Kitty thought of Mother and her brother always in mischief, helped by the squire's boy to tease poor Harriet who had not their gay spirit and attractive charm. Grandfather Ramsdale was of the quality and it was in a mad moment that he had made a most unsuitable match with Grandmother Ramsdale who was the daughter of a blacksmith; she had plagued and tormented him until he, being pious, must marry her. Kitty had seen a miniature of Grandmother Ramsdale, had seen the exquisite little face with its crown of fair hair; had seen the wilful eyes and passionate mouth so like her own and her mother's, and it was not so difficult then to understand how even a man such as Grandfather Ramsdale had been plagued into marriage. Extraordinary marriage it must have been. She had been unable to endure that country parsonage, and as soon as her youngest was able to walk and button her own clothes, like a bird which has taught her young to fly she no longer felt any ties held her to her nest; she flew off with a young lord who was passing through Exeter and saw her and was plagued by her, just as the parson had been. She was never heard of again. So the children grew in an atmosphere of pious gloom. They were beaten mercilessly by Their father, for he feared his son and younger daughter had inherited their mother's bad blood. There was no fear in his heart for his favourite, Harriet. She was his daughter. And he was right to fear too, for at the age of eighteen Jeffry went to Oxford and in a year had run himself so deeply into debt that it meant several years of cheeseparing to extricate him; in his last year there he was killed in a tavern fight. And Bess, Kitty's mother, had grown to look just like the blacksmith's daughter, with the same fair colouring, the same laughing eyes, the same wanton mouth. A match had been arranged for her with George Haredon, but when a party of players came to Exeter there was among them one Peter Kennedy, and when the players left, Bess went with them.

She often told the story, lying back on her couch with her fair hair flowing about her shoulders and her rich wrap falling open to disclose her over-luscious charms.

"Poor Peter! How I adored him, swaggering on the stage with his red cloak and his moustaches! But, Kit any dear, I was just a country wench then; I soon saw what a mistake I had made. Besides, was I to spend my life with a company of strolling players! But before I could do anything about it you were on the way; I wasn't sorry- I have never been sorry for anything. And, once I'd set eyes on you, I had a soft spot for Peter Kennedy for evermore. Well, my dear, that's the secret of life never stop to look back and sigh; go on and find something better. That's what I did. There was Toby after Peter, and after Toby my Lord James. It has been a good life and we've enjoyed it, eh?”

They had enjoyed it. There was always plenty to eat, good clothes to wear. No beggary for them. And Bess grew plumper and more luscious with the years, and Sir Harry took the place of Lord James, and it went on like that. A pleasant little house, a serving maid or two, and many fine gentlemen who always had a friendly pat for Bess's little girl.

There was the academy for young ladies where one learned to read a little and write a little, to speak French and do fine embroidery.

Occasionally there were slightly unpleasant incidents. A look, a gesture, a disparaging remark overheard about her mother. Kitty did not care; she was completely insensitive to these things. She was a modern replica of her own mother and the blacksmith's daughter; she was kindly, gentle, ready to be moulded by a stronger will, and these qualities, coupled with striking physical beauty, were at the root of her appeal to the egoistical male of all types and ages. In her firm, strong, flawless body and her pliable mind they saw perfection. She had her mother's gift for looking forward, stifling regrets for the past. The old life was done with; the new one, presided over by the stern Aunt Harriet, lay before her. The prospect was not pleasing, yet because she was herself she must always expect good things from life, and here already, on the journey westwards, she had met a young man whose admiration excited her, who was pleasant of countenance, charming of manners, and who was apparently to be a near neighbour.

Her mother had known death was coming to her; a certain breathlessness, a heightening of colour in her face, fainting fits; these were the forerunners of death. The doctors and apothecaries could not save her; perhaps she did not wish them to. She was thirty-eight years old. and that seemed to her no longer young. She had had her life and enjoyed it; she was ready to go. But what of Kitty, who was just on the threshold of life and had much to learn? She, who had never been afraid for herself, was suddenly fearful for her daughter. She thought constantly then, with a never-before-experienced respect, of the sheltered life in a country parsonage. Affectionately she remembered quiet fields and the glistening gold of buttercups in noon-day sunshine; she thought of lanes shaded by leafy trees, of homely fare and morning prayers and strict surveillance. There was safety in these things. She had not heard from her family since leaving it, in the company of Peter Kennedy, but it did not occur to her that her old home was not exactly as she had known it, so she dispatched a letter to her sister Harriet at the parsonage, and waited anxiously for a reply, while the fainting fits grew more frequent and the fight for breath a losing battle. It came at length, but not from the parsonage. There was a new parson now, Harriet wrote, for Their father had been dead ten years. Harriet had her own house; did Bess remember Oaklands? The little house just a stone's throw from the parsonage, and a mile or so from Hare-don? Harriet was far from rich, but however exacting her duty, she could be relied upon to perform it. That letter conjured up such a picture of Harriet that it made Bess laugh until she began to cough so violently that she thought her last moment had come. The same Harriet! Grim and virtuous, determined on duty. However much she disapproved of Bess, Bess's daughter ; was her niece, and while she, Harriet, lived, it would always be her duty to see that any member of her family did not starve. Bess would have preferred to live a few years longer, to have seen her daughter safely married and settled for life; but that was not to be, and who knew that, by returning to the place from which her mother had escaped, Kitty might not make a more brilliant marriage than her mother would ever have been able to arrange for her in London Town? Respectability counted; Harriet was all respectability, and sometimes some very fine gentlemen went down to Haredon. So Bess began to convince herself that this was probably the best thing possible for Kitty's welfare, and she died, as she had lived, happily.

