She stood on a stool in the center of one of the many parlours in Misselthwaite, with Medlock overseeing the fitting of her dress by two rather nervous maids. They were new to the manor, taken on for the many guests that would come for the ball and stay several weeks. Martha was sitting in the corner, sewing lace for the hem and bodice with a look of dreamy contentment on her face and humming with the phonograph Master Craven had bought.

In fact, Master Craven had bought very many things in preparation for this ball. Although it was true that after Colin's recovery he had revived the house to a degree, a great many rooms had remained closed. Now, however, fifteen new maids, ten valets, two new scullery girls and ten new grooms had been hired, and with their aid Martha and Mrs. Medlock had gone through the entire manor. Every room had been aired and cleaned within an inch of its life; every mouse was chased out, every curtain and bedspread mended or replaced, every floor and window polished until Medlock could see her face in them.

Mary had moved to a new set of rooms worthy of the lady of the manor, for her uncle had no wife and no daughter, so she now occupied that position. Colin had also been moved to the upper floor, and the two took much pleasure in the other's close presence. Mary had become more and more dependant on her pale cousin for companionship and love, although she inwardly pined for Dicken's honest and easy conversation, his ability to see straight through all her whims and foolishness and bring out who she truly was.

She missed being with him in the garden, under gray skies, under blue skies, in pouring rain, in blustery winds. She missed the scent of life and living, of new birth and ancient loam. She missed the feel of his earth-softened hands guiding her in planting a daffodil or in pruning a thorny rosebush without pricking herself. And though she went through the motions of learning how to dance with Colin, of choosing the dinnerware and food for the banquet, of listening to different music for dancing with her uncle, of standing and being fitted for her gown, beneath her occupied and gay façade, she thought only of Dickon and her garden.

She shifted a little and promptly felt a pin drive into her side. The maid, a slim little blond thing named Betsy, gasped and turned bright red. Mrs. Medlock, infuriated at what seemed to be lack of concentration on the maid's part, slapped her soundly across the face. The girl burst into tears and tried to apologize through her sobs; the other maid, tall and dark, called Anna, turned pale and looked pleadingly at Mary.

Her eyes flashed and her temper rose. Keeping control of herself, she said in a deliberately quiet voice,

"Mrs. Medlock, how dare you slap this child? The fault was mine; I was daydreaming and I moved. If you touch her again, I'll have your job." Mrs. Medlock flushed; but she could say nothing against Mary now. Mary turned to the weeping Betsy and bent down.

"Come now, dear, stop your crying." She turned to Martha, who was looking at her with undisguised pride. "Martha, darling, do you have your handkerchief?" Martha handed it to her silently, but her eyes spoke volumes. Mary removed Betsy's hands from her face and gave her the handkerchief.

"There, darling. Don't fret. I'm not hurt, see? Go splash some cold water on your face and you'll feel much better." The poor little thing looked up at her gratefully through red eyes and Martha took her arm to guide her to the kitchen.

Anna looked at Mary with profound respect and continued working on the dress.

An hour later, after Medlock had left the room, Anna had finished the fitting and folded the material in her arms. Mary had changed back into her normal clothes and was about to leave the room.

"Mistress… Mistress Lennox," Anna said tentatively. "I jes' wanted t'thank thee fer bein' so good t'little Betsy. She's a shy little thing, an', well, I ken t'ain't me place t' say so, but Mistress Medlock frightens 'er. Tha'rt a right kind 'un, tha'rt." Mary smiled at her.

"Oh, Anna," she laughed. "Mrs. Medlock frightened me too when I first came here. I know that because she's the housekeeper, you must defer to her, but don't let her scare you. She is very possessive of her power, so she tries to force it upon everyone. If she hurts you or Betsy again, I want you to come and tell me or Martha. I'll speak with my uncle about it; he doesn't tolerate unkindness." Anna curtsied somewhat awkwardly with all the material in her hands.

"Thank'ee, Mistress," she said warmly, and then she left.

Later, as Mary and Colin sat together studying, Colin looked at Mary speculatively.

"Mary," he said quietly. "I've been wanting to ask you something for a while now." She looked at him quickly, afraid he had discovered her secret.

"What is it, Colin?"

"Are you in love with someone?" Her heart jumped into her throat and she fiddled with the lace cuff of her blouse.

"I… no, dear, I'm not," she lied. He smiled brightly then.

"Oh, excellent!" he laughed. She looked at him, startled.

"What on earth…"

"Well, you know how Father and I went to Oxford two months ago for the interview and to become acquainted with the area?" She nodded. "I met this girl there; Isabelle." His eyes lit up when he said her name. "She's an absolute angel, Mary; beautiful, intelligent, cultured, and her father is rather wealthy. We've been corresponding for a few months, and I'm absolutely in love with her."

"Oh, darling, that's wonderful!" she exclaimed, although she felt a little tug of jealousy. Colin had always been just hers and Dickon's, but now he was someone else's too.

"Well, the reason I'm telling you is that she has a brother who will be going to school with me; his name is Joseph. He's a strapping lad, the epitome of a true Englishman. I had showed him your portrait while we were there, and he's just smitten with you. Father's invited their family to your ball, so they'll be here several weeks. Joseph and I thought it would be just smashing if, well, we were all sort of paired off. What do you think?"

Mary was temporarily speechless. Her head was whirling, and she could barely think.

"I… I… would like to meet him, I suppose," she managed weakly.

"Darling, there'll be all sorts of suitors at the ball, but if you have, well, a sort of escort…"

"Colin, I'll meet him, but I don't know about an escort…"

"Of course, dear. I'll go write to him now." And with that he hopped up and kissed her forehead, then ran off.

Mary sat, slightly stunned. But what had you expected? she asked herself. That you would never marry or be courted just because you love a moor boy you cannot have? No, she resolved, I will set him aside and continue to love him, but I must make room in my heart to love someone I can marry. And maybe Joseph is that someone.

She crossed the room to a window and looked out upon the moors. Far off in that sea of heather she saw a small white spot with a black speck over it. Dickon and Jump, she thought. Silently she touched her lips, feeling again his kiss, a kiss she believed she would never again receive.

Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for your comments and reviews. I have taken all of them into consideration. I just wanted to let you know that this may go on for a while, so keep checking back. Some chapters may seem like it's the ending, but unless it specifically says so, I ain't done. :D Thanks again and enjoy.