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Susan and Anna Warner - Wych Hazel

S >> Susan and Anna Warner >> Wych Hazel




'Very well!' she said, raising her head again,--'if you will
have it in that shape! But the worth of an insignificant thing
depends a little upon the setting, and the setting of my
refusal was much better than the setting of my compliance.
There is no grace whatever about this. And take notice, sir,
that if you had gone to "extremities," you would have driven
yourself. I always have obeyed, and always should. But I give
the promise!'--and her head went down again, and her eyes
looked straight out into the fog.

He said 'Thank you!' earnestly, and he said no more. There is
no doubt but he felt relieved; at the same time there is no
doubt but Mr. Rollo was a mystified man. That her compliance
had no grace about it was indeed manifest enough; the grace of
her refusal was further to seek. He deposited the little lady
of Chickaree at her own door with no more words than a 'good-
night;' and went the rest of his way in the fog alone. And if
Wych Hazel had suffered some annoyance that evening, her young
guardian was not without his share of pain. It was rather
sharp for a time, after he parted from her. Had the work of
these weeks, and of his revealed guardianship, and of his
exercise of office, driven her from him entirely? He looked
into the question, as he drove home through the fog.


CHAPTER XXXVIII.

DODGING.


It was no new thing for the young lady of Chickaree to come
home late, and dismiss her attendants, and put herself to bed;
neither was it uncommon for her to sleep over breakfast time
in such cases, and take her coffee afterwards in Mrs. Bywank's
room alone. But when the fog had cleared away, the morning
after Mme. Lasalle's ball, and the sun was riding high, and
still no signs of Miss Wych, then Mrs. Bywank went to her
room. And the good housekeeper was much taken aback to find
peasant dress and grey serge curled down together in a heap on
the floor, and Miss Wych among them, asleep with her head in a
chair. Perhaps that in itself was not so much; but the long
eyelashes lay wet and heavy upon her cheek,--and Mrs. Bywank
knew that token of old.

I am afraid some hard thoughts about Mr. Rollo disturbed her
mind, as she stood there looking. What use had he made of his
ticket to distress her darling?--she such a mere child, and he
with his mature twenty-five years? But Mrs. Bywank did not
dare to ask, even when the girl stirred and woke and rose up;
though the ready flush, and the unready eyes, and the grave
mouth, went to her very heart. She noted, too, that her young
lady went into no graphic descriptions of the ball, as was her
wont; but merely bade Phoebe take away the two fancy dresses,
and ensconced herself in a maze of soft white folds, and then
went and knelt down by the open window; leaning her elbows
there, and her chin on her hands. Mrs. Bywank waited.

'Miss Wych,' she began after a while,--'my dear, you have had
no breakfast.'

'I want none.'

'But you will have some lunch?'

'No.'

'My dear,--you must,' said Mrs. Bywank. 'You will be sick, Miss
Wych.'

'Don't _you_ say "must" to me, Byo!' said the girl impetuously.
But then she started up and flung her arms round Mrs. Bywank
and kissed her, and said, 'Come, let's have some lunch,
then!'--giving half-a-dozen orders to Phoebe as she went along.
But the minute lunch was over, Wych Hazel stepped into her
carriage and drove away. Not the landau this time, through the
September day was fair and soft; neither was the young lady
arrayed in any wise for paying visits; her white cloud of
morning muslin and lace, her broad gipsy hat, and gauntlets
caught up and carried in her hand, not put on,--so she bestowed
herself in the close carriage which generally she used only by
night. And the low-spoken orders to Reo were, to take her a
road she had never been, and drive till she told him to stop.
Then she threw herself back against the cushions, and buried
her face in hands, and tried to think.

If _that_ was to leave her 'practically to Mr. Falkirk,' her
knowledge of English was somewhat deficient. And if belonging
to somebody merely 'in idea' had such results!--but she was shy
of the 'idea,' blushing over it there all by herself as she
pushed it away. She was disappointed, there was no doubt about
that. Foiled of her plan, over which she had pleased herself;
for she had intended to give a 'no' instead of a 'yes' at the
right place in the charade, to the discomfiture of all
parties;--curbed by a strong hand, which she never could bear;
hurt and sorrowful that nobody would trust her with even the
care of her own womanhood.

