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“Well, you’re not sorry about that, are you?” he asked quizzically.

“No-o,” she admitted. “You know how I’ve always felt about them. But at least it was an outlet for her, and I don’t
think
she would ever marry Desmond.”

“I sincerely hope not!” Mr. Bellairs said, evidently somewhat alarmed. “He’s not a bad fellow really, but—” he shook his head. “I don’t as a rule listen to gossip, but I have heard what I can only describe as circumstantial evidence about his habits which was not at all reassuring. He has been seen more than once at horse-race meetings, and it appears that he is neither lucky nor knowledgeable. My informant personally heard him make a bet of twenty-five pounds on a horse which was not placed. And neither he nor his sister has the money to be able to stand losses like that! The boy wants someone to take him in hand.”

“But not Judith!” Miss Harriet said quickly.

“No, not Judith. Not any woman. Some man whom he respects and likes. You know, Harriet, respect sounds a chilly sentiment, but actually it’s a basic need in any relationship that is to last. And perhaps, after all, it isn’t so chilly! For it implies trust and confidence, and love itself without those would be torment!”

“Yes,” Miss Harriet said softly, thinking of her brother and his wife. “They are the things Judith must be able to find in the man she marries if she is to be happy! It must be someone whom she knows will always play fair—oh!” Her hand flew up to her mouth. From the back of her mind came the memory of her first meeting with Charles. She had asked him if he thought that Judith would play fair, and he had said that whether she did or not, he would.

Mr. Bellairs looked at her thoughtfully.

“I see that you have remembered something interesting but that you have no intention of telling me,” he commented. “That is one of the things I respect in
you,
Harriet. So many women are totally incapable of keeping their own counsel, but you have a discretion which, if you will forgive my saying so, is far more often found in my sex than your own.”

“I expect so,” Miss Harriet admitted meekly, and laughed. “Oh, Hugh, I was just bursting to tell you, but you are quite right, some things are better not said!”

He pulled her gently to him.

“You are a woman in a million,” he declared. “You can not only accept a word of warning graciously, but you have a sense of humour which is just as acute if the point is against you as not! Listen, my dear, don’t worry too much about Judith! You have the same blood in you and she has lived with you for a good many years. She cannot help having learned something from you!”

And Miss Harriet’s eyes thanked him as much for the reassurance as for the compliment he had paid her.

For several days there was, if not actual peace at Windygates, at least no open conflict. Indeed, it seemed to Judith that Charles was going out of his way to be civil now. Possibly, she thought scornfully, he had suddenly realised how soon she would really be mistress of Windygates and, if he did intend marrying Linda, he would do his best to keep his job.

Anyhow, after having rather arbitrarily taken so much into his own hands, he now began to consult her on every point. And that, as it turned out, was the cause of the worst difference they had yet had.

That spring the young calves had shown a far greater proportion of bull calves than heifers and, as Charles knew from the records and from what Judith had said, she intended buying several more cows to make up for this. The question now arose as to where these should be purchased. Charles secretly wished that she would approach his brother on the subject, but felt that such a suggestion must come from her. And, it appeared, such an idea had never entered her head, for she announced her intention of buying locally.

“It does a cow no good to travel,” she said with some truth. “Besides, I know more about local stock. For instance, Shawbury has some very good cows— they are the same strain as the bull that his brother-in-law, Heriot, won the prize with.”

“Shawbury,” Charles said slowly. That was the name of the farmer with whom Judith had argued that first day in Wyford. A civil enough man, but—if Charles had had to pick on any one man who believed that he owed Windygates and its owner a grudge, it was Shawbury. Shawbury and Heriot were, as Judith had said, brothers-in-law, but there was an even closer bond than that. Heriot had owed Shawbury a considerable amount of money. If, as was locally believed, Heriot owed his failure to Mark Ravensdale’s enmity, then it followed that Shawbury blamed the Ravensdales for the fact that he had never been able to get his money back from Heriot.

“Well?” Judith said sharply.

