fforded. The scene
was extremely picturesque; sunshine and shadow mingling on the
sides of the dell and on the roofs and gables of the buildings
in the bottom. These were both large and small; it was quite a
settlement; cottages, small and mean and dingy, standing all
along on the higher banks, as well as lower down near the
stream. Gradually the dell spread into a smooth, narrow
valley.

'The mills, I suppose? I have not been this way before. It
makes me half wild to get out again! So if I do any wild
things----How lovely the dell is!'

'This is Morton Hollow,' said Rollo, looking at her. 'Can I
help you do any wild things?'

'The houses are like him,' said Hazel, turning away, and her
colour deepening under the look. 'Such a place!'

She might say 'such a place.' As they went on the character of
it became visible more and more. There were dark, high, close
factories, whence the hum of machinery issued; poor, mean
dwellings, small and large, clustered here and there in the
intermediate spaces, from which if any sounds came, they were
less pleasant than the buzz of machines. Scarce any humanity
was abroad; what there was deepened the impression of the
dreariness of the place.

'Mr. Rollo,' said Hazel, at last. 'I hope your friend does not
live down here?'

'I don't think I have any friend here,' he answered, rather
thoughtfully. He had been riding slowly for the last few
minutes, looking intently at what he was passing. Now, at a
sudden turn of the road, where the valley made a sharp angle,
they came upon an open carriage standing still. Two ladies
were in it. Rollo lifted his hat, but the lady nearest them
leaned out and cried 'Stop, stop!'

A gentleman must obey such a behest. Rollo wheeled and stood
still.

'Where are you going?' said the lady. Probably Rollo did not
hear, for he looked at her calmly without answering.

'Is that the little lady?' said the speaker, stretching her
head out a little further to catch better sight of Wych Hazel.
'Aren't you going to introduce me, Dane? I must know her, you
know.'

It is quite impossible to describe on paper the flourish with
which Rollo's horse responded. Like a voluntary before the
piece begins, like the elegant and marvellous sweep of lines
with which a scribe surrounds his signature, the bay curvetted
and wheeled and danced before the proposed introduction. Very
elegant in its way, and to any one not in the secret
impossible to divine whether it was