She touched the spring and laid the open locket in his hand. It was an exquisite miniature of herself as a child; the Wych Hazel of six years old, in a white frock. A few hurried words finished the sentence.—'Might like to see what they gave you, so long ago.' In all true manliness there is a large element of tenderness; and something stirred the tenderness in this man more than he cared to shew. Wych Hazel's mood needed no exciting. He was very still for a few minutes, looking at the locket, with eyelids dropped too low for her to see his eyes; then he turned to kiss her. 'I do not take this from your hand, Hazel, but from your mother's. You cannot give me anything to-day but the original. I hope she will know how I hold both.' It was time to rejoin the people in the drawing-room, but it suited Hazel to let Dane go in by himself and to follow afterwards alone. She did not so escape Mrs. Coles. 'I thought,' remarked that lady with a significant smile, 'that your housekeeper was too skilled in her business to need consultation with anybody.' 'Prudentia,' said Dane, 'you are not looking well.' 'That is very impolite—from a gentleman to a lady.' 'Not from a brother to a sister, though.' A flush rose into Mrs. Coles' cheeks, which were pale enough, and a strange confusion of expressions for a moment reigned there. She was plainly surprised, evidently gratified, as evidently very much puzzled. Withal, so much moved, from whatever cause, that her features were not quite under command and her answer was scarce intelligible. 'She's been a little weakish, or so,' said her father, 'She don't complain much.' 'What's good for you?' said Dane. 'It is good for her to be out,' said Prim. 'But you know we can't much in this weather. Arthur drives her out sometimes; but Prue don't like his driving so fast. Do all doctors drive fast? Why can't they go like other people?' 'Policy. If we drove slowly, people would say we had small practice.' Dr. Arthur found it unusually hard to get his hands warm to-night, and still stood up by the fire taking notice. Among other things— there was not a flower in all the rooms. Nor a wreath, nor anything that even looked like decoration. The doctor's quick eyes went from the unadorned rooms to Wych Hazel's dress, and her face, and Dane's face. After which, Dr. Arthur professed himself comfortable, and sat down. But a little silence had fallen upon the people; and the wind moaned in the chimney again. 'It is a sweet time, this Christian time,' said Primrose. 'I always enjoy it. It _feels_ like Christmas, somehow, here to-night. Listen to that wind. I dare say it is going to snow again. But it sounds like Christmas.' 'Why?' said Dane. 'I can't tell the why of things,' said Primrose. 'I suppose I have been thinking of your doings in the Hollow, Duke. Wasn't it good?'