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head towards her and his face had taken on a sober look, | but only until she had passed on. She knew this because she had not gone far along the road before their joined laughter came to her again.

The next time she had seen him was one day not more than a fortnight ago. She had passed the cottage on the fells at least a dozen times since the autumn and had seen no-one at all, but this day they were all outside looking at something on the road, Mr. and Mrs. Maclntyre and Andrew Maclntyre, and when she came up to them she saw that it was a small terrier bitch with puppies. A different scene from that which she had come upon the first day she had passed the house, for now the mother and son were laughing at the antics of the pups and the father was looking on. Mr. Maclntyre she saw should have been a tall man, but he was very bent and stood with the aid of a stick. His body looked like that of an old man but his face was that of a man in his fifties.

Neither Mrs. Maclntyre nor Andrew had introduced him to her, and after passing the time of day with them, and remarking on the sweetness of the puppies, she had continued on her way feeling as if she had trespassed on their property. They were using the road as if it was their garden, and she was left with the impression that she had walked through it without asking permission.

She now climbed up through the wood until she reached the flint road, and here she hesitated as she had done once or twice before when she had the desire to explore the quarry, really explore it. She had been as far as the end of the road and looked over the barbed wire into the vast crater that the workings had left. The water in it, the accumulation of the rainfall of years, was blackish and forbidding, and it had always checked her adventurous desire to walk round the perimeter of the quarry or to find out if there was even a way around it, for from the end of the road there was no sign of a path. Yet from her first visit she knew that someone went into the quarry, for in one place the barbed wire had been pressed down to make easier access.

So today when she looked at the wire she thought, "Where one can go another can' and she was under the wire and in the enclosure of the quarry before the thought had finished in her mind.

Once over the wire fence she stopped. It was strange, but she had the feeling that everything was different on this side of the wire; it was as if the quarry had no connection with the wood. The atmosphere in the wood was soothing; here only a few steps within the wire, she felt a surge of unrest, even fear. When she found herself half turning towards the wire again, she murmured aloud, saying, "Don't be silly'

and then, surprised at the sound of her own voice, she closed her eyes and smiled.

There was no possible way of her getting to the edge of the crater from where she stood, for bracken, bush and bramble had entwined to make an impregnable barrier at least thirty feet wide, and only because this sloped downwards could she see the water. And from this distance she guessed she must be looking almost into the middle of the quarry.

The only way clear enough for walking was by the wire fencing, and this did not lead to the quarry but away from it. Yet she had only followed it for some yards when she saw to the left of her the narrow cutting in the wall of bracken. It was just wide enough for one person to walk through, and as she stood looking at it there came to her again the feeling of fear, but this time it was intensified and she had the urge to turn like a frightened child and dash out of the enclosure.

Was the land boggy and this feeling a warning? Tentatively she put her foot among the grasses, but the ground felt rock-like. Hesitating no more, she entered the path. Although it was open to the sky, it seemed dark inside. She walked quietly and slowly, wondering with a quickening of her heart beats what she would find round the next corner, for the path twisted and turned continuously until it came abruptly to an end.

She was now looking on to what appeared to be a small lake. The water was still. There was no life to be seen on its surface and no indication of any underneath. Between her and the water's edge lay about ten feet of baked mud and this stretched away for some distance, looking for all the world like a deserted beach. At the far end there rose, almost vertical, a wall of rock jutting out towards the water.

It was as clean and bare as if it had just recently been sliced. There were boulders of rock mounting one on top of the other to the right of her, and her only path now seemed to be the mud beach. Fascinated, she walked along it towards where it skirted the wall of rock.

There was not more than two feet between the water and the point of the rock and she had her eyes cast down on the water as she rounded the point. And then her hand came up across her mouth to stifle her exclamation of surprise. There, not a couple of yards from her, lay Andrew Maclntyre. His hands behind his head, his eyes were closed as if he was asleep. But she hadn't time to wonder or make her retreat, for the next instant he was on his feet and staring at her. They remained gaping at each other until she gabbled, "I ... I'm sorry. I I didn't know...." As she had felt she was trespassing through his garden when she had walked down the road past his house, now she had almost the feeling that she had barged into his bedroom. He and his family seemed to create a privacy about them that was most disconcerting.

"I was out for a walk." She was still trying to explain.

His blank silence was unnerving, and she was on the point of turning with what dignity she could muster and making her escape when he spoke, and the tone of his voice brought an immediate show of relief to her face,

for he said, "Don't go, please don't go. You see, I thought you were a sort of ... of apparition." His voice was so quiet, his expression so gentle, his manner so easy, that for a moment she didn't think she was looking at the dour Andrew Maclntyre.

"You see, very few people find their way around here."

"Yes, yes' her laugh was nervous and high " I can understand that .

it's a weird kind of place. " She looked up to the wall of rock that towered above them. Then, turning her gaze to the water, she said, "

It's a wonder people don't come here to swim. "

"It smells too much when it's stirred up."

"Really?" She was looking at him again.

"It's a pity. Well' she smiled up at him " I must go and leave you to your reading. " She glanced at the book lying on the ground.

"I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"You didn't disturb me." His voice had changed, it was as if he was contradicting her now. And then he added, "I was just about to make my way homewards, anyway."

She watched him bend over and pick up the book, and as he straightened up she turned away and went round the point of the rock again.

They walked along the mud beach, and when they came to the narrow, bramble-walled passage, he led the way, and it was very like the day he had shown her and Aunt Aggie the short cut down to the back gate, for she was looking at his back and he was silent now as he had been then.

