hand; stammering a little over the unaccustomed syllables, but
rather because they were prescribed than because they were
difficult. Certainly if there was a spell in the air that
night Wych Hazel thought it had got hold of her.

'That's proper,' said Rollo, 'and now we'll go. It ought to
have been said when we rose from table; but better late than
never. That's your first lesson in Norse.'

Rollo had been in a sort of quiet, gay mood all the afternoon.
Out of the house and in the saddle this mood seemed to be
exchanged for a different one. He was silent, attending to his
business with only a word here and there, alert and grave. The
words to the ear, however, were free and pleasant as ever. At
the bottom of the hill, in the meadow, he came close to Wych
Hazel's side.

'Don't canter here,' said he. 'Trot. Not very fast, for the
people are out from their work now, many of them. But we'll go
as fast as we can.'

'Fast as you like,' she answered. 'I will follow your pace.'

'No,' said he, smiling; 'we might run over somebody.'

The people were out from their work, and many of them stood in
groups and parties along the sides of the street. It was an
irregular roadway, with here a mill and there a mill, on one
side and on the other, and cottages scattered all along
between and behind. It had been an empty way when they came;
it was populous now. Men and women were there, sometimes in
separate groups; and a fringe of children, boys and girls, on
both sides of the road. The general mill population seemed to
be abroad. They appeared to be doing nothing, all standing
gazing at the riders. The light was fading now, and the
wretchedness of their looks was not so plainly to be seen in
detail; and yet, somehow, the aggregate effect was quite in
keeping with that of Truedchen's appearance alone at the house
above.

Through this scattering of humanity the riders went at a
gentle, even trot; the horses pacing almost in step, the
stirrups as near together as they could be. As they came to
the thickest of this crowd of spectators, Rollo courteously
raised his hat to them. There was at first no answer, then a
murmur, then two or three old hats were waved in the air.
Again Rollo saluted them, and in two minutes more the mills
were passed. The road lay empty and quiet between the high
banks, on which the soft twilight was beginning to settle
down.

'I like that,' said Wych Hazel, impulsively, forgetting her
shyness--she, to