CHAPTER XXXII.

CAPTAIN LANCASTER'S TEAM.

It was between eight and nine o'clock one evening, two or three days later, when Mr. Rollo was informed that some one wanted to speak to him. It was Reo Hartshorne.

'Very glad to see you home, sir,' said Reo earnestly; he was a man of few words. 'I beg pardon—but are you going to the Governor's to-night, Mr. Rollo?'

'Powder? No.'

'I have just come from taking Miss Wych,' said Reo, 'and met Lewis, and heard you were home. Mr. Rollo,—do you know that a four-in-hand party goes from Governor Powder's to-night at ten o'clock?'

'I have but lately got home, Reo, and so have not heard quite all the news. But I have nothing to do with the four-in-hand club.'

'Miss Wych bade me come for her at eleven,' said Reo, going straight to his point. 'And as she went in, Mr. Nightingale's man laughed and said I'd better not lose my time. Eleven to- morrow would be bearer the mark. And I might have told Mr. Falkirk, sir,—but you were nearer by, and—a trifle quicker. So I came. They're to stop at Greenbush for supper. And if some of those young men come out as fit to drive as they went in, it'll be something they never did before.'

'You came back this way,—with the carriage?'

'Yes, Mr. Rollo.'

'How do the horses go?'

'First-rate, sir. Want nothing but using.'

'Who is with you? Dingee or Lewis?'

'Lewis.'

'You are not fit to be up all night, Reo. I will take Lewis, and drop you at Chickaree as we pass.'

'Fit to do anything for my little lady, Mr. Rollo. And I know the horses.'

'Very well. Go into the kitchen and get some refreshment. Tell Lewis Miss Maryland and I are going out in the carriage, and we will leave him at Chickaree. I will be ready in fifteen minutes.'

And in fifteen minutes Primrose had been apprized of the service required of her, was ready, and the party set out.

To Greenbush, round by Chickaree, was a drive of twenty miles or more; from Valley Garden it was something less. The road was quiet enough at that hour, winding through a level part of the country, lying white and still in the unclouded moonlight; and Greenbush was reached in due time. The place was little more now than one of those old taverns to be found on any stage route, with its settlement of out-buildings; but the present keeper of the house was an adept, and his suppers were famous. The tavern, however, unlike most of its class, stood in a patch of rather thick woodland, and boasted a high surrounding fence and great gates at either entrance, having been once a grand mansion. House and gateways were all alight now, and the winding approach through the trees was hung with swinging lamps. But the entrances were guarded.

'No carriage admitted till the four-in-hands come in!' said the men on duty.

On foot, however, privately and humbly, the gentleman and lady were allowed entrance. Rollo secured a comfortable room, with some difficulty, and also ordered and obtained supper, not without scruples and grumbles, all the strength of the house being enlisted in the interests of the coming guests; nevertheless money will do everything; and coffee, cold chicken and bread and butter were served in tolerable style. It availed only for outward circumstances of comfort, for poor Rosy was extremely nervous and troubled in mind; very anxious for Rollo, very discomfited on account of Wych Hazel, very doubtful of the part she herself was to play. Rollo himself was—the red squirrel.

Leaving Rosy with a kind admonition not to worry herself, and to take some bread and chicken, he went out again to see that the carriage was drawn up properly out of the way and Reo's refreshment cared for; and then he took post himself in the shadow of a clump of firs to wait for the expected revellers.

'Pity the lady hadn't stayed too, sir,' said one of the men. 'They'll be along just now. There's more of 'em down than common, this year, they tell me, and it'll be a show.'

Other people thought so too, evidently, for vehicles of various sorts, and people to match, began to gather along the road, till all the space about the entrance-way was well lined. An expectant, rather noisy, crowd, a good deal in the interests of horseflesh but with a certain portion also of interest in gay men and women.

'There they come!'—cried a boy high up in one of the trees; but at first it was only a quiet coach with two horses, Governor Powder's own, and at once admitted. Then there was another pause—and at last down came the four-in-hands, with flashing lamps, and harness that glittered all over in the moonlight, and the fine in-time harmony of the horses' hoof- beats. There was singing too, from some of the turn-outs,— glees and choruses came in a faint wild mingling that rose and fell and changed with the changes of the road.

'Captain Lancaster's ahead!' said one of the men.

'No—it's Richard May.'

'See for yourself, then,' said the other, as the first superb four-in-hand came up; the horses shining almost like their own harness, the drag in the newest style of finish, and with every seat full. A young officer in undress uniform was on the box, and by his side sat Wych Hazel. There was time for but a look as the drag swept round the turn—just time to see who it was, and that she wore no bonnet, but instead a sort of Spanish drapery of black lace, and that his horses gave Captain Lancaster so little concern that Miss Kennedy had nearly all his attention,—then the vision was gone. Not singing, these two, but the spectators heard her sweet laugh. Flashing past, followed by another and another though not all of equal style. The looker-on in the shade of the fir trees just noticed that Kitty Fisher drove the second,—just caught other familiar voices as they flew by.

