‘No,’ said Rollo laughing, ‘nothing else. The question is, how came a little water on your hair?’ ‘What a question! It was put there. And if you want to know why, I will tell you. On purpose.’ ‘Who did it?’ But that answer was slow to come. ‘Gyda,’ she said at last. 'Gyda!' echoed Rollo, starting up a little, and removing Wych Hazel to a little distance from him, that he might look in her face better. 'For what purpose has Gyda been putting cold water on your hair?' 'O—! I was tired when I got here,' Hazel said, trying to look up and laugh, and somehow failing. 'And—and—And it does not signify the least in the world now.' Rollo looked at her a minute silently, and then demanded imperiously to know '_what_ didn't signify?' 'Being faint is nothing,' she said. 'At least, after you have got over it.' 'What made you faint?' in the same tone. Now Hazel had no mind to go into that; partly for the intrinsic merits of the case, but also with a growing consciousness that with those waves of trouble which had ebbed away so fast her strength was going too. That false strength of tension and self-control, by means of which she had lived and held her head up, through all these last weeks. Even excitement was giving way to reaction; and Hazel dreaded lest, before she knew it, she should break down; lest, before she could hinder it, that wilful fountain of unshed tears might insist on having its way. She knew from old experience what _that_ meant; but (except for the slight specimen before Prim's eyes) nobody had ever seen her in one of her tear-storms, and she did not mean that any one should. And at the same time, belonging to somebody puts hindrances in the way of unseen escape; and the next thing would be, that some tender word or touch would find its way to the very depths which had been so lonely and sweep away all her defences. Then there was the walk! She answered, studying her case,— 'I think, two or three things. But let me go now, please, Mr. Rollo. I must go home,—it is late.' 'Let you go?' said he, in a curious, considerative way, as if studying several things. 'Yes,' she said, trying to get ready to get up from her chair. He sat looking at her, then touched again the wet hair. What was he thinking about? 'It seems to me,' he said slowly, 'you must have some of Gyda's porridge before you go.' 'Oh, no!' she said with some eagerness. 'I could not! Just let me go—' and she rose up, steadying herself with one hand upon the chair-back. Rollo rose too, but it was to take her in his arms. 'The carriage is not here,' he said, looking at her and noting how well she needed the support he gave. 'Not just here—Reo is waiting,' Hazel answered, flushing and drooping her head, and feeling as if every minute took her more and more out of her own reach. 'Where is he waiting?' 'Never mind—Where I left him. O Mr. Rollo! let me go!—' 'But you see I must know, if I am to fetch him. Where is he, Wych?'