The legend of the seventh virgin

4

The days that followed our flight from the Abbas still seem something like a dream to me; and it was only weeks afterwards when I returned to the Abbas as Mrs. St. Larnston, needing all my strength to fight for the place I intended to have, that life took on reality.

I was not afraid on the day we returned; there was scarcely any room for any feeling but triumph. It was Johnny who was afraid; I was to learn that I had married a weakling.

During that early morning journey to Plymouth I had made my plans. I was determined not to return to the Abbas until I was Mrs. St. Larnston, and I was determined to return to the Abbas. I need not have worried. Johnny made no attempt to evade his promise; in fact he seemed as eager for the ceremony as I was, and was even prepared to keep his distance until it was over; and then we had a few days" honeymoon in a Plymouth hotel.

Honeymooning with Johnny was an experience I do not particularly care to recall even now. Ours was a partnership purely of the senses. I had no real love for him, nor he for me. Perhaps he had a grudging admiration for my tenacity; there were times when I believed he was glad of my strength; but ours was a physical relationship which for those first weeks was satisfying enough for us not to examine too closely the situation in which we had put ourselves.

For me this was the culmination of my most cherished dream; and out of these dreams had grown a new and more ambitious one—I longed passionately for a child; my whole body cried out for a child! A boy who would be the heir of St. Larnston—my son, a baronet. During those days and nights in the Plymouth hotel, when for Johnny and me there seemed to be no meaning in life beyond our passion, I was wildly and hilariously happy because I sensed a growing power within me. I could make my dreams come true. I was determined to conceive without delay; I could not wait to hold my son in my arms.

I did not tell Johnny of this; aware of my need which equaled his for me, he completely misconstrued my passion; but it ignited his and he repeated to me often his pleasure in me. "I regret nothing ... nothing," he cried; and he laughed, reminding me of my aloofness towards him. "You're a witch, Kerensa," he told me. "I always believed you were. That Grandmother of yours is one and you're the same. All the time you were as mad for me as I was for you although you treated me as if you loathed me. What about that parson now, eh?"

"Don't be too sure of yourself, Johnny," I warned him.

And he laughed at me and made love to me and I would never hold back because I would say to myself: Perhaps my son will be conceived now.

Johnny could abandon himself to the moment without thought of the future; I understood later that this characteristic was the source of all his troubles. During those weeks in Plymouth we were the newly married couple reveling in the possession of each other; he did not give a thought to our return until the day before we left for the Abbas.

Johnny had written to his brother telling him that we were returning and asking that Polore be sent to the station to meet us.

I shall never forget stepping out of the train. I was wearing a traveling suit of green velours cloth trimmed with black braid; and my bonnet was of a matching green with black ribbons. Johnny had bought these clothes for me and he declared that in the appropriate garments, which he intended I should have, I should put Judith in the shade.

Johnny seemed to hate his family, but I understood that was because at this time he was afraid of them. It was typical of Johnny to hate what he feared. Sometimes he would make allusions to our relationship which baffled me. I had forced him to this step, he told me, but he didn't think he was going to be sorry after all. We understood each other. We would stand by each other; and we had learned, had we not, that we were necessary to each other?

Polore's manner was subdued as he greeted us. After all, what did one say to a woman who had sat at the servants' table and suddenly becomes one of the ladies of the house? Polore was quite at a loss.

"Good day, Mr. Johnny, sir. Good day ... er ... Ma am."

"Good day Polore." I had set the tone. "I hope all is well at the Abbas?"

Polore gave me a sidelong glance. I could imagine him repeating the incident over supper tonight; I could hear Mrs. Rolt's "My dear life" and Mrs. Salt's "I ain't been so shook, m'dear, since 'e come home in a mood one night... ."

But the gossip at the servants" table was no longer my concern.

We clop-clopped along the road and there was the Abbas looking more wonderful than it ever had before because I now had a share in it.

When he pulled up before the portico, Polore told us that old Lady St. Larnston had ordered that as soon as we arrived we were to be taken to her.

Johnny was a little tense but I held my head high. I wasn't afraid. I was Mrs. St. Larnston now.

Sir Justin and Judith were with her; they looked at us in astonishment as we entered.

"Come here, Johnny," said Lady St. Larnston; and as Johnny walked across the room to her chair I was beside him.

She was quivering with indignation and I could imagine how she had felt when she had first heard the news. She did not look at me but I knew she had to fight hard to prevent herself from doing so. In my new clothes I felt ready to face them all.

"After all the trouble you have caused," she went on, her voice quavering, "and now ... this. I can only be glad that your father is not here to see this day."

"Mother, I ..." began Johnny.

But she held up a hand to silence him.

"Never in my life has a member of my family so disgraced the name of St. Larnston."

I spoke then. "There is no disgrace, Lady St. Larnston. We are married. I can prove that to you."

"I was hoping it was another of your escapades, Johnny," she said, ignoring me. "This is worse than I expected."

Sir Justin had come to stand beside his mother's chair; he laid a hand on her shoulder as he said calmly; "Mother, what is done is done. Let us make the best of it. Kerensa, I welcome you into the family."

There was no welcome in his face; I could see he was as horrified by the marriage as his mother was. But Justin was a man who would always choose the peaceful way. By marrying a servant in his mother's house Johnny had created a scandal but the best way of subduing that scandal was to pretend it didn't exist.

I almost preferred Lady St. Larnston's attitude.

Judith came to support her husband. "You are right, darling. Kerensa is a St. Larnston now."

Her smile was warmer. All she wanted from the St. Larnstons was Justin's complete and undivided attention.

"Thank you," I said. "We are rather tired after our journey. I should like to wash. The trains are so dirty. And, Johnny, I should like some tea."

They were all looking at me in astonishment and I believe that I had Lady St. Larnston's grudging admiration and that while she was furious with Johnny for marrying me, she could not help admiring me for forcing him to it.

"There's a great deal I shall have to say to you." Lady St. Larnston was looking at Johnny.

I put in: "We can talk later." Then I smiled at my mother-in-law. "We do need that tea."

I slipped my arm through Johnny's and because they were all so astonished I had time to draw him from the room before they could reply.

We went to his room and there I rang the bell.

Johnny looked at me with the same expression I had seen on the faces of his family, but before he had time to comment Mrs. Rolt had arrived. I guessed she had not been far off during that interview with the family.

"Good day, Mrs. Rolt," I said. "We should like tea sent up at once."

She gaped at me for a second and then she said: "Er ... yes ... Ma'am."

I could picture her returning to the kitchen where they would be waiting for her.

Johnny leaned against the door; then he burst out laughing. "A witch!" he cried. "I've married a witch."

I was longing to see Granny, but my first interview was with Mellyora.

I went along to her room; she was expecting me, but when I opened the door she merely stared at me with something near horror in her eyes.

"Kerensa!" she cried.

"Mrs. St. Larnston," I reminded her with a laugh.

"You really have married Johnny!"

"I have the marriage lines if you wish to see them." I held out my left hand on which the plain gold band was evident.

"How could you!"

"Is it so hard to understand? This changes everything. No more Carlee, do this ... do that. I am my ex-mistress" sister-in-law. Tm her ladyship s daughter-in-law. Think of that. Poor little Kerensa Carlee, the girl from the cottages. Mrs. St. Larnston, if you please."

"Kerensa, sometimes you frighten me."

"I frighten you?" I looked boldly into her face. "There is no need for you to be afraid for me. I can look after myself."

She flushed, for she knew I was hinting that perhaps she could not.

Her lips tightened and she said: "So it would seem. And now you are no longer a lady's maid. Oh, Kerensa, was it worth it?"

"That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"I don't understand."

"No, you wouldn't."

"But I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him any more."

"Because he offered you a position you could accept?"

There was a tinge of sarcasm in her voice which I resented.

"At least," I said, "he was free to marry me."

I flounced out of the room but after a few minutes I went back. I had caught Mellyora oS her guard; she was lying on her bed with her face buried in the pillows. I threw myself down beside her. I could not bear that we should not be friends.

"It's like it used to be," I said.

"No... . It's quite different."

"The positions are reversed, that's all. When I was at the parsonage you looked after me. Well, now it will be my turn to look after you."

"No good will come of this."

"You wait and see."

"If you loved Johnny... ."

"There are all sorts of love, Mellyora. There's love ... sacred and profane.''

"Kerensa, you sound so ... flippant."

"It's often a good way to be."

"I can't believe you. What has happened to you, Kerensa?"

"What has happened to us both?" I asked.

Then we lay still on the bed and we were both wondering what the outcome of her love for Justin would be.

I could scarcely wait to see Granny and ordered Polore to drive me to the cottage the next day. How I enjoyed alighting, dressed in my green and black. I told him to return for me in an hour.

Granny looked anxiously into my face.

"Well, my love?" was all she said.

"Mrs. St. Larnston now. Granny."

"So you've got what 'ee do want, eh?"

"It's a beginning."

"Oh?" she said, opening her eyes very wide; but she did not ask me to explain. Instead she took me by the shoulders and looked into my face. "You look happy," she said at length.

Then I threw myself into her arms and hugged her. When I released her she turned away and I knew she didn't want me to see the tears in her eyes. I took off my hat and coat and mounted to the talfat and I lay there and talked to her while she smoked her pipe.

She was different, sometimes so absorbed in her own thoughts that I believed she didn't hear all I said. I didn't mind. I just wanted to open my heart and talk as I could talk to no one else.

I would have a child soon, I was certain of it. I wanted a boy—a St. Larnston he would be.

"And, Granny, if Justin doesn't have any children, my son will inherit the Abbas. He'll be a sir. Granny. How do you like that? Sir Justin St. Larnston, your great-grandson."

Granny stared intently at the smoke from her pipe.

"There'll always be a new goal for 'ee, lovey," she said at length. "Maybe that's how life were meant to be lived. Maybe tis all for the best the way things has worked out. And you love this husband of yours?"

"Love, Granny? He's given me what I wanted. It's from him I'll get what I want now. I remember that it couldn't have been ... without Johnny."

"And you think that's a substitute for love, Kerensa?"

"I'm in love. Granny."

"In love with your husband, girl?"

"In love with the present, Granny. What more can one ask?"

"No, us couldn't ask more than that, could us? And who be we to question the means when the ends give us all we could wish for? I'd die happy, Kerensa, if you could go on as you be at this moment."

"Don't talk of dying," I ordered; and she laughed at me. "Not I, my beauty. That were an order from one as gives orders now." Then we laughed as only we could laugh together; and I fancied that Granny was less uneasy than she had been when I first arrived.

How I enjoyed my new position! I suffered no embarrassment. I had schooled myself for the role so many times in my imagination that now I was perfectly rehearsed and could play it to perfection. I amused myself and Johnny by imitating the sort of conversation which I knew was going on in the kitchen. I could give orders as coolly as old Lady St. Larnston and a great deal more so than Judith. Judith and I were actually friends. Sometimes I would dress her hair for her because she was now without a maid, but I clearly let her understand this was a sisterly gesture. I think the fact that I had married Johnny pleased her because she could not stop herself believing that every woman was after Justin. To have me paired off with Johnny was therefore a comfort; although had it been Mellyora who had eloped with Johnny she would have been really delighted.

She was inclined to relax with me and I was certain that soon she would be confiding in me.

With Judith's acquiescence I had ordered that a new suite of rooms be prepared for Johnny and me and had had furniture moved from other parts of the house to our apartments. The servants whispered behind my back but this I was prepared for. I knew that the Dowager Lady St. Larnston talked of upstarts and the tragedy of Johnny's marriage but I cared nothing for her. She was old and would soon be of little consequence. I was looking to the future.

