Johnny St. Larnston passed near us; he grinned at me.

"It's no surprise," he said, "but still a pleasure."

And there was a purpose in his mocking smile.

Kim led me outside so that no one else would know that Miss Carlyon was really poor Kerensa Carlee.

As Belter drove us home to the parsonage neither Mellyora nor I spoke very much. We were both still hearing the music, caught up in the rhythm of the dance. It was a night we should never forget; later we would talk of it but now we were still bemused and enchanted.

We went soberly to our rooms. I was physically tired and yet had no desire to sleep. While I kept on my red velvet gown I was still a young lady who went to balls, but once I took it off life would become less exciting. In fact. Miss Carlyon would become Kerensa Carlee.

But obviously I could not stand before the mirror staring dreamily at my reflection all night, so by the light of two candles I reluctantly took the comb from my hair and let it fall about my shoulders, undressed, and hung up the red velvet gown. "You have become an extremely fascinating young lady," I said.

Then I thought of how exciting my life was going to be because it was true that life was yours to make as you wanted to.

It was difficult to sleep. I kept thinking of myself dancing with Kim, fighting with Johnny, hiding in the cupboard, and that horrific moment when I had opened the door of Sir Justin's room and seen him.

So it wasn't surprising that when I did sleep I had a nightmare. I dreamed that Johnny had walled me up and that I was suffocating while Mellyora was trying to pull away the bricks with her bare hands and I knew that she would not be able to save me in time.

I awoke screaming to find Mellyora standing by my bed. Her golden hair was about her shoulders and she had not put a dressing gown over her flannelette nightdress.

"Wake up, Kerensa," she said. "You're having a nightmare."

I sat up and stared at her hands.

"What on earth was it?"

"I dreamed I was walled up and that you were trying to save me. I was suffocating."

"I don't wonder at it, you were buried right under the bedclothes and think of all that dash-an-darras and mead."

She sat on my bed laughing at me; but I could still feel my nightmare hanging over me.

"What an evening!" she said, and clasping her knees stared before her. As the sense of nightmare faded I remembered what I had heard from the cupboard. It was Mellyora's dancing with Justin which had provoked Judith's jealousy.

I sat up. "You danced with Justin, didn't you?" I said.

"Of course."

"His wife didn't like his dancing with you."

"How do you know?"

I told her what had happened to me. Her eyes opened wide and she sprang up, took me by the shoulders and shook me. "Kerensa, I might have known that something would happen to you! Tell me every word you heard when you were in the cupboard."

"I have ... as far as I can remember. I was horribly scared."

"I should think so. What on earth made you?"

"I don't know. I just thought it was the only thing to do at the time. Was she right, Mellyora?"

"Right?"

"To be jealous."

Mellyora laughed. "She is married to him," she said; and I was not sure whether the flippancy hid a certain bitterness.

We were silent for a while, each preoccupied with her own thoughts. I was the one to break it. I said: "I think you have always liked Justin."

It was a time for confidences and indiscretions. The magic of the ball was still with us, and Mellyora and I were closer that night than we had been before.

"He's different from Johnny," she said.

"I should hope for his wife's sake that he is."

"No one would be safe with Johnny around. Justin doesn't seem to notice people."

"Meaning Grecians with long golden hair?"

"Meaning everybody. He seems remote."

"Perhaps he ought to have been a monk rather than a husband."

"What things you say!" She started to talk of Justin then: the first time she and her father had been invited to take tea with the St. Larnstons; how she had worn a sprigged muslin dress for the occasion; how polite Justin had been. I could see that she had a kind of childish adoration for him and I hoped that was all because I didn't want her to be hurt.

"By the way," she said, "Kim told me he was going away."

"Oh?"

"To Australia, I think."

"Right away?" My voice sounded blank in spite of my efforts to control it.

"For a long time. He's going to sail with his father but he said he might stay in Australia for a time because he has an uncle there."

The enchantment of the ball seemed to have disappeared.

"Are you tired?" asked Mellyora.

"Well, it must be very late."

"Early morning rather."

"We ought to get some sleep."

She nodded and went into her own room. Strange how we both seemed suddenly to have lost our exhilaration. Was it because she was thinking of Justin and his passionately loving wife? Was it because I was thinking of Kim who was going away and had told her and not me?

It was about a week after the ball when Dr. Milliard paid a visit to the parsonage. I was on the front lawn when his brougham drew up and he called good morning to me. I knew that the Reverend Charles had been seeing him recently and I guessed that he had come to discover how he was.

"The Reverend Charles Martin is not at home," I told him.

"Good. It is Miss Martin I have come to see. Is she at home?"

"Oh, yes."

"Then would you be so kind as to tell her I'm here."

"Certainly," I said. "Pray, come in."

I took him into the drawing room and went to find Mellyora. She was sewing in her room and seemed startled when I told her that Dr. Milliard wanted to see her.

She hurried down to him at once and I went into my room, wondering if Mellyora was ill and had been consulting the doctor secretly.

Half an hour later the brougham drove away, and the door of my room was flung open and Mellyora came in. Her face was white and her eyes looked almost dark; I had never seen her like that before.

