She ran through the trees; she gazed up and down the road. Once she heard the clop, clop, of horses' hoofs, and when the sound died away, the disappointment was intense. Lonely and desolate, she returned to the meeting place; he was not there. It grew dark.

Why had he not come? Here was Saturday, and he had not come.

Sunday was like a bad dream from which she was trying desperately to escape. Perhaps he would send a message; he would know how frightened she must be, and he had ever been mindful of her comfort and her peace of mind.

On Sunday evening she went to the wood, and still he did not come.

Peg and Dolly crept into her room and found her sobbing on the bed.

They eyed each other sadly. Perhaps they thought it was unwise to trust a lover too far. They cried with her. It was a cruel world, they said.

Monday, which was to have been a day of great joy, set in with teeming rain, and Kitty's heart was mote leaden than the skies.

It was Peg who got the news. She kept it to herself for a while: then she told Dolly. They cried together: they did not know what to do. But if they did not tell her she would discover in some other way. So in the evening of that black Monday they told her. They tapped at her door and went in to find her sitting at her window, her lovely face distorted by grief, her beautiful hair in disorder.

"A terrible thing has happened." said Peg.

"... to Lawyer Grey's nephew who went to Exeter," added Dolly.

"Though.” put in Peg quickly, 'it may be a story. Such stories are.”

Dolly shook her head sadly.

"He was seen to be took!”

Kitty stared in bewilderment from one to the other.

"And his horse was left there for hours, pawing the ground," said Peg sadly.

' Twas in a tavern... in broad daylight. The wicked devils, to take a man!”

Kitty looked at them wildly. The unreality of the day had faded, and stark tragedy was all that was left.

"What!" she cried.

"What is it you are saying?”

"He went in for a glass of ale and maybe a sandwich.”

"He was not the only one that was took.”

"Tell me ... tell me everything you know," pleaded Kitty, suddenly calm with a deadly calm.

"Such news gets round," said Peg wretchedly, shaking the tears out of her eyes.

"There were them that saw it. The villains burst in... he was not the only one that was took.”

Kitty stood up and gripped the rail of her chair.

 "Peg ..." she said.

"Dolly ..." And her mouth quivered like a child's.

Dolly threw herself down on the floor and put her arms round Kitty's knees, burying her face, in her gown.

"It was the devils as folks call the press gang. Lurking everywhere, they be, to take our men to the ships.”

Kitty stared blankly before her.

Peg said again, and then again, as though there was a grain of comfort in the words: "He were not the only one they took.”

Kitty was numb with misery; listless, without spirit.

Harriet said: "Are you sickening for the pox, girl?" And she examined her body for some sign.

She went about the house, doing just what she was told. Harriet thought, I'm shaping her: she's improving. And when she knelt on the coconut matting beside her bed at night, she offered thanks for the change which had come over her wayward niece.

The squire was a more frequent visitor than ever. Kitty did not move away when he sat beside her on the garden seat. She listened to what he had to say, and gave him a listless yes or no.

The squire said: "It is quiet for you here, Kitty. Day after day going about the house and the gardens with your aunt it is no life for a young girl. Now look here, we do a bit of entertaining now and then up at Haredon; why, sometimes I've got a houseful. Would you come, some time like that, eh, Kitty?”

She said: "I am all right here, thanks. I do not wish for a lot of people round me.”

"Then a small party. Just you and your aunt... I'd like you to get to know my children.”

She smiled.

They are very charming," she said.

"I have seen them driving with their governess.”

From under his bushy eyebrows he looked shrewdly at her. What did she mean by that? Was she telling him she knew about his relationship with Jennifer? She was clever of course, this girl; clever as Bess had been. And he had never been sure what Bess might be thinking; why right up to the end he had believed she was going to marry him, and all the time she must have had it in her head to run away with that actor fellow.

Women knew a lot about each other though. Harriet had said the girl was coquetting with him, leading him on. He liked to think that. He liked being led on. Cool and virtuous, holding him off, telling him she couldn't bear him, just to get him hot enough to offer marriage. He had offered marriage; and she was still holding him off. She had been brought up in London Town where they were devilishly sly, and clever too and, by God, he liked them for it! There were plenty of country wenches ready to fall into his lap; but Kitty was apart from that. Kitty was Bess, and Bess had haunted his life. Now here was compensation he couldn't have Bess so he would have Kitty.

Sitting beside her, it was all he could do to hold himself in check.

She had changed now; not the spitfire any more; calm, sad. wistful... womanly, you might say. She appealed now to something sentimental in him, as well as to his senses.

"I'll get rid of the woman!" he said, just in case she was jealous of Jennifer.

"She was never much good as a governess.”

"Oh! She looks capable enough.”

Disdainful! It is nothing to me if she is your mistress! That was what she meant, confound her! He wanted to slap his thighs with delight. He knew the signs; he was like a small boy looking up at luscious fruit just out of reach, with the knowledge that sooner or later its very ripeness would make it fall right down into his hands.

"Capable__oh, yes. But why bother ourselves with servants on an afternoon like this!”

"Now, Kitty ..." His arm slid along the seat, but immediately she stiffened. He let his arm drop. No sense in rushing things; after all, he was not wholly sure that Harriet was right.

