"Then my stepmother came and it all changed and was better for a while. Stepmother used to have them dress me in my white embroidered dress and she gave me a lovely blue sash to wear. I had to go and talk to my father but I knew he didn't like me and only spoke to me because Stepmother asked him to. Baby came then and everybody made a fuss of her and nobody cared about me. My stepmother only cared about Baby and gave up trying to make my father like me.

"Oh dear, this is silly. What's the good of writing down what I know already?"

I wanted to know more, but the pages at the end of the book were blank except one on which she had done a few sums. She had written at the bottom of that page: "I hate arithmetic."

I put the notebook back into the desk. I was in no mood for writing to Esmeralda now.

I took the oars and Jago sat opposite me in the boat. We were going to row to the bird sanctuary, which he was eager to show me. It was not very far from Kellaway Island, he told me, and it would be good practice for me.

It was a beautiful day with a pellucid sea as still as a lake and with that pearly tinge which I had noticed before and which I had thought so attractive.

"It's the best time of the year," said Jago, "before the October gales set in."

"Are they very wild?"

"They can be. On the other hand, they might not come at all. There's only one thing that's certain about our weather and that's its unpredictability. You row very well, Ellen. I can see you're going to be quite a champion."

"I realize that if I'm going to stay here for a little while it's something I have to learn to do."

"If you're going to stay. My dear Ellen, I hope you are going to stay here a very long time." I looked up and was a little disturbed by the intensity of his gaze. "Why not?" he went on. "You are fitting very well into our way of life. You are beginning to love the Island, confess it."

"I'm finding it all very interesting, yes. I don't need to have to confess that, do I? Isn't it obvious?"

"It is and it pleases me. After all, you are a Kellaway."

"There is something about a place which has been the home of one's ancestors for generations. I think that, when I was in Cousin Agatha's house, I was, without realizing it, dogged by the notion that I didn't belong."

"You belong here," he said earnestly.

I was silent, concentrating on rowing. The island sanctuary lay before us, a green hump in the ocean. "Run her up to the beach here," he said.

I was proud that I was able to do so with a certain competence because I had an absurd childish desire to shine in his eyes.

He helped me out of the boat, tied it up and we started to walk up a slope to a kind of plateau. Birds rose all around us, gulls mostly, screaming their indignation at being disturbed.

Jago produced two bags containing scraps of food, one of which he gave to me.

"I always bring them something when I come," he explained. "It's a sort of apology for coming at all. This is their sanctuary and they need some compensation for receiving unwanted visitors."

"Do you think they are as inhospitable as that?"

"Undoubtedly. Look at those choughs over there. There are hundreds of them. We get the occasional stormy petrel. She just lands to lay her eggs and then departs. I saw a beauty once. It was quite an occasion."

"I'm surprised that you find time to be interested in these things."

"I find time for anything I want to do, don't you, Ellen?"

"I suppose so."

He put his arm through mine, ostensibly to help me up the slope, but I felt he was conveying the fact that he was going to find a great deal of time available to spend in my company.

"You'll become more and more absorbed in the life of the Island," he said. "You won't really want to go on trips to the mainland very often. It was interesting that you went to Hydrock's place. Pleasant, isn't it? But very conventional. Gwennol has a romantic attachment to the place. Poor girl, if she ever married Michael Hydrock she'd be bored for the rest of her life."

"Why should she be?"

"Because of the life she would lead. Imagine it. Social occasions. Hunt balls, good works, one day very like another and the same thing going on year after year."

I didn't answer.

"Let's sit down here," he went on. He had brought a traveling rug with him and spread it out on the grass for us to sit on. We looked over the sea. The main island looked beautiful with its gentle green slopes and sandy bays and the sun glinting on those orange roofs. And not far off was the Blue Rock Island. The rocks looked very blue today because of the clear air, and I thought I could make out the house which someone had told me was there. It was sheltered by tall shrubs and was not far from the beach.

"Tell me," I said suddenly, "who is S.K.?"

He wrinkled his brows. "Who?" he asked.

"I think she must have occupied the room I am now in. There are scratchings on the cupboard wall and the initials S.K."

He continued to look puzzled, then he laughed. "You must be referring to Silva."

"Silva? Was she Silva Kellaway?"

"Yes, she was your half sister."

"Then I'm the Baby referred to. Oh, you see, I found one of her notebooks in the desk and she had written something in it about her stepmother and a baby. How strange! My sister!"

"Your half sister."

"We shared the same father and the stepmother she mentions is my mother."

"Poor Silva, her life was tragic."

"Was? She is dead then?"

"It's almost certain that she was drowned."

"Almost certain?"

"Her body was never found, although the boat was. It was washed up on the shores of the Island... without Silva."

"How very sad. How old was she when this happened?"

"It happened about eighteen months ago. She would be well into her twenties. Twenty-eight perhaps."

"And she lived at the castle... in my room... until then?"

"Yes. She was a difficult girl. No one knew why she should take a boat out on such a night as she did, but that was what happened. It was a crazy thing to do, but then she was crazy."

"You mean she was... mad?"

