| BOOK I ROSE |
| BOOK II HENRIETTA |
| BOOK III ROSE AND HENRIETTA |
On the high land overlooking the distant channel and the hills beyond it, thespring day, set in azure, was laced with gold and green. Gorse bushes flauntedtheir colour, larch trees hung out their tassels and celandines starred thebright green grass in an air which seemed palpably blue. It made a mist amongthe trees and poured itself into the ground as though to dye the earth fromwhich hyacinths would soon spring. Far away, the channel might have been astill, blue lake, the hills wore soft blue veils and, like a giant reservoir,the deeper blue of the sky promised unlimited supplies. There were sheep andlambs bleating in the fields, birds sang with a piercing sweetness, and nohuman being was in sight until, up on the broad grassy track which branched offfrom the main road and had the larch wood on one side and, on the other, roughdescending fields, there appeared a woman on a horse. The bit jingled gaily,the leather creaked, the horse, smelling the turf, gave a snort of delight, buthis rider restrained him lightly. On her right hand was the open countrysloping slowly to the water; on her left was the stealthiness of the larchwood; over and about everything was the blue day. Straight ahead of her thetrack dipped to a lane, and beyond that the ground rose again in fieldssprinkled with the drab and white of sheep and lambs and backed by the elmtrees of Sales Hall. She could see the chimneys of the house and therooks’ nests in the elm tops and, as though the sight reminded her ofsomething mildly amusing, the smoothness of her face was ruffled by a smile,the stillness of her pose by a quick glance about her, but if she looked foranyone she did not find him. There were small sounds from the larch wood,little creakings and rustlings, but there was no human footstep, and the onlyvisible movements were made by the breeze in the trees and in the grass, theflight of a bird and the distant gambolling of lambs.
She rode on down the steep, stony slope into the lane, and after hesitating fora moment she turned to the right where the lane was broadened by a border ofrich grass and a hedge-topped bank. Here primroses lay snugly in their clumpsof crinkled leaves and, wishing to feel the coolness of their slim, pale stalksbetween her fingers, Rose Mallett dismounted, slipped the reins over her armand allowed her horse to feed while she stooped to the flowers. Then, in thefull sunshine, with the soft breeze trying to loosen her hair, with the flowersin her bare hand, she straightened herself, consciously happy in the beauty ofthe day, in the freedom and strength of her body, in the smell of the earth andthe sight of the country she had known and loved all her life. It was longsince she had ridden here without encountering Francis Sales, who was bound upwith her knowledge of the country, and who, quite evidently, wished to annexsome of the love she lavished on it. This was a ridiculous desire which madeher smile again, yet, while she was glad to be alone, she missed the attentionof his presence. He had developed a capacity, which was like another sense, forfinding her when she rode on his domains or in their neighbourhood, and she wassurprised to feel a slight annoyance at his absence, an annoyance which,illogically, was increased by the sight of his black span