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Very carefully, on an improvised stretcher, they carried Charles to the house. Miss Harriet and Mr. Bellairs quietly took command. The doctor was already on the way, they told Judith—would be there any moment. And the ambulance would not be long after.

Their voices seemed to come from a great distance, and Judith found that someone was holding a glass to her lips. She drank its contents because it would have been too difficult to refuse, and the mist that had surrounded her cleared away.

“Is he—is he ” she whispered, and could not finish the sentence.

“He is alive,” said Mr. Bellairs’ grave, gentle voice. “But he is very badly injured. You will have to be brave, Judith.”

She turned away, her lips quivering.

“If only I could do something,” she muttered.

Almost instantly the doctor arrived, approved of Miss Harriet’s temporary bandaging and the fact that they had moved Charles as little as possible.

To Judith he was cheerful and reassuring.

“A chap like Saxilby is too tough to let a little thing like that put him out,” he told her.

Judith shook her head.

“Please, please, Doctor,” she begged.

He looked down at the strained, anxious face and cleared his throat. There were some women you could lie to and some you couldn’t. This was one of those who had to know the truth.

“He’s in a nasty mess,” he admitted. “But I can’t tell how bad until I get him to the hospital. You’d better come along as well. And Miss Harriet.”

They followed the ambulance in Mr. Bellairs’ car, and Desmond, a silent spectator standing a little apart from the other watching guests, made no attempt to hinder Judith.

Linda, from the other side of the room, came quietly over to her brother and slipped her arm through his. They were not usually a demonstrative couple, but now she felt him hug her arm against him.

“We’d better get home,” he said gruffly. “There’s no point in our staying here.”

To Judith the next hour or so seemed an eternity. She sat very still in an armchair in the waiting-room, her hands loosely linked in her lap, her eyes staring unseeingly before her.

In her mind’s eye she could still see Charles’s still figure on the ground, was still bruised with that agonising fear that he was dead.

And even now, he still might die.

All the warmth seemed to drain out of her body and her heart was frozen with fear. If Charles were to die— it would be the end of the world for her.

And, as she sat there, in a moment of blinding vision she understood why.

She loved Charles. Had, so it seemed to her, loved him for a long, long while.

HOW could one love a person and yet believe all the time that one hated him? Judith was too inexperienced to realise what a thin line there can be between the two emotions—or that hatred can be engendered of fear—fear of the unknown, fear of being hurt.

But one thing she did at least understand. Whether she would share the future with Charles or not, whether he died now or lived—to marry Linda—she would always love him.

And in that knowledge she found something that stabilised life and taught her a woman’s true place in it. Men and women were different. Had and ought to have a different outlook on life so that each was not the same as the other but complementary. Right from the beginning it had been impossible for her to take the place of the son that her father had wanted so fervently, and she should never have been allowed to try. Life had always been frustrating because she had attempted to live it in a way that was foreign to a woman’s nature, only she had been too stubborn to see that or admit it if she had.

And that, of all reasons, was the real one why she had hated Charles. He, with the normal man’s approach, had taken it for granted that she would rely on him—that she would need to, just because he was a man and she a woman. And he had compelled her to admit it to herself, if no one else. He had always been there when she needed help—and she
had
needed it. But besides that, he had made her conscious of himself as a man. He had stirred some chord in her so unfamiliar that she had denied its existence until last night when they had danced together.

Subconsciously, she had known then. Later, when she had seen him lying unconscious and injured, she knew that she would never be able to deny it again.

And Charles? Why, Charles loved Linda, of course. They had planned to get married. So he could not possibly love her, Judith. It had just been a trick of her imagination, wishful thinking, that had persuaded her that he, too, had been stirred last night. Or perhaps she had shown too clearly that she was so supremely conscious of his nearness and he, pitying her, had responded ever so slightly to save her pride—she sighed. She understood so little about her own sex, had despised it for the very things that now she would have given the world to be able to put into their correct perspective.