I was waiting my time, eagerly watching for the first signs of pregnancy. I was certain that I would soon have my son; and when I could announce that I was expecting a child, my position in that household would change. Above everything, old Lady St. Larnston wanted a grandchild and she despaired of Judith's giving her one.

One day I rode out to the vet's to call on my brother. I wanted to talk to him for I had made Johnny promise that my brother should train as a doctor and I could scarcely wait to tell Joe the good news.

Mr. Pollent's house, which had once seemed so grand, now looked modest; but it was a comfortable dwelling, standing back from the road in an acre of ground, most of which was occupied by stables, kennels and out-buildings. At the windows clean dimity curtains hung and when I alighted I saw these move, so I knew that my arrival was being watched.

One of the Pollent girls came into the hall to greet me.

"Oh come into the hale, dio" she cried, and I was sure she had hastily put on a clean muslin dress in which to receive me.

I followed her into the hale—another name for parlor—which was clearly only used on special occasions. This was gratifying and I took the chair which was offered me—glancing at the china dogs on the mantelpiece.

"I've come to see Joe," I said.

"Oh yes, Mrs. St. Larnston. I'll be going and telling him. If you'll excuse me for a minute or two."

I smiled graciously as she went out. I guessed that the story of my marriage had been the main topic throughout the countryside and that Joe had become more important because of his connection with me. I was gratified (I was always pleased when I could bring honor to my family).

I was studying the silver and china in the comer cupboard and, on assessing its value, telling myself that the Pollents were, if not rich, comfortably off, when Miss Pollent returned to tell me that Joe had asked her to take me to where he was working as he was busy.

I was a little deflated by this indication that Joe did not share the Pollents' respect, but I hid this and allowed myself to be taken to a room where I found him standing at a bench mixing a liquid in a bottle.

His pleasure was real as I went to him and kissed him.

He held up the glass bottle to show me. "A new mix," he explained. "Mr. Pollent and I reckon we've got something as has never been used before here."

"Have you?" I said. "I've got news for you, Joe."

He laughed. "Oh yes, you be Mrs. St. Larnston now. We all heard along of how you run off to Plymouth with Mr. Johnny."

I frowned. He would have to learn to express himself like a gentleman.

"My word," he went on, "what a to-do! You and Mr. St. Larnston and Hetty Pengaster all going off on the same day."

I was startled. "Hetty Pengaster!"

"Hadn't 'ee heard? She went away too. Regular how-do-'ee-do, I can tell 'ee. The Pengasters was in a rare state, and Saul Cundy were going to murder, that he were. But... there it be. Doll reckoned she'd gone all the way to London. She'd always said that's where her did want to go."

I was silent momentarily, forgetting the importance of my mission to Joe. Hetty Pengaster! How strange that she should have chosen to leave home the very same day that Johnny and I had left.

"So she's gone to London," I said.

"Well, no one's heard yet, but that's what they do say. There was a young fellow from London who was here in the summer and Doll says he were friendly like with Hetty. Doll reckons they did plan it while he were here ... though Hetty didn't tell her exactly like."

I looked at Joe and his contentment with his life irritated me.

"I've wonderful news for you, Joe," I told him.

He looked at me then and I went on: "Everything is different now. There's no need for you to continue in this humble position."

He wrinkled his eyebrows and looked foolish.

"I've always meant to do something for you, Joe, and now I'm in a position to. I can help you to become a doctor. You can tell Mr. Pollent tonight. There'll be a lot of studying to be done, and I'm going along to ask Dr. Hilliard's advice tomorrow. Then ..."

"I don't know what you be talking about, Kerensa," he said, and a flush spread slowly across his face.

"I'm a St. Larnston now, Joe. You know what that means?"

Joe put down the bottle he was holding and limped over to one of the shelves; there he picked up a jar containing some liquid and began shaking this absent-mindedly. I felt emotional watching him, thinking of the night when Kim and I had rescued him from the mantrap and I had a great longing to see Kim now.

"I can't see what difference it do make to me," he said. "And I'm going to stay here along of Mr. Pollent. Here's where I belong to be."

"A vet? When you could be a doctor!"

"This is where I belong to be," he repeated.

"But you'll be educated, Joe. You could be a doctor."

"I couldn't be so. I be a vet and here's where ..."

"Where you belong to be!" I finished impatiently. "Oh Joe, don't you want to get on?"

He looked at me and his eyes were colder than I had ever seen them.

"I do want to be let alone, that's what," he said.

"But Joe ..."

He limped towards me and when he was close he said, "The trouble with you, Kerensa, be that you want to be like God. You do want to make the rest of we dance to your tune. Well, I won't, see? I be here with Mr. Pollent. And that's where I belong to be."

"You're a fool, Joe Carlee," I told him.

"That be your opinion, but if I be a fool, well then, tis a fool I like to be."

I was angry. Here was my first real obstacle. I had known so well what I had wanted. Mrs. St. Larnston of the Abbas; her son heir to the tide; her brother the local doctor; her Grandmother installed in ... say, the Dower House. I wanted every detail of the dream to come true.

And Joe, who had always been so meek, was opposing me.

Angrily I turned away, and when I abruptly opened the door I almost fell over one of the Pollent girls who had quite clearly been listening at the keyhole. I ignored her and she ran into the room.

I heard her say: "Oh Joe, you hain't going away, be you?"

I waited and Joe replied: "Nay, Essie. You do know I'd never go away. Tis here with you and the work where I belong to be."

I hurried away then, disgusted.

I had been married two months and I was certain I was to have a child.

I told no one but Granny when I first suspected this; it was only when I was sure that I let it be known.

My triumph exceeded my expectations.

The first person at the Abbas to be told was my mother-in-law. I went to her room and knocked at the door. She was alone and none too pleased to be disturbed.

"I am not free to see you now," she said. She had never addressed me by name up to that time.

"I wanted you to be the first to hear my news," I replied coolly. "If you do not wish to do so, it is of little importance to me that you are kept in ignorance."

"What news is this?" she asked.

"Shall I sit down?" I asked.

She nodded, not very graciously.

"I am going to have a child," I said.

She lowered her eyes but not before I had seen the excitement there.

"Doubtless it was for this reason that marriage was necessary."

I stood up. "If it is your intention to insult me, I would prefer to go when I have told you that your assumption is incorrect. The birth of my child will prove that, and I suppose you will need proof before you believe me. I am sorry I believed it was right to tell you first. It was stupid of me."

I walked haughtily from the room, and as I shut the door I thought I heard her whisper: "Kerensa." I went to the rooms I shared with Johnny.

I would go to see Granny and soothe my wounded vanity in her company. But while I was putting on my coat there was a knock at the door.

Mrs. Rolt stood there. "Her ladyship says she would be pleased if you would go to her ... Ma'am."

"I was about to go out," I replied. I hesitated, then shrugged my shoulders. "Very well. I'll look in on my way down. Thank you, Mrs. Rolt."

Knowing Mrs. Rolt so well, I could see the words trembling on her lips. "The airs! Like she was born to it."

I opened the door of Lady St. Larnston's sitting room and stood there, waiting.

"Kerensa," she said and her voice was warm, "come in."

I approached her and stood waiting.

"Do please sit down."

I sat on the edge of a chair, showing her by my manner that her approval meant little to me.

"I am pleased by this news," she said.

I couldn't hide the pleasure which flooded over me. "It is what I want ... more than anything in the world," I answered. "I want a son."

In that moment our relationship changed. She deplored my marriage, but I was young and strong; I was even presentable and it was only the people in the neighborhood (the lower orders) who need know whence I had come. I had been married two months and had already conceived a child—a grandchild for her. And all this time there had been nothing from Judith. Old Lady St. Larnston was a woman who had had most of what she wanted in life. She must quickly have come to terms with her husband's incontinence. Perhaps she accepted that as part of the needs of a gentleman and as long as his wife's power in the house remained absolute she was content. I could not imagine what her married life had been like, but I did know that some quality in her, some love of power, the desire to manage her own life and those of the people around her, was shared by me; and because each recognized this in the other we were essentially allies.

"I am glad of this," she said. "You must take care of yourself, Kerensa."

"I intend to do everything to ensure having a healthy boy."

She laughed. "Let us not be too sure that the child will be a boy. If it is a girl we shall welcome her. You are young. Boys will come."

"I long for a boy," I said fervently.

She nodded. "We shall hope for a boy. Tomorrow I myself will show you the nurseries. It is long since there were babies at the Abbas. But I am a little tired today and I should like to show them to you myself."

"Tomorrow then," I said.

Our eyes met. This was conquest. This proud old woman who a short time before had been deploring Johnny's marriage was now becoming quickly reconciled to a daughter-in-law in whom she recognized a kindred spirit.

A son for St. Larnston! It was what we both wanted more than anything else in the world, and it was in my power to give it to her—more, it seemed only mine.

When a woman becomes pregnant she undergoes a change. There is often nothing for her but the child which, as the weeks pass, she is aware of, growing steadily within her. She senses the changes in the child, the development of that small body.

I was living for the day when my child should be born.

I became serene, contented; my manner was more gentle; Dr. Hilliard called often to see me and he would find me with Mellyora in the rose garden sewing some small garment, for I asked that she should help me with the layette.

Lady St. Larnston put nothing in my way. I was not to be crossed. If I wanted Mellyora, I should have her. I must be cosseted and humored. I was the most important person in the household.

Sometimes the situation would strike me as so comic, that I would be overcome with silent laughter. I was happy. I told myself that never had I been so happy in my life.

Johnny? I cared nothing for him. His attitude had changed too because for the first time in his life, it seemed he had the approval of his family. He had sired a child—something which Justin had failed to do.

When we were alone together he would jeer at Justin.

"So perfect he has always been. I have suffered from Justin all my life. It is irritating to have a saint for a brother. But there is one thing sinners can evidently do more effectively than saints!" He laughed and embraced me. I pushed him away, telling him to be careful of the child.

Johnny stretched himself out on our bed, his head supported by his arms, watching me.

"You never cease to amaze me," he said. "Nothing will convince me that I haven't married a witch."

"Remember it," I warned. "Don't offend her or she might cast a spell on you."

"She already has done that. On me ... and the whole household, including our dear Mamma. Kerensa, you witch, how did you manage that?"

I patted my swollen body. "My ability to bear a child without delay."

"Tell me this, do you ride out on a broomstick and practice fertility rites with your Grandmamma?"

"Never mind what I do," I retorted. "It is the result which is important."

He jumped up and kissed me. I pushed him away. I was no longer interested in Johnny.

I sat stitching under the trees with Mellyora.

She looked so pretty with her head slightly bent as she watched the dainty progress of her needle. I was transported back in my thoughts to those days when I had peeped at her in the parsonage garden sitting with Miss Kellow. How our positions were reversed! I remembered, too, what I owed to her.

Dear Mellyora, to whom I should be grateful for the rest of my life.

I wished that she could be as happy as I was. But even as I thought that, I felt a clutch of fear at my heart. Happiness for Mellyora would mean marriage with Justin. But how could she marry Justin when he had a wife? Only if Judith died could Mellyora marry Justin; and if she did, if they had children ... sons ... her sons would take precedence over mine!

My son: Mr. St. Larnston; Mellyora's Sir Justin.

It was unthinkable. But there was no cause for anxiety. Mellyora could never marry Justin and some instinct told me that Judith was a barren woman.

I was longing for the time to pass; I could only be content when I held my son in my arms. At times I was overcome by a fear that the child would be a girl. I should have loved to have a daughter, a girl for whom I could plan, perhaps as Granny had planned for me; but my dream would not be complete until I had a son. My son, mine, should be owner of the Abbas; I should have given it to him; and all the future generations would have my blood in them.

