WHOSE WILL?
A great new sorrow is a many-cornered thing; having its sharp
points that sting, and its jagged points that wound; with
others so dull and heavy and immoveable that one is ready to
wish they could pierce through and make an end. And it is
quite impossible to tell beforehand on which of them we may
happen to strike first.
Wych Hazel tried them all on her way home; but when that last
one came, it stayed; and through all the sharpness of the
others--through anger and mortification and the keen sense of
injury, and the fiery rebellion against control--the moveless
weight upon her breast was worse than all. What was it? What
laid it there? Not much to look at. A poor little plant, cut
down and fallen--that was all. Nobody knew when it started, and
no one could say that it would ever bloom: it had been
doubtful and shy of its own existence, and she herself had
never guessed it was there, till suddenly its fragrance was
all around. And even now, wilted and under foot, it was
sweeter than everything else; sweeter than even its own self
had ever been before. Yes; of all the bitter truths she had
heard that day, this that she said to herself was the one
supreme: Gyda's words of expectation would never be made good.
'Never,' she repeated. 'Never, never!'--and it seemed to Hazel
that in all her lonely life she had never before known what it
was to feel alone.
_This_ then explained all his wonderful care of her,--of course;
it was part of his legal duty. She should learn to hate him
now, she knew. Very likely he found it amusing as well! It
must be rather spicy work to a man loving power, to manage a
wild girl and her estate together--and with that Miss Kennedy's
resolution took a vehement turn. And _this_ was why Mr. Falkirk
had been so easy--and why--and why-- At which point thoughts and
breath got in an utter tangle, and she had to begin all over
again.
He could not wait to be guardian till she gave him
permission.--'Well for him!' said Miss Hazel, with a gesture of
her head. And then if she married anybody else without his
leave--and she would have to ask his leave!--Would she?--not
quite, the girl thought to herself. Neither in great things
nor in small would he be troubled _much_ in that way. Very
generous of him to declare his purpose--of--of-- And here
suddenly thoughts flew off to Gyda's soft-spoken title for
her,--words that bore yet their freight of shame and pleasure,
for Hazel's head went down. She brought herself back sharply.
_Very_ nice of him to tell other people what he meant to do!--of
course _her_ purposes in that line were of small moment, if she
had any. Things would run in this style now, she supposed:
'Thank you, Mr. May,--I will ask Mr. Falkirk; and if he
approves I will ask Mr. Rollo--if I can find him, for he is
generally away. And if _he_ says yes, I can go.'
No visitors saw her that day;--and Mr. Falkirk had his
breakfast alone, watched over by Mrs. Bywank. 'Miss Wych had a
headache,'--which was extremely likely, as she had cried all
night. But after that the world of Chickaree went on as usual,
to all outward appearance.
Some weeks had passed over since the ride to Morton Hollow,
when one afternoon Rollo's bay again walked up to the side
entrance of the Chickaree house. The few days of his intended
absence had been lengthened out by the wearisome delays of
business, so that that morning had seen the young gentleman
but just home. In the course of a private interview with Dr.
Maryland he had received some disagreeable information.
'By the way, Dane,' said Dr. Maryland relunctantly, 'I have
bad news for you.'
'What is it, sir?'
'At least it is not good. How bad it may be I can't tell.
Hazel has heard all about--what she shouldn't have heard!--the
terms of the will and the whole story.'
A flash of very disagreeable surprise crossed the young man's
face. He was silent.
'It seems Prudentia told her,' Dr. Maryland went on, uneasily.
'I don't understand how she could be so thoughtless; but so it
is. Hazel was very much excited by what she heard.'
'Naturally! You saw her?'
'For a minute. She came to me to know if it was true; but she
did not stay after that.'
No remark from the opposite party.
'I'm very sorry about it,' continued the old gentleman. 'I'm
afraid--I was afraid, it might make you trouble, Dane.
Prudentia is much to blame.'
Dane answered nothing. He wrung his late guardian's hand by
way of acknowledging his sympathy, and left the study.
'I had almost caught my bird!' was his thought, pretty
bitterly realized,--'and this woman has broken my snares. It
isn't the first time!'
He saw, he thought he saw, the whole character and extent of
the mischief that had been done. He knew Wych Hazel; he could
guess at the bound of revulsion her spirit would make at
several points in the narrative that had been told her. He
knew Prudentia; he could fancy that the details lost nothing
in the giving.
But the steadiness, not of feeling, but of nerves and
judgment, which was characteristic of him, kept his eyesight
clear even now. He did not fall into Wych Hazel's confusion of
thoughts and notions; nor did his hunter's instincts fail him.
His game was removed to a distance; _that_ he saw; it might be a
long distance,--and how much patient skill might be called for
before it would be within his grasp again it was impossible to
guess. There were odds of another hunter catching up the
coveted quarry; other snares might be set, of a less
legitimate nature; other weapons called into play than his
own. There are some natures who do not know how to fail, and
who never do fail in what they set themselves to accomplish.
In spite of disadvantages, Rollo had very much in his favour;
and this peculiar constitution of mind, among other things.
He would go up to Chickaree that same day. Before presenting
himself there, he and the bay horse travelled, I am afraid to
say how many miles in two hours. But nerves and senses were in
their usual condition of excellent soundness, and his temper
in its usual poise, when he turned in at the gate of
Chickaree, and mounted the hill.
Before he quite reached the house, however, Mr. Rollo, being
quick of eye, caught a signal from among the trees down
towards the garden: a woman's hand raised in the fashion of a
Sunday school scholar asking leave to speak. Drawing bridle,
to make sure that he saw right, or to find what this strange
sign might mean, he presently saw little Phoebe of the mill,
who, leaving her basket of muslins on the grass, now came
running towards him. Phoebe's regard for Mr. Rollo, it may be
said, was second only to her devotion to her mistress.
