a couple of hours later, when the bell rang, Miss Hazel
was not forthcoming. The guests gathered to the breakfast-
room. Mr. Falkirk remained in the empty hall, pacing up and
down from door to door, then went to see if Wych Hazel were by
chance in her room. Mrs. Saddler was in consternation, having
heard nothing of her. Mr. Falkirk returned to his walk in the
hall, chaffing a little now with something that was not
patience. Presently Rollo came down the stairs.

'Good morning.'

'Good morning.'

'Exercise before breakfast?--Or after?'

'Not after,' said Mr. Falkirk; 'but you are late as it is.'

'Better late, if you can't be early. You have a better chance.
I will wait with you, if you are waiting.'

'Don't wait for me,' said Mr. Falkirk, shortly. 'I have no
idea when I shall be ready.'

'I had no idea, a little while ago, when I should. By the way,
I hope Miss Kennedy is well, this morning?'

'I hope so.'

'She is not down yet?'

'She has been down, and I have not heard of her going up
again.'

'In the breakfast-room, perhaps,' said the young man. And
passing on, he made his way thither, while Mr. Falkirk stood
at the hall door. No, Miss Kennedy was not in the breakfast-
room; and instead of sitting down Mr. Rollo went out by
another way, picking up a roll from the table as he passed,
and wrapping it in a napkin. He took a straight course to the
woods, over the grass, where no uninstructed eye could see
that the dew had been brushed away by a lighter foot than his.
But if lighter, hardly so swift as the springy stride and leap
which carried him over yards of the rough way at a bound, and
cleared obstacles that would have hindered, at least slightly,
most other people. The mountain was quickly won in this style,
and Rollo gained a high ledge where the ground lay more level.
He went deliberately here, and used a pair of eyes as quick as
might match the feet, though not to notice how the dew
sparkled on the moss or how the colours changed in the valley.
He was far above the Mountain House, on the wild hillside. The
sun had scattered the fog from the lower country, which lay a
wide dreamland to tempt the eye, and nearer by the lesser
charms of rock and tree, moss and lichen, light and shadow,
played with each other in wildering combinations. But Rollo
did not look at valley of hill; his eyes were seeking a gleam
of colour which they had seen that morning once before; and
seeking it with the spy of an ea