard of seven women who could "render a reason," did you?' said the girl, with a laugh in her voice.

'My old nurse is a character,' Rollo went on. 'She is a Norse woman. My mother, I must tell you, was also a Norse woman. My father's business at one time kept him much in Denmark and at St. Petersburg; and at Copenhagen he met my mother, who had been sent there to school. And when my mother forsook her country, the old nurse, not old then, left all to go with her. She was my nurse in my earliest years, and remained our most faithful friend while we were a family. She made afterwards a not very happy marriage; and when her husband died just before I went to Europe, she was left alone and poor. I arranged a small house for her in the neighbourhood of the Hollow; and there she lives—a kind of mysterious oracle to the people about. And her greatest earthly pleasure, I suppose, is to have me come and see her. Gyda Boerresen is her name.'

'I like to see people enjoy their greatest earthly happiness,' said Hazel thoughtfully. 'I never did many times. Or at least not many people.'

'I want you to know Gyda. I am not superstitious, like some of the ignorant people who visit her; but yet'—he paused. 'If ever you were in need of womanly counsel—if ever you wanted sympathizing and wise help—to find your way out of perplexities—I should say, go to Gyda. If any one could give that sort of help, she would. And it is almost like going to a pythoness', added Rollo thoughtfully; 'she is so cut off from the world and its people.'

They were almost at Mr. Falkirk's cottage. Rollo was silent a moment, then said, 'May I ask Mrs. Bywank to shew me hospitality again to-night? I don't want to go home.'

'Mrs. Bywank will be only too glad,' said Wych Hazel. 'The little tower room always goes by your name, Mr. Rollo.'

'She did not put me there the last time,' said he, laughing, 'I was lodged in state and splendour! Well, good night. I wish you were coming to breakfast.'

She stood silent a minute, looking down. Could she? Might she? Would it do? Run away from Mr. Falkirk for a private frolic on the hill? It was a great temptation!

And only doing the honours of her own house, when all was said. Would it be strange? Would he think it strange? That is, not Mr. Falkirk, but Mr. Rollo. Was he a man of sense, she wondered, who always disapproved of everything? And with that a child's look of search and exploration sought his face. There was a grave sparkle in the eyes she met looking down at her.

'I see a question in your face,' said he. 'And I answer,—yes!'

'Very unsafe to answer anything in my face,' said the girl, hastily withdrawing her eyes. 'There were two questions in my mind. Good night, Mr. Rollo, and thank you.'

'Think better of it!'—said Rollo, as he got into the carriage again.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

BREAKFAST FOR THREE.

Mrs. Bywank, inspecting her breakfast table from time to time, certainly had Mr. Rollo's wish in her heart, even though it got no further. And setting on orange marmalade for him, she pleased herself with also setting on honey for her; even though the portrait of a little child was all the sign of her young lady the room could boast. But long habit had made it second nature to watch that face, no matter what else she was about. Mrs. Bywank looked and smiled and sighed, and bent down to see if the honey was perfect. It was late in the morning now: Mr. Rollo's slumbers had been allowed to extend themselves somewhat indefinitely in the direction which most men approve; and still breakfast waited, down stairs; and Mrs. Bywank at the tower window gazed down the slope and over the trees towards Wych Hazel's present abiding place. Not expecting to see her, but watching over her in her heart. So standing, she was hailed by a cheery 'good morning' behind her.

'I suppose people who turn day into night have no right to expect the day will keep its promises to them; but you are better than my deserts, Mrs. Bywank. I see a breakfast table!'

'Always ready for you, Mr. Rollo! And you must be very ready too, by this time,' she said, sounding her whistle down the stairs. 'Was Miss Wych at Oak Hill last night, sir?'

'I had the pleasure of bringing her home.'

'O, did you, sir?' said Mrs. Bywank, with a quick look. 'She told me she meant to go,—but her mind comes about wonderfully sudden sometimes. Here is breakfast, Mr. Rollo. Will you take your old seat?'

