"Tomorrow, I think."

"And will you meet me here on the following day?"

"With the greatest pleasure."

I tucked the letters into my bodice.

"I believe," he said, "that you suspect me of planning to steal them."

"Why should I?"

"You are rather suspicious by nature and particularly of me."

He moved towards me and put his hand on the neck of my bodice. I cried out in alarm and he dropped his hand.

"Only teasing," he said. "You have put them in a rather— shall I say tempting spot."

"I think you are impertinent."

"I fear you are right," he said. "Remember I come from that outlandish place of which you had never heard until your sister went there."

My eyes clouded and I started to think of her as she had been on the night she left. He saw it at once and his hands were on my shoulders.

"Forgive me," he said. "I am clumsy as well as impertinent. I know your feelings for your sister. Believe me, I admire them tremendously. I will see you the day after tomorrow. I shall come prepared, I assure you, to eat humble pie—that is what you call it, is it not?—if you can prove me wrong."

"Then you had better start preparing for that dish immediately. I warn you I shall want abject apologies."

"If you can prove your case you can have them. That's better. You are smiling now ... satisfied ... complacent. You know you are right, don't you?"

"I do. Goodbye."

"Au revoir. Auf Wiedersehen. Not goodbye. I don't like that. It's too final. I should not be at all pleased if it were goodbye between us."

I turned and ran off. I was already a little sad because a day must elapse before I saw him again. But the day after tomorrow I should have the satisfaction of seeing his dismay and that would be worth waiting for.

As soon as I entered the house I decided to go and see my grandmother. She would have awakened from her afternoon sleep and would probably be having a cup of tea. I must tell her about Conrad, but I would be careful not to betray to her the effect he had on me. I was being rather silly about that. It merely meant that he was the first man with whom I had ever been on such terms and, as Miss Elton would probably have commented if she had noticed my abstracted state, it was going to my head. That was the case. I was lonely. No one had paid any attention to me except Cousin Arthur, who was acting on my grandfather's instructions, and here was an attractive man attempting to carry on in a rather flirtatious manner with me. Sometimes I felt he was in earnest and really liked me; at others I thought he was laughing at me. Perhaps it was a little of each.

I knocked at my grandmother's door and Agnes Warden came out.

"Oh, it's Miss Philippa," she said. "Your grandmother is sleeping."

"Still? Isn't she having her tea?"

"She had a bit of a turn this afternoon. She's sleeping it off."

"A turn?"

"Well, her heart's not good, you know. She has these turns now and then. They leave her very tired and the only thing is rest after them."

I was disappointed.

I went back to my room and met Miss Elton coming into the corridor.

"I want to leave tomorrow if possible," she said, "instead of waiting until the end of the week. My cousin can meet me and she says we could have a week's holiday before going to our employers. She has arranged for us to stay with a friend of hers. Do you think your grandfather would agree to my leaving tomorrow?"

"I'm sure he would. In any case, you have really ceased to be employed by him."

"But I wouldn't want to upset him. I have my reference to think of."

"I should go to him at once. I am sure it will be all right."

"I will."

She came to my room about ten minutes later looking flushed and pleased.

"He has agreed that I shall go. Oh, Philippa, it is all so exciting, and of course my cousin says it is an easy house and the children are delightful."

"A little different from Greystone. My grandfather is not the best of employers."

"But I had you two girls. I don't think I shall ever feel the same about other pupils."

"About Francine, of course." I felt the sadness overwhelming me again. Miss Elton put her arm about me.

"You too ... just as much," she said. "I grew very fond of you both. That is why I am so concerned for you now."

"I shall miss you."

"Philippa, what have you decided? Very soon now ..."

"I know. I know. ... I just cannot think for a moment. I will though. I'll think of something."

"There's so little time."

"Please, Miss Elton, don't worry about me. I have a dream sometimes that I go to that place and find out what's really happened. There's the child, you know."

"You would best forget it. You need to get away from here—unless you are going to agree to your grandfather's wishes."

"Never ... never!" I said emphatically. Since I had met Conrad the thought of Cousin Arthur's flabby hands groping for me had become something of a nightmare.

Miss Elton shook her head. I could see she believed that in the end I would accept my fate. Normally I should have talked to her, but because my thoughts were full of Conrad I did not wish to. I did not understand, myself, but somewhere at the back of my mind was the thought that he would provide some sort of solution—just as his fellow countryman had for Francine.

"Well," said Miss Elton, "tomorrow I must say goodbye. It is always hard leaving one's pupils, but this is the hardest wrench."

When she had left me I looked at the bed which had been Francine's and a desolation swept over me. My grandmother was ill; Miss Elton would be gone; I should be alone.

I realized then how I depended on those two.

And yet I could not stop thinking of Conrad.

The next morning Miss Elton left. I clung to her for a last farewell and she was very emotional.

"May everything go right with you," she said fervently.

"And for you," I replied.

Then she was gone.

I went up to see my grandmother. Agnes met me at the door. "You should not stay long," she said. "She is very weak."

