IN THE FOG.
There was mist everywhere. On the winding bed of the river,
lying piled like a gray eider-down coverlet; folding itself
over the forest trees; floating up to the Mountain House, and
hanging about the rocks. But overhead the sky looked bright,
and Sirius waved his torch which the vapour had filled with
coloured lights. As yet sunrise was not.
In front of the house, where a grey rock started from the very
edge of the bank, spreading a platform above the precipice,
sat Wych Hazel; her feet so nearly over the rock that they
seemed resting on the mist itself; her white scarf falling
back from her head like a wreath of lighted coloured vapour.
Perhaps there were no other strangers to the Mountain House
within its walls; perhaps the morning was too chill; perhaps
all of the 'candidates' were on the other side; for she sat
alone. Until the flaming torch of Sirius paled, until the dawn
began to shimmer and gleam among the fleeces of mist,--until
they parted here and there before the arrows of light, showing
spires and houses and a bit of the river in the far distance.
So fair, unfeatured, misty and sparkling at once, lay life
before the young gazer. Mr. Falkirk might have moralized thus,
standing close behind her as he was, still and silent; but it
is not likely he did; useless moralizing was never in Mr.
Falkirk's way.
'How do you like your fortune, Miss Hazel, as you find it at
present?' he said.
'Very undefined, sir. Good morning, Mr. Falkirk--what made you
get up?'
'My knowledge of your character.'
'So attractive, sir?' She glanced up at him, then looked away
over the mist, with her arms crossed over her bosom and a
grave look of thought settling down upon her young face; as if
womanhood were dawning upon her, with its mysterious
opalescent light.
'Evangeline saw her way all clear when she reached the
mountain-top,' she said musingly; 'but mine looks misty
enough. Mr. Falkirk, will this fog clear away before sunset?'
'Or settle down into rain.'
But while he spoke, the sun mounting higher, shot through the
very heart of the mist; and the broken clouds began to roll
away in golden vapour, or were furled and drawn up with bands
of light. And now came voices from the piazza.
'You knew it last night, Mr. Kingsland? and never told me!'
said an oldish lady. 'And there is the sweet creature this
minute, on the rock!'
Wych Hazel sprang to her feet. 'Mr. Falkirk,' she said, 'you
are inquired for;'--and darting past him she vanished round the
house. Mr. Falkirk, as in duty bound, followed, but when a
needful point of view was attained, his charge was nowhere
within sight, and he returned to the house to be in readiness
to meet her when the bell should ring for breakfast.
But a couple of hours later, when the bell rang, Miss Hazel
was not forthcoming. The guests gathered to the breakfast-
room. Mr. Falkirk remained in the empty hall, pacing up and
down from door to door, then went to see if Wych Hazel were by
chance in her room. Mrs. Saddler was in consternation, having
heard nothing of her. Mr. Falkirk returned to his walk in the
hall, chaffing a little now with something that was not
patience. Presently Rollo came down the stairs.
'Good morning.'
'Good morning.'
'Exercise before breakfast?--Or after?'
'Not after,' said Mr. Falkirk; 'but you are late as it is.'
'Better late, if you can't be early. You have a better chance.
I will wait with you, if you are waiting.'
'Don't wait for me,' said Mr. Falkirk, shortly. 'I have no
idea when I shall be ready.'
'I had no idea, a little while ago, when I should. By the way,
I hope Miss Kennedy is well, this morning?'
'I hope so.'
'She is not down yet?'
'She has been down, and I have not heard of her going up
again.'
'In the breakfast-room, perhaps,' said the young man. And
passing on, he made his way thither, while Mr. Falkirk stood
at the hall door. No, Miss Kennedy was not in the breakfast-
room; and instead of sitting down Mr. Rollo went out by
another way, picking up a roll from the table as he passed,
and wrapping it in a napkin. He took a straight course to the
woods, over the grass, where no uninstructed eye could see
that the dew had been brushed away by a lighter foot than his.
But if lighter, hardly so swift as the springy stride and leap
which carried him over yards of the rough way at a bound, and
cleared obstacles that would have hindered, at least slightly,
most other people. The mountain was quickly won in this style,
and Rollo gained a high ledge where the ground lay more level.
He went deliberately here, and used a pair of eyes as quick as
might match the feet, though not to notice how the dew
sparkled on the moss or how the colours changed in the valley.