'I think it will always come about in the right place at last,' said Rollo, as he complied with the invitation. The old housekeeper drew a sigh, looking up at the little picture.

'My pretty one!' she said. Then applied herself to filling Mr. Rollo's cup. 'Yes, sir, you're right,' she went on after a pause. 'And she never would stop in a wrong one, not a minute, but for just a few things.'

'Mrs. Bywank,' said the young man, 'those few things are all around her.'

'You'd think so if you could hear the serenades I hear,' said the housekeeper, 'and see the flowers—and hear the compliments. She tells them to me sometimes, making fun. But the trouble is with Miss Wych, she never will see the world with any eyes but her own,—and who's to make her?'

A problem which Rollo considered in silence, and probably swallowed instead of his coffee.

'Does she speak freely to you of her impressions, and of what she is doing or going to do?'

'Free as a child, Mr. Rollo! Always tells me what dress she'll wear—and then afterwards how people liked it. And what she does, and what they want her to do. And why her head is not turned,' said Mrs. Bywank, in conclusion, 'puzzles my head, I'm sure. Mere handling so many hearts might do it.'

Mr. Rollo pursued his breakfast rather thoughtfully and nonchalantly for a time.

'Mrs. Bywank, Mrs. Coles is returned.'

'Surely!' said Mrs. Bywank, with a slight start. 'Then she'll make mischief,—or it'll be the first chance she ever missed.'

'And—the world around her is not so simple as your young lady believes.'

'No, no!' said Mrs. Bywank, earnestly. 'Well I know that! But just there comes in another trouble I spoke of,—you can't make her believe it, sir,—and so I'm not sure it's always wise to try.' She paused, in a sort of hesitating way; glancing from her teaspoon to her guest.

'It's not wise to try at all,' said he, smiling—a sort of warm genial smile, which went over the table to his old friend. 'At the same time,'—and his face grew sternly grave,—'it may be desirable to have some other wisdom come in to her help. I wish,—if you are in any doubt or perplexity about anything you hear, and it may be only a little thing that may give you the impression,—I wish you would call me in.'

'Well sir,—that just touches my thought,' said Mrs. Bywank. 'Or my thought that. For I couldn't do it, Mr. Rollo, unless,'—and an unmistakeable look of anxious inquiry came across the table. 'Unless, you know, sir,' she went on, looking away again,—'unless—excuse my freedom—the conditions of the will are to be carried out.' And the old housekeeper called for hot waffles, and otherwise apologized for touching the subject, by quitting it at once. As soon as all this bustle was disposed of, her guest met her eye again with a frank, bright smile.

'The conditions of the will are to be carried out, my friend.'

Mrs. Bywank brought her hands together with a sense of relief and gladness that somehow went to her eyes too, and she was silent a little.

'I did hope it, sir!—And I would far rather apply to you than to Mr. Falkirk. He frets me sometimes,' added the old housekeeper: 'I may say that to you, sir. Now, she's been wild to ride all summer,—and a dozen wild to have her; and Mr. Falkirk has never let her go once. And so long as he does let her go and dance with the same people, I don't for my part see why.'

'Perhaps he does,' said Rollo, rather dryly. 'But I have made the requisite declarations in presence of Mr. Falkirk and Dr. Maryland, and am legally qualified to act, Mrs. Bywank. She does not know anything of this; and it is not best she should— for the present.'

'No sir—by no means,' said Mrs. Bywank, earnestly. 'For if there is anything miss Wych does hate, it is to have a gentleman speak to her about her doings. When that happens she thinks she's supposed to have done something dreadful; and it hurts her more than you would guess, sir. Little child as she was then, she would cry her eyes out over a word from Mr. Kennedy, but her mother might say anything. And it has always been just so with Mr. Falkirk. Only Miss Wych never cries for him. At least nobody ever sees her.'

