"You must not tell Jessamy," I said.

"I don't want to, of course. And I won't ... for a ... consideration."

I felt myself go cold with horror. "What ... consideration?"

"I should have thought that to one of your discernment that would have been obvious."

I tried to push my horse past him, but he laid a hand on the reins.

"Well," he said, "isn't it just a question of when?"

I lifted my whip. I could have struck him across his smiling face. He caught my arm.

"Why so outraged?" he asked. "You're no shrinking virgin, are you? I mean, it would not be the first time you have indulged in this kind of adventure."

"You are despicable."

"And you are desirable. So much so, sweet Anabel, that I am ready to go to great lengths for you."

"I don't want to see you again."

"Where shall we go? In the castle? That would be amusing, wouldn't it? When will you come?"

"Never," I said.

"Oh, poor dear Jessamy, she will be upset!"

"Haven't you any decency?"

"None," he said.

"I hate you."

"In a way that will make it more interesting. Listen, Anabel, I have been waiting for this ... for years. I know about you and Joel. Why be so kind to one brother and so cruel to the other?"

"Joel and I love each other," I said vehemently.

"Very touching. It makes me want to weep."

"I doubt you ever wept for anything but rage."

"There are many things you have to learn about me, Anabel. But you will learn. You are going to have a long time to do it. You have to keep your wickedness from Jessamy, don't you? And there is only one way to do it."

"I shall go to her and tell her myself."

"Will you? Poor Jessamy! She is a very sentimental girl and she has not been well since Susannah was born. She suffers from her chest, you know, and her heart is not what it should be. I hope Joel has not got ideas in his head. Oh dear, the plot thickens. I wonder how she will take the news? This story of your wickedness, I mean. You and her husband ... husband and best friend. Alas, it is often like that."

I spurred up my horse and galloped away. I did not know where to go, what to do. Finally I went back to the castle. Jessamy was resting, I was told. I felt frantic with anxiety. I could not bear Jessamy to know.

And the alternative ...

I was shivering with fear. There was one thought which kept hammering in my head. Jessamy must not know.

I kept going over that scene in the woods. I could not forget his gleaming eyes and his full sensual lips. I could read his thoughts so clearly and I knew that he believed he had at last got me into his power.

My door opened slowly. I jumped up startled, for it was Jessamy.

"Did I startle you?" she asked.

"N-no," I answered.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, why?"

"You look ... different."

"I have a slight headache," I told her.

"Oh dear, Anabel, it is so rare to see you not well."

"I'm quite all right really."

"You must get Joel to give you a tonic. Why don't you lie down? I really came to talk to you about Susannah."

"What's wrong with Susannah?"

"She can be very willful, you know, Anabel. She wants her own way all the time and seems to get it."

"She's a Mateland," I said.

"I shouldn't bother you about this now. It's nothing really. I just wanted a talk, I suppose. I was a bit worried about her and when I'm worried it's to you I come. Do you remember, it's about seven years since you came to the castle?"

"I was seventeen then," I said, just to say something.

"That makes you twenty-four now. You ought to have a husband, Anabel."

I closed my eyes; this was becoming unbearable. She went on talking as though musing to herself. "We ought to do something about you. Give parties ... balls... . I'm going to speak to Joel ... when I see him. What's the matter? Are you really all right? I'm chattering away when you've got a headache. You must rest, Anabel!"

She made me lie down. She covered me with a quilt. I wanted to shriek at her: You should hate me. That's what I deserve.

She left me lying there, trying to think what I should do.

I could think of no way out. Jessamy would have to know, and I could not bear her to know. I must tell Joel. Yet I was afraid to tell him. I was afraid of what he would do. I knew that he would be filled with rage against his brother and yet I must tell him.

I came out of my room, still wearing my riding habit. As I entered the hall David called to me. I ran to the door but he was there before me.

"There is a time limit, you know," he said. "Shall we say four hours to make up your mind? I think it would be a nice gesture if you came to my room. It is in the front drum tower. It's a very pleasant room. I will have the fire lighted early. I shall be waiting there for you. I dare say my dedicated brother will be at his surgery. He does not seem eager to be with his wife. We understand why, of course. Other fish to fry. Very well, Anabel, my dear, tonight."

I ran past him. I went out to the stables. I mounted my horse and rode. But I did not go to the town. I dared not tell Joel. But I would have to, of course.

I rode recklessly, galloping over the fields, and all the time asking myself what I was going to do.

It was late afternoon. I must see Joel, I must tell him. One of the things we had said to each other was that we would always share everything.

He had finished with his patients and I saw his pleasure at the sight of me. I threw myself into his arms. I was half sobbing with relief.

I told him everything, and as he listened he grew pale. He said at length: "He's expecting you tonight. He will find me instead."

"Joel," I cried, "what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to kill him," he said.

"No, Joel. We must think about this. You must not be rash. It would be murder ... your own brother."

"It would be no more than killing a wasp. I hate him."

"Joel ... please ... try to be calm... ."

"You must leave this to me, Anabel."

"I can't bear Jessamy to know. She would never believe in anyone again. She has always trusted me. We have always been so close ... the greatest friends. I can't bear her to know that I have done this, Joel."

