CHAPTER IV.

ABOUT THE GUARDIANSHIP.

He came in with the same quick, energetic footstep, looking grave,

certainly, but brown and ruddy, like a man with all his forces about

him, and with a bright greeting ready for Gyda. And then his face

changed suddenly, and his manner. He came up to Wych Hazel’s

side, bent down to take her hand, and said with grave earnestness

and all his wonted deferential gentleness,

‘I am glad to find you here!’

One could almost have heard the bolts and bars with which, at the

sound of his footsteps, the girl shut herself in. But all colour was

shut off as well. She rose to her feet, laying one hand on the chair

back to steady herself, and answered simply, ‘I am just going.’

And she turned to Gyda. But Rollo prevented her.

‘Won’t you sit down again?’ said he. ‘A minute or two? I have

something to say to you, and now is the best time?’

He turned to Gyda, but the old Norwegian was already leaving the

room, and the two were alone. And perhaps to give her time—or

himself—he stood for a moment still and thoughtful by the side of

the fireplace. And Hazel, who had thought she would take the first

moment that offered to clear her name of the blot left upon it, sat

in a sort of spell, and could not speak.

‘I want you,’ he began at length, with that same grave gentleness;

he had himself well in hand now;—‘I want you to give me, as a

friend, some explanation of that which you told me the other day.’

‘As a friend’—he had not then forgotten the day of the month.

That was one passing thought. And then, if Mr. Rollo had interest

in new displays of character, he had a chance to prosecute the

study, and see Wych Hazel as other people sometimes saw her; so

far off she seemed in her reserve. This was not the sprite who had

disputed his authority and pelted him with sharp speeches; nor the

shy girl who had blushed if he but came near her; there was not

even the faintest tinging of the cheeks, nor the least gleam from

out the deep shadows of the eyes. Only in one way did the slightest

agitation betray itself; but twice she began to speak, and twice

could not command her lips; the third time she conquered them

and went on. With down-looking eyes, and head a little bent, and

hands quietly folded, as if they were too tired to hold each other in

the old way, and that pathetic quiver still every now and then

sweeping round her mouth and chin, Wych Hazel went straight to

the midst of things, as if not daring to waste strength on

preliminaries.

‘Sir Henry Crofton had laid a wager—or vowed a vow—that he

would not go back to England until he had waltzed with me. I saw

him once or twice in the fall, and in town he came often to the

house, and after that I met him everywhere. And he very often

asked me to waltz. And I always refused.

‘One night’—she drew her breath, as if the words stifled her—then

went on swiftly, as before, preventing all questions: ‘One night, at

Newport, we were both at an out-door party. There was music, of

course; everybody was dancing. Except me. Sir Henry made his

usual request, and then asked me to walk instead.

‘ "Do you really _never_ waltz?" he said, as we passed up and down.

I told him no.

‘ "But why not?" I said, one of my guardians disapproved of it.

‘ "Is he here to-night?"—‘No.’

‘ "Then, he will never know what you do." I said then, that I had

promised.

‘ "Then it was not for my own pleasure I had given it up?" I said,

no.

‘ "Didn’t I sometimes wish for the pleasure again?" Sometimes, I

confessed, when I heard the music.

‘ "Had I promised for always?" No.

‘ "O well!—it was very easy to forget the precise date." ‘I said’

(here for an instant a flush came) ‘that I had not forgotten it.’

‘We were standing just then by the open lawn and the circle of

dancers; and—I think—my foot stirred a little, answering the

measure if a new waltz which the band struck up. In an instant,

before I had time to think or speak, he had whirled me off among

the crowd. So much taller than I, so much stronger, so skilled a

dancer, that at first I could only go where I was taken, obliged to

keep the step, in my own self-defence. One hand of course he held;

but the other—did not—touch him. And, presently, I made him let

me go. But (we had gone so fast) not till we had taken rather more

than one round, I think, I am not quit sure. And I always mean to

tell you.’—The voice fell a little, breaking off short.

