The legend of the seventh virgin

7

I was a woman without a husband, yet I could not call myself a widow. What had happened to Johnny? It was a mystery as baffling as that which Judith had provided when she fell down the stairs.

I tried to remain calm. I told Carlyon that his father had gone away for a while and that satisfied him; he had, I suspected, never been very fond of Johnny. I tried to brace myself for two possibilities: his return, or a life spent without him.

There was no immediate talk of opening the mine. That would come later, I suspected. I was being given a short respite on account of the shock of my husband's disappearance.

As I had in the old days, I took my problems to Granny. She scarcely ever left her bed now and it grieved me to see her growing a little more frail every time we met. She made me sit by her bed while she looked searchingly into my face.

"So you've lost your Johnny now," she said.

"I don't know, Granny. He may come back."

"Is that what you want, lovey?"

I was silent for I could never lie to Granny.

"You'm wondering what will happen next, eh? This 'ull like as not bring the other home."

I nodded.

"And parson's daughter?"

"Mellyora thinks of me before herself."

Granny sighed.

"This 'ull decide him," she said. "K this don't bring him back, nothing will."

"We can wait and see. Granny."

She leaned forward and gripped my hand. "Do you want your husband back, lovey?"

She wanted a straightforward answer; and she was very anxious.

"I don't know," I said.

"Kerensa," she went on, "do you remember ... ?"

Her voice had sunk to a whisper and she gripped my hand still more firmly. I sensed that she was on the point of telling me something which was of the utmost importance.

"Yes, Granny?" I softly prompted.

"I've been turning over in my mind ..."

Again she paused and I looked at her intently.

She closed her eyes and her lips moved soundlessly as though she were talking to herself.

"Do you remember," she said at length, "how I dressed your hair, set it up in coils and we put in the comb and mantilla Pedro gave to me?"

"Yes, Granny. I shall always keep it. I dress my hair that way often and wear the comb and mantilla."

She sank back on her pillows and a puzzled look came into her eyes.

"Pedro would have liked to see his Granddaughter," she murmured. But I knew that was not what she had been on the point of saying.

Mellyora and I sat alone in my sitting room.

How like the old days it was, those days when we had been together in the parsonage. We both felt this and it drew us closer together. "This is a waiting time, Mellyora," I said. "Life will change soon."

She nodded, her needle poised; she was making a shirt for Carlyon and she looked daintily feminine and helpless working there.

"No news of Johnny ... day after day," I mused. "When do you think they will give up the search?"

"I don't know. I suppose he will be listed as a missing person and will remain so until we have some news of him."

"What do you think has happened to him, Mellyora?"

She did not answer.

"There was a lot of feeling against him in St. Larnston," I went on. "Do you remember how angry he was that day when someone threw a stone at him? The people of St. Larnston might have killed him because he would not open the mine. Their livings were at stake. They knew I would be veiling to open it."

Tow ... Kerensa."

"I shall be the mistress of the Abbas now ... unless... ."

"The Abbas belongs to Justin, Kerensa; and it always did."

"But he has gone away and Johnny administered everything in his absence. Until he comes back. ..."

"I do not think he will ever come back. I haven't told you this before but he is trying to come to a decision now. He believes that he will stay in Italy and enter a religious order."

"Is that so?" I wondered if I succeeded in keeping the joy out of my voice. Justin a monk! Never to marry!

I suddenly remembered Mellyora, sitting at home, patiently waiting like Penelope. I looked at her sharply. "And you, Mellyora? You loved him so much. Do you still?"

She was silent. "You are so practical, Kerensa. You would never understand me. I should seem so foolish to you."

"Please try to make me understand. It is important to me ... your happiness I mean. I have grieved for you, Mellyora."

"I know you have." She smiled. "Sometimes you have been angry when Justin's name was mentioned. I knew it was because you were so sorry for me. Justin was a hero of my childhood. It was a child's adoration I had for him. Picture it. He was the heir to the big house; and the Abbas meant something to me as it did to you. To me he seemed just perfect; and I suppose my most cherished dream was that one day he would notice me. He was the prince of the fairy tale who should have married the woodcutter's daughter and made her a queen. It grew out of a childish fantasy. Do you understand?"

I nodded. "I thought you would never be happy again when he went away."

"So did I. But ours was a dream idyll. His love for me and mine for him. If he had been free we should have married and perhaps it would have been a good marriage; perhaps I should have gone on adoring him. I should have been a good meek wife to him; he would have been a courteous tender husband; but there would always have been this dream quality about our relationship, this bloodlessness, this unreality. You have shown me that."

"How so?"

"With your love for Carlyon. That fierce passion of yours. That jealousy I have seen when you think he cares too much for me or Joe. It is a wild all-consuming thing, your love; and that is real love, I have come to believe. Think of this, Kerensa, if you had loved Justin as I thought I did, what would you have done? Would you have said farewell? Would you have allowed him to go? No. You would have gone away with him, or you would have stayed here and fought defiantly for the right to live together. That is love. You never loved Johnny in that way. But you once loved your brother like that; you loved your Granny; and now all your love is for Carlyon. One day, Kerensa, you will love a man and that will be the fulfillment of your being. I believe I too shall love that way. We are young yet, both of us; but I took longer to grow up than you did. I am grown up now, Kerensa, and we are neither of us fulfilled. Do you understand me? But we shall be."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because we have grown together, Kerensa. There is a bond between us, a line of fate which we cannot break."

"You have an air of wisdom this morning, Mellyora!"

"It is because we are both free ... free from the old life. It is like a beginning again. Johnny is dead, Kerensa. I am sure of it. I believe what you say is right. Not one but several people killed him because he stood between them and their living. They murdered him that they and their wives and children might live. You are free, Kerensa. The hungry men of St. Larnston have freed you. And I am free ... free of a dream. Justin will enter a religious order; no longer shall I sit and dream as I sew, no longer wait for a letter, no longer start up at the sound of arrival. And I am at peace. I have become a woman. It is like gaining freedom. You too, Kerensa, for you haven't deceived me. You married Johnny, you suffered him for the sake of this house, the position he gave you, for the sake of being a St. Larnston. You have what you want and all the installments are paid. It is a new beginning for you as well as for me."

I looked at her and I thought: She is right. No more reproaches. I need never shudder when I look at Nelly; the scar on her back is no longer a scar on my soul. I did not ruin Mellyora's life when I saved the Abbas for Carlyon. There need be no more regrets.

On impulse I went to Mellyora and put my arms about her. She smiled up at me, and I bent and kissed her forehead. "You are right," I said. "We are free."

I made two discoveries within the next few weeks.

The family solicitor came to the Abbas to see me. He had depressing news. For some years the St, Larnston fortunes had been on the wane and several economies were needed.

Judith Derrise had bolstered up the position with her dowry, but it was to have been paid over a number of years and as she was dead and there were no children of the marriage, the remainder of the dowry would not be paid. Johnny's gambling had expedited the disaster which, with careful economies, would have to be staved off and, had Judith lived, would never have occurred.

Johnny had heavily mortgaged certain properties to pay for his gambling debts; in a few months capital would have to be raised. There seemed to be no alternative but to sell the Abbas.

The situation was similar to that which had threatened the family some generations back. Then the tin mine had proved a source of wealth and the family retained the old mansion.

Some action within the next few months was vital.

What action? I demanded to know.

The solicitor looked at me kindly. He was sorry for me. My husband had disappeared. Large sums of money belonging to the estate could not be accounted for, but they had passed through Johnny's hands, probably lost in gambling. In any case, Johnny had disappeared and I was left to salvage what I could for my son. Justin was about to renounce the world and all his possessions except a small private income which would go to the monastery where he would spend the rest of his days.

"I think, Mrs. St. Larnston," the solicitor said, "that you should leave the Abbas for the Dower House which is vacant just now. If you lived there you would considerably reduce your expenses."

"And the Abbas?"

"You might find a tenant. But I doubt whether that would solve your difficulties. It may be necessary to sell the Abbas... "

"Sell the Abbas! It has been in the possession of the St. Larnston family for generations."

He lifted his shoulders. "Many estates like this one are changing hands nowadays."

"There is my son... ."

"Well, he is young and it is not as though he has spent a great number of years in the place." Seeing my distress he softened. "It may not come to that."

"There is the mine," I said. "It saved the Abbas once. It will save it again."

I asked Saul Cundy to come and see me. I could not understand why the agitation to open the mine had stopped. I had made up my mind I was going to set work in motion at once, and the first and all-important discovery to make was whether or not there was tin in the mine.

I stood at the library window, waiting for Saul, looking out across the lawns to the meadow and the ring of stones. What a different scene there would be when the sound of the tinners' voices would be heard and I should see them going to work with their horn picks and wooden shovels. We should need machines. I knew little of the industry except what I had picked up from Granny but I did know that a certain Richard Trevithick had invented a high-pressure steam engine which hoisted out the ore and crushed and stamped it on the surface.

How strange it would be—all that noise, all that activity so near the ring of ancient stones. Well, it had happened before and it was the modem industry which was going to preserve the ancient house.

Tin meant money and money could save the Abbas.

I was growing impatient when at last Haggety announced that Saul Cundy was outside.

"Bring him in at once," I cried.

He came, hat in hand, but I fancied he found it difficult to meet my eye.

"Sit down," I said. "I think you know why I have asked you to call."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, you are aware that there is no news of my husband and that Sir Justin is far away and not in a position to manage affairs here. You headed a deputation some time ago and I did all I could to persuade my husband that you were right. Now I am going to give permission for an investigation to be made. If there is tin in the St. Larnston mine, then there will be work for all those who want it"

Saul Cundy twirled his hat round and round in his hands and stared at the tips of his boots.

"Ma'am," he said, "twouldn't be no good. St. Larnston mine be nothing but an old scat bal. There bain't be no tin there and there won't be no work for us here in this district."