'I wonder what there is about me?' she cried to herself, with
two or three indignant tears rushing up unbidden. 'As if I had
not had a sharper lesson the other night than any _he_ could
give!'--No, quite that; the sharpest dated further back; but
this would have been enough of itself. And what else was she
to do or not do?--she took down her hands, and crossed them,
and looked at them as she had done before the picture of the
'loss of all things.' These bonds did not feel like those; she
did not like them, none the less;--and--she wondered what was
his idea of _close_ guardianship? And had he made any
misstatements?--Reo drove on and on, till his practised eye saw
that to get home by tea-time was all that was left, and then
stopped and got permission to turn round.

But driving seemed to have become a sudden passion with Miss
Wych. She kept herself out, somewhere, somehow, day after day;
denied of course to all visitors, and of small avail to Mr.
Falkirk, except to pour out his coffee. Miss Kennedy was in
danger of creating a new excitement; being always out and yet
never visible; for one entertainment after another went by,
and brought only her excuses.

Either the driving fever cooled, however, or Wych Hazel found
out at last that even thoughts may be troublesome company; for
she began suddenly to surround herself with invited guests;
and one or two to breakfast, and three to dinner, and six to
tea, became the new order of things for Mr. Falkirk's
delectation. Some favoured young ladies even stayed over night
sometimes, and then they all went driving together. Mr.
Falkirk frowned, and Mrs. Bywank smiled; and cards accumulated
to a fearful extent in the hall basket at Chickaree.

Rollo among others had been discomfited, by finding the young
lady invisible, or, what was the same thing for his purpose,
visible to too many at once. This state of things lasted some
time, but in the nature of things could not last for ever.
There came a morning, when Mr. Falkirk was the only visitor at
the Chickaree breakfast table, and just as Mr. Falkirk's
coffee was poured out, Dingee announced his co-guardian.

Well--she knew it had to come; but she could have found in her
heart to execute summary justice on Dingee for the
announcement, nevertheless. Nobody saw her eyes,--and nobody
could help seeing her cheeks; but all else that transpired was
a very reserved:

'Good morning, Mr. Rollo. You are just in time to enliven Mr.
Falkirk's breakfast, over which he ran some risk of going to
sleep.'

Perhaps Mr. Rollo had a flashing question cross his mind,
whether he had not missed something through lack of a hunter's
patience the other night; but he was too much of a hunter to
do anything but make the best of circumstances. He shook hands
in precisely his usual manner; remarking that Mr. Falkirk had
not had a ride of four miles; took his breakfast like a man
who had; and only towards the close of breakfast suddenly
turned to his hostess and asked, 'How does Jeannie Deans
behave?'

Apparently Hazel's thoughts had not been held fast by the
politics under discussion, for she had gone into a deep grave
meditation.

'Jeannie Deans?' she said, with her face flushing all up
again. 'Why--very well. The last time I rode her.'

'When was that?'

'Monday, I think, was the day of the week; but I suppose she
would have behaved just as well if it had been Tuesday.'

'Then probably she would have no objection to Wednesday?'

'Other things being comfortable,' said Wych Hazel, still
keeping her eyes to herself.

'Do you mean, that you and she are in such sympathy, that if
she does not behave well you know the reason?'

'I never sympathize with anybody's ill-behaviour but my own,'
said Hazel, 'if that is what you mean.'

'I meant,' said Rollo with perfect gravity, 'that perhaps she
sympathized with _yours?_'

'It occurs to me in this connection--talking of behaviour,'--
said Miss Kennedy, 'that I had a question to ask of you two
gentlemen, which it may save time--and trouble-- to state while
you are both together. Are you attending to me, sir?' she
asked, looking straight over at her other guardian now,--'or
has your mind gone off to: "Grand Vizier certainly
strangled"?'

'My mind never goes off when you begin to state questions,
Miss Hazel; knowing that it will probably have work enough at
home.'

'This one is extremely simple, sir. Why, when you both agreed
that I should have neither saddle-horse nor pony for my own
individual use, did you not tell me so at once? Instead of
keeping me all summer in a state of hope deferred and
disappointment in hand?'

'Shall I take the burden of explanation on myself, sir?' asked
Rollo.

'If you like. It lies on you properly,' said Mr. Falkirk, in
anything but an amiable voice.

'Then may I order up Jeannie for you?' Rollo went on with a
smile, to Wych Hazel; 'and I will explain as we go along.'

'That is to say, there is no explanation, but just the one I
had made out for myself. Mr. Falkirk, did I ever practise any
underhand dealings with you?' she said.

'Don't begin to do it with me,' said Rollo. 'Suppose you put
on your habit, and in half an hour we'll have it all out on
the road.'