There is no doubt but Miss Kennedy's younger guardian felt there was a hard task upon him that night. Out of all the glamour and glitter, the brilliance and beauty of such an entertainment, he must be the one to take her, and substitute an ignominious quiet progress home in her own carriage for the fascination and excitement of Captain Lancaster's driving, and Captain Lancaster's—and many others'—homage. And, worse yet, the authority which he guessed well enough the little lady rebelled against more than against any other point in the arrangement that had displeased her, must here find in its exercise. However, well as he knew the bad move it was for his own game, Mr. Rollo was not a man to shirk difficult tasks. Neither was he so unpractised a hunter as to conclude that any move that must be made, is a bad move. He knew better. So, though he looked grave certainly as he walked back to the house, he walked alertly, like a man ready for business.

He was not in a hurry. He gave time to the first confusion to subside, and for people to get quiet in their places; in so far, that is, as comparative quiet might be predicated of any point of that gay evening. Evening indeed! The moon was riding high in the zenith; it was between twelve and one o'clock. Rollo walked the floor, and Primrose, miserable and anxious, looked at him, and dared not say one word. Would Hazel break friendship with her forever? and kindness with Rollo? And how could Dane dare as he dared!

When supper was just about to be served, one of the attendants entered the room where the party was gathered, asking if Miss Kennedy was there. A lady and gentleman wanted to see Miss Kennedy. The message in due course of time worked round to the young lady.

'Have you got any friends in these parts?' said Josephine Powder laughing. It was the way of the entertainment; nothing was said without laughing.

'Must you go?' said Stuart Nightingale.

'Another trick of Kitty Fisher's,' said Wych Hazel. 'That mysterious "lady and gentleman" again! You know they sent my carriage away once. O yes, I will go and see what mischief is on foot, and be back in a minute.'

The room where Rollo and Prim were waiting was down at one end of the hall; and, dimly lighted as it was, in comparison with the rest of the house, it seemed almost dark. They could see her come down the hall, three or four gentlemen following; and she sending them back with laughing words and glances thrown over her shoulder.

'Now stop just where you are,' she said, turning round. 'I go into the darkness alone, or the charm will be broken.'

And on she came with her airy tread, and was well in the room before she saw anybody, and a servant had shut the door. Then the change on her face was pitiful to see. In the excitement of the drive and other things that night, she had evidently forgotten for the time her new trouble. It came back now on the instant, and for one quick moment she put up her hand to her forehead as if with sudden pain. Then crossed both hands upon her breast, and looked down, and stood still.

Rollo quitted the room. Primrose came to Wych Hazel's side and threw her arms around her.

'It's only I, dear Hazel,' she said in tones of mingled trouble and tenderness.

Miss Kennedy disengaged herself, not roughly but decidedly, holding Primrose off, and looking at her.

'What is the matter?' she said. 'Is Mr. Falkirk ill?'

'No, dear.'

'Who then?' said Wych Hazel. 'Prim, never kill people by degrees.'

'Nobody's ill—nobody! There is nothing the matter with anybody, Hazel—except you. I've come to take care of you, dear.'

'Did you?' said the girl. 'I think you want some one to take care of you, by your looks. But I am rather too busy just now to read essays on sentiment,—that can wait.' She moved towards the door; but Primrose made a spring and caught her.

'Wait!—Hazel, you haven't heard what I wanted to say to you. Don't be angry with me! O dear Hazel, do you know what sort of times these four-in-hand people make down here?'

'I intend to find out.'

'But they are not fit for you, Hazel, indeed: it is not a fit place for you to be. Hazel, they are often tipsy when they drive home. Papa wouldn't let me be in such a place and ride with them, for anything. How come you to be here?'

Hazel freed herself again with impatient haste.

'Let go of me!' she said. 'The man who drives me home will be sober. I will not hear any more.'

'Listen, Hazel, listen!' cried Prim, clinging to her. 'O do not be angry with me! But you ought not be here; and Duke will not let you stay, dear. We have brought the carriage to take you home.'

Prim never could tell afterwards what sort of a look or what sort of a sound answered that; what she did know was that Wych Hazel was at the door and had it open in her hand. Prim's gentleness, however, on this occasion was no bar to energetic action; with another spring she was at the door and had taken it from Wych Hazel's hand, had shut it, and set her back against it; all too suddenly and determinately to leave chance for prevention.