It wasn't until he lifted the wire up to allow her easier passage through into the wood that she made herself speak, and then she asked,

"Are you going to the farm now?"

He shook his head.

"No; this is my day off, I wouldn't be here else.

The quarry is only for high days and, holidays . or when you want to escape and be by;

yourself. " i " Oh, I'm sorry. "

"I didn't mean that." His face was dead straight.

"It's all right. I understand."

"Look. Look here." He was bending slightly towards her.

"You don't understand."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"No you don't." His brows were drawn together, his voice was harsh, and now his face looked not only dour but grim.

"There are times when you want to get away from people not all people just ... just some people . and I wouldn't have said that if ... As he hesitated she put in quickly, " Well, that's what I mean, that's what I understand, the desire to get away from some particular . people. "

She had nearly said particular person. She understood how he felt all right ... oh, she understood perfectly, and her knowledge made her fearful.

She was looking intently at him, and becoming aware of a number of things at once: that his expression had changed yet again and his whole face now looked gentle;

that he had a nice mouth; that he never addressed her as Mrs. Rouse or ma'am; that he was young, and strangely was making her feel young, even younger than him; and, lastly, that here was someone who would kowtow, or bow, to no-one, and that was why Donald didn't like him.

It was this last thought that dragged her wandering mind and feelings abruptly into line again.

She had a strong desire now to get away from him, even to run. She conquered this by assuming an air of sedateness, and as she pulled her eyes from his face and moved away she said, "Ben says it will rain before tea."

He was behind her now, but keeping at a distance, as his voice told her when he answered after a pause, "He's right."

When they came to where the stone road ended she turned to him and said with stiff politeness, "Well, goodbye."

He was standing some yards from her, his deep brown eyes looking almost black.

"Goodbye," he said.

They both seemed to turn away simultaneously, he going up the steep incline that led towards his home, and she cutting across the hillside towards the main road.

When she reached the road she did not go down to the village but skirted it and came out near the little cemetery that backed the church.

There was no-one in the cemetery and the vestry door was closed, but the main door was open and she went in and walked between the six stone pillars of the chancel, then turned towards the alcove where the little side altar was, the children's altar. And here, on the single wooden kneeler, she knelt and with her hands tightly clasped and her head down she prayed, prayed earnestly. And as she prayed, Ben's promised rain began to beat on the roof.

Andrew Maclntyre had not taken more than a dozen long strides when he stopped and, turning abruptly, watched, from his vantage point, the vicar's wife scurrying along the path between the trees towards the main road.

He'd never had such a surprise in his life . never. To be thinking of her, then to open his eyes and see her standing dead in front of him.

It had shaken him. Why had she come into the quarry? It must have been her first visit, and he could take it for an omen. He had gone in there to decide for good and all what he must do. He had come to the point where he had made up his mind that the madness that was growing in him must be cut out;

for it could lead nowhere. There was a 'gift horse' waiting for him to saddle. He had known for two years now what was in Adelaide's mind, but had made no move in that direction, not only because of her father, and the hell he might kick up, but because Adelaide herself aroused nothing more in him than sincere liking. Even now, when he sensed that old Toole had had it out with Adelaide and she had brought him round to her way of thinking and he might even welcome him in the uplifting capacity of son-in-law, even this could not make him see Adelaide in the light of a wife.

Although he had worked for Toole for years he had never felt inferior to him and that was another thing that made life and the future difficult, for he considered his own mother a better woman in all ways than his master's wife. His mother had been educated, whereas Mrs.

Toole had at one time gone to the village school. Of course everybody tried to forget this, but would they forget he was a farm labourer if he aspired to Adelaide Toole. As for his father on this thought Andrew's lip curled back from his teeth if it wasn't for him they wouldn't be in the position they were today. For himself it didn't much matter . he could fend . but his mother, tied up there for life.

Why did women do it? Why? Was some part of them mentally blind?

Her, too. He could now only pick out the colour of Grace's dress as she jumped the ditch to the main road, but her face was vividly before him. She was different from anyone he had ever come across, sweet and kind, and intelligent. You only had to listen to her to know that.

Yet she had picked a fellow like Rouse. Parson! Psss! Bigheaded nowt! With that air of authority as from God himself. His stomach had turned the first time they had met. He had wanted to start an argument with him, to tie him up with the flaws in his own doctrine . and he could have done just that. Hadn't he been brought up on the Bible?

So much so that he had, as a child, thought that his father had written the book. But this was getting him

nowhere. Recriminations were useless, he had learnt that too. The main thing was that she was unhappy . he knew she was unhappy. What was he to do? What could he do? Would she be like his mother and go on all her life suffering because it was her duty . ? God, no!

Miss Shawcross had come to tea. She was sitting in the drawing-room to the side of Grace and opposite Donald, and Donald was playfully chaffing her. Donald was always playful with Miss Shawcross; it could be said he treated her like a beloved sister. It certainly couldn't be anything else. This thought brought Grace's cup to shake gently in its saucer, but not with laughter.

"Can you see us all running over the fells taking pot-shots at the German parachutists?"

Miss Shawcross made a sound that was a cross between a laugh and a giggle; it was a sound that irritated Grace.

"But there' Donald's voice was serious now " I mustn't joke about this matter, war's no joking matter at all, and if the worst comes to the worst we will undoubtedly all do our bit. Now about the rota, Kate. "

He leant forward. Then his jocularity returning, he said, " But have a piece of this sandwich cake, it will give you strength for the battle.

"

Kate Shawcross's laugh filled the room. She laughed, with her eyes closed and her head down. She stopped laughing as abruptly as she had started, then, taking from her bag a sheet of foolscap paper, she began to explain the rota.