'Your respective ancestors must have been invaluable in the
old Salem times,' said the young lady, arching her brows a
little. 'In these days I think truth should win truth.' With
which expression of opinion Miss Wych whistled for a fresh
glass of water and dismissed the subject. Not without a
smothered sigh, however.

'I did not understand,' said Rollo, 'that expression of
respect for our ancestors.'

'Naturally. As I expressed none. But I remember--you belong
across the sea; where witchcraft probably is unknown, and so
is never dealt with.'

'What would you give as the best manner of dealing with it?'
Rollo inquired with admirable command of countenance.

'I suppose I should let them go their way. But then, being one
of the guild, I of course fail to see the danger; and cannot
appreciate the mild form of fear which has shadowed Mr.
Falkirk for ten years past, nor the sharper attack which has
suddenly seized Mr. Rollo.' She could keep her face too,
looking carelessly down and poising her teaspoon.

'What becomes of your kitten, when you are suddenly made aware
that there are strange dogs about?' said Rollo again, eyeing
her.

'My kitten, indeed!'--said Hazel, with just so much stir of her
composure as recognized the look which yet she did not see.
'Did you ever hear of a dog's cajoling a cat, Mr. Rollo?'

'Did _you_ never hear of puss in a corner?'

'Yes,' she said. 'You would not think it, but I am very good
at that.'

'You are very good at something else,' said he smiling. 'Will
you permit me to remind you, that I have not yet had the
honour of an answer to my inquiry whether your witchship will
ride this morning?'

If Mr. Falkirk had been away, it is not sure what she would
have answered; but Hazel had no mind to draw out even silent
comments from him. So she gave a hesitating answer that yet
granted the appeal. Then wished the next moment she had not
given it. Would she need most courage to take it back, or to
go on?

'If you will excuse me, then, I will go and see to the horses.
I leave you, Mr. Falkirk, to defend yourself! I have been
unable to decoy the enemy.'

With which he went off. Mr. Falkirk's brows were drawn pretty
close.

'Miss Hazel, I should like to be told, now that we are alone,
in what way I have failed to meet "truth with truth"?'

'My dear sir, how you do scowl at me!' said Miss Hazel,
retaking her easy manner, now that _her_ enemy was away. 'I only
used the word in a popular sense. If I never misled _you_, then
you had no right to mislead _me_.'

'How were you misled, Miss Hazel?'

'I supposed, being somewhat simple-minded, that the reason
horse, pony, and basket wagon did not appear, was that they
could not be found, sir. It shews how ignorant I am of the
world still, I must acknowledge.'

'I have no opinion of ponies and basket wagons,' said her
guardian. 'And I do not know how well you can drive. And you
are too young, Miss Hazel, and too--well, you are too young to
be allowed to drive round the world by yourself. When
Cinderella, no, when Quickear, sets off to seek her fortune,
she goes fast enough in all nature without a pony.'

'There are just two little faults in your statement, sir,
considered as an answer. I never was fast'--said Miss Hazel,--
'but trying to hoodwink me is not likely to make me slow,'--and
she went off to don her habit and gather herself up for the
ride.


CHAPTER XXXIX.

A COTTON MILL.


As she came to the side door, she saw Rollo just dismounting
from Jeannie Deans, and immediately preparing to remove his
saddle and substitute the side-saddle; which he did with the
care used on a former occasion. But Jeannie had raised her
head and given a whinny of undoubted pleasure.

'Let her go, Mr. Rollo,' whispered Lewis.

And so released, the little brown steed set off at once,
walking straight to the verandah steps, pausing there and
looking up to watch Hazel, renewing her greeting in lower
tones, as if _this_ were private and confidential. Hazel ran
down the steps, and made her fingers busy with bridle and
mane, giving furtive caresses. Only when she was mounted, and
Rollo had turned, his ear caught the sound of one or two
little soft whispers that were meant for Jeannie's ears alone.

Perhaps the gentleman wanted to give Wych Hazel's thoughts a
convenient diversion; perhaps he wished to get upon some safe
common ground of interest and intercourse; perhaps he purposed
to wear off any awkwardness that might embarrass their mutual
good understanding; for he prefaced the ride with a series of
instructions in horsemanship. Mr. Falkirk had never let his
ward practise leaping; Rollo knew that; but now, and with Mr.
Falkirk looking on, he ordered up the two grooms with a bar,
and gave Wych Hazel a lively time for half an hour. A good
solid riding lesson, too; and probably for that space of time
at least attained all his ends. But when he himself was
mounted, and they had set off upon a quiet descent of the
Chickaree hill, out of sight of Mr. Falkirk, all Wych Hazel's
shyness came back again; hiding itself behind reserve. Rollo
was in rather a gay mood.

