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They could get married and come and live here. You have even thought of Cherry's future. Bobby will take care of her, you said. So you know what's been going on. But me, your beloved daughter, so I thought, you have left in care of the boys. " With a quick jerk she lifted the pail and hurried from him. And he went after her, and at the bedroom door he stopped her, saying, " I could not live without your mother. Don't you understand? "

Yes. Yes, she understood. She understood that an intelligent, caring father could have quite another side to him. Intelligent he was, naturally, but caring was because he wanted them all around him as protection from the outer world and its condemnation. As he had bred each one he hadn't thought of their future, only of his needs of the moment. She had thought him advanced in his thinking, on a par with Timothy, but now, females still had their place, and it was subordinate to men's. She passed him and went in to her mother. On this occasion he did not follow her, but went back down the room again.

As she sat by the bed, Maria turned her head and looked at her.

"Look after your father," she said.

"Promise me you'll look after your father. He'll need you. Stay with him."

When Anna made no reply, Maria said, "Promise me?"

Still she made no answer; and then Maria, her hand coming out and groping for hers, said between gasps.

"Don't... don't marry ... that man. Don't... don't saddle yourself.

Far better ... take what. the other ... one offers."

Anna couldn't really believe her ears. She with drew her hand from her mother's grasp and stood up. Her mother was saying, "Do what I did.

Don't marry a good man because he has fits. " She had the most awful desire to shout, " I'd marry him tomorrow if he asked me, but he never will, and I know it. And I'll tell you something else. I love him and if he asked me to live with him, I'd do it. But not the other one.

Never! "

Nathaniel came into the room now and, looking at her, he said, "What's wrong? Is she worse?"

Anna stepped aside but said nothing, and Maria put her hand out to Nathaniel, and he gripped it and sat down by her side. Anna left the room and went outside into the fresh morning air. The mugginess had gone and there had been a frost in the night and she took in great gulps of air while telling herself not to let go, for she knew there was something in her head on the point of snapping.

Maria did not die. From that night on, she slowly recovered.

Perhaps, Anna thought later, it was because she had refused to conform to her mother's wishes and she couldn't bear the thought of her beloved husband being left without someone to take care of him. Although her father had always been handy in making odd things with wood, he was more proficient in directing others to do the chores. He had never made a meal for himself, nor washed a crock nor swept a floor. And she hadn't seen him even set a fire. Either her mother had done it, or she, or one of the boys.

The first day it was considered safe for the others to return to the house was one she tried to forget, for the boys cried and Cherry cried and Bobby Crane cried, and her mother cried and her father cried, all over Jimmy's going. But she didn't cry, for all the while she looked at them hugging each other, she could hear Jimmy's voice saying, "Get yourself away. Escape." Odd, when she came to think back. Jimmy knew his parents, the other side of them, the selfish side, the side she had never guessed at. But what she tried to tell herself, and kindly, was, it was all part of one's human nature. Yet she had to force herself to feel sympathetically towards them now.

When one after another asked her how she was, she knew they were referring to her long convalescence not to when she had been dragged up out of it and forced to be run off her feet these last weeks. Their mother was better, their father was here.

Oswald and Olan had been out of harm's way, going about their business, as had Bobby, living in the room above the boathouse; and, of course, Cherry, in the Praggett fortress. But what she was to remember about the family reunion was her father, standing at the door of the house, looking first up into the sky, then across into the far distance as he cried dramatically.

"Why had my second son to be taken when that woman over there who killed my last born is spared?" And Oswald had said, "What, Dada? She got it too?"

"Yes, I understood she got it too, and so bad she landed up in Gateshead cholera hospital. Yet she is spared and brought back to live in comfort. There's no justice."

This had been news to Anna, which brought home the fact that there had hardly been any exchange of words, except those necessary for daily contact between her and her father, since the night he had written his will. It was as if, by her reactions, he knew he had failed her in some way.

The next visitor was Miss Netherton. She had commiserated with Nathaniel and Maria over Jimmy's loss, then when she was leaving, she said to Anna, "Come; walk with me to the trap, I've left it at the field gate." But once outside, she said, "What on earth has happened to you, girl? A ghost could have more substance. Tim said he was worried to death by the look of you. He's ... he's in London again, you know."

"Yes. Yes, I know."

"He's .. he's been simply marvelous during this dreadful time, not only in keeping you going, which I know he has, but seeing to Penella."

"Penella? Mrs. Brodrick?"

"Yes. Apparently she had written to him from Newcastle; she wanted to see him. And when he got there he was told she had already been taken to the Gateshead cholera hospital. Well, he went there and found she was in a room by herself, but he wasn't allowed in; he could see her through a glass door. She happened to catch sight of him, so he tells me, and she put out her hand towards him. I saw him shortly after this and he was upset. As he himself said, there was nothing of the grand imperious lady left. She was a very ill woman and looked a frightened one. So what does he do? He goes to Simon and tells him. I don't know what passed between them, but I guessed it was something pretty strong. I do know, through Tim, from what he said, the doctor didn't think there was much chance of her surviving. Apparently she had lain too long without attention. So Simon went. This was over a fortnight ago, and the result was she didn't die. However, and again from what Tim says, she must have got the fright of her life, because she's a very changed individual. Oh, by the way, I must tell you, the child's got a tutor and he seems to have taken to him. He's a youngish man and, as Simon said, the first words the child always utters to him are, "When are you going to bring Missanna back?" Apparently when he couldn't be consoled after you left, Simon told him you had gone to look after Uncle Tim. "

"That was rather a silly thing to say, wasn't it?"

"Not so silly, when you think about it. The boy is very fond of Tim and likely it was more accept able to the child that Tim should be the reason for your not coming. Anyway, we've got to forget about other people and concentrate on yourself. Now, what I suggest is that you come over to me and stay for a week or so, and Ethel will fatten you up."

