‘Do you mean to keep me here,’ he said gravely and quietly, ’when I may be so much wanted elsewhere?  You would be in the way there, but I am needed.  Still, you are my first care.  Must I stay here to take care of you? or will you promise me to be good and wait quietly with Primrose, until I bring you word?’

His eye went to Primrose as he ended, in a mute appeal for help.  And Prim came near and laid her hand softly on Wych Hazel’s shoulder.

‘Do, dear Hazel!’ she said.  ‘Duke knows; you may trust him.’

It was indescribable the way she freed herself from them both, as if to be touched, now, was beyond the bounds of endurance.  Prim’s words Hazel utterly ignored, but something in the other’s claimed attention.

’Go!  Go!’—­she said hurriedly.  ’Go and do your part!—­If you had been content with doing that at first, we should have had no trouble.’  She wrapped her arms round one of the light verandah pillars, and leaning her head against it gave look nor word more.

Rollo staid for none, but dashed away down the slope and was lost in the woods.  Primrose stood near Wych Hazel, very much at a loss indeed; but too troubled to be still.

‘Dear Hazel!’ she ventured, in a very soft voice—­’don’t feel so!  What is the matter?’

‘Did you not hear?’

’Yes; but Hazel dear, you know hardly anything yet; there may be very little to be troubled about.  The accident may be very slight, for all you know.  I always think it is best to wait and see; and then have your strength ready to work with.’

‘My strength has been extremely useful to-day.’

‘What to you mean, dear?’ said Primrose, softly endeavouring to coax the hands and arms away from the verandah pillar.  ’Look here—­look up and be yourself again.  Maybe there is very little the matter.  Wait and see.’

’Wait!’—­Hazel repeated.  ’People talk as if waiting was such easy work!’

‘I never said it was easy,’ said Primrose gently.  ’But some people have to wait all their lives.’  There was the very essence of patience in the intonation.

‘I should think their lives would be short.’

Primrose sighed a little and was silent.  Perhaps she thought that those who had little occasion to practise the grace were unreasonable.  But I think she only remembered that the one near her was very unpractised.

‘Forgive me—­I do not mean to—­be—­’ the girl faltered out, the tremor coming back to her voice.  ‘But Reo!—­’ And with that, pain and disappointment and chagrin joined forces; and quitting her pillar, Hazel dropped down by one of the great wicker chairs, and laying her head there burst into a passion of weeping that almost made Primrose wish for the hard-edged calm again.