"Well, what about this visit of yours to Haredon?”

"You would have to arrange that with my aunt, would you not?”

"Why, of course, Kitty, of course!" His face was screwed up with delight.

Harriet came across the lawn. Her lips were pursed; they were always like that in repose. Peg followed her with the tea tray.

"A lovely day, George!”

"A perfect day," said George.

Daintily Harriet poured the tea. George took his and pressed his back against the seat. He was amused at himself, sitting here drinking tea with two women. He could have done with a pint of good ale. Still, here he was, doing the polite, and pretending to like it. He looked at the stiff figure of Harriet poor woman! From her his gaze turned to Kitty and his eyes were glazed with desire. But soon the fruit would fall into his hands; so much of the rebellion had gone out of her that it seemed as though the branch was already bending down to him. But he must go cautiously; he would say nothing now about this visit she would pay to Haredon. She was full of whims and fancies; she might refuse yet!

He sought for a topic of conversation.

"Lawyer Grey is in a fine to-do about that nephew of his!”

Kitty sat up straighter, but neither Harriet nor the squire noticed that.

"So I heard," said Harriet.

"A few years at sea will do the boy good. Roughing it never hurt anyone.”

"I do agree," said she; 'but will not Lawyer, Grey try to do something about it?”

The squire laughed.

"What can he do? Fight the press gang? No! Mark my words, the young man's well out at sea by this time.”

"He'll come back a man," said Harriet.

"If he comes back at all," said the squire.

"There are dangers enough to be met with on the high seas.”

Kitty lay in her bed and stared helplessly up at the ceiling. She was not thinking of Barrel] now; she could think of nothing but the girl whom Aunt Harriet had whipped almost to death.

This could not be... not in addition to everything else! When she had heard them talking so callously down there in the garden, she had said to herself: I will wait for him! I will wait! And she had meant that if there were to be years and years of waiting, still she would wait.

But those years had to be lived through, and how could she live through them, penniless, with a baby to care for?

How cruel was life! Darrell had been so anxious that no harm should befall her and it was only because they both believed so fervently that they would ride to London together that he had released his passion; and once he had done that he had been unable to stem it. She was shivering, but when Peg and Dolly peeped in to see how she was, they found her unnaturally flushed.

"Why, bless you, Miss Kitty, you have a fever." said Peg. She cried in panic: "Do not mention to my aunt that I am not well.”

She got up and bathed her face. It was a good thing that Harriet, who had never been ill in her life, did not believe in illness. Unless it was a leg that was broken or a wound that she could see, she thought it was sham.

Kitty went about her tasks outwardly calm, inwardly in a tumult. She was forgetting her love for Darrell in her fear for herself. A terrible thing had happened to Darrell; but a still more terrible thing had happened to her.

If only her mother were here, she would know what to do. Nothing would ever turn her mother from her. She talked to her mother in her thoughts. You see, Mother, we loved each other so much, and we were going to London to be married. If only he hadn't gone to Exeter! If only he had stayed here, I should be married to him; we should be with his Uncle Simon in London, and we should be so happy because we should be going to have a child. But now there is no one to help me, Mother.

Aunt Harriet is cold and distant, just as you said. She would never have done this thing which I have done; therefore she would think me wicked to have done it. There was a poor little girl from the workhouse, and she almost beat her to death. But what happened to her afterwards ... when Aunt Harriet turned her out! That is what I think, Mother; that is what I cannot stop thinking.

And the very thought of her mother's face, lovely though ageing, and full of lazy kindness, soothed her. She would have understood; but she would have been practical too. She would surely have said: "We must find a husband for you, darling.”

"Mother! Mother!" prayed Kitty.

"Do something for me. Help me! Give me some sign that you know what has happened to me, and tell me what I can do.”

She asked Peg and Dolly about the girl who had loved a groom. They had not known her but they had heard of her.

"Tis a terrible thing to happen to a girl," said Peg; and she and Dolly were silent for a long time thinking what a terrible thing it was to happen to a girl.

Kitty wanted to shout: "It has happened to me!" Something restrained her; she thought it was her mother, watching over her, restraining her.

No one must know__yet... no one at all.

She and her aunt went to Haredon for a few days; the squire had sent the carriage for them.

A lovely house, Haredon; it had been built by a Haredon in the reign of Queen Anne. Harriet sat, lips pursed, as the carriage turned in at the drive. The gracious elms, the grey walls of the house had always filled her with pleasure. She thought of the land round Haredon, and especially the orchards; she thought of the staff of servants and the joy of running the place.

The squire came out to meet them, and from a window Jennifer Jay watched them.

Colour burned in Kitty's cheeks; her eyes were brilliant. Never, thought Squire Haredon, had she looked as beautiful as she did here in the setting which would soon be hers. She liked the house; perhaps she liked it so much that she was ready to take him, since he went with the house.

You wait! he thought. You wait, my beauty! And his fingers itched to seize her; and as they walked into the house he put his hand on her shoulder and gripped it hard; she turned her head and smiled at him, with her lips parted and a look of promise in her eyes. His hand slipped to her waist and touched the warmth of her bosom. She did not move away from him, and as they entered the house she was still smiling.