I was aghast. All my plans for saving the Abbas were being destroyed by this slow-speaking giant.

"Nonsense," I said. "How can you know?"

"Because Ma'am, us have already made the investigation. We made 'un before Mr. Johnny was ... before Mr. St. Larnston went."

"You made it?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Us had our livings to think on. So a few on us got working on it at nights and I went down so I be certain sure there hain't no tin in the St. Larnston mine."

"I don't believe it"

"Tis so, Ma'am."

"You went down alone"?"

"I thought it was best like, there being a danger of collapse—seeing it were my idea in the first place."

"But ... I ... I shall get the experts to look into this."

"Cost you a mint of money, Ma'am ... and us tinners do know tin when we see it. Us have worked all our lives in the mine Ma'am. There hain't no fooling we."

"So that's why there's been no more agitation about opening the mine."

"Tis so. Ma'am. I and us tinners be going out to St. Agnes. There be work there for we. The best tin in Cornwall do come from St. Agnes way. We be leaving by the end of the week and we be taking the women and children with us. There be work for us there."

"I see. Then there is nothing more to be said."

He looked at me and I thought his eyes were like those of a spaniel. He seemed to be asking me for forgiveness. He would know of course that I needed the rich tin, for that all was not well at the Abbas would be common knowledge. It was Haggety and Mrs. Rolt and our servants who would now be wondering how they were going to live.

"I be sorry. Ma'am," he said.

"I wish you good fortune at St. Agnes," I answered. "You and everyone who goes there."

"Thank 'ee, Ma'am."

It was only after he had gone that I saw the double significance of this.

I knew, of course, that the men I had seen from my window were the tinners. They had been down the mine that very night and discovered it to be sterile. Then the thought hit me: that was before Johnny died. So they knew the mine had nothing to offer them. Why then should they kill Johnny? What was the point?

Then it was not these men who had killed him. Who then? Could it be that Johnny was not dead?

I discussed the future with Mellyora. She was becoming gay again; it was as though she had escaped from a spell Justin had put on her. This was the Mellyora who had championed me at the fair. Her adoration for Justin had made her meek, a patient Griselda; now she was recovering her own personality.

"You see yourself as a benevolent god, ruling us all," she told me. "The rest of us are like little kings whom you have put in charge of our kingdoms. If we do not rule as you think we should, you want to take over and rule for us."

"What a fantastic notion!"

"Not when you consider. You wanted to manage Joe's life ... Johnny's ... Carlyon's... ."

I thought with a twinge of remorse: Yours too, Mellyora. If you did but know it, I have governed your life too.

I should tell her one day because I should not be completely at rest until I did.

I decided that we must move to the Dower House. Haggety and the Salts found other employment. Tom Pengaster at last married Doll, and Daisy came with us to the Dower House. The solicitors took over the management of the estate and the Polores and Trelances stayed in their cottages and continued their work, while Mrs. Rolt remained at the Abbas as housekeeper—Florrie Trelance coming in from the cottages to help her.

The Abbas was to be let furnished, which could mean that, with care, by the time Carlyon was of age he might be able to afford to live in it himself. It seemed as satisfactory as a temporary arrangement could be. Each day I went to the Abbas to make sure that everything was being kept in order.

Carlyon was content with the Dower House; together Mellyora and I taught him. He was a docile pupil, though not a brilliant one and often I would see him looking wistfully out of the windows when the sun was shining. Every Saturday he accompanied Joe on his rounds and they were his red-letter days.

We had had only two prospective tenants. One had found the Abbas far too big; the other considered it eerie. I began to think it would remain empty, waiting for us to return.

It had always amazed me how important events burst suddenly upon one. I feel there should be some warning, some little premonition. But there rarely is.

I rose that morning rather late as I had overslept, and when I dressed and went down to breakfast I found a letter awaiting me from the agents who were dealing with the house. They were sending a client along that afternoon, and hoped three o'clock would be a convenient time.

I told Mellyora as we sat at breakfast.

"I wonder what will be wrong this time," she said. "Sometimes I think we are never going to find a tenant."

At three o'clock I walked over to the Abbas, thinking that I should be wretched when I could not go in and out as I wished. But perhaps we should become friendly with the new tenants. Perhaps we should receive invitations to dine. How strange—to go to dine in the Abbas as a guest It would be like that occasion when I had gone to the ball.

Mrs. Rolt was unhappy, sadly missing the old days and, I was sure, all the gossip round the table.

"I don't know what we are coming to," she would say every time I saw her. "My dear life, the Abbas be a quiet sad place these days. I never knew the like."

I knew she was wishing for a tenant, someone to spy on, to gossip about.

Soon after three there was loud knocking on the main door.

I stayed in the library and Mrs. Rolt went to let in the visitor. I felt melancholy. I did not want anyone to live in the Abbas, and yet I knew someone must.

There was a knock on the door, and Mrs. Rolt appeared with a look of blank astonishment on her face; and then I heard a voice; Mrs. Rolt stepped aside and I thought I must be dreaming, for it was like a dream— a long cherished dream—coming true.

Kim was coming towards me.

Those were, I believe, the happiest weeks of my life. It is difficult now to record exactly what happened. I remember his picking me up in his arms; I remember his face close to mine, the laughter in his eyes.

"I wouldn't let them mention my name. I wanted to surprise you." I remember Mrs. Rolt standing in the doorway; the distant murmur of "My dear life!" And I wanted to repeat "My dear life ... my dear dear life!" because it had suddenly become very precious.

He hadn't changed much, I told him. He looked at me. "You have. I used to say you were becoming a very fascinating woman. Now you've become one."

How can I describe Kim? He was gay, full of high spirits, teasing, mocking yet at the same time tender. He had wit but it was never used to hurt others; I think that was what made him a very special person. He laughed with people, never at them. He made you feel that you were important to him—as important as he was to you. Perhaps I saw him in a rosy glow because I was in love with him, and I knew as soon as he returned that I was in love with him, and had been ever since that night he had carried Joe to safety,

His father was dead, he told me; when he had retired from the sea, they had settled together in Australia and had bought a ranch there. They had bought it cheaply and made money raising cattle; then suddenly he had decided that he had made enough money; he sold out at a high figure and had come home with a fortune. What did I think of that for a success story?

I thought it was wonderful. I thought everything was wonderful—life, everything—because he had returned.

We talked so much that the time fled by. I told him all that happened since his departure—how Mellyora and I had worked at the Abbas, how I had married Johnny.

He took my hands and looked at me with concentration.

"So you married, Kerensa?"

I told him about Johnny's disappearance, how Justin had gone away when Judith had died, how we had fallen on hard times and that was why the Abbas was to let.

"So much happening at home!" he said. "And I not knowing it!"

"But you must have thought of us. Otherwise you wouldn't have wanted to come back."

"I've thought of you continually. I've often said I wonder what's happening back home. One day I'll go and see ...' And there was Kerensa marrying Johnny; and Mellyora ... Mellyora, like me, never married. I must see Mellyora. And your son, I must see him. Kerensa with a son! And you called him Carlyon! Oh, I remember Miss Carlyon. Well, Kerensa, if that is not just like you."

I took him to the Dower House. Mellyora had just returned from a walk with Carlyon. She stared at Kim as though she were seeing a vision. Then laughing—and almost crying I believe—she was in his arms.

I watched them. They were greeting each other like the old friends they were. But already my love for Kim was beginning to take possession of me. I did not like his attention to stray for one moment from me.

I visited Granny Bee every day because something told me that I should not be able to do so for much longer. I would sit there by her bed and she would talk to me of the past, which was what she loved to do. There were occasions when she seemed to get lost in the past like someone wandering in a maze; at others she would be lucid and very perceptive.

One day she said to me: "Kerensa, you have never been so beautiful as you are now. Tis the beauty of a woman in love."

I flushed. I was afraid to talk of this feeling I had for Kim. I felt superstitious about it. I wanted to forget what had gone before; I wanted a different kind of life, governed by different emotions.

I felt frustrated because each day it was becoming clearer to me that I wanted to marry Kim. And how could I, when I did not know whether or not I had a husband living.

Granny wanted to talk about Kim and was determined to.

"So he's back then, lovey. Ill never forget the night he carried Joe home from the woods. He were our friend from that night on."

"Yes," I said. "How afraid we were then, but we need not have been."

"He's a good man and twere he who spoke to Mr. Pollent. When I think what our Joe owes to him I bless him with all my strength, I do."

"I too. Granny."

"I can see it. There's something else I'd like to see, Granddaughter."

I waited and she went on softly: "There was never barriers between we two. Nor should there ever be. I'd like to see you married happy, Kerensa, which is something you haven't had yet"

"To Kim?" I said quietly.

"Aye. He be the man for you."

"I think so too. Granny. But perhaps I'll never know whether I'll be free to marry."

She closed her eyes and just as I thought she might have gone meandering into the past, she said suddenly: "T'as been on the tip end of my tongue to tell 'ee these many times and I've said, 'No, better not.' But I don't say 'No,' no longer, Kerensa. I don't think I'll be with 'ee much longer, child."

"Don't say it, Granny. I couldn't bear it if you weren't."

"Oh, child, you've been a regular comfort to me. I've often thought of the day you walked in with your little brother ... come to look for Granny Bee! That were one of the happy days of my life and I've had many. It's a great thing to marry the man you love, Kerensa, and have children by him. Reckon that be one of the real reasons for living. Not rising above what you was born, not getting big houses. I'd like 'ee to know the sort of happiness I've had, Kerensa, and you can find it inside of four cob walls. You should know it now, girl, because now you've got the shine of love on you; and if I be right, you'm free."

"Granny, you know that Johnny is dead?"

"I didn't see him die. But I know what goes on and I think I be right... ."

