"How stupid can one be! I knew in my heart it was never going to be like that.

"But those days when I lived between ridiculous dreams of personal glory and the depth of depression, when I hated everyone, and most of all myself, are past and I'm wasting time writing about them, because I can only write in retrospect and I'm probably not giving the real picture, which can only be seen clearly at the time it happens."

There was a blank page and I guessed she had abandoned the idea of writing for a while and continued later. The girl she had been in those days was the one who, finding herself confined in her room, would have scratched 'I am a prisoner here' on the wall of the cupboard. She had been a prisoner because she had been shut in by her own nature, I guessed; but perhaps those about her had helped to make her what she was.

The writing began again.

"There is nowhere one can go without being aware of him. Since my father's stroke he has taken over completely. Of course he was always there and people were more aware of him than they ever were of my father. He just has to command people and they obey him. They have to. My father was not like that. He would get angry with them and be vindictive too. He never forgave anyone who did him an injury. Jago isn't like that. I don't think anyone would dare do him an injury, so one couldn't really know how long he would bear resentment.

"Yesterday I was in the rose garden picking roses when Jago came to me. I turned suddenly and he was beside me. He always seems now as though he is assessing me and that makes me nervous.

"He said: 'My sister Jenifry is coming to the castle with her little daughter. They'll be company for you.'

" 'Are they going to live here?' I asked.

" 'It'll be their home. You'll like that.'

"Jago has a way of telling you what you are going to like and almost daring you not to.

" 'What does my father say?' I asked, because I always wanted to know what my father was saying and doing. The only time I saw him was when he was at his window and I was in the gardens. I'd look up hopefully but he was always turning away then. I would see Fenwick pushing him about in his bath chair. I always had to keep out of the way then, and if he did catch sight of me he would behave as though I were invisible to him. I can feel the hot tears coming to my eyes now when I remember such times. I always wanted to shout out to him: 'What have I done? Tell me that'

"Fenwick was always very discreet. Jago said that my father couldn't do without Fenwick, nor Fenwick without my father.

"Now I am eagerly awaiting the coming of Jago's sister and his niece."

Another blank page which indicated that some time had passed.

Then: "Gwennol is about eight. She is bright and pretty. Baby would be about her age. I took a dislike to Jenifry. I think she resents my being the daughter of the house. The idea of anyone's being jealous of me is comic! But she is always trying to push Gwennol forward. Not that she need worry. Gwennol is so much more attractive than I could ever be. I'm glad they're here though. Gwennol shares my governess. She is much brighter than I ever was.

"Why did I start this writing? There's nothing to write about really. Every day is like another. I shan't do it any more."

There was no more writing in that book although there were many blank pages. I picked up the second.

"I was clearly not meant to be a diarist My life is so dull and I'm getting old now. Most girls have parties and eligible men around them. My father, I have been told, has said that he will not waste money on bringing me out. Jenifry sees that Gwennol has a certain social life. She has become quite friendly with Michael Hydrock, who is the most eligible bachelor in the neighborhood. Gwennol is excited by the fact that he has been particularly nice to her.

"She came to my room last night. She had just been rowed back from the mainland. Her eyes were bright and there was a lovely flush in her cheeks which goes beautifully with her dark hair.

" 'It was a sort of garden party at the Manor,' she said. 'Oh, what a beautiful house; peacocks on the lawn and that lovely lovely house. I hate this old castle. Don't you, Silva?'

" 'Yes,' I said. 'It's too full of the past. When I go near the dungeons I fancy I hear the screams of souls in torment.'

"'You would,' said Gwennol. 'People must have laughed here and been gay sometimes. There must have been feasting and revelry in the hall. Why do ghosts always have to be horrible? Why can't they be nice... like the ghost of Hydrock Manor? A benign old gentleman who says people have to be happy in the house. Michael told me the story today. It applies particularly to brides.'

" 'You're in love with him,' I said.

" 'Everybody's in love with him.'

" 'That must make life a bit complicated for him.'

" 'Why? Wouldn't it be nice to have everyone in love with you?'

" 'As not one single person has ever been in love with me, I can't say.'

"She said: 'Poor Silva! I'm going to take you to Hydrock Manor. You know, you might meet someone there.'

"It's night and I can't sleep. There is something about this room which I don't like. It seems full of shadows. Perhaps because I've been so unhappy in it. Somebody said once: Life is what you make it. If that's true, I've made a very bad thing of mine.

"I'm sitting at my desk writing. It's no use lying in bed when you can't sleep. I have just been to the cupboard and seen that silly childish scrawl. I wish I could obliterate it. I remember the day I wrote it. Sent to my room for two days and nights because I had committed some crime. I can't even recall what now.

"I'm introspective tonight and because of Gwennol. Gwennol is in love and watching her has shown me clearly what has been wrong in my life. No one ever loved me—except perhaps my mother and when she died there was absolutely no one else. That's what I want more than anything—just someone to love me. Because nobody does, I do wild things. I suddenly lose my temper and scream. I just want someone to hate me if they won't love me. At least they're taking notice of me then.

