‘Money.  For her wages.’

‘What nonsense!’ said Hazel, knitting her brows.  ’Why, I can pay that!  Tell her so, please, will you?  And tell her to send Truedchen down to Chickaree for Mrs. Bywank and me to cure her up.  She will never get well here.’

Rollo gave a swift bright look at his companion, and then made three leaps up the bank to the cottage door.  He came down again smiling, but there was a suspicious veiling of his sharp eyes.

‘She will cry no more to-day,’ he remarked to Wych Hazel.  ’And now you have done some work.’

’Have I?’—­with a half laugh.  ’But instead of wanting to rest, I feel like doing some more.  So you have made a mistake somewhere, Mr. Rollo.’

There came as she spoke, a buzz of other voices, issuing from another mill just before them; voices trained in the higher notes, and knowing little of the minor key.  And forth from the opening door came a gay knot of people,—­feathers and flowers and colours, with a black coat here and there; one of which made a short way to Miss Kennedy’s side.

‘Where have you been?’ said Captain Lancaster, after a courteous recognition of Mr. Rollo.  ’You have been driving us all to despair?’

‘People that are driven to despair never go,’ said Wych Hazel; ‘so you are all safe.’

’And you are all yourself.  That is plain.  Why were you not at Fox Hill?  But you are coming to Valley Garden to-morrow?’

‘I think not.  At least, I am sure not.’

‘Then to the ball at Crocus?’

‘No.’

‘My dear Hazel!’ and ‘My dear Miss Kennedy!’ now sounded from so many female voices in different keys of surprise and triumph, that for a minute or two the hum was indistinguishable.  Questions came on the heels of one another incongruously.  Then as the gentlemen fell together in a knot to discuss their horses, the tongues of the women had a little more liberty than was good for them.

‘You have been riding, Hazel; where are your horses?’

‘Where have you been?’

’O, you’ve been going over a mill!  A cotton mill?  Horrid!  What is the fun of a cotton mill? what did you go there for?’

‘What sort of a mill have you been over?’ said Hazel.

’O, the silk mill.  Such lovely colours, and cunning little silk-winders,—­it’s so funny!  But where have you been all this age, Hazel? you have been nowhere.’

‘I know what has happened,’ said Josephine Powder, looking half vexed and half curious,—­’you needn’t tell me anything.  When a lady sees almost nobody and goes riding with the rest, we know what that means.  It’s transparent.’

‘I wouldn’t conclude upon it, Hazel,’ said another lady.  ’A man that had got a habit of command by being one’s guardian, you know, wouldn’t leave it off easy.  Would he, Mrs. Powder?’

‘Are we to congratulate you, my dear?’ asked the ex-Governor’s lady, with a civil smile, and an eye to the answer.