and Mrs. Saddler, who was confused out of all her proprieties,
for she pushed before her young lady; finally Wych Hazel.

'How do you do?' said he, scanning her.

Apparently the dizziness had not gone off, for she raised her
head and came out of the coach in the slowest and most
mechanical way, lifting her hand and pushing back her hair
with a weary sort of gesture as he spoke. So weary her face
was, so utterly subdued, it might have touched anybody to see
it. It never seemed to occur to her that the question needed
an answer.

'Your best chance is the mill,' said he; 'I think you can rest
there. At any rate, it is your chance.'

He put her hand upon his arm and led her down the few steps of
rocky way to the mill door. Mr. Falkirk followed. The women
had paired off to seek the miller's house, out of sight above
on the bank. Only Mrs. Saddler came after Mr. Falkirk.

The mill floor was large, cool and clean; that is, in the
shade, and with the exception of the dust of flour on
everything. Mr. Falkirk entered into explanations with the
miller; while Rollo, after a brief word of leave-asking,
proceeded to arrange a pile of grain bags so as to form an
extempore divan. Harder might be; and over it he spread the
gentlemen's linen dusters and all the travelling shawls of the
party; and upon it then softly placed Wych Hazel. Poor child!
she was used to cushions, and in need of them, from the way