I leaned close to the bed. Was she dreaming? Was she really thinking of Johnny or had her mind lost itself in the past?

She read my thoughts, for she smiled gently and said: "No, I be clear in the mind, Kerensa, and I shall tell you now all that happened and led up to this. I didn't tell 'ee before because I weren't sure it were good for 'ee to know. Can you cast your mind back to a night when you come to me from the Abbas. You was lady's maid then to her that fell down the stairs and while you was here you saw a shadow at the window? Do 'ee remember, Kerensa?"

"Yes, Granny, I remember."

"Twas someone looking in as wanted to see me and wanted to make sure none see her come. It were Hetty Pengaster—five months with child and frightened. She was afraid of discovery, she says, and her father so strict and her spoken for by Saul Cundy and it couldn't be his. She were frightened, poor girl. She wanted to wipe out all sign of what she'd been up to, and start again. Learned, she had, that Saul were the man for her; and she wished she hadn't listened when the other came courting."

I said quietly: "Her child was Johnny's?"

Granny went on: "I said to her, Tell I who be the father,' and her wouldn't tell. Said she mustn't tell. He'd told her not. He was going to do something for her, she said. He'd have to. She were meeting him the next night and she was going to make him see that he'd got to do something for her. She believed he might marry her, but I could tell she were fooling herself. Then she went away, fair mazed she were. Her father being so strict and her being spoken for by Saul. She were frightened of Saul. Saul weren't the sort to let another take what were his... ."

"And she didn't tell you Johnny was the man?"

"No, she didn't tell, but I feared it. I knew how he were after you, and that made me determined like to find out if he were the man. I said to her hain't you feared someone will see you meeting like, and Saul or your father'll come to hear on it? She said No, they did always meet in the meadow by the Virgins and the old mine and twere safe enough there, for people didn't like to be there after dark. I can tell 'ee, I was worried. I wanted to know if it were Johnny. I had to know on account of you."

"And it was. Granny. Of course it was. I always knew he had a fancy for her."

"I was worried all that day, and I said to myself, Kerensa'll work out her destiny, same as you did. And I thought of how I'd gone to Sir Justin and deceived my Pedro and how I'd tell myself now twere all for the best. And thinking of Pedro I dressed my hair with my comb and mantilla and I sat wondering what I was going to do when I found out Johnny were the father of Hetty's child. I had first to be certain, so that night I went to the meadow and I waited there. I hid myself behind the biggest Virgin and I saw them meet. There were a crescent moon and the stars were bright. Twas enough to show me. Hetty, she were crying and he were pleading with her. I couldn't hear what were said, for they didn't come near enough to the stones. I think she were frightened of them. Maybe she thought like one of they Virgins she'd be turned to stone. Close to the mine shaft they were. And I think she were threatening to throw herself down if he didn't marry her. I knew her wouldn't. Her was only threatening. But he were frightened. I guessed he were trying to persuade her to leave St. Larnston. I moved away from the stones to try to hear what they were saying and I heard her say: Til kill myself, Johnny. Til throw myself down there.' And he said, 'Don't be silly. You'd do no such thing. You don't fool me. Go back to your father and tell him. He'll get you married in time.' Then she was real angry; she stood for a moment poised there on the edge, I wanted to shout to him: Leave her be. She won't do it! But he didn't leave her be. He caught her arm ... I heard her cry out suddenly and then ... he were there alone."

"Granny, he killed her!"

"I couldn't say for certain sure. I couldn't see clear enough ... and even if I had, I couldn't be sure. One second she were there, poised on the edge, threatening to throw herself down; the next she were gone."

Events slipped neatly into place: the strangeness of his conduct; his desire to get away; his fear that the mine would be reopened. Then I stared at Granny, remembering that he must have come straight back and asked me to marry him.

Granny went on slowly: 'Tor a second or so he stood there as though like one of the maidens as were turned into stone. Then he looked wildly round him and he saw me standing there in the light of that crescent moon, my dark hair piled high, my mantilla, my comb. He said: 'Kerensa.' Quiet ... like a whisper almost, but it came to me in the stillness of the night. Then he looked back at the mine and down into the darkness; and I ran, I ran as fast as I could through the circle of stones and across the meadow. I had reached the road when I heard him call again: 'Kerensa. Kerensa, come here!"

"Granny," I said, "he thought I was the one who was standing there. He thought I was the one who saw."

She nodded. "I went back to the cottage and I sat up all night thinking on what I should do. And then, in the morning, Mellyora Martin brought me your letter. You had run away to Plymouth to marry Johnny St. Larnston."

"I see," I said slowly. "He asked me to marry him as a bribe, to say nothing. And I thought it was because he could not do without me. What sort of a marriage was it?"

"On his side for protection lest he should be charged with murder; on yours a big house you'd always craved to be mistress of. You made a big dream, Kerensa, and you paid dear for it."

I felt numbed by this knowledge. My life seemed to have a different meaning. Chance had shaped my life as much as my own maneuverings, and Hetty Pengaster, whom I had always despised, had played as important a role as myself. And Johnny had not wanted me so desperately, only my silence.

"You never told me, Granny," I said half reproachfully.

"Not after you were married. What good could it do? And when there was a child coming I knew I was right to keep silent."

I shuddered. "It was horrible. Johnny thinking that I wanted marriage in exchange for silence. I should never have married him if I had known."

"Not even for the St. Larnston name, lovey?"

We looked at each other and I answered truthfully as I always must to Granny. "In those days I would have done anything for the St. Larnston name."

"It was a lesson you had to learn. Granddaughter, Perhaps you've learned it now. Perhaps you know that there's as much happiness to be found inside of four cob walls as in a mansion. If you learned that it don't matter greatly what you had to pay for the lesson. And now you can start again."

"Is it possible?"

She nodded. "For listen here. Johnny wouldn't open the mine and Saul Cundy was determined he should. Saul were going to find out whether there was tin in the mine. He were going down to find out and he did. But he found Hetty too. He'd know why she were down there, and he'd know too that Johnny were responsible, for he'd have heard the whispers. And Johnny going off and marrying you the day she disappeared ... well, it do speak for itself."

I caught my breath. "You think that Saul murdered Johnny because of what he found down the mine?"

"Tis something I can't say, not having been seen. But Saul didn't say nothing about finding Hetty and I know she were down there. Why didn't he say he did find her there? Twere because he be a man who was born dead-set against the gentry and he were determined as Johnny should pay in full. Johnny could withhold the right of men to work for their livings; Johnny could rob a man of his bride. He were not going to trust the law, for he did say often enough there was one for rich and one for poor. Saul did take the law into his own hand. He waylaid Johnny coming home from his gambling, and killed him, I reckon; and where should he be most likely to put him but down the mine shaft. To keep Hetty company! Then away he goes ... to St. Agnes ... far away from St. Larnston."

"It's a terrible story. Granny."

"Twas a bitter lesson but I knew from the first you d be one who must learn your own lessons. Tweren't no good my trying to teach you. Find your man, Kerensa; love him as I loved my Pedro, bear his children ... and never you mind whether you live in a mansion or a cob-walled cottage. Happiness don't ask to see who you be afore her sits down at your table. 'Er comes and sits with them as know how to welcome her and keep her the willing guest. Tis done with, my love; and happy I be to go now. All be set fair for you. I've seen love in your eyes for a man, Kerensa. I've seen love for me, love for Joe, love for Carlyon, and now for a man. That's a powerful lot of love for one person to give, lovey. But Joe have his own wife to cleave to and so will Carlyon one day; and I can't be with 'ee forever. So I be glad that there be a man you love, and now I shall go happy... ."

"Don't talk of going, Granny. You mustn't. Do you think I'll ever be able to do without you?"

"Tris a good thing to hear said, my sweet Granddaughter, but I'd be sad if I believed it were true. You'll do without me, because the man you love will be beside you and you'll grow in love and wisdom. Peace and love ... that be the meaning of our names, girl; tis the meaning of the good life too. You've grown mellow, girl. You ain't reaching out for what ain't good for you. Love and be happy ... tis time you came to that. Forget what be past. The woman you are today is not the same one you were yesterday. Tis well to remember that. Never mourn for the past. Never say that were a tragedy. Say that were experience. Because of that I be what I am today—and all the better because I have passed through the fire."

"But Johnny is missing... ."

"Open up the mine, girl. You'll find him there. I be sure on it. Him and Hetty. There'll be the old scandal revived, but tis better than being tied to a missing man all your life."

"I'll do it. Granny," I said. But as I spoke, a thought struck me which made me catch my breath in horror. Granny was looking at me expectantly and I cried out: "I can't do it. There's Carlyon."

"What of Carlyon?"

"Don't you see. They'd say he was the son of a murderer."

Granny was silent for a while. Then she said: "You'm right. It would never do. Tis something that would cast a shadow over him all his life. But what of you, my dear? Are you never to be free to marry then?"

It was like a choice between Kim and Carlyon; but I knew Carlyon's sensitive and gentle nature and I couldn't let him ever be called the son of a murderer.

Granny began to speak slowly. "There be a way out, Kerensa. It's coming to me. They'd not be able to tell by now when Hetty died. If they went down the mine they'd find her there ... and they'd find Johnny. I reckon Saul Cundy killed Johnny and I reckon Saul be miles away by now. Leave things be awhile; then open the mine. There's many comes to see me still. I'll put it about that Hetty have been back, that she have been seen. What if it were to see Hetty, Johnny went to Plymouth, and Saul found out ... and caught 'em. Well, he knew there were no tin in the mine, why shouldn't he have killed 'em both and put their bodies down there?"

I was staring at her incredulously, and I thought: You make life go the way you want. That was her creed. Well, why not?

She seemed more vital than she had for a long time. She was not ready to die yet, not while she could be of help to me.

How I loved her! How I relied on her! When I was with her she made me feel that everything was possible.

