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When he held out his hand and said, slowly, "What can I say to you?"

Matthew took it and they gripped hard, and when he didn't speak Clive asked, "Why are you doing this? Why were you prepared to take this risk?" And Matthew, as always, coming straight to the point, answered,

"For a number of reasons. Sir. But if I was to tell the truth, the main one is Cissie. If this came out, if it was told as it happened, her life would be hell, because the truth is, no matter what they did to you they would do twice as much to her, with or without law.

Ignorant people act ignorantly, Sir. I don't want her to be hurt no more. " Nor to be driven to some far place where he wouldn't be able to see her.

There was a long pause before Clive said, "Nor me. Thank you. Thank you. By the way what is your name?"

"Matthew Turnbull."

"Thank you, Matthew."

"You're welcome, Sir. Good-bye and good luck."

Good luck? He'd certainly need that from now on.

As he moved away in the darkness he heard the miller click his tongue at the horse and the cart joggle forward; and he could see the figure lying prone in the back as if illuminated, and he groaned out, "Oh Isabelle, Isabelle."

When he rang the bell at the North Lodge the lodge keeper came running out, holding his lamp high, and on seeing who it was, he exclaimed,

"Oh, Sir. I didn't know you were still out, thought perhaps you might've come back tother gate. His Lordship's in this half-hour or more."

"Got ... got stuck in the mire, Beecham." He pointed down to his mud-covered boots and breeches, the result of his stumbling into a ditch farther back along the road.

"Lord! Sir, you are in a mess. And you're just in time; 'tis spittin'

on an' could turn to sleet. It's a bitter night and black as the ace of spades; would you like a lantern, Sir? Take this one."

"Thank you, Beecham. Goodnight."

"Good-night to you. Sir."

When he left the lodge keeper he let out a long shuddering breath; it was as if he had got over his first obstacle. Anyway, he had talked, he had talked naturally, but how would he talk when the miller brought the cart to the door? But he wouldn't be there, he'd be in his bath.

He'd take a long, slow bath and he'd fill up with whiskey inside. But not too much, just enough to get him over the night Godi He stopped on the path and gripped his face with his hand. How had this all come about? He had killed his sister, he who had no real love for gun sport had shot a human being. He who, as a boy, had squirmed when he shot his first rabbit. Rabbiti It had all started with a rabbit, and just about there. Somewhere in that tangle was the spy-hole where she'd lain and watched the child. And one day he'd lain with her. Oh Cecilial . Oh Isabellel One as dead as the other to him now.

For six days the child had whined, cried, and sulked, and Cissie was desperate to know how to bring him round. He wanted his nanny, he wanted his grandpa e pa, he wanted his Aunt Isabelle, he wanted his bath, he wanted his walkie; he didn't like that porridge, he didn't like that broth, he didn't like that bed, and most of all he didn't like the lady picking him up;

and he slapped at her whenever she attempted to do so.

He wasn't crying this morning but he was sitting close to the ere, and when she said to him, "Come and see the snow, Richard. Come and look out of the window and see the snow," he shook his head, then said in a whimpering voice, "I'm cold."

She didn't think he could be cold; he was well wrapped up and the room was warm. She had kept the fire going full blast night and day.

Charlotte came to her and whispered, "Will we take him out to play snowballs?" And she replied dully, "No; he might catch cold."

She said to Annie and Nellie, who were sitting on the mat looking at a little colored picture book she had bought them the Christmas before,

"Let Richard have a look" ; then, turning to Sarah who was washing up the breakfast crockery in a bowl that was standing on top of a box in a corner of the room, she added, "Leave those, Sarah, and read the story to Richard." And Sarah dutifully left what she was doing and dried her hands; and kneeling on the mat between her sisters and the small boy, she smiled her quiet smile and, taking the book from Annie, began in a slow syllable-spaced way to read,

"Ma-ryputasaucerofmilkonthematforthepussycat-and the-pussy-cat-lapped-all-the-milk-up-then-Mary .."