'I hope I'm not taking too much of a liberty, sir,' she began,
all out of breath with eagerness and running, 'but I said to
myself maybe Mr. Rollo would know what to do. For I'm sure
Miss Hazel must be very sick,--and nobody takes a bit of
notice.'
The inner pang with which this advice was received did not at
all appear. Rider and horse were motionless, and the answer
was a grave--
'Why do you think so, Phoebe?'
'May I tell you all about it, sir?' said the girl, earnestly.
Then without waiting for permission--'I never have told a
living soul, Mr. Rollo; for Mrs. Bywank she shuts me up with:
"Do your work Phoebe, and don't talk;" and so I have, sir,
always. It was one day after a ride--for she's had the
beautifullest horse, sir!--since you've been away, I guess; and
she'd ride every morning before breakfast, and come home
looking--Well I can't begin to tell!' said Phoebe,
enthusiastically. 'But Reo said it was the flush of the
morning going through his gate.'
The bay lifted up one foot and struck it impatiently on the
ground. His rider sat still, waiting upon Phoebe's words. The
reins were on the horse's neck, but the creature probably had
made up his mind that any volunteer extra steps were
unnecessary under his new master, for he stood like a rock,
that one foot excepted.
'So,' said Phoebe, taking up her broken thread, 'of course
Jeannie Deans (that's the horse, Mr. Rollo) began to love her,
might and main, right off--as everybody does; but even Mr.
Lewis allowed he never saw a horse learn so quick. And it
isn't often he allows anything,' said Phoebe, with the
slightest toss of her head. 'It wasn't for sugar,--sometimes
Miss Hazel would give her a lump, but generally not; only
she'd pat her and talk to her, and look in her face, and then
Jeannie'd look right at her, and begin to follow round if Miss
Hazel just held out her hand. Some days she'd come all the way
up from the lodge just so,--not holding the bridle nor
nothing,--the prettiest sight you ever saw, sir! She didn't
call her Jeannie, either,--it was some short, queer name that I
never did quite hear, she'd say it so softly. Most like a
bird's talk, of anything.' Phoebe paused, smiling at the
remembrance.
It was well her hearer's nerves were in training. He waited,
knowing that he should best get the whole by allowing the yarn
to reel off unbroken; so now he only gave utterance to an
attentive 'But what next, Phoebe?'
'O, sir,' said the girl, suddenly sober again, 'one day--I
didn't know where she'd been, Miss Hazel, I mean,--but it was
afternoon, and she was coming home. And I was out under the
trees like to-day, taking in. And Miss Hazel stopped and sent
Lewis back, and came on alone to the steps, sir,--came like the
wind!--and jumped off. And then she off with her glove--and you
know what Miss Hazel's hand is, sir,--and the little white
thing began to fondle Jeannie Deans. Patting her neck, and
stroking her face, and combing out her mane, and fingering her
ears; and Jeannie she held her head down, and sideways, as if
she meant to give all the help _she_ could. And I was looking
on, just among the bushes like, when all in a minute Miss
Hazel put both her arms right round the horse's neck and laid
her head close down--and there she stood.'--Phoebe paused to
take breath.
'Not ill _then_, Phoebe?' said her hearer, in a very low tone.
'O, I don't know, sir!' answered Phoebe, her honest eyes all
in a flush. 'I don't know! For just as I ran up to see, Mr.
Lewis he came back; and the minute Miss Hazel heard, she was
off and away up the steps and into he house, and didn't even
wait to see if Lewis had found her handkerchief. But, Mr.
Rollo, she's never been to ride since that day; not once. And
sometimes when she looks round sudden, her eyes'll shine till
they frighten you!' And Phoebe wiped her own eyes with the
corner of her apron, and looked up for aid and comfort.
'But Phoebe,'-- and Collingwood here made an impatient movement
rather suddenly and had to be brought back to his business--
'what is the evidence of the _illness_ you speak about?'
'Nothing else ever kept her from riding, Mr. Rollo. And she
don't eat--not three bits, sometimes,--only she 'lucinates Mr.
Falkirk so that he don't know. And when there's lots and lots
of grand company just gone, Miss Hazel will come walking up
stairs 'most like one step at a time. There's no flying up and
down in the house now, sir. And if you could only once see her
eyes, Mr. Rollo! And you know how she used to sing every five
minutes?--well, she don't do _that_,' said Phoebe, with closing
emphasis.
'Thank you, Phoebe,' said the gentleman at last, 'I am very
much obliged to you. I will see what is best to be done.' And
with a kind nod to the girl he left her. But Collingwood
walked every step of the way from there to the door of the
house. Dingee answered the first summons, also showing his
teeth with pleasure at sight of Mr. Rollo; and ushering him
in, darted away on his errand. But Dingee presently returned,
more thoroughly taken aback than often befel him.
'Can't make it out, 'xactly, sir,' he said, hesitating. 'Fact
is, it's drefful hard work to 'member messages,--sight easier
made 'em up! But Missee Hazel say, Mas Rollo--_thought_ she say--
please 'scuse her dis afternoon. 'Pears like dat ar' headache
done come back,' said Dingee, in his bewilderment. 'He been on
hand, powerful!'
'I daresay you delivered the message quite right, Dingee,'
said the gentleman, not at all surprised at its tenor; and
giving the boy something to justify the showing of his ivories
again, he went away And the bay walked every step of the road
down the hill through the woods to the gates of Chickaree; but
from there he went in a long straight gallop home.