"For the love of Christ constraineth us; because we thus judge, that if one died for all, then were all dead: and that he died for all, that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him which died for them, and rose again."—2 Cor. 5. 14, 15. Hazel laid her face down upon the open page, and said from her heart, "I will." CHAPTER XVIII. SETTLEMENTS. To go back a little. When Mr. Falkirk came to dinner that first day, he was very taciturn and grumpy indeed until soup and fish and third course were disposed of. Then when he got a chance with Dingee out of the room, Mr. Falkirk opened his mouth for the discussion of somewhat besides grapes and peaches. 'So I understand, Miss Hazel, you have arranged with your other guardian to dispense with my services.' Wych Hazel was not in a mood even for blushing, that day. Thoughts were too deeply and abstractedly busy, and spirits were under too great a weight, for the usual quick play of lights and colours to which Mr. Falkirk was accustomed. A faint little extra tinge was all that came with the grave answer, 'May I ask who has been talking about me, sir?' 'Your future guardian, Miss Hazel; no less. Stopped at my door last night, on horseback, to say in three minutes what would have been more fittingly talked of in three hours.' Slowly at first, then quick and vivid, the roses stirred and flamed up in the thoughtful face, but she said nothing. Only pushed away her plate, as if peaches and _that_ could not go on together. 'I would like to know from you whether it is a thing fixed and settled and unalterable; absolutely done? I suppose it is, or he would not have said it.' She darted a look at him. 'Do you found suppositions upon such slight circumstantial evidence, Mr. Falkirk?' 'Sometimes, Miss Hazel, when the thing happens to be particularly difficult of belief.' 'Unalterable?' Hazel repeated, half to herself,—'few things are that. Suppose your supposition were a mistake, Mr. Falkirk,—what then?' 'Can you tell me that it is?' he said, looking across the table to her with a gaze that would find the truth. 'Would you be glad?' she answered. 'And will you tell me why?' Then Dingee came in with coffee, and a bouquet; and Hazel sat playing idly with the flowers while Dingee set out the cups, the scent of heliotrope and geranium filling the room. While Dingee was near, Mr. Falkirk was silent; but eyeing the girl however, the flowers, her action, with a glance that took it all in and lost no item; not a graceful movement nor a tint of the picture. 'Yes,' he said firmly when the boy was gone, 'I should be glad. You are just fit for the play you are playing now; it is not played out, and should not be, for some time to come. You are young, and ought to be free; and you are rich, Miss Hazel, and ought not to marry somebody who will ruin you.'