‘ Barbarina. “

” Again she nodded without speaking.

” She’s dead, Carrie.”

” She don’t rest,” was-the low reply.

” So you believe that she haunts the house … haunts these rooms?”

” I know when she’s getting ready to walk. There’s a kind of stirring.” She came close to me and looked in my face. ” I can feel it now.”

” Well, I can’t.” Then I was afraid that I had spoken rather sharply, and I remembered that she had been nurse to Bar barina and Deborah and had loved them dearly. When loved ones died, often those who had lost them made themselves believe that they could come back. I could see the devotion shining in Carrie’s eyes, and I knew that when she had heard me in the music room she had really hoped it was Barbarina.

“You will,” said Carrie.

I smiled disbelievingly.

“I must get on,” I said.

“I’m rather busy.”

I walked out of the music room, but I didn’t want to stay any longer in the east wing. I went back to the quadrangle and sat there; and every now and then I would find myself looking up involuntarily at those windows.

When I next called on Lord Polhorgan, Dr. Clement was there. He had tea with us and I found his company pleasant, as I was sure our host did.

I was very pleased to see that Lord Polhorgan had recovered from his recent attack and I was surprised that he could appear as well as he did.

We talked about the village and I discovered that Dr. Clement, like the Reverend Peter Dark, was very interested in the customs of the place.

He lived on the outskirts of Pendorric village in a house which he had taken over from the doctor who had retired on his arrival. ” It’s called Tremethick—which is apt, because in Cornish it means the doctor’s house. You must come and meet my sister sometime.” I said I should be delighted to; and he talked of his sister Mabell, who was interested in pottery and made quite a number of the little pots and ashtrays which were for sale in some of the shops in the towns along the coast. She was something of an artist, too, and not only supplied pottery but her pictures ” on sale or return ” to the shops.

” It keeps her busy—that and the house.”

She had turned the old stables into a workshop and had her oven there.

” She’ll never make a fortune out of her pottery,” our host commented.

” Too much mass-production against her.”

” Not a fortune, but a lot of pleasure,” retorted the doctor. ” And it pleases her that there’s a small profit in it.”

There was no chess that day, and when I got up to go, the doctor said he had his car outside and would drive me home.

I told him that there was no need, but he insisted that he went past Pendorric, so I accepted.

As we drove along he asked if I always made the journey from Pendorric to Polhorgan by the top road, and I said that there were three ways of getting there: by that road, by Smugglers’ Lane and the short cut, and by way of the beach and the gardens.

” If I’m in a hurry,” I told him, ” I take the short cut.”

” Oh yes,” he said, ” you can save quite five minutes that way. Once there was a road there with houses on either side. I found an old map the other day. It gives you some idea how the sea is gradually encroaching on the land. It couldn’t have been more than a hundred and fifty years old. Why not come along now and meet Mabell? She’d be delighted to see you, and I’d run you back.”

I looked at my watch, and thinking that Roc might already be home, said that I didn’t really think I had time.

He dropped me at Pendorric. I thanked him and he gave me a friendly wave as his car roared away.

I turned to the house. There was no one in sight, and I stood for a while under the arch and looked up at the inscription in Cornish. It was a grey day; there had been no sun lately; nor would there be. Roc had told me, until the wind changed. It was now blowing straight in from the southwest—soft and balmy, the sort of wind that made one’s skin glow.

The gulls seemed even more mournful than usual today, but that may have been because of the greyness of the sea and the leaden sky. I walked round the house to the south side and stood for a moment looking down on the garden, but even the colours of the flowers seemed subdued.

I went into the house, and as soon as I entered the hall my eyes fixed themselves on the portrait of Barbarina. I was afraid they were making a habit of doing that. The eyes in the picture followed me as I passed the suits of armour and started to go up the stairs. I went up to the gallery and stood right beneath the portrait looking up at it, and as Barbarina’s eyes looked straight into mine I could almost imagine the lips curved into a smile—a warm, inviting smile.

I was really being rather silly, I told myself.

The hall was gloomy to-day because it was so grey outside. If the sun were shining through those big mullioned windows it would seem quite different.

Was Roc home, I wondered. There was a great deal to be done on the farm and about the estate, and that work was still very much in arrears, because he had been abroad so long.

I walked along the gallery to the corridor. Several of the windows were open and I could never seem to resist looking down at the quadrangle. And as I stood there I could distinctly hear the music of a violin.

I threw up the window and leaned out. Yes, there was no doubt about it; and one of the windows on the east side was opened. Was the sound coming from the east wing?

It might well be. I was sure it was. My eyes went to the second floor.

If someone were playing in the music room could I hear from across the corridor and the quadrangle?

I was ashamed of feeling so frightened. I was not going to be taken in by my foolish imagination. I reminded myself of the day Carrie had come into the music room while I was there, and how scared I had been because she went creeping around calling Barbarina; as soon as I had seen that it was Carrie I had ceased to be scared; I was not the least bit taken in by her talk of ” stirring.”

I began to walk resolutely round the corridor to the east wing. As I went in I heard the violin again. I hurried up the stairs to the music room.

There was no sound of the violin now. I threw open the door. The violin lay on the chair; the music was on the stand. There was no one in the room and I felt the stillness of the house close about me.

