CHAPTER III.

CROSS THREADS.

And in all the world there was but one person to whom she could

speak, for but one had guessed her secret; even Gyda. It seemed to

the girl afterwards as if at this time again her mother's prayers

must have been around her; so clear and swift and instinctive were

her decisions, in the chaos of all other things. No danger now of

meeting any one at the cottage. But how to get there? Not through

Morton Hollow, not on Jeannie Deans,—oh no, oh no! If she went,

she must go by that other almost impossible way, which was not a

way. She would drive to the foot of the hill, and leave the carriage

there, and not take Lewis to see where she went.

How she did it, Hazel never remembered afterwards. She left the

carriage with a cheery word to Reo, and then set her face to the

hill; the little feet toiling on with swift eagerness through briers

and over stones, finding her way she knew not how; conscious

only that she did not feel the ground under her feet, but seemed to

be walking on nothing, so that she had every now and then a sort

of fear of pitching forward. She had set out in good season, but it

was past midday when she stood before the cottage. If she knocked

as no other hand had ever knocked there; if her face at the opening

door startled Gyda beyond words; of this, too, the girl knew

nothing. For with the first sight of Gyda, there came such a surge

of the sorrows in which she was plunged, that Hazel stepped one

step within the door and dropped all unconscious at the old

Norsewoman's feet.

Gyda was quite unable to lift her, light as the burden would have

been; but what she could she was prompt and skilful to do. She

brought cushions to put under Wych Hazel's head, applied cold

water and hartshorn; for Gyda was too much in request as a village

nurse and doctor to be unsupplied with simple remedies. With

tender care she used what she had, till the girl opened her eyes and

found Gyda's brown face hovering over her. Even then the old

woman said not a word. She waited till Wych Hazel's senses were

clear, and the young lady had roused herself up to a sitting position

on the floor. Gyda's eyes were too keen not to see that the mind

was more disturbed than the body.

'My little lady,' she said wistfully, 'what ails thee?'

Hazel passed her hands over her face, and tried to collect her

thoughts.

'I am a great deal of trouble,'—she said slowly; for the touch of the

wet hair was suggestive, and it seemed to her just then that she was

nothing but trouble to anybody.

'And what is it that is troubling _thee?_' said Gyda, stooping down

with her hand on Wych Hazel's shoulder, the wrinkled, sweet old

face looking earnestly for the answer.

'How can you set things right?' said Hazel, with her usual inroad to

the midst of the case. 'How can you set them right, when you do

not know where they are wrong?'

'Will my lady tell me what is wrong?' said the old woman,

probably judging this statement of the position too vague to be

acted upon. 'But come and sit down, and see the fire, and get

comfortable; and tell me; and then we'll know.'

Wych Hazel rose and came to the fire as she was bid, and looked

at it, seeing nothing; but her next words touched another point.

'Why do such things come upon people?' she said.

The old Norsewoman stood beside her, watching with all the

wisdom of her loving, wise heart to see where the hurt was and

what the medicine must be. She put her hand again upon Wych

Hazel's shoulder as she looked.

'What has come?' she said. 'It's not—my lad?' she added, with

evidently a sudden startle of apprehension.

'He is away, you know,' said Hazel, with an immediate reserve of

voice. 'I know nothing of him.'

'What has come to my lad's lady?'

A quick spasm of pain passed over the face she was watching.

'Hush!' the girl said under her breadth. 'I am not that.'

'Then something wants to be set right,' said the old woman quietly.

'What is it, dear? Tell me, and the Lord will shew us how to do.'

'If _He_ cared, he would have hindered,' said Hazel drearily.

'He doesn't hinder, sometimes, to shew us that he cares,' said Gyda.

'You may not question his love, dear; you'll be sure to get wrong if

you do.' And then bending nearer, so as to look close in the girl's

face, with her little black eyes shining both keen and tender, she

repeated, 'My lad's lady, what is it? I am his servant, and so I am

her servant.'

If anything could have broken down the fierce self-control in

which Hazel had been entrenched for the last ten days, it was

perhaps the repetition of those words. But tears were biding their

time; none had come, none could come yet. Only her lips

trembled.

'Please, please!' she said, raising her hand in mute pleading. Then

adding, in a tone that went to Gyda's heart, 'He has doubted my

word. There is nothing to be done.'

'My lad? Olaf?'

'Yes.'

'It seems ye've doubted him. Is that it?'

'His truth? Never.'

'Nein, not his truth. But you have doubted him, yet. What cause

had he to doubt your word?'

'Appearances. They were all against me. But there is no use in

trusting, unless you trust.'

'Has Olaf done you wrong, you think, and no cause?'

'I did not come to complain of him,' said the girl quickly. 'But—I

had nobody to speak to—and I was—dying by inches.'

'Suppose you complain, dear,' said the old woman, with a smile

which was anything but unsympathetic. 'Complain, and make the

worst of it; then we will know how to begin. Say all he has done,

as bad as it is, and we will see what it means, maybe.'

