'He will be a prisoner for some time, I am afraid.'

Hazel made no answer to that; thoughts were crowding in thick
and fast. What was she going to do, with Mr. Falkirk laid up?
Would she be a prisoner too? Was she to live here in this
great old house alone, by day as well as by night? They were
rather sober thoughts that came.

'That's very bad for Hazel,' said Primrose, coming near and
joining the group. Hazel held out her hand and got fast hold
of Prim's. She was ready for the sympathy this time.

'Does he suffer very much, Mr. Rollo?'

'I don't think he minds that part of it; no, I left him in
comparative comfort. I think his trouble is about you. And he
ought to have come here!--but people don't always know what
they ought to do. I am going down there again presently to
look after him and make sure that Gotham understands bandages.

'Gotham _thinks_ he understands everything.'

'I'll just make sure on that point. Have you any commands
before I go?'

'No, thank you,' she said, with just the lightest shade of
hesitation, 'I think not.'

'Reconsider that, and give me my orders.'

'No--truly!' Hazel answered, looking up at him. How busy the
thoughts were.

'I am going to Reo's first. Have you any commands there?' But
she shook her head.

'No, Mr. Rollo, not any.'

He went off; and there was an interval somewhat quiet and
untalkative between the two girls. Later, Rollo came back,
reported both patients doing well, and carried Prim home with
him.

'Did you think I was all ungrateful?' Hazel said, wrapping her
arms round Prim. 'Well, I was _not_.'

CHAPTER XX.

BOUQUETS.

Wych Hazel stood alone on her broad steps, watching the others
out of sight, and feeling alone, too. It must be nice to
belong to somebody,--to have brothers and friends! Just for the
moment, she forgot her now unwatched independence. But then
she came back to business, and flew off up stairs. The brown
dress could not stay on another minute,--was not the whole
morning tucked away in its folds? That was the first thing.
And the second thing was, that Miss Kennedy, in a cloud of
fresh muslin and laces, came out again upon the steps, and,
calling Dingee to follow her, began to speed away through the
old trees at a sort of flying pace. It was late afternoon now;
with lovely slant sunbeams and shadows falling across the
slope, and a tossing breeze, and the birds at their evening
concert. Fresh air, and action soon brought the