'You must not tell him!' she said; 'you must not even tell him that I have been here. You must not say one word. Promise me!'
'Till you tell him?' said Gyda placidly.
'Will you promise?' Hazel repeated. 'Things that cannot stand of themselves had betterfall.'
'What is it that cannot stand, dear?'
'I did not come here to talk about that,' said Hazel, laying her head back again. 'I came to talk about myself. Or to do something, besides think.'
'I'll hear,' said Gyda. 'Nothing's going to fall that ought to stand.
Talk, my dear.'
All the while she was standing just at Wych Hazel's shoulder, touching her head with a slight touch; in her face and voice the utmost soothing charm of tender tranquillity. She had been doubtless a Norwegian peasant woman, and had known little of what we call refining advantages in outward things; but love and peace and sympathy had made her wonderfully delicate and quick to divine the needs of those with whom she dealt. It was a hard little hand, but a very soft touch upon Wych Hazel's curls. Furthermore, it was evident, that beyond her sympathy with her visiter's present distress, Gyda was not disturbed about the matter in hand.
'The days have been so long, all these weeks,' said Hazel. 'And the nights were longer than the days.'
'Ah, yes. And you couldn't trust the Lord with your trouble?'
'I thinkI did try, sometimes,' said the girl slowly, 'but I do not quite know. I was in such confusion, and other things came in, and I was afraid of doing itonly to please him, because'