She had not looked at him once since he came in; she did not look

now, to see how her story was received, but sat still, feeling as if

her very life were at stand. His face had changed notably as she

went on; its burden of grave care cleared away; his brow grew full

of light; the eyebrows came into their wonted line; but Rollo’s

eyes were the eyes of a man whose soul is on fire. He stood

breathlessly at first, then sitting down beside the girl got

possession of one of her hands, but only so speaking his sympathy

or eagerness; till as she finished he brought it to his lips, or rather

bowed his lips to it and kissed the little hand over and over. He

made no other answer; he said no word at all, till the dark flush

which had kindled in his face at her story a little faded away. Then,

still holding her hand perhaps unconsciously close, he said, low

enough,

‘And what about the guardianship, Hazel?’

The girl was in that state when to withstand or to bear seems

equally difficult: there is no strength for either; and the colour

which flitted over her face at his demonstrations was less of

shyness than of intense feeling. It all went now, at his words.

‘I thought,’ she said (the words came too quick, but she could not

help it) ‘that you had resigned, Mr. Rollo.’

Rollo got the other hand into his keeping, and merely inquired in

the same tone ‘what she wanted him to do?’

‘I used to want you to trust me. But it would not be any use now.’

Rollo’s lips touched her hand again, both hands. ‘What about the

guardianship, Hazel?’ he repeated, with a glow and sparkle of the

gray eyes, which yet had an odd veil of softness over them. But a

man will be a man. I am afraid Rollo was smiling at the same time.

If anything could be called clear in Hazel’s mind, at that minute of

supreme and universal confusion, it was, that belonging to

somebody was getting to be much more than an idea. And that Mr.

Rollo should merely pay her the compliment of requesting to have

the fact put in words, might be highly characteristic on his part, but

was not exactly composing on hers. How could she think, or

speak, without even one hand free? And droop her head as she

might, what could the soft falling hair do, but touch up the

beautiful flushes which Hazel felt, if she did not see? Her words,

when they came, went to a very self-evident point.

‘But—if you wanted it—why did you give it up?’

‘Give up—what?’ came with undoubted astonishment from

Rollo’s lips.

‘You stayed away—‘ said the girl, under her breath.

‘I have come back. And I want my sentence.’

In a sort of desperation, Hazel gathered up her courage, as if

realizing that she was face to face with the one question of her life,

where she must risk anything but mistakes.

‘But,’ she said,—‘but, Mr. Rollo,—you did not mean to want it.

When you stayed away.’

He laughed. ‘Look here!’ said he, ‘I want it now, Hazel. I’ll stand

all your questions, after you have answered mine.’

‘I think mine come first,’ she said softly,—and something of the

sorrow which had hung about the questions crept into her voice.

‘Because, there might be—at least, there might have been—things

which I could not explain. And then—as you could doubt me once,

you would again. And I could not bear that twice!’ said Hazel,

with a sudden quickness which told more than it meant. Nerve

herself as she would, her hands were trembling now.

Rollo was not a man of more than average patience, sometimes.

Nevertheless, though sorely tempted, he controlled the desire to

give her kisses instead of rebukes, and answered quietly and

gravely:

‘I took your own word once against yourself. I will never do it

again, Hazel! So take care what you say to me. Have you nothing

to say to me now?’

If she had, it was not forthcoming.

‘About the guardianship, Hazel?’

She hesitated a little—not much; thinking of the face she dared not

look at, and which she had scarcely seen for a year; answering then

with a grave quietness which again was very like herself, where

deep feeling was at work; the girlish voice falling and trembling

just a little:

‘If you want it—you can have it, Mr. Rollo.’

He took her in his arms then, very tenderly and gravely, kissing

her on lips and cheeks with kisses which seemed to tell of a wish

to indemnify himself—and her too,—for the last three weeks; but

then, having got what he wanted, for several minutes thereafter

spoke not; partly for his own sake perhaps, partly for hers. A

stillness more mighty than words, and quite beyond their sphere.

