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Updated: June 16, 2025
Since the day she and Gillian had left Ashencombe she had heard nothing of Storran or his wife. No least scrap of news relating to them had come her way. In the ordinary course of events it was hardly likely that it would. The circles of their respective lives did not overlap each other. And Magda had made no effort to discover what had happened at Stockleigh after she had left there.
Storran cleared out of the country at once, and June had nothing left to live for. The only thing I didn't know was the name of the woman who had smashed up both their lives. I saw Dan in Paris . . . He came to me at my studio. But he was a white man. He never gave away the name of the woman who had ruined him. I only knew she had spent that particular summer at Stockleigh.
We can afford it." So it was evident that he, too, had realised the danger of their happiness hers and his if Miss Vallincourt remained at Stockleigh any longer. He did not come in till late in the evening, when June was sitting in the lamplight, adding delicate stitchery to some tiny garments upon which she was at work.
To Magda, ultra-modern and over-civilised as she was, there was something refreshing in the simple and primitive usages of Stockleigh Farm and its master this man who toiled, and satisfied his hunger, and rested from toil, just as his fathers had done before him, literally fulfilling the law: In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.
And Magda to whom penalties and consequences had hitherto been but very unimportant factors with which she concerned herself as little as possible was all at once conscious of an intense thankfulness that she had not been thus punished, that she had quitted Stockleigh leaving husband and wife still together. Together, they would find the way back into each other's hearts!
She must know what Stockleigh signified to him. "What do you mean? Tell me what you mean!" she asked desperately. "Do you remember the story I told you down at Netherway of a man and his wife and another woman?" "Yes, I remember" almost whispering. "That was the story of my sister, June, and her husband, Dan Storran. You were the other woman."
It was with somewhat mixed feelings that she met him again. He was much altered so changed from the hot-headed, primitive countryman she had first known. Some chance remark of hers enlightened him as to her confused sense of the difference in him, and he smiled across at her. "I've been through the mill, you see," he explained quietly, "since the Stockleigh days."
Perhaps when I've told you, you won't have anything more to say to me I don't know." Gillian opened her lips in quick disclaimer, but he motioned her to be silent. "Wait," he said. "Wait till you've heard what I have to say. You think, and Magda thinks, that June died of a broken heart at least, that the shock of all that miserable business down at Stockleigh helped to kill her." "Yes."
"But Magda never confided anything special he had said. I suppose he must have told her " She broke off as all at once illumination penetrated the darkness. "That explains it, then! Explains everything!" she exclaimed. "What explains what?" demanded Lady Arabella bluntly. "Why " And Gillian proceeded to recount the events which had led up to the abrupt termination of the visit to Stockleigh Farm.
"Storran of Stockleigh appears to be considerably less attractive than his name," summed up Gillian, as, half an hour later, she and Magda and Coppertop were seated round a rustic wooden table in the garden partaking of a typical Devonshire tea with its concomitants of jam and clotted cream. "Apparently," she continued, "he has married 'above him. Little Mrs.
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