So I must have a son.

Granny, who was wise in such matters, believed that I would; the way I carried the child indicated it, she told me. As the months passed she became more and more sure and so my happiness increased.

I scarcely noticed what was going on about me; it did not occur to me that my good fortune must have its effect on one as near to me as Mellyora. Not even when she said: "Who would have believed all this could have happened to you when you stood at the hiring stand at Trelinket!" did I understand that she was thinking: If this can come to you, why shouldn't my life change miraculously?

But during those months of my child's gestation, the love which had been conceived by Justin and Mellyora was growing too. Their very innocence made it all the more apparent and none would be more aware of it than Judith.

She had not engaged a lady's maid after my marriage. Doll did certain duties for her and often I went along to dress her hair for some special occasion. One day when she and Justin were dining with the Hemphills I went to her room, as I had promised, to do her hair for her.

I knocked gently on the door but there was no answer, so I opened the door and called "Are you there, Judith?"

There was no reply; then I saw her: she was lying on the bed, on her back, her face turned up to the ceiling.

"Judith," I said. Still she did not answer; and for a second or so I believed she was dead and the first thought which came to my mind was: Now Justin will be free to marry Mellyora. They will have a son and he will take precedence over mine.

Now I had an obsession too: my son.

I approached the bed and I heard then a heavy sigh. I saw that her eyes were open.

"Judith," I said. "You remember I promised to come to do your hair."

She grunted and going close I bent over her. I saw that her cheeks were wet,

"Oh ... Kerensa," she murmured.

"What has happened"

She shook her head.

"You re crying."

"Why shouldn't it"?

"Something is wrong?"

"Something is always wrong."

"Judith, tell me what has happened."

"He doesn't care for me," she murmured in a slurred whisper and I guessed that she was scarcely aware of me; she was talking to herself. "It has been worse since she came. Does he think I don't see? It's clear, isn't it? They're crying out for each other. They would be lovers ... only they're such good people. How I loathe good people, yet...if they were, I'd kill her. Yes, I would. Somehow I would. She's so meek and mild, is she not? Such a quiet inoffensive little lady. So much to be pitied. Fallen on hard times. Her father dies and, poor young lady, she had to go out into the cruel world and earn her living. Poor poor Mellyora! Such a hard life! Such a need to be protected. I would protect her."

I said, "Hush, Judith. Someone will hear you."

"Who's there?" she asked.

"It is only Kerensa ... come to do your hair as promised. Have you forgotten?"

"Kerensa." She laughed. "The lady's maid who will now give us the heir. That is something else against me, don't you see? Even Kerensa, the girl from the cottages, can give St. Larnston an heir and I'm a barren barren woman. The barren fig tree! That is Judith. It is all dear Kerensa. We must take care of Kerensa. Is Kerensa in a draft? Remember her condition. It is funny, don't you see? A few months ago she was Carlee ... she was here on sufferance. And now she is holy, the mother-to-be of the sainted heir of St. Larnston."

"Judith," I said earnestly. "What is wrong? What has happened?"

And as I bent over her I knew, because I could smell the spirits on her breath.

Judith ... intoxicated, attempting to forget her misery in the whiskey bottle!

"You've been drinking, Judith," I reproached her.

"What if I have?"

"It is foolish."

"And who are you, pray?"

"Your sister-in-law, Kerensa, your friend."

"My friend! You're her friend. No friend of hers is a friend of mine. Kerensa, the sainted mother! It's been worse since you married Johnny."

"Have you forgotten you are dining with the Hemphills—you and Justin?"

"Let him take her. He'd rather."

"You are being foolish. I am going to order some black coffee. Pull yourself together, Judith. You are going to the Hemphills' with Justin. He will be here in an hour and if he finds you like this, he will be disgusted."

"He is already disgusted."

"Then do not disgust him further."

"He is disgusted by my love for him. He is a cold man, Kerensa. Why do I love a cold man?"

"I cannot tell you that, but if you want to turn him away from you, you are going the right way about it."

She clutched my arm. "Oh Kerensa, don't let him be turned away ... don't let him be."

She began to cry quietly and I said to her, "I'm going to help you. But you must do as I say. I shall order coffee for myself and bring it to you. It would not do for the servants to see you in this state. They gossip too much as it is. I shall be back soon; then I shall have you ready by the time you leave for the Hemphills'."

"I hate the Hemphills ... silly Hemphills."

"Then you must pretend to like them. That is the way to please Justin."

"There is only one way of pleasing him. If I could have a child, Kerensa ... if only I could have a child."

"Perhaps you will," I said, hoping with all my being that she never would.

"He is such a cold man, Kerensa."

"Then you must make him warm. You will not do so by getting drunk. That much I can tell you. Now lie there until I come back."

She nodded. "You're my friend, Kerensa," she said. "You promised you were."

I went to my room and when I rang the bell, Doll answered.

"Bring me some coffee please, Doll. Quickly," I ordered.

"Coffee ... er. Ma'am?"

"I said coffee, Doll. I have a fancy for it."

She went away then and I imagined them discussing my fancies in the kitchen. Well, a pregnant woman was supposed to have fancies.

She came back with it and left it in my room. When she had gone I hurried along with it to Judith. It was unfortunate that as I went in, Mrs. Rolt should suddenly appear in the corridor.

If they suspected then for what purpose I wanted the coffee, they already knew that Judith was drinking. It was very likely that they did, for how could she take whiskey from the house supplies without Haggety's knowing? He would eventually have to tell Justin if only to protect himself. It seemed, therefore, that she had only just begun drinking. In which case it might be possible to stop her.

As I poured out the coffee, as I made Judith drink it, I asked myself: How much do the servants know of our lives? How can we keep any secrets from them?

May was hot that year, a beautiful month as was fitting, I thought, for the entry of my child into the world. The hedgerows were ablaze with wild flowers and the blossom everywhere was wonderful.

Mine was not an easy labor, but I stoically welcomed the excruciating pain. I welcomed it because it meant that my child would soon be born.

Dr. Hilliard and the midwife were at my bedside while it seemed to me that the entire house was tense, waiting for the cry of a child.

I remember thinking that the agony of the walled-up nun could not have been greater than mine. Yet I exulted in my agony. How different it was from hers which was the pain of defeat, while mine was that of glory.

At last, it came. The long-awaited cry of a child.

I saw my mother-in-law with my baby in her arms; she was crying, that proud woman. I saw the tears glistening on her cheeks and I was afraid that something was wrong. My baby was crippled, a monster, dead.

But they were tears of pride and joy; she came to the bed and hers was the first voice I heard proclaiming the glad news.

"A boy, Kerensa, a lovely healthy boy!"

Nothing can go wrong, I thought. I have but to make my plans and my dreams become realities.

I am Kerensa St. Larnston and I have borne a son. There is no other male child to replace him. He is the heir of St. Larnston.

But I could be defeated in small matters.

I was lying in bed, my hair falling about my shoulders, wearing a white lacy jacket with green ribbons—a present from my mother-in-law.

The baby was in his cradle and she was bending over him, her face so soft with love that she was like a different woman.

"We'll have to think of a name for him, Kerensa."

She came to the bed and sat down, smiling at me.

I said: "I thought of Justin."

She turned to me in some surprise. "But that's out of the question."

"Why? I like Justin. There have always been Justin St Larnstons."

"If Justin has a son he will be Justin. We must save that name for him."

"Justin ... have a son!"

"I pray every night that he and Judith will be blessed as you and Johnny have been."

I forced myself to smile. "Of course. I merely thought that there ought to be a Justin in the family."

"So there should. But the son of the eldest son."

"They have been married some time."

"Oh yes, but there are years ahead of them. I hope to see a house full of children before I die."

I felt deflated. Then I assured myself that the name wasn't important.

"What other name did you have in mind?" she asked.

I was thoughtful. I had been so sure that my son would be Justin that I had not considered another name for him.

She was watching me and knowing her to be a shrewd old woman, I did not want her to understand how my thoughts ran.

I said spontaneously: "Carlyon."

"Carlyon?" she repeated.

No sooner had I said it than I knew that was the name I wanted for my son if I could not have Justin. Carlyon. It held a significance for me. I saw myself mounting the steps to the portico in my red velvet gown. It was the first occasion when I had been absolutely certain that dreams could come true.

"It's a good name," I said. "I like it."

She repeated it, rolling it over on her tongue. "Yes," she said. "I like it. Carlyon John—the last after his father. How's that?"

Johnny for his father. Carlyon for his mother.

Yes, since he could not be Justin, that was what he should be.

I was a different woman. For the first time in my life I loved someone better than I loved myself. The only thing that mattered was my son. I have often made excuses for the wicked things I did by telling myself: They were for Carlyon. I kept assuring myself that to sin for the sake of one you love is not the same as sinning for yourself. Yet deep in my heart I knew that Carlyon's glory was mine; and that my love for him was so fierce because he was part of me, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, as the saying goes.

He was a beautiful child, big for his age, and the only feature he had inherited from me were his enormous dark eyes; yet there was a look of serenity in them which mine had never had. And why, I asked myself, should they not be serene, with a mother such as I to fight for him? He was a contented baby; he would lie in his cradle accepting the homage of the family as his right—yet not imperiously; he was just happy to be loved. Carlyon loved everybody and everybody loved Carlyon; but, I assured myself, there was a special contentment in his lovely face when I picked him up.

Lady St Larnston discussed the question of a nanny for him. She enumerated a few of the likely village girls, but I rejected them all. A sense of guilt had come to me because of the absurd fear which I had—almost a premonition—that something might happen to Judith and enable Justin and Mellyora to marry. I did not want that to happen. I wanted Judith to live and remain Justin's barren wife, for only thus could my son become Sir Carlyon and inherit the Abbas. I pictured the dreary waste Mellyora's life must be, but I shrugged aside my guilt. Was it not a choice between my friend and my son; and what mother would not always choose her son to a friend, however close?

All the same I wanted to help Mellyora and I had conceived a plan for doing so.

"I do not want him speaking with a village accent," I told my mother-in-law.

"But we have all had these girls for nurses," she reminded me.

"I want the best for Carlyon."

"My dear Kerensa, so do we all."

"I had thought of Mellyora Martin." I saw the astonishment beginning to dawn on my mother-in-law's face, and I hurried on: ''She is a lady. She is fond of him and I believe she would be good with children. She could teach him as he grows older; she could be his governess until he is ready to go to school."

She was considering the inconvenience of relinquishing Mellyora. She would miss her; and yet she realized the good sense of what I was saying. It would be difficult to find a nurse of the caliber of the parson's daughter.

That day I discovered that the imperious old lady was ready to make sacrifices for her grandson.

I went along to Mellyora's room; she was very tired, having had an exhausting afternoon with Lady St. Larnston. She was lying on her bed, and I thought she looked like a daffodil which has been left too long out of water.

Poor Mellyora, the strain of her life was becoming too much for her!

I sat on the edge of her bed and studied her intently.

"Has it been a very tiring day?" I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"ril be back!' I told her; and I went to my room and returned with some of the eau de Cologne which I had used during my pregnancy and which I had learned from Judith could soothe a headache.

I patted it on Mellyora's forehead with a pad of cotton wool.

"What luxury to be waited on!" she murmured.

"Poor Mellyora! My mother-in-law is a tyrant. But life is going to be better in future."

She opened wide her lovely blue eyes in which a hint of sadness was beginning to be apparent.

"You are to have a new employer, a new job."

