’I don’t know yet how bad it is.  I am going to see; and I will come back to you by and by.’

‘Where?—­and who?’ she asked.

‘In the wood-cutting.  It is Reo.’  He spoke as a man who speaks unwillingly.

Hazel gave a little cry at that, and turning suddenly flew into the house.  The next thing was the flutter of her light foot outside among the trees.  But, overtaken the next minute, she was stopped by a hand on her arm and held fast.  However Dane spoke very gently.

‘Miss Hazel!—­you had better not go yourself.’

‘I am going,’ she said, struggling to disengage herself.  ’Mr. Rollo!—­’

‘Stop,’ he said gently and steadily.  ’Miss Hazel—­I shall not let you go.’

In her excitement she hardly took in more than the mere fact of his words, and dropping everything she had in her hand, Hazel took hold of his fingers and began to loosen them with her own, which had a good deal of will in them, of they were small.  The immediate effect was to secure the imprisonment of both her hands in a clasp that was stronger than her’s.  I hardly think Rollo disliked it, for he smiled a little as he spoke: 

‘Listen,’ he said,—­’Miss Hazel, I shall not let you go down yonder.  I will bring you news as soon as I can—­but you must stay here with Rosy.  Don’t you see?’ he added very gently, as he turned about and walked toward the house with her, putting one little hand on his arm while other hand still held it fast,—­’don’t you see, you could do nothing just yet?  And I take this upon myself—­I shall not let you go.  You must stay here and take care of Rosy, till I can come back to you.’

‘I will not,’ she said, stopping short again.  ’I will go!  It is my right!  Where should a woman be?  And—­Oh!’ she cried with a change of tone, ’it is Reo!—­And he will want things—­and he will want me!’

‘Not yet,’ said Rollo; ’it is not time for either yet.  He shall want nothing, I promise you, that he ought to have.  But you must be good and stay with Rosy.’

He spoke as a brother might speak to a little sister of whom he was very fond, or—­brothers do not often take just that tone.  Primrose, looking on, knew very well what it meant.  Wych Hazel was in far too much commotion of mind to discern anything.  She had yielded to superior strength,—­which indeed she could not gracefully resist; and then there came over her heart such a flood of grief, that for the last few steps she was quite passive; though giving no sign but the quiver that touched her mouth, and went and came again.  But at Rollo’s last words she drew herself up defiantly.

‘Do you expect to stand here and hold me all day?’ she said.

‘No?’ he said gravely, now meeting her look,—­’I expect you to have self-control and womanly patience, and to let me go and do my part, until it is time for you to do yours.  Will you?’

’I shall do what I think best.  The question is none of yours, Mr. Rollo.  Self-control!—­I have a little!’ she said under her breath.