guardianship, and Dane was to
be the ward of my father; and so it was, you know. But when he
arrived at the age of twenty-five, upon making certain
declarations formally, before the proper persons, Dane, the
will appointed, should be joint guardian with Mr. Falkirk, and
look after you himself.'

Mrs. Coles paused and surveyed her auditor; indeed she had
been doing that all along. And perhaps people of her sort are
moved from first to last by a feeling akin to that which
possessed the old Roman world, when men were put to painful
deaths at public and private shows to gratify a critical
curiosity which observed how they conquered pain or succumbed
under it. Mrs. Coles paused.

'But I haven't told you,' she went on with a look as sharp as
a needle, 'I haven't told you yet the substance of the
declaration Dane was to make, to enable him to take his
position. He was to declare, that it was his wish and purpose
to make you his wife. Upon that understanding, with the
approbation of Mr. Falkirk and my father, the thing was all to
be fixed, as I told you. Then you would be between two
guardians. And if you, up to the age of twenty-five, married
any one else, against their joint consent, your lands and
properties were to pass away from you to him, except a certain
provision settled upon you for life. And,' said Mrs. Coles,
with another chuckle, 'I wanted to know how it feels.'

Had an arrow or a bullet gone through her? or was it only the
hot iron burning in those words? Hazel did not know. The one
coherent thought in the girl's mind, was that a dying
standard-bearer will sometimes bring away his colours. She
brought off hers.

'I see but two mistakes,' she said, forcing herself to speak
slowly, clearly. 'But I daresay either Mr. Rollo or Mr.
Falkirk can point them out, any time. I must go. Good
afternoon.'

She was gone--Mrs. Coles hardly knew by which way. The next
minute Dr. Maryland's study door that looked on the garden
swung back, and Wych Hazel stood by his side. Outside were
Lewis and Jeannie Deans. Her eyes were in a glitter,--the
Doctor could see nothing else.

'Sir,' she said, laying her hand on his book in her
eagerness,--'excuse me,--Is this story that Mrs. Coles tells,
true?'

In utter astonishment, gentle, wondering, benignant, the
Doctor looked up at her.

'Hazel? What is the matter? Sit down, my dear, if you want to
speak to me.'

She moved a few steps off, as if afraid of being held. 'Is
this