"Granny," I said firmly, "I don't believe Johnny killed Hetty. It was an accident."

"It was an accident," she soothed. She understood. My Carlyon's father must not be a murderer.

Nor must he be suspected of being one.

It was like old times. We drew strength from each other. I knew that I was going to be free and at the same time we would make sure that there would be no danger of the taint of murder touching Carlyon.

We waited for a month. During that time I made a trip to St. Agnes to see if I could find out anything about Saul Cundy. He was not there; he had, I learned, been there for a few days but not to work. It was believed that he and his family had left the country for good, for they had disappeared completely and none knew where they had gone.

This was triumph indeed. I went back and told Granny.

"Don't wait no longer," she said. 'You're not one for waiting. I've not much time, and I'd like to see 'ee settled afore I go."

I shut myself in my bedroom. All the morning the experts had been at work. I had heard that safety must be ensured before the descent was made; a mine disused so long could present certain dangers—flooding, falls of earth, and other disasters. It would be a costly matter to discover whether or not the mine would be a business proposition.

Kim came riding over to the Dower House. I was glad that Mellyora was out with Carlyon. Daisy came up to tell me that he was downstairs, and I said I would shortly be with him. I looked at myself in the mirror.

I was a young woman, many would say in my prime. In my lavender morning dress with the lace at the throat and sleeves and the satin ribbons I was beautiful. Granny was right: being in love put a shine on one. My hair had more luster. I wore it piled high on my head; the brilliance of my eyes made them look bigger. I was pleased with myself as I went down to greet Kim; and I knew that perhaps this very day would prove me a free woman.

As I opened the door of the sitting room I saw him standing by the fireplace, legs apart, his hand in his pocket; there was a tender smile about his lips which I felt sure was for me.

He came towards me, took both my hands, his eyes smiling, faintly amused.

"Kerensa!" He even said my name as though it amused him.

"It was good of you to call."

He put his head on one side, and smiled. "You are amused?" I asked.

"Pleasantly so."

"I'm glad I can pleasantly amuse you."

He laughed and drew me to the window.

"What a noise they are making in the meadow today."

"Yes. At last they're getting to work."

"And the outcome means a lot to you, Kerensa."

I flushed, afraid for the moment that he knew the real reason. Kim's eyes seemed to have become more penetrating while he had been away, there was an air of wisdom about him which I found attractive but which alarmed me faintly.

"It's important that we should be able to work the mine again."

I summoned Daisy to bring wine and the special biscuits which had always been kept for visitors at the Abbas—a custom, like many others, which I had brought to the Dower House.

We sat at a small table sipping the wine, and looking round the room he said: "It's a warmer place than it was when I lived here. It's a strange feeling, Kerensa, to come back to a house that has been home to you and to find it is someone else's home, different furniture, different faces, different atmosphere... ."

"I always used to envy your living at the Dower House."

"I know. I saw it in your face. You had the most expressive face in the world, Kerensa. You could never hide your feelings."

"How alarming. I hope that's not the case now."

"Such scorn! Such pride! I never saw anyone so scornful nor so proud."

"I was an angry child."

"Poor Kerensa." He laughed. "I remember your standing in the wall ... the broken wall. The Seventh Virgin. Do you remember how taken we were with the story at that time."

"Yes. That was why I came to look."

"We all came. We all met there."

I saw it all clearly. Myself, Mellyora. Justin, Johnny and Kim.

"We teased you horribly, I'm afraid. We made you very angry. I can see you now ... turning to put out your tongue. I've never forgotten."

"I wish you had something more pleasant to remember!"

"There was Miss Carlyon at the ball. Magnificent in red velvet. And there was that night in the woods... . You see, Kerensa, I remember so much of the past. You and Mellyora at the ball! Mellyora having brought you without the knowledge of the hostess!" He laughed. "It made the ball for me. I'd always found them a bore. But that ball ... I've never forgotten. I've often laughed about the way Mellyora secured your invitation... ."

"We've always been like sisters."

"I'm glad of it." He looked into his glass and I thought: If I only knew that I was free. When he knows that I am free he will tell me he loves me.

He wanted to talk of the past. He made me tell him about the day I had stood up to be hired at Trelinket Fair and how Mellyora had come along and hired me. I went on to explain how sadly the Reverend Charles Martin had died and how we had found ourselves penniless.

"Neither Mellyora nor I could be separated, so I became the lady's maid and Mellyora the lady's drudge."

"Poor Mellyora!"

"Life was hard for both of us."

"But you would always be able to take care of yourself."

We laughed together.

It was his turn to talk. He spoke of the lonely life in the Dower House. He had been fond of his father but the fact that he was always away at sea had meant that he was left to the care of the servants.

"I never felt I had a real home, Kerensa."

"And you wanted a home?"

"I didn't know it, but I did. Who doesn't? The servants were kind to me ... but it wasn't the same. I was at the Abbas a great deal. I was fascinated by the place. I know how you felt about it ... because in a way I felt the same. There's something about it. Perhaps it's the legends that attach themselves to such houses that intrigue us? I used to say to myself, when I grow up I'm going to make a fortune, I'm going to live in a house like the Abbas. It wasn't so much that I wanted the house as all that went with it. I longed to be a member of a big family. You see, I'm a lonely man, Kerensa. Always have been, and my dream was to have a big family ... that would grow in all directions."

"You mean that you want to marry, have children, and be a grand old man ... with grandchildren and great-grandchildren always near you?"

I smiled for was this not my dream? Did I not see myself, the grand old lady of the Abbas? Now I pictured us together; Kim and myself, grown old. Serene and happy, we would watch our grandchildren at play. Then instead of looking forward I would be looking back ... back on a life which had given me all I had asked of it.

"It's not a bad ambition," he said almost sheepishly.

Then he told me how lonely it had been on the station; how he had longed for home. "And home, Kerensa, was all this ... the Abbas ... the people I had known."

I understood. I told myself his dream was mine.

We were interrupted by the return of Mellyora and Carlyon. Carlyon was laughing and shouting to her as they came across the lawn.

We both went to the window to watch them. I saw the smile on Kim's lips and I believed that he envied me my son.

It was later that day that Kim came riding over to the Dower House.

I saw him coming, and noticed the bewildered expression on his face. As he came into the hall I was waiting there for him.

"Kerensa." He strode towards me, took my hands and looked long into my face.

"Yes, Kim."

"I've bad news. Come into the drawing room and sit down."

"Tell me quickly, Kim. I can bear it."

"Where's Mellyora?"

"Never mind. Tell me now."

"Kerensa ..." He put his arm about me and I leaned against him, conscious of playing the weak woman, eager to lean on him because his concern for me was so sweet.

"Kim, you're keeping me in suspense. It's the mine, isn't it? It's no good."

He shook his head.

"Kerensa, you're going to be shocked... ."

"I must know, Kim. Don't you see ..."

He gripped my hands tightly. "They've made a discovery in the mine. They've found ..."

I lifted my eyes to his, trying to read the triumph behind the anxiety. I could see nothing but his concern for me.

"It's Johnny," he went on. "They've found Johnny."

I lowered my eyes. I gave a little cry. He led me to a sofa and sat there supporting me. I leaned against him; I wanted to cry out in triumph: I'm free!

Never had there been such excitement in St. Larnston. The bodies of Johnny and of Hetty Pengaster were found in the mine; and it was recalled that there had been whispers lately that Hetty Pengaster had been seen in Plymouth and even nearer to St. Larnston. People remembered that Johnny had once been sweet on her and that he had often gone to Plymouth. Hetty had left St. Larnston suddenly when he had married me. Well, what more natural than that Johnny should set her up in Plymouth to get her out of the way when he married?

It all seemed so simple. Saul Cundy had suspected, had lain in wait, had found Johnny and Hetty together, and had taken his revenge. Saul had always been one for justice, and he had made sure of it this time by taking the law into his own hands. Knowing there was no tin in the mine, because he was the one who had been down to see, he had felt it safe to throw his victims' bodies down there.

Hetty's body was only recognizable by a locket she was wearing and which the Pengasters identified as one Saul Cundy had given her; Johnny's was in a better state of preservation which was baffling for a while. Then a story was put forward that in falling, Johnny's body could have dislodged some earth which it had carried to the bottom of the shaft with it and thus could have become partially sealed off. This was generally accepted and the difference thus explained.

The investigations went on. The police wanted to interview Saul Cundy and went to St. Agnes to look for him, but when he could not be traced and it seemed he had left the country, his destination unknown, this strengthened the conjecture, and the story the villagers had pieced together was accepted as the true one.

It was an anxious period while the search for Saul went on; but as time went by it seemed more and more certain that he would never be found.

No one would ever know the truth—although Granny and I could make a fair guess at it. But even we did not know whether or not Johnny had killed Hetty. Indirectly, I suppose he was responsible, but we could not say whether he had actually sent her to her death. We were certain that Saul had killed Johnny. His discovery of Hetty's body and his flight both pointed to it.

But the secret was safe. My Carlyon could never be called the son of a murderer.

There was not enough tin in the mine to make the working of it a profitable proposition; but the mine had given me what I wanted. It had proved that I was a widow and free to marry the man I loved.

On the day Granny heard the news she seemed to grow suddenly weaker. It was as though she had done her work, had seen the results she looked for, and was ready to go in peace.

A terrible sadness came to me, for no matter what joy or happiness was mine I believed it could never be complete for me if I lost her.

I spent the last days with her. Essie made me very welcome and Joe was glad to have me there too. Carlyon was with him, and as I did not wish him to be in the sickroom he spent all his time with Joe.

I remember the last afternoon of Granny's life.

I sat by her bed and the tears were on my cheeks—I, who could not remember crying, except in anger.

"Don't grieve, my sweet Granddaughter," she said. "Don't mourn for me when I am gone. For I'd as lief you forgot me for evermore than remembering me should make you grieve."