Charles hesitated. There was another reason why he was troubled; but that he did not feel he could speak of yet to Judith in her present frame of mind.

“When had you thought of making the deal?” he asked.

Judith’s brows lifted.

“It is made already,” she said shortly. “I have been in touch with Shawbury for some time. This morning I telephoned to him and confirmed the deal.”

“I see,” Charles said slowly. He could have told her that, for the sake of the farm, it would be wiser to present at least a semblance of unity towards the rest of the farming fraternity, and that, in fact, she had treated him most unfairly. However, such an attitude would have done no good, so he merely said rather earnestly: “I would be glad if you would defer the actual delivery for a few days.”

“But why?” she asked belligerently.

“Because—” he began and stopped, shaking his head. He was up against the same trouble as he had been before. Lack of proof. Without that, it would be worse than useless to present mere suspicion to Judith. “It would be more convenient if you were to delay a day or two,” he said, knowing, as he spoke, how unconvincing it must sound to her.

“On the contrary,” Judith said briskly, “I intend going over to-day to have a look at the herd. I want four cows. I shall probably bring a couple back with me!”

Suddenly she realised that Charles was breathing very heavily as if he had been running a great distance. His lips were pressed closely together and his nostrils flared ever so slightly. He was really angry, Judith saw, and with sudden recklessness she knew that she wanted to make him still more angry.

“You can come as well, if you like,” she said indifferently. “I am sure you would like to give me the advantage of your great knowledge!”

For a moment he stared down at her with eyes that hardly seemed to see her. Then he shook his head.

“No, I have another job to do!” and turned on his heel.

For a moment she debated whether she should not call him back and insist on his accompanying her. Then she decided not to. He had said he would not come and she knew him well enough to know that he would not retreat from that.

“See that the cattle van is ready for me in half an hour!” she ordered curtly as she passed one of the men.

He touched his forehead and Judith went back to the house to tell Miss Harriet what were, actually, somewhat altered plans. She had not intended going over until the following day—if Charles had not interfered. But he should, he must, learn who gave orders at Windygates. She telephoned through to Shawbury to tell him of her intentions, and there was a little silence at the other end.

“Is that all right?” she asked sharply, and could have declared she heard a slight chuckle from the other end.

“Suits me very well,” Shawbury assured her smoothly. “Very well indeed!”

“Very well, then, I’ll be over in about an hour!”

But when she got down to the yard she found that, instead of the van being ready, Charles and another man were bending over its open bonnet, poking into the engine.

“What’s the matter?” Judith asked sharply.

Charles spoke without turning.

“Not quite sure,” he said in a muffled voice. “She was coughing a bit—might be a choked jet.”

Judith bit her lip, impatient of the delay.

“Is it anything you can do, or must it go to the garage?”

Charles turned his head slightly.

“I can do it,” he said with exaggerated patience, or so it seemed to Judith. “But it will take me some little time—twenty minutes, probably.”

Judith nodded and climbed into the driver’s seat to wait. She would have liked to watch Charles more closely, suspecting him of using a time-worn ruse to delay her, but with the other man standing there, there was little that she could see and, from the way in which Charles was giving the man orders, it looked as if he really needed his help. At last Charles stood erect.

“Will you start her up?” he requested.

Judith pulled out the self-starter and the car started up instantly.

“Now rev her up.” Charles stood listening with his head on one side. “That sounds better!” he declared. “I think you will be all right now!”

Without a word Judith drove off and Charles watched her go, but no sooner was she out of sight than he raced for his own car, and was out on to the main road in time to see Judith vanish round her first corner. He did not follow her. He needed to get to Shawbury’s farm, almost twenty miles away, before her without her seeing him. And the only way that he could do that was to take narrow lanes at a speed which would beat hers on the more direct main road. He only hoped to heaven that the man he had got to meet there would do his part, otherwise—he grimaced at the thought, and his foot came hard down on the accelerator.

