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.