She struggled up, fear coming into her eyes. I thought: Don't fret. You are not to be taken away from Justin, never fear. And that devil in me whispered: No, while you are here and there is this hopeless love between you and Justin he is even less inclined for his wife's company. And the less he is inclined towards her the less likelihood there is of their having a child who could replace my Carlyon.

When such thoughts came to me I always wanted to be especially kind to Mellyora, so I said quickly, "I am going to be your employer, Mellyora. You are going to be Carlyon's nurse."

We were hugging each other and for a few moments we were like those two young girls in the parsonage.

"You will be as his aunt," I said. "There will be no question of anything else. We are sisters, are we not?"

We were silent for a while and then she said: "Life is awe-inspiring sometimes, Kerensa. Do you see a pattern in ours?"

"Yes," I answered, "a pattern."

"First I help you ... then you help me."

"There are invisible cords binding our lives together. Nothing will ever break them, Mellyora. We couldn't, even if we tried."

"We wall never try," she assured me. "Kerensa, when I knew my mother was going to have a child I prayed for a sister. I prayed fiercely, not just at night, but all through the day, every waking moment! My life was a prayer. I created a sister in my imagination, and her name was Kerensa. She was like you ... stronger than I, always there to help me, although there were times when I helped her too. Do you think God was so sorry to have to take my sister from me that he gave me you?"

"Yes," I said, "I think it was meant that we should be together."

"Then you believe as I do. You always used to say that if you want something, pray for it, live for it ... it comes."

"My Granny says it comes but there are so many forces which we cannot understand. Perhaps your dream is fulfilled but you must pay for it... . Perhaps you will get your sister but she may not be all you hope she is."

When she laughed she was like the old Mellyora who had not yet suffered the humiliations which a proud woman like my mother-in-law could not help inflicting on those she considered to be in her power.

"Oh come, Kerensa," she said, "I am well aware of your faults."

I laughed with her and I thought: No, Mellyora, you are not. You would be surprised if you could look into this black heart of mine. Black? Perhaps not entirely so. But not shining bright and pure. Tinged with gray.

I was determined that I would make Mellyora s life easier for her.

What a change Carlyon had wrought at the Abbas. There was not one of us who was unaffected by his presence. Even Johnny had dropped some of his cynicism and had become a proud parent. My child was the whole meaning of life to me, of course. Mellyora was more at peace than she had been for a long time. She was devoted to the baby and there were times when I feared he might grow to love her as much as he loved me. Lady St. Larnston would soften visibly at the sight of her grandson, and the servants adored him; when he was in the garden I knew they all made excuses to go out to him. I guessed he was the only one in the house of whom they were not critical.

There was however one person, perhaps two, who were less happy for his coming. To Judith he was a continual reproach, and I suspected to Justin too. I had seen Justin look with yearning at my son and I could read his thoughts; as for Judith she could not hide hers. There was a wild resentment in her heart as though she were demanding of fate: Why cannot I have a child?

Strangely enough she allowed me to become her confidante. Why she should have chosen me, I could not imagine; perhaps it was because she felt I understood her more than anyone else in the house.

Sometimes I would go and sit with her and I had a way of making her talk which excited me and which she found soothing. I continually remembered Granny's saying that it was wise to discover all one could because every scrap of knowledge might at some time prove useful.

I would feign sympathy; I would lure her to confidences; and when her mind was dulled by whiskey she talked the more readily. Every day she rode out alone. Her purpose, I knew, was to buy whiskey from the various inns in the neighborhood. She had evidently realized the danger of using the house supplies.

When Justin discovered the empty bottles in the cupboard, he was horrified by her secret drinking.

At first she was elated. "He was so angry, I have rarely seen him so angry. He must care, mustn't he, Kerensa, to be so angry? He said I would ruin my health. Do you know what he did. He took my whiskey away so that I shouldn't ruin my health."

But the elation did not last. I knew then how much she had come to rely on her whiskey. I went into her room once and found her sitting at a table, crying over a letter.

"I'm writing to Justin," she said. I looked over her shoulder and read "

"My darling. What have I done that you should treat me so? Sometimes I think you hate me. Why do you prefer that girl with her silly meek face and her baby-blue eyes. What can she give you that I can't ..."

I said: "You are not going to send that to Justin?"

"Why not? Why shouldn't I?"

"You see him every day. Why do you want to write to him?"

"He avoids me. We have separate rooms now. Did you know? It is because I am a nuisance. He prefers to forget me. Things have changed since you were my maid, Kerensa. Clever Kerensa! I wish I knew how to manage my life as you do yours. You don't care much for Johnny, do you? But he cares for you. How strange! It's sort of turnabout. The two brothers and their wives... ."

She began to laugh wildly and I said warningly: "The servants will hear."

"They're far away in the kitchen."

"They're everywhere," I replied.

"Well, what would they discover? That he neglects me? That he wants the parson's daughter? They know that already."

"Hush."

"Why should I?"

"Judith, you are not yourself."

"I am dying for a drink. He has taken away my one comfort, Kerensa. Why shouldn't I have my comfort? He has his. Where do you think he and that girl have gone, Kerensa?"

"You are being foolish. You are imagining this. They are both too ..." I paused and added, "too conscious of convention to be anything but friends."

"Friends!" she jeered. "Waiting for the moment when they will be lovers. What do they talk about together, Kerensa? The days when I shall no longer be here?"

"You are overwrought."

"If I could have a drink I should be better. Kerensa, help me. Buy some whiskey for me ... bring it to me. Please, Kerensa, you don t know how I need a drink."

«I couldn't do it, Judith."

"So you won t help me. No one will help me... . No ..." She stopped and smiled slowly.

A thought had evidently occurred to her, but I did not discover what it was until a few days later.

That was when she rode over to her old home and brought Fanny Paunton back with her. Fanny had been a nursery maid at Derrise and had worked there in another capacity when there was no longer a place for her in the nursery.

Fanny was to be Judith's new lady's maid.

The affairs of Judith and Justin were suddenly of no more interest to me. My son was ill. One morning I leaned over his cradle and found him in a fever. I was terrified and sent at once for Dr. Hilliard.

Carlyon was suffering from measles, the doctor told me, and there was no cause for alarm. It was a normal childish complaint.

No cause for alarm! I was beside myself with anxiety.

I was with him night and day; I would not allow anyone else to nurse him.

Johnny remonstrated with me. "It's what happens to all children."

I gave him a scornful look. This was my son who was different from all other children. I could not bear that he should run the slightest risk.

My mother-in-law was extraordinarily gentle to me.

"You'll make yourself ill, my dear. Dr. Hilliard assures me it is just an ordinary childish complaint and dear Carlyon's attack is a mild one. Get some rest, I do assure you that I shall look after him myself while you do."

But I would not leave him. I was afraid that others would not give him the care that I could. I would sit by his cradle and visualize his death, the little coffin being carried to the St. Larnston vault.

Johnny came to sit beside me.

"Do you know what's the matter with you?" he said. "You want more children. Then you won't have all these alarms over one. What would you say to half a dozen little sons and daughters? You were meant to be a mother. It's done something to you, Kerensa."

"Don't be flippant," I commanded.

But when Carlyon was better and I could think more reasonably, I thought of a large family and the years ahead when I should be the grand old lady of the Abbas with not only Sir Carlyon and his children, but others ... my children, my grandchildren. I would be to them what Granny Bee had been to me.

It was an expansion of my dream.

Johnny had given me a glimpse into a future which seemed good to me.

Carlyon suffered no ill effects and was soon himself again. He was walking and talking now. It gave me the utmost joy to watch him.

Johnny and I had slipped into a new relationship. We were as we had been during those early days of our marriage. There was passion between us as fierce as there had been then. On my side it grew out of a desire to fulfill a dream; on his, for a woman whom he was half convinced was a witch.

In the rose garden, Carlyon was playing with a wooden hoop, guiding it with a wooden stick, as he bowled it along. Mellyora was sitting on a seat near the Virgin's wall, sewing, when I came into the garden.

Carlyon was now nearly two years old and big for his age; he was rarely out of temper, and always happy to play by himself, although he would share the game with any who wished to join him. I often marveled that a man like Johnny and a woman like myself could have produced such a child.

I was at this time twenty-one and I often felt as I went about the Abbas that I had lived there all my life.

Lady St. Larnston was visibly aging; she suffered from rheumatism which kept her in her room a great deal, and had not employed another companion to take Mellyora's place because she no longer had much correspondence, nor did she wish to be read to as she had in the past. She wanted to rest more and occasionally Mellyora or I would sit with her. Mellyora sometimes read to her; when I did, she would always interrupt and we would find ourselves talking, mostly about Carlyon.

This meant that I was gradually becoming mistress of the house, a fact which the servants realized and only occasionally did I see an expression flicker over one of their faces which told me they were remembering that time when I had been one of them.

Judith did not stand in my way at all. She would sometimes spend days in her room with no one but her maid—"that Fanny from over Derrise," as the servants called her.

Granny was not as well as I should have liked but I was not worried about her as I had once been. It was my plan to set her up in a little house of her own near the Abbas, with a servant to look after her. It was a subject I had not yet broached with her for I knew that, at the moment, it would not be well received.

Joe was engaged to Essie Pollent and Mr. Pollent was to make him a partner on the day of the marriage. I felt piqued by Granny's glee in this state of affairs. She said: "Both of my little 'uns have done well for themselves." I did not see how Joe's rise could be compared with mine; and I still felt a nagging irritation that he was not studying to be a doctor.

My desire for other children had not yet been satisfied, but Granny had assured me that it was normal enough to have a gap of two or three years, and better for my health too. I had all my life before me. So I was content enough. I had the perfect son; and with each passing month, I became more and more sure that Judith would never bear a child. Thus Carlyon would inherit the title and the Abbas, and I would one day be the grand old lady of the Abbas.

That was the state of affairs that morning when I joined Mellyora and Carlyon in the rose garden.

I sat down by Mellyora and for a few seconds gave myself up to contemplating my son. He had been immediately aware of my coming into the rose garden and stood still to wave to me; then he trotted after his hoop, picked it up, sent it bowling, and glanced at me to see if I was watching. This was another of those moments which I should have liked to capture and preserve forever; moments of pure happiness, and when one grows older one learns that happiness—complete and unadulterated happiness-comes only in moments, and must be recognized and savored to the full, for even in the happiest life, the complete joy is not always present.

I saw then that Mellyora was uneasy and immediately the moment was passed, for joy had become tinged with apprehension.

"Something is on your mind?" I asked.

She was thoughtful; then she said; "It's Judith, Kerensa."

Judith! Of course it was Judith. Judith was the cloud which hid the sun. Judith stood across her path like a colossus preventing her passage along the river to love and contentment.

I nodded.

"You know she is drinking far too much."

"I know she has a fondness for the bottle, but I believe Justin is aware of this and won't let her drink to excess."

"She is drinking too much in spite of ... Justin."

Even the way in which she said his name was a revelation. The little pause; the hushed reverence. Oh, Mellyora, I thought, you betray yourself in a hundred ways.

"Yes?" I said.

"I was passing her room yesterday; the door was open and I heard her ... groaning, so I thought. I went in. She was lying across the bed in a drunken stupor. It was awful, Kerensa. She didn't recognize me. She was lying there with a dazed look in her eyes, groaning and mumbling. I couldn't hear what she said. I was so worried I went along to find Fanny, Fanny was in her room ... the room you used to have. She was Iong on the bed and she didn't get up when I went in. I said to her: I think Lady St. Larnston needs you. She seems ill." And she lay there looking at me in a horrid, sneering sort of way. Is that so. Miss Martin?' she said. I went on: I heard her moaning and I went in to see. Pray go and do something for her.' She laughed. "Her ladyship's all right, Miss Martin," she said. Then: I didn't know it was her ladyship you were interested in." It was horrible. It's a great pity that woman ever came here. I was so angry, Kerensa... ."