He was far above the Mountain House, on the wild hillside. The
sun had scattered the fog from the lower country, which lay a
wide dreamland to tempt the eye, and nearer by the lesser
charms of rock and tree, moss and lichen, light and shadow,
played with each other in wildering combinations. But Rollo
did not look at valley of hill; his eyes were seeking a gleam
of colour which they had seen that morning once before; and
seeking it with the spy of an eagle. No grass here gave sign
of a footstep. Soft lichen and unbending ferns kept the
secret, if they had one; the evergreens were noisy with birds,
but otherwise mute; the fog still settled down in the ravines
and hid whatever they held.
Thither Mr. Rollo at last took his way, after a moment's
observation: down the woody, craggy sides of a wild dell; the
thick vapour into which he plunged sufficiently bewildering
even to his practised eyes. Partridges whirred away from
before him, squirrels chattered over his head, but his
particular quarry Mr. Rollo could nowhere find. Through that
ravine and up the next ledge, with the sun rising hotter and
hotter, and breakfast long over at the Mountain House.
He found her at last so suddenly that he stopped short. She
was tired probably, for she had dropped herself down on the
moss, her cheek on her hands, and had dropped her eyelids too,
in something very like slumber; the clear brown cheek bearing
it usual pink tinges but faintly. The figure curled down upon
the moss was rather tall, of a slight build; the features were
not just regular; the hair of invisible brown lay in very
wayward silky curls; and the eyes, as soon could be seen, were
to match, both as to colour and waywardness. The mouth was a
very woman's mouth, though the girlish arch lines had hardly
yet learned their own powers whether of feeling or persuasion.
Very womanish, too, was the sweep of the arm outline, and the
hand and foot were dainty in the extreme. Neither hand or foot
stirred for other feet approaching, the pretty gypsy having
probably tired herself into something like unconsciousness;
and the first sound of which she was thoroughly sensible was
her own name. The speaker was standing near her when she
looked up, with his hat in his hand, and an air of grave
deference. He expressed a fear that she was fatigued.
She had half-dreamily opened her eyes and looked up at first,
but there was nothing 'fatigued' in the way the eyes went down
again, nor in the quick skill with which the scarf was caught
up and flung round her, fold after fold, until she was muffled
and turbaned like an Egyptian. Then she rose demurely to her
feet.
'I thank you, sir, for arousing me. Is Mr. Falkirk here?'
'No--I am alone. But you are at a distance from home. Can you
go back without some refreshment?' The words and the speaker
were quiet enough, but Wych Hazel's colour stirred uneasily.
'Yes. Don't let me detain you, sir,' she said, putting herself
in quick motion across the moss. He met her on the other side
of a big boulder and stayed her, though with the quietest
manner of interference.
'I beg your pardon--but if you wish to go home--'
'Yes,' she answered, with a half laugh, glancing up at the
sun; 'I know. I am only going round this way.'
He stayed her still. 'I can guide you this way,' he said;
'but--it is not the way to the House.'
Another glance at the sun. 'Which is the way?'
'I will show it to you. Do you care most for speed or smooth
going? You are tired?'
Wych Hazel knit her brows into the most abortive attempt at a
frown. What right had he to suppose that she was tired!
'If you will just show me the way, sir--the shortest; I mean,
point out the direction.'
He was standing and waiting her pleasure with contented
gravity. 'The direction is not to be followed in a straight
line,' said he. 'I can only show you by going before. Is that
your meaning?'
'I should like to get home the shortest way,' said she
hesitating.
He went on without more words, and maintaining the polished
gravity of his first address; but Wych Hazel had reason to
remember her walk of that morning. It was a shorter way than
he had come, that by which her conductor took her, and in
parts easy enough; but in other parts requiring his skill as
well as hers to get her over them. He said not a word further;
he served her in silence: the vexatious thing was, that he was
able to serve her so much. Many a time she had to accept his
hand to get past a rude place; often both hands were needed to
swing her over a watercourse or leap her down from a rock. She
was agile and light of foot; she did what woman could; it was
only by sheer necessity that she yielded the mortifying tacit
confession to man's superior strength, and gave so often
opportunity to a pair of good eyes to see what she was like
near at hand. Wych Hazel's own eyes made few discoveries. She
could _feel_ every now and then that her conductor's hand and
foot were as firm and reliable as the mountain itself. This
course of travelling brought them, however, soon to the level
of the Mountain House and to plain going. There Mr. Rollo fell
behind, allowing the young lady to take her own pace in
crossing the lawn and the hall, only attending her like her
shadow to the foot of the stairs. With the first reaching of
level ground, he had had a full look and gesture of
acknowledgment; what became of him afterwards Miss Hazel
seemed not to know. _He_ knew that she ran up the first flight
of stairs, and that once out of sight her steps drooped
instantly.
