Wych Hazel Part 66

'Hazel? What is the matter? Sit down, my dear, if you want to speak to me.'

She moved a few steps off, as if afraid of being held. 'Is this true, Dr. Maryland, that she says about me----and----Mr.

Rollo?' The words half choked her, but she got them out. 'The will?--don't you know?--you must know! Is it true?'

'What are you talking of, Hazel? Sit down, my dear. Prudentia?

What has she been talking to you about? I hope--'

'My father's will,--does she know?' Hazel repeated.

'Your father's will?--Prudentia?--Has she been talking to you of that! My dear, that was not necessary. It was not needful that you should hear anything about it; not now. I am sorry.

Prudentia must have forgotten herself!' Dr. Maryland looked seriously disturbed.

'You do not tell me!' cried the girl. 'Dr. Maryland, is it true, what she says?'

'I do not know what she has said, my dear. But you need not be troubled about it. It was a kind will, and I think on the whole a wise one,--guarded on every side. What has Prudentia said to you, Hazel?' The Doctor spoke with grave authority now.

To which Miss Kennedy replied characteristically. She had caught up the words as he went on,--'not needful she should know,'--'she need not be troubled,'--then it was true! Everybody knew it except herself; everybody was doubtless also wondering how it felt! For a second she looked straight into her old friend's face, trying vainly to find a negative there, and then without a word she was off. And if Lewis had been called upon to bear witness, he might have said that his young mistress flew into the saddle, and then flew home.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

WHOSE WILL?

A great new sorrow is a many-cornered thing; having its sharp points that sting, and its jagged points that wound; with others so dull and heavy and immoveable that one is ready to wish they could pierce through and make an end. And it is quite impossible to tell beforehand on which of them we may happen to strike first.

Wych Hazel tried them all on her way home; but when that last one came, it stayed; and through all the sharpness of the others--through anger and mortification and the keen sense of injury, and the fiery rebellion against control--the moveless weight upon her breast was worse than all. What was it? What laid it there? Not much to look at. A poor little plant, cut down and fallen--that was all. n.o.body knew when it started, and no one could say that it would ever bloom: it had been doubtful and shy of its own existence, and she herself had never guessed it was there, till suddenly its fragrance was all around. And even now, wilted and under foot, it was sweeter than everything else; sweeter than even its own self had ever been before. Yes; of all the bitter truths she had heard that day, this that she said to herself was the one supreme: Gyda's words of expectation would never be made good.

'Never,' she repeated. 'Never, never!'--and it seemed to Hazel that in all her lonely life she had never before known what it was to feel alone.

_This_ then explained all his wonderful care of her,--of course; it was part of his legal duty. She should learn to hate him now, she knew. Very likely he found it amusing as well! It must be rather spicy work to a man loving power, to manage a wild girl and her estate together--and with that Miss Kennedy's resolution took a vehement turn. And _this_ was why Mr. Falkirk had been so easy--and why--and why-- At which point thoughts and breath got in an utter tangle, and she had to begin all over again.

He could not wait to be guardian till she gave him permission.--'Well for him!' said Miss Hazel, with a gesture of her head. And then if she married anybody else without his leave--and she would have to ask his leave!--Would she?--not quite, the girl thought to herself. Neither in great things nor in small would he be troubled _much_ in that way. Very generous of him to declare his purpose--of--of-- And here suddenly thoughts flew off to Gyda's soft-spoken t.i.tle for her,--words that bore yet their freight of shame and pleasure, for Hazel's head went down. She brought herself back sharply.

_Very_ nice of him to tell other people what he meant to do!--of course _her_ purposes in that line were of small moment, if she had any. Things would run in this style now, she supposed: 'Thank you, Mr. May,--I will ask Mr. Falkirk; and if he approves I will ask Mr. Rollo--if I can find him, for he is generally away. And if _he_ says yes, I can go.'

No visitors saw her that day;--and Mr. Falkirk had his breakfast alone, watched over by Mrs. Byw.a.n.k. 'Miss Wych had a headache,'--which was extremely likely, as she had cried all night. But after that the world of Chickaree went on as usual, to all outward appearance.

Some weeks had pa.s.sed over since the ride to Morton Hollow, when one afternoon Rollo's bay again walked up to the side entrance of the Chickaree house. The few days of his intended absence had been lengthened out by the wearisome delays of business, so that that morning had seen the young gentleman but just home. In the course of a private interview with Dr.

Maryland he had received some disagreeable information.

'By the way, Dane,' said Dr. Maryland relunctantly, 'I have bad news for you.'

'What is it, sir?'

'At least it is not good. How bad it may be I can't tell.

Hazel has heard all about--what she shouldn't have heard!--the terms of the will and the whole story.'

A flash of very disagreeable surprise crossed the young man's face. He was silent.

'It seems Prudentia told her,' Dr. Maryland went on, uneasily.

'I don't understand how she could be so thoughtless; but so it is. Hazel was very much excited by what she heard.'

'Naturally! You saw her?'

'For a minute. She came to me to know if it was true; but she did not stay after that.'

No remark from the opposite party.

'I'm very sorry about it,' continued the old gentleman. 'I'm afraid--I was afraid, it might make you trouble, Dane.

Prudentia is much to blame.'

