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