I noticed gradually that she was rather preoccupied and she began to lose some of her healthy color. I had the idea that something was troubling her. I asked on one occasion whether there was anything wrong and was told emphatically—perhaps too emphatically—that all was well.

But there was something, I knew. Sometimes I would see a blank look in her eyes as though she were trying to make some plan. I thought I detected a certain desperation.

There was a dignity about Hetty which made it impossible to intrude and to ask for confidences which she was not prepared to give. I fancied that she tried to avoid me, and I became seriously worried and decided that I would keep a sharp eye on her.

I considered speaking about her to James, but I thought she might resent that very much. I wondered if something had gone wrong between them. I did mention it to Jean-Louis.

“Some lovers tiff. I should imagine,” he said. “It’s always wise to keep out of that sort of thing.”

“I suppose I must, but I am worried about her.”

So I was watchful—and how thankful I was to be that this was so.

It was November … a warm damp day with the mist hanging in patches. I was looking from my window when I saw Hetty leave the house. Whether it was some premonition, perhaps the air of dejection and dogged determination that I seemed to sense, I did not know. But what I did know was that I had to follow her. I had to see where she was going.

I put on a cloak and ran out. I was just in time to see her disappearing round a bend in the lane.

I guessed now that she was going to the river.

To the river! On such a day! For what purpose? Perhaps for a walk. It could only be that.

I kept a good distance between us because I knew that she must not be aware of me. I had to find out where she was going. Perhaps she was meeting James. If so I would discreetly disappear and leave them together. But why should she walk so far to see James when she could see him in the house or near it.

Now I could smell the river and I heard the faint murmur of the water as it lapped the bank.

I watched her. And then suddenly I knew. She let her cloak drop from her shoulder and started to walk toward the water.

“Hetty!” I screamed. “Hetty!”

She stopped and looked round.

I ran to her. I seized her arm and looked into her face. It was white and her eyes were large pools of despair.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

She stammered: “It’s all right. I was only looking at the river.”

“No, Hetty, not that. You were doing something. You must tell me. You must let me help.”

“There is no way out,” she said simply, “but this. Let me go.”

“You mean … you were going to walk out into the river … and not come back!”

“I’ve thought a lot about it,” she answered. “It is hard to do … but I can do it. …”

“What is it, Hetty? You can tell me. There must be a way out of your trouble. We’ll find it. I promise you. You mustn’t talk like this. It’s wrong … it’s foolish … nothing is so bad that something can’t be done about it.”

“Nothing can be done about this. I can’t face them, Mistress Zipporah. This is the way. I’ve thought and thought and can see no other.”

“Sit down. Tell me all about it.”

“I’m wicked,” she said. “You could never understand how wicked.”

“I can understand. All of us do wrong at times. We fall into temptation. Please tell me, Hetty.”

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said.

“Oh. Well, James loves you. He’ll understand. …”

She shook her head and stared blankly in front of her. “It’s not James’s,” she said.

“Hetty.”

“Yes, you see. It’s shocking, it’s awful. There is no way out … but this. I can’t face them, any of them. I don’t know how it happened … I can’t understand. Yet I can’t make excuses … it was my fault.”

“I thought you loved James.”

“I do.”

“Then …”

“You wouldn’t understand. How could you? Nobody could who was not … depraved I suppose as I am.”

“I’m not so good, Hetty, that I can’t understand how these things happen.”

We sat down on the river bank and she turned to me. “It was on the night of the Harvest Home. I had drunk too much punch. … I know it now but I didn’t at the time. Oh, I’m making excuses.”

“Please go on,” I said. “Who … ?”

But she didn’t have to tell me. Because I knew. I remembered that look of implacable hatred I had seen across the room. Oh, he was a fiend. This was his revenge on James.

“Dickon?” I said.

She started to shiver and I knew I was right.

“It was the Harvest Home … the punch … the dancing. … He danced with me … and we went out into the gardens … into the shrubbery. I don’t know how it happened. … But I was there … lying on the grass … I can’t tell you. It was too depraved … I didn’t seem to realize until it was too late. …”

I turned away. I could not bear her misery. So this was his revenge.

She was desperate, poor girl. I had to comfort her. I was going to take her back with me, talk over the matter with Jean-Louis. He would understand and try to help.

I said: “There is a way out.”

“There is no way,” she said. “I cannot face anyone now. … My father, my mother, my brothers and sisters … and James. … No, I have thought and thought and this is the only way.”

“You must not talk like that. It’s nonsense. It’s feeble. At the worst you could go away and have the baby. My husband and I would help you.”

“You are the kindest people in the world.”

“We shall understand. This is the sort of thing that can happen … to anybody … to anybody,” I added vehemently. “I am going to help you, Hetty.”

“There is no help. I could drown myself … and perhaps my body would never be found.”

“I should have thought you would not want to take such a cowardly way out.”

“Perhaps I am a coward, but I just cannot face my parents. They thought too much of me. They would be so horrified … so ashamed. …”

“My dear Hetty, this happened. … You had had too much punch … you did not know. …”

“There were other times,” she said.

“Hetty. But why … ?”

“Because he said he would tell if I did not.”

