, had "turned pious"
during a long illness before his death, and had wished to square matters
with his conscience and the Almighty. When his grandson had volunteered
for the war, and was about to sail for Europe, old Dempsey had sent for
him, had told him the story, and charged him, when he was able, to place
his confession in the proper hands. And having done that, he died "very
quiet and comfortable"--so John Dempsey reported.

"Which is more than poor Jem Watson did," growled Halsey. He felt neither
respect nor sympathy for a man who, having set up a secret, couldn't
keep it; and the confession itself, rather than the crime confessed,
confirmed the poor opinion he had always held of the elder Dempsey when
they were young men in the village together. But he agreed to let Betts
bring "young John" to see him. And thereupon they went back to the sowing
of one of Miss Henderson's big fields with winter wheat.

When the milking was done, and work was nearly over for the day, a note
brought by messenger arrived at the farm for Miss Henderson. It was from
Ellesborough--a few scribbled words. "I am prevented from coming this
evening. The Chief Forestry Officer of my district has just arrived, and
stays the night. I hope to come over to-morrow between six and seven.
Shall I find you?"

Rachel scribbled an answer, which a small boy on a bicycle carried off.
Then she went slowly back to the sitting-room, so disappointed and
unnerved that she was on the brink of tears. Janet who had just come in
from milking, was standing by the table, mending a rent in her
waterproof. She looked up as Rachel entered, and the needle paused in her
hand.

"I say, Rachel!--you do look overdone! You've been going at it too hard."

For all day long Rachel had been lifting, and sorting, and carrying, in
the potato-field, finding in the severe physical exertion the only relief
from restlessness. She shook her head irritably and came to stand by the
wood fire which Janet had just lit, a welcome brightness in the twilight
room.

"Suppose you knock up--" began Janet in a tone of remonstrance. Rachel
cut her short.

"I want to speak to you--please, Janet."

Janet looked round in astonishment and put down her work. Rachel was
standing by the fire, with her hands behind her back, her eyes fixed on
Janet. She was still in the graceful tunic and knee-breeches, in which
her young and splendid youth seemed always most at home. But she had
taken off her