'It is only poor little me,' said Wych Hazel. 'Never mind, sir,—in fairy tales one always comes out somehow. But I am sure I ought to be "sound" too, if care would do it.'
'Will you help me, Hazel?' said Mr. Falkirk, bending towards her and speaking her name as in the old childish days.
'Gladly, sir,—if you will shew me how. And if it is not too hard,' she said with a pretty look, well answering to her words.
'I wish you had a mother!' said Mr. Falkirk abruptly. And he turned back to the table, and for a little while that was all the answer he made; while Wych Hazel sat waiting. But then he began again.
'As I remarked before, Miss Hazel, we are come upon bewitched ground in our search after fortune. You spoke of two classes of people a while ago, if you remember—people that want to marry each other and people that don't.'
'Yes sir. Which are the most of?'
'Being upon bewitched ground, it might happen to you as to others—mind, not this year, perhaps, nor next; but it might happen—that you should find yourself in one of these two, as you intimate, large classes. Suppose it; could you, having no mother, put confidence in an old guardian?'
Very grave, very gentle Mr. Falkirk's manner and tone were; considerate of her, and very humble concerning himself.
'Why, Sir!'—she looked at him, the roses waking up in her cheeks as she caught his meaning more fully. Then her eyes fell again, and she said softly—'How do you mean, Mr. Falkirk? There is nobody in the world whom I trust as I do you.'
'I have never a doubt of that, my dear. But to make the trust avail you or me, practically, could you let me know the state of affairs?'