‘Do you know what o’clock it is now?’ said Rollo, drawing out his watch.

‘I hoped—­a while ago—­it was near morning.’

He did not say what time it was.  He put the little hand on his arm, guided Hazel into the road, and began his walk homeward, but with a measured quiet pace, not ‘very fast.’

‘Why did you wish it was morning?’ he asked in the same way in which he had spoken before.  No haste in it; calm business and self-possession; along with the other indications above mentioned.  It was cool, but it was the coolness of a man intensely alive to the work in hand; the intonation towards Wych Hazel very gentle.

‘I thought I had to walk home alone,’ she said simply.  ’And I wanted the time to come.’

’Please tell me the meaning of all this.  You went to Merricksdale this evening—­last evening?’

‘Yes.’  Words did not come readily.

Rollo added no more questions then.  He went steadily on, keeping a gentle pace that Wych Hazel could easily bear, until they came to the long grey stone house where she had once run in from the storm.  At the gate Rollo paused and opened it, leading his companion up to the door.

‘I am going to take you in here for a little while,’ he said.  ‘We will disturb nobody—­don’t fear; I have a key.’

‘In here?’ she said, rousing up then.  ’O no!—­I must go home, Mr. Rollo.  Did you bring me this way—­I did not notice.’

‘You shall go home just as soon as possible,’ he said; ’but come in here and I will tell you my reasons for stopping.’

The door opened noiselessly.  The moonlight showed the way, shining in through the fanlights, and Rollo pushed open the door of the library and brought his charge in there.  The next thing was to strike a match and light two candles.  The room looked very peaceful, just as it had been deserted by the family a few hours before; Rosy’s work basket with the work overflowing it, the books and papers on the table where the gentleman had been sitting; the chairs standing where they had been last used.  Past the chairs Rollo brought Wych Hazel to the chintz sofa and seated her there with a cushion at her back; drew up a foot cushion, and unfastened her opera cloak.  All this was done with quiet movements and in silence.  He left her then for a few minutes.  Coming back, presented her on a little tray a glass of milk and a plate of rusks.

‘I could get nothing else,’ said he, ’without rousing the people up to give me keys.  But I know the way to Prim’s dairy—­ and I know which are the right pans to go to.  Miss Prudentia always objected to that in me.’

’But I cannot see anybody—­nor speak to anybody—­nor do anything—­till I have seen Mr. Falkirk,’ said Hazel, looking up at him with her tired eyes.  ‘Indeed I am not hungry.’

He stood before her and bade her ’drink a little milk—­it was good.’

Her brows drew together slightly, but—­if that was the quickest way she would take that—­and so half emptied the tumbler and set it down again.