When he did speak again, it was in a different key.

‘How comes your hair to be wet?’

‘Mine? O—!’ said Hazel, starting,—‘It is nothing but a little

water.’

‘No,’ said Rollo laughing, ‘nothing else. The question is, how

came a little water on your hair?’

‘What a question! It was put there. And if you want to know why,

I will tell you. On purpose.’

‘Who did it?’

But that answer was slow to come. ‘Gyda,’ she said at last.

'Gyda!' echoed Rollo, starting up a little, and removing Wych

Hazel to a little distance from him, that he might look in her face

better. 'For what purpose has Gyda been putting cold water on

your hair?'

'O—! I was tired when I got here,' Hazel said, trying to look up

and laugh, and somehow failing. 'And—and—And it does not

signify the least in the world now.'

Rollo looked at her a minute silently, and then demanded

imperiously to know '_what_ didn't signify?'

'Being faint is nothing,' she said. 'At least, after you have got over

it.'

'What made you faint?' in the same tone.

Now Hazel had no mind to go into that; partly for the intrinsic

merits of the case, but also with a growing consciousness that with

those waves of trouble which had ebbed away so fast her strength

was going too. That false strength of tension and self-control, by

means of which she had lived and held her head up, through all

these last weeks. Even excitement was giving way to reaction; and

Hazel dreaded lest, before she knew it, she should break down;

lest, before she could hinder it, that wilful fountain of unshed tears

might insist on having its way. She knew from old experience

what _that_ meant; but (except for the slight specimen before Prim's

eyes) nobody had ever seen her in one of her tear-storms, and she

did not mean that any one should. And at the same time, belonging

to somebody puts hindrances in the way of unseen escape; and the

next thing would be, that some tender word or touch would find its

way to the very depths which had been so lonely and sweep away

all her defences. Then there was the walk! She answered, studying

her case,—

'I think, two or three things. But let me go now, please, Mr. Rollo.

I must go home,—it is late.'

'Let you go?' said he, in a curious, considerative way, as if

studying several things.

'Yes,' she said, trying to get ready to get up from her chair. He sat

looking at her, then touched again the wet hair. What was he

thinking about?

'It seems to me,' he said slowly, 'you must have some of Gyda's

porridge before you go.'

'Oh, no!' she said with some eagerness. 'I could not! Just let me

go—' and she rose up, steadying herself with one hand upon the

chair-back. Rollo rose too, but it was to take her in his arms.

'The carriage is not here,' he said, looking at her and noting how

well she needed the support he gave.

'Not just here—Reo is waiting,' Hazel answered, flushing and

drooping her head, and feeling as if every minute took her more

and more out of her own reach.

'Where is he waiting?'

'Never mind—Where I left him. O Mr. Rollo! let me go!—'

'But you see I must know, if I am to fetch him. Where is he,

Wych?'

'At the foot of the hill.'—No use! She could not debate matters, but

her head bent lower.

'Reo was not at the foot of the hill when I came.'

'I mean—the other hill.'

'What other hill?'

'Oh!'—she said deprecatingly; then went straight through. 'I came

the other way.'

'I don't know but one way,' he answered half laughing.

'Well—I do.'

'You will have to teach me. But something else must be done first.

Come here and sit down again. You can hardly stand. You must

rest and have a cup of coffee before I let you go anywhere. What

sort of guardianship do you think you have come into?' he said

very gently.

