Tired! So would she, had she lain awake as I had. She’d be punished too. She would never forgive herself. I doubted whether she and Petroc would be lovers after I had gone. Petroc’s really concerned about the gallery,” she said. It’ll probably mean replacing me whole thing.” How dared she tell me how Petroc felt! How dared she talk in that proprietorial way about Petroc and Pendorric! She used to be so sensitive to my moods; but now her mind was full of Petroc. She picked up a scarf of mine—Petroc himself had bought it for me when we were in Italy—a lovely thing of emerald-coloured silk. She put it absently about her neck. The mustard-coloured jacket set it off perfectly.

Something happened when she took that scarf. It seemed tremendously important. My husband—my scarf. I felt I hadn’t a life of my own any more. I wonder now why I didn’t snatch it away from her, but I didn’t. Come and look at the gallery,” she fiaid. It’s really quite dangerous. The workmen will be coming in tomorrow.” I allowed myself to follow her out to the gallery; we stood beneath the picture of Lowella. Here,” she said. Look, Barby.” Then it happened. It suddenly seemed clear to me. I was going to die because there was no longer any reason to go on living. I had thought of walking into the sea. Deborah was standing close to the worm-eaten rail. It was a long drop down to the hall. I felt Lowella Pendorric was watching us from her canvas, saying: “A Bride must die that I may rest in peace.” It was the old legend and there’s a lot of truth in these old legends. That’s why they persist. Deborah was, in a sense, a Bride of Pendorric. Petroc treated her as such—and she was part of me. There were times when I was not sure which of us I was.

I’m glad I wrote this down, although it’s dangerous. This book must never be seen by anyone. It’s safe enough. Only Carrie has ever seen it and she knows what happened as well as I do. When I read it, I can remember it clearly. It’s the only way I can come back to what really happened on that day. I can live again that moment when she was standing there, perilously close, and I leaned forward and pushed her with all my might. I can hear her catch her breath in amazement—and horror. I can hear her voice, or did I imagine that? But I hear it all the same. No, Barbarina! ” Then I know of course that I am Barbarina and that it is Deborah who lies in the Pendorric vault. Then I can laugh and say: How clever I am. They think me dead and I am alive all these years. But it’s only when I read this book that I am absolutely sure who I am.” I felt limp with horror.

But there was more to be read and I went on reading.

“October 20th. I shouldn’t write in the book any more. But I can’t resist it. I want to write it down while I remember, because it’s fading fast and I am not sure. There was some one in the hall. I was frightened. But it was only old Jesse and he couldn’t see. I stood in the gallery, looking at the splintered wood. I wouldn’t look down on to the hall. I didn’t stay long. Old Jesse had run for help. He might not see me but he knew something was wrong. I ran into the nearest room because I had to get out of the gallery before I was seen. It was Deborah’s. I threw myself on to her bed and lay there, my heart thundering. I don’t know how long I lay there but it seemed like hours. It was a few minutes actually. Voices, cries of horror. What was happening in the hall? I longed to see but I knew I must stay where I was. After a while there was a knock on the door.

I was still lying on the bed when Mrs. Penhalligan came in. She said:

‘ Miss Hyson, there’s been a terrible accident. ” I raised myself and stared at her. It’s the gallery rail. Twas worse than we thought.

Mrs. Pendorric—’ I just went on staring at her. She went out and I heard her voice outside the door. Miss Hyson, she be terrible shocked, poor dear. Tis not to be wondered at—they being so close—so near like. I for one couldn’t tell one from the other. “

” I went down to the sea and looked at it. It was grey and cold. I couldn’t do it. It’s easy to talk of dying; but when you face it—you’re frightened. You’re terribly frightened. I’d been so stunned by the news that they’d made me stay in bed until it was all over. I didn’t see Petroc unless others were there too. That was as well. He was the one I feared. Surely he would know his own wife. But even so there was something I knew about Petroc. He wasn’t the same. The gaiety had gone, the lightheartedness He blamed himself. The servants were talking. They said it was meant. And it happened right under the picture of that other bride. It was no good going against what was meant. Barbarina was meant to die, so that Lowella Pendorric could rest from the haunting. They wouldn’t go near the gallery after dark. They believed Barbarina was haunting Pendorric So she is. She haunted Petroc till the day he died. So the story was true. The Bride of Pendorric had died just as the story said she should and she couldn’t rest in her grave.

” I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave the children. They call me Aunt Deborah now. I am Deborah. I’m calm and serene. Carrie knows, though.

Sometimes she calls me Miss Barbarina. I’m afraid of Carrie. But she’d never hurt me; she loves me too well. I was always her favourite. I was everybody’s favourite. It’s different now, though. People are different towards me. They call me Deborah and what is happening is that Deborah still lives and it is Barbarina who is dead.

” January 1st. I shall not write any more. There is nothing to write. Barbarina is dead. She had a fatal accident. Petroc hardly spoke to me again. I believe he thought that I was jealous of her, and that I did it hoping he’d marry me; he doesn’t want to know too much about it in case it’s true. I don’t care about Petroc any more. I’m devoted to the children. It doesn’t matter now that Petroc is never here. I’m not his wife any more; I’m his sister-in-law, taking care of his motherless children. I’m happier than I ever was since my marriage; though sometimes I think of my sister and it’s as though she’s with me. She comes to me at night when I’m alone and her eyes are mournful and accusing. She can’t rest. She haunts me and she haunts Petroc. It’s in the legend; and shell continue to haunt Pendorric until another young bride takes her place; then she will rest for evermore.

