The tone of humorous indulgence was the last straw. Suddenly, to her dismay, she found herself crying, helplessly, hopelessly, crying with such streaming tears and harsh in drawings of breath as she had not known in all her adult days.

Canon Thorby came over to the sofa and put his arm around her shoulders.

‘Really, you mustn’t; you mustn’t upset yourself any more. The shock of the news, and then the sheep worrying . . . too much. Just leave it to me. I’ll see to everything. It can all be explained, I promise you.’

Once having started to cry, she found it impossible to stop. He must have rung a bell, summoned some attention, for presently he removed his arm from her shoulders and took her hand and said, in a firm, authoritative voice:

‘Miss Mayfield! Stop it! You are hysterical! Stop! Now, swallow this – it’s only an aspirin. That’s right. And a drink of water. Good.’ Speaking rapidly, snatching his chance while she struggled with the aspirin, which refused to be swallowed, he said, ‘Try to spare a thought for me. I’m quite upset myself, you know, and now I have poor Emily Baines to face.’

She said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

He stood up, lifted her feet and swung them into the place where he had been sitting, pulled a cushion into place and pressed her gently backwards.

‘You just lie there and rest. Everything is going to be all right.’

I’ve done all I can. I’ve done all I can. The words repeated themselves soothingly in her brain. Another voice attempted to contradict, Telling him was only a first step; there are many more. Yes, she agreed, many other things must be done. She made an attempt to shake off the lethargy which had laid hold of her. Something moved towards her like a grey cloud, and again she tried to rouse, but could not, and it came on and enveloped her, feather-light, soft as chiffon, and warm. She gave herself into its embrace with a feeling of blissful release and with a last sob fell asleep, like a child, the tears still on her face.

12

WHEN SHE WOKE, THE ROOM WAS FILLED WITH twilight. It took her a moment or two to remember where she was, and why. Then the whole burden of memory settled down on her pressingly. She stirred and sighed, and instantly Canon Thorby’s voice asked softly:

‘Are you awake?’

‘Yes.’ He switched on the desk light and twilight receded.

‘How are you feeling now?’

She moved under the rug of soft blue wool which someone had tucked about her. Her head ached, so did her bruises, and she was stiff all over, but she said:

‘All right now, thank you.’