He put Wych Hazel in her chair, and then stooped down upon the

hearth to lay brands together and coax up the decayed fire. Having

made it burn, he turned and took an observation of her face. She

had given one eager look after him as he turned away, but now

was not looking, apparently, at anything, unless at some hidden

point which she was trying to master; for her breath came a little

quick, and her hands held each other tight; she was not even

leaning back in her chair. And as to resting her head on her hands,

Hazel would as soon have dared do anything. Well she knew, that

with even that slight veil between her and the outer world, the last

remnant of self-command would go. No, she must face it out,

somehow, and drink the coffee, and wait. If only Gyda would not

come in! And what would she say when she did?—'and I could not

stop her now,' thought Hazel to herself, 'If I say three words about

anything!'—She passed her hands over her eyes with a quick

gesture, then put them down and held them tight. Could she run

away? No, she was not strong enough, if she had the chance. And

to be overtaken and brought back!—she had tried that once. And

all the while, as she sat thinking, these surges of repressed sorrow

and joy and everything else that had filled her heart for the last

month and the last hour, seemed to be just rolling nearer and

nearer, gathering up their force as she lost hers; and how she was

to stop them Hazel did not know. Only—she must not break down

there. Not before him. But the colour left her face again in the

struggle.

Rollo needed very small observation to move him to action. The

first point was to bring up to the hearth a large wooden chair, half

settee, with arms of very ample proportions; looking as if anybody

less than a burly old ship-captain or fat landlady would be quite

lost and cast away in it. This chair Rollo proceeded to line and

partially fill with cushions— from whence obtained, was best

known to himself; making sundry journeys into an inner room;

from which finally he brought a great soft gray shawl, looking

suspiciously like a travelling plaid, and laid it over the chair,

cushions and all. Taking Wych Hazel's hands then, he softly

transferred her from her own chair to this, and placed a cushion

under her feet. Then considered her with a grave face and eyes

from which no one of average self-confidence would have hoped

to conceal anything.

'Where is the carriage?' said he, taking one of the little hands in his

own.

'Just—in the cross-road.'

'What cross-road? Didn't you come through the Hollow?'

'No.'—The word just audible.

He was silent half a minute, considering this statement.

'How did you get here?'

'Over the hill.' Hazel was watching herself jealously, fending off,

as it were, the very tones of his voice. But the next step it was hard

to fend off. Guessing perhaps part, and with his quick eyes seeing

part, Rollo for a few minutes said nothing at all. But his lips came

upon Wych Hazel's face with a recognition of what she did not

want recognized, and an answering of it, touched and tender and

sorrowful, as if he would have kissed it out of existence. 'My little

Hazel!' he said at last; and that was all.

The girl struggled hard with herself to bear it. She had ventured

that one look as he went to the fire, but had known instantly that

she must not risk another; and then, somehow, she had controlled

her voice to answer his questions, and had nerved her face when he

placed her in the cushioned chair. But if he had turned her

defences!—and, with that, Hazel gave way. She caught her hand

from him, and turning half round laid her head and hands upon the

chair, and let the flood come she had kept back so bravely.

Sobbing, as perhaps it had never entered his mind that anybody

could sob; her head bent as if one wave after another was going

right over it. A spring freshet after the winter frost, telling a little

what the ice had been.

Rollo's life had been a good deal of himself alone. Prim was all the

sister he had ever known, and nearly all the mother too; unless

Gyda might have the better claim to that title. All the readier,

perhaps, he was able to deal with this burst of thoroughly natural

passion, thoroughly womanish as it also was. His point of view

had not been spoiled by feminine pettinesses. He took this

paroxysm of what it was; something that must in the first instance

have its way and work its own relief. He did not speak to Hazel at

first, nor attempt to check the outflow of feeling which he

contemplated with a very grave brow. Indeed for a minute or two

he left the room and went out to speak to Gyda. Coming back, he

remained quite silent and still until the first violence of tears had

spent itself; then he sat down by Wych Hazel's side and began a

series of mute testimonials that he was there, and that he had

entered upon his life-long right to share and soothe whatever

troubles concerned her. His hand upon her hand, or upon her hair,

or on her cheek; and then her name half-whispered in her ear in a

grieved tone of voice.