And here was Kitty on her way to Aunt Harriet, a little alarmed at the prospect of her new life, but not so very alarmed, because she was so like her mother. And when she at last fell asleep her thought was not of the lost life in London, nor of the new life which lay before her, but of Darrell Grey.

The next day passed, and the next and the next. They crossed Salisbury Plain and entered the fine old town of Salisbury. They yawned and slept and laughed and chattered, were irritable and gay, taciturn and garrulous as they passed the milestones. The journey was a tedious business for all but Darrell and Kitty; to them there was pleasure in each moment as it passed. There was joy in the shaded lanes; there was excitement at dusk when a lonely stretch of road or plain had to be traversed; they were ; enthralled by each other. They loved the meals in the old inn I parlours; there was joy in getting out of the coach to stretch I cramped limbs, in settling in again to continue the journey.

It I was a voyage of discovery; to Kitty each town through which they passed was new; but there were more exciting discoveries to be made, and how exhilarating it was learning of Darrell's life, telling him about her own. He had heard of the parson's daughter, Bess, who had run away from home. He had heard how Squire Haredon had been in love with her; how half the neighbourhood had been in love with her; it did not surprise him, if she had been anything like her daughter. They wished, how they wished, the journey would never end. The weather was perfect; it was all blue skies and unclouded sunshine, wonderful sunsets. Even the garrulous merchant and the disapproving matron added to their enjoyment. To Darrell's amusement Kitty imitated them, for she had inherited her mother's talent for imitations. He had never known anyone like her. She was different from the country girls of his acquaintance, and even had she not possessed such startling and alluring beauty, her gaiety and her vivacity would have made her the most charming of all the females he had ever met. As to her, she was equally delighted with him. He was just a little naive, so adoring, so longing to play the bold philanderer, and yet so awestruck and a little shy. With each hour he plunged deeper and deeper in love with her; and she followed at a respectable distance. It was an enchanting idyll, charming, delightful, but when they reached Dorchester it changed subtly.

It was a comfortable inn. The landlord came out to receive them, his honest red face beaming a welcome. He had rooms for all and to spare.

A fire burned in the open grate of the parlour; throughout the inn was a delicious smell of roasting meat, appetizing to hungry travellers.

A serving maid showed Kitty her room, and when she was alone in it she flung herself down on the four-poster bed. She was tired after the day's journey; it had been even hotter than usual and the atmosphere inside the coach had made her sleepy. She was pensive too, thinking that tomorrow she would see her Aunt Harriet for herself. Already she had made plans for meeting Darrell again.

From below there was a sudden clatter of horses' hoofs and the sound of wheels on the cobbles. New arrivals? Curiosity sent Kitty flying from the bed to peep through the window. It was an elegant carriage and the horses which drew it were beautiful indeed. The landlord, the ostlers, even the potmen were hovering about the carriage. Some personage evidently. Then she saw him... a big man, possibly in his late thirties a red-faced man with powerful shoulders, well dressed though in a country fashion. He was scowling and was decidedly out of temper.

Now the reason was obvious; one of the horses had turned lame. He was cursing his postillion as though it were his fault; he waved aside the landlord, he was cursing the roads, cursing the fools who were his servants, cursing all of them who stood there gaping at him.

"Bring me a drink!" he shouted, and the landlord fled to do his bidding. He stood there, cursing. A most unpleasant personage, thought Kitty; a hateful creature, ugly too, with his red-purple face and his rough words. The serving maid who had shown Kitty her room came out with a glass of ale on a green tray. She stood before the man, curtsied awkwardly and waited with downcast eyes while he seized the glass. He drained it, complained that it was poor stuff and roughly commanded her to bring him another, and be quick about it unless she wanted a whip about her shoulders. She hastened to obey.

Kitty drew back disgusted. She had never seen such a man before; he behaved as though he were king in this small world; he lacked the manners which she had come to expect in men, because the men who had visited her mother had always possessed them. He stamped his way across the courtyard, and when he had reached the door of the inn the serving maid again appeared with another glass of ale on the tray. He drank it, not quickly as he had drunk the first; he stood back, smacking his lips. His face was still purple with rage, but now the very way he stood there showed that his rage was receding. His voice floated up to her.

"Ah! That's better, eh, Moll!" He gripped the girl's shoulder roughly, and with one hand drew her to him and kissed her loudly on the mouth. The ale spilled from the glass in his other , hand. Kitty heard the girl giggle. She turned away from the I window. She no longer felt in the mood to lie on her bed and ; dream. She called for hot water, and when it came she washed the dust of the day's journey from her hands and face and went downstairs. She was hungry, and the smell of roasting meat was indeed pleasant, but as she turned the handle of the dining-room door, the landlord's wife came running towards her.

"Ma'am," she said, 'if you will but go into the parlour, in a very short time...”