'Hazel, dear, listen to me. You ought not be here, and Duke will not let you. He has come to take you home, and he brought me with him because he thought it would be nicer for you. And he thought you would rather see me than him; but if you won't listen to me, I must call him. He will not let you stay, Hazel, and Duke always is right. But he thought you would like better to go quietly off with me than to have any fuss made, and all these people knowing about it and everybody talking. Wouldn't it be nicer to go quietly without any one knowing why you go?'

It was indescribable the way in which Miss Kennedy repeated the word 'nice!' Then she spoke collectedly.

'Prim, I do not want to call in any of my friends—but I declare I will, if you do not move away!'

'Must I call Duke?' said Prim, despairingly keeping her place.

'If you want him'—said Miss Kennedy, turning now towards the bell. As the young lady faced about again, after pulling the bell rope, she was confronted by her unwelcome guardian, just before her.

It is almost proverbially known that the meeting of contrasts is apt to have a powerful influence on one side or the other; unless indeed the opposing forces are, what rarely happens, of equal weight. What met Wych Hazel as she looked at him was power—not of physical strength; the power of high breeding, which is imposing as well as graceful; and also the power of a perfectly unmoved self-possession. While there was at the same time a winsome, gentle look, that she could hardly see in her agitation, the spirit of which she could partly feel in the voice that spoke to her. Neither cloud nor frown nor discomposure of any sort was in it. He bowed, and then held out his hand.

'Are you angry with me?' he said. 'With me, if anybody. Not
Prim.'

In the vagaries of human nature all things are possible. And it is undoubted that in the first flash of eyes which greeted Mr. Rollo there was mingled a certain gleam of fun. Whether the prospect of a tilt had its excitements—whether she was curious to see how he would carry his new office,—there it was. But then the eye shadows grew deep and dark. She drew back a little, not giving her hand; making instead a somewhat formal courtesy.

'I was called here, it seems, to await your commands, Mr.
Rollo. May I have them, if they are ready?'

'They are not ready,' he answered, in a very low tone. 'Let Miss Wych Hazel give commands to herself,—and be loyal and true in her obedience to them.'

'I have given myself a good many since I have been in this room,' said the girl, proudly. 'If I had not I should not be here now.'

'Will you sit down?'

'Thank you—no. Unless we are to spend the rest of the night in quiet conversation.'

'Then we will make the conversation short. Miss Hazel, the company and the occasion you came to grace to-night are unworthy of the honour.'

He paused for a reply, but, as none came, he went on:

'You do not know it now, but in the mean time I know it; and I must act upon my knowledge. I have come to take you home. Cannot you trust me, that I would not—for much—do anything so displeasing to you, without good reason?'

'You men are so fond of being "trusted!" ' she said—quietly, though there was some bitterness in the tone—'it is almost a wonder it never occurs to you that a woman might like it too! I know every one of the carriage party with whom I came. And that I did not ask Mr. Falkirk's leave before I left home was only because I did not know that I should need it.' But with that came a quick painful blush, as suddenly remembering other leave that must now be asked.

'I believe you may be trusted thoroughly, so far as your knowledge goes,' he answered, gravely. Then waited a moment and went on.

'You have had no supper. Will you take some refreshment before we set out upon our return journey?'

She stood, leaning against the wall, not looking at anything but the floor—and not seeing that;—as still as if she had not heard him. Thinking—what was she thinking?—Then suddenly stood up and answered.

'I can but obey. May I ask you to wait five minutes?—Stand away, Prim, and let me pass.'

But he stayed her.

'It is better not to set people's tongues at work. I have sent a message to the Miss Powders, to the effect that Miss Kennedy had been suddenly summoned home, and making your excuses. As from yourself. No name but yours appeared.'

If there was any one thing he had done which tried her almost unbearably, it was that! There was a sort of quiet despair in the way she turned from him and the door together, and took the chair she had refused, and sat waiting. Rollo brought her silently a cup of coffee and a plate with something to eat, but both were refused.

'Are you ready, Prim?'

Primrose nervously put on her bonnet, which she had with nervous unrest taken off; and Rollo offered his arm to Wych Hazel.

'Let me go by myself,' she said—again not roughly, but as if she could not help it. 'I am not going to run away.'

'In that case it is certainly not the arm of a jailor,' said he, stooping down by her and smiling.

But the words, or the look, or something about them, very nearly got the better of Wych Hazel's defences, and her eyes flushed with tears.

'No—no,' she said under her breath. 'I will follow. Go on.'

'Certainly not me,' he answered. 'Go you with Prim, and I will follow.'