'So!' said Mr. Kingsland, advancing. 'Really! Rollo my dear
fellow, how are we to understand this?'
'Give us an introduction after lunch, will you?' said another.
'But, Mr. Rollo, how extraordinary!' said one of the dowagers.
'Madame!' said Mr. Rollo, waiting upon the last speaker, hat
in hand.
'Let him alone, my dear lady!' said Mr. Kingsland; 'he's got
to prepare for coffee and pistols with Mr. Falkirk. And coffee
I fancy he's ready for--eh, Dane? Go get your breakfast, and
I'll break matters gently to the guardian.'
'Will you do that, my dear fellow?'
'Can you doubt me?'
'I wish you would, for I am hungry,' said Dane, drawing his
hand over his face. 'Mr. Falkirk is going off toward the
cataract--just run after him and tell him that his ward is come
home;--has he had breakfast?'
'Run, I guess I--won't' said Mr. Kingsland. 'But to be the
first bearer of _welcome_ news'--And Mr. Falkirk roaming among
trees and rocks was presently accosted by two gentlemen.
'Allow me, my dear sir, to congratulate you,' said the
foremost. 'Miss Kennedy is safe. Our friend Rollo has with his
usual sagacity gone straight to the mark, and without a
moment's thought of his own breakfast or strength has found
the young lady and followed her home.'
'She is at home, then?' said Mr. Falkirk.
'She is at home, sir; the Mountain House is made radiant by
her presence. And now, permit me--Dr. Maryland,--son of your
friend at Chickaree. Only your neighbour upon Christian
principles here, sir, but bona fide neighbour at Chickaree,
and most anxious to be acquainted with the fair owner
thereof.'
Too honest-hearted to feel the inuendo of Mr. Kingsland's last
words, their undeniable truth flushed Dr. Maryland somewhat as
he shook hands with Mr. Falkirk. He was a well looking young
man, with a clear blue eye which said the world's
sophistications would find no Parley the porter to admit them;
and Mr. Falkirk would certainly have begun to like his young
neighbour on the spot, if he had not been on a sudden summoned
to the house.
Miss Hazel, speeding up-stairs in the manner before related,
reached her room safely; but there proceeding to answer or
evade Mrs. Saddler's questions, also to indulge herself in
sundry musings, did not indeed forget to despatch a peremptory
order for breakfast; but as that refreshment was somewhat
delayed, the young lady in an impatient fit of time-saving
began to change her dress, and fainted away charmingly during
the process. At which moment the maid and breakfast entered
the room, and the former promptly set down her tray, and ran
off to summon the only doctor then at the Mountain House.
Little did Dr. Maryland guess the meaning of those mysterious
words--'a lady wants you!' Still less, what lady. And as by the
time he reached the room, Miss Hazel opened her eyes for his
express benefit, the doctor stopped short in the middle of the
room, his ideas more unsettled than ever. But Mr. Falkirk, who
had accompanied the doctor, though not expecting to find their
paths all the way identical, pressed forward with a face of
great concern.
'Miss Hazel!--is it you? What is the matter?'
'Do I look like somebody else, sir?'
Like nobody else! thought Dr. Maryland; while, learning the
whole of Mrs. Saddler's explanations from the first five
words, he went on to apply such remedies as were strongest and
nearest at hand. In a medical point of view it was not perhaps
needful that he should hold the coffee-cup himself all the
time, but if this were not really his 'first case,' it bid
fair to be so marked in his memory. Perhaps he forgot the
coffee-cup, till Mr. Falkirk gently relieved him of it with a
word of dismission, and the doctor modestly withdrew; then
sending Mrs. Saddler for some bottled ale, Mr. Falkirk went
on, 'Wych, where have you been?'
'Following the steps of my great predecessor, King Alfred,
sir.'
'In what line?'
'Retiring from the enemy, sir, and being obliged to meet the
Dane'--said Miss Hazel, innocently closing her eyes.
'Where?' said Mr. Falkirk, shortly.
'I don't know, sir. In some of the wild places favoured by
such outlaws. Don't you know, he has just come over the sea?'
There was a pause of some seconds.
'Wych,' said her guardian kindly, 'do you know it is not nice
for little girls to make themselves so conspicuous as your
morning walk has made you to-day?'
Some feeling of her own brought the blood to her cheek and
brow, vividly.
'I don't know what you call conspicuous, sir; only one person
found me. And if you think I lost myself in the fog on
purpose, Mr. Falkirk, you think me a much smaller girl than I
am!'
Mr. Falkirk smiled--a little, passing his hand very lightly
over the brow which did look certainly as if it had belonged
to a little girl not very long ago; but he said no more,
except to advise the young lady to eat a good breakfast.
