“Yes, I think so. But I could not go without Tristan.”

“I don’t think he will be allowed to go.”

“I understand that he belongs to this place, but Dermot would not stop his going.”

“Dermot is in a mood to be indifferent about everything at the moment.”

“It was such a tragedy for him.”

“As for you. I think you would be happier with your parents. You’re brooding here. You can’t escape from it.”

“If only I could take Tristan…”

“The child has to stay here. His grandfather insists on that.”

“And I have promised my sister to look after him if she were not here to do so.”

“Did she have a premonition that she might not be?”

“She must have had.”

“That’s very strange.”

“So many strange things have happened.”

“It is the interpretation which is put on them. We Cornish are by nature superstitious. I wonder why. Perhaps because we have had a harder life than some. The population is made up of fishermen and miners—both hazardous occupations. When there are fatal accidents at sea or in the mines these legends are born. They will tell you that the knackers who live underground are the ghosts of those who murdered Jesus Christ. There have been many who have said they have seen them. ‘The size of a sixpenny doll,’ one man told me. I imagine a sixpenny doll in the old days might have been about six inches high—dressed like an old tinner, which is what they call miners in these parts. Miners had to leave what they called a ‘didjan,’ which was part of their lunch for the knackers, otherwise they could expect trouble. Imagine the hardship for those who found difficulty in providing their own frugal meal.”

“You know a great deal about the old legends and customs.”

“One picks it up over the years, and I have lived here all my life…though not in this house, of course. I am not one of the family.”

“I thought there was a distant connection.”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled wryly.

“Oh, there might be. I was telling you about the legends. It is the dangerous occupations. People think of ill luck that could befall them. They talk of black dogs and white hares seen at the mineshafts which are a warning of approaching evil. You must understand that people who are often facing danger look for signs. Now they say that Jermyns and Tregarlands should never have become friendly and, because they have, there will be disaster.”

“Do they really think that my sister’s death is due to that?”

“I am sure they do. They will say that someone brought about this evil.”

“Myself!” I cried.

He nodded and looked at me in an odd sort of way.

“They say it is not right that foreigners should come here and meddle with something that has been going on for generations.”

“Foreigners!”

“Born the wrong side of the Tamar,” he said with a smile.

“That is all ridiculous.”

“Of course. But it is what they believe.”

“But that feud, it’s so absurd. You think so. Everyone with any sense would. Mr. Jermyn does, too.”

“But there are many who don’t. They love their old superstitions. They don’t want them changed. The miners and fishermen don’t. They fear the mines and the sea. Look at the sea now. Do you see that ruffling of the waves? There are a number of what we call white horses. It’s quite rough down there.”

“The wind has sprung up while I have been sitting here.”

“It is very treacherous…unpredictable.” He moved slightly toward me. “It can be smooth, inviting, and then suddenly the wind arises. You haven’t seen what a real storm can be like yet. You haven’t seen fearsome waves…forty-…fifty-feet-high waves. They can lash against the rocks. It is like an enraged monster. Oh, yes, you must be very careful of the sea.”

I felt his eyes on me as he went on: “There is danger down there. Even in this garden. Just imagine if you should lose your footing—a loose stone, a shifting of the earth. It happens. You could go hurtling down…down onto those black rocks.”

I felt a sudden fear as I fancied he moved even closer to me.

I said: “It didn’t occur to me.”

“Well, it wouldn’t. But you must take care. It looks so peaceful now, but things are not always what they seem. Always remember…the dangers of the sea.”

“Mr. Lewyth, Mr. Lewyth, are you there?” One of the maids was coming down the slope toward us. It was as though a spell was broken. I gave an involuntary gasp of relief.

“A terrible thing have happened, sir,” said the maid. “Mr. Dermot has had an accident. He have been took to the hospital.”

“Accident!” cried Gordon.

“Fell from his horse, sir. Mrs. Lewyth did send me to come and fetch you.”

Gordon was already striding up the slope to the house. I followed.

Gordon, Matilda, and I drove to the hospital in Plymouth to which they had taken Dermot. We were not allowed to see him immediately, but we did see the doctor.

“He is badly injured,” we were told.

“He’s not…?” began Matilda.

“He’ll recover, but it is going to be a long time and then, perhaps…”

“Oh, my God,” murmured Matilda.

Gordon said: “You mean it is a permanent injury?”

“It is possible. It involves the spine. It was a very bad fall. It could have killed him.”

“Do they know how it happened?”

“He was apparently galloping too fast and…er …it seems that he was, well, not exactly intoxicated, but…er…not entirely sober either.”

I said: “He has suffered a great grief recently. He lost his wife.”

The doctor nodded.

“You may be able to see him when he comes out of the anesthetic. We had to do an operation—a minor one—but we can see that there is little that can be done.”

“Does it mean he must stay here?”

“Oh, no. He’ll be out of here in a few days…if there is nothing further we can do. A little therapy perhaps. But that is for later. We’ll have to see.”

We were left in a waiting room and told that we should be called when we could see Dermot.

“This is terrible,” said Matilda. “What is happening…? Things haven’t really been right since Annette’s death. It all seems so bewildering.”

“Life is sometimes like that,” said Gordon, glancing at his mother. “This was an accident. No one can be blamed for it.”

“I expect the evil forces will be blamed,” I said.

Gordon nodded. “He might recover,” he said. “Doctors don’t always know.”

It was some time before a nurse came to us. She told us we could see Dermot now, but must not stay too long.

Dermot was lying in a bed in a ward occupied by several others. The curtains about his bed were drawn back by the nurse.

He looked pale and very ill. He smiled at us faintly.

“I’ve made a mess of things,” he said with a weak smile.

“My dear Dermot,” said Matilda, “we are all so concerned for you.”

“I’m still here,” he said almost regretfully.

“What happened?” asked Gordon.

“I don’t know. One moment I was galloping along, and the next I hit the ground. Poor old Sable just went on.”

“I know,” said Gordon. “She came back to the house.”

“I must have been careless,” said Dermot.

“Well, rest now,” soothed Matilda. “You will be all right. But it will take time.”

“Time,” he said, and closed his eyes.

A nurse came to us and signaled that we should leave.

We looked at Dermot. His eyes were closed and he seemed unaware of our departure.

As was expected, there was a buzz of speculation. What was happening up at Tregarland’s? It was clear enough, wasn’t it? Something was wrong. It was one trouble after another. Death for the first Mrs. Tregarland; then the young woman from foreign parts starts meddling, bringing a Jermyn to Tregarland’s. It stood to reason that the ghost was not going to stand by and allow that to happen. The trouble with foreigners was that they did not know anything about the spirit world. This would show them.