Then suddenly I heard the shriek of a gull outside the window. It seemed to be laughing at me.

Because I was not anxious to stay in the house, I decided to go for a walk in the direction of the home farm, hoping to meet Roc. As I walked I reasoned with myself: Someone in the house plays the violin, and you presumed it came from the east wing because you had seen the violin there. If you really are disturbed about it, the simplest thing is to find out who in the house plays the violin and casually mention that you heard it being played. Out of doors everything seemed so much more rational than it did in the house. As I climbed on to the road and walked across the fields in a northerly direction I was quickly recovering my good spirits. I had not walked this way before and I was delighted to explore fresh ground. The countryside seemed restful after the rugged coast views, and I was charmed by the greenish-gold of the freshly mown fields and the scarlet of the poppies growing here and there. I particularly noticed the occasional tree, slightly bent by the southwest gales, but taller than those stunted and distorted ones which survived along the coast. I could smell the fragrance of meadow-sweet growing on the banks mingling with the harebells and scabious.

And while I was contemplating all this I heard the sound of a car, and to my delight saw it was Roc’s.

He pulled up and put his head out of the window.

” This is a pleasant surprise.”

” I’ve never walked this way. I thought I’d come and meet you.”

” Get in,” he commanded.

When he hugged me I felt secure again and very glad I had come. ” I got back from Polhorgan to find no one around, so I decided I wouldn’t stay in.”

Roc started the car. ” And how was the old man today?”

” He seemed to have quite recovered.”

” I believe that’s how it is with his complaint. Poor old fellow, it must be a trial for him, yet he’s cheerful enough … about his health.”

” I think he’s very brave.”

Roc gave me a quick look. ” Relations still remain friendly?”

” Of course.”

” Not everyone gets along with him so well. I’m glad you do.”

” I’m still surprised that you should be when you so obviously don’t like him.”

” The lady of the manor has always gone round visiting the sick. It’s an old custom. You’ve started well.”

” Surely the custom was to visit the sickly poor and take them soup and blankets.”

Roc burst out laughing. ” Imagine your arriving at Polhorgan with a bowl of soup and a red flannel blanket, and handing them to Dawson for the deserving millionaire!”

” This is quite a different sort of visiting anyway.”

” Is it? He wants company; they wanted comforts.

Same thing, but in a different form. No, really, darling, I’m delighted that you’re able to bring sunshine into the old man’s life.

You’ve brought such lots into mine, I can spare him a little. What do you talk about all the time? Does he tell you about his wicked family who deserted him? “

” He hasn’t mentioned his family.”

” He will. He’s waiting for the opportunity.”

” By the way,” I said, ” I heard someone playing the violin this afternoon. Who would it have been?”

” The violin?” Roc screwed up his eyes as though puzzled.

“Where?”

” I wasn’t sure where. I thought it was in the east wing.”

” Hardly anyone goes there except old Carrie. Can’t believe she’s turned virtuoso. In our youth, Morwenna and I had a few lessons. They soon discovered, in my case at least, that it was no use trying to cultivate stony ground. Morwenna wasn’t bad. But she dropped all that when she married Charles. Charles is tone-deaf—wouldn’t know a Beethoven concerto from God Save the Queen’; and Morwenna is the devoted wife. Everything that Charles thinks, she thinks; you could take her as a model, darling.”

“So you’re the only two who could play the violin?”

” Wait a minute. Rachel gave the twins lessons at one time, I believe. Lowella takes after me and is about as talented in that direction as a bull calf. Hyson, now … she’s different. I think Hyson was quite good at it.”

” It could have been Hyson or Rachel I heard playing.”

” You seem very interested. Not thinking of taking it up yourself? Or are you a secret genius? There’s a lot I don’t know about you, Favel, even though you are my wife.”

” And there’s a lot I don’t know about you.”

” What a good thing we have the rest of our lives in which to discover one another.”

As we came on to the coast road we met Rachel, and Roc slowed down the car for her to get in.

” I’ve been looking for the twins,” she told us. ” They went shrimping this afternoon, down at Tregallic Cove.”

” I hope you took advantage of your respite,” Roc said. ” I did. I went for a long walk as far as German’s Bay. I had tea there and planned to pick them up on the way back. I expect they’ve already gone home.”

” Favel thought she heard you playing the violin this afternoon.” I turned and looked at Rachel. Her expression seemed faintly scornful, her sandy eyes more sly than usual.

” You’d hardly have heard me on the road from German’s Bay.”

” It must have been Hyson, then.”

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. ” I don’t think Hyson will qualify for the concert platform, and I’d be surprised if she deserted shrimps for music.”

As we were going to the house the twins arrived, with their shrimping nets and a pail in which Lowella carried their catch. Rachel said: ” By the way. Hyson, you didn’t come back and play your violin this afternoon?”

Hyson looked bewildered.

“Whatever for?” she said. ” Your Aunt Favel thought she heard you.”

“Oh,” said Hyson thoughtfully.

“She didn’t hear me playing it.” She turned away abruptly, and I was sure it was because she didn’t want me to see that Rachel’s remark had excited her.

The next day it rained without stopping and continued through the night.

” There’s nothing unusual about that, ” “Roc told me. ” It’s another old Cornish custom. You’ll begin to understand why ours is the greenest grass in this green and pleasant land. “