Dane answered nothing. He wrung his late guardian's hand by way of acknowledging his sympathy, and left the study.

'I had almost caught my bird!' was his thought, pretty bitterly realized,--'and this woman has broken my snares. It isn't the first time!'

He saw, he thought he saw, the whole character and extent of the mischief that had been done. He knew Wych Hazel; he could guess at the bound of revulsion her spirit would make at several points in the narrative that had been told her. He knew Prudentia; he could fancy that the details lost nothing in the giving.

But the steadiness, not of feeling, but of nerves and judgment, which was characteristic of him, kept his eyesight clear even now. He did not fall into Wych Hazel's confusion of thoughts and notions; nor did his hunter's instincts fail him.

His game was removed to a distance; _that_ he saw; it might be a long distance,--and how much patient skill might be called for before it would be within his grasp again it was impossible to guess. There were odds of another hunter catching up the coveted quarry; other snares might be set, of a less legitimate nature; other weapons called into play than his own. There are some natures who do not know how to fail, and who never do fail in what they set themselves to accomplish.

In spite of disadvantages, Rollo had very much in his favour; and this peculiar const.i.tution of mind, among other things.

He would go up to Chickaree that same day. Before presenting himself there, he and the bay horse travelled, I am afraid to say how many miles in two hours. But nerves and senses were in their usual condition of excellent soundness, and his temper in its usual poise, when he turned in at the gate of Chickaree, and mounted the hill.

Before he quite reached the house, however, Mr. Rollo, being quick of eye, caught a signal from among the trees down towards the garden: a woman's hand raised in the fashion of a Sunday school scholar asking leave to speak. Drawing bridle, to make sure that he saw right, or to find what this strange sign might mean, he presently saw little Phoebe of the mill, who, leaving her basket of muslins on the gra.s.s, now came running towards him. Phoebe's regard for Mr. Rollo, it may be said, was second only to her devotion to her mistress.

'I hope I'm not taking too much of a liberty, sir,' she began, all out of breath with eagerness and running, 'but I said to myself maybe Mr. Rollo would know what to do. For I'm sure Miss Hazel must be very sick,--and n.o.body takes a bit of notice.'

The inner pang with which this advice was received did not at all appear. Rider and horse were motionless, and the answer was a grave--

'Why do you think so, Phoebe?'

'May I tell you all about it, sir?' said the girl, earnestly.

Then without waiting for permission--'I never have told a living soul, Mr. Rollo; for Mrs. Byw.a.n.k she shuts me up with: "Do your work Phoebe, and don't talk;" and so I have, sir, always. It was one day after a ride--for she's had the beautifullest horse, sir!--since you've been away, I guess; and she'd ride every morning before breakfast, and come home looking--Well I can't begin to tell!' said Phoebe, enthusiastically. 'But Reo said it was the flush of the morning going through his gate.'

The bay lifted up one foot and struck it impatiently on the ground. His rider sat still, waiting upon Phoebe's words. The reins were on the horse's neck, but the creature probably had made up his mind that any volunteer extra steps were unnecessary under his new master, for he stood like a rock, that one foot excepted.

'So,' said Phoebe, taking up her broken thread, 'of course Jeannie Deans (that's the horse, Mr. Rollo) began to love her, might and main, right off--as everybody does; but even Mr.

Lewis allowed he never saw a horse learn so quick. And it isn't often he allows anything,' said Phoebe, with the slightest toss of her head. 'It wasn't for sugar,--sometimes Miss Hazel would give her a lump, but generally not; only she'd pat her and talk to her, and look in her face, and then Jeannie'd look right at her, and begin to follow round if Miss Hazel just held out her hand. Some days she'd come all the way up from the lodge just so,--not holding the bridle nor nothing,--the prettiest sight you ever saw, sir! She didn't call her Jeannie, either,--it was some short, queer name that I never did quite hear, she'd say it so softly. Most like a bird's talk, of anything.' Phoebe paused, smiling at the remembrance.

It was well her hearer's nerves were in training. He waited, knowing that he should best get the whole by allowing the yarn to reel off unbroken; so now he only gave utterance to an attentive 'But what next, Phoebe?'

'O, sir,' said the girl, suddenly sober again, 'one day--I didn't know where she'd been, Miss Hazel, I mean,--but it was afternoon, and she was coming home. And I was out under the trees like to-day, taking in. And Miss Hazel stopped and sent Lewis back, and came on alone to the steps, sir,--came like the wind!--and jumped off. And then she off with her glove--and you know what Miss Hazel's hand is, sir,--and the little white thing began to fondle Jeannie Deans. Patting her neck, and stroking her face, and combing out her mane, and fingering her ears; and Jeannie she held her head down, and sideways, as if she meant to give all the help _she_ could. And I was looking on, just among the bushes like, when all in a minute Miss Hazel put both her arms right round the horse's neck and laid her head close down--and there she stood.'--Phoebe paused to take breath.

'Not ill _then_, Phoebe?' said her hearer, in a very low tone.

'O, I don't know, sir!' answered Phoebe, her honest eyes all in a flush. 'I don't know! For just as I ran up to see, Mr.

Lewis he came back; and the minute Miss Hazel heard, she was off and away up the steps and into he house, and didn't even wait to see if Lewis had found her handkerchief. But, Mr.