IN A FOG.
Hazel was accompanied to her carriage of course, as usual. But
when she was shut in, she heard an unwelcome voice saying to
the coachman, 'Drive slowly, Reo; the night is very dark;' and
immediately the carriage door was opened again, and the
speaker took his seat beside her; without asking leave this
time. A passing glare from the lamps of another carriage
shewed her head and hands down on the window-sill, in the way
she had come from Greenbush. Neither head nor hands stirred
now.
Her companion was silent and let her be still, until the
carriage had moved out of the Moscheloo grounds and was
quietly making its way along the dark high road. Lamps flung
some light right and left from the coach box; but within the
darkness was deep. The reflection from trees and bushes, the
gleam of fence rails, the travelling spots of illumination in
the road, did not much help matters there.
'Miss Hazel,' said Rollo,--and he spoke, though very quietly,
with a sort of breath of patient impatience,--'I have come with
you to-night because I could not let you drive home alone such
a dark night, and because I have something to say to you which
will not bear to wait a half-hour longer. Can you listen to
me?'
'I am listening, sir,' she said, again in a sort of dull
passiveness. 'May I keep this position? I think I must be
tired.'
'Are you very angry with me?' he asked gently.
'No,' she said in the same tone. 'I believe not. I wish I
could be angry with people. It is the easiest way.'
'If you are not angry, give me your hand once more.'
'Are we to execute any further gyrations?'
'Give it to me, and we will see.'
Rather hesitatingly, one white glove came from the window-
sill, within his reach.
'You are a queer person!' she said. 'You will neither give
orders nor make me execute them, without having hold of my
hand! Are you keeping watch of my pulse, so as to stop in
time?'
He made no answer to that, nor spoke at all immediately. His
hand closed upon the little white glove, and keeping it so, he
presently said gravely,
'You and I ought to be good friends, Hazel, on several
accounts;--because your father and mother were good friends of
mine,--and because I love you very dearly.'
A slight motion of her part,--he could not tell whether she
started, or what it was,--changed instantly to a breathless
stillness. Only a timid stir of the hand, as if it meant to
slip away unnoticed. But it was held too firmly for that.
'I don't know whether you know yet,' he went on after a slight
pause, 'what it is to love anybody very dearly. I remember you
told Gyda one day that you had never loved any one so since
your mother. Certainly I have never had a right to flatter
myself that _I_ had been able to teach you what it means. If I
am mistaken,--tell me.'
'Easy work!'--she might have answered again,--to tell him what
she had never told herself. And particularly nice of him to
choose such a place for his inquiries, where there was no
possible way of exit (for her) but the coach window. What had
he never tried to teach her, except to mind? And of course she
never knew anything about--anything! But there Hazel shifted
her ground, and felt herself growing frightened, and certainly
wished her new guardian a hundred miles away. What did he
mean?--was he only sounding her, as Mr. Falkirk did sometimes?
If so, he might just find out for himself!--With which clear
view of the case, Wych Hazel set her foot (mentally) on all
troublesome possibilities, and sat listening to hear her hear
beat; and wondered how many statements of fact Mr. Rollo was
going to make, and at what point in the list truth would
oblige her to start up and confront him?
He had paused a little, to give room for the answer he did not
expect. Seeing it came not, with a slight hastily drawn breath
he went on again.
'In the mean time you have heard what you never ought to have
heard,--or not for a long time; and through the same good
agency other people have heard it too; and you are placed in a
position almost to hate the sight of me, and shrink from the
sound of my name; and you are looking upon your father's will
as binding you to a sort of slavery. I am not going to stand
this a minute longer.
'Hazel--unless you can love me dearly, my privileges as
guardian would be of no use to me. I would not take advantage
of them if I could. I would not have you on any other terms.
And I certainly am not going to be a clog upon your happiness.
I have made up my mind to keep my office, nominally, for one
year; practically I mean to leave you very much to Mr.
Falkirk. I will keep it for a year. At the end of the year,
you shall tell me whether I shall give it up or keep it
longer. But if longer, it will be for ever. And I warn you, if
you give it to me then, it will be a closer and sweeter
guardianship than you have had yet, Hazel. I will keep what I
love, so dearly and absolutely as I love her. But I shall not
speak to you again on this subject until the year's end. You
need not be afraid. I mean to see you and to let you see me;
but you will hear no more about this till the time comes.'
No answer, even then, only the trembling of the little hand.
Dark as it was, she turned her head yet more away, laying her
other cheek upon the window.
'Are we friends now?' he said somewhat lower.
'Mr. Rollo'--she began. But the tremor had found its way to the
girl's voice, and she broke off short.
'Well?' said he. 'That is one of the parties. I meant, Mr.
Rollo and Hazel.'
'Be quiet!' she said impatiently,--'and let me speak.' But what
Hazel wanted to say, did not immediately appear.
He answered by a clasp of her hand, and waited.
'I am quiet,'--he suggested at length.
The girl made a desperate effort, and lifted up her head, and
sat back in her place, to answer; but managing her voice very
much like spun glass, which might give way in the using; and
evidently choosing her words with great care, every now and
then just missing the wrong one.
