CHAPTER X.

ROLLO'S COMPANY.

Gyda was expecting them, and certainly looked glad enough in her

quiet way. She took Wych Hazel off into an inner room, a little bit

of a clean, coarse furnished place, to remove her hat and refresh

herself. When she came out, Rollo was busy making one of the

great settle chairs into a resting place for her, with cushions and

shawl as once before. He put her in it and sat down beside her.

'You have helped me to-day, Hazel. True help. But you know what

was said of some of the early Christians—"they first gave their

own selves to the Lord"—so I want you to do. You will not be the

less, but the more, mine.'

She did not answer a word, only by the drooping head and the

curious pale alternations of colour—sure tokens with her of

excited feeling. That thought had so run through the morning!—

had so half spoiled it for her at times.

'Not a word?' said he softly.

'If one word would do it—But it would take many.'

'Many words? to do what?' he asked in the soft musical tone that in

itself was a caress.

'To tell why I cannot answer,—why I cannot promise—to be all

you wish.'

'Lay your head down and rest,' said he; 'and don't promise, but _do_

it. Are you tired?'

He left her and went to help Gyda in serving her luncheon. This

was rather a more enjoyable meal than the last one, when nobody

could eat. There was happiness in every line of Gyda's shoulders,

and in every movement she made between the fire and the table;

and Dane was at home and at play. He was changed since a year

before. The always bright, gay, masterful face was full now of a

deeper purpose and a more centred energy; but the eye was as

quick and as flashing as ever. And Wych Hazel, not as mistress in

her own house but as guest in another's, was waited upon—how

shall I say?—as such men can do it. And that is rather a rare kind

of petting.

A week? was it only a week ago? Hazel wondered. Those three

days of prostration had seemed to put whole continents of time

between her and the wild walk across the hill-top; though the

traces of that day, and of the weeks that went before, were still

visible enough. Not strong yet, to withstand and manage the

incoming tide of new thoughts and prospects and responsibilities,

she took all the petting and pleasure and care with the most

gravely girlish face imaginable. Watching her two companions,

listening to them, and giving them now and then a bright blush or

smile out of the midst of her thoughts, yet all the time conscious of

the thoughts as well.

No, she has not quite all he could wish; not all that he ought to

have. She knew that; she had known it ever since last winter; and

whatever love and devotion could do, let the supply be never so

unlimited, they could not do all. There would be ground he would

occupy, where she could not stand by his side; there would be

work he would do, which she was not fit to share. Would be? there

was now. This coming in among his labours and plans had brought

it home to her keenly. All the same, she could take no new stand

just to please him; it would not be true, she could not keep up to it,

could not act it out. Was she ready, for other reasons, to take such

a stand? The old tangle of perplexed questions seemed closing her

in again; and now and then, between whiles, when Rollo was

looking away, the brown eyes studied him; as if studying his face

would magnetize her out of her difficulties,—the one person in all

the world who belonged to her, and to whom she belonged. But it

was intensely like Wych Hazel, that the more she realized this, the

more she hung back from following in the steps of his Christian

life merely because they were his. They should be true _for her_, or

she would not take them at all.

The talk at the table ran a good deal upon matters and things in the

Hollow. Gyda knew the ins and outs of many a house there; she

could illustrate and prove the truth of some of Rollo's statements,

and she could suggest wants, even if she did not know to contrive

the remedy.

'There's something you haven't thought of yet, Olaf,' she observed.

'They are just heathens and savages down there.'

'What makes you think I have not thought of it?'

'Well, you haven't begun to plan for it.'

'How can you venture to say that?'

'I haven't heard you say a word.'

'Do you think, Hazel, that proves anything?'

'It would not with me,' she said. 'But Mrs. Boërresen should know

you.'

'She should,' said Rollo. 'It appears she don't.'

'You talk of a great many other things,' said the old woman

smiling. 'I've been waiting to hear when _that_ would come up. What

are you going to do, lad?'

'Gyda is quite right,' said Dane turning again to Wych Hazel. 'They

are little better than heathen, and do not know much more. You

remember our first visit here? A party of the children had made a

plan to throw stones at our horses as we passed through the

Hollow on our return. There is no danger of that now. But what

would you do with such a community?'

'_I_ could not do much,' said the girl gravely. 'I suppose, if I were

you—You should ask people who know what they are talking

about, Mr. Rollo. Not me.'

'But I ask you. What occurs to you, as a good first step?'

'It did not "occur" to me,' said Hazel,—'you made me think of it. I

suppose, then—if I knew what you know, Mr. Rollo; if I felt as

you feel; I should want to tell them _that_, first of all. I should set

them the lesson you set me,' she added, her voice changing a little.

'And—very much as you set it for me.' A swift deprecating glance

begged him not to think that she was either criticising his work, or

assuming that she knew what it was; or in general, that she knew

anything about anything!

'And when and where would you do this?' said Dane, his manner

quite grave and quiet, his powerful eyes nevertheless absorbing

every indication of the changes in hers.

