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“Nothing and nobody,” he echoed, an oddly sober note in his voice.

Suddenly Judith stood up.

“It’s not very polite of me to stay out here too long, Des. After all, I suppose I am really the hostess.”

“Of course you are,” he said promptly, and went in with her.

Out in the garden Charles was saying coldly:

“If you will excuse me, I must look for my partner for the next dance.”

Linda laughed. She was in an oddly contradictory mood.

“How useful conventionality is,” she said mockingly. “You would just love to wring my neck, wouldn’t you? Only because we are both guests in someone else’s house you behave like the perfect English gentleman I have heard you described as.”

“I don’t know who called me that,” Charles said bitterly. “But if they could read my thoughts at the moment that is the last description they would use.”

He turned abruptly and left her. It was no wish of his that they had danced together, but she had made it impossible for him to do anything else but ask her to. Now, manners or not, he could not tolerate her company another second. He had seen Desmond and Judith on the terrace, their heads together, deep, no doubt, in plans.

Momentarily Judith was without a partner. She stood half hidden by a slender column, watching the other dancers, and Charles came quietly up behind her.

“Will you dance this with me?” he asked quietly.

She started at the sound of his voice, and he saw her small hands clench.

“Forgive me, but—I have danced such a lot,” she said without turning.

Suddenly Charles was filled with sheer, primitive fury. Linda had jibed at him for observing the conventions. Now he flung them from him.

“I wonder if that is your real reason?” he asked deliberately. “Or--are you afraid to dance with me?”

“Afraid!” she swirled round on him. “Of course not! Why should I be?”

“I can’t think,” he admitted. “I—I just wondered.”

“As a matter of fact,” Judith said coldly. “I am perfectly well aware that I am not a good dancer and I sought to spare you. But if you like to take the risk.”

The next second she was in his arms. And instantly she knew that dancing with Charles was a very different thing from dancing with Desmond.. Admittedly she had had a tango with Desmond, which was very different from the sweet lilting rhythm of the waltz they were playing now, but that was not the only difference.

She felt as if she had melted into his arms so that they were moving as one person. Her feet were obeying no conscious directions of her brain and yet they moved in perfect accord with his. They were moving in a world from which everyone else was shut out, and she was strangely content to have it so. It was so peaceful— and then, abruptly, the peace was shattered.

Against her own slender body she could feel the throbbing of his heart, and she caught her breath as his arm tightened.

“Judith, Judith!” She heard his hoarse whisper in her ear, half believed that she felt his lips on her hair.

Suddenly, it seemed that her heart was beating in unison with his and she was conscious of a rising tide of emotion that had little or nothing to do with the dance or the sweetness of the music. It was Charles— his nearness, the sheer intoxication of being in his arms.

She realised that he was steering her to the doors that led to the terrace and she was powerless to resist him, but even as they passed out into the darkness the spell was shattered.

Someone already out there gave a shout.

“There’s a fire somewhere down at the farm! There —look—the flames shot up then ”

“The ricks!” Charles shouted, flinging off his coat. “Judith, tell someone to ring for the fire brigade.” Then he was gone.

Over her shoulder Judith gasped:

“Aunt Harriet!”

Then she was running, stumbling, falling over the uneven ground in her high heels with half her guests behind her.

By the time they reached the farm buildings Charles had already fixed a long hose to the hydrant that Judith had had put in just that summer, and was unrolling it.

“It won’t stretch!” Judith gasped. “We’ll have to wait until the brigade comes!”

“There’ll be nothing left for them to put out by then,” Charles said grimly. “No, this will take the water as near as possible, and we’ll have to go at it with a string of buckets. Get-out as many as we’ve got and get everybody that’s fit to lend a hand. Hurry—there isn’t much time.”

A glance was sufficient to see that he was quite right. One rick was well alight and a gusty wind had risen. It was lifting flaming shreds of hay from the burning rick and blowing them on to the next one. Unless they acted very quickly that must blaze up, and then the next.