'You go on making statements,' she said, catching her breath,
'and I--have taken up none of them, because I cannot,--because
if,--I mean, I have let them _all_ pass, Mr. Rollo.'--If truth
demanded a greater sacrifice just then, it could not be
because this one was small.
'I know,' he answered. 'Will you do better now? What mistake
has your silence led me into, or left me in?'
'I said nothing about mistakes. And I always do as well as I
can at first,' said Hazel, with a touch of the same
impatience.
'My statements did not call for an answer. But I am going to
say some other things to which I do want an answer. Shall I go
on?'
'You know what they are,' she said.
'I want you,' he went on, speaking slowly and deliberately,
'to give me your promise that you will not waltz any more
until the year is out that I spoke of.'
She answered presently, speaking in a measured sort of way,
'That is one thing. The other?'
'I want your promise to the first.'
'Suppose I am not ready to give it?'
'I ask for it, all the same.'
Again she sorted her words.
'Well then--I am not ready,--I mean, not willing. And do not you
see--at least, I mean, you do not see--how--unreasoning a request
it is?' The adjective gave her some trouble.
'Not unreasonable?'
'I said nothing about reasonable.'
'No. But I must have your promise. If you knew the world
better, it would not be necessary for me to make the request;
I know that; but the fact that you are--simple as a wild lily,--
does not make me willing to see the wild lily lose any of its
charm. Neither will I, Hazel, as long as I have the care of
it. So long as you are even in idea mine, no man shall--touch
you, again, as I saw it last night! You are precious to me
beyond such a possibility. Give me your promise.'
'You shall not talk to me so!' she cried, shrinking off in the
old fashion. 'I will not let you! You have done it before. And
I tell you that I never--touch anybody--except with the tip end
of my glove!'
'No more than the wild lily does. But, Hazel, no one shall
_touch the lily_, while I have care of it!' He spoke in the low
tone of determination. Hazel did not answer.
'Promise me!' he said again, when he found that she was
silent.
'By your own shewing it is hardly needed,' she said. 'I
suppose obedience will do as well.'
'Let it be a matter of grace, not of obligation.'
'There is some grace in obedience. Why do you want a promise?'
'To make the matter certain. Else you may be tempted, or
cajoled, into what--if you knew better--you would never do. You
will know better by and by. Meanwhile I stand in the way.
Come! give me the promise!'
There was a little bit of laugh at that, saying various
things.
'I shall not be cajoled,' she said. 'But I will not make
promises.'
'How then will you make me secure that what I do not wish
shall not be done?'
'It is not a matter about which I am anxious, sir,' said Miss
Wych coolly.
'I am not anxious,' he said very quietly, 'because one way or
another I will be secure. Do you think I can hold you in my
heart as I do, and suffer other men to approach you as I saw
it last night? Never again, Hazel!'
Dead silence on the lady's part; this 'mixed-up' style of
remark being, as she found, extremely hard to answer.
'What shall I do?' he said gently.
'About what, sir?'
'Making myself secure?'
'I do not know,' said Wych Hazel. 'No suggestion occurs to me
that would be worth your consideration.'
'I spoke to you once, some time ago, on the abstract grounds
of the question we have under discussion. These, being only a
wild lily, you did not comprehend. You do not love me, or you
would give me my promise fast enough on other grounds. You
leave me a very difficult way. You leave me no way but to take
measures to remove you from temptation. Is not that less
pleasant, Hazel, than to give me the promise?'
She was silent for several minutes; not pondering the
question, but fighting the pain. To be _forced_ into anything,--
to have _him_ take that tone with her!--
'How will you do it?' she said.
He hesitated and then answered gently,
'You need not ask me that. You will not make it necessary.'
'Not ask?' said Wych Hazel rousing up. 'Of course I ask! Do
you expect to frighten me off my feet with a mere impersonal
"it"?'--Then with a laugh which somehow told merely of pain,
she added: 'You might cut short my allowance, and stint me in
slippers,--only that unfortunately the allowance is a fixed
fact.'
'I did not mean to threaten,' he said in a voice that
certainly spoke of pain on his own part. 'Is it so much to
promise, Hazel?'
'You did do it, however,' said the girl,--'but we will pass
that. Everything is "much" to promise. And why I refuse, Mr.
Rollo, is not the question. But it seems to me, that while my
father might command me, on my allegiance, to give such a
promise, no delegated authority of his can reach so far. I may
find myself mistaken.'
'Do me justice,' he said. 'I did not command a promise; I sued
for it. The protection the promise was to throw around you, I
will secure in other ways if I must. But do not forget, Hazel,
why I do it.'
'I do not believe you know,' said the girl excitedly. ' "Wild
lilies?"--why, even wild elephants are not usually required to
tie their own knots. What comes next? I should like to have
the whole, if possible, before I get home--which seems likely
to be about breakfast time.'
'Reo is driving as fast as he ought to drive, such a night.
What do you mean by "what comes next"?'
'You said, I thought, you had several things to speak of.'