'I should think they would come any time when you wanted them,'

she said, making revelations in her unconscious way.—'Sundays, I

suppose they would have most time. And Sundays, too, they would

be a little more dressed up and ready for the best things you could

tell them.'—The words came simply, but very soberly, as if she

remembered all the while that in such plans she had nothing to do.

'Well,' said Dane, 'our thoughts lie sufficiently near together. That

is just what I have proposed to do, Wych.'

'Yes. I knew you would.'

'Do you think,' said he slowly, as he was helping her to something,

'do you think one ought to wait for anything _but_ an opportunity—

before telling good news to people whom it concerns?'

'But I did not think you had waited.'

'No,' said Rollo gravely. 'I started a general proposition.'

'Opportunity is only the sand-paper,' said Hazel in her quick way.

'Of no earthly use without a match.'

Rollo's eye danced; nevertheless he answered as demurely as

possible—'What do you consider a match?'

'Hidden fire. The complement of the opportunity,—waiting for

it,—ready for it. I suppose I meant that—' she said, retreating into

herself again.

'I suppose you did,' said Rollo smiling, 'for it is a sharp truth. But

Hazel, there is also hidden fire in the good news we carry; and if

we cannot make it catch, perhaps God will. Suppose you have

nothing to give but the naked truth in your naked hand—won't you

take it to the people whose lives it may light up for ever?'

She did not answer him, thinking of the time—not now long

past—when her own life had been like midnight. Hazel pushed

away her plate, and folding her hands in her lap, sat looking down

at them, or at her ring, or possibly seeing neither.

'Olaf,' said Gyda suddenly coming back from the outer door to

which she had been summoned, 'somebody is a wanting you down

yonder. There's always somebody wanting him now, my lady.'

'Who is it, this time?'

'Hans Heinrich—he has got hurt in some o' the wheels and things.'

'He is not one of my hands.'

'He is not; but he wants you, my lad, for all that. He's hurt bad; and

there's no one to tell 'em what to do; and Lina Heinrich, she sends

word to you to come for Christ's sake.'

Dane hesitated but a moment and turned to Wych Hazel.

'Can you wait for me?'

'O yes,—I wish I could help.'

'You had better lie down and take a sleep. Look after her, Gyda.'

And he went off, losing no time.

Gyda had been clearing her table, and as soon as everything was in

order she took a chair and sat down opposite Wych Hazel.

'What do they want him for so often, Mrs. Boërresen?'

'Help, my lady. O there's sore need of it, certainly. But these are

not his own people; nevertheless there is no help but his for them.'

Hazel mused over the words, her own eyes going off to the fire

now. She understood it all well enough,—felt from the depths of

her heart what delight it would be to help him, ever so little. And

what could he think of her, that she was not more ready? Ah, if he

only knew all the history of this year! all the questions and sorrows

and perplexities she had been through!—And it was just what she

could not tell him, and just what he could never guess. So she

gazed at the twinkling fire, shewing brighter and brighter as the

afternoon began to die away; until at last, with her head somehow

nestled against shawl and cushions in the extemporised easy chair,

one sort of weariness claiming the right of way, Wych Hazel went

fast asleep; and Gyda might study the fair young face at her

leisure. Gyda's own face looked happy the while; and noiselessly

she made up the fire, and softly her old lips whispered prayers

oftentimes as she moved hither and thither.

The afternoon was waning, though evening had not yet set in,

when the door opened gently and Primrose Maryland appeared.

Gyda's finger at her lips stayed all but softly uttered words, till

Primrose came up to the fire and looked at the sleeper in the

cushioned chair.

Prim looked, and looked away. Her movement first was to go to

the table and take off her bonnet and lay down her shawl and right

herself a little. Yet Prim was nothing of a coquette, not the least in

the world, and never thought about her dress but to have it

respectable. Neither did she think about it now; for there was no

glass in the room, and the movement with which she pushed the

hair further back from her brow assuredly had no origin in regard

to appearances. However she came back after that and looked at

Hazel more steadily, and then sat down by Mrs. Boërresen to talk

in a soft undertone which could disturb nobody. The two girls had

scarcely seen each other since the fall before, except in the most

casual manner at church or in some chance meeting. Hazel had had

good reasons for keeping herself out of the way, and when they

met had wrapped herself in a triple veil of defences; so that it was

rather a revelation to see her as she looked now. A tired child

asleep, instead of the energetic lady of Chickaree. Her three days'

slumber had but partially done their work, and Hazel slept on now

in the profoundest way; her face and hands in rather noticeable

acceptance of the gray shawl, considering whose it was. Prim

looked, and looked, from time to time in the intervals of talking,

until the talking seemed to die away; and she sat drawn back into

herself. The light was failing now. Gyda mended her fire again,

and the heavy iron tongs slipped from her hands and fell with a

harsh clang upon the hearth. Wych Hazel awoke.

The greeting then was very affectionate.

'Wherever in the world did you come from?' said Hazel. 'Does it

take two people to keep watch of me?'

