The adulteress

He himself concocted the brew in the great punch bowl and the cooks were busy for a long time preparing the feast. No one talked of anything but Harvest Home; every farm had its corn dollies, which were hung up to decorate the hall and bring good luck besides the sheaves of wheat. The fruit, vegetables and great cob loafs would be distributed throughout the district when it was all over.

Fiddlers had been engaged and if the weather was bad there would be dancing in the great hall; if not it would be out of doors—which everyone was hoping for.

Great tables were set up and filled with refreshments. It was going to be one of the best Harvest Homes ever to have been known, said my mother to Sabrina; and they exchanged smiles. It was of course because Dickon had taken part in it.

Lottie's nanny had now recovered but I said she must take things easily for a while as she must be considerably weakened and Hetty should stay with us until she was really strong. As neither of them had any objection, this was arranged.

Two days before the Harvest Home, a message came for James. His cousin, the one who had visited us, wrote that his father was dangerously ill and he wanted to see James before he died.

"You must go, James," said Jean-Louis. "You'd never forgive yourself if you didn't. We'll manage the Harvest Home without you. We have enough helpers. Besides it's more or less settled, and with the harvest in this is the best time for you to take a break."

So James left the day before the Harvest Home.

It was a great occasion with much merry making. The weather was good enough for people to be out of doors so the young ones danced on the lawns and the older ones sat inside and did full justice to the punch and pies and good food which the kitchens had provided.

Dickon had more or less placed himself in charge. He was rather pleased, I think, that James had been called away. I saw my mother and Sabrina watching him admiringly. He looked incredibly handsome, being affable to everyone and dancing the folk dances with such gusto and grace that he was admired by all.

He made sure to dance with most of the farmers' wives, which was a duty James—since Jean-Louis could not—would have performed had he been there.

At ten o'clock Jean-Louis spoke to them and thanked them for the year's good work and then we all sang together Harvest hymn.

It was moving and particularly so perhaps because this year there was so much to be thankful for.

After that Jean-Louis and I went home.

"A most successful Home," he said. "One of the best I remember. A pity James couldn't have been there to see it— because so much is due to his good management."

"Dickon enjoyed it," I said.

"Yes, he seems to have got over that bit of trouble. Learnt his lesson, I daresay."

"I hope so," I said.

The days seemed to fly by. It was the end of October with the days drawing in and the threat of winter in the autumnal mists. James had been away for three weeks. His uncle had died and he had stayed for the funeral. Hetty was still with us, although nanny had recovered now. I had thought she might resent having another woman in the nursery but she liked Hetty; they got on well together and as they both adored Lottie they were happy.

I was pleased because I had grown more and more fond of Hetty and I did know that she was happier with us than she had been on her father's farm.

I noticed gradually that she was rather preoccupied and she began to lose some of her healthy color. I had the idea that something was troubling her. I asked on one occasion whether there was anything wrong and was told emphatically—perhaps too emphatically—that all was well.

But there was something, I knew. Sometimes I would see a blank look in her eyes as though she were trying to make some plan. I thought I detected a certain desperation.

There was a dignity about Hetty which made it impossible to intrude and to ask for confidences which she was not prepared to give. I fancied that she tried to avoid me, and I became seriously worried and decided that I would keep a sharp eye on her.

I considered speaking about her to James, but I thought she might resent that very much. I wondered if something had gone wrong between them. I did mention it to Jean-Louis.

"Some lovers' tiff, I should imagine," he said. "It's always wise to keep out of that sort of thing."

"I suppose I must, but I am worried about her."

So I was watchful—and how thankful I was to be that this was so.

It was November ... a warm damp day with the mist hanging in patches. I was looking from my window when I saw Hetty leave the house. Whether it was some premonition, perhaps the air of dejection and dogged determination that I seemed to sense, I did not know. But what I did know was that I had to follow her. I had to see where she was going.

I put on a cloak and ran out. I was just in time to see her disappearing round a bend in the lane.

I guessed now that she was going to the river.