'I did not mean—' she said at last, trying for words. 'O you should

have let me go!—I knew, I knew!'——

Precisely what, Hazel dared not think; but perhaps, the idea that he

was learning anything about her, was as good a tonic as she could

have had just then. She came back to her quiet bearing very fast,

pushing her other self out of sight, locking it up and sealing it

down, and setting her little foot upon it with extraordinary

vehemence of purpose. Rollo did nothing to hinder this operation.

Indeed he rather left her to herself, while he as usual made himself

busy in helping Gyda, who came in to get her table ready. Rollo

drew the table up into Wych Hazel's neighbourhood, and when it

was set, took upon himself the oversight of Gyda's pot of coffee,

which was on the coals before the fire. He seemed to be quite at

home in the business; and smiling up at Wych Hazel as he stooped

to his cookery, asked her "if she liked the smell of coffee?"

'Yes, I think so,' she answered, not too sure of anything in the

world just then.

'Never smelt it before, perhaps?'

The lips gave way, but the smile so nearly turned into trembling,

that Hazel checked them both together.

'I don't believe you know how to make it.'

'Well—' said Hazel somewhat vaguely, from under her shadowing

hands.

'That's a gentle confession of ignorance. Here comes Gyda, and

porridge. What else is to bring, Gyda?'

He went off, and came back in another minute with his hands full.

Porridge and flad-brod and cheese and cream and broiled fish were

set on the table; the coffee was at the fire. Rollo stood a moment

surveying things, the old woman by the table, the little woman in

the chair.

'You may kiss her hand, Gyda,' he said, in a tone that implied

everything.

Hazel received this announcement and its consequences with a

great flush. Only, with the way she had of putting some pretty

grace into the most disturbing things, the little fingers locked

themselves round Gyda's furtively, for a second, so giving the

recognition which she could not speak. And Gyda was too gently

wise to say a word. After that, both combined to wait upon Hazel,

though Gyda did not get a chance to do much. And Hazel tried

hard to obey injunctions and eat porridge, principally because it

gave her something to do; but her performance was unsatisfactory,

except in the matter of coffee, which she drank rather eagerly.

'Now,' said Rollo, 'tell me where to find Reo.'

'Where?'—with a swift up-look, almost too swift to see,—'why!'—

And then Hazel remembered to her confusion, that she did not

know. 'I—I suppose—he would have brought me to the nearest

point. Of course.'

As no doubt Reo would, if he had known where she was going!

_That_ thought confronted her next; and with a dim consciousness of

having stopped the carriage at a venture, for fear he _should_ know,

Hazel began again:

'At least,'——. But there was no going on from that point. 'Is it

very far along the foot of the hill?' she ventured, without any look

this time.

'I should say,' returned Rollo gravely, 'it might be about some five

miles.'

Hazel leaned her head on her hand and tried to recollect,—and

nothing stood out from all that morning's work but the pain and the

difficulty and the fatigue.

He sat down and took the little hand again.

'Which way did you come over the hill, Wych?'

'I do not know.'—If it must come, it must!—'I was thinking only of

getting up; and you know there are not many landmarks. At least, I

do not remember any.'

'Did you come through the wood?'

'No. I am sure of that.'

'Then did you come east or west of it?'

'I do not remember the wood at all,' said Hazel, feeling very much

ashamed of herself. 'I was not looking. But there were no houses—

I am sure of that.'

'What _did_ you see, Hazel?' softly.

'I think, of all people to cross-examine one!' said the girl, in her

extremity sending a little bit of her old self to the front. 'I am

certain _I_ can find the way, Mr. Rollo, without the trouble of

considering what I did not see, or what I did.'

'May I venture to ask, what orders you gave Reo?'

'The usual orders; to wait till I came.'

Rollo laughed a little, but if his face did not mean that he

understood the whole matter, it did not mean anything. It was very

grave, though he laughed.

