We were silent for a few moments and I thought that if I were with Deborah in some small country hotel I could have felt at ease. It was a pity that to escape from Pendorric I had to come to the house where Barbarina. had spent the greater part of her life.

Mrs. Hanson came in to tell us that the meal was ready. ” An omelette, madam,” she said. ” If I’d had more time …”

” It’ll be delicious, I’m sure,” smiled Deborah. ” Mrs. Hanson is one of the best cooks in Devon.”

The omelette was certainly delicious, and there was apple pie with clotted cream to follow.

“The real Devonshire cream,” Deborah told me gleefully. ” Now don’t you agree it’s better than the Cornish?”

I really couldn’t tell the difference, so I said it was very good indeed.

” They copied it from us,” said Deborah; ” but they say we copied it from them!”

We were both growing more lighthearted, and I was sure it was a good thing that Deborah had brought me here! I could see quite clearly now that it would have been most unwise for me to have gone to the Clements’.

When the meal was over we went back to the drawing-room for coffee, and when we had finished, Deborah took me up and showed me my room.

It was right at the top of the house, very large and an odd shape.

There were two windows, and the ceiling sloped slightly in a way which was charming and told me that we were immediately under the roof. The single bed at the opposite end of the room was partly in an alcove; and there was a desk, wardrobe, bedside table and dressing-table; on the bed was a blue coverlet, and the carpet was blue. ” This is delightful,” I said.

” And right at the top of the house. It’s so light and airy, isn’t it.

Come and look out. “

We went to one of the windows, and because there was a half-moon I could see the moor stretched out beyond the gardens. ” You should see it in daylight,” Deborah told me. ” Miles and miles of moor. The gorse can be a picture, and the heather too. You can pick out the little streams. They look like flashes of silver in the sunlight.”

” I shall enjoy a good walk tomorrow.”

She didn’t answer. She gazed, enraptured, at the moor. She turned to me. ” Shall I help you unpack?”

“There’s no need. I’ve brought very little.”

” There’s plenty of room for your things.” She opened the door of the wardrobe.

I took out my night things and the two dresses I had brought with me, and she hung them on hangers.

“I’ll show you the rest of the house,” she said.

I enjoyed my tour of the house. I saw the nursery where she told me she and Barbarina had played, the music room where Barbarina had learned the violin, the big drawing-room with its grand piano, and I had peered through the window at the walled garden outside. ” We used to grow lovely peaches on that wall. Our gardener saved all the best for Barbarina.”

“Weren’t you a little jealous of her?” I asked.

“Jealous of Barbarina—never! Why, she and I were … close, as only twins can be. I could never really be jealous.”

” I think Barbarina was lucky to have you for a sister.”

” Yes, she was the lucky one … until the end, of course.”

” What really happened?” I felt compelled to ask. ” It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

Her face crumpled suddenly and she turned away. ” It’s so long ago,” she said almost piteously.

“And you still feel …?”

She seemed to pull herself together. ” There was a suggestion that someone was with her in the gallery at the time.”

“Did you believe it?”

Yes. “

” Then who …?”

” It was never said, but lots of people had tike idea that it was”

” Her husband?”

” There was scandal about that woman. He was still seeing her. He never gave her up when he married Barbarina. He’d married Barbarina because of the money. He needed money. Houses like Pendorric are great monsters … they need continual feeding.”

” You think he killed her because he wanted to have Barbarina’s fortune and marry Louisa Seflick?”

” It entered the minds of some people.”

” Yet he didn’t marry her.”

“Perhaps he dared not.” She smiled at me bravely.

“I don’t think we ought to be talking like this. It isn’t fair to . Petroc. “

” I’m sorry. It’s being here in her old home that reminded me.”

” Let’s change the subject, shall we? Tell me what you would like to do while you’re here.”

” See as much of the country as possible. I intend to be up early tomorrow. After all, I shall be here such a short time. I want to make the most of it.”

” Then I hope you get a good night’s sleep. It’s not always easy in a.

new bed, is it? I’ll send Mrs. Hanson up with a nightcap. What do you like? Horlicks? Milo? Cocoa? Or just plain milk? ” I said I should prefer plain milk.

We sat talking a little while and then she said she would order the milk and take me up.

We mounted the lovely staircase right to the top of the house. ” One thing,” she told toe, ” you’ll be very quiet up here.”

” I’m sure I shall.”

” Barbarina always used to say that this was the room she liked best in the whole of the house. It was her room until she went to ” Barbarina’s room? ” I said.

” The most charming of the bedrooms. That’s why I gave it to you.”

” It was kind of you.”

” You … like it, don’t you? If you don’t I’ll give you another.”

“I like it….”

She laughed suddenly. ” It’s Pendorric she’s supposed to haunt. Not the old Manor.”

She drew the curtains across the windows and the room looked even more charming. Then she switched on the lamp which stood on the hexagonal bedside table.

“There! That should be comfortable. I hope you’ll be warm enough. They should have put two bottles in the bed.” She prodded it. ” Yes, they have.”

She stood smiling at me. ” Good night, dear. Sleep well.” Then she took my face in her hands and ksised it. ” The milk will be coming up. When would you like it—in five or ten minutes?”

“Five, please,” I said.

“All right. Good night, dear.”

She went out and left me. I undressed and, drawing back the curtains, stood for some seconds looking out over the moor. Peace, I thought.