Judith admitted to herself that she did not really like Shawbury. More than once he had gone out of his way to annoy her, but that, she considered, was beside the point. He had something that she wanted and intended to have. He was perfectly willing to deal with her at a reasonable price—far more reasonable than she had thought likely. Nothing that Charles or anyone else said was going to stand in her way. None the less, there was something about his dark eyes that she disliked. They were insolent and amused although his words were civil enough.

She made her selection, wrote her cheque and decided which of the cows she would take with her. Shawbury, with the aid of one of his sons, separated them from the herd and drove them, protesting, to the yard where Judith had left her van.

“Now, if you’ll open her up—” Shawbury began, and stopped, a scowl bringing his heavy black brows into one straight line. “Now what ” he began.

For the first time Judith realised that two cars had driven up. From one a man got out whom she recognised as the local Government vet. From the other— Charles.

Mr. Trent came straight to the point.

“You can’t move those cows, Shawbury,” he said curtly. “Take them back!”

“And why?” the big man asked belligerently.

“Because that cow you’ve so carefully segrated in the shack by the wood has got foot-and-mouth!” Mr. Trent told him. “Nothing must be moved from the farm— you’ve got yourself into a nice bit of trouble now, Shawbury! You know as well as I do that you ought to have reported ”

“I wasn’t sure!” the man said surlily. “There’s many a thing can ail a cow and it isn’t foot-and-mouth.”

“There’s absolutely no doubt about it in this case,” the vet declared. “It’s well advanced—go on, back with those cows.”

For a moment Shawbury hesitated. Then, with a baleful glance at Charles, whom he evidently regarded as the author of all his troubles, he turned away, driving the animals before him.

Judith, suddenly sick and trembling, sat down rather abruptly on a wooden bench.

“You’ve had a lucky escape, Miss Ravensdale,” Mr. Trent said cheerfully. “Thanks to Mr. Saxilby here! If you’d once got those cows on to your land—well, you might have had an outbreak as well. At the least, you’d have been included in the quarantine. As it is, you’re outside the radius. But I’ll have to ask you to leave your van here. I’ll see to it that the tyres and the underside are properly disinfected, and I’ll have it run to Windygates. Don’t forget your boots, either. I’ll see to them as well if you like to take them off. Make doubly sure. Saxilby will drive you home.”

In an incredibly short time they were on the return journey. Charles, his face set and sphinx-like, stared straight ahead and drove in complete silence. Judith, crouching by his side, did not speak either until—

“Stop, please, will you?” she asked, and Charles, with a nod, ran off the road into a little wood, dappled with sunlight.

Judith drew a deep breath.

“He did know?” she asked.

Charles nodded.

“Must have,” he said shortly.

“Yet he was deliberately allowing me to take animals that would more than likely have infected our herd— possibly others as well.”

“Yes,” Charles agreed heavily. “Just that!”

“But why?” She brought her clenched fist down on the edge of the door. “Why, why, why! People don’t do things like that! But he has! And I must know why!”

Charles looked into her flushed, troubled face. This was it, he thought grimly. There was no hiding the truth any longer, and he, of all men, had got to be the one who shattered the last bastion of her old, familiar world.

STARING straight ahead, Charles told Judith all that he knew and she listened in silence, neither questioning the reliability of his information nor attempting to contradict it. Charles had the satisfaction, if satisfaction it was, of knowing that he was carrying conviction.

At last the whole miserable story was finished, but still she did not speak, and at last Charles turned to her. He knew that what he had told her must be a terrible shock, but he was not prepared for the white bleakness of her face or the misery in the dark eyes that met his.

Slowly her lips parted and a long shuddering sigh passed them.

“I wish—I were dead!” she said in a muted, exhausted voice.

Charles put a warm, protecting arm round her and drew her close. She was shivering violently and made no resistance.

“No, child, no!” he said vigorously. “You wish nothing of the sort! This is a bad time for you—there is nothing so horrible as to lose one’s faith. But we are not gods, you know. Only blundering humans who see things from our own point of view only and so make mistakes. Can’t you see that all that has happened is due to that? Both your father and Shawbury ”