I glanced at Mellyora, remembering how she had fought for me when she had brought me to the parsonage from Trelinket. Mellyora could fight when the need arose. She would fight now. Any slur on the relationship between her and Justin was a slur on Justin. That was how she would see it. I knew there had been no consummation of this love between her and Justin, that there never would be while Judith was alive to stand between them.

Mellyora went on: "I said to her You are insolent." And she lay there laughing at me. You give yourself airs. Miss Martin,' she said. You might be your ladyship by the way you act. But you ain't that... not by a long chalk you ain't." I had to stop her because I was afraid she was going to say something dreadful, something which I wouldn't be able to ignore, so I said quickly: 'Someone is supplying Lady St. Larnston with whiskey and I believe it is you.' She jeered again and as she did so, her eyes went to the cupboard. I went over and opened it and I saw them ... bottles and bottles ... some full, some empty. She is getting them for Judith when ... Justin has tried to stop her drinking."

"What can you do about it, Mellyora?"

"I don't know. It worried me."

"These sneers about you and Justin make me more anxious than Judith's drinking."

"We are innocent," she said proudly, "and the innocent have nothing to fear."

I did not answer and she turned to me fiercely. "You do not believe me!' she accused.

"I believe what you tell me always, Mellyora. I was thinking of your words: "The innocent have nothing to fear.' I was wondering how true they were."

The next day Johnny went to Plymouth on the family business. It was strange how he had seemed to have become respectable since our marriage; I could believe that in twenty years' time he would have lived down his reputation. Life was extraordinary. Justin, who had made the marriage his parents had chosen for him, was losing his reputation, for there was no doubt that the main interest in the servants' hall was now the affair of Justin, Judith, and Mellyora. Johnny, who had disgraced the family by marrying the servant, was proving himself to have chosen wisely. It was indeed an ironic turn of events.

I wondered whether Johnny was unfaithful to me. I didn't greatly care. My position was assured. I had had all I wanted from Johnny.

When he returned he brought with him the elephant. It was made of gray cloth and there were wheels on its feet so that it could be pulled along. I have seen bigger and better elephants since, but at the time it seemed magnificent. It stood about twelve inches from the ground; it had two boot buttons for eyes, a magnificent trunk, a correspondingly grand tail, and a pair of soft ears. About its neck was a thin red leather band and to this was attached a red cord.

Johnny came into the nursery calling for Carlyon. Solemnly our son undid the wrappings about the box which seemed as big as himself; his little hands pulled at the tissue-paper wrapping and there, revealed in all its glory, was the elephant.

Carlyon stared at it, touched the gray cloth, put his finger on the boot-button eyes.

Then he looked from me to Johnny.

"It's an elephant, darling," I said.

"Nellyphant," he repeated, wondering.

Johnny took it out of its box and put the string into our son's hand. He showed him how to pull it along. Silently Carlyon pulled the toy round the room; then he knelt down and put his arms about its neck.

"Nellyphant," he whispered wonderingly. "My Nellyphant."

I was conscious of a momentary jealousy because Johnny had given him something that he liked so much. I wanted always to be first in his affections. It was a trait I deplored, but I couldn't help it.

Carlyon loved his elephant. The toy stood by his bed at night; he pulled it along wherever he went. He continued to call it his Nellyphant and it was natural that this was shortened to Nelly. He talked to Nelly; he sang to Nelly; it was a joy to see his delight in the thing.

My only regret was that it had not been my gift.

There were disturbing undercurrents at the Abbas that summer. The situation had worsened since the coming of Fanny who was not only supplying Judith with drink but was working on her suspicions. She hated Mellyora and between them, she and Judith were trying to make Mellyora's position at the Abbas intolerable.

Mellyora did not tell me of all the insults she had to endure, but there were occasions when she was so upset that she could not keep them to herself.

I had never liked Justin because I knew he had never liked me. He believed I had tricked Johnny into marrying me and he was too much of a patrician to accept me willingly into the family; while he was always coolly polite he never showed the least friendliness towards me, and I was inclined to think that he did not entirely approve of Mellyora's friendship with me.

For him I had little sympathy; but I loved Mellyora and I did not want to see her humiliated. Moreover, she loved Carlyon and he was fond of her; she was an excellent nurse and would be a good governess for him. I think really what I wanted was for things to go on as they were, with myself virtually mistress of the Abbas; Mellyora in a position which she owed to me and which put her in continual need of my protection; Justin, melancholy, in love with a woman who was forbidden to him, the victim of a loveless marriage; Johnny my husband fascinated by me still, realizing that there was a great deal about me which he did not understand, admiring me more than any woman he had ever known; myself powerful, in possession of the strings which jerked my puppets.

But Judith and the odious Fanny were planning to get rid of Mellyora.

People in love are apt to play the ostrich. They bury their heads and think because they see no one, no one sees them. Even such a cold-blooded man as Justin could fall in love and be foolish. He and Mellyora decided they must meet in some place where they could be alone and occasionally they would ride out—not together—and meet, though never twice in the same place. I pictured them walking their horses, talking earnestly before they parted to come home separately. But of course it was noticed that they both disappeared on the same afternoons.

This was their only indulgence. I was as certain as I was of anything that they had never been lovers in fact. Mellyora might have been tempted had her lover been of a more fiery temperament. The restraint would be on Justin's part.

But such a situation, however determined the chief actors were to preserve their honor and do their duty, was like sitting on top of a barrel of gunpowder. At any moment there could be an explosion and Fanny—perhaps Judith too—was determined that there would be.

One morning when I went down to the kitchens to give orders for the day I overheard a remark which disturbed me. It was Haggety who made it and Mrs. Rolt tittered her appreciation. Fanny had seen them together. Fanny knew. Parsons' daughters were the same as any village sluts given half the chance. Fanny was going to find out the truth, and when she had, someone was going to be sorry. You could trust Fanny. There wasn't much she missed.

There was silence when I walked into the kitchen; and mingled with my apprehension for Mellyora was my pride in the manner in which my presence could subdue them.

I gave no hint that I had heard what they were saying, but merely proceeded to give orders.

But when I went upstairs I was thoughtful. If Fanny did not go soon, there was going to be trouble which might result in Mellyora's being obliged to leave the Abbas. What would happen then? Would Justin let her go? Often a decision could be forced and when it was, how could one be sure in what way people would act? Fanny must go; but how could I dismiss Judith's maid?

I went to Judith's room. It was early afternoon and I knew that after luncheon she retired to her room to drink herself drowsy.

I knocked lightly at the door and when there was no answer knocked again more loudly. I heard the clink of glass and the shutting of a cupboard door. She still kept up the pretense that she was not drinking.

"Oh," she said, "it's you."

"I came in for a chat."

As I came close to her I could smell the spirits on her breath and noted the glazed look in her eyes; her hair was untidy.

She shrugged her shoulders and I set a chair before the mirror. "Let me dress your hair, Judith," I said. "I always liked doing it. It's what I call good-tempered hair. It does what you want it to."

She sat down obediently and as I took out the pins and her hair fell about her shoulders, I thought how vulnerable she looked.

I massaged her head as I used to and she closed her eyes.

"There's magic in your fingers," she said in a soft slurred voice.

"Judith," I said softly, "you're very unhappy."

She did not answer, but I saw that her mouth drooped.

"I wish there was something I could do."

"I like you to do my hair."

I laughed. "I mean something to help you to be happier."

She shook her head.

"Is it wise ... all this drinking?" I went on. "Fanny gets it for you, I know. It's wrong of her. You've been worse since she came."

"I want Fanny here. She's my friend." Her mouth was obstinate.

"A friend? Who smuggles drink to you when Justin is so anxious that you shouldn't drink, when he wants to see your health improved?"

She opened her eyes and they flashed momentarily. "Does he? Perhaps he would rather I were dead."

"What nonsense. He wants you to be well. Get rid of Fanny. I know she is bad for you. Get well... and strong. If your health were better you might have a child which would give Justin so much pleasure."

She turned round and gripped my arm. Her fingers burned my skin.

"You don't understand. You think you do. Everybody thinks they do. They think it is my fault there are no children. What if I were to tell you that it is Justin's?"

"Justin's. You mean ... ?"

She released me and, shrugging her shoulders, turned back to the mirror. "What does it matter? Just brush it for me, Kerensa. That soothes me. Then tie it back and I'll lie down and sleep awhile."

I picked up the comb. What did she mean? Was she suggesting that Justin was impotent?

I felt a great excitement. If this were so, there could never be any danger of anyone's displacing Carlyon. The problems of Mellyora and Justin were forgotten before such an important issue.

But how much trust could I put into Judith's wild statements? I considered Justin—so cool and aloof; the love for Mellyora which I was certain had never been consummated. Was this due to inability rather than morality?

I had to find out.

Then I remembered the history of the Derrise family; the story of the monster and the curse. I wanted to know more about that family.

"Judith ..." I began.

But her eyes were closed and she was already half asleep. I could get little out of her now, and then I should not be sure how true it was.

I remembered that, when I had been her maid, she had often talked of her old nurse, Jane Carwillen, who had been with her family for years, and had been nurse to Judith's mother. I had heard Judith say that she had left the family now but lived in a cottage on the Derrise estate. I made up my mind that if I rode over to Derrise and had a talk with Jane Carwillen, I might learn something of importance.

The next day I left Carlyon with Mellyora and rode out to the moor.

At Derrise Tor I paused to look down at the house—a magnificent mansion built in Cornish stone, surrounded by its park in which I caught a glint of sunshine on the fishponds. I could not help comparing myself with Judith who had been born to all that luxury and was now one of the most miserable women on earth, while I, born to poverty in a fisherman's cottage, had become Mrs. St. Larnston. I was continually making comparisons, continually congratulating myself on my achievements. I told myself that my character was strengthening; and if it was hardening too, well, hardness was strength.

I rode down towards the Derrise estate and on my way met some workmen whom I asked to direct me to Miss Carwillen's cottage. In a short time I found it.

I tied my horse to a fence and knocked at the door. There was a short silence before I heard slow footsteps; then the door was opened by a little woman.

Her back was bent and she walked with the aid of a stick; her face was as wrinkled as the skin of a stored apple, and she peered up at me through overhanging unkempt brows.

"Forgive my calling,'' I said. "I'm Mrs. St. Larnston from the Abbas."

She nodded. "I know. You be Kerensa Bee's girl."

"I am Judith's sister-in-law," I said coolly.

"What do you want with me?" she demanded.

"To talk to you. I'm anxious about Judith."

"Come in, then," she said, becoming slightly more hospitable.

I stepped down into the room and she led me to the high-backed settle in front of a turf fire. The fireplace was like a cave in the wall, and there were no bars to keep in the fire. It reminded me of the fireplace in Granny's cottage.

I sat down beside her and she said: "What be wrong with Miss Judith?"

I decided that she was a forthright woman, so I must pretend to be forthright too. I said blundy: "She's drinking too much."

That remark shocked her. I saw her lips twitch; then she pulled thoughtfully at the long stifle hair which grew out of a wart on her chin.

"I've come because I'm so anxious about her, and I thought you might be able to advise me."

"How so?"

"If," I said, "she could have a child, I believe it would help her, and if she would not drink so much, her health would improve. I've spoken to her about it. She seems to despair and think it isn't possible for her to have a child. You know the family well... ."

"They in a barren family," she answered, "and there have always been this trouble. They don't get children easy. There's some as is cursed that way."

I dared not look at her; I was afraid the shrewd old woman would read the satisfaction in my eyes and understand the reason.

"I've heard there's a curse on the family," I ventured. "I've heard it said that long ago a Derrise gave birth to a monster."

She blew with her lips. "There be wild tales in all these old families. The curse be no monster. It be this barrenness and ... the drink. The one do go with the other. Tis a sort of despair in them like. They say tis in the family not to bear sons ... and tis like they've made up their minds to be barren, and they be so. They say ... there be some on us as can't resist the drink. , . . Then they don't resist it."

"So that's the family curse," I said. And after a short pause, "You think it's unlikely that Judith can have a child?"

"Who can say? But her have been married some time and far as I know there be no sign. Her grandmother did have two—reared one and lost the other. He were a boy, but not strong. My young lady's mother were a Derrise. Her husband took the name when he did marry her—to keep the family alive, you see. It gets harder for them, it do seem. My young lady were so much in love. I remember how excited she were when he rode over. We said. Surely love like that will be fruitful. But it don't look like it."

No, I thought, she will have no sons. Her relationship with Justin has turned sour now. It will be my Carlyon who will have the Abbas.

I was glad I had ridden over to see Jane Carwillen. No one could say definitely that Judith and Justin would not have a son; but my spirits were high because I knew it was unlikely that they would.

"And this drinking ..." murmured the old woman shaking her head. "It don't do no good."

"It's been worse since Fanny Paunton came to her."

"Fanny Paunton's with her?"

"Yes. She came as lady's maid. Didn't you know?"

She shook her head sadly. "I don't like that. I never could abide Fanny Paunton."

"Nor I. I am certain that she smuggles spirits into the house."

"Why didn't her come to me? I would have told her. Tis long since I have seen her. Tell her I be missing her. There was a time when she'd ride over regular. But lately ..."

"It may be since Fanny has come. I should like to send her away. Judith won't hear of it though."

"She were always loyal to them that served her. And you do say she have been worse since Fanny came! That ain't to be wondered at, seeing as how ..."

"Yes?" I prompted.

Jane Carwillen leaned nearer. "That Fanny Paunton be a secret drinker," she said.

My eyes sparkled. Let me find her the worse for drink and I should have my excuse.

"Tain't often you'd find her drunk like," went on Jane. "Though there be times when her do let go. I could always see 'un coming. A slyness... . A look in the eye. A slackness... . Oh, I did know it. I tried to catch her at it, but I were always too late. She's shut herself in her room ... saying her wasn't well. Then herd drink herself silly, I do believe. But in the morning, she'd be up and right as rain. A sly one, Fanny Paunton ... and bad ... bad for my young lady. For there be a way these drinkers do have. They want everyone to be like 'em."

"If I found her drunk I should dismiss her," I said.

The old woman gripped my hand; her fingers scraped my skin lightly; she was like a repulsive bird, I thought.

"You watch for the signs," she whispered. "If you be smart, you may catch 'un. You be on the watch."

"How often do these drinking bouts take place?"

"I don't believe she'd hold out longer than a month or six weeks."

"I shall keep watch. I know it will be the best thing possible for my sister-in-law if I can rid her of this woman."

The old woman said she would give me a glass of her elderberry wine.

I was about to refuse but I could see that would be unwise. We were sealing a pact. We were in agreement about the undesirability of Fanny.

I took the glass and drank the stuff. It was warming and, I was sure, very potent. That and the turf fire made my face bum; and I knew the old woman was watching me closely, Kerensa Bee's girl, who must have given the neighborhood even as far as Derrise something to talk about.

"And ask my young lady to come and see old Jane," she begged me as I left.

I said I would; and as I rode back to the Abbas I was pleased with my journey. I felt certain that Judith could not bear a son and that very shortly I should find a reason for dismissing Fanny.

As I came past Larnston Barton I saw Reuben Pengaster. He was standing leaning against a gate and in his hands he held a pigeon. I called good day to him as I rode past. "Why," he said, "it be Mrs. St. Larnston. A very good day to 'ee, Ma'am."

He came loping towards me so that I had to stop.

"What do 'ee think of 'un?" he asked, holding up the bird which was docile in his hands; the sun shone on the iridescent wing and I was struck by the contrast of that sleek beauty and Reuben's spatulate black-rimmed fingers.

"She looks like a show bird to me."

Proudly he showed me the silver-colored ring about her leg. "She be a homing bird."

"Wonderful."

He peered up at me and his jaw wagged slightly as though he were overcome by secret silent laughter.

"No matter where this bird do fly to, 'er'll come home."

"I've often wondered how they find their way."

The thick fingers tenderly touched the bird's wing, all gentleness, all softness. I thought of those fingers about the throat of the cat.

"This be a miracle," he said. "Do 'ee believe in miracles, Mrs. St. Larnston, Ma'am?"

"I don't know."

"Oh, there be miracles. Pigeons is one of them." His face darkened suddenly. "Our Hetty went away," he said, "but 'er'll come back. Our Hetty be a homing bird, I reckon."

"I hope so," I answered.

His face creased pathetically. " 'Er went away. 'Er didn't tell I. 'Er ought to have told I." Then he was smiling again. "But 'er'll be back. I know it Same as I know when I sends out a bird. 'Er'll come back, I says. 'Er be a homing bird. Our Hetty were a homing bird."

Lightly I touched my horse's flanks. "Well, good day Reuben. I hope you're right."

"Oh, I be right. Miss. I do know. Piskey-mazed, they say I be, but I do have a little more in some ways to make up for it. Our Hetty won't stay away forever."

That June, Mr. Pollent had an accident when out riding; Joe took over the practice completely and there seemed to be no reason why his marriage to Essie should be delayed.

This might have been a little awkward had I allowed it to be. If Joe had done as I wished and become a doctor, the awkward situation would never have arisen; and I could not quite forgive Joe for being the one person to stand out against me. But for him I could have achieved all I set out to do. Joe however was clearly very happy and imagined himself to be the luckiest man alive and when I was with him I always softened towards him. The sight of him dragging his left leg slightly as he walked, brought back memories of that terrible night and how Kim had helped me; that softened me always and set me thinking of Kim and wondering whether he would ever come back.

On the wedding day Mellyora and I drove to the church in one of the Abbas carriages. Granny had been staying at the Pollents' house for the night. The respectability of her grandchildren was even having its effect on Granny, and I believed that before long I should have her living the life of a genteel old lady in some small house on the St. Larnston estate.

As we drove along I noticed that Mellyora looked pale but I did not mention the fact. I could imagine the strain she was undergoing and I promised myself that before long I should have Fanny out of the house.

The church had been decorated for the wedding because the Pollents were a highly respected family. There was a little stir when I took my place with Mellyora for it was rarely that a St. Larnston was a guest at such a wedding. Would they be reminding themselves, I wondered, that I was only Kerensa Bee's granddaughter after all. I fancied, too, that many covert glances were directed towards Mellyora, the parson's daughter who was now nurse to my son.

The wedding ceremony, performed by the Reverend Mr. Hemphill, was soon concluded; and Essie and Joe came out to the vet's carriage which was to take them back to the Pollents' where a feast was waiting for them and the guests.

The traditional rice was flung and the old pair of shoes attached to the carriage. Essie, blushing and giggling, clung to Joe's arm. As for Joe he managed to look both sheepish and proud.

I shrugged my shoulders impatiently, imagining how different this could have been if Joe had been marrying the doctor's daughter.

As we drove back, Mellyora watched me quizzically and asked me of what I was thinking.

"Of the night Joe was caught in the trap," I replied. "He might have died. This wedding would never have taken place but for Kim."

"Dear old Kim!" murmured Mellyora. "How long ago it seems since he was with us."

"Do you never hear from him, Mellyora?" I asked wistfully.

"I've told you that he never writes letters."

"If he ever did ... you would let me know?"

"Of course. But he never will."

The reception was typical of such occasions. The guests filled the Pol-lent parlor, the living room, and the kitchen. The kitchen table was laden with food which the Pollent girls must have been preparing for weeks: cakes and pies—hams, beef, and pork; there were homemade wines—blackberry, elder, gillyflower, parsnip, cowslip, and sloe gin.

The party would be very merry before it was over. There were the usual sly jokes; the expected comments; and several of the men whispered their intention to begin the shallal—without which few weddings in our part of Cornwall were celebrated. This was a so-called band, the sole object of which was to create as much noise as possible. Pans, kettles, tea trays— any implement on which hands could be laid, and with which the maximum noise could be made was brought into use. This was to proclaim to the neighborhood for miles round that two people had married that day.

Joe and Essie accepted all this fuss with pleasure. Essie, threatened with the usual horseplay when it was time to retire, giggled with feigned horror.

At least I should not be present when they dragged her and Joe from their bed and beat them with a stocking filled with sand. I should not be one of those who thought it such a great joke to put a furze bush in the bed.

It was while I sat with Granny and Mellyora and ate the food which the Pollent girls carried round to the guests that I learned of the growing concern in the neighborhood.

Jill Pengert, a housewife with a husband and three sons who were all miners, took a seat beside Granny and earnestly asked her whether there was any truth in the rumors which were going around.

"Be they going to close down the Fedder mine, Mrs. Bee?" asked Jill.

Granny said she hadn't looked that far into the future but knew there was a fear the lode might be running out.

"Where shall we be to if Fedders should close?" demanded Jill. "Think on all the men who'll be without work."

Granny shook her head and as Saul Cundy was standing nearby talking to Tom Pengaster, Jill called out; "Do 'ee know ought about these rumors, Cap'en Saul?"

Saul replied: 'You've heard that the lode be running out, have 'ee? Well, you hain't the first."

"But is it true, Cap'en?"

Saul stared into his sloe gin. He looked as though he knew more than he thought it wise to tell. "Tis the same story all over Cornwall," he said. "These mines have been worked for years. They say there be only so much richness under the soil. Down St. Ives way one or two have already closed down."

"My dear life and soul!" cried Jill. "And what's to become of the likes of we?"

"Reckon every bit of tin 'ull have to be taken out of they mines afore we'll let 'em close," said Saul. 'We won't let any mine be turned into an old scat bal till we be sure every scrap of ore be brought to the surface."

"Bravo!" growled one of the men; and the cry was taken up.

Saul was a man who would fight for his rights, and those of others. I wondered if he had recovered from the shock of Hetty Pengaster's flight to London when he had planned to marry her. He would, I imagined, be the kind of man who was more interested in fighting for the rights of the miners than settling down and marrying.

Thinking of Hetty I did not hear his next comment until the words "St. Larnston mine" attracted me.

"Ay," he went on, "we'll have no idle mine. If there be tin in Cornwall, hungry men will want to bring it up."

I could feel eyes turning towards me and was aware of the signs which were being flashed to Saul.

He put down his glass suddenly and walked away.

"I hadn't heard this rumor about the possibility of Fedders closing down," I whispered to Granny.

"I've been hearing rumors since I was so-size," answered Granny, holding her hand about a foot above the ground.

That pronouncement of hers and my presence seemed to put an end to the subject—or at least I did not hear it mentioned again.

After Joe's wedding, events began to crowd one on another leading up to that climax which would haunt me for the rest of my days.

I watched Fanny constantly so that I should not lose my opportunity of catching her.

The day came when I was successful.

Dinner was always a rather formal meal at the Abbas. We dressed, not elaborately, but in what we called semi-evening dress. I had bought a few simple dresses, subduing my natural love of color; I always enjoyed these meals because they gave me a chance to show how easily and naturally I had adjusted myself since my rise from the kitchen to the dining room.

