Chapter XXXIII.

ABDICATION.

Chickaree again,—and clear cold weather, although it was March.

Spring declared herself timidly on the sunny side of slopes, and by

the water courses; spoke softly in the scented wind, hung out her

colours where snow-drops and violets grew; and shouted—Spring

fashion—from the feathered throats of blue birds and robins; but

otherwise, in byeways and corners, the snow lay and the ice

glistened. The world of Chickaree outdoors looked cold enough.

Not cold within! Sunlight flooded the breakfast room,—and a gay

fire: and before the hearth the little lady of the house stood

crimson-robed and pink-cheeked, and just now very

contemplative. She was slowly balancing a great bunch of keys—

large keys and small—upon her pretty fingers. Such was the

picture before the eyes of the new head of the house when he came

in to breakfast. I think he liked it too well to be willing to break the

spell of silence which seemed to be upon the dainty lady, for while

his eyes took keenest notice, he made no open demonstrations.

Hazel sorted her keys, choosing out one, changing it for another,

then swinging the bunch by a third and putting the rest in a certain

sequence. Then she turned suddenly round, growing more pink-

cheeked than before.

'I did not know you were here!'

'Pray what then?' said he smiling.

'Are you at leisure for breakfast?'

'I usually am, at this time in the morning. And to-day is not an

exception.'

Hazel sounded her whistle.

'Will you be at leisure _after_ breakfast, Mr. Rollo?'

'Depends on what meaning you attach to the words.'

'As we are not in theological—neither scientific—regions, you

might answer closer than that,' said Hazel. 'Well have you time for

a long excursion into parts unknown?'

'Where?'

'I thought,' said the girl, swaying her keys softly and looking down

at them—'Would you like— At least, shall I take you over the

house after breakfast?'

'You shall take me anywhere you please. Why over the house?

Does anything need repair?'

'You have never seen it all,—you do not know where you are, yet.

Nor what you have to work with.'

'To work with?' Dane repeated looking at her. 'It strikes me the

house is for you to work with. I have six mills to run.'

'Yes, but—' Hazel threw off her first words with a laugh, and

chose others. 'Not just as it used to be, you know,' she said

sedately. 'And part of it has been shut up,—and you have never

seen the whole. And if I am to be house steward——' Dingee came

in with the breakfast, and Wych Hazel turned off to that. It pleased

Dane to let her take her own time to explain herself on this

occasion; he would not hurry her. So he talked of other things until

breakfast was over. He had seen Heinert already, and the change in

him was wonderful. Feeling thoroughly at home in his old chum's

house, he was as happy as a child; not cumbering himself with

what he would do when he got well, which now he securely

expected to do. It might be some time first; for the present Heinert

was happy; and Hazel would see him at luncheon. And, meantime,

she had quite forgotten his existence in more pressing things.

'I want you to see all the house,' she said, handling her keys again;

'because then you will know—what you want done. And so shall

I.'

'I do not want anything done,' said Rollo, looking for the meaning

of all this, which as yet he did not see.

'Yes you do,' said Hazel. 'Or you will. All sorts of things. So

come.'

But instead of that, he put his arm round her and drew her to his

side, looking into her changing face.

'Who said you were to be a house steward.'

'Must a thing be said in order to be true?'

'No. But generally speaking, it had better not be said unless it is

true. Nicht?'

'I suppose I must be something!' said Hazel, with that pretty half

laugh which covered so many thoughts.

'Yes,' said he laughing and stooping to kiss her. 'Do you want me

to tell you what?'

'Keeping strictly to fact and not fancy—'

'Strictly fact.' And folding her close, and watching her face,

sometimes touching it, he went on,—'Something, of which it is

said that "her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband

doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil. She

will do him good and not evil all the days of her life." She does not

exactly "seek wool and flax"—or if, it is Berlin wool, I believe; but

it is certainly true that "she considereth a field, and buyeth it." And

"she stretcheth out her hands to the poor; yea, she reacheth forth

her hands to the needy. She maketh herself coverings of tapestry;

her clothing is silk and purple." I do not think she "makes fine

linen;" nevertheless I hope it will be true that "she looketh well to

the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness."