Now, instead of Mr. Rollo's being alarmed at this, as another man might, it was answered by a certain humourous play of face; a slight significance of lip and air, quite difficult to characterize. It was not arrogant, nor arbitrary; I do not know how to call it masterful; and yet certainly it expressed no dismay and no apprehension. Perhaps it expressed that he intended to be in a different category from other men. Perhaps he thought Mrs. Bywank meant to read him a cautionary lesson.

'She is in rather a hard position,' he said, gravely. 'I am glad she has got a good friend in you, Mrs. Bywank. And I am glad I have, too.'

'Yes, it is hard,' said the old housekeeper, with a glance at him; 'though it is not to be expected, sir, that you should quite understand it. But Miss Wych is the lovingest little creature that ever lived, I believe, and as true as the sky. Why, she could cheat Mr. Falkirk day in and day out if she chose!—but if ever those young men should get her to ride, against his orders, she would go and tell him of it, the first minute after she got home.'

Rollo did not ask whether they could do this, or had done it. He went on quietly with his breakfast, only glancing up at Mrs. Bywank to let her see that he was attending to her.

'So that's a great safeguard,' she began again, with a sigh. 'But I wish Mrs. Coles was back in Chicago! Miss Fisher was bad enough. And what the two will do between them—'

'What does Miss Fisher do?'

'It is plain to me,' said Mrs. Bywank, 'that she wants to pull my young lady down to her way of dress and behaviour; though Miss Wych don't guess it a bit. That she can never do, of course. But it is just like Miss Fisher to push where she can't pull. Do you understand me, sir?'

'Quite.'

'So that makes me anxious, sir. And there are hands enough to help.'

Leaning somewhat towards her young guest, breakfast rather forgotten on both sides, so they sat; when the door opened softly and Wych Hazel came in. But if the first minute inside the door could have been instantly exchanged for the last one outside, it is probable that the young lady of Chickaree would have disturbed no cabinet council over her that day. For with the first sight of the very people she expected to find, there rushed over her a horrible fear that Mr. Rollo would think she had come to see him!—and that Mrs. Bywank would think so—and (worst of all) that she thought so herself! But there was no retreating now. So passing swiftly to the old housekeeper's chair, and laying both hands on her shoulders to keep her in it, Hazel stooped down to kiss her; and then straightening herself up like a young arrow, she gave from behind Mrs. Bywank a demure good-morning to Mr. Rollo.

That gentleman had not been so much engrossed with the conversation as to have at all the air of being 'surprised,' or he was too good a man of the world to shew it. He had sprung up instantly as Wych Hazel came in, and now he came round to where she stood to shake hands, looking very bright, but as if her appearance was the simplest thing in the world.

'You have not had breakfast?' he said.

'I have had the opportunity. But you look altogether too comfortable here, you and Mrs. Bywank!—As for me, I have been breakfasting with two bears, and had nearly forgotten how civilization acts.'

'My dear!' said Mrs. Bywank.—'Not "breakfasting"—when you were coming here, Miss Wych?'

'Not much, Byo, to say the truth. I gave Mr. Falkirk his coffee—hot and hot.'

'He didn't give you waffles,' said Rollo, making room for her plate and cup upon the table. 'Mrs. Bywank, we must take care of her. I shall never grumble at sending answers to invitations after this.'

He was rendering little services and making himself variously useful, with the air of a person more at home than she was: drawing down a blind to keep the sun from her face, and opening another window to let in the air and the view.

'Take care of me!' said Wych Hazel, with a look at the table instead of at him, and then beginning to touch and mend things generally to suit her fancy. 'It is very plain what I have to do! There is the jar of marmalade quite pushed out of reach. And if you do not empty it, Mr. Rollo, Mrs. Bywank will think you have not fulfilled the sweet promise of your earlier years.'

'My dear!' remonstrated Mrs. Bywank, uneasily.

'I have satisfied her,' said Rollo, dryly. 'But there is a little left for you. There wouldn't have been if the two bears had known where it was.'

