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Towards midsummer one evening Glastonbury came in in thelate dusk. Phemy was there in the darkened kitchen.”Master,”she said immediately he entered. He stopped before her. Shecontinued: “Something’s happened.”

“Huh, while the world goes popping round something shall alwayshappen.”

“It’s me — I’m took — a baby, master,” she said. He stoodstock-still. His back was to the light, she could not see the expressionon his face, perhaps he wanted to embrace her.

“Let’s have a light, sharp,” he said in his brusque way.”Thesupper smells good but I can’t see what I’m smelling, and I canonly fancy what I be looking at.”

She lit the candles and they ate supper in silence. Afterwardshe sat away from the table with his legs outstretched and crossed,hands sunk into pockets, pondering while the girl cleared the table. Soon he put his powerful arm around her waist and drew her to siton his knees.

“Are ye sure o’ that?” he demanded.

She was sure.

“Quite?”

She was quite sure.

“Ah, well then,” he sighed conclusively, “we’ll be married.”

The girl sprang to her feet.”No, no, no — how can you be married– you don’t mean that — not married — there’s Miss Beauchamp!” She pausedand added, a little unsteadily: “She’s yourtrue love, master.”

“Ay, but I’ll not wed her,” he cried sternly.”If there’s nogainsaying this that’s come on you, I’ll stand to my guns. It’s rightand proper for we to have a marriage.”

His great thick-fingered hands rested upon his knees; the candlesthrew a wash of light upon his polished leggings; he stared intothe fireless grate.

“But we do not want to do that,” said the girl, dully anddoubtfully.”You have given your ring to her, you’ve given her yourword. I don’t want you to do this for me. It’s all right, master,it’s all right.”

“Are ye daft?” he cried.”I tell you we’ll wed. Don’t keepclacking about Rosa…. I’ll stand to my guns.” He pausedbefore adding: “She’d gimme the rightabout, fine now — don’t yousee, stupid — but I’ll not give her the chance.”

Her eyes were lowered.”She’s your true love, master.”

“What would become of you and your child? Ye couldn’t bidehere!”

“No,” said the trembling girl.

“I’m telling you what we must do, modest and proper; there’snaught else to be done, and I’m middling glad of it, I am. Life’sa see-saw affair. I’m middling glad of this.”

So, soon, without a warning to any one, least of all to RosaBeauchamp, they were married by the registrar. The change inher domestic status produced no other change; in marrying Weetmanshe but married all his ardour, she was swept i
nto its current. She helped to milk cows, she boiled nauseating messes for pigs,chopped mangolds, mixed meal, and sometimes drove a harrow inhis windy fields. Though they slept together she was still hisservant. Sometimes he called her his “pretty little cob” and thenshe knew he was fond of her. But in general his custom was disillusioning. His way with her was his way with his beasts; heknew what he wanted, it was easy to get. If for a brief space alittle romantic flower began to bud in her breast it was frozen as abud, and the vague longing disappeared at length from her eyes. And she became aware that Rosa Beauchamp was not yet donewith; somewhere in the darkness of the fields Glastonbury still mether. Phemy did not mind.

In the new year she bore him a son that died as it came to life. Glas was angry at that, as angry as if he had lost a horse. Hefelt that he had been duped, that the marriage had been a stupid sacrifice, and in this he was savagely supported by Rosa. Andyet Phemy did not mind; the farm had got its grip upon her, it wasconsuming her body and blood.