And if all her household are not "clothed in scarlet," she is very

fond of wearing it herself.'

Wych Hazel listened with eyes looking down, and lips that parted

yet did not speak. But now they curled unmistakeably.

'Ha, ha!' she laughed. 'What a mixed piece of fact that is! past,

present, and future, in one grand conglomerate. Do you suppose I

shall ever _again_ have a chance to dabble in land? And I thought

you had ruled out the 'silk and purple'?'

'Did you? I suppose, in Old Testament language the silk and purple

means that she was suitably dressed.'

'Scarlet ditto. But I do not know what 'spoil' can mean. If it said

'supervision,' I could understand that.'

'Spoil means, profits and honours.'

'That makes no sense of the rest of the verse.'

'Excellent sense. The heart of her husband hath such a trust in her,

that he can afford to dispense with what makes other men rich.'

'O—is that the way you put it. Romantic, but not practical,' said

Hazel, arching her brows. 'It might be so, but he would not find it

out. Now come and see the house.'

'I will go and see the house,' said Rollo, speaking with a cool

business tone now. 'In fact I suppose I should like to go anywhere

where you would go before and open the doors. But what is your

thought, Wych?'

'Only a small ceremony of investiture. I want to take you over my

haunts,—and leave you in possession—of them, and any small

facts you may find there.'

But taking one of her hands and holding it, Rollo neither moved

towards the door himself nor let her.

'What is going to become of you,' said he, 'after you have left me

in possession of your haunts?'

'I shall linger round to do all the mischief I can,—after the fashion

of abdicators.'

'In that case, what is going to become of me?' said he, not

changing his position.

'I have no idea! I feel fearfully like myself since I came home.'

'Do you! And what do you expect me to do with your 'small facts'?

Are they kittens?'

'No. Store them up for reference when I am hard to understand.'

'I do not want any references on that chapter. What _are_ your small

facts?'

'Little hints of how I have lived,—and with what atmosphere and

influences. Specimens of the soil wherein Wych Hazel grew to be

"all hat and bushes." '

'And when did she abdicate?' said Rollo, bringing both arms round

her now.

'O—the precise day does not matter,' said the girl, as a very

'precise' day last winter came full into view. 'Dates are useless

things.'

'Tell me!' said he softly. 'When did you abdicate?'

'You mean—' she said, hesitating, with her eyes on the ground.

'What you mean.'

'But Olaf—' Hazel left her protestation unfinished. 'I suppose,

really, it was a year ago,' she said, not looking at him. 'Only that

week before Christmas I was worried—and of course I was full of

freaks. And so—I felt as if I was doing every thing for the last

time.' Hazel hung her head, leaving the 'freaks' to their fate.

'How 'for the last time'?' said Rollo, with provoking apparent

obtuseness.

'Ah!—' Hazel exclaimed,—then again submitting to

circumstances,—'My will had been the law of the house—and the

people—and of myself.—Do you understand, sir?'

'Where were your guardians?' said Rollo with cool self-command.

'In my way just often enough to give zest to all other times and

places.'

'And what is your opinion of the one guardian you have left? just

as a curiosity, I should like to hear it.'

'He gave so fine a comparative description of himself beforehand,'

said Hazel with the laugh in her voice. 'It would be quite

presuming to suppose he does not mean to act up to it.'

Dane was silent, perhaps considering how he should answer her;

for loosening one hand, he stood pushing back the thick curls from

her face, looking down at it thoughtfully. Then in the same tone he

had used before, he asked, "if she had not learned love's liberty

yet?"

'In what sense?' she said, after a moment's hesitation.

'In the sense of being rather more a free and independent sovereign

than at any previous time of your life.'

Hazel shook her head. 'If you make me go into that,' she said, 'I

shall surely say something you will not understand. I have been as

full of freaks this winter as ever in all my life before.'

'I am moved with curiosity to hear what you can say that I shall not

understand.'

'I will not gratify you this time, if I can help it,' said Hazel

laughing a little. 'Somebody must be head—that is plain, isn't it?

and if it is you, it is not I. And before Christmas just that last part

got hold of me,—and since Christmas—'

'Finish it! Since Christmas—?'

'Since Christmas I have taken the first part into consideration,'

Hazel said demurely.

