ife. Also she took a fancy to the boy, in
whose rough, energetic nature she found something akin to her own.

"I am sick of women," she said; "it is a comfort to have to do with a
male thing."

So it came about that after he went to school young Anthony spent a
large share of his holidays at his great-aunt's London house. It may be
added that he got no good from these visits, since Lady Thompson spoilt
him and let him have his way in everything. Also she gave him more money
than a boy ought to have. As a result, or partly so, Barbara found that
her son grew more and more uncontrollable. He mixed with grooms and low
characters, and when checked flew into fits of passion which frightened
her.

Oddly enough, during these paroxysms, which were generally followed by
two or three days of persistent sulking, the only person who seemed
to have any control over him was a certain under-housemaid named Bess
Cotton, the daughter of a small farmer in the neighbourhood. This girl,
who was only about three years older than Anthony, was remarkable for
her handsome appearance and vigour of body and mind. Her hair and large
eyes were so dark that probably the local belief that she had gipsy or
other foreign blood in her veins was true. Her complexion, however, was
purely English, and her character had all the coarseness of those
who have lived for generations in the Fens, whence her father came,
uncontrolled by higher influences, such as the fellowship of gentle-bred
and educated folk.

Bess was an excellent and capable servant, one, moreover, who soon
obtained a sort of mastery in the household. On a certain occasion the
young Squire, as they called him, was in one of the worst of his rages,
having been forbidden by his mother to go to a coursing meeting which
he wished to attend. In this state he shut himself up in the library,
swearing that he would do a mischief to anyone who came near him, a
promise which, being very strong for his years, he was quite capable of
keeping. The man-servant was told to go in and bring him out, but hung
back.

"Bless you," said Bess, "I ain't afraid," and without hesitation walked
into the room and shut the door behind her.

Barbara, listening afar off, heard a shout of "Get out!" followed by
a fearful crash, and trembled, for all violence was abominable to her
nature.

"He will injure that poor girl," she said to herself, and rose,
proposing to enter the library and face her son.

As she hurr