"No, I shouldn't want that. I'd like to meet Silva, so if she should 'walk,' as they say, she'd be very welcome. She was my sister. That's what I can't forget. All those years of my childhood when I longed for a sister and had to do with Esmeralda, I really had one. I wish I'd grown up in the castle."
He leaned towards me suddenly and gripped my hand.
"So do I, Ellen. Then you wouldn't have to get to know me now, would you? We'd be firm friends already, but then we soon shall be."
A gull shrieked overhead as though he were mocking us. Jago did not seem to hear. His expression had grown tender.
We were silent for a while. I was thinking of my sister growing up lonely in the castle while I was the unwanted one in Cousin Agatha's house. Those few sentences in the notebook had built up a picture in my mind. The unwanted child who was so poignantly aware of her aloneness. Nobody could understand that better than I. I had been singularly lucky to be blessed with a resilient nature, and perhaps having a companion like Esmeralda, who was meek and suffered so much more from circumstances than I had done, so that my lot always seemed better than hers. But poor Silva, living in that vast castle with no one in whom she could confide! I was sure my mother had been kind to her but she had run away when I was only three years old. Silva could not have been so very old then. How old? I wondered. Perhaps twelve years old.
Jago was surrounded by birds, for he was throwing tidbits from his bag. I joined him and shared his pleasure in the rising and swooping of the graceful creatures.
"Aren't they beautiful?" he cried. "Do you know those biggest birds weigh only a few ounces? Wouldn't you like to fly like that, Ellen?"
"What a glorious feeling it must be. I wonder why they make such mournful cries."
At that moment I was aware that we were being overlooked. I turned round sharply and saw that a man had climbed onto the plateau and was standing behind us. Jago had seen him too.
"Why, it's James Manton," he said. "Good day, Manton. Are you working here?"
We rose to our feet as the man advanced. "Ellen," said Jago, "let me present James Manton. Manton, this is my ward, Miss Ellen Kellaway."
"Why, you're the artist," I cried.
He bowed and looked pleased, no doubt thinking I knew his work.
"I'm glad to meet you," he said. "I just rowed over here to make a few sketches,"
"So you'll be painting our Island, will you?" said Jago.
"Yes, and the birds. This is one of the spots where one can get the best view of your Island. The light's good today. Just look at the color of the sea."
We agreed that it was even more beautiful than usual.
"Difficult to capture," said the artist, "but I'll have a shot. I hope you're enjoying your visit to the Island, Miss Kellaway."
I said I was finding it fascinating.
He watched a bird soar away into the distance and then with a nod said: "Good day to you!" and went back the way he had come.
"Now he is the one who lives on the Blue Rock Island, isn't he?" I said to Jago.
"Yes. He's lived there for a good many years. He paints a lot of bird pictures. He's rather good with them. I expect that's why he likes it here. He came for a few weeks, so the story goes, and he stayed here. He goes away now and then though. To London to arrange about the sale of pictures, I imagine."
"Yet he doesn't come to Kellaway Island."
"Not since this quarrel with your father. We're polite when we meet but we don't visit. What do you think about getting back now? Are you sufficiently rested to row us?"
"I don't feel in the least tired."
He sprang up, threw the rest of the contents of his bag to the birds—and I did the same—picked up the traveling rug and, taking my hand, ran down the slope with me to the spot where our boat was moored.
"Jump in," he said. "I'll push her out."
He did so and I took the oars.
"You don't need practice," he said. "You're an expert oarswoman."
We reached the Island and tied up the boat.
"Before we go back," he said, "I'm going to take you to old Tassie, the wise woman of the Island."
"A sort of lady witch doctor?"
"Not a bad description. She'll tell your fortune. I know you like having your fortune told. All women do."
We walked up the incline and came to a small cottage which stood in the center of a garden; among the herbs which grew there I recognized rosemary, parsley and sage; but there were plenty of others which I did not know. As we approached, an old woman appeared at the cottage door.
"Good day to 'ee, Master Jago," she said.
"Good day, Tassie," he returned. "I've brought my ward along to see you. This is Miss Ellen Kellaway."
"Good day to 'ee, my lady," she said. I returned her greeting while I studied her. Her face was very wrinkled and her bright black eyes reminded me of a monkey's, sharp and shrewd in her aged face; she wore a gray crocheted shawl about her shoulders and the black cat who rubbed himself about her skirts, with his bright green wary eyes, fitted the scene perfectly, as no doubt he was meant to.
We stepped into a room cluttered with objects and in which there was a faint pungent odor. The hearth was large enough to take a chimney seat on either side and the cat, who had followed us in, leaped into a basket and lay there watching us. I noticed the various pots and pans full of mysterious contents which stood on the table and
