I spent the last days with her. Essie made me very welcome and Joe was glad to have me there too. Carlyon was with him, and as I did not wish him to be in the sickroom he spent all his time with Joe.

I remember the last afternoon of Granny's life.

I sat by her bed and the tears were on my cheeks—I, who could not remember crying, except in anger.

"Don't grieve, my sweet Granddaughter," she said. "Don't mourn for me when I am gone. For I'd as lief you forgot me for evermore than remembering me should make you grieve."

"Oh, Granny," I cried, "how could I ever forget you?"

"Then remember the happy times, child."

"Happy times. What happy times can there be for me when you are gone?"

"You're too young to want your life linked with an old woman's. I've had my day and you'll have yours. There'll be happiness and pleasure ahead of you, Kerensa. Tis yours. Take it. Keep it. You've had your lesson, girl. Learn it well."

"'Granny," I said, "don't leave me. How can I get along without you?"

"Is this my Kerensa speaking? My Kerensa, who be ready to fight the world?"

"With you, Granny—not alone. We've always been together. You can't leave me now."

"Listen, lovey. You ain't got no need of me. You love a man and that's how it should be. There's a time when the birds leave the nest. They fly alone. Ye've a strong pair of wings, Kerensa. I hain't feared for you. You've flown high but you'll fly higher. You'll do what's good and right now. Your life be all before you. Don't fret, my sweetheart, I be glad to go. I'll be with my Pedro, for some says as we live on after death. I didn't always believe it but I want to believe it now . , . and, like most, I believes as I wants. Now don't 'ee weep, my sweet one. I must go and you must stay, but I leave 'ee happy. You're free, my love. There's the man of your heart awaiting for ee. Never ee mind where you be, as long as you be together. Don't fret for poor old Granny Bee when you have the man you love."

"Granny, I want you to live and be with us. I want you to know our children. I can t lose you ... because something tells me it'll never be the same without you."

"Ah, there was a time when you were so proud and happy when you was first Mrs. St. Larnston... . Then I don't think 'ee had a thought in the world save playing the lady. Well, lovey, now, you'll be the same again, only this time it won't be for a house and the sake of being a fine lady, it'll be for love of your man—and there hain't no happiness in the world to compare with that. Now, my dear, there be little time left to us, so we should say what should be said. Unbind my hair, Kerensa."

"It would disturb you. Granny."

"Nay, unbind it, I say. I want to feel it round my shoulders."

I obeyed.

"Still black it be. Though I've been too tired of late for the treatment. Yours must stay the same, Kerensa. You must stay beautiful, for he loves you partly for that. The cottage be just as I left it, hain't it"

"Yes, Granny," I said, for it was true. When she had gone to live with Essie and Joe, she had been anxious to keep her cottage. In the beginning she had gone there often and still used her herbs there to make her concoctions. Later she had sent Essie to get what she wanted or sometimes she had asked me to call in for it.

I had never liked going to the cottage. I had hated my memories of the old days because one of my greatest desires had been to forget I had ever lived in humble conditions. It had been necessary, I had told myself, if I were to play my role of great lady with success.

"Then go there, my dear, and in the comer cupboard you will find my comb and mantilla which be yours and there'll be, too, the recipe for your hair that'll keep it black and glossy all the days of your life. Tis easy to make, with the proper herbs; look, my love, there's never a gray hair, old as I be! Promise me you'll go there, lovey?"

"I promise."

"And I want ye to promise something else, my darling child. Not to grieve. Remember what I said. There comes a time when the leaves wither on the trees; and I be but a poor brown leaf about to fall."

I buried my face in her pillow and began to sob.

She stroked my hair and like a child I implored her to comfort me.

But death was in the room and it had come for Granny Bee; and there was no power in her, no ready potion to hold off death.

She died that night; and when I went to her the next morning she looked so peaceful lying there, her face grown younger, her black hair neatly braided, like a woman who is ready to go in peace because her wort is done.

