Hazel leaned her head against Gyda's arm gazing down into the firelight; it seemed to her to-day as if she had to think over anything a great many times to get used to it. She must be tired. The afternoon light was waning fast when the quick step outside was heard again, and Rollo came in. He surveyed the group quietly, and then went off to his room to change his dress. And when he returned to relieve the guard, it was with a most composed and unexciting manner. He scarcely said three words, till a boy brought the message that the carriage was waiting in the Hollow. Then he wrapped the great plaid shawl round Hazel, for the evening had fallen chill and her dress was thin, and they went out into the dusky twilight for the walk down to the carriage.
Dusky, and yet clear; a cloudless depth of sky out of which stars were brightening; a still air with almost a breath of frost in it; outlines of the Hollow hills darkly drawn against the soft twilight sky; the silence of evening, when mill-work was done, over all and in everything. Rollo did not speak, and they heardif they heardonly the sound of their own steps down the path. When they were in the carriage, Rollo presently, with a gentle word, untied Wych Hazel's flat hat and took it off; drew a corner of the shawl over her head, and putting his arm round her made her lay down her head upon his shoulder and lean upon him.
'But Mr. Rollo' said Hazel timidly, finding that her acted remonstrance had no effect.
'What?'
'I am quite able to sit up.'
'I have no faith whatever in that statement.'
'If you will let me trythe other,'Hazel began.
'The other shoulder?'
But the answer to that tarried. Hazel knew perfectly well that if she spoke in the first minute she would laugh; which was not at all according to her present system of tactics. And in the second, her words were not ready, and by the time the third came it was rather too late. So silence reigned, while Reo sent the horses along, over the level smooth road, and the evening air came in crisp and fresh at the open window, and stars looked down winking in their quiet way of saying sweet things. They always do, when one is happy; sometimes in other states of mind they seem high above sympathy. But to-night they looked down at Hazel confidentially, and crickets and nameless insects chirruped along by the roadside; and on and on the carriage rolled, mile after mile. Rollo was as still as the stars, almost. And so was Wych Hazel, for a long time; still as anything could be that lived. Suddenly a question broke from her.
'What was it you were going to say to me?'