"Oh, Kerensa," she said, "this is terrible."

"Tell me what it's all about."

"It's Papa. Dr. Hilliard says he is gravely ill."

"Oh ... Mellyora."

"He says Papa has some sort of growth and that he had advised him to have a second opinion. Papa didn't tell me. I didn't know he'd been seeing these doctors. Well, now they think they know. Kerensa, I can't bear it. They say he's going to die."

"But they can't know."

"They're almost certain. Three months, Dr. Hilliard thinks."

"Oh, no!"

"He says that Papa mustn't go on working because he's on the verge of collapse. He wants him to go to bed and rest... ." She buried her face in her hands; I went to her and put my arms round her. We clung together.

"They can't be sure," I insisted.

But I didn't believe that. I knew now that I had seen death in the Reverend Charles's face.

Everything had changed. Each day the Reverend Charles was a little worse. Mellyora and I nursed him. She insisted on giving him every attention and I insisted on helping her.

David Killigrew had come to the parsonage. He was a curate who was to take over the parson's duties until, as they said, something could be arranged. They really meant until the Reverend Charles died.

The autumn came and Mellyora and I hardly ever went out. We did few lessons, although Miss Kellow was still with us, because most of our time was spent in and out of the sickroom. It was a strangely different household; and I think we were all grateful for David Killigrew, who was in his late twenties and one of the gentlest people I had ever met. He went quietly about the house, making very little trouble; yet he could preach a good sermon and attend to parish affairs with an efficiency which was amazing.

He would often sit with the Reverend Charles and talk to him about the parish. He would talk to us, too; and in a short time we almost forgot what his presence meant in the house, for he seemed like a member of the family. He cheered us and made us feel that he was grateful for our company; as for the servants, they took to him as the people of the parish did; and for a long time it seemed as though this state of affairs would go on indefinitely.

Christmas came—a sad Christmas for us. Mrs. Yeo made some preparation in the kitchen because, as she said, the servants expected it; and she knew it was what the Reverend would wish. David agreed with her, and she set about making the cakes and puddings, just as she had every year.

I went out with David to get in the holly; and as he cut it I said: "Why do we do this? We none of us feel like making merry."

He looked at me sadly and answered: "It's better to go on hoping."

"Is it? When we can t help knowing that the end is near—and what that end will be?"

"We live by hope," he told me.

I admitted that this was true, I looked at him sharply. "For what do you hope?" I asked.

He was silent for a while; then he said: "I suppose what every man hopes for—a fireside, my own family."

"And you know that your hopes will be realized?"

He moved closer to me and answered, "If I should get a living."

"And not till then?"

"I have my mother to care for. My first duty is to her."

"Where is she now?"

"She is in the care of her niece who is staying in our little house until I return."

He had pricked his finger on the holly; he sucked it in a shamefaced way and I noticed that there was a warm flush under his skin.

He was embarrassed. He was thinking that when the Reverend Charles died he had a good chance of being offered the living.

On Christmas Eve the carol singers came to the parsonage and sang "The First Nowell," softly, below the Reverend Charles's window.

At the kitchen table Mrs. Yeo was making the Christmas bush by fastening two wooden hoops together and decorating them with furze and evergreens. She would hang it in the window of the sickroom, just to pretend that we were not too sad to celebrate Christmas.

David dealt with the services in a manner which gave satisfaction to everyone and I heard Mrs. Yeo commenting to Belter that if it had to happen, this was the best way.

It was on Twelfth Night that Kim called. I have always hated Twelfth Night since, telling myself often that it was because all the Christmas decorations were taken down then and that was the end of the festivities until next year.

I saw Kim riding up on the chestnut mare he always rode and I thought how fine and manly he looked—not wicked like Johnny, nor saintly like Justin—exactly as a man should look.

I knew why he had come, since he had told us that he would call to say good-bye. He had seemed sad as the time for departure grew near.

I went out to meet him because I believed that I was the one he regretted leaving.

"Why," he cried, "it's Miss Kerensa."

"I saw you arriving."

Belter had come to take his horse and Kim started towards the entrance. I wanted to delay him, to have him to myself before we joined Mellyora and Miss Kellow who, I knew, were in the drawing room.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, trying to hide the desolation in my voice.

"Tomorrow."

"I don't believe you want to go one bit."

"Just one bit does," he said. "The rest hates to leave home."

"Then why go?"

"My dear Kerensa, all the arrangements have been made."

"I see no reason why they shouldn't be canceled."

"Alas," he replied. "I do."

"Kim," I said passionately, "if you don't want to go ..."

"But I want to go across the seas and make a fortune."

"What for?"

"To come back rich and famous."

"Why?"

"So that I can settle down, marry and raise a family."

These were almost exactly the same words David Killigrew had used. Perhaps this was a common desire.

"Then you will, Kim," I said earnestly.

He laughed and, leaning towards me, kissed me lightly on the forehead. I felt wildly happy and almost immediately desperately sad.

"You looked so like a prophetess," he told me, as though to excuse the kiss. Then he went on lightly: "I believe you are some sort of witch ... the nicest sort, of course." For a moment we stood smiling at each other before he went on: "This cutting wind can't be good ... even for witches."