There was a threat there and I did not like threats, but I realized the wisdom of their reasoning. "I will certainly tell my husband that you have called," I assured them.

"And tell him. Ma'am, that we'll be calling again."

I bowed my head and they filed out respectfully.

I went back to Mellyora. She was quite pale.

"Kerensa," she said, her eyes showing her admiration, "is there nothing you will not do?"

I retorted that I could not see that I had done anything extraordinary, and I thought: This is the answer. The mine will be worked again. The Abbas will be saved for Sir Carlyon.

I was awake when Johnny came in that night. I saw before I spoke that there was a look of desperation in his eyes; it was what I had come to recognize as the losing look.

So much the better. He would now be as eager for the investigations into the possibility of working the mine as everyone else.

I sat up in bed, and as soon as he entered I cried: "Johnny, there has been a deputation."

"A what?"

"Saul Cundy and some of the miners have been here. They want you to open the St. Larnston mine."

He sat down on the bed and stared at me.

"I know you don't like it. But it's a way out of our difficulties. What worked once can work again."

"Are you mad?" he demanded. He rose unsteadily and went over to the window; he drew back the curtains and stood there looking out.

"You've been drinking," I accused. "Oh, Johnny, don't you see that something has to be done? These men are going to open up the mine whether you like it or not."

"If I find them on my property, I'll have them up for trespassing."

"Listen, Johnny. Something will have to be done. There's going to be a lot of hardship here when the Fedder mine closes. You can't let our mine stand idle when it could provide work... ."

He turned then, his mouth was twitching. I had not realized he was in such a bad state.

"You know very well that the mine can't be interfered with."

"I know that we've got to do something about it, Johnny."

"What?"

"We've got to show these people that we're willing to open up the mine. What will they think of us if we refuse?"

He looked at me as though he could have killed me. "The mine is not being touched," he said.

"Johnny."

He went out of the room. He didn't come back, but spent the night in his dressing room.

Johnny was adamant. He would not open the mine. I had never known him so stubborn. He had changed; he had always been lighthearted and careless and I could not understand this change in him. Why should he be so sternly against it? He had never cared so much for the family pride as Justin had.

Justin! I had the idea of writing to Justin. After all, Justin was the head of the house still. If he gave his permission for investigations to begin, that was enough.

I hesitated. I pictured Justin's receiving the letter, deciding this was a good enough reason for his return. I saw him winning the approval of the village. Perhaps they would be ready to forget the circumstances which had led to his departure if he returned and opened the mine.

No, I couldn't write to Justin.

Everything was changing in the village. Disaster was threatening; forelocks were pulled with a sullen gesture. We, the St. Larnston family, might have provided work and refused to do so.

A stone was once thrown at Johnny as he rode through the village. He did not know who had thrown it and it did not hit him; but it was a sign.

I had never felt so uneasy.

I did not try remonstrating with him because I had an idea that that made him more stubborn. He was hardly ever at home; he would come in quietly at midnight and creep into the dressing room. He was clearly avoiding me.

I had retired to bed early. I kept telling myself that things couldn't go on in this way. Something would happen. Johnny would give way.

I lay sleepless. I guessed Johnny would not be home until midnight ... or later still. Then I must have another talk with him, no matter how angry I made him. I must remind him of his duty to our son. What foolish family pride this was which made him hold out against the inevitable.

I rehearsed the words I would use, and as I lay there some impulse made me get out of bed and go to the window.

It was a habit of mine often to stand at that window because from it I could see the ring of stones and they fascinated me now as they ever had. None of my problems, I always told myself, were as great as theirs had been. Perhaps that was why I could always draw comfort from them.

I stood very still, for one of the stones had moved. One of the Virgins had come to life! No. It was someone else there ... someone with a lanthom! There was more than one lanthom ... and lights moved eerily about the stones. A figure stood out clearly for a moment; he was wearing a helmet of some sort. I watched him intently; then I saw other figures. They were standing within the circle of stones and they all wore helmets.

I had to know who they were, and what they were doing, so I hastily put on some clothes and left the house. Over the lawns I went to the meadow but when I arrived there was no one there. In the starlight I saw the stones, ghostly, looking like women caught and petrified in the dance. And not far distant the old mine which was causing such controversy.

A sudden thought came to me. Could it have been Saul and his friends meeting to discuss what they would do next? What more appropriate spot to choose for such a meeting!

But they were gone now. I stood within the circle of the stones and while I was wondering what Saul and his friends would do next I could not help thinking of the Six Virgins and chiefly of the seventh who had not come dancing on that fatal night.

Shut in, built in, and left to die!

Stupid fanciful thoughts; but what could one expect when one stood in the center of a ring of stones in starlight?

I didn't hear Johnny come in that night—I must have been asleep when he did—so I didn't have a chance to talk to him.

He rose late next morning and went out. He rode into Plymouth and went to his club there. He must have spent the afternoon gambling.

We afterwards found out that he left the club round about midnight. But he did not come home.