'It is good practice,' he said. 'Did you ever go through a
cotton mill?'

'Never.'

'How would you like to go through one to-day?'

'Why--I do not know. Very well, I daresay.'

So with this slight and doubtful encouragement, Rollo again
took the way to Morton Hollow. It was early October now; the
maples and hickories showing red and yellow; the air a
wonderful compound of spicy sweetness and strength; the heaven
over their heads mottled with filmy stretches of cloud, which
seemed to float in the high ether quite at rest. A day for all
sorts of things; good for exertion, and equally inviting one
to be still and think.

'How happens it you have let Jeannie stand still so long?'
Rollo asked presently.

'I have not wanted to ride her,--that is all.'

'Would you like her better if she were your own?' he said
quite gently, though with a keen eye directed at Wych Hazel's
face.

'No. Not now.' The 'now' slipped out by mistake, and might
mean either of two things. Rollo did not feel sure what it
meant.

'Did you ever notice,' he said after a few minutes again, 'how
different the clouds of this season are from those of other
times of the year? Look at those high bands of vapour lying
along towards the south; they seem absolutely poised and
still. Clouds in spring and summer are drifting, or flying, or
dispersing, or gathering: earnest and purposeful; with work to
do, and hurrying to do it. Look at those yonder; they are at
rest, as if all the work of the year were done up. I think
they say it is.'

The fair grave face was lifted, shewing uncertainty through
the light veil; and she looked up intently at the sky, almost
wondering to herself if there _had_ been clouds in the spring
and early summer. She hardly seemed to remember them.

'Is that what they say to you?' she said dreamily. 'They look
to me as if they were just waiting,--waiting to see where the
wind will rise.'

'But the wind does not rise in October. They will lie there,
on the blessed blue, half the day. It looks to me like the
rest after work.'

She glanced at him.

'I do not know much about work,' she said. 'What I suppose you
would call work. It has not come into my hands.'

'It has not come into mine,' said Rollo. 'But can there be
rest without work going before it?'

'Such stillness?' she said, looking up at the white flecks
again. 'But according to that, we do not either of us know
rest.'

'Well,' said he smiling, 'I do not. Do you?'

'I used to think I did. What do you mean by rest, Mr. Rollo?'

'Look at those lines of cloud. They tell. The repose of
satisfied exertion; the happy looking back upon work done,
after the call for work is over.'

She looked up, and kept looking up; but she did not speak.
Somehow the new combinations of these last weeks had made her
sober; she did not get used to them. The little wayward scraps
of song had been silent, and the quick speeches did not come.

'But then,' Rollo went on again presently, 'then comes up
another question. What is work? I mean, what is work for such
people as you and I?'

'I suppose,' said Hazel, 'whatever we find to do.'

'I have not found anything. Have you? Those clouds somehow
seem to speak reproach to me. May be that is their business.'

'I have not been looking,' said Hazel. 'You know I have been
shut up until this summer. But I should think you might have
found plenty,--going among people as you do.'

'What sort?'

'Different sorts, I suppose. At least if you are as good at
making work for yourself in some cases as you are in others,'
she said with a queer little recollective gleam in her face.
'Did it never occur to you that you might set the world
straight--and persuade its orbit into being regular?'

'No,' said Rollo carelessly, 'I never undertake more than I
can manage. Here is a good place for a run.'

They had come into the long level lane which led to Morton
Hollow; and giving their horses the rein they swept through
the October air in a flight which scorned the ground. When the
banks of the lane began to grow higher and to close in upon
the narrowing roadway, which also became crooked and
irregular, they drew bridle again and returned to the earth.

'Don't you feel set straight now?' said Rollo.

'Thank you--no.'

'I am afraid you will give me some work to do, yet,' said he
audaciously, and putting his hand out upon Wych Hazel's. 'Do
not carry quite so loose a rein. Jeannie is sure, I believe,
and you are fearless; but you should always let her know you
are there.'


'Mr. Rollo--' said the girl hastily. Then she stopped.

'What?' said Rollo innocently, riding close alongside and
looking her hard in the face. 'I am here.'

'Nothing.'

Then he changed his tone and said gently, 'What was it, Miss
Hazel?'

'Something better unsaid.'

He was silent a minute, and went on gravely--

'You wanted to know why I interfered the other night as I did;
and I promised, I believe, to explain it to you when I had an
opportunity. I will, if you bid me; but I may do the people
injustice, and I would rather you took the view of an
unprejudiced person--Mr. Falkirk, for instance. But if you wish
it, I will tell you myself.'