'I remember. I was going to ask you to go to see Gyda
sometimes.'
'That is already disposed of--if I am to be allowed to go
nowhere,' said Hazel, with a rush of pain which very nearly
got into her voice. 'The next, Mr. Rollo?'
'I think, nothing next. You know,' he went on, speaking half
lightly, and yet with a thread of tender persuasion in his
voice, 'you know that next year you can dispose of me. Seeing
that in the mean while you cannot help yourself, would it not
be better to give me the assurance that for this year you will
forego the waltz? and let things go on as they are? Field mice
always make the best of circumstances.'
'All summer,' she answered, 'you have not even taken the
trouble to forbid me! And now, forbidding will not do, but you
must use threats. They might at least wait until I had
disobeyed.'
'That is a very distant view of me indeed!' said Rollo.
'Details are lost. I will get you a lorgnette the next time I
go anywhere.'
'You had better,' said Hazel, not stopping to weigh her words
this time, 'for such distance does not lend enchantment.'--
After which the silence on her part became rather profound.
'No,' said Rollo dryly, 'I see it does not. What will you do
by and by, when you are sorry for having treated me so this
evening?'
'I daresay I shall find out when the time comes.'--
She leaned her head back against the carriage, wanting
dreadfully to get home, and put it down, and think. She could
not think with her hand held fast in that fashion,--and she
could not get it away, without making a fuss and so drawing
attention to the fact that it was not in her own keeping. One
or two slight efforts in that direction had been singularly
fruitless. So she sat still, puzzling over questions which
have perplexed older heads than hers. As, how you can have a
thing given you, and yet not seem to possess it,--and why
people cannot say words to give you pleasure, without at once
adding others to give you pain. What had she done? Mr. Falkirk
would have thought her a miracle of obedience these last two
nights; she even wondered at herself. How she had enjoyed her
home this summer! --it seemed to her that she loved every leaf
upon every tree. What could he mean by 'remove'? And here a
long, deep sigh so nearly escaped her lips, that she sat up
again in sudden haste, erect as before; but feeling
unmistakably lonely, and just a little bit forlorn.
Perhaps her companion's thoughts had come on one point near to
hers; for he gently put the little white glove back upon her
lap and left it there. His words went back to her last ones,
though after a minute's interval.
'It will come,' he said confidently. 'All the field mice of my
acquaintance are true and tender. _When_ it comes, Hazel, will
you do me justice?'
She stirred uneasily, and once or twice essayed to speak, and
did not make it out. This way of taking things for granted,
and on such made ground laying out railroads and running
trains, was very confusing. Hazel felt as if the air were full
of mistakes, and none of them within her reach. When at last
she did speak, plainly she had laid hold of the easiest. The
words came out abruptly, but in one of her sweet bird-like
tones.
'Mr. Rollo--I am not the least imaginable bit like a field
mouse!'
'In what respect?'
'These nice, tender people that you know'--she went on. 'I
believe I am true.'
It might have been some pressure of the latter fact, that made
her go on after a moments pause; catching her breath a little,
as if to go on was very disagreeable, speaking quick and low;
correcting herself here and there.
'I wish you would stop saying--all sorts of things, Mr. Rollo.
Because they are not true. Some of them. And--I do not
understand you. Sometimes. And I do not know what you mean by
my doing you justice. Because--I always did--I think,--and I have
not "treated you," at all, to-night.'
With which Hazel leaned head and hands down upon the window
again, and looked out into the dark night. Would they ever get
home?--But it was impossible to drive faster. A thick fog
filled the air, and it was intensely dark.
'I have been telling you that I love you. That you do not
quite understand. I am bound not to speak on the subject again
for a whole year. But supposing that in the meantime you
should come to the understanding of it,--and suppose you find
out that I have given field mice a just character;--will you do
me the justice to let me find it out? And in the meantime,--we
shall be at Chickaree presently,--perhaps you will give me, in
a day or two, the assurance I have begged of you, and not
drive me to extremities.'
'Very well!' she said, raising her head again,--'if you will
have it in that shape! But the worth of an insignificant thing
depends a little upon the setting, and the setting of my
refusal was much better than the setting of my compliance.
There is no grace whatever about this. And take notice, sir,
that if you had gone to "extremities," you would have driven
yourself. I always have obeyed, and always should. But I give
the promise!'--and her head went down again, and her eyes
looked straight out into the fog.
He said 'Thank you!' earnestly, and he said no more. There is
no doubt but he felt relieved; at the same time there is no
doubt but Mr. Rollo was a mystified man. That her compliance
had no grace about it was indeed manifest enough; the grace of
her refusal was further to seek. He deposited the little lady
of Chickaree at her own door with no more words than a 'good-
night;' and went the rest of his way in the fog alone. And if
Wych Hazel had suffered some annoyance that evening, her young
guardian was not without his share of pain. It was rather
sharp for a time, after he parted from her. Had the work of
these weeks, and of his revealed guardianship, and of his
exercise of office, driven her from him entirely? He looked
into the question, as he drove home through the fog.