Miss Harriet, hearing the sigh looked tenderly at the girl with whom she was keeping this vigil. She had seen Judith’s tortured face as she had walked beside the hurdle on which they had placed Charles and had read its message only too well. She blamed herself quite unreasonably that such a thing should have happened. If only I had not interfered, if I had not chosen Charles —but it was no use thinking things like that now, still less saying them.

The door opened and both women turned expectantly, but it was only an attendant with a pot of tea and two cups.

“Thought you might like it,” he said sympathetically. “It passes the time, like.”

Judith stirred herself. The last thing she felt she wanted was to eat or drink, but it was a kind thought.

“Thank you,” she said gently. “You are one of the Sellars boys, aren’t you? I am afraid I don’t remember your name.”

“Chris,” he said eagerly. “I came three above young Joe.—I’ve got him outside. Thinks the world of Mr. Saxilby, he does. Been a different boy since he came down here. He was a real handful, and Mum didn’t know what to do with him, but butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth now! Mr. Saxilby gave him a good tanning for saying something rude about you, didn’t he, Miss?”

“About me!” she echoed in amazement. “No, I don’t think so—about someone else, though.”

“No, it was you, Miss,” he persisted. “Because I made young Joe tell me what he’d said. And it was about you being boss at Windygates. Said he wasn’t going to take orders from a woman—least of all one that no man had ever looked at twice. If you’ll excuse me for repeating it, Miss,” he added diffidently.

The quick colour rushed to Judith’s face. She had been so sure that he had fought for Linda—and all the time it had been on her account. Not, of course, she told herself firmly, that it meant anything. Naturally Charles could not allow the boy to say things like that without taking notice of it; it did not mean that he disagreed with Joe. And, after all, it was true no man had ever looked at her. Except Des, and that had probably surprised other people as much as it had her.

Des. She had forgotten all about him. And he had not attempted to stop her coming here, though he certainly must have known that she had done so. She would have to see him as soon as possible and tell him that she could not marry him—that she had nothing to give him and that it was not fair.

And Linda. How strange that she had not come to the hospital as well. But perhaps she had and was waiting somewhere else.

“Is there anyone else waiting for news of Mr. Saxilby?” she asked Chris Sellars, and he shook his head.

“Only Joe. Another cup, Miss? No? Well, by and by, p’raps, if they keep you waiting much longer.”

He went out, and Judith said suddenly:

“If he dies, it will be my fault. I asked for trouble— and it all fell upon Charles. I shall never forgive myself.”

Miss Harriet got up and walked over to her. She sat down on the arm of the chair and took Judith’s cold hands in hers.

“Judith, dear—” she began, and then the door opened for a second time and the doctor came in with a flourish that in itself spoke of good news.

“Well,” he began cheerfully. “It’s not so bad as we thought! That young man certainly must have been born under a lucky star. Two ribs gone and rather a nasty cut on his head. A little bit of concussion, of course, but I wonder his skull wasn’t battered in. Oh, and one hand is burnt a bit. Of course, he’s pretty badly bruised, but apart from being very sorry for himself for a while, that isn’t important. Yes, he’s been very lucky. Now don’t you start fainting all over the place, Judith. Isn’t that a woman all over. Keeps going quite all right until she gets good news and then keels over. Stick her head between her knees, Miss Harriet. She’ll be all right in a moment.”

“I’m all right now,” Judith gasped, gripping the arms of the chair. “It’s only ”

“I know. Reaction. Don’t try to teach me my job,” he said calmly. “I’m only relieved that you aren’t as tough as you’ve always thought you were. Now then, Miss Harriet.” He turned his back on Judith, for which she was grateful, and addressed himself to the older woman. “This boy is unconscious and probably will be for quite a while. When he starts coming round I shall give him something to keep him quiet for a bit. He needs rest—loads of it—and he won’t get it with that smack on the head and his bruises. Now then, the point is this. We’re so full up here that we don’t know which way to turn. Any more emergencies and they’ll have to have a bed made up on the floor. Is there anywhere that young Saxilby can be taken—to-morrow morning say?”

Miss Harriet heard the catch of Judith’s breath and made up her mind.

