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Actually Judith did not go to sleep for a long time, but her thoughts that night were her own property and it was a long time before she ever spoke of what they had been.

With the morning came activity. As early as was reasonable, Judith made the call to Sussex. Sir Roger, she was told, was out riding, but Lady Garvin

So Mary came to the telephone and took the message.

“He should be quite all right,” Judith said earnestly. “I spoke to the matron about ten minutes ago and she says his condition is quite satisfactory. I know they always say that, but I don’t think she would try to put me off with silly reassurances if they weren’t justified,” she explained, unconscious of the quiet note of assurance which her position locally gave to her voice.

“I am quite sure she wouldn’t,” Mary agreed. “Judith —you’ll look after him/won’t you?”

“I’ll do anything—everything—” Judith began, and stopped because a sob was choking her.

“I know you will,” Mary said gently. “You’ll keep in touch with us, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Judith promised. “And if you and Sir Roger would like to come here, I shall be very pleased.”

“Well,” Mary deliberated. “We’ll see! I’ll speak to my husband about it and ring you back if he decides he would like to be there.”

As she rang off, Mary’s face was thoughtful. She was quite sure that Roger would want to dash straight off, but

“I’m not sure that we should,” she said when, as she had expected, Roger reacted in just that way. “I don’t see what we could do that isn’t being done already. And—we might spoil everything.”

“Spoil everything?” Roger asked blankly. “I don’t see ”

Mary slipped her arm through his.

“I think,” she said softly, “that very soon Charles will have everything in the world that he wants—if we don’t interfere.”

*

Miss Harriet had been right in saying that Judith would be busy about the farm. The insurance company would, of course, have to be notified about the fire and would certainly want to inspect the scene of it. Judith herself was satisfied that the excessive heat had been the cause of it, but it would be wiser for her not to disturb the sodden, blackened ricks, leaving that to the insurance inspector. So, in gumboots and heavy mackintosh, she supervised the covering of the two ricks with heavy tarpaulins, tethering the comers firmly with well-driven pegs. _

The rain, now that it had started, seemed as if it would go on indefinitely. Little brown streams meandered through some of the drenched fields, but there was no danger of flooding. The ground was too well drained for that, as well as being slightly on the slope.

She took a roundabout route to go to the gate over which Charles had tossed her to safety the night before.

On the other side of it was the place where his inert body had lain. As for the herd that had caused the trouble, they were so quiet that it seemed impossible that they had ever been so menacing. They were sheltering under trees, gently chewing the cud, utterly indifferent to everything but their own comfort.

But she had little time to think. There was the day’s routine to superintend, the milk returns to make up, letters to write and answer—all the hundred and one tasks that make life on a farm.

She had visitors, too. Farmers from round about who came to sympathise about the fire and enquire about Charles, a possible new hand whom Charles had made an appointment to see. And Joe Sellars, red-eyed with lack of sleep but talking nineteen to the dozen about Charles. To him he attributed so many amazing escapades that Judith’s hair nearly stood on end until she realised that most of them must be culled from the weekly thrillers that were always sticking out of Joe’s pocket. But she fully sympathised with his feelings. If Charles had got into the situations which his fiction heroes did, there was no doubt but that he would have coped with the whole lot of them.

When she got back to Windygates she found Miss Harriet on the telephone. When she hung up, she turned to Judith with a gusty sigh.

“The only time that bell has stopped ringing was when I was already talking to someone else on the telephone,” she commented. “Oh, by the way, Desmond rang up. He asked me to tell you that he was coming to see you this afternoon. And Linda,” she added rather reluctantly.

Judith, with her back to her aunt, said quietly:

“Yes—of course.” And then: “Have they brought Charles?”

Miss Harriet nodded.

“The doctor came with him, and is quite satisfied that the journey has done him no harm. He is in the room next to mine.”

“That is a good arrangement,” Judith said quietly. “He is still unconscious, of course?”

“Yes—though he muttered a little as they carried him in.”

Judith nodded and went slowly upstairs. She hesitated for a moment at the door of Charles’s room and then she went quietly in.

