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Her life was running smoothly now, without pain . and without pleasure, except for the homely pleasure of the girls' company and the visits from the rest of the family. But she had known for a long time that there was an excitement brewing in her on which she must batten hard down. She kept telling herself that she was a mature woman, not a girl any longer; yet at times she had the fantastic idea that she was but sixteen and life was before her.

When she said to herself, "He looks so much older," she came back harshly with the reply, "He would, wouldn't he?" It was eighteen years since she last saw him, but he looked more than eighteen years older.

He looked a man well in his forties, although he was still thin, as thin as when she had first seen him.

She felt slightly sick, and when she reached the shop the girls were concerned for her and made her sniff some smelling salts and drink heavily sugared tea, after which she felt bound to assure them she felt a lot better.

It was the next afternoon that Ellen, the younger of the two maids that she kept, came scampering down to the bottom of the garden where she was with Ronson, the gardener, discussing the making of a new flower bed.

"Madam," gasped the girl, "it's a gentleman. He asked to see you. I I put him in the drawing room."

The reason for Ellen's excitement was that she had been in service in this house for nearly three months and she hadn't answered the door to one visitor, except the family, until just then. And now, what a visitor!

"Is your mistress at home?" he had inquired in the voice of a gentleman. And she knew how gentlemen should speak; she had started in service in a big house, and when she had said, "Yes, Sir," he had replied, "Will you tell her that Lord Fischel would be obliged if she would see him."

Cissie did not need to be told the name of the caller. She couldn't say that she had been waiting for him, nor would she admit that she had been hoping he would come. She could only think to herself in deep agitation. Oh God, let me pass myself when I meet him. If she had been educated in her early days instead of her twenties her thoughts would have suggested, Let me conduct myself with decorum.

She smoothed back her hair, straightened the top layer of her skirt, and wished in an aside that she had put on another petticoat and a more sober looking dress--but now she owned no sober looking dresses.

Although the day was warm she shivered as she entered the house. She paused a moment as she crossed the hall; then gripping the glass knob of the drawing-room door tightly she turned it and entered the room.

He was standing facing the door, his back to the window as if waiting for her, and having closed the door she stood still and they looked at each other down the length of the room.

When he walked towards her she moved. Her step slow, she went to meet him. He did not take her hand or give her any formal greeting. What he said was, "It has been a long time."

She could not answer him, her voice would not obey her. He was handsome in a cold way for his eyes were hard, yet at the same time sad; but his voice was as she remembered it, beautiful-sounding to her ears.

"You have not changed at all."

"Not in eighteen years?" She made her lips smile.

"Won't you sit down?"

With a gesture of his hand he indicated that she should be seated first, then lifting the long tails of his black coat he sat down; and again they looked at each other in silence, until he said, "And so you came here after all."

"Yes, after all." Her lips drooped slightly.

"I'm sorry the mill ... your husband died. When did you lose him?"

"On Christmas Day of '51." She wondered how he had come to know of Matthew's death; likely Mr. Weir had told him.

"It is a pity; he was still a young man. I ..." he bent slightly towards her now and there came a more personal note into his voice, "I hope you were happy."

There was a pause before she lifted her gaze to his again and said,

"Yes, I was happy."

"Have you a family?"

"I had one daughter; she died of the typhoid when she was eleven."

"Oh, I am sorry, I am very sorry."

And now she in her turn said, "I was very sorry to hear of His Lordship's death. Had he been ill long?"

"Yes, for some months. When I was informed of this I came straightaway.... I live in Spain now."

"In Spain?" She inclined her head.

"It is a very far country."

"Yes, very far; but very beautiful."

She dared to ask, "Are you returning there?"

"Yes, I am due to sail in ten days' time."

"Oh." Her body felt heavy as if a weight had been tied around her middle. She wanted to ask him if he was returning to his family, to his wife and family, but she couldn't. She could not have asked this question if he had still been Mr. Clive, and so much less could she take the liberty of probing with . Lord Fischel. She said quietly,

"Can I offer you some refreshment, a little tea?"

"That would be very nice, thank you."

She rose and rang the bell, and when Ellen appeared she gave her the order. And he watched her the while, hardly believing that this was the same girl he had last seen incongruously sitting on the couch in the Hall drawing room dressed in heavy boots and common coarse clothes; the girl whose hands he had kissed and felt the roughness of the skin against his lips; the girl whom, against all reason, he had loved then, and whose face had continued to haunt him for years. He had lost count of the mistresses he had had since he had left this country, he only remembered that their dismissal had been preceded by bouts of black depression filled with the revived memory of this girl . and Isabelle, both linked and twisted, their presence shrouded like a thick vapor, penetrating his brain and thrusting him back into those three crucial months of his life that had set the pattern for his future.

He had always thought that if she were dressed correctly she would appear like a lady, and this she was proving. Her speech too was different, not refined to insipid ness not refined at all, he would say, but rounded and full of character, as was her face. And how beautiful her face. She said she had been happy with the miller?

In another silence he glanced round the room, then remarked, "It is very tasteful" ; and she inclined her heads towards him and said,

"Thank you."

"Did you put it into the hands of a designer?"

"No" --she raised her brows slightly"--it is as I wanted it myself."

The door opened and the two maids entered very flustered, one carrying a silver tea tray, the other a tiered cake stand.

He watched her pouring tea from a silver pot and all the while he marveled.

The conversation continued to be stilted during the drinking of the tea, but when he put his cup down for the last time he drew in a long breath and, leaning against the back of the chair, slowly relaxed his body; then he startled her with his next words.

"What do you think of your son?" he asked.

One could have counted ten full seconds while she stared at him, and then she answered, "He's a fine looking young man."