Perhaps Dane thought illogical treatment was the best, or his

patience gave out; for he answered with passionate kisses all over

Hazel's face.

'My little Wych!' said he—'do you think you are less head at

Chickaree than you used to be?'

She answered shyly, arching her brows. 'Yes. Of course.'

'Don't you like it?' said he audaciously.

'_That?_ No. I think not. Why should I, if you please?'

'You are head, just because I am head. More than ever; because

you have my strength to back your decisions. Now let us go,

wherever you want opt take me.'

Wych Hazel's lips curled in a pretty laugh.

'There are two ways of 'backing' a decision,' she said. But then she

moved off, and led the way through all the long-unused part of the

great house. An old office room, with leather-covered chairs, and

empty inkstands, and dry pens, and forgotten day-books of

forgotten days! Suites of guest chambers, reception rooms, and

music room, and rooms of every sort. Broad bits of hall led to

them, and narrow entries, and unexpected stairways: the old bolts

turned slowly; the door knobs were dim with the mists of long ago.

Old portraits looked down on them suddenly, here and there; the

two bright young figures sprang out anew from mirrors that for

years had seen nothing but darkness. Wherever they went they

opened a window, throwing back blind and shutter; and the spring

sunshine streamed in, fresh and gladsome, making the dust of

years look even solemn in its still quiet. It was a labyrinth of a

house!—and Hazel tripped along, in and out, as if she knew it all

by heart; with only words of explanation, until suddenly she

opened the door into a round apartment at the foot of the flagstaff

and the top of the house. The room was nearly all windows , and

the waving shadow of the blue banner curled and played in the

sunlight upon the floor.

Nearly all: only four broad pannels broke the lookout, one on

either side. Hazel laid her hand upon Rollo's shoulder, and softly

led him round. The first pannel held two full-length portraits; a

stately pair of olden time, in old-time dress; the founders of the

house. The ruffles and lappets and powder and hoop told of long

ago. Of later date, yet still far past, were the next two; short waist

and slim skirt and long silk stockings and small clothes; and

curious look of Wych Hazel herself in the lady's face. Hazel's own

father and mother came next; and then she passed round to the

fourth pannel, which was but half filled. A full length of herself

had apparently held first place there; certain marks on the wall told

of removal to the second place, where it was now. Hazel paused

before the empty side of the pannel.

'You see your duty,' she said with a laugh. 'It is a rule of the house.

Now come and look at the view.'

'I think we'll break the rule, Hazel. Why was I never here before?'

'This was one of my particular haunts,—so I kept the key. Look,—

there is Morton Hollow, off that way, where the smoke floats up.

And Crocus and the church spires shew from here. And _there_

comes in the road by which you drove me home that very first day.

I have lived a great many hours up in this place, with the old

portraits.'

On the whole, it was rather an eerie thing to have one's 'haunts' in

such a rambling, half-shut up, untenanted old house. One could

imagine the loneliness which had followed her about sometimes.

Dane took the effect, standing there in the Belvidere; however his

words were a very practical question—'why his picture should take

her side of the pannel?'

'If you look at the order in which the others stand, you will see it is

_your_ side,' said Wych Hazel. 'I put mine there in a mood,—when I

meant to be head always.'

'Two heads are better than one,' said Dan carelessly.

'Yes—I may be good for consultation.'—She stood there, half

behind him, her hand laid lightly on his shoulder, looking off with

a smile in her eyes toward Morton Hollow. Had he not always had

his own way, already?

'Olaf,' she said suddenly, 'if I had been the Duchess May, what

would you have done?'

'I'll think of that,' said he laughing, 'and tell you when I come home

to-night. For I must go, Hazel.'

It was a long day before Rollo got home again. Not spent entirely

alone by Hazel, for Dr. Arthur came to see his patient, and she had

both gentlemen to luncheon. Mr. Heinert proved himself a very

genial and somewhat original companion. If he had ever been

disheartened on account of his illness, that was all past now; and

the simplicity, vivacity, and general love of play in his nature

made a piquant contrast with Dr. Arthur's staid humour and grave

manliness. He talked of Rollo too, whom he loved well, it was

plain; he talked of Göttingen; he talked in short till Arthur ordered

him back to his rooms and forbade him to come out of them again

even for dinner that day.

