" 'Everybody's in love with him.'
" 'That must make life a bit complicated for him.'
" 'Why? Wouldn't it be nice to have everyone in love with you?'
" 'As not one single person has ever been in love with me, I can't say.'
"She said: 'Poor Silva! I'm going to take you to Hydrock Manor. You know, you might meet someone there.'
"It's night and I can't sleep. There is something about this room which I don't like. It seems full of shadows. Perhaps because I've been so unhappy in it. Somebody said once: Life is what you make it. If that's true, I've made a very bad thing of mine.
"I'm sitting at my desk writing. It's no use lying in bed when you can't sleep. I have just been to the cupboard and seen that silly childish scrawl. I wish I could obliterate it. I remember the day I wrote it. Sent to my room for two days and nights because I had committed some crime. I can't even recall what now.
"I'm introspective tonight and because of Gwennol. Gwennol is in love and watching her has shown me clearly what has been wrong in my life. No one ever loved me—except perhaps my mother and when she died there was absolutely no one else. That's what I want more than anything—just someone to love me. Because nobody does, I do wild things. I suddenly lose my temper and scream. I just want someone to hate me if they won't love me. At least they're taking notice of me then.
"I'm thinking of Jago as I write this. He has changed towards me. He is being very kind. Not that he was unkind before. He just didn't notice me. Two days ago he rode round the Island with me and talked about things in that way he has—as though it's just about the most important thing in the world.
"I was excited when we came back to the castle. Why is Jago suddenly becoming interested in me?
"Yesterday Fenwick was in the garden sitting on the wicker seat by the pond. I went up to him because it is unusual to see him without my father.
" 'Where is my father today?' I asked.
" 'He's having a day in bed, Miss Silva.'
"'Is he. . .less well?'
" 'He's a very sick man, Miss Silva.'
" 'I know he had a stroke some time ago.'
" 'It's crippled him and now . . .'
" 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I wish he would see me.'
"Fenwick shook his head. 'Don't come to his room whatever you do, Miss. That would just about finish him, the state he's in now.'
" 'Do you know why he hates me so?' I asked.
"He shrugged his shoulders.
" 'I suppose he wanted a son,' I suggested. 'Most people seem to.'
" 'Maybe he did,' said Fenwick. 'But he's not one for children.'
"Fenwick was anxious, I could see. I wondered whether he was asking himself what he would do if my father died. My father couldn't do without Fenwick, as Jago had said. But what would Fenwick do without my father?
"I wouldn't say this to anyone, but I can write it. Oh, how careful I shall have to be with these notebooks. It's a good thing no one is interested in what I do. I think Jago is contemplating asking me to marry him."
I put down the notebook. I didn't want to read about Silva and Jago. It was prying into his life and hers. Well, I had already done the latter. What I really felt, I suppose, was that I was going to read something which I was not going to like.
Jago and Silva! I hadn't thought of that.
I stared at the book in my hand. I shouldn't be reading this. Why had Slack given it to me? Why had Silva given the books to Slack?
There must be a reason.
"I met him today. I went over to the mainland and he came to the inn. He is so distinguished and handsome. I couldn't believe he could be interested in me. We had wine and saffron cakes and we talked so much. Why didn't we hire horses and go riding together, he said.
"What a day it was! We had a snack at the Corn Dolly Inn. A beautiful romantic place with those lovely Stonen Chills on the table and the corn dollies hanging about the place. Cider and pasties. I had never known them taste so good.
"He said: 'We must do this again.'
"Is it possible to be in love so soon?"
She is in love with Michael Hydrock, I thought. Was he in love with her? Or was he merely being his charming, courteous self? Oh poor Silva. I hope she was not badly hurt.
I turned the pages.
"Who wants to write when one is happy? He loves me. He said he does. It is all so exciting. He says we shall be together and everything is going to be different. I talked to him about my father and life at the castle.
"Life is wonderful."
There was a further gap. Then I read:
"The artist was on the mainland today. He asked us to Blue Rock and he was very kind and hospitable. He showed us his studio full of his paintings of birds and pictures of the sea and the islands. He said he hoped we'd come again.
"It was a lovely day. It always is when we are together."
Another gap. Then:
"I wish I hadn't started writing all this now. It seems pointless, I think that before I was just brooding on my unhappiness, enjoying my misery if that's not a contradiction, but it fits the case. Now it's all over. I'm so happy I just love everybody.
"Today I looked up at my father's window and he was there. He looked very ill and I thought: 'Shall I tell him?' But I was afraid to go up. I remembered Fenwick's saying that it would just about finish him off. I wouldn't want that on my conscience. . . now."
There was no more writing in
