Hazel was grateful to the evergreens now, as she sped along, throwing them many and admiring glances, vividly realising their sterling qualities. She was just emerging from the hazel copse, all aglow with exercise, when a shadow fell across her path, and Digby Travers spoke her name.
"At last," he said, "and alone."
Hazel's presence of mind did not desert her.
"Why, Digby!" she exclaimed, "how did you know I was here?"
"It was rather early for calling when I arrived," he answered, somewhat wearily, "so I strolled about in the woods; and presently I caught sight of your scarlet coat through the trees."
It had been but one o'clock when the poor young man reached Hazelhurst, and for two hours and more he had been roaming the woods.
"How dull you must have found it," she returned, a trifle puzzled. "You ought to have gone straight to the house. Being early does not matter with informal old friends. Come with me now and have tea."
She was concerned for him: he was pale and haggard, but she dared not express her sympathy too openly, and tried to appear brisk and matter-of-fact.
"Tired!" echoed Digby Travers, in a somewhat hollow tone. "If that were all!"
"You are not ill?" she asked quickly, in alarm.