The curtains were drawn and she had to wait a moment before she became accustomed to the dimmer light. Charles lay very still, and for a moment the shadow of the fear she had felt the previous night caught at Judith’s heart. But he was breathing steadily, and although colour had not entirely returned to his face, there was a suggestion of latent strength and health that was reassuring.

Slowly she came closer until she stood beside the bed. It was a more modem one than her own four-poster and it would be^ easier, she realised, for nursing. Probably Aunt Harriet had thought of that, as well as the wisdom of having him near her own room in case he stirred in the night.

A little sob forced itself between Judith’s lips because she herself could do so little for Charles. It was such a soft sound that it could hardly have disturbed him, yet he moved restlessly, and instantly Judith drew back, waiting breathlessly. But he did not stir again and, greatly daring, she leant over him and softly touched his crisp fair hair with her lips.

Then she went to her own room and, sitting by the open window, looked out on to the broad acres that had once meant so much to her and now meant nothing at all in comparison with Charles.

Slow tears forced themselves from her wistful brown eyes, but when, later on, she was told that Linda was downstairs, she was completely composed and gravely welcoming. Desmond had not come with his sister, as she had imagined would be the case. Instead, there was a man whose face seemed vaguely familiar to Judith, although she could not remember that she had ever met him. Linda, without explanation as to his presence, introduced him as Carl Brand.

“I’ve been staying in the village,” he explained when he saw the expression on Judith’s face. “You may have seen me. about.”

“That must be it,” she agreed, and turned to Linda. “Charles is still unconscious,” she said quietly. “But I expect you would like to see him. Will you come up?” To her surprise, Linda shook her head.

“No, thank you,” she said firmly, and then, seeing Judith’s surprise, she added: “He might come round, and I should be the last person that he would want to set eyes on.”

“But ” Judith began uncomprehendingly.

Carl Brand, who had been watching the two girls with considerable interest, suddenly took a step or two nearer to Linda and gripped her hand firmly in his.

“Linda has something she wants to tell you, Miss Ravensdale,” he announced. “When you’re heard it, you’ll understand why she says that.” He looked at Linda expectantly.

Linda drew a long, sighing breath and seemed suddenly to find courage from his sustaining clasp.

“I’ve played you a pretty beastly trick,” she began precipitately. “I’d better put it as briefly as I can. It’s this: Charles has never made love to me and never so much as hinted that he wanted to marry me. I made all that up because I thought that you were beginning to be attracted to him and I intended marrying him myself. Because he has got plenty of money,” she added.

Wide-eyed, Judith stared at her. It couldn’t be true. Linda’s story had been so convincing—and who could help preferring Linda to her? Linda had all the charms, all the graces that men like, while she was just a hobbledehoy—and an unpleasantly arrogant one at that. Linda turned to Carl.

“She doesn’t believe me,” she said anxiously. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“Tell her the rest of it,” Carl advised confidently.

“Yes, of course. Judith, you know the day I told you all about Charles? Well, something you said must have made him guess that there was some specific reason why your attitude towards him had suddenly changed. And what is more, he seems to have connected it up with me immediately, because he came straight down to see me. He told me that you had begun to trust him and then, it had all gone and you were back where you had been at the beginning. He wanted to know what I had said. I—I told him half-truths,' but I didn’t convince him. And then he guessed what my motive for lying had been, for he told me—” her voice shook a little at the memory of that humiliating moment for which she had only herself to thank—“that you mattered more to him than anything else in the world, that you were the only woman he had ever loved or wanted to marry, though you had no idea of it.”

Judith’s hand pressed against her throat.

“It can’t be true,” she whispered. “It can’t be ”

“It is true,” Carl Brand said gently. “I heard him say it, Miss Ravensdale.”