And then, as the sharp spring day was growing dusk, the clatter of

the horses' hoof beats was heard again before the door. Dan had

got home. He and Hazel had dinner alone; with endless things to

talk about, in the Hollow and at home; and after dinner the evening

was given to one of Doré's great works of illustration, which Hazel

had not seen. Slowly they turned it over, going from one print to

the next; pausing with long critical discussions, reading of text,

comparison of schools, and illustrations of the illustrations, drawn

from reading and travel and the study of human nature and the

knowledge of art. A long evening of high communion, wholly

unhelped by love-making, although it wanted, and they knew it

wanted, no other beside themselves to make it perfect.

Perhaps some consciousness of this was in Hazel's mind, as they

stood together over the books after they had risen to leave them.

'Sir Marmaduke,' she said suddenly, 'would it tend to your

comfort—or discomfort—to have people here?'

'Both,' said Dane laconically.

'I foresee that you will live in a mixed state of mind then!' said

Hazel. 'I am afraid I shall have to be asking people all the time.'

'Whom do you want to ask?' Rollo enquired in some surprise.

'Guess! I should like to get your idea of me,' she said smiling.

'Mr. Falkirk?'

'No!'—with a great flush.

'I would try to endure Mr. Falkirk. But I do not at this moment

think of any other human being I could endure,—besides Hans

Heinert.'

'Well—there it is,' said Hazel, impressively, very busy at taking

the measure of his arm just then with her little fingers.

'I do not know. Perhaps not. Let us hear.'

'Olaf,' she said, softly now, 'is not this big empty house a 'talent?'

And if it is, you know it must be increased by 'trading.' And I can

think of no way but to make it reach out over heads that—for any

reason—need shelter. One would want to be able to say—'Lord,

thy house has become ten houses'—or a hundred, if it would

stretch so far!'

'Go on,' said Dane, his eyes sparkling and growing soft, both at

once. 'Who is to be your first guest?'

'_She_ will not trouble you. It is only a poor little embroiderer down

at Crocus who is dying for rest and good living. Dr. Arthur told

me; and I am going to bring her here for awhile. But there—it

seems as if I could not help hearing of things now!' said Hazel,

again with a half laugh. 'If it was a sick or over-worked guest of

some other sorts, they _must_ come where you would see them. So

what am I to do?'

'I can stand seeing them,' said Dane, watching her.

'But if there was always somebody needing fresh air and dainties,'

said Hazel, looking up wistfully. 'Then you would never see me—

and I should never see you—except across other people. Must I

give that up too?'

'No,' said her husband laughing. 'Where did you get all those

"mustesses"—as Dingee would express it?'

'If there were always some one else on hand.'—

'The house is big enough for them and us too. I am glad I went

over it this morning.'

'Yes, big enough for anything,' said Hazel eagerly. 'But then at

meals—in the evening.—Just when the mills and I do not come

into competition!'

Dane smiled now very brightly. 'I will have nothing come in

competition with you,' said he. 'Except duty sometimes. And this is

not duty. Fit up some of those untenanted rooms, and let them be

homes for whoever needs them. And let all such guests be entirely

free, and at home, and served each with his meals in his own

apartment, except when you choose to ask them to your's. That

would sometimes be and sometimes not be; but the sanctity of our

own home must be preserved. Do you not think so?' he added

gently.

'O if we may!—You know much more about it than I do. But

suppose somebody sick at heart, or mind-weary? You see I know

about that,' said Hazel, her girlish face all wistful again. 'I thought

the loneliness was often the chief thing.'

'Let them have drives, and flowers, and books; rest and leisure; the

sight of you occasionally; and now and then an invitation to

dinner.'

'That might do. I could see them when you are away. Olaf, I have

been thinking how I can possibly invest all this money-power you

have put in my hands.'

'Wych, it will flow away with the speed of mountain brooks; and

in as many and as inevitable channels.'

'But I want to know where it goes. And I have been studying the

question out. I want to send some of it _everywhere_, and take up

bonds all over the world!'

'That greed will make you at last learn economy!' said Dane

smiling.