The wistful eyes looked up at her, then down again. She answered

softly:

'He thought, he had reason to think, that I had broken my promise.

And he did not wait, nor try, for an explanation. That is one thing.'

'How could he have reason to think that, my lady?'

'Because of something I could not help,' said Hazel. 'You know

that can be,' she added with an appealing look, as if to see whether

Gyda doubted her too.

'Did you speak to him?'

'He gave me no chance. I have not seen him since—since—he

looked at me so,' said Hazel.

'Maybe he had his own part to bear,' said the old woman. 'But Olaf

will be back again in a few days.'

'Yes,'—said the girl slowly,—'that makes no difference. He has

given me up.'

'Love doesn't give up,' said Gyda. 'He asked me, a few days ago, to

pray for him, that he might be strong to do right. I wot, it'll be an

easier part then he thought of!'

But the words touched a sore spot. 'No,' the girl thought to herself.

'Love does not give up!' She sat very white and still. Then, after a

while, looked up at Gyda—one of her fair looks.

'You did not know,' she said gently, 'that he was asking you to pray

against me.'

Gyda met her eyes, first without replying; her hand left Wych

Hazel's shoulder and came upon her hair, touching it softly. That

old, brown, wrinkled face was so sweet and quiet that it seemed a

very stronghold of comfort and counsel and help. Counsel and

comfort came in a very simple form this time.

'Dear,' she said, in her slow utterance,—'he loves you.'

But Hazel was not inclined to debate that question with anybody

but herself. She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, finding

curious soothing in the touch of Gyda's hand. Nobody ever

touched her so in these days, and she had been very, very lonely.

Then suddenly she started up, sitting forward and speaking

eagerly.

'You must not tell him!' she said; 'you must not even tell him that I

have been here. You must not say one word. Promise me!'

'Till you tell him?' said Gyda placidly.

'Will you promise?' Hazel repeated. 'Things that cannot stand of

themselves had better—fall.'

'What is it that cannot stand, dear?'

'I did not come here to talk about that,' said Hazel, laying her head

back again. 'I came to talk about myself. Or to do something,

besides think.'

'I'll hear,' said Gyda. 'Nothing's going to fall that ought to stand.

Talk, my dear.'

All the while she was standing just at Wych Hazel's shoulder,

touching her head with a slight touch; in her face and voice the

utmost soothing charm of tender tranquillity. She had been

doubtless a Norwegian peasant woman, and had known little of

what we call refining advantages in outward things; but love and

peace and sympathy had made her wonderfully delicate and quick

to divine the needs of those with whom she dealt. It was a hard

little hand, but a very soft touch upon Wych Hazel's curls.

Furthermore, it was evident, that beyond her sympathy with her

visiter's present distress, Gyda was not disturbed about the matter

in hand.

'The days have been so long, all these weeks,' said Hazel. 'And the

nights were longer than the days.'

'Ah, yes. And you couldn't trust the Lord with your trouble?'

'I think—I did try, sometimes,' said the girl slowly, 'but I do not

quite know. I was in such confusion, and other things came in, and

I was afraid of doing it—only to please him, because——'

'Eh,' said Gyda. 'Yes, to please who, dear?'

Hazel put up one little hand and laid it upon Gyda's, so giving her

answer.

'Because,' she began again presently, 'I had thought—it had

seemed as if—maybe—_that_ was the reason of it all. Do such things

come upon people for doing wrong things, when they do not know

they are wrong?'

'Mayhap,' said Gyda, who through the obscurities of this speech

threaded her way to one thing only. 'It's only the straight way,

dear, that has no crooks in it. But see—isn't my lad's lady in the

straight way?'

'But I mean—I do not know how to tell you,' she said, covering her

face with her hands. 'When he had grown so good—and I had

not,—I thought, perhaps, that was the reason. I thought of it last

winter, before this came; and I have never seen him since—but

once. I might seem—different—to him, you know,' Hazel added,

in her girlish way. Then she took her hands down and looked at

Gyda, searching for her answer. But Gyda gently smiled.

'I think you'll soon know,' she said. 'Suppose you don't think any

more about it, till he comes.'

Hazel was silent a few minutes, but thinking all the while as hard

as she could. She was in no hurry now for Mr. Rollo to come; her

dread of seeing him again was extreme. And by this time another

matter claimed her attention, over and above everything else; she

must get home while she could. If physical prostration and reaction

went on at the rate they had begun, it would not take much longer

to make the scramble over the hill a sheer impossibility.

'I must go,' she said abruptly. 'But you will let me come once

more?'

Gyda was about to answer, when she turned her head sharply

towards the door. Her ears caught a sound in that direction, and the

next instant Wych Hazel's ears caught it too; the sound of steps,

quick steps, a man's steps, coming along the flag-stones outside the

cottage. A hand on the door, the door open, and Rollo himself was

there.