Fortunately the wind was blowing away from the farm buildings so they were in no danger, and despite their party attire most of Judith’s guests were working like Trojans. For the rest of her life she was to have little pictures like cameos stamped on her mind of Mr. Bellairs in his shirt-sleeves filling buckets that were instantly grabbed up by both men and women to be flung into the burning mass; of Charles standing on the top of the second rick pitchforking down the burning wisps as they were blown over; of Desmond beating them out with a sack as they fell to the ground.

She heard someone speak, and turned. Above the noise of the flames and the shouting young Joe Sellars bawled in her ear:

“Mr. Saxilby—he would be doing the most dangerous job, he would. I’m going up with him.”

“No, Joe,” she began quickly, but he had gone, and she saw the comradely grin with which Charles greeted him. Her heart seemed to swell with something that was oddly like pride. It was so true. Charles would be where there was most danger.

She saw her aunt hurry into the field and speak to Mr. Bellairs, and in the glare of the fire saw the consternation on his face. She did not need to go over to ask what was wrong—it was only too obvious. The fire brigade was already out. It just depended on their own efforts. That meant that there, was no hope of saving anything of the rick that had started all the trouble. All that they could do would be to stand by and see that it did not spread, and that was growing more and more difficult as the fire got a greater hold and sparks leaped madly into the air. Charles was in increasing danger, and before long he turned to Joe, the sweat running down his blackened face.

“Get down!” he gasped. “We shan’t be able to hold it off much longer.”

“I’ll get down when you do,” Joe said stubbornly, and even at such a moment Charles’s heart lifted. There had been many times when he had doubted the wisdom of his presence at Windygates, but whatever the future might hold he could at least have the satisfaction of knowing that he had won both the affection and trust of this tough youngster. It was something.

“You’ll get down now—when I tell you!” he ordered. “Go on—hop it!”

Reluctantly Joe obeyed. Even he had to admit that despite his hero’s efforts the flames were gaining the upper hand. He, as many others of them had done, glanced up at the sky. If only the clouds gathered up there would break—if only the rain would come. It couldn’t be long delayed now, in fact, more than one heavy drop had already fallen, but reluctantly, isolated, useless.

“We want it turned on like a tap!” Joe muttered, and looked back to see Charles scrambling down and the second rick alight.

“Can’t we do nothing?” Joe asked, and Charles, even at such a moment, found himself heartened at that “we.”

“ ’Fraid not, Joe,” he admitted regretfully. “We may be able to hold it off the third rick until the rain comes, but that’s the best we can hope for now.” He passed his hand across his dry lips. “Get me something to drink, there’s a good chap.”

Joe turned eagerly to run off, but Judith was already standing there with a big mug of cold water.

“Aunt Harriet has organised supplies,” she said gravely. “I expect you can do with this.”

His fingers touched hers as he took it from her, and as he drank, his eyes were fixed on her face.

“That was good,” he said, handing it back to her. “I’m sorry about this, Judith.”

“So am I,” she admitted. “But I don’t think it is anybody’s fault, least of all yours! Probably it was the heat that started it off. I don’t suppose we are the only ones that are in trouble, you know.”

He grinned ruefully at her.

“And the insurance is paid up, so why should we worry,” he finished. “You know as well as I do that we’re both sick at heart over it—the waste, the labour that has gone for nothing.”

Judith nodded silently, and Charles laid his hand heavily on her shoulder.

“At least we’re in it together,” he said, and for a moment his hand gripped. Then he was gone again into the thick of the fight.

For a moment Judith stood rooted to the ground, still feeling the pressure of his hand; then her attention was caught by a sound that seemed to rise above all other sounds.

In the field next to that in which the ricks were burning was a large herd of bullocks. They were in no danger whatever, for the wind was blowing in the opposite direction, but there was no doubt that they were becoming increasingly nervous with the noise and leaping flames. A little more and they might stampede, possibly even break through the hedges. Any animal in the clutches of mass fear can perform what would at other times be impossibilities.

Obviously the best thing to do was to get them into an adjacent field where they would not only be farther off from all the noise, but because of a drop in the ground would in effect have a much higher hedge to protect them from the sight of those terrifying flames.

