"It's very kind of you to show me," I said.

"A pleasure. We don't get many interested. But I could see you were."

"Yes," I said, "and thank you very much."

I wanted to be alone. I wanted to think. This was the last thing I had expected to find.

I was glad of the long journey back during which I could ponder on what I had seen and try to grasp what it could possibly mean; but when I reached London I was no nearer solving the mystery.

Could it really be that the man I had seen was a spectre ... a ghost from the past?

That theory would explain many things. Yet I could not accept it. One thing was certain-there was no Edward Compton of Compton Manor. There had not been for more than twenty years!

Then who was the strange man who had made such an impression on me, who had looked at me-yes, I would confess it now-with admiration, and with something which indicated to me that we could have a closer relationship and that was what he was hoping for.

How could I have imagined the whole conception? He had been in the forest. Was it possible that in that forest which Lydia always said was a little spooky-the same word which Aunt Patty had used about the Abbey school-strange things could happen?

I must forget the incident. I could not allow it to go on occupying my thoughts. It was one of life's strange experiences. They did happen from time to time. I had read of them and there was no explanation.

I was sure I should be wise to try to put the entire matter out of my mind.

That was impossible. When I shut my eyes I could see that tombstone. Sir Edward Compton .. . and that of the little boy, another Edward.

It was mysterious ... rather frightening.

Oh yes. I must certainly try to put it out of my mind.

The Abbey

IT was a lovely spring day when I arrived at Colby Abbey station. I had been enchanted by the countryside which I had glimpsed through the windows of the train-lush green meadows and wooded hills and the rich red soil of Devonshire with the occasional glimpse of the sea.

The sun was warm although there was a slight nip in the air as though to remind me that summer had not yet come. I had said goodbye to Aunt Patty and Violet with much laughter, a few tears and constant reminders that we should all be together in the summer vacation. It was exhilarating as starting a new life must always be, and I was extremely fortunate in having Aunt Patty. Her last injunction had been: "If Madam Hetherington doesn't treat you with the right respect, you know what to do. But I think she'll behave herself. She knows that you are not exactly hers to command like some of those poor girls who have to toe the line or wonder where their next meal's coming from."

"You've always been a bulwark in my life," I told her.

"I hope that's not meant to be taken too literally, dear. I know I'm overfond of good food, but bulwark ... no, I don't like the sound of that."

That was how we parted. The last I saw of her from the train window, for she and Violet had come to London to see me off, was a smile though I knew the tears were not far off.

So here I was arrived at last, and as I stepped out of the train a man in smart livery came towards me and asked if my name was Miss Grant, for if so, he had come to drive me to Colby Abbey Academy where I was expected.

"The trap's in the yard, Miss. Be this your bag? 'Tis just a step or two ... nothing more."

I went through the barrier with him and there was what he called the trap - a rather smart two-heeled vehicle drawn by a grey horse.

He took my bags and stowed them away. "Reckon, Miss," he said, "you'll be comfortable up with me."

"Thank you," I said when he helped me up.

"It be a nice day for coming, Miss," he said. He had a black beard and dark curly hair-a stocky, middle-aged man, who spoke with that burr with which in time I should become familiar.

He was inclined to be talkative. As he whipped up the horse he said: "The young ladies will be coming next Tuesday. It'll give you time to settle in, Miss. Bit different when they'm all here, eh? Some of 'em stays at school this time of year though. It's only at Christmas and summer we have a full turn-out. Too far for some to go home, you do see?"

"Yes," I said.

"Do 'ee know Devon at all, Miss?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't."

"You've got a real treat in store. God's own country. A little bit of heaven itself."

"I'm glad to hear that."

"It be true, Miss. Sir Francis Drake, now. He were a Devon man. Saved England from them Spaniards, they do say. It were a long time ago though. Glorious Devon they call it. Devonshire cream and cider ... They do make songs about it."

"Yes, I have heard some of them."

"You'll see the big house in a minute. The Abbey's a good three miles on."

"Is that the home of the Verringers?"

"Yes, that be the Hall. Look, there's. the grave-yard by the church."

Just at that moment a bell began to toll.

"There be the funeral today. Funny time to arrive, Miss, if 'ee don't mind me saying so. Her ladyship going out like and you coming in."

His beard shook. He seemed to find that rather amusing.

"Whose funeral did you say it was?"

"Lady Verringer's."

"Oh ... was she an elderly lady?"

"No. She'm Sir Jason's wife. Poor lady. Not much of a life. Been invalid for ten years or more. Fell from her horse. They don't have much luck... them Verringers. They be cursed, I reckon, like folks say."

"Oh?"

"Well, it goes back ... right a long way. And the Abbey and all that. There's stories about them. There'm folks as think it was either Abbey or Verringers and it ought to have been the Abbey."

"It sounds mysterious."

"Oh, it goes back a long way."

We had turned into a lane so narrow that the bushes from the hedges brushed the sides of the trap. Suddenly my driver pulled up. A carriage was coming towards us.

The driver of the carriage had pulled up too. He had no alternative and the two men were glaring at each other.

"You'll have to back, Emmet," said the driver of the carriage.

My driver-Emmet apparently-remained stubbornly stationary. "You've less far to go back, Tom Craddock," he said.