He went off, and left Wych Hazel again to herself, with only Gyda

moving about and keeping up the fire. It was a full mile over the

hill to the cross-road where the carriage was standing, and Hazel

had a good time of quiet all to herself. As once before that day, she

had looked up the moment Rollo turned and so watched him out of

sight. And now Hazel sat among her cushions, her head down

against the side of her chair, looking into the winking embers with

very grave wide-open eyes. Mentally, she knew there had come a

great lull over all troublous things; a lull which she was not just

then strong enough to disturb by handling it in detail. But

physically, she felt shattered, and very little able to practise self-

defence; and she began to long to get home, and by herself, where

no keeping-up of any sort would be needful. One thing was yet to

do, however. So when Gyda had ended her work and sat down at

the corner of the hearth, Hazel left her cushions and knelt down

beside her.

'Mrs. Boërresen'—she said with a hand on her arm, her face

upraised.

'My lady,' said Gyda, turning her bright eyes upon Hazel with a

happy look.

'You will not tell him anything of all this? my coming, and all

about it? And what I said?'

'No need,' said Gyda placidly. 'My lady will tell it herself.'

A very resolved little gesture of the girl's head dismissed _that_

statement. She was silent a minute.

'And then,' she began again, more hesitatingly, 'at least you will

not speak of it. Nor—of—a year ago?'

'Last year?' said Gyda. 'When my lady came here before? That was

not for him to know. That was only me alone. To-day my lady will

tell him about, when she pleases.' And Gyda smiled over this

statement benignly.

Hazel leaned her head against Gyda's arm gazing down into the

firelight; it seemed to her to-day as if she had to think over

anything a great many times to get used to it. She must be tired.

The afternoon light was waning fast when the quick step outside

was heard again, and Rollo came in. He surveyed the group

quietly, and then went off to his room to change his dress. And

when he returned to relieve the guard, it was with a most

composed and unexciting manner. He scarcely said three words,

till a boy brought the message that the carriage was waiting in the

Hollow. Then he wrapped the great plaid shawl round Hazel, for

the evening had fallen chill and her dress was thin, and they went

out into the dusky twilight for the walk down to the carriage.

Dusky, and yet clear; a cloudless depth of sky out of which stars

were brightening; a still air with almost a breath of frost in it;

outlines of the Hollow hills darkly drawn against the soft twilight

sky; the silence of evening, when mill-work was done, over all and

in everything. Rollo did not speak, and they heard—if they

heard—only the sound of their own steps down the path. When

they were in the carriage, Rollo presently, with a gentle word,

untied Wych Hazel's flat hat and took it off; drew a corner of the

shawl over her head, and putting his arm round her made her lay

down her head upon his shoulder and lean upon him.

'But Mr. Rollo——' said Hazel timidly, finding that her acted

remonstrance had no effect.

'What?'

'I am quite able to sit up.'

'I have no faith whatever in that statement.'

'If you will let me try—the other,'—Hazel began.

'The other shoulder?'

But the answer to that tarried. Hazel knew perfectly well that if she

spoke in the first minute she would laugh; which was not at all

according to her present system of tactics. And in the second, her

words were not ready, and by the time the third came it was rather

too late. So silence reigned, while Reo sent the horses along, over

the level smooth road, and the evening air came in crisp and fresh

at the open window, and stars looked down winking in their quiet

way of saying sweet things. They always do, when one is happy;

sometimes in other states of mind they seem high above sympathy.

But to-night they looked down at Hazel confidentially, and

crickets and nameless insects chirruped along by the roadside; and

on and on the carriage rolled, mile after mile. Rollo was as still as

the stars, almost. And so was Wych Hazel, for a long time; still as

anything could be that lived. Suddenly a question broke from her.

'What was it you were going to say to me?'

'When?' The word came with a ring of many thoughts, through

which a grave tenderness most vibrated.

'You said, _that_ was the best time. And you did not take it,' said

Hazel.

'Hush,' said he softly and gravely. 'All has been said; except that I

shall never forgive myself, Hazel.'