'No,' she said; 'I do not wish it.'

Rollo was quite as willing to let the matter drop; and in a
few minutes more they were at the mill he had proposed to
visit. There they dismounted, the horses were sent on to the
bend in the valley, beyond the mills; and presenting a pass,
Rollo and Wych Hazel were admitted into the building, where
strangers rarely came. One of the men in authority was known
to Mr. Rollo; he presented himself now, and with much civility
ushered them through the works.

They made a slow progress of it; full of interest, because
full of intelligent appreciation. Perhaps, in the abstract,
one would not expect to find a gay young man of the world
versed in the intricacies of a cotton mill; but however it
were, Rollo had studied the subject, and was now bent on
making Wych hazel understand all the beautiful details of the
machinery and the curiosities of the manufacture. This was a
new view of him to his companion. He took endless pains to
make her familiar with the philosophy of the subject, as well
as its history. Patient and gentle and evidently not in the
least thinking of himself, his grey eyes were ever searching
in Wych Hazel's face to see whether she comprehended and how
she enjoyed what he was giving her. As to the relations
between them, his manner all the while, as well as during the
ride, was very much what it had been before the disclosure
made by Mrs. Coles had sent Wych Hazel off on a tangent of
alienation from him. Nothing could exceed the watch kept over
her, or the care taken of her; and neither could make less
demonstration. There was also the same quiet assumption of
her, which had been in his manner for so long; that also was
never officiously displayed, though never wanting when there
was occasion. And now, in the mill, all these went along with
that courtier-like deference of style, which paid her all the
honour that manner could; yet it was the deference of one very
near and not of one far off.

Wych Hazel for her part shewed abundant power of interest and
of understanding, in their progress through the mill; quick to
catch explanations, quick to see the beauty of some fine bit
of machinery; but very quiet. Her eyes hardly ever rose to the
level of his; her questions were a little more free to the
conductor than to him. Even her words and smiles to the mill
people seemed to wait for times when his back was turned, as
if she were shy of in any wise displaying herself before him.

Their progress through the mill was delayed further by Rollo's
interest in the operatives. A rather sad interest this had
need to be. The men, and the women, employed as hands in the
works, were lank and pale and haggard, or dark and coarse.
Their faces were reserved and gloomy; eyes would not light up,
even when spoken to; and Rollo tried the expedient pretty
often. Yet the children were the worst. Little things, and
others older, but all worn-looking, sadly pale, very hopeless,
going back and forth at their work like so many parts of the
inexorable machinery. Here Rollo now and then got a smile,
that gleamed out as a rare thing in that atmosphere. On the
whole, the outer air seemed strange and sweet to the two when
they came out into it, and not more sweet than strange. Where
they had been, surely the beauty, and the freedom, and the
promise, of the pure oxygen and the blue heaven, were all shut
out and denied and forgotten.

'There is work for somebody to do,' said Rollo thoughtfully,
when the mill door was shut behind them.

The girl looked at him gravely, then away.

'Do all mill people look so?' she said. 'Or is it just Morton
Hollow?'

'They do not all look so. At least I am told this is a very
uncommon case for this country. Yet no doubt there are others,
and it is not--"just Morton Hollow." Suppose, for the sake of
argument, that all mill people look so; what deduction would
you draw?'


'Well, that I should like to have the mills,' said Wych Hazel.

They walked slowly on through the Hollow. The place was still
and empty; all the hands being in the mills; the buzz of
machinery within, as they passed one, was almost the only
sound abroad. The cottages were forlorn looking places; set
anywhere, without reference to the consideration whether space
for a garden ground was to be had. No such thing as a real
garden could be seen. No flowers bloomed anywhere; no token of
life's comfort or pleasure hung about the poor dwellings.
Poverty and dirt and barrenness; those three facts struck the
visitor's eye and heart. A certain degree of neatness and
order indeed was enforced about the road and the outside of
the houses; nothing to give the feeling of the sweet reality
within. The only person they saw to speak to was a woman
sitting at an open door crying. It would not have occurred to
most people that she was one 'to speak to'; however, Rollo
stepped a little out of the road to open communication with
her. His companion followed, but the words were German.

'What is the matter?' she asked as they turned to go on their
way.

'Do you remember the girl that came to Gyda's that day you
were there? this is her mother. Truedchen, she says, has been
sick for two weeks; very ill; she has just begun to sit up;
and her father has driven her to mill work again this morning.
The mother says she knows the girl will die.'

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