Anna smiled softly on the elderly woman and in a low voice, she said,

"You're always so kind to me, always so good and thoughtful, but ...

but on this occasion would you mind if I left your invitation open for a while? There is something at the back of my mind that I'd like to get straight."

"Such as?"

"Oh, well, I can't explain it yet."

"You could if you talked about it."

"Yes, but I want to be sure in my own mind that I can do this."

"You're thinking about taking up a course in a college?"

"No. No, not that."

"Then what?"

Anna's smile widened now as she said, "If I make up my mind to do this, you'll be the first one to know about it. I can assure you of that."

"Ah, there's a mystery here. I like mysteries. Life can be very dull without mysteries. I realised how different life could be when I was in Holland; the excitement, the meeting up with a different breed of men ... Oh, I know. Thinking about Holland. Let me guess. Tell me if I'm right or wrong. Just give me a nod. Your father is going to provide you with enough money to start a school of your own. That's it, isn't it?"

The smile disappeared from Anna's face and her voice sounded rather cool as she said, "No, Miss Netherton. My father has never even thought along those lines, not in any way."

"What do you mean, not in any way? Has he not settled something on you?"

"No. No; not a penny; in fact I can speak to you about it, because you are my friend. But when he thought my mother was dying, he knew he would go, too. And I'm sure he would have, even if it meant taking his own life, because he couldn't live without her. He made out a rough will' she turned her head away I can see him doing it now. I was going up the room with an empty slop bucket- at that period I seemed to have spent my whole life emptying nauseating slop buckets and he turned to me and said, " I am leaving the house and what money there is to the boys. They will look after you. Cherry will be all right; Bobby will see to her. "

There was silence between them now. Anna watched the older woman pull the fur collar of her coat tighter under her chin and nip on her bottom lip before she said, "I am very disappointed in Nathaniel, and in Maria, too, I must say. The boys are in good positions, by all accounts. That house should be yours and enough money with which to keep it up. " She turned and looked to the side and muttered, ThenI Men! Nothing really belongs to women. That cross was originally Maria's. The money that I first gave them was originally Maria's. In those days everything a woman had belonged to her man; but now, as far as I can gather, they are trying to get a law passed which will allow a married woman control of her own money or property. It's to be called the Married Woman's Property Act. Anyway, I think she should have been consulted as to how it was going to be left if anything happened to them. But then' she shrugged her shoulders 'nobody wants to imagine that there'll come a time when they won't need what they've got; death is something that's not going to happen to them." She put out her hands now and gripped Anna's wrists, saying, "Don't worry, my dear.

I'll see you won't be left in care of the boys, you know that."

"Thank you, that is comforting. And I'll always remember that offer, always, on top of remembering all you have been to me over the years.

I often wonder what I would have done without you. "

"My dear, that, as I am always saying, works both ways. The giver and the receiver nearly always benefit if what passes from one to the other is good. Now I will away, but' she poked her head forward " I'll be racking my brains to find out what is in that top storey of yours. "

She now tapped Anna on the brow.

"And I won't rest until I find out. You know me." They parted smiling.

Anna did not return immediately to the house, but she walked through the wood and, as always, to its far end, as far as the sawing block.

There she stood as she often did and looked over the moor. But today she nodded to herself as she muttered aloud, "Wait and see what happens when Oswald breaks his news, which he will do shortly. Jimmy wasn't wrong.

Propriety will go to the wind now. There'll be no waiting a year in honour of the dead. He's as ready as Cherry is for marriage. " Then turning swiftly about, she placed her hands on the block and bowed her head as if in shame at her thoughts. Yet, more and more these days they were facing her with facts, and facts, she had found out only too well over this past year, could be disturbing.

She had expected Timothy to return at the end of the week, but a letter arrived instead, saying that he had a little more business to do, but in the meantime he was enjoying himself and he had found that Walters was a very intelligent companion; and since at one time he had lived in London for five years, he was acting as a splendid guide, especially with regard to theatres. Only one thing could have added to his pleasure and that was her company. He hoped to see her soon, and he signed himself, "Ever your friend, Tim."

When her mother had asked whom the letter was from, she had felt like retorting, "Why ask the road you know?" but she had answered, "Mr.

Barrington." Not Mr. Tim or Mr. Timothy as she usually said, but Mr.

Barrington, and she had stressed the name.

It was significant that her father made no enquiries with regard to the letter, although it was he who had handed it to her, having taken it from the postman . The daylight was short. They were in winter now and the long evenings became a time of excruciating tension for Anna.

After the evening meal, which was often passed in silence, the depleted family would sit round the fire: Nathaniel, Maria, Cherry, and herself.

Often now, Bobby would be there, too, and she noticed more and more her father welcomed Bobby's presence and he would talk more to him than to anyone else. And Bobby was very forthcoming with his news. The boat builder had apparently appreciated his work and had promised to keep him on as a full-time hand after he had completed his two years'

apprenticeship. He had also said there were prospects for him. What they were, the boat builder hadn't actually said, but Bobby indicated that he had his own idea of what they might be.

As Anna sat looking from one to the other she tried to thrust her mind back to the times when most of the family were rolling on the mat with laughter as Cherry imitated the antics of Mr. Praggett; or when Jimmy had been describing the incidents on the farm, such as the day the bull butted the herdsman and he himself had to lead it into the ring.

And then she, too, reading some of her funny rhymes while acting to them, and the quiet times, when her father would be reading aloud.

Where had they gone? What had happened? This house was now weighed down with misery.

Tonight she felt she couldn't stand any more, and so, rising, she said to her mother, "Would you mind if I went to bed, Ma?" And Maria said,