"You mean that I may speak?" the young man asked, springing to his feet, an eager flush rising to his face. "She will never learn her own mind toward me if I do not speak—she will never think of me in that way. I should only return to find things as they are. You will let me speak?" The two regarded one another for some moments—the two beings who, of all the world, loved Hazel best. She, with that wonderful mother-love that denies self, that sacrifices all to the good and the happiness of the child, that asks no return; he, with the strong man’s heart-whole devotion, yearning, protecting, longing to have and to hold and to cherish, through all changes, but fiercely demanding love’s tribute of love. Helen sighed softly, and smiled. "Go, then," she said. "I expect you will find her in the wood. And, Paul, if she does not know herself—if she cannot answer you now as you would wish, do not despair. Be hopeful, and leave things to time to put right." In two strides the young man was beside her. Raising her hand to his lips, he reverently kissed the slender fingers, and without a word turned and left her. As he walked through the wood, Paul Charteris soon descried the girl’s form, flitting now here now there, now eluding his sight like some will-o’-the-wisp, strayed far from home during the night, and thus overtaken by day—a will-o’-the-wisp made visible to the eye now that its light was extinguished, or, rather, absorbed by the sunshine. Of a sudden he came upon her. She was standing in the middle of the clear space that commended itself to the purpose in hand: she was feeding her pets, dispensing crumbs of bread and cake around her. A ringdove cooed upon her shoulder, whilst a pair of squirrels frisked about her feet. "What a little witch she is!" Paul mused as he watched, himself unseen. He tried to call "Hazel," but throat and tongue refused their office. Instead, he advanced and discovered himself. Hazel nodded to him brightly. "Did you come to see them fed?" she asked. "Are they not fascinating?" "I came to see you," he made answer. "Hazel, I have something very special to say. Will you listen?" Hazel looked about her, the brightness dying from her face. There was no escaping him now. The most direct path to the house he himself blocked. If she turned down a by-way he would but follow. "Will you listen, Hazel?" he repeated. "Yes," she said, reluctant, half defiant. "Tell me now, whilst I feed the birds," she added imperiously. "No," Paul rejoined stoutly, "it is much too important and—and serious. I will wait till you have finished."