'I came here to be out of the way,' said Prim. 'Dane wanted Arthur,

or at least the hurt man wanted him. What in the world are _you_

here for, Hazel?'

'O I have been inspecting the mills,' said Hazel with a laugh; 'and

of course after such profound work I was tired. But I did not mean

to go to sleep. Has everybody else gone home?—it is dinner time

this minute.'

'Nobody has gone home,' said Primrose; 'and they cannot help

about it's being dinner time, you know. Were you ever here

before?—in this house, I mean.'

'Yes—O,' said Hazel with sudden recollection, 'has it taken all this

time to attend to that man?'

'Arthur is there.'

'Is he?—that is good. But all this time!'—with a shiver. 'I do not

see how I could sleep!'—She stood looking grave, as if rather

disappointed in herself.

'Yes,' Primrose went on, —'Arthur and I were driving through the

Hollow, just to see the things; and Dane laid hold of Arthur and

sent me up here. He didn't tell me I should find you.' Primrose

paused, as her eye fell on Hazel's cushioned and draperied chair.

'You have changed your mind about Dane, haven't you Hazel?' she

asked abruptly. Hazel faced round upon her in undoubted surprise.

'Changed my mind!' she repeated, flushing all up,—'what was my

mind?'

'You remember—last year.'

'What about last year?'

'Why you remember, Hazel. You did not like him at all, and used

to get out of all patience with him.'

'Of course I did. There is no particular call to get out of patience

just now. And even I generally wait for a reason.'

'Have you made up your mind you will never get out of patience

again?' Prim asked, with a keen look to the answer.

'No.'

Prim's eye fell on the cushions and the gray shawl again.

'You aren't going to vex him, Hazel, are you?'

'Why Prim!'—Hazel took hold of her shoulder and gave her a

gentle shake, though with a queer mixture of softness and

sharpness,—'do I look like the good little girl in storybooks, that

you put me through such a catechism?'

'No; but I find you up here,'—and again Prim's eye went to the

gray shawl and came back to her friend's face.

'I am not specially responsible for that. The thing just now is how

to get away. Mr. Falkirk will be out of his wits.'

Prim was uncertain and dissatisfied, and sat back. A moment after

came the steps of the two gentlemen at the door. As they entered,

Dane with a smile and a gesture of salutation, went through the

room to speak to Gyda in some of her offices. Dr. Maryland

remained.

'Shall we go home now, Arthur?' said Prim, rising, when he had

exchanged greetings with Miss Kennedy. Hazel was a little shy of

him; somehow she half fancied that his quick eye had read her

secret.

'Not possible, my dear. Rollo and I must be here all night, on duty.

And it is quite too dark for you to go alone.'

'That poor man?' said Primrose.—'Does he want you _still?_ you and

Dane?'

'No, it's not that. But some of that poor man's fellow-workmen

have set their hearts, it is said, upon making a bonfire in one of

Dane's mills,—to stop his making some people more comfortable

than others, I suppose; and the bonfire may need care.'

'A bonfire!' said Prim. 'I should think Duke would put a stop to

that.'

'So he intends. But you cannot always stop a thing before it is

begun.'

Dr. Arthur leisurely warming one foot as he stood at the fire, tool

notice now that the third member of the company, not saying a

word, was watching him with an interest before which even Prim's

grew tame. And (all things being fair in the pursuit of science)

suddenly intercepting the look, he found that it as suddenly

retreated, in some confusion. Whereupon, 'standing attention' a

little more, Dr. Arthur took the measure of the gray chair as

accurately as if he intended to have one made for himself, and then

with a smile came back to the more selfish business of warming

his other foot. Therewith entered the temporary master of the

house.

'Well, ladies!' said he; 'have you come to any conclusion as to what

is to be done?'

'We do not but half understand the case yet, Duke,' answered

Primrose.

He passed through the room to Wych Hazel's side.

'I have got to be in the Hollow to-night,' he said. 'The wife of the

man who was hurt, in an impulse of gratitude, I suppose, has

warned me that an attempt will be made before morning to fire one

of my mills. I do not half believe it; and yet I think I must be on

hand. What will you and Prim do? There are only two things; for

you to ride to Dr. Maryland's—and that is seven miles—alongside

of Arthur's buggy; or that you should spend the night here. I think

Gyda can make you comfortable. I have sent a messenger to

Chickaree.'

'Excuse me for interfering,' said Dr. Arthur, 'but as my buggy

remains here, the honour of Miss Kennedy's company alongside

would be of doubtful expediency.'

'Nonsense Arthur!' said Dane; 'if she wanted to go, I should let you

take the buggy. What do you say, Miss Kennedy?'

'I shall stay,' said Hazel, just ready to laugh at the unwonted name.

'Unless I can go alone.'

'Sit down then,' said he taking her hands and putting her back in

her chair. 'Arthur, take off your overcoat and make yourself

comfortable if you can. Prim, I am glad to see you.' And he went

over to kiss her. 'Now we have got the evening before us. Gyda,

we are all going to stay. Is your kettle on?'