So, we planned. Next year, early next year, we would be married, and I should go home with him.

He talked a great deal about Norway—the beautiful fjords and mountains. He showed me maps of his country and the place where his family had a country house. I was so happy. I was living in the future. I saw before me an idyllic life. I should see the midnight sun. I should lie in a boat in the fjords, I should fish and swim with him. We would ride through the forests; and then we would go in search of his island ... together... always together.

He had shown me the map. There was the island. He had called it Paradise Island.

"It must be here," he said, pointing. "I have studied maps of the area but there is no mention of it. Here are the Solomon Islands, recently rediscovered. It could be miles south or to the north... I don't know. But it is there ... somewhere. Of course the discovery of these islands is so recent and much of the seas are as yet uncharted. Isn't it exciting? To think of what we have to do? The discoveries we have to make? I am going to make another map, and when it is finished I shall give it to you. Then we shall both have a map on which is my Paradise Island. There will be no other such map in the world ... as yet. Treasure yours, Ann Alice. Keep it in a safe place."

I have not yet received the map but when I do I shall certainly

keep it in a safe place. I shall hide it in the drawer with my journal. Magnus does not want anyone to see it. I believe he is afraid that someone else might find the island before he does.

My father and stepmother know how things are between Magnus and me, although I do not think they realize how serious are our intentions. I have an idea that they believe it to be a boy and girl romance. Calf love, they call it. They seem to forget that I am eighteen years old and Magnus is three years my senior. We are not children, but I suppose parents find it hard to realize that their children have grown up. Oddly enough, only a short time ago my stepmother was talking of giving parties for me so that I could meet a prospective husband. I suppose they feel that only a marriage which they have arranged could be a serious one.

My father's health has deteriorated lately. Sometimes he looks very tired. My stepmother takes great care of him. She is always fussing over him—rushing up with a rug for his knees if he is sitting in the garden and a cold wind blows up, making sure that he has a cushion behind his head when he dozes off. He is always chiding her for treating him like an invalid. But how he revels in it!

I was very glad when Desmond Featherstone disappeared soon after my birthday. I had been afraid that he would be hanging about, waylaying me when I went out. It was a great relief to find that he had gone.

I am writing all this in order to put off the moment when I must write of this terrible thing which has happened.

Freddy and I had been into Great Stanton in the gig. We had had a wonderful afternoon, calling at the Shop and being with Magnus. I had driven the gig home in a haze of happiness and as we came out of the stables to walk across to the house, a rider came towards us.

He pulled up and bowed his head in greeting. "Am I right in thinking you are Miss Mallory?" he asked.

I was startled. I knew him vaguely but could not remember who he was. I said: "Yes."

"I thought I recognized you. You were much younger when we met."

"I remember you now. You are a friend of my brother." My voice trailed off. A terrible presentiment had come to me.

"I have to speak to you. May I leave my horse in your stables and come to the house."

"What is it?" I cried. "Tell me quickly. Is it my brother?"

He nodded gravely.

"We have been so anxious," I said. "Is he ... dead?"

He said: "The ship was lost off the coast of Australia. I am, I believe, one of the few survivors."

I felt dizzy. I gripped Freddy's hand. I said: "Freddy, you'd better go and find your Aunt Lois. Tell her ... we have a visitor."

I took James Cardew to the stables and we were silent while the groom took his horse.

We walked slowly to the house together.

"I cannot tell you how it grieves me to be the carrier of such news," he said at length. "But I had to come to see you ... and your father."

"It was good of you," I told him. "He has not been very well lately. Let me break it to him first."

My father was dozing in the garden. I went to him and said: "We have a visitor. It is Mr. Cardew. Do you remember Mr. Cardew? He came to see Charles... just before he sailed. Oh, Papa, it is very sad news. Charles..."

I shall never forget my father's face. It was stricken. He looked old and tired.

My stepmother came down and sat by my father, holding his hand. James Cardew talked of the voyage, of the terrible night of shipwreck. It seemed to me that this was the fate of all who braved the sea. I had heard so much of the hazards from Magnus—and now it was like hearing the tragic story all over again. Only this one ended in death.

James Cardew did not stay long. I think he felt that the sight of him could only add to our sorrow.

Ours is a house of mourning tonight.


August 1st

The sadness persists. We cannot believe that we shall never see Charles again.

My stepmother has done everything she can to cheer my father. He had one of his turns the day after James Cardew left. My stepmother insisted that the doctor come. He said it was no surprise in view of the shock my father had received.

It was a particularly bad turn. He stayed in bed for a week. My stepmother read aloud to him from the Bible, which seemed to give him great comfort.

A few weeks after it happened my father seemed to arouse himself. He went into Great Stanton to see his lawyers.

He talked to me about it afterwards. "You see, Ann Alice, this makes a great difference. It means the end of our Mallory line. For centuries we have had Mallorys living in this house. Now the chain is broken."

"Do names matter?" I asked.

