ir seemed to be voted a success.

Success fell so largely to Miss Hazel's share, that she by
times was a little weary of it, or of its consequences; and
this day finding herself in a most inevitable crowd, do what
she could, she fairly ran away for a breath of air with no
musk in it. Making one or two the honoured confidants of her
intention, that she might secure their staying where they were
and keeping others, and promising to return soon, she slipped
away down the stairs by the Fall. All the party had been there
that morning, as in duty bound, and had gone where it was the
rule to go. Now Wych Hazel sprang along by herself, to take
the wildness and the beauty in silence and at her own
pleasure. At the upper basin of the Fall she turned off, and
coasted the narrow path under the rock, around the basin. At
the other side, where the company had been contented to turn
about, Wych Hazel passed on; till she found herself a seat on
a projecting rock, from which a wild, wooded ravine of the
hills stretched out before her eyes. The sides were so bold,
the sweep of them so extended, the woods so luxuriantly rich,
the scene so desolate in its loneliness and wildness, that she
sat down to dream in a trance of enjoyment. Not a sound now
but the plash of the water, the scream of a wild bird, and the
rustle of leaves. Not a human creature in sight, or the trace
of one. Wych might imagine the times when red Indians roved
among those hillsides--the place looked like them; but rare
were the white hunters that broke their solitudes. It was
delicious. The very air that fanned her face had come straight
from a wilderness, a wilderness where it blew only over sweet
things. It refreshed her, after those people up on the
balcony. She had promised to be back soon: but now a rosy
flower, or spike of flowers, of tempting elegance, caught her
eye. It was down below her, a little way, not far; a very
rough and steep way, but no matter, she must have the flower,
and deftly and daintily she clambered down: the flower looked
lovelier the nearer she got to it, and very rare and exquisite
she found it to be, as soon as she had it in her hands. It was
not till she had examined and rejoiced over it, that
addressing herself to go back, Wych Hazel found her retreat
cut off. Not by any sudden avalanche or obstacle, animate or
inanimate; as peacefully as before the wind waved the ferns on
the great stepping stones of cliff and boulder by which she
ha