'You must not tell him!' she said; 'you must not even tell him that I have been here. You must not say one word. Promise me!' 'Till you tell him?' said Gyda placidly. 'Will you promise?' Hazel repeated. 'Things that cannot stand of themselves had better—fall.' 'What is it that cannot stand, dear?' 'I did not come here to talk about that,' said Hazel, laying her head back again. 'I came to talk about myself. Or to do something, besides think.' 'I'll hear,' said Gyda. 'Nothing's going to fall that ought to stand. Talk, my dear.' All the while she was standing just at Wych Hazel's shoulder, touching her head with a slight touch; in her face and voice the utmost soothing charm of tender tranquillity. She had been doubtless a Norwegian peasant woman, and had known little of what we call refining advantages in outward things; but love and peace and sympathy had made her wonderfully delicate and quick to divine the needs of those with whom she dealt. It was a hard little hand, but a very soft touch upon Wych Hazel's curls. Furthermore, it was evident, that beyond her sympathy with her visiter's present distress, Gyda was not disturbed about the matter in hand. 'The days have been so long, all these weeks,' said Hazel. 'And the nights were longer than the days.' 'Ah, yes. And you couldn't trust the Lord with your trouble?' 'I think—I did try, sometimes,' said the girl slowly, 'but I do not quite know. I was in such confusion, and other things came in, and I was afraid of doing it—only to please him, because——' 'Eh,' said Gyda. 'Yes, to please who, dear?' Hazel put up one little hand and laid it upon Gyda's, so giving her answer. 'Because,' she began again presently, 'I had thought—it had seemed as if—maybe—_that_ was the reason of it all. Do such things come upon people for doing wrong things, when they do not know they are wrong?' 'Mayhap,' said Gyda, who through the obscurities of this speech threaded her way to one thing only. 'It's only the straight way, dear, that has no crooks in it. But see—isn't my lad's lady in the straight way?' 'But I mean—I do not know how to tell you,' she said, covering her face with her hands. 'When he had grown so good—and I had not,—I thought, perhaps, that was the reason. I thought of it last winter, before this came; and I have never seen him since—but once. I might seem—different—to him, you know,' Hazel added, in her girlish way. Then she took her hands down and looked at Gyda, searching for her answer. But Gyda gently smiled. 'I think you'll soon know,' she said. 'Suppose you don't think any more about it, till he comes.'