"Oh, Granny," I cried, "how could I ever forget you?"

"Then remember the happy times, child."

"Happy times. What happy times can there be for me when you are gone?"

"You're too young to want your life linked with an old woman's. I've had my day and you'll have yours. There'll be happiness and pleasure ahead of you, Kerensa. Tis yours. Take it. Keep it. You've had your lesson, girl. Learn it well."

"'Granny," I said, "don't leave me. How can I get along without you?"

"Is this my Kerensa speaking? My Kerensa, who be ready to fight the world?"

"With you, Granny—not alone. We've always been together. You can't leave me now."

"Listen, lovey. You ain't got no need of me. You love a man and that's how it should be. There's a time when the birds leave the nest. They fly alone. Ye've a strong pair of wings, Kerensa. I hain't feared for you. You've flown high but you'll fly higher. You'll do what's good and right now. Your life be all before you. Don't fret, my sweetheart, I be glad to go. I'll be with my Pedro, for some says as we live on after death. I didn't always believe it but I want to believe it now . , . and, like most, I believes as I wants. Now don't 'ee weep, my sweet one. I must go and you must stay, but I leave 'ee happy. You're free, my love. There's the man of your heart awaiting for ee. Never ee mind where you be, as long as you be together. Don't fret for poor old Granny Bee when you have the man you love."

"Granny, I want you to live and be with us. I want you to know our children. I can t lose you ... because something tells me it'll never be the same without you."

"Ah, there was a time when you were so proud and happy when you was first Mrs. St. Larnston... . Then I don't think 'ee had a thought in the world save playing the lady. Well, lovey, now, you'll be the same again, only this time it won't be for a house and the sake of being a fine lady, it'll be for love of your man—and there hain't no happiness in the world to compare with that. Now, my dear, there be little time left to us, so we should say what should be said. Unbind my hair, Kerensa."

"It would disturb you. Granny."

"Nay, unbind it, I say. I want to feel it round my shoulders."

I obeyed.

"Still black it be. Though I've been too tired of late for the treatment. Yours must stay the same, Kerensa. You must stay beautiful, for he loves you partly for that. The cottage be just as I left it, hain't it"

"Yes, Granny," I said, for it was true. When she had gone to live with Essie and Joe, she had been anxious to keep her cottage. In the beginning she had gone there often and still used her herbs there to make her concoctions. Later she had sent Essie to get what she wanted or sometimes she had asked me to call in for it.

I had never liked going to the cottage. I had hated my memories of the old days because one of my greatest desires had been to forget I had ever lived in humble conditions. It had been necessary, I had told myself, if I were to play my role of great lady with success.

"Then go there, my dear, and in the comer cupboard you will find my comb and mantilla which be yours and there'll be, too, the recipe for your hair that'll keep it black and glossy all the days of your life. Tis easy to make, with the proper herbs; look, my love, there's never a gray hair, old as I be! Promise me you'll go there, lovey?"

"I promise."

"And I want ye to promise something else, my darling child. Not to grieve. Remember what I said. There comes a time when the leaves wither on the trees; and I be but a poor brown leaf about to fall."

I buried my face in her pillow and began to sob.

She stroked my hair and like a child I implored her to comfort me.

But death was in the room and it had come for Granny Bee; and there was no power in her, no ready potion to hold off death.

She died that night; and when I went to her the next morning she looked so peaceful lying there, her face grown younger, her black hair neatly braided, like a woman who is ready to go in peace because her wort is done.

It was Kim, with Carlyon and Mellyora, who comforted me after the death of Granny Bee. They all did their best to rouse me from my melancholy; and I was comforted because during those days I became certain that Kim loved me; and I believed that he was waiting until I had recovered from the shock of the discovery of Johnny's body and the death of Granny.

I would find him and Mellyora talking together about me, planning how to divert my thoughts from recent events. As a result we were often entertained at the Abbas and Kim was frequently at the Dower House. There was never a day when we did not meet.

Carlyon did his best, too. He had always been gentle, but during those days he was my constant companion; among the three of them I felt surrounded by love.

Autumn had set in with the usual southwest gales and the trees were being rapidly denuded of their leaves. Only the stubby firs bent and swayed in the wind and glistened as brightly green as ever; the hedges were draped with spiders' webs and on the narrow threads the dewdrops glistened like crystal beads.

The wind dropped and the mist drifted in from the coast. It hung in patches that afternoon when I went along to Granny's cottage.

I had promised her that I would go and find the formula which she had been so anxious for me to have; I would take it with the mantilla and comb and cherish them in memory of her. Joe had said that we ought not to allow the cottage to stand idle. We should put it in good order and let it Why not? I thought. It was pleasant to own a little property, however small, and the cottage which had been built in a night by Grandfather Bee was of some sentimental value.

The cottage, being some little distance from the rest in the village and surrounded by its little copse of fir trees, had always seemed to stand apart. I was glad of that now.

I was steeling myself because I had not visited the cottage since Granny's death and I knew it was going to be a painful experience.

I must try to remember her words. I must try to do what she would want. That was forget the past; not to brood; to live happily and wisely as she would have wanted me to.

Perhaps it was the stillness of the afternoon; perhaps it was my mission; but I suddenly had a feeling of uneasiness, a strange awareness that I was not alone; that somewhere, not far off someone was watching me ... with evil intentions.

Perhaps I heard a sound in that still afternoon; perhaps I had been too deep in my thoughts to recognize it as a footfall; but nevertheless I had an uneasy feeling that I was being followed and my heart began to beat fast.

"Is anyone there?" I called.

I listened. Absolute stillness all about me.

I laughed at myself. I was forcing myself to visit the cottage which I did not want to do. I was afraid, not of something evil, but of my own memories.

I hurried on to the cottage and let myself in. Because of that sudden scare in the copse I drew the heavy bolt. I stood leaning against the door looking about me at those familiar cob walls. The talfat where I had spent so many nights! What a happy place that had seemed during my first days in the cottage when I had brought Joe to find a refuge with Granny.

The tears were blinding me. I should not have come so soon.

I would try to be sensible. I had always been impatient of sentiment and here was I weeping. Was this the girl who had forced her way from the cottage to the big house? Was this the girl who had refused Mellyora the man she loved?

But you are not crying for others, I told myself. You are drying for yourself.

I went into the storehouse and found the formula as Granny had said I would. The ceiling was damp. If the cottage were to be lived in, that would have to be repaired. No doubt there would have to be certain renovations. I had an idea of building on to it, making it a pleasant little house.

Then suddenly I stood very still because I was sure that the latch of the door was being tried ... stealthily.

When you have lived in a house for many years you know all its sounds —the creak of the talfat with its own special creak, the floorboard which is loose, the peculiar sound of the latch being lifted, the creak of the door.

If someone was outside why did he ... or she .. . not knock? Why did they try the door so stealthily?

I left the storehouse and came into the cottage room and went swiftly to the door and waited there for the latch to move. Nothing happened. And then suddenly the window was momentarily darkened. I, who knew that cottage so well, was instantly aware that someone was standing there looking in.

I did not move. I was terrified. My knees had begun to tremble and a cold sweat was on my skin, though I did not know why I should have been so frightened.

Why did I not run to the window and look for whoever was peering in? Why did I not shout as I had in the copse? Who is there?

I could not say then. I could only stand cowering against the door.

The room was suddenly light and I knew that whoever had been looking in at the window was there no longer.

I was very frightened. I did not know why, because I was not timid by nature. I must have stood there not daring to move for what seemed like ten minutes, but it could not have been more than two. I was clutching the formula, the comb and the mantilla as though they were a talisman which could protect me from evil.

"Granny," I was whispering, "help me. Granny."

It was almost as though her spirit was there in the cottage, as though she were telling me to pull myself together, to be my old brave self.

Who could have followed me here? I asked myself. Who could want to harm me?

Mellyora for ruining her life? As if Mellyora would ever harm anyone.

Johnny? Because he had married me when he need not have done. Hetty? Because he had married me when it was so important that he should marry her.

I was afraid of ghosts!

This was nonsensical. I opened the door of the cottage and stepped out. There was no one in sight.

I called: "Is anyone there? Does anyone want me?"

No answer. I locked the door hastily and ran through the copse to the road.

I did not feel safe until I came within sight of the Dower House; but as I crossed the lawn I saw that there was a fire in the drawing room and Kim had called.

Mellyora and Carlyon were with him; they were all talking animatedly.

I rapped on the window and they all looked towards me—pleasure apparent in their faces.

As I joined them by the fire I was able to tell myself that I had imagined the uncanny episode in the cottage.

The weeks began to pass. It was for me a time of waiting—and there were times when I believed Kim felt the same. Often I fancied he was on the point of speaking to me. Carlyon had become his friend, although no one could replace Joe in Carlyon's affections and esteem. But he was allowed to make free with the Abbas stables and for him it was as though he still lived there. That was how Kim wanted it to be and this attitude gave me a great deal of pleasure because it seemed an indication of his intentions. Haggety had come back to his old position and Mrs. Salt and her daughter followed. It then seemed as though we had merely moved into the Dower House for convenience and that the Abbas was as much our home as ever.

We were like a cozy family—Kim and myself, Carlyon and Mellyora. And I was the center of it because they were concerned for me.

One morning Haggety brought me a note from Kim. He stood waiting while I read it because he told me there would be an answer.

My dear Kerensa,

I have something to say to you. I have been meaning to say it for some time but in the circumstances thought you would not yet be ready to make a decision. If it is too soon, you must forgive me and we will forget about it for a while. Where can we talk best? Here at the Abbas, or would you prefer me to come over to the Dower House? Would three this afternoon suit you?

Affectionately, Kim.

