The man called "Tom!" and helped me from his horse. Tom, obviously a groom, came hurrying out; he gave me a look as if surprised and took the horses.

"Come this way," said my host, and led me through a door.

We were in a hall—not large but beautifully proportioned, with a hammer-beam-type roof. The floor was paved in a mosaic design and there was a dais at one end and a minstrel gallery at the other.

"I think," said Michael Hydrock, "that I'd better call my old housekeeper. She would know whether the ankle is badly hurt or not She's something of an authority on such matters. But first, do sit down."

He pulled a bell rope and I heard a bell clanging through the house as I sat down gratefully on one of the wooden chairs, which must have dated back to the sixteenth century, and looked up at the fine tapestry on the walls.

He followed my gaze. "It represents the events in the life of Bishop Trelawny, who is highly thought of here," he told me. "There you see him on his way to the Tower of London. And there you see the people of Cornwall marching. You probably know the old song. Most people do:

"And shall they scorn Tre Pol and Pen And shall Trelawny die ..."

I finished:

"Then twenty thousand Cornishmen Will know the reason why."

"Ah," he said, "I see you do know it."

"Very well. I was wondering how many stitches have gone into all that fine work. It is very beautiful."

A manservant appeared. "Tell Mrs. Hocking to come here, please," said Michael Hydrock, and when the man had gone he explained: "Mrs. Hocking is my housekeeper. She has been with us all my life."

Before I had time to reply Mrs. Hocking had joined us. She was in her late sixties, I imagined, and there was about her the air of the servant who has been with the family for so many years that she regards herself as a privileged person.

Michael Hydrock explained to her what had happened and she knelt down and gently prodded my ankle. "Does that hurt?" she asked.

"A little."

"Stand up," she commanded. I did so. "Now step on it... put your whole weight on it." I did that too. "All right?" she asked, and I said I thought it was.

" 'Tis only a slight sprain," she announced. "I'd rest it today. Like as not it will be all right by tomorrow."

"I'll take you back to the inn in the carriage," said Michael Hydrock.

"Oh, surely I can walk," I protested.

Mrs. Hocking shook her head. " 'Twould be putting too much weight on it today."

"I don't know how to thank you both," I said.

"We're only too pleased to help, Miss... er ..."

"Kellaway," I said. "I'm Ellen Kellaway."

The silence was immediate. Then Michael Hydrock said: "You must be related to the Kellaways of the Island."

"Yes. I'm on my way to them. I'm only staying at the Polcrag Inn until the weather permits me to cross."

Mrs. Hocking had pressed her lips together and I fancied that the fact that I was Ellen Kellaway had not exactly endeared me to her. I wondered why.

Michael Hydrock said: "I daresay you would like some tea. Mrs. Hocking, will you have it sent, please. We'll have it in the winter parlor. It won't be far for you to walk, Miss Kellaway."

I said halfheartedly: "I shall be giving you so much trouble ..." and waited for him to protest that this was not so and was in fact a pleasure, which of course he did with a certain Old World charm.

Mrs. Hocking went away and he said: "Do you feel you can walk a little way?"

"Easily. In fact, I think I'm really here under false pretenses. My ankle scarcely hurts at all."

He took my arm and led me across the hall. We mounted a stone staircase which led to a room which was clearly the dining room. Here again there were beautiful tapestries on the walls and I noticed the big latticed windows at one end of the room through which I could see another courtyard. About six steps led from this room into the winter parlor, where I presumed the family took their meals when they were not a large company. In the center of the room was an oval gate-legged table on turned baluster legs and about it tapestry-covered chairs. It was an intimate room with one small window.

"Do be seated," said Michael Hydrock. "How does the ankle feel after that little walk?"

"I can hardly feel it, I'm sure it's nothing very much."

I said I thought the house was delightful, which clearly pleased him. "I think so too," he said, "but it is my home and has been that of my family for about four hundred years."

"It must be wonderful," I said, "to feel one belongs to such a place."

"One accepts it as a matter of course, I'm afraid. I was born here and I suppose I shall die here. And so have the men of our family for generations. The women usually marry and go off somewhere else. But every stone of this place is familiar to me. It's small as these manor houses go, but to me it's just as it should be. You're not a countrywoman, Miss Kellaway?"

"No, not really. Although we did spend several months of the summer in the country, I have always considered London to have been my home."

The tea was brought by a young girl. Mrs. Hocking accompanied her.

The tray with its Georgian silver teapot and kettle on a spirit lamp was set on the table, and there were little sugar cakes on a silver salver.

"Shall I pour?" asked Mrs. Hocking, and I was aware of the look of cold disapproval she directed towards me.

"Perhaps Miss Kellaway would like to," suggested Michael, and I immediately said I would.

I was glad when the old woman had gone, taking the young serving girl with her, and as I poured out the tea I felt that I was having a delightful adventure. There was something very relaxing about this room which made me feel completely at ease and I was liking my rescuer more every moment. He was serious—perhaps I was comparing him with Philip—yet warm and friendly; and suddenly I was talking—perhaps too freely—of my life in London and before I realized it I was explaining that I had been on the point of marriage and that my fiance had died.

"What a terrible tragedy!" said Michael Hydrock.