'Mr. Falkirk was fearfully growly this morning,' said Wych Hazel. 'And every time he growled Gotham grumbled. So I had a fusillade. Where is your fruit, Byo?'

'There was none brought in yesterday, Miss Wych, I'm sorry to say.'

'None at all in the house?'

'There's a basket in your room, my dear; but of course'—

'Not "of course" at all,' said the girl, jumping up to go for it. 'You know that is a sort of fruit I never eat.'

Which might have left it doubtful what sort she did eat,—the basket contained so many, in such splendid variety. Hazel sat down in her place and began to pile up the beauties in a majolica dish.

'Aren't you going to give me some?' said Rollo, looking on.

The answer tarried while Hazel's little fingers dived down after peaches and plums of extra size with which to crown her dish; but so doing, they suddenly brought up a white note, suspiciously sealed with red wax. The girl dropped it, as if it had been a wasp; and hastily setting the basket down on the floor, pushed the unfinished dish to a position before Mr. Rollo.

'There!' she said, 'will that do?'

'Do you mean that you give me all these?'

'Every bit.'

'Mrs. Bywank, might I make interest with you for a finger- glass?'

Which being supplied, the gentleman proceeded to a leisurely ablution of his fingers, and then looked at the dish of fruit before him with grave consideration.

'Which is the best?' said he.

'They all look about alike, to me,' said Wych Hazel, raising her eyebrows. 'I shall be happy to hear, when you have found out.'

Exercising a great deal of deliberation, Rollo finally chose out a bunch of Frontignac grapes and two Moorpark apricots, and set them before Wych Hazel.

'Will you accept these from me?' he said, coolly. 'They are my own property, and are offered to you. Taste and see if they are as good as they ought to be.'

She looked up, and down, laughing.

'That is the way you come round people! Will you take the responsibility? Suppose I am asked, some day, whether they— were—what they ought to be?'

'You can puzzle him just as well after knowing the fact, as before,' Rollo said, with perfect gravity.

'Well,' said Hazel, pulling a grape from the bunch. 'Perhaps my misleading powers may be equal to that. This one is quite good—and not at all sour,' she added, with a flash of her eyes—which, however, went to Mrs. Bywank. 'What do you want, Dingee?'

Dingee advanced and laid a card on the table.

'Say I am at breakfast. I cannot be expected to keep awake all night and all day too.'

'Permit me to inquire,' said Rollo, as he also attacked the grapes, but not looking at them, 'whether you did your share of growling this morning? I am sure no one had more cause.'

'No,' said the girl, laughing. 'I feel that I have a great reserve in store for somebody. Well, Dingee?'

A card with a written message this time. Hazel looked at it, drew her brows together, and, seizing a pencil, wrote a vigorous 'No,' across the lines.

'For somebody,' Rollo repeated. 'I am not sure that we got hold of the right delinquent. After all, peaches are the best thing after waffles and coffee. Try that.' And he placed a fine one alongside of Wych Hazel's plate.

'The thing is,' said Hazel, 'that unless you can growl with authority, nobody marks you.'

'General Merrick and Major Seaton, Missee Hazel, ma'am,' said her dark retainer, coming back.

'I thought I told you I was at breakfast?' said Hazel, in a tone of displeasure.

'Yes'm—but the Major he bound to know 'bout sumfin Missee Hazel left onsartin last night. 'Spect he'd like a keep-sake, too,' said Dingee, laying down another card. 'Mas' May put his away mighty safe.'

If ever his little mistress was near being furious, I think it was then. Eyes and cheeks were in a flame.

'I left nothing uncertain last night!' she said, turning upon him. 'Major Seaton knows that, if he will take the trouble to remember. And Dingee, if you bring me another message—of any sort—before I whistle for you, I will put you out of service for a month. Now go!'

'Is that the way you punish unlucky servitors?' said Rollo, looking much amused.