I could see that he was consumed by his anger and could think of nothing else. I knew that anger could be fierce, obsessive. I remembered when a child in the town had been ill-treated by its parents, how his anger towards them had been uncontrolled. He had had them sent to prison and the child cared for elsewhere. It was righteous anger, of course, but he had not considered that the parents were under strain and that they were not of normal intelligence. I had argued with him about it but he had remained adamant. Now he thought of nothing but revenge on David—not for spying on us, not for going to find you, but because of what he had suggested to me. His blackmail, he called it, as it was most certainly. And, he said, there was only one thing to do with blackmailers and that was eliminate them.

I was afraid of the passions I aroused in these two men. I knew their stormy natures—Joel's no less than David's—and I was afraid.

We returned to the castle together. I went to my room pleading a headache and did not go down to dinner. Jessamy came in after dinner to see how I was. She told me that everything seemed so strange. Joel had scarcely spoken and David seemed in an odd mood. "He was making jokes all the time ... obscure ones," said Jessamy. "I couldn't understand them and I was glad when the meal was over. Poor Anabel. It is so unusual for you not to be well. David was saying he didn't remember your ever being unwell before ... except that time six or seven years ago when you went to stay with your father's people. He went on about your not looking quite as usual for some time before you went away then but when you came back you had obviously quite recovered. It was a horrible meal, Anabel. I was go glad when it was over. But you're tired." She bent over and kissed me. " 'Better in the morning,' that's what old Nanny Perkins used to say. Remember?"

"Thank you, Jessamy," I said. "I do love you. Remember that."

She laughed. "You must be feeling poorly to be so sentimental. Good night, Anabel."

I wanted to reach out to her, to try to explain and ask forgiveness.

I lay there for some time.

Joel had said he would come for me and we would go to David's room together. He did not come though, and as I waited, my eyes on the door, I heard the sound of a muffled shot somewhere outside the castle.

I stood alert, listening. There was no sound from below. I was afraid that shot had something to do with David and Joel. I went to the room which Jessamy shared with Joel and stood at the door listening. I was sure Jessamy was there alone.

Then I could not help it. I made my way to David's room in the drum tower. I stood outside listening. There was no sound from within so I opened the door quietly and looked in. The fire was flickering in the grate. The room shone in the light of several candles. A chair was by the fire and a silk robe lay on the velvet-covered bed.

There was no one there.

My fears were increasing every second.

I ran down the stairs and out to the courtyard. I had to know what had happened and I was terrified of discovering. I heard running footsteps. I held my breath listening.

It was Joel who was running towards me and I knew some terrible tragedy had taken place.

I threw myself into his arms. I could scarcely breathe. There was a great lump in my throat which I suppose was a form of terror.

I stammered: "I heard ... a shot... ."

"He's dead," he said. "I killed him."

"Oh, God help us," I murmured.

"I went to his room," he said. "I told him I knew and that I was going to kill him. He said we would settle it in a civilized way. He suggested pistols. "We're both good shots,' he said. So we took the pistols from the gun room. He always thought he was the better shot ... that was why he suggested them ... but he wasn't this time."

"You've killed him, Joel," I whispered. "Can you be sure?"

"Yes. Right through the heart. That's what I aimed for. It was either him or me ... and it had to be him ... for you ... and myself ... and for Suewellyn."

"Joel!" I cried. "What are you going to do?"

"I always thought I'd kill him one day ... or he'd kill me. We've come near to it once or twice. Now it's over. I'm going away. I'll have to ... tonight... ."

"Joel ... no!"

"You're coming with me. We'll have to get out of the country."

"Now ..."

"Now ... tonight. We've got to think carefully. It is not impossible. I can arrange with my bank when we are well away.

We can take valuables with us ... everything we can lay our hands on and conveniently take. Go to your room. Get what you can together. Don't let anyone know what you are doing. We'll be well away by morning. We'll ride out a few miles and then get the train to Southampton. We'll get a ship and go out to ... Australia most likely ... and on from there."

"Joel," I breathed. The ... child."

"Yes," he said. "I've thought of the child. You'll have to go and get her. The three of us will go together."

So I went to my room and within an hour after I had heard that pistol shot I was riding through the night with Joel.

We parted at the railway station. He went to Southampton where I was to join him with you. I had to wait for trains and did not get to you until the following day. You know the rest.

That's my story, Suewellyn. You have come to love us, your father and me, and now that you have heard how it happened you will understand.

The Island

In spite of everything that has happened since that day when my mother came to take me away from Crabtree Cottage, I still remember those years on the island as the happiest of my life. It is still an enchanted place to me, a lost paradise.

Looking back, it is not easy to remember always with clarity. Events become blurred by the years. It seems now that the days were full of sunshine—which I suppose they were except during the rainy season. And how I loved that rain! I used to stand in it and let it fall all over me, drenching me to the skin, soft balmy rain; and then the sun would come out, and the steam would rise from the earth, and I would be dry in a few moments. Each day seemed brimming over with happiness, but of course it was not quite like that. There were times when I sensed a certain fear in my parents. Every time a ship came in during those first years my mother would make a great effort to hide her anxiety from me and my father would sit at the topmost window which overlooked the bay and there would be a gun across his knees.