If anything could be called clear in Hazel’s mind, at that minute of supreme and universal confusion, it was, that belonging to somebody was getting to be much more than an idea. And that Mr. Rollo should merely pay her the compliment of requesting to have the fact put in words, might be highly characteristic on his part, but was not exactly composing on hers. How could she think, or speak, without even one hand free? And droop her head as she might, what could the soft falling hair do, but touch up the beautiful flushes which Hazel felt, if she did not see? Her words, when they came, went to a very self-evident point. ‘But—if you wanted it—why did you give it up?’ ‘Give up—what?’ came with undoubted astonishment from Rollo’s lips. ‘You stayed away—‘ said the girl, under her breath. ‘I have come back. And I want my sentence.’ In a sort of desperation, Hazel gathered up her courage, as if realizing that she was face to face with the one question of her life, where she must risk anything but mistakes. ‘But,’ she said,—‘but, Mr. Rollo,—you did not mean to want it. When you stayed away.’ He laughed. ‘Look here!’ said he, ‘I want it now, Hazel. I’ll stand all your questions, after you have answered mine.’ ‘I think mine come first,’ she said softly,—and something of the sorrow which had hung about the questions crept into her voice. ‘Because, there might be—at least, there might have been—things which I could not explain. And then—as you could doubt me once, you would again. And I could not bear that twice!’ said Hazel, with a sudden quickness which told more than it meant. Nerve herself as she would, her hands were trembling now. Rollo was not a man of more than average patience, sometimes. Nevertheless, though sorely tempted, he controlled the desire to give her kisses instead of rebukes, and answered quietly and gravely: ‘I took your own word once against yourself. I will never do it again, Hazel! So take care what you say to me. Have you nothing to say to me now?’ If she had, it was not forthcoming. ‘About the guardianship, Hazel?’ She hesitated a little—not much; thinking of the face she dared not look at, and which she had scarcely seen for a year; answering then with a grave quietness which again was very like herself, where deep feeling was at work; the girlish voice falling and trembling just a little: ‘If you want it—you can have it, Mr. Rollo.’ He took her in his arms then, very tenderly and gravely, kissing her on lips and cheeks with kisses which seemed to tell of a wish to indemnify himself—and her too,—for the last three weeks; but then, having got what he wanted, for several minutes thereafter spoke not; partly for his own sake perhaps, partly for hers. A stillness more mighty than words, and quite beyond their sphere. When he did speak again, it was in a different key. ‘How comes your hair to be wet?’ ‘Mine? O—!’ said Hazel, starting,—‘It is nothing but a little water.’