She had come back to her grapes, giving them the closest attention, feeling shy and nervous and disturbed to any point; but now fun got the upper hand. So first she bit her lips, and then—the laugh must come! Clear and ringing and mirthsome, as if there was never a growl in all the world.

'That is one way,' she said.

'Sounds peaceable,' said Rollo demurely, though smiling; 'but I don't know! I am afraid it might prove very severe. What is the appeal from one of your sentences?'

'There is none. I am a Mede and a Persian combined. Byo, why don't you give Mr. Rollo some cream with his peaches, and postpone me till another time?'

'She'll have to postpone me, too,' said Rollo. 'I must go. Shall I come for you at four o'clock? It will be too hot, I am afraid, before; and we have a good way to go.'

CHAPTER XXIX.

JEANNIE DEANS.

It wanted some time of four o'clock yet, when Miss Kennedy came quietly into Mr. Falkirk's study and sat down by the window.

'Are you at leisure, sir?' she said, intertwining her fingers in a careless sort of way among the vines that hung there.

'My dear, I have been at leisure so long that I wish I could say I was busy. But I am not busy. What is it, Miss Hazel?'

'Only a few business questions, sir,' she said, attending to the vines. 'Will you let me ride with Major Seaton on Thursday?'

'Would you like to go with him?'

'I always like to ride, sir.'

'You have not a horse yet, my dear; that is a difficulty. I do not know this Major Seaton's horses—nor himself.'

'Quite reliable, sir—according to him. Will you let me ride with Mr. Rollo this afternoon?'

'I suppose there is no good reason to be assigned against that,' said Mr. Falkirk, rather growingly, and after a pause. It sounded a little as if he would have liked it if the fact had been otherwise.

'You consider Wednesday a more safe day than Thursday, sir?'

'I am not superstitious, Miss Hazel. The only thing I ever was in fear of is enchantment!'

'Well sir,—you have doubtless studied the case enough to know which is the more "enchanting" of the two,' said Miss Hazel, daringly. 'Shall I give Mr. May a ride on Friday?'

'Will you have a horse on Friday?'

'My horse seems to be a slow one, by the time it takes him to come,' said Wych Hazel. 'Will he be here this afternoon, Mr. Falkirk?'

'I suppose Rollo will see to that,' said Mr. Falkirk, beginning to turn about some papers that were on the table.

'Yes, sir,' said his ward, with her small fingers still playing among the vines; 'I suppose he will. It is rather Mr. Rollo's style. But that makes it slightly awkward for me, Mr. Falkirk.'

'In what respect, Miss Hazel?'

'Most of these other gentlemen think themselves qualified to "see to" so small a consignment as myself; and not being posted as to your scale of enchantment and danger, may feel it the reverse of a compliment to meet me riding with Mr. Rollo, on his horse.'

'Well, my dear, what do you wish me to do in the matter? You are not obliged to go with Rollo, that I know of. Do you wish to compliment these other small fry?'

'I want to ride, Mr. Falkirk, I believe I should go with Mr. Simms—if he were the only chance; and that is saying a good deal. However, I can throw all the responsibility on you, sir; that is one comfort.'

'It won't break me,' said Mr. Falkirk; 'that is another. Why do they all come for you so, this hot weather!'

But she laughed at that, and went off out of the room.

When she came down to the side entrance of Chickaree some hour or two later, she found her side-saddle going on an Arab- looking brown mare, and Rollo playing hostler. His own horse standing by was clearly also a new comer; a light bay, nervous and fidgety, for he did not keep still one minute; ears, hoofs, eyes and head were constantly and restlessly shifting. The brown mare stood still, only lifting her pretty head and looking as Wych Hazel came out. She ran down the steps.

'I got leave!' she said, gleefully,—'did you?'—then stopped, surveying operations. 'But was there nobody about the place to do that but Mr. Rollo?

The quiet negative which answered this covered more ground than the question. Rollo finished his work carefully, with one or two looking on; mounted the little lady, and went to his own horse. Before mounting, here, he seemed to hold some conversation with the creature; caressed him; stood in front and spoke to him, patting and stroking his head; then in another moment was on his back.