“Don’t you see,” Linda said eagerly, “how everything fits? I told you that Charles stayed here in spite of the fact that you gave him such a rough time because he wanted to get hold of Windygates. But it wasn’t that. Charles wanted to stay because he loved you and he had to have time to teach you.” Suddenly she dropped Carl’s hand and caught Judith by the shoulders. “Wake up, Judith!” she said urgently. “You’ve got to believe it! It’s true! And you can’t deny that you want it to be! You love Charles, don’t you?”

Suddenly a beautiful wave of colour stained Judith’s cheeks.

“Yes” she admitted softly. “I love him!”

“Well, then,” Linda said impatiently. “Don’t you understand? Everything is all right?”

Judith did not reply for a moment. Suddenly she had realised that what Linda had said was true, it did all fit in. Charles’s regretful “There is a reason, but you are too much of a child to understand” when she had demanded that he should tell her why she should trust him. The way, in spite of the difficulties that she herself had put in his way, he had always stood by her —had even fought for her and finally saved her life. She had been so blind, so incredibly blind. She had even tried to explain away the moved tone in which he had said her name just last night, that soft touch on her hair.

It was incredible—so unbelievable that it left her dazed with happiness—but it was true. Charles loved her.

She heard Linda give a sigh of relief, and suddenly she could smile at the girl who had been her friend and yet who had behaved so meanly to her only to regret it.

“That’s all right,” she heard Linda say as if it were suddenly difficult to speak. “I—I suppose you couldn’t find it in your heart to forgive me, Judith? I know it’s a lot to ask.”

For answer, Judith caught her in warm, friendly arms.

“It’s over—and forgotten,” she declared firmly. “So don’t think about it ever again.”

Linda looked at her with eyes that glinted with tears.

“I shall, you know,” she said. “It’s one thing for you to forgive me, but I’m not going to forgive myself in a hurry.”

Judith looked troubled. In her new-found happiness she wanted everybody else to be happy, and with instinctive knowledge she turned to Carl Brand.

“You mustn’t let her feel like that,” she said earnestly. “Promise you won’t.”

Carl put an arm round Linda’s shoulders.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised, and led Linda out of the open french windows. Judith heard a car start up.

She stood very still in the quiet room, gazing at her own reflection in a mirror that must, in its time, have reflected so many Ravensdale women. And in its quiet depths she saw the face of a woman made happy by beauty.

“I’m glad,” she whispered. “To be beautiful—for Charles,” and gazed on, though her eyes were dreamy and she saw, not her own face, but the future, shared with Charles.

That was how Desmond saw her as he came quietly to the window. For a long moment he watched, his lips twitching at the sight, and then, though he had not consciously made any sound, she must have become aware that she was being watched, for she turned. And instantly all the joy, all the tender anticipation of the future faded.

Desmond, with a wordless exclamation, crossed the space that separated them in a couple of strides. He took Judith by the shoulders and shook her.

“Do you think I am such a rotter as to keep you to your promise after all this?” he asked roughly. “Particularly when I’ve known right from the first that I could never make you happy.”

Judith’s sensitive face grew troubled. She knew that it was true, but she had given her word and—Desmond had trusted her.

“But you?” she asked wistfully. “You—you did want to marry me, didn’t you?”

Desmond smiled crookedly.

“Little silly,” he said, gently rocking her backwards and forwards. “Of course I did! But—I shall get over it. Oh yes, I shall! You see, although I love you, I know perfectly well that I should not have been happy either. It takes two to make a love story that lasts, you know. So it is better this way. At least we shall always be good friends.”

“I think you are trying to make things easier for me,” Judith insisted, very near tears.

Desmond bent his head and kissed her gently on the tip of her nose.

“Stop that,” he commanded firmly. “I never could stand having a tearful woman on my hands! So damp and depressing.”

Judith laughed rather uncertainly.

“That’s better,” Desmond told her approvingly. “Now, listen to me. There is nothing for you to worry about. I’ve got a job—a good one—in America. That chap who came here with Linda offered it to me. And Linda is coming too. She will housekeep for me. Now are you satisfied?”

“Well—quite a lot,” Judith admitted and then, as a question that had been in her mind earlier occurred to her, she asked curiously: “Des, who
is
Carl Brand?”