Justin sat at one end of the table; Judith at the other. But I would often sign to Haggety when dishes should be served. Old Lady St. Larnston was too fatigued to care that I had assumed these duties; as for Judith she wouldn't notice that I did. I always fancied that Justin was irritated by my arrogance; as for Johnny he was amused, half cynically, half delightedly. He enjoyed watching me with my cool manners which were so different from Judith's. I don't think he ever grew tired of faying to draw the comparison between us and showing how much more brightly I could shine than Judith; and in fact as I became more polished, more sure of myself, more the lady of the house, so Judith deteriorated. Her drinking habits were having the inevitable effect, her hands would shake as she lifted her glass to her lips; how eagerly she took her wine, how surreptitiously she filled it again and again.

It was not a happy state of affairs between the brothers—but I was not responsible for that. In fact, it was gratifying to know that I had given Johnny his new dignity and importance in the house.

On this particular night Judith looked worse than I had ever seen her before. Her dress was not properly buttoned, and her hair, insecurely pinned, was beginning to fall down at the back.

A sudden thought struck me. She had dressed herself this evening.

It excited me. Could it be that this was the day?

Justin was saying: "I met Fedder this afternoon. He's concerned about the mine."

"Why?" asked Johnny.

"There are signs that the lode is giving up. He says they've been working at a loss and he's already dispensing with some of his people."

Johnny whistled. "That's bad."

"Going to be very bad for the neighborhood," went on Justin.

He frowned. He was different from Johnny. He would be a good squire, caring about the neighborhood. These thoughts passed lightly through my mind because I was longing for the moment when I could go up to Fanny's room and see what had happened to her.

"Fedder was hinting that we ought to open up the St Larnston mine."

Johnny was looking at me. I saw the anger in his face, and was mildly surprised that he should care so much.

I heard his voice then; it sounded strangled with fury. "You told him that we should do no such thing, I suppose."

"The idea," said Justin, "of having a working mine so close to the house does not appeal to me."

Johnny laughed a little uneasily. "I should think not."

"What's that?" asked my mother-in-law.

"We were talking about the mine. Mother," said Justin.

"Oh dear," she sighed. "Haggety, a little more of the Burgundy."

That meal seemed interminable. But at last we had left Johnny and Justin over their port and on the way to the drawing room, I made an excuse to go upstairs and straight to Fanny's room.

I stood for a few seconds outside, listening. Then cautiously I opened the door and looked in.

She was lying on her bed, completely intoxicated. I could smell the whiskey fumes as I approached her.

I hurried back to the dining room where the men were sitting over their port.

"I'm sorry," I said, "but I must speak to you both without delay. Fanny must be told to go at once."

"What's happened?" asked Johnny, with a flicker of amusement in his eyes which was always there when he imagined I was playing the mistress of the house.

"We must be frank among ourselves," I said. "J^^^ ^^s been worse since Fanny came here. I am not surprised. Fanny encourages her to drink. The woman is lying on her bed now—drunk."

Justin had grown pale; Johnny gave a little laugh.

I ignored my husband and appealed to Justin. "She must go at once. You must tell her to go."

"Certainly she must go," said Justin.

"Go to her room now and you will see for yourself," I said.

He did. He saw.

The next morning he sent for Fanny; she was told to pack her bags and leave without delay.

The subject of Fanny's dismissal was being discussed in the kitchen. I could imagine the excitement, and what was being said round the table.

"Was it Fanny who led her ladyship astray or t'other way about, do 'ee think?"

"Well, tis small surprise her ladyship do take a little nip now and then ... when you think of what 'er has to put up with."

"Do 'ee think Miss Martin put 'un up to it?"

" 'Er? Well, it may be. Parson's daughter can be as sly as any other, I reckon."

Judith was desolate. She had come to rely on Fanny. I talked to her and tried to persuade her to pull herself together, but she remained melancholy.

"She was my friend," said Judith. "That was why she went ..."

"She went because she was discovered drunk."

"They wanted her out of the way because she knew too much."

"Too much about what?" I asked sharply.

"About my husband and that girl."

"You must not say such things ... nor even think such things. They are quite untrue."

"They are not untrue. I talked to Jane Carwillen ... and she believed me."

"So you have been to see her."

"Yes, you told me to, didn't you? You told me she asked for me. I told her how he wanted that girl . , . how he wished he hadn't married me. And she believed me. She said she wished I'd never married. She said she wished we were together as we used to be."

"But she was glad, wasn't she, that Fanny had been dismissed?" Judith was silent. Then she burst out: "You're against me ... all of you."

It was a week after Fanny had left when Judith went looking for whiskey with a lighted candle. I did not come onto the scene until the drama was at its height, but discovered later that Judith, after searching in vain for the bottles which Fanny had kept in her cupboard and which had been removed at the time of her dismissal, had set down the lighted candle in Fanny s old room and left it. An open door, a sudden draft, and the curtains were alight.

Justin was accustomed to taking lonely rides. I had guessed that there were occasions when he wanted to be alone with his uneasy thoughts. I often wondered whether during those lonely rides he made wild plans which he knew—being the man he was—he would never put into execution. Perhaps he found some relief in planning even though he knew the plans would never come to anything.

Returning from one of these drives I imagined that after stabling his horse he would walk to the house, unable to prevent his eyes straying to the window of the room which was Mellyora's.

And on this night he saw smoke coming from that side of the house in which she slept and what more natural than that he should rush to her room.

She told me afterwards that she had awakened and smelt the smoke, had put on her dressing gown and was about to investigate when the door burst open and there was Justin.

In such a moment how could they hide their feelings? He must have embraced her, and Judith, wandering in search of her solace, came upon them thus as she had so often sought to find them; Mellyora in her dressing gown, her fair hair loose; Justin his arms about her, caught displaying that affection for which Judith had longed so passionately.

Judith began to scream and awoke us all.

The fire was soon put out. It wasn't even necessary to call the brigade; only the curtains and some of the walls were damaged. But greater damage had been done.

I shall never forget that scene, with the servants all assembled in their nightclothes, with the acrid smell in our nostrils, and Judith... .

She must have had a small secret store of her own for she had certainly been drinking, but she was sober enough to choose a moment when we were all present so that we should all know. She began to shout.

"This time I've caught you. You didn't know I saw you. You were in her room. You were holding her... kissing her... . You think I didn't know. Everybody knows. Ever since she came here it's been going on. That's why you had her here. You wished you'd married her. But that makes no difference. You'll not let a little matter like that stand in your way... ."

"Judith," warned Justin, "you've been drinking."

"Of course I've been drinking. What else have I? Wouldn't you drink ... ?" She stared at us glassily, waving her arms. "Wouldn't you ... if your husband had his mistress here in the house ... if he made every excuse to get away from you ... to go to her... ."

"We must get her to her room quickly," said Justin. He was looking at me almost pleadingly so I went to Judith and took her arm.

I said very firmly: "Judith, you are not well. You have imagined something which does not exist. Come, let me take you to your room."

She began to laugh wildly, demoniacally. She turned towards Mellyora and for a moment I thought she was going to fly at her; I quickly placed myself between them and said: "Mrs. Rolt, Lady St. Larnston is unwell. Please help me to take her to her room."

Mrs. Rolt took one of Judith's arms, I the other, and although Judith tried to free herself we were too strong for her. I caught one glimpse of Mellyora's face; it was quite stricken; I saw the pain and shame in Justin's. Never, I imagined, had there been such a scene in the history of the Abbas —the shocking element being of course that it was happening in the sight of all the servants. I saw Johnny; his smile was sly; he was delighted at his brother's discomfiture and at the same time proud because I—the lady's maid—was the one who had taken charge of the situation, the one on whom Justin was relying to end it as quickly as it could be ended.

Between us, Mrs. Rolt and I dragged the hysterical Judith to her room. I shut the door and said, "We'll just get her to bed, Mrs. Rolt."

We did so and covered her up. "Dr. Hilliard gave her some sedatives," I went on. "I think she should have one now."

I gave it to her and to my surprise she meekly took it. Then she began to cry weakly. "If I could have a child it would be different," she murmured. "But how can D He's never with me. He doesn't care for me. He only cares for her. He never comes to me. He shuts himself in his room. The door's locked. Why is the door locked? Tell me that. Because he doesn't want me to know where he is. I know, though. He's with her."

Mrs. Rolt clicked her tongue and I said: "I'm afraid, Mrs. Rolt, that she has been drinking."

"Poor soul," murmured Mrs. Rolt. "Can you wonder at it?"

I raised my eyebrows to imply that I wanted no confidences and Mrs. Rolt immediately recoiled.

I said coldly: "She will be quiet in a moment. I don't think there is any need for you to stay now, Mrs. Rolt"

"I'd like to help all I can, Ma'am."

"You have been a great help," I told her, "But there is nothing else to be done. Tm afraid Lady St. Larnston is sick ... very sick."

She had lowered her eyes: I knew that there would be sly knowledge in her eyes.

Mellyora was in distress.

"You must see, Kerensa, that I can't stay here now. I'll have to go."

I was thoughtful, wondering what my life would be like without her.

"There must be something we can do."

"I can't endure it. They are whispering about me. All the servants. I know it. Doll and Daisy chatter together; they're all silent as soon as I appear. And Haggety... . He's looking at me in a different way as though ..."

I knew Haggety and I understood.

"I must find some way of keeping you here, Mellyora. I'll dismiss Haggety. I'll dismiss all the servants... ."

"How could you? Besides, it wouldn't help. They're talking all the time about us. And it's untrue, Kerensa. Say you believe it's untrue."

"That you and he are lovers? I can see he loves you, Mellyora; and I know you have always loved him."

"But they are suggesting ..."

She could not look at me and I said quickly: "I know you would never do anything of which you were ashamed ... you or Justin."

"Thank you, Kerensa. At least you believe that of us."

But what help was it to be innocent when everyone believed you guilty?

She turned to me suddenly, "You are clever. Tell me what to do."

"Be calm. Be dignified. You are innocent. Therefore behave as though you are innocent. Convince people... ."

"After that dreadful scene. How?"

"Don't panic. Let things drift. Perhaps I'll think of something."

But she was desperate. She did not believe that I or anyone could help her.

She said quietly: "It is all over. I must go from here."

"What of Carlyon? He'll be brokenhearted."

"He'll forget me. Children do."

"Not Carlyon. He s not like other children. He's so sensitive. He'll grieve for you. And what of me ... ?"

"We shall write to each other. We shall meet now and then. Oh Kerensa, this isn't the end of our friendship. That'll never end until one of us dies."

"No," I said fervently. "It'll never end. But you mustn't despair. Something will happen. It always does. I'll think of something. You know I never fail."

But what could I think of? There was nothing I could do. Poor grief-stricken Mellyora! Poor Justin! I believed they were the sort who would accept their fate however unendurable. They were not of my kind.

Mellyora studied the papers. She vote for several posts. A parson's daughter with some experience as a lady's companion and a nursery governess should not find a post difficult to come by.

Each year a small circus came to St Larnston; the big top was set up in a meadow just outside the village and for three days we heard the sounds of music and voices floating through the country lanes. For a week or so before the arrival of the circus, and for some time after, there was no talk of anything else; and it was a tradition that all the servants of the Abbas should have a free half day to visit the circus.

Promptly on the appointed day the vans came trundling along the lanes. I was never more glad of the diversion which I hoped would turn the conversation away from Justin, Mellyora, and Judith.

