CHAPTER XL.

SOMETHING NEW.

So Jeannie Deans went back into the stable, and carried her light burden no more for some time.  But Hazel did not go to Beacon Hill, in any fashion nor on any day; and it is to be hoped Jeannie Deans was less restless than she.

‘Miss Wych—­my dear!’ said Mrs. Bywank in remonstrance; ’if you cannot sit still, why don’t you go out?  You are just wearing yourself pale in the house; and why, I do not see.’

‘Nobody sees—­’ said the girl with a long breath.  ’My wings are clipped, Byo,—­that is all.’

‘My dear!’ Mrs. Bywank said again.  ’I think you shouldn’t talk so, Miss Wych.’

‘Very likely not,’ said Hazel.  But if ever I am a real runaway, Byo, it will be for the sake of choosing my own ruler.  So you can remember.’

‘Miss Wych—­’ Mrs. Bywank began, gravely.  Hazel came and flung herself down on the floor, and laid her head on the old housekeeper’s lap.

‘O, I know!’ she said.  ’Why did they ever call me so, Byo?  I think it hangs over me like a fate.  Could they find no other name for their little brown baby but that?  I can no more help being a witch, than I can help breathing.’

The old housekeeper stroked the young head tenderly, softly parting and smoothing down the hair.

‘They liked the name, my dear,’ she said.  ’And so would you, if you could remember the tone in which Mrs. Kennedy used to say:  “My Wych!”—­“My little Wych!”—­’

Hazel sprang away as if the words had been a flight of arrows.

And so the fall went on; and since Miss Kennedy would stay at home, perforce the world must come to see her there; and the old house at least sounded gay enough.  And then society began slowly to steal away to winter quarters.  The two young officers went back to their posts, without even a hope (it was said) that might make them ever return again to the neighbourhood of Chickaree.  And Mr. May sailed for Europe, having a gentle dismissal from the little hands for which he cared so much; and the Powders departed to ex-official duties; and Mme. Lasalle to town.  The leaves fell, having done their sweet summer duty far better than these rational creatures; and then Wych Hazel took to long early and late walks by herself, threading the leafless woods, and keeping out of roads and choosing by-paths; wandering and thinking—­both—­more than was good for her; and enjoying just one thing, the being alone.

Rollo all this while had kept the promise he made when he told her that he would see her and meant she should see him.  He came very frequently; he rode with her if she would ride, and talked with her when she would talk; or he talked to Mr. Falkirk in her hearing.  He sometimes gave her riding lessons.  Whatever her mood, he was just himself; free, pleasant and watchful of her; sometimes a little Spanish in his treatment of her.  Her clouds did not seem