'Will it? I do not know. You mean that I cannot reach round the

world, even with ten thousand a year? But if all hands are stretched

out, they will meet and so go round. To be sure, everybody cannot

afford so much,' said Hazel thoughtfully; 'and so my hands must

reach just as far as they possibly can.'

'Ten thousand a year has more to fall back upon,' Dane suggested.

'Yes. I am talking of _my_ power,' said Hazel with a laugh. 'You see

I have been reading up, and listening, and thinking, all winter. All

I find that the 'where,' is everywhere; and the 'how,' in every way;

and the 'what'—just "what she could." Then there is another

thing— But you are not obliged to listen to all this!' said Hazel,

checking the flow of her projects.

'I think you must be coquetting—like Jeannie Deans when she

goes over a bridge.'

'It was left for you to say that!' said Hazel with a glance. 'Nobody

else ever did. However—I read a story once which I thought

simply beautiful,—and last night it suddenly announced itself as

practical. You remember how pleasant it was last night?'

'I remember very well.'

'In my story the people gave up one evening a week. On that night

they always had a particular good tea, and at least one invited

guest. The head of the house brought home one of his deserving

clerks, suppose,—or perhaps some poor acquaintance who never

saw—partridges, for instance—at any other time: somebody

straitened in business and low in cash. Or he found at home,

already arrived, a hard-worked teacher, or a poor girl left alone in

the world with her needles and thread. But whoever it was, for that

evening they were made to forget everything but pleasure.'

'One evening in a week,' repeated Dane. 'That is not much. You

and I have given a great deal more of our time than that,—often,—

to the German, for instance.'

'It might seem 'much'—with some people,' Hazel said thoughtfully.

'But it would be right to do.'

'Duchess, it would not be disagreeable. It is a good plan. Then one

evening in the week we will invite our poor friends—have them to

dinner and give them a good time. But for the rest, Hazel, except

in particular instances, it will be best on every account to leave

them to themselves; those who happen to be in the house, I speak

of now. With books, and good care, and all comforts around them,

and the freedom of the grounds, and drives when that would be

needful. Nothing but necessity would make it right or expedient to

have our home privacy broken up.'

'Our home privacy'—how new and sweet and strange the words

sounded! A sense of all the three—the novelty, the strangeness, the

sweetness—was in the shy brown eyes that looked up and then

down; not willing to tell too much. How strange it was, in truth!

she thought. Very natural that she should like the privacy, with

him to talk to her; but how it should be chosen by him, with only

such a wild, wayward, unformed personage as herself,—and again

the eyes gave a swift glance, fraught with a little wonder this time.

But then the strangeness fell back, and the novelty stood aside, and

only the sweetness remained. Eyes might go down, and head bend

lower, but lips were treacherous and told it all.

The eyes that looked read it, well enough. Yet with a man's

wilfulness, drawing Wych Hazel into his arms and bending his

face to hers, Rollo asked maliciously,

'Do you love me, Duchess?'

'Well,' said Hazel with demure, 'witchful' face and voice, 'I

suppose so. Just a little more than you do me.'

Rollo took laughing revenge for this statement, but otherwise did

not attempt to combat it.

'Have you worked your way out of the puzzle you were in the

morning?'

'It is not a puzzle. It should be, I think, if nobody were head.'

'Ah!' said Rollo, very tenderly, if there was still a spice of mischief

in it. 'You have found out then the solution of Dr. Maryland's old

paradox—"Love likes her bonds"?'

Hazel laughed a little, colouring too.

'No,' she said. 'Love likes you.'

'Comes to the same thing,' said Rollo heartlessly.

'No,' Hazel said again,—'I think I do not like to be made to

"stand," any better than the bay. But he does it,—for you.'

'He likes it.'

'In that sense,' said Hazel. 'For you. He has come out of his

apprenticeship of fear, and so have I; but you may find hidden

stores of wilfulness, yet.'

'I have never been under an apprenticeship of fear,' said Rollo

laughing; 'and I am not going to begin now.'

'No,' said Hazel, laughing too. '_You_ were always a master hand.

Do you remember when I meant to give up waltzing _for you_—and

you would make me do it on compulsion?'