Sarah got no further, for the tattered-edged book was slapped out of her hand; and Richard, standing up and stamping his toot and with tears bursting from his eyes, cried, "Don't want to hear about the pussy cat.

Don't want to hear about the pussy cat. I want my grand papa and Aunt Isabelle. I want to go home. I want nanny and have my bath."

Cissie bowed her head and dosed her eyes, then turned away and, pulling the old black shawl from the back of the door, she went out. Keeping her head down against the snow she hugged the wall until she reached the wood house. Then she stumbled towards the chopping block and, sitting down, buried her face in her hands and began to cry. What was she going to do? What was going to happen? One thing was certain.

She couldn't keep the child fastened up here. But even if they went to live in this other house, would he ever get to like her? That was the unbearable part of this business: the child didn't like her. Her own family, each and every one of the nine of them, loved her; but her own child, whom she not only loved but had adored blindly for years, he couldn't bear her touch, he struggled in her arms, he slapped at her.

He was but a child of three and a halt years but he acted more like Charlotte and Sarah in age; and each day did not dim his memory of what he had left, only seemed to put a keener edge on it.

By the previous arrangement she should have moved to the new house the day before. Not that she now wanted to go. She didn't really know what she wanted at the moment, for she was feeling odd. Perhaps, as she put it, she still had the shock on her. But she would be forced to go if she was to keep the child. And that was the question written large across the front of her mind. Was she going to keep him? Would he like her any better among nice furniture and warm surroundings? It wasn't furniture he was crying after, but people, his people, his nanny, his grandfather. and her.

She sat up and clasped her hands tightly between her knees and stared at the logs and branches of wood arrayed neatly against the wall opposite her. Matthew had come in yesterday, after the inquest.

Everything had gone just as he had foretold.

"Death by misadventure" was the coroner's verdict. One good thing, Matthew said, was that they weren't going to go searching for a scapegoat in the form of a poacher.

The fault lay with one of the thirty-five people who were at the shoot.

These included His Lordship, his guests. Farmer Thomton and his son, the bailiff, and the keepers. It had been admitted that all of them had passed within range of the spot where the body was found sometime during the afternoon. Matthew said the coroner had asked him one telling question. Did he possess a gun? And he was thankful he could answer it truthfully. No; nor had he ever handled one in his life. He wouldn't know how.

Following the inquest, Matthew said His Lordship had sought him out and thanked him kindly for all he had done. But Mr. Clive hadn't spoken to him;

they had just exchanged glances. And Matthew had ended, he looked like death. He had then said to her, "Have you heard from him?" And when she shook her head he said, "Are you going to his house?" And she had looked at him piteously before answering, "It I want to keep the child what else can I do?" And on this he had stared at her hard before turning away and leaving her without a further word.

She rose to her feet and, gathering up a pile of wood, she went out and was making her way back to the house when a figure loomed out of the snow gloom and came to the door just as she reached it. And she recognized the figure as the servant who had come with the child. He handed her a package, saying, "This is from Master Clive." His voice was stiff, his look accusing, and when she said "Thanks," he merely nodded once and turned quickly away.

When she went into the room she saw that the girls were sitting on the mat together at one side of the fireplace and the child was huddled up on a crack et at the other. She sighed deeply as she sat down at the corner of the table farthest away from them. She opened the big envelope and looked at the papers inside, then called Sarah to her and said, "Do you think you can read these?"

Sarah and the others went to Sunday school every week. Parson Hedley took them for an hour and taught them their letters. She would have liked to go with them but she was too ashamed to ask; but on the quiet she had said to Sarah, "Do you think you could learn me, Sarah? I'd like to be able to write me name." So now she knew the alphabet and could form a few one-syllable words, but she knew no big words.

Sarah picked up the single sheet first and stared at it, then looked at Cissie and said, "It says. Dear ..." Then she stopped, and again looking at Cissie, she said, "

"Tisn't your name." And Cissie looked down at the paper and although she had never seen her name in writing she recognized it and said, "

"Tis. It's me proper name, Cecilia."

Sarah gave a small laugh, then began again, "Dear Ce-cilia, The carriage-willcallforyouto-to-morrow- morning.

