Wych Hazel leaned her head down in her hands again. How easily he talked of it!—this matter that her whole mind hardly found room for. Yet she knew, better than he did,—better than she liked to tell him,—that it was not the thing for her to live there alone. Even discretion could not hinder what Mrs. Bywank called "a raid," at home; nor keep her from being met and followed and waited on whenever she ventured out. But she could not live at Dr. Maryland's. To the tips of her fingers, Hazel knew that she should fly at the end of a week there—up the chimney, if no other way appeared. Prim's calm advice, and Mrs. Coles' sharp watch; even the good doctor's easy discussion of her and her affairs; could not be borne. She tried to smother the sigh that came up from the depths of her heart, but enough escaped to betray the trouble and perplexity. 'Shall I leave it?' said Dane very gently, though he on his part was swallowing deep mortification, not hindered by the fact that he did understand and feel for Wych Hazel's distress, in some measure. 'Shall I leave it? and you will write to me?' 'What about?' said the girl quickly. 'As you put it, I have no choice. Because I will not go to Dr. Maryland's. Neither now—nor ever— for safe keeping.' 'I do not want you to marry me just for safe keeping,' Dane said with a half smile. 'How would _you_ put it, Hazel? Would you like to take time to think about it?' 'But there is no time to take!—And thinking for ever will not make two alternatives out of one.'—So thought Hazel to herself, but the words did not come out. She sat resting her cheek on her hand, studying this last hopeless fact; then by way of facing all her difficulties at once, looked up at her companion. Not meeting his eyes exactly,—a wistful, examining gaze; trying to strengthen her courage with the sight of what—after all—she loved best in all the world. For a second. Then hastily, as if still doubting her own resolution, she put out her hand and laid it timidly on his. Dane did not shew her the leap his heart made; and she could not see the flush that mounted to his brow. He made no demonstrations whatever, except to the hand which had come to him appealing in its surrender, and those were outwardly very quiet. And then, clasping the hand, he sat quite still; waiting to let Wych Hazel grow calm, if that could be, and ready for further talk.