But that very morning there was a letter for Mellyora. She called me to her room to read it to me. It was a reply from one of the posts for which she had written—a revealing letter, I called it, clearly betraying the kind of woman who had written it. She would be prepared to see Mellyora and if her qualifications and references were acceptable give her a trial. There were three children in the household and Mellyora's duties, it seemed, would be to be their governess, their nurse and their slave. All this she would do for a minute salary; she would be expected to keep to the nurseries; her youth was against her but for a smaller salary than the gracious lady would have paid a more experienced governess she might be given a trial provided the interview was satisfactory.

"Tear that one into shreds," I commanded.

"But Kerensa," she said, "I've got to do something. It's no worse than the others."

"She sounds impossible. The most fearful snob. You'll hate it."

"They are all the same and I shall hate everything—so what difference does it make? I've got to do something. Kerensa, you know I've got to get away."

I looked at her and realized how much I was going to miss her. She was so much a part of my life. I couldn't let her go.

"You're not going, Mellyora. I can't let you go. In fact, I won't."

She smiled sadly. "You've become accustomed to giving orders, Kerensa. But I've come to the end. I've got to go. Since that awful night, I can't stay here. When I met Haggety on the stairs this morning he barred my way. It was awful. The way he looked at me. His fat hands ... I pushed him away and ran. But that's not the end of it. It's the same everywhere. Tom Pengaster at the back door for Doll. The way his eyes followed me. I saw Reuben in the lane. His jaw wagged as though he were laughing ... secretly. Don't you see!"

I knew then how desperate she was, that she had made up her mind and that I wasn't going to find it easy to stop her going.

Mellyora would go out of my life as Joe had gone; and Mellyora was important to me.

"You can't go," I said, almost angrily. "You and I belong together."

"Not any more, Kerensa. You've become the respectable married woman whereas I ..."

I remember that moment even now. The silence in the room and the sudden roar of the caged lion as the circus cavalcade passed through St. Larnston.

It was a moment of uneasiness. Life was not moving as I wanted it. I could not bear to lose Mellyora; she was part of my life; every time we were together I was aware of the change in our positions and compared the past with the present. I could not help but feel satisfaction in Mellyora's presence, yet at the same time I deplored her unhappiness. I was not all bad up to that time.

"Something will happen to stop this," I said, clenching my fists.

Something would happen. I was sure of my power to control our fates.

Mellyora shook her head. Heartbroken, she was passively accepting hers.

Carlyon came in with Doll who had taken him to the end of the lane to see the cavalcade. His eyes were brilliant, his cheeks scarlet. I could never look at him without marveling at his beauty.

"Mamma," he said, running to me and throwing his arms about my knees, "I have seen the lions."

I picked him up and laid my cheek against his. I thought: What does anything matter while I have him?

But all was not well with him; he withdrew himself slightly to peer anxiously into my face.

"Mamma," he said, "I saw a nellyphant. Two nellyphants."

"That was lovely, my darling."

He shook his head.

I understood when I took him to the nursery. He went straight to his toy and knelt down beside it; he put a cautious finger on the black boot buttons. He said: "You ve got your eyes on, Nelly."

He gave the toy a little push and it rolled across the floor until it reached the wall. Then he turned to me and the tears were streaming down his cheeks.

"Nelly's not a real live nellyphant," he sobbed.

Mellyora had written asking for an interview. I was certain that if she went she would get the post, for her prospective employer would pay her less than was usual and congratulate herself on having acquired a parson's daughter.

The servants seemed absent-minded; I could hear them continually whispering and giggling together. Even Mrs. Salt and her daughter seemed excited. The circus brought strangers to the place and perhaps there was an added thrill for them in case the terrible Mr. Salt might be among them. Haggety would accompany Mrs. Rolt, Doll would go with Tom Pengaster and perhaps they would let Daisy go with them. Lunch was to be served half an hour earlier so that they could clear up and get away in good time.

Johnny had gone to Plymouth, as he said, on estate duty. Justin rode off alone immediately after luncheon. I always spent a part of the afternoon with Carlyon so Mellyora had a few hours of freedom; and when I saw her come downstairs in her riding habit that afternoon, I guessed that she was meeting Justin.

They were very sad, both of them, because there would not be many more occasions when they could be together.

"Mellyora," I said, "I hope Justin will persuade you not to go."

She flushed and in those moments looked very lovely. "He knows, as well as I do," she answered, "that this is the only way."

She pressed her lips firmly together as though she feared the suppressed sobs would escape while she hurried past me.

I went straight up to the nursery where I found Carlyon talking about the animals. I had told the servants not to mention to him that they were going to the circus because I knew that he would then want to go too and I was afraid of the circus, afraid that he might be harmed in some way. So many unclean people who might give him some disease; he might be lost; I could picture a hundred mishaps. Perhaps next year, I'll take him myself, I thought.

We went out to the rose garden where old Lady St. Larnston was sitting in a wheel chair; she had been suffering from rheumatism in the last months and used the chair a good deal. The last year or so had brought great changes in this house. Her eyes brightened at the sight of Carlyon and he went straight to her and stood on tiptoe as she bent creakily forward to receive his kiss.

I sat on the wooden seat near her chair while Carlyon sprawled out on the grass absorbed in the progress of an ant which was climbing a blade of grass.

While he played, my mother-in-law and I talked desultorily.

"This wretched circus." She sighed. "It has been the same for years. My hot water was five minutes late this morning and my tea was cold. I told Mrs. Rolt and she said: It's the circus, my lady.' I remember when I was first married ..."

Her voice trailed off as it often did when she started some reminiscence and she would be silent while she relived the past in her thoughts. I wondered whether her mind was beginning to fail as her body was.

"It's one of the great days in their lives," I remarked.

"The empty house ...the servants ... quite impossible." Her voice quavered.

"Fortunately it only happens once a year."

"Everyone gone ... just everyone... . Not a servant in the house. If anyone should call... ."

"No one will. Everyone knows it is the day of the circus."

"Kerensa, my dear ... Judith... ."

"She's resting."

Resting! That significant word. We used it when we meant to imply that Judith was not quite presentable. When visitors called we would say: "She is a little indisposed. She is resting."

Her condition had improved since the departure of Fanny. It was true that she was drinking less; but there was a continual craving which seemed to be turning to a madness. When her mother went out onto the moors and danced by moonlight was it because she was drunk? Was it, as Jane Carwillen had said, that drink was the monster that haunted the Derrise family?

We were silent, each occupied with our separate thoughts; and suddenly I noticed that Carlyon was stretched out on the grass, his little body shaking with sobs.

I went over to him at once and picked him up. "What is it, my darling?" I asked.

He clung to me and it was some time before he could speak.

"It's Nelly," he said. "I was a wicked one."

I smoothed the thick hair back from his forehead and murmured endearments; but I couldn't comfort him.

"I didn't like her any more because she wasn t a true nellyphant."

"And you like her again?"

"She's Nelly," he said.

"Well, she'll be happy now you like her again," I soothed.

"She's gone."

"Gone?"

He nodded.

"Where?" I asked.

"I don't know."

"But, darling, if she's gone away you must know where."

"I looked and looked. She's gone because I told her she wasn't a true nellyphant."

"She's in the nursery waiting for you."

He shook his head. "I looked."

"And she wasn't there?"

"She's gone right away. I didn't like her any more. I said she wasn't a true nellyphant."

"Well," I said, "she isn't."

"But she's crying. I said I don't want her any more. I wanted a true nellyphant."

"And now do you want her?"

"She's my Nelly, even though she's not a true nellyphant. I want Nelly to come back and she's gone."

I rocked him in my arms. Bless his tender heart! I thought. He believes he has hurt poor Nelly and wants to comfort her.

"I'll go and find her," I told him. "You stay here with Grandmamma. Perhaps she'll let you count her carnelians."

One of his greatest pleasures was examining the stone necklace which my mother-in-law invariably wore during the day; it was composed of carnelian stones of golden brown, rather roughly hewn. Carlyon had always been fascinated by them.

He brightened at the prospect and I put him on my mother-in-law's lap; she smiled for the counting of the carnelians was, I believed, as great a pleasure for her as for him. She would tell him about the necklace and how her husband had given it to her and how his mother had given it to him for his bride; it was a St. Larnston necklace and the stones themselves had been found in Cornwall.

I left Carlyon considerably comforted, listening to his Grandmother's sleepy voice recounting the history as she had many times before, he watching the movement of her lips, telling her when she used a word which had not been in the previous tellings.

As soon as I entered the Abbas, I tell myself now, I felt an odd foreboding. But perhaps I imagined that afterwards. Yet I was very susceptible to what I called the moods of the house. The house was a living thing to me; I had always felt my destiny was v\n:apped up in it. It certainly was that afternoon.

Such a silence. All the household away. It was rare that there were not some servants present. But this was the special day of the year when it was agreed that all should be absent.

Only Judith would be lying in her room, her hair tousled, her face already bearing that misshapen vague look of the dipsomaniac, the eyes a little wild and bloodshot. I shivered, although it was a warm afternoon.

I longed to be out in the rose garden with my son. I smiled thinking of him sitting on Lady St. Larnston's lap, his eyes close to the carnelian stones, perhaps tracing the streaks in them with a plump finger.

My darling child! I would die for him. Then I laughed at the sentiment. Of what use would I be to him, dead? He needed me to plan for him, to give him the life of which he was worthy. Did I sense in him already a softness, a sentimentality which might let his heart rule his head.

How happy he would be when I put his toy elephant into his arms. Together we would explain that he loved her still, and the fact that she was not a true elephant was unimportant.

I went along first to the nursery, but the toy was not there. I had seen him with it that morning. I smiled, remembering how he had dragged it along in a dejected sort of way. Poor Nelly! She was in disgrace. When had I seen him? It was when Mellyora had brought him to my room on their way out. They had gone together along the corridor and down by the main staircase.

I followed the direction, guessing that his attention had been distracted and he had relinquished the strap and left the toy somewhere on the way. I would descend the stairs and go out to one of the front lawns where he had played that morning.

When I reached the top of the staircase I saw the elephant. It was lying on the second stair from the top and caught in it was a shoe.

I went closer. A high-heeled shoe caught in the cloth of the elephant's coat! Whose shoe?

I stood up holding the toy in one hand, the shoe in the other, and as I did so I saw a form at the bottom of the staircase.

My heart was beating as though it would burst out of my body as I ran down the stairs.

Lying at the foot of the stairs was Judith.

"Judith," I whispered. I knelt beside her. She was very still. She wasn't breathing and I knew that she was dead.

It seemed now that the house was watching me. There I was alone in it ... with death. In one hand I held the shoe—in the other the toy elephant.

I could see it all so clearly. The toy lying at the top of the stairs; Judith coming down, slightly tipsy, not seeing the toy. I could picture her stepping on it, her heel catching in the cloth—her balance lost; the sudden descent, down the great staircase which I had mounted once so proudly in my red velvet dress ... down to death.

And this because my son had left his toy on the stairs—a death trap innocently set.

I closed my eyes and I thought of the whisperings! The little boy was responsible for her death in a manner of speaking. ... It was the sort of story they loved, that lived on for years.

And he would know it, and even though none could say it was his fault, it would cloud his happiness to know that he was responsible for her death.

Why should his bright future be clouded because a drunken woman had fallen down the stairs and broken her neck?

The great silence of the house was unnerving. It was as though time had stopped—the clocks had stopped and there was no sound whatever. Great events had taken place within these walls over the centuries. Something told me that I was now facing one of those occasions.

Then time seemed to begin again. I heard the ticking of the grandfather clock as I knelt down by Judith. There was no doubt that she was dead.

I laid the shoe on the stairs; but I took the elephant back to the nursery and left it there. No one was going to say that Judith had died because of my son's action.

Then I ran out of the house, as fast as I could to Dr. Milliard's.