I was jubilant. Now! I said to myself. This is the moment. And I knew that nothing in my life had ever been so important to me. It should be at the Abbas, I decided—that place of destiny. Haggety stood by me while I wrote:

Dear Kim,

Thank you for your note. I am most interested to hear what you have to say and should like to come to the Abbas at three o'clock this afternoon.

Kerensa.

As Haggety took the note and went out, I wondered if he, Mrs. Rolt, and the Salts were discussing me and Kim; I wondered whether they were laughing together, telling themselves that there would soon be a new mistress at the Abbas—the old mistress.

I went to my room and studied my reflection. I did not look like a woman who had recently heard that her husband had been murdered. My eyes were brilliant; there was the faintest color in my cheeks—rare with me, but how becoming as it went well with the shine in my eyes. It was now only eleven o'clock. In a short time Mellyora and Carlyon would come in from their walk. They must not guess how excited I was, so I should have to be careful during luncheon.

I decided what I would wear. A pity I was in mourning. One should not be in mourning when one received a proposal of marriage. Yet I should have to make a pretense of mourning for one year; the marriage could not take place before that was out. A year since Johnny's death or discovery?

What would be expected of me. Was I supposed to endure a year of widowhood? I would count from the night Johnny had disappeared.

What a gay widow I should be. But I must hide my happiness, as I had managed to do successfully so far. No one had guessed how joyful I was when they had found Johnny's body.

A touch of white on my black dress? What about the lavender silk? It was half mourning; and if I covered it with a black coat and wore my black bonnet with the flowing widow's weeds, I could remove cloak and bonnet while I took tea—for surely I should take tea. We would make our plans over the tea table. I would pour the tea as though I were already the mistress of the house.

The lavender, I decided. No one would see it. I would go across the meadow from the Dower House to the Abbas, past the Virgins and the old mine. Now that the mine was proved to be useless we would have all sign of it removed, I decided. It would be dangerous for our children.

At luncheon both Carlyon and Mellyora noticed the change in me.

"I have never seen you look so well," Mellyora told me.

"You look as though you've been given something you wanted for a long time," added Carlyon. "Have you. Mamma?"

"I haven't received any presents this morning if that's what you mean."

"I thought perhaps you had," he told me. "And I wondered what."

"You're settling in," added Mellyora. "You're coming to terms with life."

"What terms?" asked Carlyon.

"It means that she likes things as they are."

When I come back, they will know, I thought.

As soon as luncheon was over I put on the lavender silk and dressed my hair very carefully, using the Spanish comb. That added to my height and made me look regal—a worthy chatelaine of the Abbas. I wanted him to be proud of me. I couldn't wear the bonnet because of the comb, so I put on my cloak which adequately covered my gown and was ready. I was early. I must wait, so I sat by the window and looked out to where I could just see the tower of the Abbas through the trees and I knew that it was where I wanted to be more than anywhere else in the world—there with Kim and the future.

Granny was right; I had learned my lesson. To be in love was the very meaning of existence. And I was in love—not with a house this time, but with a man. If Kim had said he wanted to wander round the world, if he had said that he wanted me to return with him to Australia, I should have done so ... willingly. I should have felt a nostalgia for the Abbas all through my life, but I should not have wanted to return to it without my family.

But there was no need to think of that. Life was offering me perfection in Kim and the Abbas.

At last I could leave. It was a mild afternoon and an autumnal sun made the feathery branches of the firs glisten. Being in love heightened the senses, every one. Never had the earth seemed to offer so much—the rich scent of pines, grass and damp soil; the warmth of the sun was caressing, so was the faint southwest breeze which seemed to carry exotic smells from over the sea. I was in love with life that afternoon as I never had been before.

I must not be too early; so I went into the meadow to stand within that ring of stones which had somehow made themselves a symbol in my life. They had loved life too but they were the unwise virgins. They were like butterflies awakened to the sun; they had danced too madly in its rays and had dropped to death. Turned into stone. Poor sad creatures. But it was the absent one—the seventh—who always took first place in my thoughts when I stood here.

Then I thought of myself standing in the wall and all of us being gathered there. It was like the start of a drama ... all the main characters gathered together. Some of the actors had found tragedy, others happiness ever after. Poor Johnny who had met a violent death; Justin who had chosen to shut himself away; Mellyora who had been buffeted by fate because she had not been strong enough to fight for what she wanted; and Kerensa and Kim, who would give the story its happy ending.

I prayed then that my marriage would be fruitful. I had my beloved son and I would have others—Kim's and mine. For Carlyon there would be the title and the Abbas, for he was a St. Larnston and the Abbas had been the property of the St. Larnstons as long as anyone could remember; but I would plan brilliant futures for the sons and daughters Kim and I would have.

I went across the lawns to the Abbas.

I stood in the great portico and rang the bell. Haggety appeared.

"Good afternoon, Ma'am. Mr. Kimber is waiting for you in the library."

Kim came towards me as I entered. I could sense his excitement. He took my cloak and he showed no surprise to see that I had discarded my mourning. He was looking at my face, not at my gown.

"Shall we talk first and have tea after?" he asked. "There'll be a good deal to discuss."

"Yes, Kim," I answered eagerly. "Let's talk now."

He slipped his arm through mine and led me to the window where we stood side by side looking out across the lawns. I could see the ring of stones in the meadow, and I thought this was the perfect setting for his proposal.

"I've been thinking a great deal about this, Kerensa," he said, "and if I've spoken too soon after your tragedy ... you must forgive me."

"Please Kim," I told him earnestly, "I am ready to hear what you have to say."

He still hesitated; then he went on: "I knew a great deal about this place in the past. You know I used to spend most of my school holidays here. Justin was my greatest friend and I think the family took pity on a lonely boy. I often went round the estate with Justin's father. He used to say that he wished his own sons had my interest in the place."

I nodded. Neither Justin nor Johnny had given the Abbas the care it deserved. Justin would never have retreated as he did if he had really loved the place. As for Johnny, to him it merely meant the provision of funds with which to gamble.

"I used to wish that it could be mine. Tm telling you all this because I want you to know that I am very much aware of the state into which it has fallen. A big estate like this soon begins to suffer without the proper attention. It hasn't had that care for a long time. It needs capital and hard work ... I could give it what it needs. I have the capital but most of all I have love for it. Do you understand me, Kerensa?"

"Completely. I have been aware of all this. The Abbas needs a man ... a strong man ... who understands it and loves it and is ready to devote time to it."

"I'm that man. I can save the Abbas. If something isn't done, it will fall into decay. Did you know that the walls need attention, that there is dry rot in one wing, that the woodwork needs replenishing in a score of places? Kerensa, I want to buy the Abbas. I know this is a matter for the lawyers. I don't quite know yet what Justin's position is, but I wanted to talk with you first to know how you feel about it, because I know you love the house. I know you would be very sad to see it become derelict. I want your permission to start negotiations. How do you feel, Kerensa?"

How did I feel! I had come to hear a proposal of marriage and was confronted by a business proposition.

I looked into his face. It was flushed, and in his eyes was a faraway look as though he was not aware of this room nor of me, as though he were looking into the future.

I said slowly: "I had thought the place would one day be Carlyon's. He will inherit the tide if Justin does not marry and have a son—and that is scarcely likely now. This is a little unexpected... ."

He took my hand and my heart leaped with sudden hope. He said: "I'm a tactless fool, Kerensa. I should have broached the matter differently ... not blurted it out like this. I've all sorts of schemes going round and round in my head. It's not possible to explain everything to you now ..."

It was enough. I believed I understood. This was only the beginning of a plan. He would buy the Abbas and then ask me to be its mistress.

"Fm a bit dull-witted just now, Kim," I said. "I loved Granny so much and without her ..."

"My dearest Kerensa! You must never feel lost and lonely. You know Tm here to look after you ... I ... Mellyora, Carlyon... ."

I turned to him and laid my hand on his coat; he took it and kissed it swiftly. It was enough. I knew. I had always been impatient. I wanted everything settled as soon as I knew how much I desired it.

Of course it was too soon to ask me yet. That was what Kim was telling me. First he would buy the Abbas; he would put it in order; and when it was restored to its old dignity he would ask me to be its mistress.

I said gently: "Kim, I am sure you are right. The Abbas needs you. Please go ahead with your plans. I am certain that it is the best thing that can happen to the Abbas ... and to us all."

He was delighted. I thought for one glorious moment that he was going to embrace me. He desisted however and cried happily: "Shall we ring for tea?"

"I will." I did so and he stood smiling at me.

Mrs. Rolt answered the bell. "Tea please, Mrs. Rolt," he said, "for Mrs. St. Larnston and me."

And when it was brought it was like having come home. I sat at the round table, pouring out from the silver teapot just as I had imagined myself doing. The only difference was that I would not be engaged to marry Kim until after a suitable lapse of time.

But I was certain that it was only a postponement, that he had made his intentions clear; and all I had to do was be patient until my dreams became realities.

Kim was going to buy the Abbas and the St. Larnston estate. It was a complicated negotiation but while we were waiting for it to be finalized he was going ahead with certain repairs.

He never failed to consult me about these, which meant that there were many meetings between us. Afterwards Mellyora and Carlyon would join us at the Abbas—usually for tea—or he would come back with me to the Dower House. Those were pleasant days—each one shortening the period of waiting.

There were workmen in the Abbas and one day when Kim took me round to show me what work was in progress I saw Reuben Pengaster working there.

I felt sorry for Reuben and all the Pengasters because I guessed what a blow it was to them when Hetty's body had been found; Doll had told Daisy that Farmer Pengaster had shut himself into his bedroom for three days and nights without a mite passing his lips when he had heard the news. It had been a house of mourning. I knew that Reuben had loved his sister dearly, but when I saw him working at the Abbas he looked happier than he had appeared to be for some time.

He was planing wood and his jaw was shaking as though he were enjoying a secret joke.

"How's it progressing, Reuben?" asked Kim.