The-houseisreadyandIhopeyouwill-be happy-there.

I-willnotseeyouagainasIamdue-to sail-to-morrow. Go-to-the-lawyer whose-ad-addressyouwillfindontheen-dosed. " Here Sarah paused and slowly spelled out the word " document," and although she mispronounced it Cissie knew what it meant. And she said softly, " Go on. " And Sarah finished, " He-willhelpandadvise-you.

All-thatreremainsformeto-sayisthatIprayyouwillforgetthepastallofitand-t atyouwillcometolookuponme-kindly.

I-re-main-your- servant, CliveFischel. "

Sarah now looked at Cissie. She had her head bent deeply on her chest, and after a moment she said, "Shall I read these, our Cissie? And Cissie nodded and Sarah opened the first of the two folded parchment sheets, and after her eyes had scanned the small neat handwriting she said, " I couldn't do this," and Cissie took it from her hand and looked at it. Then she opened the other sheet and looked at that. This was a double sheet and it was covered all over with small writing, and had a red seal at the bottom. After a moment she folded it up again and said, " It'll be about the house. "

"Are we goin', Cissie?" Sarah's voice was an excited whisper; and Cissie turned and looked towards the boy still sitting silently on the crack et his face white, his eyes wide, his small baby mouth on the verge of a tremble all the while, and she shook her head and said, "I don't know, I don't know."

She gathered the papers up now and took them to the chest and placed them in the top drawer. Then, picking up her old black shawl again, she put it over her head and tied the string around her neck, and over this she put the fawn one. Then she took the two milk cans from the box and went to the door, saying, "I'll be as quick as I can. Keep the door barred till I come back."

When she was outside, her body bent against the blizzard, she wondered why she had bothered to tell them to bolt the door for she had no fear now of their coming to take the child from her. And the scrapers didn't come in the winter, not to this godforsaken part anyway. More and more now she was looking upon the place as god-forsaken; and if she didn't leave tomorrow, what then? If she carried out the distant thought hovering in her head, what then? Winter on top of winter up here until she was old? For she wouldn't take a house from Matthew, not as long as he had a wife. So, should she follow the trend of her mind as it was at this moment, it would be the finish of any idea of a real home and comfort, and a different life for the girls; on the other hand if she put her foot down, asserted her right and fought him, she'd be set for life. It was odd to think of her, a grown woman now, fighting a child, and her own flesh into the bargain.

Written on those papers she had pushed into the drawer was her right to hundreds of pounds, and that to come to her every year. One thousand pounds he had said. She couldn't visualize this amount, she could only break it up into countless sovereigns, and the sovereigns into shillings, and she knew there was enough of them to last her a number of lifetimes. But she would have to get the better of the child first.

The snow had eased off, and there wasn't much on the ground as yet, only a thin powder that the wind whipped up into dusty clouds; and when she looked across the open land 'she saw the clouds skipping over hillocks and dropping into hollows, somersaulting into tight corkscrews, then disappearing as if wiped away by a magic hand.

The last few days, when going for the milk, she had taken a different route, so that on no part of her journey would she see the boundary of the Hall. She was crossing a wide stretch of open land, flat here, to where it joined the road, and she had only to cross this and she was in the lower field of Thomton's farm.

The field was edged with a dry stone wall. It was easy to climb, being only about four feet in height. She had the knack of pulling herself up backwards on to its broad top and swinging her legs across; the short cut saved her a good ten minutes' walk. About fifty feet away to the right of her the road turned sharply and ran through a copse; and as she was about to cross to the wall there appeared from the dark tunnel of trees darker moving objects. They were standing out in dense blackness against the white drift-covered ground, and as she stared at the oncoming cavalcade she knew a moment of panic bordering on hysteria and she almost cried aloud, "I thought it was over." When the servant had brought the letter from him this morning she thought it was because everything was finished and he was about to go. But now here was the funeral advancing on her and she couldn't move. The black-plumed horses with their black-clad riders, streamers Hying from their high hats, seemed like figures coming at her out of hell.