If anything could have broken down the fierce self-control in which Hazel had been entrenched for the last ten days, it was perhaps the repetition of those words. But tears were biding their time; none had come, none could come yet. Only her lips trembled. 'Please, please!' she said, raising her hand in mute pleading. Then adding, in a tone that went to Gyda's heart, 'He has doubted my word. There is nothing to be done.' 'My lad? Olaf?' 'Yes.' 'It seems ye've doubted him. Is that it?' 'His truth? Never.' 'Nein, not his truth. But you have doubted him, yet. What cause had he to doubt your word?' 'Appearances. They were all against me. But there is no use in trusting, unless you trust.' 'Has Olaf done you wrong, you think, and no cause?' 'I did not come to complain of him,' said the girl quickly. 'But—I had nobody to speak to—and I was—dying by inches.' 'Suppose you complain, dear,' said the old woman, with a smile which was anything but unsympathetic. 'Complain, and make the worst of it; then we will know how to begin. Say all he has done, as bad as it is, and we will see what it means, maybe.' The wistful eyes looked up at her, then down again. She answered softly: 'He thought, he had reason to think, that I had broken my promise. And he did not wait, nor try, for an explanation. That is one thing.' 'How could he have reason to think that, my lady?' 'Because of something I could not help,' said Hazel. 'You know that can be,' she added with an appealing look, as if to see whether Gyda doubted her too. 'Did you speak to him?' 'He gave me no chance. I have not seen him since—since—he looked at me so,' said Hazel. 'Maybe he had his own part to bear,' said the old woman. 'But Olaf will be back again in a few days.' 'Yes,'—said the girl slowly,—'that makes no difference. He has given me up.' 'Love doesn't give up,' said Gyda. 'He asked me, a few days ago, to pray for him, that he might be strong to do right. I wot, it'll be an easier part then he thought of!' But the words touched a sore spot. 'No,' the girl thought to herself. 'Love does not give up!' She sat very white and still. Then, after a while, looked up at Gyda—one of her fair looks. 'You did not know,' she said gently, 'that he was asking you to pray against me.' Gyda met her eyes, first without replying; her hand left Wych Hazel's shoulder and came upon her hair, touching it softly. That old, brown, wrinkled face was so sweet and quiet that it seemed a very stronghold of comfort and counsel and help. Counsel and comfort came in a very simple form this time. 'Dear,' she said, in her slow utterance,—'he loves you.' But Hazel was not inclined to debate that question with anybody but herself. She leaned her head back and shut her eyes, finding curious soothing in the touch of Gyda's hand. Nobody ever touched her so in these days, and she had been very, very lonely. Then suddenly she started up, sitting forward and speaking eagerly.