” March 20th. I have been reading this book. I shall not read it any more. I shall not write in it any more. I shall hide it away. It worries me. Barbarina is dead and I am Deborah; I am calm and serene and I have devoted myself to Roc and Morwenna.

Barbarina haunts me; that’s because it’s in the story that she should—until another bride takes her place. But reading this book upsets me. I shall not do it any more. “

There was one last entry. It stated simply:

” One day, there’ll be a new bride at Pendorric and then Barbarina shall have her rest.”

So it was Barbarina who had brought me to this house, who had lured me to the vault, who had sought to kill me.

I did not know what to do. What could I do tonight? I was alone in this house with Barbarina and Carrie, for the Hansons would be in their cottage in the grounds.

I must lock my door. I attempted to get out of bed but my legs seemed unable to move, and even in my agitated state I could not fight the drowsiness which had taken possession of me. A thought came into my head that I was asleep and dreaming: and in that moment the book had slipped from my fingers and falling asleep was like entering a deep dark cave.

I awoke with a start. For a few seconds I was sitffl in that deep, dark cave of oblivion; then objects started to take shape. Where was I? There was the hexagonal table. I remembered the diary, and then where I was.

I knew too that something had awakened me, and the knowledge quickly followed that I was not alone. Someone was in this room. I had fallen asleep so suddenly that I was lying on my back. I had been aware of the hexagonal table by turning my eyes towards it without moving my head. The heavy sleepiness was still upon me and the deep darkness of the cave was threatening to close about me once more. I was so tired . too tired to be afraid . too tired to care that I was not alone in the room.

I’m dreaming, I thought. Of course I’m dreaming. For from out of the shadows came a figure. It was a woman dressed in a blue house-coat. As the moonlight touched her face I knew who ‘she was.

My heavy lids were pressing down over my eyes; vaguely I heard her voice.

” This time, little bride, there shall be no way out. They will no longer talk of Barbarina’s ghost … but yours.”

I wanted to call out; but some waking instinct warned me not to, and I began to wonder whether after all I was in a dream.

Never before in my life had I been so frightened. Yet never had I been so sleepy, and terror was trying to ward off my sleepiness. What was happening to me? I longed to be in my bedroom at Pendorric with Roc beside me. That was safety. This was danger.

” This is a nightmare,” I told myself. ” In a moment you will wake up.”

She was standing at the foot of my bed looking at me while I watched her through half-closed eyes, waiting for what she would do next. An impulse came to me to speak to her, but something warned me that I must first find out what she intended to do. This had never happened to me before. I was asleep; yet I was awake. I was terrified; and yet it was as though I stood outside this scene, a watcher in the shadows.

I was looking on at the frightened woman in the bed and the other whose purpose was evil.

An idea hit me. I am drugged. The milk was drugged. The milk Deborah brought me. No . not Deborah. I didn’t drink it all. If I had I should now be in a deep, drugged sleep.

She was smiling. Then I saw her hands move in a gesture as though she were sprinkling something over my bed. She went to the window and stooped for a few seconds; and then she stood upright and without giving another glance at my bed, ran from the room.

I was aware of thinking: It is a dream. Then suddenly it seemed I was wide awake. I was looking at a wall of fLu ne The curtains were on fire. For one second, two seconds, I stared at them, while it was as though I emerged from that black cave to reality.

I smelt petrol and in terrible understanding leaped out of bed and made for the door. I was not a second too soon, tor as I did so my bed was aflame.

It is difficult to recall what happened next. I was aware of the blazing bed as I pulled at the door-handle and for one hideous second believed that I was locked in this room as I had been locked in the vault. But that was only due to my anxiety to get out quickly. The door was not locked.

I pulled it open and had the sense to shut it behind me. I saw her then. She was running along the corridor, and I went after her shouting: “Fire!” as I did so. She turned to look at me. I cried:

“Quick! My room’s on fire. We must give the alarm.” She looked at me in bewilderment. I knew then that she was mad, and for those few dramatic seconds I even forgot the danger we were in.

“You tried to kill me … Barbarina I said.

Horror dawned in her face. I heard her whisper as though to herself: ” The diary … Oh, my God, she’s read the diary.”

I caught her arm. ” You’ve set my room on fire,” I said urgently.

“It’ll spread … quickly. Where’s Carrie? On this floor? Carrie!

Carrie! Come quickly. “

Barbarina’s lips were moving; she went on muttering to herself: ” It’s there … in the diary…. She’s seen the diary….” Carrie came into the corridor, wrapping an old dressing-gown about her, her hair in a plait tied with a red tape.

” Carrie,” I shouted. ” My room’s on fire. Phone the fire brigade quickly.”

“Carrie I Carrie! She … knows …” moaned Barbarina.

I gripped Carrie’s arm.

“Show me where the phone is. There’s no time to lose. We must all get out of the house. Don’t you understand?” Still gripping Carrie I pulled her downstairs. I did not look back, being certain that Barbarina, knowing how deadly was the fire she had started, would follow us.

I never saw Barbarina again. By the time we had phoned for the brigade, the top floor was a mass of flame. All I knew was that Barbarina did not follow us downstairs. I have always believed that, rudely shaken out of her dream-world, she had had no thought of anything but the incriminating diary. To her it represented the only way of remembering what had actually happened; and to have lost it would have been to have lost touch with the past. Unbalanced as she was, she had made a futile attempt to save it. I do not like to think what happened to Barbarina when she burst into that room which by then must have been a roaring furnace.