I know what it is, I told myself. When people consider an ancient house like this, they make themselves believe it could tell some fantastic stories if it could only speak. They think of the generations who have lived and suffered within these walls, and they grow fanciful. So that when the mistress of the house is tragically killed they imagine her ghost still walks and that, although she is dead, she is still here. Well, I am a sensible woman, I hope. Alice was killed on a train, and that was the end of Alice.

I laughed at my folly in allowing myself to be caught up in such notions. Had not Daisy or Kitty explained that the whispering voices, which I heard in the night, were merely the sound of waves thundering in the cove below?

From now on I was entertaining no more such fantastic thoughts.

My room was filled with sunshine and I felt differently from the way I had felt on any other morning. I was exhilarated. I knew why. It was due to that man, Connan TreMellyn. Not that I liked him—quite in reverse; but it was as though he had issued a challenge. I was going to make a success of this job. I was going to make of Alvean not only a model pupil but a charming, unaffected, uninhibited little girl.

I felt so pleased that I began to hum softly under my breath.

Come into the Garden, Maud. , . That was a song Father used to like to play while Phillida sang, for in addition to her other qualities.

Phillida possessed a charming voice. Then I passed to Sweet and Low, and I for a moment forgot the house I was in and saw Father at the piano, his glasses slipping down his nose, his slippered feet making the most of the pedals.

I was almost astonished to find that I had unconsciously slipped into the song I had heard Gilly singing in the woods :

Alice, where art thou-Oh no, not that, I said sharply to myself.

I heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and I went to the window to look out. No one was visible. The lawns looked fresh and lovely with the early morning dew on them. What a beautiful sight, I thought; the palm trees gave the scene a tropical look and it was one of those mornings when there was every promise of a beautiful day.

” One of the last we can expect this summer, I daresay,” I said aloud; and I threw open my window and leaned out, my thick coppery plaits, the ends tied with pieces of blue ribbon for bedtime, swinging out with me.

I went back to Sweet and Low and was humming this when Connan TreMellyn emerged from the stables. He saw me before I was able to draw back, and I felt myself grow scarlet with embarrassment to be seen with my hair down and in my nightgown thus.

He called jauntily : ” Good morning, Miss Leigh.”

In that moment I said to myself: So it was his horse I heard. And has he been riding in the early morning, or out all night? I imagined his visiting one of the gay ladies of the neighbour y hood if such existed. That was my opinion of him. I was angry that he should be the one to show no embarrassment whatsoever while I was blushing certainly in every part that was visible.

” Good morning,” I said, and my voice sounded curt.

He was coming swiftly across the lawn, hoping, I was sure, to embarrass me further by a closer look at me in my night attire.

” A beautiful morning,” he cried.

” Extremely so,” I answered.

I withdrew into my room as I heard him shout: ” Hallo, Alvean! So you’re up too.”

I was standing well back from the window now and I heard Alvean cry: ” Hallo, Papa!” and her voice was soft and gentle with that wistful note which I had detected when she spoke of him on the previous day. I knew that she was delighted to have seen him, that she had been awake in her room when she had heard his voice, and had dashed to her window, and that it would make her extremely happy if he stopped awhile and chatted with her.

He did no such thing. He went into the house. Standing before my mirror, I looked at myself. Most unbecoming, I thought. And quite undignified. Myself in a pink flannelette nightdress buttoned high at the throat, with my hair down and my face even now the colour of flannelette!

I put on my dressing gown and on impulse crossed the schoolroom to Alvean’s room. I opened the door and went in. She was sitting astride a chair and talking to herself.

” There’s nothing to be afraid of really. All you have to do is hold tight and not be afraid … and you won’t fall off.”

She was so intent on what she was doing that she had not heard the door open, and I stood for a few seconds watching her, for she had her back to the schoolroom door.

I learnt a great deal in that moment. He was a great horse man, this father of hers; he wanted his daughter to be a good horsewoman, but Alvean, who desperately wanted to win his approval, was afraid of horses.

I started forward, my first impulse to talk to her, to tell her that I would teach her to ride. It was one thing I could do really well because we had always had horses in the country, and at five Phillida and I were competing in local shows.

But I hesitated because I was beginning to understand Alvean. She was an unhappy child. Tragedy had hit her in more ways than one. She had lost her mother, and that was the biggest tragedy which could befall any child; but when her father did not seem anything but indifferent to her, and she adored him, that was a double tragedy.

I quietly shut the door and went back to my room. I looked at the sunshine on the carpet and my elation returned. I was going to make a success of this job. I was going to fight Connan TreMellyn, if he wanted it that way. I was going to make him proud of his daughter; I was going to force him to give her that attention which was her right and which none but a brute would deny her.

Lessons were trying that morning. Alvean was late for them, having breakfasted with her father in accordance with the custom of the family. I pictured them at the big table in the room which I had discovered was used as a dining room when there were no guests. They called it the small dining room, but it was only small by Mount Mellyn standards.

He would be reading the paper, or looking through his letters, I imagined; Alvean would be at the other end of the table hoping for a word, which of course he would be too selfish to bestow.

I had to send for her to come to lessons; and that she deeply resented.