Next morning I saw that the single bed in the dressing room had not been slept in, and I waited all day for him to come in because I had made up my mind that I couldn't delay talking to him any longer.

The next night he did not come either. And when another night and day passed and he had still not returned we began to suspect that something had happened to him.

We made inquiries and it was then we discovered that he had left his club at midnight two nights before. We thought at first that he might have been seen to win money, followed and robbed; but he had lost heavily and had had little money with him when he left.

The search began; the inquiries started.

But no one could trace Johnny. And when a week passed and there was still no news I began to realize that he had indeed disappeared.

7

I was a woman without a husband, yet I could not call myself a widow. What had happened to Johnny? It was a mystery as baffling as that which Judith had provided when she fell down the stairs.

I tried to remain calm. I told Carlyon that his father had gone away for a while and that satisfied him; he had, I suspected, never been very fond of Johnny. I tried to brace myself for two possibilities: his return, or a life spent without him.

There was no immediate talk of opening the mine. That would come later, I suspected. I was being given a short respite on account of the shock of my husband's disappearance.

As I had in the old days, I took my problems to Granny. She scarcely ever left her bed now and it grieved me to see her growing a little more frail every time we met. She made me sit by her bed while she looked searchingly into my face.

"So you've lost your Johnny now," she said.

"I don't know, Granny. He may come back."

"Is that what you want, lovey?"

I was silent for I could never lie to Granny.

"You'm wondering what will happen next, eh? This 'ull like as not bring the other home."

I nodded.

"And parson's daughter?"

"Mellyora thinks of me before herself."

Granny sighed.

"This 'ull decide him," she said. "K this don't bring him back, nothing will."

"We can wait and see. Granny."

She leaned forward and gripped my hand. "Do you want your husband back, lovey?"

She wanted a straightforward answer; and she was very anxious.

"I don't know," I said.

"Kerensa," she went on, "do you remember ... ?"

Her voice had sunk to a whisper and she gripped my hand still more firmly. I sensed that she was on the point of telling me something which was of the utmost importance.

"Yes, Granny?" I softly prompted.

"I've been turning over in my mind ..."

Again she paused and I looked at her intently.

She closed her eyes and her lips moved soundlessly as though she were talking to herself.

"Do you remember," she said at length, "how I dressed your hair, set it up in coils and we put in the comb and mantilla Pedro gave to me?"

"Yes, Granny. I shall always keep it. I dress my hair that way often and wear the comb and mantilla."

She sank back on her pillows and a puzzled look came into her eyes.

"Pedro would have liked to see his Granddaughter," she murmured. But I knew that was not what she had been on the point of saying.

Mellyora and I sat alone in my sitting room.

How like the old days it was, those days when we had been together in the parsonage. We both felt this and it drew us closer together. "This is a waiting time, Mellyora," I said. "Life will change soon."

She nodded, her needle poised; she was making a shirt for Carlyon and she looked daintily feminine and helpless working there.

"No news of Johnny ... day after day," I mused. "When do you think they will give up the search?"

"I don't know. I suppose he will be listed as a missing person and will remain so until we have some news of him."

"What do you think has happened to him, Mellyora?"

She did not answer.

"There was a lot of feeling against him in St. Larnston," I went on. "Do you remember how angry he was that day when someone threw a stone at him? The people of St. Larnston might have killed him because he would not open the mine. Their livings were at stake. They knew I would be veiling to open it."

Tow ... Kerensa."

"I shall be the mistress of the Abbas now ... unless... ."

"The Abbas belongs to Justin, Kerensa; and it always did."

"But he has gone away and Johnny administered everything in his absence. Until he comes back. ..."

"I do not think he will ever come back. I haven't told you this before but he is trying to come to a decision now. He believes that he will stay in Italy and enter a religious order."

"Is that so?" I wondered if I succeeded in keeping the joy out of my voice. Justin a monk! Never to marry!

I suddenly remembered Mellyora, sitting at home, patiently waiting like Penelope. I looked at her sharply. "And you, Mellyora? You loved him so much. Do you still?"

She was silent. "You are so practical, Kerensa. You would never understand me. I should seem so foolish to you."

"Please try to make me understand. It is important to me ... your happiness I mean. I have grieved for you, Mellyora."

"I know you have." She smiled. "Sometimes you have been angry when Justin's name was mentioned. I knew it was because you were so sorry for me. Justin was a hero of my childhood. It was a child's adoration I had for him. Picture it. He was the heir to the big house; and the Abbas meant something to me as it did to you. To me he seemed just perfect; and I suppose my most cherished dream was that one day he would notice me. He was the prince of the fairy tale who should have married the woodcutter's daughter and made her a queen. It grew out of a childish fantasy. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "I thought you would never be happy again when he went away."

"So did I. But ours was a dream idyll. His love for me and mine for him. If he had been free we should have married and perhaps it would have been a good marriage; perhaps I should have gone on adoring him. I should have been a good meek wife to him; he would have been a courteous tender husband; but there would always have been this dream quality about our relationship, this bloodlessness, this unreality. You have shown me that."