Empty dwellings. One was a little frame house; the other was quite a pretty, low, gray stone cottage. Neatly finished, provided with snug little kitchens and small sheds adjoining for wood; the paling fence, unpainted yet, enclosing a bare space that might one day be a garden. 'Here will be work for you, Hazel, you see. All these garden plots must have something in them; and as soon as may be I want to see roses and vines creeping over these walls. But we must go slowly. You and I cannot do it. The only way for permanent results, is to rouse the desire, excite the ambition, and then supply the means. Outside the gardens I mean to plant trees, of hardy shade kinds; but I have not got so far as that yet.' 'I think you have done a great deal,' said Hazel. 'No wonder you were too busy—How do you expect to rouse the desire, Mr. Rollo? By a specimen cottage?—or by tea-drinkings at Chickaree?' He smiled and said 'they were far from that yet.' 'But desires grow,' he added, 'and one thing leads to another. Now come away.' CHAPTER X. ROLLO'S COMPANY. Gyda was expecting them, and certainly looked glad enough in her quiet way. She took Wych Hazel off into an inner room, a little bit of a clean, coarse furnished place, to remove her hat and refresh herself. When she came out, Rollo was busy making one of the great settle chairs into a resting place for her, with cushions and shawl as once before. He put her in it and sat down beside her. 'You have helped me to-day, Hazel. True help. But you know what was said of some of the early Christians—"they first gave their own selves to the Lord"—so I want you to do. You will not be the less, but the more, mine.' She did not answer a word, only by the drooping head and the curious pale alternations of colour—sure tokens with her of excited feeling. That thought had so run through the morning!— had so half spoiled it for her at times. 'Not a word?' said he softly. 'If one word would do it—But it would take many.' 'Many words? to do what?' he asked in the soft musical tone that in itself was a caress. 'To tell why I cannot answer,—why I cannot promise—to be all you wish.' 'Lay your head down and rest,' said he; 'and don't promise, but _do_ it. Are you tired?' He left her and went to help Gyda in serving her luncheon. This was rather a more enjoyable meal than the last one, when nobody could eat. There was happiness in every line of Gyda's shoulders, and in every movement she made between the fire and the table; and Dane was at home and at play. He was changed since a year before. The always bright, gay, masterful face was full now of a deeper purpose and a more centred energy; but the eye was as quick and as flashing as ever. And Wych Hazel, not as mistress in her own house but as guest in another's, was waited upon—how shall I say?—as such men can do it. And that is rather a rare kind of petting.