"Families do. People set great store by families. I have to think about this house and everything. If you marry and leave the country, what then? The family is scattered ... the name is lost. Charles would have continued here."

"Yes, I do see," I said. "But when all is told is it so very important. People should be happy. They find happiness with other people, not houses and names."

"You talk like a girl in love. It is Magnus, is it not?"

"Yes, it is Magnus."

"A bright young man. He is much travelled. He is in love with the business of map making ... as I never really was. Masters is like that. It absorbs some people. Masters says Magnus has a special talent for map making. He has adventure in his blood too. Your brother Charles was like that." He was silent for a moment then he went on: "I have had to see old Grampton."

Grampton Sons and Henderson are our solicitors.

"I have been thinking of the house. That should go to you. What would you do with it? I hope you would never sell it."

"No, Papa. I would not."

"I hope there would always be a home for your stepmother here for as long as she lives. I have provided for her. Of course, there is your cousin John. I haven't heard much of him for some time. But he is a Mallory ... so I suppose really the place should go to him... if... by any chance you do not want to live here... That would not be while your stepmother was alive, of course."

"You talk as though you are going to die, Papa."

"I don't intend to for a long time yet. But I want to make sure that everything is in order... and in view of what has happened to Charles..." His voice faltered...

I took his hand and held it. It was rarely that we were demonstrative with each other.

I do not like such talk. It is almost as though my father thinks he is going to die.

It has been a strange month. A terrible gloom hangs over the house and it is only when I escape to Magnus that it recedes a little.

To be so happy and to know tragedy is waiting to strike at any moment makes me pause to think. And in this contemplative mood I turn to my journal.


September 3rd

We are a house of mourning.

My father died in the night. My stepmother discovered him. She came to me, her face very white, her deep blue eyes enormous and her mouth quivering.

"Ann, Ann Alice, come with me... and look at your father."

He was lying on his back, his face white and still. I touched his face. It was very cold.

I looked at my stepmother and said: "He's... dead."

"He can't be," she insisted as though begging me to agree with her. "He's had these turns before."

"He has never had one like this," I said. "We must send for the doctor."

She sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands. "Oh, Ann Alice, it can't be. It can't be."

I felt amazingly calm. It was almost as though I was prepared. "I will send one of them for the doctor at once," I said.

I went out and left her there with him.

The housekeeper came back with me. She started to cry when she saw my father. My stepmother just sat still, her hands covering her face.

I went to her and put an arm about her shoulders. "You must compose yourself," I told her. "I am afraid he is dead."

She looked at me piteously. "He was so good to me," she said tremulously. "He ... he has had these turns before. Perhaps ..."

I shook my head. Somehow I could not stay in that room. I went out, leaving her. I went down to the front door and stood there facing the Green, waiting for the doctor.

It seemed hours before he came.

"What is it, Miss Mallory?" he asked.

"It's my father. He must have died in the night."

I took him to the death chamber. He examined my father but said very little.

As he came out of the room he said to me: "He has never recovered from the shock of your brother's death."

So here I sit with my journal before me, writing down the events of this sad day.

I keep thinking about him and how he had changed when he married my stepmother and through her it seemed we had become more of a family than we had ever been before.

His last years had been happy. She had made them so. I should be grateful to her. I wish I could be.

And now he is dead. I shall never see him dozing in his chair again, sitting at the head of the table, exuding contentment with his family life.

Gloom in the house. And soon we have to face the funeral. We shall be dressed in heavy black; we shall go to the churchyard, listen

to the words of the preacher, watch them lower his coffin into the grave, and the bell will toll.

Then we shall return to the house ... a different house. How can it be the same without him?

What will it be like? I find it hard to imagine.

My stepmother will be here. Freddy will be here. I have lost my father and my brother.

But in the Masters' house in Great Stanton, Magnus has his little room. He will be thinking of me as I am of him. There is nothing to fear because he is there...

Should I be afraid if it were not for Magnus?

I pause to consider that. Yes, I believe I should be. Of what? Of a gloomy house, a house of death? Of a life without my father?

Why should I feel so uneasy about that?

But there is nothing to fear. Magnus is there ... waiting for the day when we shall be together.


September 10th

Today my father was buried. I seem to have lived through a long time since that day, only a week ago, when he died.

Immediately after my father's death my stepmother was prostrate. She was really ill. I had never seen her weep before but she did for my father. She must have really loved him. True, she had always behaved as though she did, but I never really believed her. I had taken such a dislike to her when she first came that nothing she did could eradicate that.

I thought she would be too ill to go to the funeral, but she roused herself and put on her widow's weeds, her black, black clothes. They did not suit her. She is a woman who needs colour.

The mournful sound of the tolling bell seemed to go on forever. The carriage, the black-plumed horses, the undertakers in their solemn tall hats and sombre coats, the cortege of death... they all accentuated our loss.

Why do people have to glorify death like this? I wonder. Would it not have been better if we had just laid him quietly in his grave?