It was Kim, with Carlyon and Mellyora, who comforted me after the death of Granny Bee. They all did their best to rouse me from my melancholy; and I was comforted because during those days I became certain that Kim loved me; and I believed that he was waiting until I had recovered from the shock of the discovery of Johnny's body and the death of Granny.

I would find him and Mellyora talking together about me, planning how to divert my thoughts from recent events. As a result we were often entertained at the Abbas and Kim was frequently at the Dower House. There was never a day when we did not meet.

Carlyon did his best, too. He had always been gentle, but during those days he was my constant companion; among the three of them I felt surrounded by love.

Autumn had set in with the usual southwest gales and the trees were being rapidly denuded of their leaves. Only the stubby firs bent and swayed in the wind and glistened as brightly green as ever; the hedges were draped with spiders' webs and on the narrow threads the dewdrops glistened like crystal beads.

The wind dropped and the mist drifted in from the coast. It hung in patches that afternoon when I went along to Granny's cottage.

I had promised her that I would go and find the formula which she had been so anxious for me to have; I would take it with the mantilla and comb and cherish them in memory of her. Joe had said that we ought not to allow the cottage to stand idle. We should put it in good order and let it Why not? I thought. It was pleasant to own a little property, however small, and the cottage which had been built in a night by Grandfather Bee was of some sentimental value.

The cottage, being some little distance from the rest in the village and surrounded by its little copse of fir trees, had always seemed to stand apart. I was glad of that now.

I was steeling myself because I had not visited the cottage since Granny's death and I knew it was going to be a painful experience.

I must try to remember her words. I must try to do what she would want. That was forget the past; not to brood; to live happily and wisely as she would have wanted me to.

Perhaps it was the stillness of the afternoon; perhaps it was my mission; but I suddenly had a feeling of uneasiness, a strange awareness that I was not alone; that somewhere, not far off someone was watching me ... with evil intentions.

Perhaps I heard a sound in that still afternoon; perhaps I had been too deep in my thoughts to recognize it as a footfall; but nevertheless I had an uneasy feeling that I was being followed and my heart began to beat fast.

"Is anyone there?" I called.

I listened. Absolute stillness all about me.

I laughed at myself. I was forcing myself to visit the cottage which I did not want to do. I was afraid, not of something evil, but of my own memories.

I hurried on to the cottage and let myself in. Because of that sudden scare in the copse I drew the heavy bolt. I stood leaning against the door looking about me at those familiar cob walls. The talfat where I had spent so many nights! What a happy place that had seemed during my first days in the cottage when I had brought Joe to find a refuge with Granny.

The tears were blinding me. I should not have come so soon.

I would try to be sensible. I had always been impatient of sentiment and here was I weeping. Was this the girl who had forced her way from the cottage to the big house? Was this the girl who had refused Mellyora the man she loved?

But you are not crying for others, I told myself. You are drying for yourself.

I went into the storehouse and found the formula as Granny had said I would. The ceiling was damp. If the cottage were to be lived in, that would have to be repaired. No doubt there would have to be certain renovations. I had an idea of building on to it, making it a pleasant little house.

Then suddenly I stood very still because I was sure that the latch of the door was being tried ... stealthily.

When you have lived in a house for many years you know all its sounds —the creak of the talfat with its own special creak, the floorboard which is loose, the peculiar sound of the latch being lifted, the creak of the door.

If someone was outside why did he ... or she .. . not knock? Why did they try the door so stealthily?

I left the storehouse and came into the cottage room and went swiftly to the door and waited there for the latch to move. Nothing happened. And then suddenly the window was momentarily darkened. I, who knew that cottage so well, was instantly aware that someone was standing there looking in.

I did not move. I was terrified. My knees had begun to tremble and a cold sweat was on my skin, though I did not know why I should have been so frightened.

Why did I not run to the window and look for whoever was peering in? Why did I not shout as I had in the copse? Who is there?

I could not say then. I could only stand cowering against the door.

The room was suddenly light and I knew that whoever had been looking in at the window was there no longer.