I sat by her bed and she smiled at me rather wanly. I longed to tell her about Conrad and the strange feelings he aroused in me. I wanted to discover for myself whether it was due to him or merely because he came from that place where Francine had met her death. But I realized that my grandmother was not quite sure who it was who sat by her bed, and at moments was confusing me with Grace, and as I left her my desolation increased.

I could scarcely wait for Conrad's return. I was in the woods before the appointed time, waiting. He was on time and my heart leaped with excitement as he came striding towards me.

He took both my hands and bowed before he kissed first one and then the other.

"So?" I said.

"I went as we arranged I should," he said. "It's not a bad journey."

"And you saw it?"

He looked at me steadily. "I found the church. The vicar was helpful."

"He was away when Miss Elton and I went. We saw the churchwarden."

He looked at me intently. "You mustn't mind this," he said. "I know you thought you saw this entry—"

"Thought I saw it—I did see it! What are you talking about?"

He shook his head. "The vicar showed me the register. There was no entry."

"This is the most absurd nonsense. I saw it. I tell you I saw it."

"No," he insisted. "It was not there. I had the right date. There was no doubt of it. There was no entry."

"You are provoking me."

"I wish I were. I'm sorry to upset you in this way." 

"Sorry! You're glad. Besides, it's a lie. You can't say this. I tell you I saw it with my own eyes."

"I'll tell you what I think," he said soothingly. "You wanted to see it. So you imagined it."

"In other words I suffer from delusions and I'm mad. Are you suggesting that?"

He looked at me sadly. "My dear, dear Philippa, I am sorry. Believe me, I wanted to see it. I wanted you to be right."

"I shall go there myself. I'll go again. I'll find it. You must have been looking in the wrong place."

"No. I had the correct date. The date you gave me. If they had been married it would have been there. It is not there, Philippa. It is definitely not there."

"I am going there. I shall lose no time."

"When?" he asked.

"Tomorrow."

"I will come with you. I will show you that you have made a mistake."

"And I will show you that I have not," I said vehemently.

He took my arm but I shook him off.

"Don't take this to heart," he said. "It's over and done with now. Whether she was married or not ... what difference does it make?"

"It makes a difference to me ... and the child."

"There was no child," he said. "No marriage ... no child."

"How dare you suggest my sister was a liar or that I am mad? Go away... . Go back to your own country!"

"I fear I shall have to ... very soon. But first you and I will go there ... tomorrow."

"Yes," I said determinedly, "tomorrow."

I had not thought how I was to get away. It had been different when I had gone before. But I was reckless. I could think of nothing but proving Conrad wrong. I told Mrs. Greaves that I was going to look at an old church and was not sure how long I should be away.

"Your grandfather would not want you to go without someone with you," she said.

"I shall have someone with me."

"Who will that be? Miss Sophia Glencorn?"

I nodded. It was the only way. I did not want a hue and cry before I started.

Conrad was at the station as we had arranged.

As I sat opposite him I thought how pleasant it could have been if we were just taking a trip somewhere together. I studied his face as he sat, his arms folded, his eyes on me.

It was a strong face with firm features and deeply set bluish grey eyes. It was a Nordic face. The blond hair grew back strongly from a high forehead. I could imagine his coming to our shores in one of the tall ships, a Viking conqueror.

"Well," he said, "are you summing me up?"

"Just casually observing," I replied.

"I hope I meet with your approval."

"Does it matter?"

"Enormously."

"You are bantering again. It is because you know what we are going to find when we get to the church. You're trying to make a joke of it. I think it's a very poor joke."

He leaned forward and laid his hand on my knee. "I would not dream of joking about a subject which is so near to your heart," he said seriously. "I don't want you to feel too badly when ..."

"Shall we talk of something else?"

"The weather? It is quite a pleasant day for the time of the year. Now in my country it is not so warm in the winter. I believe it is because you are singularly blessed by the Gulf Stream, one of God's gifts to the English."

"I think it would be better to be silent."

"Just as you wish. My great desire is to please you now as always ... and forever."

I closed my eyes. His words touched a deep chord in me. Always and forever. It sounded as though our relationship was not the transient one that I had thought it to be and the idea lifted my spirits considerably.

As we chuffed along in silence his eyes remained on me. I looked out of the window but I scarcely noticed the passing scenery. At length I smelt the tang of the sea and there was the approach to the town ... the white cliffs again, the view of the castle which medieval kings had called the gateway to England.

We made our way to the inn, for he insisted that we have some food.

"It's necessary if we take the trap," he said. "Besides you need a little refreshment."

"I could eat nothing," I said.

"But I could," he replied, "and you will."

We had the bread and cheese again with cider. I did manage to eat a little.

"There, you see," he commented. "I know what is good for you."

"How soon can we start?" I asked.

"Patience," he retorted. "Do you know, in different circumstances I should be enjoying this thoroughly. Perhaps you and I can take some trips round the countryside. What do you say?"

"My grandfather would never allow it."

"Has he allowed this?"

"There was a little ... subterfuge."

"Oh, you are capable of intrigue then?"