"I b'ain't going back," said Tom Craddock. "Look out, Nat Emmet, I've got Squire here."

I heard a voice shout: "What in God's name is going on here?" A face looked out of a window and I caught a glimpse of dark hair and angry dark eyes.

"'Tis Nat Emmet, Sir Jason. He be bringing the new Young lady to the school and he's blocking the road."

"Get back at once, Emmet," cried the imperious voice and the face disappeared.

"Yes, sir. Yes, Sir Jason. That's just what I be doing... "

"Be sharp about it."

Emmet got down and we started to move back, and finally reached the wide road.

The carriage came out at a sharp pace and the driver gave Nat Emmet a victorious grin as it went past. I tried to catch a glimpse of the man inside the carriage but he was out of sight.

The funeral bell started to toll once more.

"He's just come from burying his wife," said Emmet.

"So that's Sir Jason himself. He seemed a bit choleric."

"What's that, Miss?"

"He seems a bit quick-tempered."

"Oh, Squire don't like anything to get in his way ... like his poor lady. There's some as say she was in his way. But I'm talking out of turn. But there's things folks don't keep quiet. And why should they?"

We went quickly through the lane.

"Don't want to meet no others," said Emmet. "Not that I'd go back a second time ... except for Squire and we're not likely to meet him again, are we?"

We trotted along while he made observations which did not interest me greatly because my thoughts were with the Squire and the lady who had been in his way and for whom the dismal bell was tolling.

"If you look when we turn this bend, Miss, you'll be getting your first view of the Abbey," Emmet told me.

Then I was alert ... waiting.

It lay ahead of me, grand, imposing, tragic, a shell encasing past glory. I could see the sun glinting through the great arches which were open to the sky.

"That be it," said Emmet, pointing with his whip. "It be quite a sight, b'ain't it? In spite of being nothing but an old ruin ... 'cept the part that ain't. Well, folks seem to think a lot of our Abbey. Wouldn't let it be touched. It was a good thing they did their bit of building in days gone by."

I was speechless with a kind of wonder. It was indeed a magnificent sight. Away to the hills the trees were in bud; the sun glinted on a brook which was wending its way across a meadow.

"Look over to the right of the tower, Miss, and you'll see the fish ponds. That's where the monks used to catch their supper."

"It's wonderful. I had not imagined anything quite so ... impressive."

"There's folks as won't go near the place after dark. Miss Hetherington her don't like us to say it, but it be true. She thinks it will frighten the young ladies so they'll ask to be took away. But I tell you there's some as say they can hear bells at certain mines of night... and monks chanting."

"One could quite believe that."

"You're seeing it in sunlight, Miss. You want to see it by the light of the moon ... or better still when there's just a few stars to light the way."

"I daresay I shall," I said.

We were getting nearer.

"It be comfortable enough in the school, Miss. You'd hardly know where you was to. Miss Hetherington, her's done wonders. Just like a school it is inside ... and when you hear all them young ladies laughing together, well, you forget all about them long dead monks."

The trap had drawn up in a courtyard. Emmet jumped down and helped me down.

"I'll see to your bags, Miss," he said.

I was facing a door in a greystone wall. Emmet pulled the bell and the door was immediately opened by a girl in uniform.

"Come in, Miss Grant. It be Miss Grant, b'ain't it? Miss Hetherington said as you was to be took right up to her the moment you arrive. She's just having tea."

I was in a large hall with a vaulted ceiling. It looked like a monastery; there was a coldness in the air which I noticed after the warmth of the sun outside.

"Did you have a good journey, Miss?" asked the girl. "It seems the train was on time."

"Very good, thank you."

"The other mistresses haven't come yet. They'll be here tomorrow, but it's when all the young ladies are here ... that's when we know it." She turned to me and raising her eyes to the ceiling jerked her chin upwards.

"This way, Miss. Look out. These staircases can be dangerous. If you slip on the narrow bit... particularly coming down, you can come a cropper. Hang on to this rope. Supposed to be a banister.

This is how the monks had it, so we have to have it that way too."

"It's an anciens building."

"Built up from parts of the ruins, Miss. We're always hearing about it ... how we ought to appreciate it and all that 'cause the monks had it that way. Myself, I'd rather a nice wood banister."

We had come to a long corridor. It had a vaulted ceiling like that in the hall, and there were rooms leading from it.

"This way, Miss." The girl tapped on a door and a voice which I recognized immediately as that of Daisy Hetherington called: "Come in."

"Ah, there you are."

She had risen. She was taller than I remembered; and here within these walls she looked more than ever as though she had been carved out of stone.

"It is so nice to see you. You must be tired from your journey. Grace, bring another cup and some more hot water. First you will have some tea-it is quite freshly made-and then you shall see your quarters. I trust you have had a good journey. You are very much on time."

"The train was exactly on time."

"Take off your coat. That's right. And sit down. I am pleased to see you, Cordelia. I shall, however, call you Miss Grant, except when we are on our own. I don't want there to be any differences."

"No, of course not."

"I daresay you were impressed by the Abbey."

"Very. Although I have seen little so far, just the first impression. And that is truly staggering."

"I know the effect it has. We, who live in the midst of these ancient stones, I'm afraid are apt to forget all they stand for."