I wondered whether he had heard the story. Heaven knew, it had been publicized enough. I realized that Michael Hydrock was the sort of man whose good manners would insist on his betraying no curiosity about such a delicate matter, at the same time not allowing him to mention the fact that he knew the story already, in case it should distress me.

"So," I went on, "when my relations wrote to me and asked me to come and visit them, I came. It's to be an indefinite visit. I thought that to be in fresh surroundings would help me to plan what I was going to do."

"It was wise," said Michael.

"As a matter of fact I didn't know I had this family until a few weeks ago." I told him about life with Cousin Agatha and Esmeralda. Looking back I found it all seemed rather humorous, as so many things do which are rather grim to live through.

"Yes, I'm longing to meet my relations," I added. "They seem to be very well known hereabouts."

"Everyone in the neighborhood knows Jago Kellaway."

"What sort of a man is he?"

Michael Hydrock smiled. "It's hard to describe him because there can't be another person in the world like him."

"I suppose I must wait until I see him. Do you often go to the Island and do they come here?"

"I do know some members of the household," said Michael gravely.

I could see there was a hint in his manner which meant that he hoped I would not carry that inquiry further.

He told me about the countryside then, of the places to visit and the customs of the people. On feast days and holidays there was usually a wrestling match and the prize would be a fine hat made and presented by the town hatter or a buff waistcoat supplied by the tailor. There would be running matches and prizes for cooking for the women, for which they could win a holland shift or some such garment. There were dancing, throwing the hammer and indulging in all kinds of sport.

In May there was the furry dance—a welcome to the summer—which the gentry danced at midday—the children at ten-thirty and the servants later in the day; then there were the hurling matches, which were almost as popular as the wrestling. But Mid­summer was the greatest feast of all. "It is the worship of the sun," said Michael Hydrock. "It has come down to us from pre-Christian days. You should see the people dancing round the fires. It's supposed to be a precaution against witchcraft. In the old pagan days they used to throw a living thing into the fire as a talisman against the evil eye. In some places now they throw in floral hoops and herbs, flowers of all kinds. Some of the old superstitions still prevail.

And of course there are the midnight bonfires. You should see them springing up all over the moors."

It was all very interesting but finally it occurred to me that I was staying too long. So I thanked him for the hospitality and said I must be on my way. It had been such an enjoyable afternoon and I was glad I had been lost in the wood.

The pony trap had arrived and I was helped into it. Michael Hydrock took the reins and I sat beside him. His clean-cut profile was turned towards me and I thought what a pleasant face his was—not exactly distinguished but kindly. Here was a man whom it would be easy to understand: I felt he could be relied on to act in a predictable manner.

He said: "I fancy the wind is softening a little. It may well be that the sea will be calm enough for you to go out to the Island tomorrow morning."

"I had no idea that I should be delayed so long."

"It's the geographical location of the Island actually. It's not so far from the land—only three miles—but this coast has its idiosyncrasies. It's a treacherous coast at the best of times and it's unwise to go out with anyone but an experienced boatman. There's a mass of rock just below the sea which has to be carefully skirted and there are quicksands about a mile or so east of Polcrag beach. It has been said that was why the Island was called the Far Isle. You see, it's not that it is so very far from the mainland, just that conditions so often put it out of reach."

"Is there more than one island?"

"There's the main one, which is moderately large as islands go. It's about ten miles by five; then there is a small one very close. There is only one house on that one. There is another, too, which is not inhabited at all and which is a sort of bird sanctuary."

We were almost in the town and I could see the beginning of the Polcrag street. I was sorry, for I wanted to go on riding with Michael Hydrock and hearing about the life of the neighborhood. I thought I might perhaps glean a little more information about my family.

"It was kind of you to take such care of me after I'd trespassed," I told him.

"I felt guilty because you'd tripped in my woods."

"Where I had no right to be! But I'm afraid I can't say I'm sorry. It's been such a delightful afternoon."

"One thing, it has shown you a little of our countryside. We shall meet again as you won't be far off."

"I do hope so. Do you often come to the Island?"

"Occasionally. And you must come to Hydrock Manor when you are on the mainland."

"I must pick a fair day if I don't want to get stranded."

"I think it may be possible for you to cross tomorrow. In fact the signs indicate that it almost certainly will be."

I felt excited at the prospect.

Now we were right in the town. One or two people looked after the pony trap and I guessed they must be wondering who the stranger was with Michael Hydrock.

As we entered the inn yard Mrs. Pengelly, who happened to be there, looked at us in blank amazement.

Michael Hydrock smiled at her. "It's all right, Mrs. Pengelly. Miss Kellaway hurt her ankle in the woods and I've brought her back."

"My dear life!" she exclaimed.

Michael had leaped down and was helping me out.

"How is it?" he asked as I stood on my feet.

"Quite all right, I think. I can scarcely feel anything."

"Well sir," said Mrs. Pengelly, "would you come in and drink a tankard of ale or a goblet of wine or should I make a nice brew of tea?"

"Thank you but no, Mrs. Pengelly. I must be off now."

He took my hand and smiled at me gently.

"Be careful of the ankle," he said. "And when you come to the mainland ... or if you feel at any time you need... and you would like to, do call. I should be delighted."