“Certainly,” she said calmly. “He must come to Windygates.”

The doctor shot a look at Judith, and then cocked a curious eye at Miss Harriet.

“Oh!” he said mildly. “I was under the impression— however, if you are sure. You can have a nurse in night and morning to dress the wounds. Can you cope with the rest of it?”

“I can,” Miss Harriet said tranquilly. “Judith will help me, you see.”

The doctor looked again at Judith, but though his glance was still curious it was very kind as well.

“All right, then. Provided there have been no adverse developments, you can expect the ambulance at about ten. And,” he added, “you’ve let yourself in for something this time. Oh, he’ll be grateful enough while he feels bad, but just wait until he is convalescent. These men who have never had a day’s illness are always the worst to deal with.”

Miss Harriet smiled but made no comment, and she and Judith prepared to go.

“I’ll run you home if you like,” the doctor offered.

“That is very kind of you,” Miss Harriet said gratefully. “But I think we may find—Mr. Bellairs.”

He nodded understandingly.

“Yes, of course,” he said. “Well, we’ll see.”

But Mr. Bellairs was waiting. He jumped out of the car as soon as they approached, and it was evident from his face that he had heard the news. But a glance at Judith told him that this was no time for talking. The sooner she was home and in her own bed the better.

He opened the door for them and drove them back in silence, and if, as he said good-bye, his hand held Miss Harriet’s very closely, that was the only thought that they had for themselves. Their one desire was to help the girl who had, all unconsciously, kept them apart for so long.

Suddenly Judith began to shiver, and with her arm round the slim shoulders, Miss Harriet took her upstairs to her own room and helped her into bed.

“Aunt Harriet,” Judith said suddenly from the depths of the big four-poster bed in which she looked so very small.
“Shall
I be able to help you? I—I don’t know anything about nursing, you know,” she added wistfully.

Miss Harriet sat down on the edge of the bed and took her hand in a reassuring clasp.

“You can, if you are willing to learn,” she said gently. “Of course, you will be very busy on the farm without Charles, but I shall be grateful for your help in the evening.”

“Will you really?” Judith said eagerly, her face suddenly alight.

Her aunt smiled.

“Really and truly,” she insisted. “And now, darling, you must try to get some sleep. Would you like some aspirin?”

“No, I don’t think so. They make me feel so odd,” Judith told her. “I will try to be sensible.”

And just at that moment the stable clock struck two.

Judith sat up abruptly.

“Aunt Harriet, we were to have started in six hours’ time!” she exclaimed.

“Yes, but ”

“Aunt Harriet—” Judith caught feverishly at her aunt’s hands. “We can’t go—you said we’d have Charles—we—I can’t leave him.”

Miss Harriet took the girl in her arms and held her close.

“I know, darling,” she soothed. “I know! In the morning I will telephone through to the steamship line and cancel our sailing. We shall have to forfeit our fares but—that can’t be helped. I must cable to Canada as well.”

Gently Judith released herself.

“You must go to bed, too. There will be a lot to do in the morning—getting ready for Charles, and I expect a lot of people will’ ring up.”

“Sure to,” Miss Judith agreed. “We must get in touch with Charles’s brother as well. I wonder if I can find the number on one of the letters Charles wrote to me before he came?”

“Aunt Harriet—if you don’t mind, I would like to ring Sir Roger up,” Judith said thoughtfully. “I—I think I ought to. You see, after all, it is my responsibility, isn’t it? As Charles works here.”

“And you are mistress of Windygates,” Miss Harriet said understandingly. “Yes, I think you are quite right. And now I must go. You’re sure you wouldn’t like me to sleep with you?”

“No, I shall be all right,” Judith promised.

For a moment the eyes of the two women met, and although Judith’s lips were quivering she managed to give Miss Harriet an answering smile.

As the older woman went along the corridor to her room she had to admit that she felt thankful for one thing at least. Out of the night’s events a better understanding between the two of them had grown up than there had ever been before. Whatever the future held for Judith, her aunt would be able to help her to some extent at least.