"Pretty good, sir, I reckon."

His eyes slewed round to me and his smile was almost radiant.

"Good afternoon, Reuben," I said.

"Good afternoon to 'ee. Ma'am."

Kim started to explain to me what was happening and we moved off. Then I remembered that I wanted certain renovations done at the cottage and I mentioned this to Kim.

"Ask Reuben to go along and give you an estimate. He'll be pleased to."

I went back to Reuben.

"I want some repairs done to the cottage, Reuben," I said.

"Oh ay!" He went on planing but I could see that he was pleased.

"Could you come along and have a look?"

"Oh ay," he said.

"I'm thinking of building on to the cottage to make it into a small house. The foundations are good. Do you think that would be possible?"

"Reckon so. I'd have to have a good look like."

"Well, will you come along sometime?"

He stopped work and scratched his head.

"When would 'ee like me to. Ma'am. After I've finished work here tomorrow?"

"That would be excellent."

"Well then ... six o'clock like."

"It'll be getting dark. You'd want to see it in daylight."

He scratched his head again. "Reckon I could be there at five. That'd give us an hour of daylight, eh?"

"All right then, Reuben, five o'clock tomorrow ... at the cottage. I'll be there."

"Very good. Ma'am."

He went back to his work, his jaw wagging with the secret mirth.

It showed he was not fretting, and I was glad. Reuben was simple and Hetty had been away so long; he had probably forgotten what she looked like.

I rejoined Kim.

"Well," he asked, "have you made your appointment?"

"Yes, he seemed pleased about it."

"Reuben's happiest when he's working."

Kim looked at his watch. "Let's get back to the library. Mellyora and Carlyon will be here in a few minutes."

As I made my way to the cottage I remembered the last occasion when I had visited it and I felt a return of my uneasiness.

As I entered the copse I kept looking over my shoulder, fancying that I might be followed. I was in good time. I should be there exactly at five o'clock, I hoped Reuben would be punctual. Once he arrived, my fancies would be dispersed.

I had never before regretted the isolation of our cottage, but welcomed it. But when Granny was there everything had seemed so safe. For a moment I was overcome by sadness and a knowledge that the world would never be quite the same for me now that Granny had left it.

The cottage seemed different. Once it had been refuge and home; now it was four cob walls, isolated from the other cottages, a place where the latch could be alarmingly hfted, where a shadow could appear at the window.

I reached the door and unlocking it, stepped inside, glancing anxiously about me. The cottage had always been dark because of the smallness of the window. I wished that I had waited for a bright morning to ask Reuben here. Still, I should be able to show him what I wanted done, I supposed, and that was all that was necessary at this stage.

Hastily I looked round the cottage and went into the storehouse to assure myself that no one was hiding there. I laughed at myself; but all the same I locked the door.

I had convinced myself that it was probably some gypsy or tramp who had tried the door and looked in at the window on that other occasion, perhaps seeking some place to return to at night to use for a shelter. Finding the door locked and seeing someone there, the intruder had rapidly retired.

I examined the ceiling of the storehouse. It certainly needed attention. If I had more rooms built on—perhaps preserving the main room with its talfat—I should have quite an interesting place.

My heart leaped in terror. It was the same as before. Someone was lifting the latch. I ran to the door and as I leaned against it there was the shadow at the window.

I stared. Then I began to laugh. "Reuben!" I cried. "So it's you. Wait a moment, I'll let you in."

I was laughing with relief as he stepped into the cottage—pleasant, familiar Reuben, not a sinister stranger.

"Well," I said briskly, "it's not the best time of day for our business."

"Oh, it be a good enough time of day, Ma'am."

"Well, perhaps for our purpose. You'll have to come again one morning. You see there'll be lots of repairs needed ... but I'm thinking of building on. We'll have a plan. There's one thing I do want though ... this room must be left just as it is. I always wanted it to remain like this ... with the old talfat round the wall. You see, Reuben?"

He was watching me as I talked but he said: "Oh, I do see. Ma'am."

"We'll build up and on. I don't see why we shouldn't have a nice little house here. It'll mean cutting some of the trees down. That's a pity but we shall need extra ground."

"Oh yes, Ma'am," he said. He didn't move but stood still, looking at me.

"Well," I went on, "shall we take a look round while there is some daylight? There's not much left, I'm afraid."

"There's none left for our Hetty," he said.

I turned and glanced at him sharply. His face was puckered and he looked as if he were about to weep. "Tis long since her have seen the light of day," he went on.

"I'm sorry," I said gently. "It was terrible. I can't tell you how sorry I am.

"I be going to tell ye how sorry I be. Ma'am."

"We must make the most of the light. It'll soon be dark."

"Ay," he said, "it'll soon be dark for 'ee like it is for our Hetty." Something in his voice, something in the manner in which he kept looking at me, began to alarm me. I remembered that Reuben was unbalanced; I remembered that occasion when I had seen him exchange a glance with Hetty in the Pengaster kitchen after he had killed a cat. I remembered too that the cottage was lonely, that no one knew I was here; and I remembered that other occasion when I had been alone and frightened in this cottage and I wondered if it were Reuben who had followed me here then.

"Now the roof?" I said briskly. "What do you think of the roof?" For a second he looked up. "Reckon something'd have to be done to the roof."

"Look here, Reuben," I said. "It was a mistake to come at this time. It's not even a bright day which would have helped. What I am going to do is give you the key of the cottage and I want you to come one morning and make a thorough examination of the place. When you have done that, you can give me a report and I'll decide what we can do. Is that all right?" He nodded.

"Fm afraid it's too dark to do anything now. There was never much light here on the sunniest day. But morning will be best."

"Oh no," said Reuben. "Now is the best. The hour have struck. This be the time."

I tried to ignore that and moved towards the door. "Well, Reuben?" I murmured.

But he was before me, barring my way.

"I do want to tell 'ee," he began.

"Yes, Reuben."

"I do want to tell 'ee about our Hetty."

"Some other time, Reuben."

His eyes were suddenly angry. "Now," he said.

"What then?"

"Her be cold and dead, our Hetty." His face puckered. "She were pretty ... like a little bird, our Hetty were. Tweren't right. He did belong to marry her, and you made him marry you instead. Can t do naught about that. Saul took care of 'em."

"It's over now, Reuben," I whispered soothingly and I tried to pass him; but still he stopped me.

"I mind," he said, "when the wall did fall. I did see her. There one minute she were ... and the next no more. She reminded me of someone."

"Perhaps you didn't really see anything, Reuben," I said, glad that he had stopped talking of Hetty and spoke instead of the Seventh Virgin.

"She were there one minute," he muttered, "and she were gone the next. If I hadn't taken away the stones her'd be there to this day. Walled up her were, all on account of her terrible sin. Her did lie with a man, and her taken holy vows! And she'd be there now ... but for I!"

"It was no fault of yours, Reuben. And she was dead. It didn't matter that she was disturbed when she was dead."

"All along a me," he said. "She had a look of someone ..."

"Who?" I asked faintly.

His crazy eyes looked full into my face. "She had a look of you," he said.

"No, Reuben, you imagined it."

He shook his head. "Her sinned," he said. "You sinned. Our Hetty sinned. She paid ... but you didn't."

"You mustn't worry, Reuben," I urged, trying to speak calmly, "you must try and forget all about that. It's over. Now I must go."

"No," he said, "l^ain't over yet. "Twill be ... but not yet."

"Well, don't worry any more, Reuben."

"I hain't worried," he answered, "for twill soon be done."

"That's all right then. I'll say good night. You can keep the key. It's on the table there."

I tried to smile, straining every effort. I must dash past him; I must run. I would go to Kim and tell him that what we had always feared about Reuben was happening. The tragedy of his sister's disappearance and the discovery of her body had sent his poor brain tottering. Reuben was no longer slightly, but completely mad.

"I'll take the key," he said and as he glanced at the table I took a step to the door. But he was beside me and when I felt his fingers on my arm, I was immediately aware of his strength,

"Don't 'ee go," he commanded.

"I must, Reuben. They'll be waiting for me ... expecting me... "

"Others be waiting," he said. "Others be expecting."

"They," he said. "Hetty and her ... her in the wall."

"Reuben, you don't know what you're saying."

"I do know what I have to do. I've promised 'un."

"Who? When?"

"I've said, Hetty don't 'ee worry my little 'un. You've been done wrong. He'd have married you stead of murdering you, but there was 'er you see... . She'd come out of the wall and she'd done you harm and I were the one as let her out. She be bad ... she do belong to be back in the wall. Don't 'ee worry. You'll be at peace."

"Reuben, I'm going now... ."

He shook his head. "You going where you belong to be. I'm taking 'ee."

"Where's that?"

He put his face close to mine and began to laugh that horrible laughter which would haunt me for the rest of my life. "You do know, m'dear, where you belong to be."

"Reuben," I said, "you followed me here to the cottage before this."

"Aye," he said. "You did lock yourself in. But twouldn't have done. I weren't ready. I had to be ready. I be ready now... ."

"Ready for what?"

He smiled and again that laughter filled the cottage.

"Let me go, Reuben," I pleaded.

"I'll let 'ee go, my little lady. I'll let 'ee go to where 'ee do belong to be. Tain't here ... in this cottage. Tain't on this earth. I be going to put 'ee back where you was when I disturbed 'ee."

"Reuben, listen to me, please. You've misunderstood. You didn't see anyone in the wall. You imagined it because of the stories ... and if you did, she had nothing to do with us."

"I let 'ee out," he said. "It were a terrible thing to do. Look what 'ee did to our Hetty."

"I did nothing to Hetty. Whatever happened to her was due to what she did herself."

"She were like a little bird ... a little homing pigeon."

"Listen, Reuben... ."