Not to be conspicuous, however, from this day was beyond
little Miss Hazel's power, to whatever degree it might have
been within her wish. The house was at this time not yet
filled; but of all its indwellers, old and young, male and
female, higher and lower in the scale of society, every eye
and tongue was at her service; so far as being occupied with
her made it so. Every hand was at her service more literally.
Did not the very serving-men at table watch her eye? Was not
he the best fellow who could recommend the hottest omelet and
bring the freshest cakes to her hand? The young heiress, the
young mistress of fabulous acres, and 'such a beautiful old
place;' the new beauty, who bid fair to bewitch all the world
with hand and foot and gypsy eyes,--nay, the current all set
one way. Even old dowagers looked to praise, and even their
daughters to admire; while of the men, all were at her feet.
Attentions, civil, kind, and recommendatory, showered on Miss
Hazel from all sides. Would that little head stand it, with
its wayward curls and some slight indication of waywardness
within? How would it keep its position over such a crowd of
servants self-made in her honour? Some of them were very
devoted servants indeed, and seemed willing to proclaim their
devotion. Among these was Mr. Kingsland, who constituted
himself her right-hand man in general; but Dr. Maryland was
not far off, if less presuming. Miss Hazel could not walk or
ride or come into a room without some sort of homage from one
or all of these.
'Dear little thing! pretty little thing!' exclaimed a lady, an
old acquaintance of Mr. Falkirk's, one evening. 'Charming
little creature! How will she bear it?'
Mr. Falkirk was standing near by.
'She wants a better guardian,' the lady went on whispering.
'I wish she had a mother,' he said.
'Or a husband!'
Mr. Falkirk was silent; then he said, 'It is too soon for
that.'
'Yes--too soon,' said the lady meditatively as she looked at
Wych Hazel's curls,--'but what will she do? Somebody will
deceive her into thinking he is the right man, while it is _too_
soon.'
'Nobody shall deceive her,' said Mr. Falkirk between his
teeth.
It must be mentioned that an exception, in some sort, to all
this adulation, was furnished by the friend of Miss Hazel's
morning walk. Mr. Rollo, if the truth must be told, seemed to
live more for his own pleasure than anybody else's. Why he had
taken that morning's scramble unless on motives of unwonted
benevolence, remained known only to himself. Since then he had
not exerted himself in her or anybody's service. Pleasant and
gay he was when anybody saw him; but nobody's servant. By day
Mr. Rollo roamed the woods, for he was said to be a great
hunter--or he lay on the grass in the shade with a book--or he
found out for himself some delectable place or pleasure
unknown previously to others, though as soon as known sure to
be approved and adopted; and at evening the rich scents of his
cigar floated in the air where the moonlight lay brightest or
shadows played daintiest. But he did not seem to share the
universal attraction towards the daintiest thing of all at the
Mountain. He saw her, certainly; he was sometimes seen looking
at her; but then he would leave the place where her presence
held everybody, and the perfume of his cigar would come as
aforesaid; or the distant notes of a song said that Mr. Rollo
and the rocks were congenial society. If he met the little
Queen of the company indeed anywhere, he would lift his hat
and stand by to let her pass with the most courtier-like
deference; he would lift his hat to her shadow; but he never
testified any inclination to follow it. The more notable this
was, because Rollo was a pet of the world himself; one of
those whom every society welcomes, and who for that very
reason perhaps are a little nonchalant towards society.
It was a proof now gayly and sweetly she took the popular
vote, that she bore so easily his defalcation. Vanity was not
one of her pet follies; and besides, that morning's work had
brought on Miss Hazel an unwonted fit of grave propriety; she
was a little inclined to keep herself in the background. Amuse
her the admiration did, however. It was funny to see Mr.
Kingsland forsake billiards and come to quote Tennyson to her;
Dr. Maryland's shy, distant homage was more comical yet; and
the tender little mouth began to find out its lines and
dimples and power of concealment. But the young heart had a
good share of timidity, and that stirred very often; making
the colour flit to and fro 'like the rosy light upon the sky'--
Mr. Kingsland originally observed; while Dr. Maryland looked
at the evening star and was silent. Compliments!--how they
rained down upon her; how gayly she shook them off. And as to
Mr. Rollo, if there was anything Miss Hazel disliked it was to
submit to guidance; and she had been obliged to follow him out
of the woods: and if he had presumed to admire her in the same
style in which he had guided her, she felt quite sure there
would have been a sparring match. Besides--but 'besides' is a
feminine postscript; it would be a breach of confidence to
translate it.