I tried to make lessons as interesting as I could, and I must have succeeded, for in spite of her resentment towards me she could not hide her interest in the history and geography lessons which I set for that morning.

She took luncheon with her father while I ate alone in the schoolroom, and after that I decided to approach Connan TreMellyn.

While I was wondering where I could find him I saw him leave the house and go across to the stables. I immediately followed him and, when I arrived at the stables, I heard him giving orders to Billy Trehay to saddle Royal Russet for him.

He looked surprised to see me; and then he smiled and I was sure that he was remembering the last time he had seen me in dishabille.

” Why,” he said, ” it is Miss Leigh.”

” I had hoped to have a few words with you,” I said primly. ” Perhaps this is an inconvenient time.”

” That depends,” he said, ” on how many words you wish us to exchange.” He took out his watch and looked at it. ” I can give you five minutes, Miss Leigh.”

I was aware of Billy Trehay, and if Connan TreMellyn was going to snub me I was eager that no servant should overhear.

Connan TreMellyn said: ” Let us walk across the lawn. Ready in five minutes, Billy?”

” Very good, Master,” answered Billy.

With that Connan TreMellyn began to walk away from the stables, and I fell into step beside him.

” In my youth,” I said, ” I was constantly in the saddle. I believe Alvean wishes to learn to ride. I am asking your permission to teach her.”

” You have my permission to try, Miss Leigh,” he said.

” You sound as though you doubt my ability to succeed.”

” I fear I do.”

” I don’t understand why you should doubt my ability to teach when you have not tested my skill.”

” Oh, Miss Leigh,” he said almost mockingly, ” you wrong me. It is not your ability to teach that I doubt; it is Alvean’s to learn.”

” You mean others have failed to teach her?”

” I have failed.”

” But surely ” He lifted a hand. ” It is strange,” he said, ” to find such fear in a child. Most children take to it like breathing.”

His tone was clipped, his expression hard; I wanted to shout at him:

What sort of father are you! I pictured the lessons, the lack of understanding, the expectation of miracles. No wonder the child had been scared.

He went on: ” There are some people who can never learn to ride.”

Before I could stop myself I had burst out: ” There are some people who cannot teach.”

He stopped to stare at me in astonishment, and I knew that nobody in this house had ever dared to talk to him in such a way.

I thought: This is it. I shall now be told that my services are no longer required, and at the end of the month I may pack my bags and depart.

There was a violent temper there, and I could see that he was fighting to control it. He still looked at me and I could not read the expression in those light eyes. I believed it was contemptuous. Then he glanced back at the stables.

” You must excuse me, Miss Leigh,” he said; and he left me.

I went straight back to Alvean. I found her in the schoolroom. There was the sullen defiant look in her eyes, and I believed she had seen me talking to her father.

I came straight to the point. ” Your father has said I may give you riding lessons, Alvean. Would you like that?”

I saw the muscles of her face tighten, and my heart sank. Would it be possible to teach a child who was as scared as that?

I went on quickly, before she had time to answer : ” When we were your age my sister and I were keen riders. She was two years younger than I and we used to compete together in the local shows. The exciting days in our lives were those when there was a horse show in our village.”

” They have them here,” she said.

” It’s great fun. And once you’ve really mastered the trick you feel quite at home in the saddle.”

She was silent for a moment, then she said : ” I can’t do it. I don’t like horses.”

” You don’t like horses!” My voice was shocked. ” Why, they’re the gentlest creatures in the world.”

” They’re not. They don’t like me. I rode Grey Mare and she ran fast and wouldn’t stop, and if Tapperty hadn’t caught her rein she would have killed me.”

” Grey Mare wasn’t the mount for you. You should have a pony to start with.”

” Then I had Buttercup. She was as bad in a different way. She wouldn’t go when I tried to make her. She took a mouthful of the bushes on the bank and I tugged and tugged and she wouldn’t move for me. When Billy Trehay said Come on, Buttercup,” she just let go and started walking away as though it were all my fault. “

I laughed and she threw me a look of hatred. I hastened to assure her that was the way horses behaved until they under stood you. When they did understand you they loved you as though you were their very dear friend.

I saw the wistful look in her eyes then and I exulted because I knew that the reason for aggressiveness was to be found in her intense loneliness and desire for affection.

I said: ” Look here, Alvean, come out with me now. Let’s see what we can do together.”

She shook her head and looked at me suspiciously. I knew she felt that I might be trying to punish her for her ungraciousness towards me by making her look foolish. I wanted to put my arm about her, but I knew that was no way to approach Alvean.

” There’s one thing to learn before you can begin to ride,” I said as though I had not noticed her gesture, ” and that is to love your horse. Then you won’t be afraid. As soon as you’re not afraid, your horse will begin to love you. He’ll know you’re his master, and he wants a master; but it must be a tender, loving master.”

She was giving me her attention now.

” When a horse runs away as Grey Mare did, that means that she is frightened. She’s as frightened as you are, and her way of showing it is to run. Now when you’re frightened you should never let her know it. You just whisper to her, it’s all right. Grey Mare … I’m here.” As for Buttercup she’s a mischievous old nag. She’s lazy and she knows that you can’t handle her, so she won’t do as she’s told.