Hazel could not tell how she had borne herself, through all that trying evening. But when the evening was over, then she felt as if she could not have held out one minute more: with the wheels of Dr. Arthur's buggy rolled away the last mite of her self-control. One half minute longer of such tension, and she should have broken down, and called back her promise, and done everything else to be sorry for next day. It even seemed to her as she stood there, with all the repressed excitement in "a light low," as if she could not bear the room itself; and (almost) the people who had been in it. As if she was wild and frantic and beside herself generally. She flew off upstairs—not now to solitary musings and lonely questionings, but straight to the housekeeper's room,—and was down on her knees with her face hid in Mrs. Bywank's lap, before anybody, herself included, had chance to breathe. For there are times, when in all the world there is nothing like a woman, after all. And in all the world, this was the one woman to whom she could come. But she would not speak nor look up nor at first answer questions; only hid her face closer than ever. Now Mrs. Bywank had seen enough of her young lady, to know that every real heart sorrow Wych Hazel took to her own room alone. Also that any emergency of accident or fear, would be acted upon first, before getting the upper hand. Moreover the one look she caught as Miss Wych came in, told her much: the sweet flushed face, the shy eyes that avoided everything; the stirred, moved, frightened set of the mouth,—Mrs Bywank was old, and drew her conclusions. Not for many contingencies would Miss Wych have a fit of the nerves like this. 'So?' she said soothingly, laying her hand on the restless curls. 'Is that it! I thought there wouldn't be much waiting now!'—Which brought such a sudden start and twist, that Mrs. Bywank smiled to herself and knew she was right. 'And when is it to be, Miss Wych?' 'When I have breathed twice and turned round three times.'— 'My dear!' remonstrated Mrs. Bywank. 'I am sure'— 'You are sure of nothing!' said the girl quickly. 'And I am not. Not sure of myself. Not sure of anybody or anything.' 'Except Mr. Rollo,' said the old housekeeper quietly; smiling softly then at the success of her spell, for Hazel was silent. 'But that is the great point. And as I was saying, Miss Wych, I am sure I am glad; for I have been worried to death about you.' 'You ought to be worried to death about me now,' said Wych Hazel. 'I am worried to death about myself.' 'Yes?' said the old housekeeper fondly, curling the dark hair round her fingers. 'Are you my dear? What about, Miss Wych?' 'How can it go right, or be right, when it is all disagreeable?' said the girl. 'It ought to be pleasant—and it all isn't!' 'It's all new, just now, my dear.' 'Never to be free again!' said Hazel. 'Never to have my own way or do as I please!'—