She slipped away quietly without bothering to tell anyone of her intentions and climbed over the gate rather than open it. Already several animals were careering about sowing the seeds of panic, and one of these caught sight of Judith. Probably to its terrified mind and dazed eyes the sight of the small white figure was so unusual that it was the last straw. And, unlike those other terrifying things that could not be inspected at close quarters, this thing could.

Suddenly Judith, rather foolishly taking the shortest cut possible to the farther gate instead of working round the edge of the field, was conscious of heavy hoof-beats behind her, and turned. With a gasp she recognised her danger. Only one steer was taking much notice of her, but other heads were lowered as they watched the bellowing, over-wrought creature. At any moment, she knew perfectly well, mass hysteria might cause them to follow a leader, any leader, so long as he seemed to know what he was up to.

Sheer panic surged up in Judith’s heart. If she continued walking steadily they might decide to take her for granted, but she would lose valuable time. On the other hand, if she were to run, they would almost certainly stampede.

With her hands clenched by her side she tried to make herself walk on, but for her as well as for the animals that watched her, it had been an unnerving evening. Suddenly she began to run—and knew as she did that she had done the wrong thing.

In real earnest now they were chasing her, and the gate that meant safety seemed farther off than ever. She was getting breathless too, and the unfamiliar high-heeled shoes were slowing her down considerably. Terrifyingly they were on her. She redoubled her efforts and tripped full length over a thick tussock of grass. As she fell, she knew that only in seconds now they would trample over her.

And at that instant she heard a shout. Strong arms caught her up and she was running again, running desperately, forced on by a strength and determination greater than her own.

“I can’t!” she gasped, but she had no choice. Charles —she knew that it was Charles although there was no time to look up at him—was forcing her relentlessly on, and from his strong grip there was no escape.

Fortunately for Judith, he had seen her almost as soon as she had entered the field, guessing her intention but realising the danger she was exposed to more accurately than she did. He had shouted to her, but above the other noises she had not heard him and there had been only one thing for it. He had abandoned the ricks to their fate and raced after her.

Actually, he had reached the gate before she was in any immediate danger, and for a moment or two he had stood there knowing that if he went after her he might precipitate the very panic in the herd of which he was so apprehensive. Then Judith had begun to run.

He had vaulted the gate and was running like a madman in almost no time at all, but he had to skirt the fringe of the herd to get to her, and his heart almost failed him. If only he had not wasted time—then he saw her stumble, and fear lent wings to his feet.

He caught her up in his arms and knew grimly that their chance was not a good one. Into his mind there flashed a picture of her small, beloved body crushed by mad, heedless hooves.

Then the gate seemed to rise up suddenly before them, and with a sob of relief, he knew that he could save her.

Judith felt herself picked up bodily in his arms and the next instant he had almost thrown her over the gate into the safety of the field beyond.

She stumbled forward on to her hands and knees, her hands grasping at the rough grass. A stinging-nettle slashed at her face but she did not feel it as she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the gate.

“Charles! Charles!” she screamed and saw him throw up his arms. Then he was submerged in a wave of heavy, blundering bodies and she could not see him any more.

Great sobs tore at her. He had saved her, but at what a price!

And then it seemed as if the herd had run the fear out of themselves, for they turned quietly away, completely uninterested in the still form on the ground.

Judith scrambled back over the gate to him and knelt down beside him.

“Charles! Charles!” she bent over him and saw that the blood was welling from a deep cut on his head, that his shirt was tom and bloodstained, and to Judith the world went suddenly black.

She put her hand to her mouth, biting the soft flesh in an effort to remain conscious. Charles had saved her, she must not faint now when he was lying there so badly injured—or—or dead.

She did not know whether to drag him to safety first in the other field before she went for help, or to leave him where he was lest in moving him she should work more damage. Then she heard a shout and saw that a group of men were hurrying across the field through the herd of now quietly grazing steers. And as she waited for them, crouching over Charles as she pressed the edges of the wound in his head together in an effort to minimise the bleeding, she felt the sudden lash of rain on her back. The storm had broken at last.