No. There it was. The room which I knew so well. But the picture of Jago looked different in daylight. Perhaps it was the candlelight which had made it seem sinister.

When Janet came in with my hot water I opened the sketchbook at the page where my mother had painted the dream room.

"What do you think of this room, Janet?" I asked, watching her closely.

"Oh, pretty, ain't it?"

"Have you ever seen that room?"

"Be it a real room then, Miss?"

It was clear that she had never seen it.

After breakfast Gwennol came to my room to see if I was ready.

"I've been looking through my mother's sketchbook," I said. "It's very interesting. Look at this picture of a room."

She looked and nodded.

"Do you know that room?" I asked.

She was clearly puzzled. "Know it? Should I? It's just an ordinary room."

An ordinary room! How odd to hear it so described! I wanted to say: That room has haunted me for as long as I can remember. If I could only find it I might understand why it is I dream about it and always feel in such an ordinary room such an overwhelming dread.

But I found it difficult to talk of it, so I said: "I wondered if it was somewhere in the castle."

She shook her head as though vaguely surprised that I should make so much of such an insignificant matter. She was not very interested in the pictures and no doubt put my preoccupation with them down to the fact that they had been painted by my mother.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. I called: "Come in," and Slack entered.

"What's wrong?" asked Gwennol.

" "Tis just, Miss Gwennol, that I thought we'd best get an early start because of the tide."

"You're right," said Gwennol. "And we're almost ready."

On impulse I took the sketchbook to Slack. I was determined to leave no stone unturned in my attempt to discover where that room was and how my mother had known it so well that she could reproduce it in every detail.

"Slack," I asked, "have you ever seen that room?"

He did not exactly change color—in fact, I never saw Slack other than very pale—but there was a change in his face. There was a tension about him and he kept staring at the page and did not look at me.

"You know it then?" I prompted eagerly.

" 'Tis a pretty room, Miss Ellen," he said slowly.

"Yes, Slack, but you've seen it before, haven't you?"

Was it my fancy or did it seem as though a shutter had dropped over his eyes?

"I can't tell 'ee about a picture room, Miss Ellen," he said slowly.

"Why not?"

"My dear Ellen," laughed Gwennol, "you're obsessed by this room. Your mother just painted a cozy homely place and that's all there is to it. What's so special about that particular painting?"

Slack nodded. A blank look was in his eyes. I thought: He is stupid after all.

"Let's be going," said Gwennol. "Is everything ready, Slack?" They exchanged a glance which seemed to have a meaning from which I was shut out.

"Everything be done and we'm ready to go," said Slack.

We went out of the castle and down to the shore where the boats were moored. The sea was calm that morning and the boat skimmed lightly over the water. There was a seraphic smile on Slack's face as though he loved the task. He looked very different from the way he had when I had asked him about the room.

I watched him—Slack-Baked—not finished off. It was an apt description of him in a way. His hands were strong and yet they looked like a child's hands; his eyes were childlike too, except when the shutters came down.

"If the sea's like this when we come back I'll row," said Gwennol. "Do you row, Ellen?"

"A little," I answered, and I immediately thought of rowing on the river near Trentham Towers where Philip and I had once overturned a boat. Philip's image was so easy to invoke.

"Then you should practice and do more than a little because you'll find it very useful to row yourself round the Island. There's usually someone available to row us but it's good here to be self-reliant."

Nearer came the mainland and in due course we ran ashore on the sandy beach. Slack took off his boots and rolled up his trousers before jumping out and with the water halfway up his spindly legs pulled the boat in and tied it up. We then made our way to the inn.

Mrs. Pengelly came out beaming a welcome and her delight was obvious when she saw her son.

"Why 'tis you then, Augustus my boy," she said, and for a moment I wondered who Augustus was and then I realized that a mother would not use such a nickname for her beloved son.

"And welcome to 'ee, Miss Gwennol, Miss Ellen. Would you like some refreshment? You'll be wanting horses, I reckon."

"I shall," said Gwennol. "Shall you, Ellen?"