"Oh no, just unbalanced. She'd be very docile for months on end and then suddenly she would create scenes. She was a queer creature. I had very little to do with her."

"Do tell me all about it. I'm longing to hear everything about the family."

"There's not a lot to tell. Your father married twice. His first wife was Effie and she had Silva. Effie and your father didn't hit it off together and they used to quarrel violently. Your father was not an easy man to live with, obviously. He was not even fond of his daughter. It might have been that he was disappointed because she wasn't a boy. I don't know. In any case, he had little time for the child and could hardly bear to look at her."

"Poor Silva!" I said. "She noticed it and it made her very unhappy. No wonder she was unbalanced as you say."

"Then Effie died of pneumonia and after a year or two your father went to London on business and came back with your mother. That seemed another mistake because she couldn't settle down either. Then you were born and that seemed to reconcile them, but only for a little while. Your father was not meant to live peaceably and they quarreled and she eventually went off, taking you with her. That was a surprise. She left no warning. She just went off. So you see he couldn't have been an easy husband to live with."

"I think poor little Silva must have been very unhappy."

"I wish we could have known why she left, where she was going, and indeed could have some proof that she was drowned."

"If the boat she went in was washed up empty isn't that proof enough?"

"It is to some, but you know what people are and there never were people more like those around here to see the unnatural hand even in the most ordinary happenings. They say that she was 'taken by the Little People,' who, as you have gathered, are a supernatural colony who inhabit these parts. She was always 'fey,' they said, and in fact 'one of them,' and they just took her back where she came from. Some say she was discontented with her lot and asked the Devil to take her. As you know, the Devil has played quite a big part in our family saga."

"So you told me."

"Well, you'll hear people tell you that on wild nights they can hear Silva's cries mingled with the sound of the wind and the waves. Some of the servants think she haunts the castle."

"Do you think she haunts my room?"

He burst out laughing. "I hope I haven't alarmed you, Ellen. My dear girl, we'll change your room."

"No, I shouldn't want that. I'd like to meet Silva, so if she should 'walk,' as they say, she'd be very welcome. She was my sister. That's what I can't forget. All those years of my childhood when I longed for a sister and had to do with Esmeralda, I really had one. I wish I'd grown up in the castle."

He leaned towards me suddenly and gripped my hand.

"So do I, Ellen. Then you wouldn't have to get to know me now, would you? We'd be firm friends already, but then we soon shall be."

A gull shrieked overhead as though he were mocking us. Jago did not seem to hear. His expression had grown tender.

We were silent for a while. I was thinking of my sister growing up lonely in the castle while I was the unwanted one in Cousin Agatha's house. Those few sentences in the notebook had built up a picture in my mind. The unwanted child who was so poignantly aware of her aloneness. Nobody could understand that better than I. I had been singularly lucky to be blessed with a resilient nature, and perhaps having a companion like Esmeralda, who was meek and suffered so much more from circumstances than I had done, so that my lot always seemed better than hers. But poor Silva, living in that vast castle with no one in whom she could confide! I was sure my mother had been kind to her but she had run away when I was only three years old. Silva could not have been so very old then. How old? I wondered. Perhaps twelve years old.

Jago was surrounded by birds, for he was throwing tidbits from his bag. I joined him and shared his pleasure in the rising and swooping of the graceful creatures.

"Aren't they beautiful?" he cried. "Do you know those biggest birds weigh only a few ounces? Wouldn't you like to fly like that, Ellen?"

"What a glorious feeling it must be. I wonder why they make such mournful cries."

At that moment I was aware that we were being overlooked. I turned round sharply and saw that a man had climbed onto the plateau and was standing behind us. Jago had seen him too.

"Why, it's James Manton," he said. "Good day, Manton. Are you working here?"

We rose to our feet as the man advanced. "Ellen," said Jago, "let me present James Manton. Manton, this is my ward, Miss Ellen Kellaway."

"Why, you're the artist," I cried.

He bowed and looked pleased, no doubt thinking I knew his work.

"I'm glad to meet you," he said. "I just rowed over here to make a few sketches,"

"So you'll be painting our Island, will you?" said Jago.

"Yes, and the birds. This is one of the spots where one can get the best view of your Island. The light's good today. Just look at the color of the sea."

We agreed that it was even more beautiful than usual.

"Difficult to capture," said the artist, "but I'll have a shot. I hope you're enjoying your visit to the Island, Miss Kellaway."

I said I was finding it fascinating.

He watched a bird soar away into the distance and then with a nod said: "Good day to you!" and went back the way he had come.

"Now he is the one who lives on the Blue Rock Island, isn't he?" I said to Jago.

"Yes. He's lived there for a good many years. He paints a lot of bird pictures. He's rather good with them. I expect that's why he likes it here. He came for a few weeks, so the story goes, and he stayed here. He goes away now and then though. To London to arrange about the sale of pictures, I imagine."

"Yet he doesn't come to Kellaway Island."

"Not since this quarrel with your father. We're polite when we meet but we don't visit. What do you think about getting back now? Are you sufficiently rested to row us?"

"I don't feel in the least tired."