Here I shall be able to think about all the strange things which have been happening to me. I shall be able to make up my mind what I have to do.

There was a knock on my door and I was surprised to see Deborah, who came in carrying a glass of milk on a small tray. She put this down on the hexagonal table.

” There you are, my dear. I thought I’d bring it myself.”

“Thank you.”

” You wont let it get cold, will you? Sleep well.” She kissed me and went out.

I sat on the edge of the bed and, picking up the glass, sipped the milk, which was very hot.

I got into bed, but I was not in the least sleepy. I wished that I had brought something to read, but I had left Pendorric in such a hurry that I had forgotten to do so.

I looked around the room to see if I could find a book; then I noticed the drawer of the hexagonal table. Absently I opened it, and lying inside was a book with a leather cover. I took it out and saw written in a round childish hand on the fly-leaf: ” The diary of Deborah and Barbarina Hyson. This must be the only diary that ever has been written by two people, but of course we are not really two people in the same way that other people are. That is because we are twins. Signed: Deborah Hyson. Barbarina Hyson.”

I looked at those two signatures; they might have been written by the same hand.

So Deborah and Barbarina had kept a diary between them. I was excited by my discovery; then I remembered that I was prying into something private. I shut the book firmly and drank some more milk. But I could not put the diary back into the drawer. Barbarina had written in it.

If I read what she had written I might learn something about her and she had roused my curiosity from the moment I had heard of her; now of course that curiosity was great because I had always felt that Barbarina was in some way connected with the things which were happening to me, and as I sat there in that strange bed it occurred to me that my position was not less dangerous because I had left Pendorric for a temporary respite. When I returned, more attempts might be made on my life.

I remembered that strange singing I had heard in the graveyard before I had been locked in the vault. If it was indeed true that someone was planning to murder me, then that someone was going to make it appear that my death was connected with the legend of Barbarina. And there was no doubting the fact that, if the superstitious people who lived round Pendorric were determined that the death of the Brides of Pendorric was due to some metaphysical law, they would be less likely to report any strange incident they might witness.

And as I held that book in my hand I became convinced that I should be foolish to put aside something which might help me in my need. There might be something in this book, some hint as to how Barbarina had met her death. Had she been in a position similar to mine before that fatal fall? Had she felt, as I was feeling now, that danger was creeping closer and closer, until it eventually caught up with her? If she had felt that, might she not have put it into her diary? But this was her childhood diary; the one she shared with Deborah. There would scarcely be anything in it about her life at Pendorric. But I was determined to see, and I opened the book.

It had probably not been intended for a diary in the first place, for there were no printed dates on the pages; but dates had been written in.

The first was September 6th. No year was given, and the entry read: ” Petroc came to-day. We think he is the best boy we have ever met. He boasts a bit, but then all boys do. We think he likes us because we are asked to his birthday party at Pendorric.”

The next entry was September 12th.

“Carrie is making our new dresses.

She didn’t know which of us was which. She is going to put name tabs on our clothes: Barbarina. Deborah. As if we cared. We always wear each other’s things, we told her. Barbarina’s are Deborah’s and Deborah’s Barbarina’s; but she said we should have our own. ” It seemed just a childish account of their lives here in this house on the moor, of the parties they went to. I had no idea who was writing because the first person singular was never used; it was all in the first person plural. I went on reading until I came to a blank page and thought for a moment that was the end; but a few pages on there was more writing, yet it was not the same. It had matured and I presumed that the diary had been forgotten for some time and taken up again. There was more than a change in the handwriting, for I read:

” August 13th. I was lost on the moor. It was wonderful.” I was excited because now I could say: That was actually written by Barbarina.

Barbarina seemed to have taken on the diary from that point.

” August 16th. Petroc has asked Father and of course Father is delighted. He pretended to be surprised. As if it isn’t what they’ve all wanted for so long! I’m so happy. I’m longing to be at Pendorric.

Then I shall escape from Deborah. Fancy wanting to escape from Deborah who up till now has always seemed a part of me. She is in a way a part of me. That was why she had to feel as I do about Petroc. There were always two of us to go places, to get our selves out of trouble—silly little troubles, of course, which you think are so important when you’re children. But that’s all changed now. I want to get away—away from Deborah. “-I cant stand toe way she looks at me when I’ve been with Petroc—as though she’s trying to read my mind and can’t, like she used to—as though she hates me. Am I beginning to hate her?

” September 1st. Yesterday Father, Deborah and I arrived at Pendorric for a visit. We’re going ahead fast with arrangements for the wedding and I’m so excited. I saw Louisa Sellick to-day while I was out riding with Petroc. I suppose she’s what people would call beautiful. She looks sad. That’s because she knows now she has lost Petroc for ever.

I asked Petroc about her. Perhaps I should have said nothing. But I was never one to stay calm. Deborah was the calm one. Petroc said it was all over. Is it? If it isnt I feel I could kill her. I won’t share Petroc. Sometimes I wish I’d fallen in love with some of the others.

George Fanshawe would have been a good husband and he was very much in love with me. So was Tom Kellerway. But it had to be Petroc. If Tom or George would fall in love with Deborah—Why is it they don’t? We look so much alike that people can’t tell us apart and yet they don’t fall in love with Deborah. It’s the same as it was when we were young. When we were at parties she’d keep in the background. I never did. She always said: