edy then. It was that. He
did not present old Gyda to _her_. And then Wych Hazel was
established in the best chair, and could look at her leisure,
for at first she was not the one attended to.

She saw a little person, with a brown face, much shrivelled;
which yet possessed two sparkling keen black eyes. There was
not a pretty feature in the old woman's face, for the eyes
were not beautiful now, in any sensuous meaning of beauty. And
yet, as Wych Hazel looked, presently the word 'lovely' was the
word that came up to her. That was of course due only to the
pervading expression; which was pure, loving and refined far
beyond what the young lady had often seen. She was dressed in
a short jacket of dark cloth, braided with bright braid, and
fastened at the throat with a large silver brooch. Her
petticoat was of the same cloth, drawn up plain over the bosom
in an ungraceful manner; her head was covered with a coloured
handkerchief, tied so that the ends hung down the back.

After seeing Wych Hazel seated, she for the moment paid her no
further attention. Rollo had sat down too; and the old woman
came close in front of him and stood looking silently, her
head reaching then only a little above his shoulders. She was
old, undeniably; however, it was an entirely vigorous and
hearty age. Her hand presently came to Rollo's face, pushing
back the thick and somewhat curly locks from his temples, and
then taking his head in both hands she kissed first one cheek
and then the other.

'Don't be partial, Gyda!' said he, smiling at her. And if
there was beauty of only one kind in the little black eyes
that looked at him, there was much of both kinds in the young
man's face. Gyda left him and went over to her other visitor.

And as far as minuteness of examination went, certainly she
was not 'partial.' It would have been a bit trying from
anybody else--the still, intent, searching look of the old
woman upon the young face. But the look was one of such utter
sweetness, so thoroughly loving and simple and kind, if it was
also keen, that there was after all in it more to soothe
nerves than to excite them. Her hand presently came to Wych
Hazel's face too, drawing down over the soft cheek and
handling the wavy ringlets, and tracing the delicate chin's
outline. Slowly and considerately.

'Is she good?' was the first word that Gyda spoke in this
connection, as naively as possible. It was rather directed to
Rollo. The girl's colour had st