'_That?_ No. I think not. Why should I, if you please?' 'You are head, just because I am head. More than ever; because you have my strength to back your decisions. Now let us go, wherever you want opt take me.' Wych Hazel's lips curled in a pretty laugh. 'There are two ways of 'backing' a decision,' she said. But then she moved off, and led the way through all the long-unused part of the great house. An old office room, with leather-covered chairs, and empty inkstands, and dry pens, and forgotten day-books of forgotten days! Suites of guest chambers, reception rooms, and music room, and rooms of every sort. Broad bits of hall led to them, and narrow entries, and unexpected stairways: the old bolts turned slowly; the door knobs were dim with the mists of long ago. Old portraits looked down on them suddenly, here and there; the two bright young figures sprang out anew from mirrors that for years had seen nothing but darkness. Wherever they went they opened a window, throwing back blind and shutter; and the spring sunshine streamed in, fresh and gladsome, making the dust of years look even solemn in its still quiet. It was a labyrinth of a house!—and Hazel tripped along, in and out, as if she knew it all by heart; with only words of explanation, until suddenly she opened the door into a round apartment at the foot of the flagstaff and the top of the house. The room was nearly all windows , and the waving shadow of the blue banner curled and played in the sunlight upon the floor. Nearly all: only four broad pannels broke the lookout, one on either side. Hazel laid her hand upon Rollo's shoulder, and softly led him round. The first pannel held two full-length portraits; a stately pair of olden time, in old-time dress; the founders of the house. The ruffles and lappets and powder and hoop told of long ago. Of later date, yet still far past, were the next two; short waist and slim skirt and long silk stockings and small clothes; and curious look of Wych Hazel herself in the lady's face. Hazel's own father and mother came next; and then she passed round to the fourth pannel, which was but half filled. A full length of herself had apparently held first place there; certain marks on the wall told of removal to the second place, where it was now. Hazel paused before the empty side of the pannel. 'You see your duty,' she said with a laugh. 'It is a rule of the house. Now come and look at the view.' 'I think we'll break the rule, Hazel. Why was I never here before?' 'This was one of my particular haunts,—so I kept the key. Look,— there is Morton Hollow, off that way, where the smoke floats up. And Crocus and the church spires shew from here. And _there_ comes in the road by which you drove me home that very first day. I have lived a great many hours up in this place, with the old portraits.'