Mr. Falkirk had always taken care of this girl--the few years
before his guardianship were too dim to look back to much.
From the day when she, a suddenly orphaned child, stood
frightened and alone among strangers, and he came in and took
her on his knee, and bade her "be a woman, and be brave." That
was his ideal of womanhood,--to that combination of strength
and weakness he had tried to bring Wych Hazel.

Yet though she had grown up in Mr. Falkirk's company, she
never thoroughly understood him: nature and circumstances had
made him a reserved man,--and her eyes were young. Of a piece
with his reserve was the peculiar fence of separation which he
built up between all his own concerns and those of his ward.
He was poor--she had a more than ample fortune; yet no
persuading would make him live with her. Had he been rich,
perhaps she might have lived with him; but as it was, unless
when lodgings were the rule, they lived in separate houses;
only his was always close at hand. Even when his ward was a
little child, living at Chickaree with her nurses and
housekeeper, Mr. Falkirk never spent a night in the house. He
formally bought and paid for a tiny cottage on the premises,
and there he lived: nothing done without his knowledge,
nothing undone without his notice. Not a creature came or went
unperceived by Mr. Falkirk. And yet this supervision was
generally pleasant. As he wrought, nothing had the air of
espionage--merely of care; and so I think, Wych Hazel liked it,
and felt all the more free for all sorts of undertakings,
secured against consequences. Sometimes, indeed, his quick
insight was so astonishing to the young mischief-maker, that
she was ready to cry out treachery!--and the suspected person