I said I would, for the thought had come to me that it would be pleasant to call at Hydrock Manor. After all, I had been invited to when I should visit the mainland and here was the opportunity.

"Well, you go to the stables then, Augustus, and tell your father the ladies be here and what they do want. Then come to the kitchen where I'll have a tidbit for 'ee. We've pasties straight from the oven. And what would the ladies be looking for? A glass of wine while you'm waiting?"

Gwennol said: "Has anyone arrived at the inn yet?"

"No, Miss Gwennol. No one be here yet."

"We'll drink a glass of wine then please," said Gwennol.

We went in and she brought out her blackberry wine and the saffron cakes with which I was becoming familiar.

We had not been there long when there was a commotion in the innyard and it was obvious from the sound of horse's hoofs that someone had arrived.

Gwennol sat very still in her seat and a smile slowly touched her face, making it not only striking but beautiful.

"In the inn parlor," said a voice which I recognized with pleasure was that of Sir Michael Hydrock.

As he entered Gwennol rose and went to him, holding out both her hands, which he took. Then he saw me and a smile of delighted recognition lit up his face.

"Miss Kellaway," he cried. "Miss Ellen Kellaway."

Gwennol looked in astonishment from one of us to the other. "You... you know each other. You... you can't."

"Oh, but we do," said Michael, dropping her hands and advancing towards me. I held out a hand, which he took and covered with both his. "How are you enjoying the Island?" he asked.

"I'm finding it enormously interesting," I told him.

"I don't understand this," said Gwennol rather impatiently.

"It's easily explained," Michael told her. And I added: "When I was waiting to come to the Island and had to spend a day at the inn I did a little exploring and got lost in Hydrock's woods. Sir Michael rescued me."

"I see," said Gwennol coolly.

"You must come to the Manor now," said Michael warmly.

"Thank you. I should love that. I found your house enchanting."

"Are the Pengelly's horses ready for you?" he asked.

"I've already ordered them," said Gwennol.

"Well, when you're ready perhaps we can go."

"Ellen may have other plans," suggested Gwennol. "She said she wanted to explore the countryside."

"As a matter of fact," I answered, "it had occurred to me that I might call at the Manor." I turned to Michael. "You did say that I might call when I was on the mainland."

"In fact," he replied, "I should have been very hurt if you hadn't."

"I'm looking forward to seeing the Manor again."

"Ah, now you've lived in the castle. We're not as grand as that, I'm afraid."

"The Manor is beautiful," I said.

"It's the most beautiful house I've ever seen," added Gwennol fervently.

"Thank you, Gwennol," said Michael. "Do you know, I rather think the same myself."

We went into the yard where the horses were ready for us. Mrs. Pengelly, delighted to have her son with her for a few hours and pleased, I think, to see me again, watched us ride off. In a very short time we were in the drive leading to the Manor.

"I'm going to show you the house, Miss Kellaway," said Michael to me. "You didn't see it last time. By the way, how's the ankle?"

"I never felt any more from it. The next morning I shouldn't have known anything had happened to it."

"So you hurt your ankle then?" asked Gwennol.

I told her in more detail what had happened; she listened intently, but her expression was less pleasant, as though she were brooding.

We went into the hall with its refectory table, pewter ornaments and companion benches and I felt that sense of peace which I had experienced when I had last been here.

"There's something so friendly about this house," I commented.

"We all feel it," said Gwennol shortly.

"Yes," added Michael, "there's a saying in the family that the house will either welcome or reject you and that one knows it almost as soon as one enters it. It certainly seems to welcome you, Miss Kellaway."

"That is endowing a house with a personality," I replied. "I do that. I didn't know many people did."

"Rather a fanciful notion, you think. But as you are so impressed by the house I should like to show it to you. You don't mind, Gwennol? Gwennol is a very old friend," he told me. "She knows the house as well as I do."

"I'd love to see it," I assured him, and Gwennol put in: "You know very well I can't see enough of the place."

"Look at that armor on the walls. Those breastplates were worn by ancestors of mine during the Civil War. These pewter vessels have been used by the family for hundreds of years. I like to keep everything as it was as far as possible."