"So think I." For the first time his face fell into a wide smile.

"And what is more he has grown into a nice person. But I can take no credit for that as I have seen little of him over the years." He paused here before ending, "My father did a good job on him."

She nodded her head twice before she said, "Yes, I am sure he did."

Now he was leaning towards her, one forearm on his knee, his voice low.

"Have you ever regretted your generosity?"

And to this she answered simply, "Yes, many times."

He nodded slowly, then looked down at the floor before saying, "It couldn't have been otherwise; yet I am not sorry you let him go, for he is fitted to the place as I- never was. He will look after it as I never would. You know" --he raised his eyes to hers and smiled gently at her"--he has your nature, warmhearted and kindly."

A flush swept over her body. She lowered her eyes and remained silent as he went on, "He loves the Hall, the land. He will bring up his family there. Oh" --he gave his head a little jerk"--you would not know. He is going to be married."

"Married?" Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, and she experienced a new pain.

"Yes, to what you would call a childhood sweetheart, the granddaughter of my father's friend, David Bellingham. Elizabeth Rymall's her name, the Honorable Miss Elizabeth Rymall." His lips moved up into a crooked smile.

"It's not going to take place for a year yet. I have promised to return for the wedding. In the meantime he will be getting the House ready."

She was still staring at him unblinking while she told herself not to ask the question; yet she had no power to withhold it.

"Does he know about me?" she said.

His answer seemed long in coming; and then it was quiet.

"Yes, he knows about you."

She was looking past him into a void now. Her son had known about her and never made any approach towards her.

"I told him after our recent encounter."

"Oh." Her eyes came back to his face.

"Only ... only then?" Her voice faded away on the then, and he repeated, "Only then."

"May... may I ask what his reaction was?"

"He was very favorably impressed." He did not add, "He was also startled and disturbed." But he continued, "He recalled seeing you some years ago when he was a boy on holiday. He had been under the impression that his mother had died when he was a child and, thinking the subject was painful to my father, did not open it until sometime last year when he overheard two of the servants talking. It was from this conversation that he gauged that his mother, was alive and living in the vicinity. He did not know exactly where, and after some consideration he put the question to my father, and the answer my father gave him was that he was not at liberty to disclose your whereabouts." He paused here and smiled gently before going on.

"He did ask him what kind of a person you were, and part of my father's answer to this was that you were a very worthy woman. Knowing my father and his views of the female sex, I consider that high praise indeed."

She took no notice of his compliment, or a cue from the lightness with which he was touching this delicate subject now. The ache was filling her body again, an ache that she knew could never really be eased, for it had its beginnings in a small hand slapping out at her, and so when he asked softly, "Would you like to meet him?" she rose to her feet, saying quickly, "No, no!" while at the same time her need shouted loud within her, "Don't be a fool. Just once."

"I think you're wise." He was standing now within an arm's length of her, and he put out his hands and caught hers and felt their trembling pass through his body; and, his voice very low, he said, "You were always wise, Cecilia."

Slowly he raised her hands, his lips touched her knuckles lightly, then he relinquished them and, adopting his formal manner again, he said, "I have taken up a great deal of your time."

As always when she was deeply disturbed she could not speak. She turned from him and led the way out of the room, across the hall, and to the front door. He bowed to her.

"Good-bye," he said; "it's been a great pleasure meeting you again."

Still she could not speak. It was as on that day when his father had escorted her to the door of the Hall and her emotions had kept her dumb.

He walked down the two steps and across the gravel drive to where the coachman held open the door for him. She dimly recognized the coachman; it was the one who had called for her the day she took the child back.

After the coach had disappeared round the bend of the drive she still stood at the door. She felt slightly numb now, not herself.

As she walked back across the hall, a great sadness weighing her down, she was attacked by a feeling of guilt akin to horror as she thought.

Oh, how awful! How could I have forgotten? I never thanked him for the house or the money.

She told the girls about the visitor when they came home that evening, because if she hadn't Ellen would have kept dropping hints like bricks.

They were equally as impressed as the servants were. Lord Fischel calling on their Cissiel Oh, they knew who Lord Fischel was, all right; they had been brought up with the scandal although they hadn't looked on it as a scandal, more as an honor in being connected with the Hall in any way. Yet they knew it hadn't got to be talked about because Matthew didn't like it. They also knew that it was the reason why Matthew kept such a tight rein on their Cissie, hardly letting her out of his sight. They thought at first that she didn't mind the restriction, but as they grew older in years and wisdom they sensed that she did. And now Mr. dive, who was the father of Richard, and they remembered Richard very well, had called on their Cissie, and he was no longer to be thought of as Mr.

Clive but as Lord Fischel. Yet in Sarah's mind a dim picture was trying to force itself to the surface, it had to do with the first time she had seen their Cissie's distinguished visitor. She clamped hard down on it;

that incident belonged to the far, far past, and the past was best forgotten. Instead, she thought, when this got around the neighborhood the ladies would forget that Mrs. Turnbull's sisters ran a hat shop, and the carriages would be queuing up on them. She voiced this, and Charlotte, laughing, agreed.

Cissie made herself smile tolerantly at them while warning them not to mention anything to the others, and at this they exclaimed highly, "Not even our Jimmy?" And she replied firmly, "Not even our Jim my."

It was His Lordship's first and last visit, so would they forget about it, please.

She went early to bed but not to sleep; it was almost five in the morning when she dozed off, and when the girls came in to say good-bye and reminded her they were all to meet in Newcastle and go to the theatre that night she asked why should she forget? She'd be there.

It was around twelve o'clock when the carriage drew up on the drive and one of the coachmen brought from its interior a large ornamental basket of peaches and another filled with roses, and a letter from His Lordship.