“Blackmail!” I said aghast. I could see him so well—that handsome, cruel face. What havoc he had wrought in our lives.

“When he knew that I was pregnant he let me alone. He seemed … satisfied.”

“He is a monster, Hetty. He hates in a cold and calculating manner which is by far the worst sort of hatred. But we’re going to outwit him. Were not going to let him win.”

“How?” she asked.

“By not running away from this, by facing it, by looking at it and finding the way to act.”

“I can’t do it.”

“You can because I’m going to help you. Will you let me?”

She threw herself against me and then she was sobbing bitterly. The tears I knew brought relief. She was no longer alone.

She trusted me. My own experience had perhaps helped me to understand hers. I had been able to choose the right words to give her the support she needed.

I took her back with me to the house, put her to bed and told the household that she was suffering from a chill and was sleeping. No one was to disturb her.

I went straight to Jean-Louis. He was resting as he often had to do now.

I said: “A terrible thing has happened. I have to talk to you about it. It’s Hetty.”

“She’s been looking a bit strained lately. Is it something to do with James?”

“We’ve got to help her,” I said. “That girl will find some way of harming herself if something isn’t done. She’s going to have a child.”

“Well, she and James will marry, I suppose. They won’t be the first who have forestalled their wedding.”

“It’s not as simple as that. James is not the father.”

“Good God.”

“You may well be surprised. She has just told me. Jean-Louis, she was going to drown herself in the river. By a miracle I saw her. I have been watching her lately. I knew something was terribly wrong. It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. She had had too much punch and he … this er …”

“Do you know who it was?”

I looked at him steadily. He would have to know. I realized how calm and practical he had always been, how kind, un-condemning.

I said: “It was Dickon.”

“Good God,” he said again, and there was an expression of horror on his face. “He’s only a boy. …”

“I suppose someday people will stop saying ‘He’s only a boy.’ He may be young in years but he is old in sin. There is something evil about Dickon. Jean-Louis, what are we going to do? Hetty is desperate.”

“She couldn’t marry Dickon.”

“Marry Dickon! That would be quite impossible. Besides, she hates him.”

“Then why … ?”

“Oh, don’t you see, it’s a plot of revenge. Dickon knows James is in love with Hetty. Dickon was angry about the strip of land which was given to Hassock. That’s how it is with Dickon. It’s revenge.”

“Oh, surely not …”

“I think I know that boy. It was due to him that you … that you are not as well as you were. … He’s evil. I think it would have been better for Hetty to have walked into the river than marry Dickon.”

“We could send her away somewhere where she could have the child.”

“I thought of that. I don’t know whether she would go. You see, her life seems to her to be in ruins. Her family boast so much about her … and then this to happen. And of course James … She just can’t face it, poor girl.”

“She will gradually come to it.”

“Jean-Louis, what if James … ? James loved her. If he really loved her enough …”

“Yes, if he really loves her he will care for her no matter what she has done.”

I looked steadily at him and said: “If … I had done something like that … you would always love me, Jean-Louis, always care for me … ?”

I could not look at him. I wondered if he would notice how my heart began to hammer against my bodice.

He took my hand and kissed it. “No matter what,” he said. “I should always love you and protect you as far as was in my power.”

“Not many love like that,” I said. “Jean-Louis, I shall always be grateful for you.”

“My life would be nothing without you,” he answered and my thoughts were transported to that time when I had considered … going away with Gerard.

I said: “Thank you, my dear. I wonder if James’s love for Hetty is as strong as yours for me.” I rushed on because I felt too emotional to talk further of myself and had to get back to Hetty’s problem. “Do you think we could speak to James?”

He was silent for a long time. Then he said: “Would Hetty wish that?”

“No. She could never bring herself to. I don’t think he has asked her to marry him. I suspect that since the Harvest Home her attitude towards him would have changed. Jean-Louis, I think we have to speak to James. There is so much tragedy in the world because people don’t look facts straight in the face. If she goes away James will have to know. He should have a chance to show his love for her.”

“I think you’re right,” said Jean-Louis.

We deliberated for some time before we made our final decision and then Jean-Louis sent one of the men out to find James and bring him to us as soon as possible.

When he came Jean-Louis said: “We want to talk to you, James. Zipporah made a discovery today … about Hetty. …”

I said: “James, she was going to drown herself in the river.”

He stared at me unbelievingly.

“It’s true,” I said. “I prevented her in time, and she told me why.”

He still did not speak. His face was quite white and his hands were clenching and unclenching as he stood there.

“She is going to have a child,” I said. “Poor, poor Hetty, this is a terrible thing that has happened to her.”

James had turned away to the window. I guessed he did not want us to see his face. He said in a tight voice: “Are you telling me that she will marry … ?”

“No, James.”

“Who is it?” he demanded. He turned now and his eyes were blazing. “Who is this man?”

I dared not tell him then. I thought he would go out and kill Dickon in the heat of the moment. I looked at Jean-Louis, who nodded, understanding my reasoning.

I said: “It happened on the night of the Harvest Home. You were not there, James, you remember. She had had too much punch … and it was very potent. I can only say that some unscrupulous person took advantage of this.”