"Tain t time for listening. I have your little nest all awaiting for ee. There you'll rest, cozy like you was till I disturbed 'ee. And then you can't hurt no one no more ... and I can tell Hetty what I done."

"Hetty's dead. You can't tell her anything."

His face puckered suddenly. "Our Hetty's dead," he murmured. "Our little homing bird be dead. And he's dead. Saul see to that. Saul always said there be one law for them and one for the likes of we ... and he was one to see justice done. Well, so be I. Tis for you, Hetty. Don't 'ee fret no more. She be going back where she do belong."

As he released me, I moved towards the door but there was no escape. I heard his laughter filling the cottage and I saw his hands—his strong capable hands; I felt them about my throat ... pressing out the life.

The cold night air revived me. I felt sick and ill and there was a pain in my throat. My limbs were cramped and I was fighting for my breath.

Enveloped in darkness as I was, I became aware of jolting uncomfortably; I tried to cry out but no sound came. I knew I was being carried somewhere, for every now and then a pain would jerk through my body. I tried to move my arms but I could not and the sudden understanding came to me that they were tied behind my back.

Memory returned. The sound of Reuben's laughter; the sight of his half-crazed face near my own; the gloom of the cottage which had for so long been my home and my refuge; the horror that had turned it into a sinister place.

I was being taken somewhere and Reuben was taking me. I was trussed up and helpless like an animal being taken to the slaughterhouse.

Where am I going? I asked myself.

But I knew.

I must shout for help. I must let Kim know that I was in the hands of a madman. I knew what he was going to do. In his crazy mind he had identified me with a vision—real or imaginary, who could say?—and to him I was the Seventh Virgin of St. Larnston.

This could not be so. I had imagined it. This could not happen to me.

I tried to call Kim, but there was only a strangled sound and I realized that my body was covered by a piece of rough substance, probably sacking.

We had come to a halt. The covering was removed and I was looking up at the stars. So it was night and I knew where I was, for now I could see the walled garden, and the wall ... as it had been on that day when we had all been there together, Mellyora, Johnny, Justin, Kim and me. And now I was here alone ... alone with a madman.

I heard his low laughter, that horrible laughter which would always be with me.

He had wheeled me close to the wall. What had happened to it? There was the hole as there had been on that other occasion; there was the hollow.

He had dragged me out of the wheelbarrow in which he had brought me from the cottage; I could hear his heavy breathing as he forced me into the hollow.

"Reuben ... !" I breathed. "No ... for God's sake, Reuben... "

"I feared 'ee'd be dead," he said. "Twouldn't have been right. I be powerful glad you be alive still."

I tried to speak, to plead with him. I tried to call. My bruised throat felt constricted and although I exerted all my will I could not produce a sound.

I was there ... standing there as I had stood that day. He was but a dark shadow and as though from far off I heard him laugh. I saw the brick in his hand and I knew what he was going to do.

As I fainted I thought suddenly; All that I have done has brought me to this, just as all that she did brought her to this same spot. We had trod a similar path, but I had not known it. I had thought I could make life go as I wanted it ... but so perhaps had she.

Through a haze of pain and doubt I heard a voice, a well-loved voice. "Good God!" it said. And then: "Kerensa, Kerensa!" I was lifted in a pair of arms, tenderly, compassionately. "My poor, poor Kerensa... ."

It was Kim who had come for me. Kim who had saved; Kim who was carrying me in his arms from the darkness of death into the Abbas.

I was ill for several weeks. They kept me at the Abbas and Mellyora was there to look after me.

It had been a terrible ordeal, far worse than at first I realized; each night I would wake in a sweat dreaming I was standing within the hollowed wall while devils feverishly worked to build me in.

Mellyora came over to nurse me, and was with me night and day.

One night I woke and sobbed in her arms.

"Mellyora," I said, "I deserved to die for I have sinned."

"Hush," she soothed. "You must not think such things."

"But I have ... as deeply as she did. More so. She broke her vows. I broke mine. I broke the vows of friendship, Mellyora."

"You have had bad dreams."

"Bad dreams of a bad life."

"You have had a terrible experience. There is no need to be afraid."

"Sometimes I think Reuben is in the room, that I shout and no one hears."

"They have taken him away to Bodmin. He has been ill for a long time. Gradually getting worse..."

"Since Hetty went?"

"Yes."

"How was it Kim was there to save mer""

"Because he had seen that the wall had been tampered with. He spoke to Reuben about it and Reuben said it had collapsed again. He said that he'd have it put right the next day. But Kim couldn't understand why it should have collapsed when it had been rebuilt not so long ago ... oh you remember when ... we were children."

"I remember well," I told her. "We were all there together... ."

"We all remember," Mellyora answered. "Then you didn't come home and I went to Kim ... naturally."

"Yes," I said gently, "naturally you went to Kim."

"I knew you'd gone to the cottage, so we went there first. It was unlocked and the door was wide open. Kim was frightened then. He ran on ... because Reuben had said something strange to him about Hetty ... and the idea must have come to him... ."

"He guessed what Reuben was going to do"

"He guessed something strange was happening and we might find out at the wall. Thank God, Kerensa."

"And Kim," I murmured.

Then I began to think of all I owned to him. Joe's life probably and Joe's present happiness; my life; my future happiness.

Kim, I thought, soon we shall be together and everything that has gone before v^ be forgotten. There will only be the future for us—for me and for you, my Kim.

I woke in the night, sobbing. I had had a bad dream. I was standing on the stairs with Mellyora and she was holding out the toy elephant to me.

I was saying: "It was this which killed her. You are free now, Mellyora ... free."

I awoke and saw Mellyora standing beside me, her fair hair in two plaits; thick and glistening, they looked like golden ropes.

"Mellyora," I said.

"It's all right. It was nothing but a bad dream."

"These dreams ... is there no escape from them?"

"They will pass when you remember that they are only dreams."

"But they are part of the past, Mellyora. Oh you don't know. I have been wicked, I'm afraid."

"Now, Kerensa, stop saying such things."

"Confession is good for the soul, they say. Mellyora I want to confess."

"To me?"

"It is you whom I have wronged."

"I shall give a sedative and you must try to sleep."

"I will sleep better with a light conscience. I must tell you, Mellyora. I must tell you about the day Judith died. It was not as everyone believed. I know how she died."

"You have had bad dreams, Kerensa."

"Yes, that is why I must tell you. You will not forgive me ... not deep in your heart although you will say you will. I kept silent when I should have spoken. I spoilt your life, Mellyora."

"What are you saying? You must not excite yourself. Come take this and try to sleep."

"Listen to me. Judith tripped. Do you remember Nelly ... the elephant, Carlyon's toy elephant?"

She looked alarmed. Clearly she thought I was wandering.

"Do you?" I persisted.

"But of course. It's still about somewhere."

"Judith tripped over it. The scar ..."

Her brow was furrowed.

"The tear," I went on. "You mended it. Judith's heel made that. It was lying on the stairs and she tripped over it. I hid the elephant first because I didn't want Carlyon blamed and then ... afterwards because I thought that if it were proved to have been an accident Justin would never have gone away; he would have married you; you would have had a son who would have had everything—everything that I wanted for Carlyon."

Silence in the room. Only the sound of the clock ticking on the mantelshelf. The dead silence of the Abbas by night. Somewhere in this house Kim was sleeping. Carlyon, too.

"Did you hear me, Mellyora?" I asked.

"Yes," she said quietly.

"And do you hate me ... for shaping your life ... for ruining your life?"

She was silent for a while and I thought: I have lost her. I have lost Mellyora. First Granny, now Mellyora. But what do I care? I have Carlyon. I have Kim.

"It is all so long ago," said Mellyora at length.

"But you might have married Justin. You might be mistress of the Abbas. You might have children. Oh, Mellyora, how you must hate me!"

"I could never hate you, Kerensa, besides ..."

"When you remember it all... when it comes back to you clearly ... when you remind yourself of all you have lost, you will hate me."

"No, Kerensa."

"Oh, you are so good ... too good. Sometimes I hate your goodness, Mellyora. It makes you so weak. I would admire you more if you blazed at me in anger."

"But I couldn't do that now. It was wrong of you. It was wicked of you. But it is over. And now I want to say thank you, Kerensa. For I am glad you did what you did."

"Glad ... glad to have lost the man you loved ... glad for a life of loneliness?"

"Perhaps I never loved Justin, Kerensa. Oh, I am not so meek as you believe me to be. If I had loved him, I should never have let him go. If he had loved me, he would never have gone. Justin loved the life of solitude. He is happy now as he never has been before. And so am I. It would have been a bitter mistake if we had married. You saved us from that, Kerensa. For the wrong motives, yes ... but you saved us. And I am glad to be saved. I am so happy now ... I could never have had happiness like this but for you. That's what you have to remember."

"You are trying to comfort me, Mellyora. You always did. I am not a baby to be soothed."

"I had not meant to tell you yet. I was waiting until you were better. Then we were going to celebrate. We are all getting excited about it. Carlyon is thinking up a big surprise. It's going to be a grand party, and we're only waiting for you to be better."

"To celebrate ... what?"

"This is the time to tell you ... to set your mind at rest. They won't mind that I've told you ... though we did plan to make an occasion of it."

"I don't understand."

"I knew as soon as he came back. And so did he. He knew it was the chief reason why he wanted to be back."

"Who?"

"Kim, of course. He has asked me to marry him. Oh, Kerensa, life is so wonderful. So it was you who saved me. You see why I can only be grateful. We're going to be married soon.

"You ... and Kim ... oh no. You and Kim!"

She laughed. "You have been grieving all this time, thinking of Justin. But the past is done with, Kerensa. What has gone before isn't important any more. It's what lies ahead. Don't you see?"

Yes, I did see. I saw my dreams in ruins. I saw that I had learned nothing from the past.

I looked into a future as dark as the hollows between the walls. I was walled in with my misery.