One before and one behind!—thought the girl to herself, comparing the manner of her entrance. She went on, not with Prim, but swiftly ahead of her, and put herself in the carriage, as she had brought herself out of the house. Prim followed. Rollo mounted the box and took the reins, and, having fresh horses from the inn, they drove off at a smart pace. And Hazel, laying one hand on the sill of the open window, leaned her head against the frame, and so, wrapped in her black lace, sat looking out, with eyes that never seemed to waver. Into the white moonshine,—which soon would give way before the twilight 'which should be dawn and a to-morrow.'

For a long time Primrose bore this, thinking hard too on her part. For she had much to think of, in connection with both her companions. She was hurt for Rollo; she was grieved for Wych Hazel; was there anything personal and private to herself in her vexation at the needlessness of the trouble which was affecting them? If there were, Primrose did not look at it much. But it seemed very strange in her eyes that any one should rebel against what was, to her, the honey sweetness of Dane's authority. Strange that anything he disliked, should be liked by anybody that had the happiness of his care. And strange beyond strangeness, that this girl should slight such words and looks as he bestowed upon her. Primrose knew how deep the meaning of them was; she knew how great the grace of them was; could it be possible Wych Hazel did not know? One such word and look would have made her happy for days; upon a few of them she could have lived a year. So it seemed to her. She did not wish that they were hers; she did not repine that they were another's; she only thought these things. But there were other thoughts that came up, as a sigh dismissed the foregoing.

'Hazel!—' she ventured gently, when half of the way was done.

Hazel's thoughts had been so far away that she started.

'What?' she said hastily.

'May I talk to you, just a little bit?'

'O yes,—certainly. Anybody may do anything to me.' But she kept her position unchanged. 'I am listening, Prim.'

'Hazel, dear, are you quite sure you are doing right?'

'About what?'

'About— Please don't take it ill of me, but it troubles me,
Hazel. About this sort of life you are leading.'

'This sort of life?' Hazel repeated, thinking over some of the days last past. 'Much you know about it!'

'I do not suppose I do. I cannot know much about it,' said Primrose meekly. 'All my way of life has been so different. But do you think, Hazel, really, that there is not something better to do with one's self than what all these gay people do?'

'I think you are a great deal better than I am—if that will content you.'

'Why should it content me?' said Primrose, laughing a little. 'I do not see anything pleasant in it, even supposing it were true.'

'There is some use in training you,' Hazel went on; 'but no amount of pruning would ever bring me into shape.' And with that, somehow, there came up the thought of a little sketch, wherein her hat swung gayly from the top of a rough hazel bush; and with the thought a pain so keen, that for the moment her head went down upon her hands on the window-sill.

Primrose was silent a few moments, not knowing just how to speak.

'But Hazel,' she began, slowly—'all these gay people you are so much with, they live just for the pleasure of the minute; and when the pleasure of the minute is over, what remains? I cannot bear to have you forget that, and become like them.'

'Like them?' said Hazel. 'Am I growing like Kitty Fisher?'

'No, no, no!' cried Primrose. 'You are not a bit like her, not a bit. I do not mean that; but I mean, dear,—aren't you just living for the moment's pleasure, and forgetting something better?'

'Forgetting a good many things, you think.'

'Aren't you, Hazel? And I cannot bear to have you.'

'What am I to remember?' said the girl in a sort of dreamy tone, with her thoughts on the wing.

'Remember that you have something to do with your life and with yourself, Hazel; something truly noble and happy and worth while. I am sure dancing-parties are not enough to live on. Are they?'

'No.'

Perhaps Primrose thought she had said enough; perhaps she did not know how to choose further words to hit the girl's mood. She was patiently silent. Suddenly Hazel sat up and turned towards her.

'You poor little Prim!' she said, laying gentle hands on her shoulders and a kiss on each cheek,—'whirled off from your green leaves on a midnight chase after witches! This was one of Mr. Rollo's few mistakes: he should have come alone.'

'Should he?' said Primrose, wondering. 'But it wouldn't have been so good for you, dear, would it?'

'Prim'—somewhat irrelevantly—'did you ever have a thorn in your finger?'

'What do you mean?' Primrose answered in just bewilderment.

'Well I have two in mine.' And Miss Kennedy went back to the window and her world of moonlight. She did not wonder that the Indians reckoned their time by 'moons;' she was beginning to check off her own existence in the same way. In one moon she had walked home from Merricksdale, in another driven back from Mrs. Seaton's; and now in this—But then her head went down upon the window-sill once more, nor was lifted again until the carriage was before the steps of Chickaree.

'Dane,' said Primrose, as the two were parting in the dusky hall at home, 'she will never get over this. Never, never, never!'

He kissed her, laughing, and giving her hand a warm grasp.

'You are mistaken,' he said. 'She is a more sensible woman than you giver her credit for.'