There is a great difference in people's riding, as there is in people's walking; and once in a while, among plenty of good average walkers and riders, there is one whom it is a pleasure to see. This man was such a one. He was a perfectly well-made man, and had the ease and grace in all his movements which such a build goes far to ensure; when on horseback it seemed as if he had communicated these qualities to his horse, and the two moved as one embodiment of ease and grace, with power superadded. Stuart Nightingale on horseback was a fine gentleman, perfectly got up, and riding well, but yet a fine gentleman in the saddle. Major Seaton rode ruggedly, if I may say so. Mr. May was more at home in his phaeton; others were more or less stiff and uncertain. But the attitude and action of Rollo were utter unconscious ease, whatever form of action his horse might take. So it was now. For a few minutes his restless animal moved in all sorts of eccentric ways; but where most men would have been a little awkward and many very miserable, his rider was simply unconcerned and seemed to be taking his pleasure. To see such a rider is to be filled with a great sense of harmony.

What a ride they had then, when the hill was descended and the gates of Chickaree left behind! The road for some miles was known to Wych Hazel; then they branched off into another where all was new. The qualities of the brown mare had been coming to her rider's knowledge by degrees; a beautiful mouth, excellent paces, thorough training; knowing her business and doing it. As they entered upon a long smooth stretch of road without anybody in sight, Rollo proposed a run; and they had it; and it was upon drawing bridle after this that he asked a question.

'How do you like her?'

Now Miss Kennedy, in defiance of all-known laws, had never been so smitten with the regulation beaver upon a man's head, as to place it on her own. So instead of its stiff proportions she wore a little round straw hat; utterly comfortable, utterly graceful, and drooping down over her eyes a la Marie Stuart, so as to keep those wayward things in deep seclusion when she chose. Just now, however, she turned them full on her companion, answering:

'O very much!—I suspect she has only one fault.'

'What in the world is that? Have you discovered already what I have sought for in vain?

'It is the reverse of my speciality,' said Wych Hazel—'so perhaps that makes me sharpsighted. I am afraid she always behaves well.'

'She knows her business,' said Rollo. 'I think what you want her to do, she will do. Pardon me; do you wish her—it is rather paradoxical—to thwart you wishes!'

'No,' said the girl, laughing a little,—'I put it somewhat differently: perhaps I might like, just occasionally, to thwart hers!'

'She'll be an extraordinary animal if she does not some time or other give you a chance. Now do you know what you are coming to?'

The scenery was changing, had changed. The level, open road they had been clearing on the gallop, had gradually drawn within high banks, which as they went on grew higher and broken, till the country assumed the character of a glen or deep valley. Opening a little here and there, this valley shewed ahead of them now a succession of high, long, dingy buildings; and a large, rapid stream of water was seen to run under the opposite bank. It had not been visible until now; so it probably turned off near this point into an easier channel than the course of their road would have afforded. The scene was extremely picturesque; sunshine and shadow mingling on the sides of the dell and on the roofs and gables of the buildings in the bottom. These were both large and small; it was quite a settlement; cottages, small and mean and dingy, standing all along on the higher banks, as well as lower down near the stream. Gradually the dell spread into a smooth, narrow valley.

'The mills, I suppose? I have not been this way before. It makes me half wild to get out again! So if I do any wild things——How lovely the dell is!'

'This is Morton Hollow,' said Rollo, looking at her. 'Can I help you do any wild things?'

'The houses are like him,' said Hazel, turning away, and her colour deepening under the look. 'Such a place!'

She might say 'such a place.' As they went on the character of it became visible more and more. There were dark, high, close factories, whence the hum of machinery issued; poor, mean dwellings, small and large, clustered here and there in the intermediate spaces, from which if any sounds came, they were less pleasant than the buzz of machines. Scarce any humanity was abroad; what there was deepened the impression of the dreariness of the place.