"I'm thinking of Jago as I write this. He has changed towards me. He is being very kind. Not that he was unkind before. He just didn't notice me. Two days ago he rode round the Island with me and talked about things in that way he has—as though it's just about the most important thing in the world.

"I was excited when we came back to the castle. Why is Jago suddenly becoming interested in me?

"Yesterday Fenwick was in the garden sitting on the wicker seat by the pond. I went up to him because it is unusual to see him without my father.

" 'Where is my father today?' I asked.

" 'He's having a day in bed, Miss Silva.'

"'Is he...less well?'

" 'He's a very sick man, Miss Silva.'

" 'I know he had a stroke some time ago.'

" 'It's crippled him and now ...'

" 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I wish he would see me.'

"Fenwick shook his head. 'Don't come to his room whatever you do, Miss. That would just about finish him, the state he's in now.'

" 'Do you know why he hates me so?' I asked.

"He shrugged his shoulders.

" 'I suppose he wanted a son,' I suggested. 'Most people seem to.'

" 'Maybe he did,' said Fenwick. 'But he's not one for children.'

"Fenwick was anxious, I could see. I wondered whether he was asking himself what he would do if my father died. My father couldn't do without Fenwick, as Jago had said. But what would Fenwick do without my father?

"I wouldn't say this to anyone, but I can write it. Oh, how careful I shall have to be with these notebooks. It's a good thing no one is interested in what I do. I think Jago is contemplating asking me to marry him."

I put down the notebook. I didn't want to read about Silva and Jago. It was prying into his life and hers. Well, I had already done the latter. What I really felt, I suppose, was that I was going to read something which I was not going to like.

Jago and Silva! I hadn't thought of that.

I stared at the book in my hand. I shouldn't be reading this. Why had Slack given it to me? Why had Silva given the books to Slack?

There must be a reason.

"I met him today. I went over to the mainland and he came to the inn. He is so distinguished and handsome. I couldn't believe he could be interested in me. We had wine and saffron cakes and we talked so much. Why didn't we hire horses and go riding together, he said.

"What a day it was! We had a snack at the Corn Dolly Inn. A beautiful romantic place with those lovely Stonen Chills on the table and the corn dollies hanging about the place. Cider and pasties. I had never known them taste so good.

"He said: 'We must do this again.'

"Is it possible to be in love so soon?"

She is in love with Michael Hydrock, I thought. Was he in love with her? Or was he merely being his charming, courteous self? Oh poor Silva. I hope she was not badly hurt.

I turned the pages.

"Who wants to write when one is happy? He loves me. He said he does. It is all so exciting. He says we shall be together and everything is going to be different. I talked to him about my father and life at the castle.

"Life is wonderful."

There was a further gap. Then I read:

"The artist was on the mainland today. He asked us to Blue Rock and he was very kind and hospitable. He showed us his studio full of his paintings of birds and pictures of the sea and the islands. He said he hoped we'd come again.

"It was a lovely day. It always is when we are together."

Another gap. Then:

"I wish I hadn't started writing all this now. It seems pointless, I think that before I was just brooding on my unhappiness, enjoying my misery if that's not a contradiction, but it fits the case. Now it's all over. I'm so happy I just love everybody.

"Today I looked up at my father's window and he was there. He looked very ill and I thought: 'Shall I tell him?' But I was afraid to go up. I remembered Fenwick's saying that it would just about finish him off. I wouldn't want that on my conscience... now."

There was no more writing in the book.

Although I felt I had come closer to Silva, what had happened on that fateful night of the storm was more than ever a mystery. Why had she taken a boat out when she had known she was risking her life?

There seemed one answer. She had been desperate. Could it possibly have been that after all that sudden and new-found happiness she had been bitterly disillusioned and she had made up her mind to embark onto the sea and let that fierce and entirely indifferent element do what it could with her?

My sad little sister! How I wished I could have been with her to listen to her story of joy and sorrow. I was certain that I should have been able to help her.

I put the exercise books into a drawer and locked it, for I did not want anyone else to read them.

Then I tried to piece together what I had read and ask myself why Slack, who must have known something of her story, had given them to me.

Was it some sort of warning? He was a strange boy. Sometimes I thought he was merely simple as most people believed him to be; at others I thought he was unusually perceptive.

Silva had disappeared on the night of the storm. Was he drawing some comparison between us? Silva went out in a boat presumably and the boat came back without her. One day perhaps another boat would be washed up. On its side would be painted the name Ellen.

She had gone to the mainland and he whose name she did not mention had been kind to her. He loved her. she had written. He had told her so. She was not the kind to imagine that someone loved her. In fact, I think it would be rather difficult for a man to convince her that he did. They had met; they had gone to the Corn Dolly together and he must have told her he loved her then. And yet she had gone out in a boat to face almost certain death.

Why?

In desperation? Had she, the child who had never felt wanted and suddenly found someone whom she believed loved her at last, discovered that she had been deceived. Had the discovery been beyond endurance? Or had someone lured her in some way to go out and risk her life?

A vision of Jenifry's face when she had seen me saying goodbye to Michael Hydrock after he had brought me home to the Island, rose before me.