He had told me that on dark nights he caused a lantern to be put in the turret rooms of the towers facing the sea as a warning to sailors that they were close to the Devil’s Teeth.

He said: “It has been the custom of our house to give this service. When sailors see the lights, if they know they are on the Cornish Coast, they will realize that they are near the Devil’s Teeth and keep away—so in the Nonna and Seaward Towers these lanterns shone on all dark nights.”

So I lay in bed and prayed that if any ship was being buffeted by the violent winds it would come safely through.

The storm died down and I slept. It was light when I awoke and Colum had awakened me by coming into the room.

His clothes were sodden with the rain and there was a hot colour in his cheeks.

“Was a ship in distress?”

He nodded. “She’s broken on the rocks.”

“She couldn’t have seen the lights in the tower.”

“She was blown on to the rocks. We did what we could.”

“You are soaked.” I rose and started to dress.

“There is nothing you can do,” he said. “It is over. You’ll see her when it’s thoroughly light. It’s a sorry sight.”

I did see her—poor sad vessel that had once been so proud. I could not stop myself looking at her and I thought of my father who had gone off on a trading expedition to the East Indies. Fennimore had gone with another ship and Carlos was captaining another. This could happen to any of them. It was terrible to contemplate the hazards of the sea.

As I stood by the window Colum came beside me and put an arm about me.

“Do not go out today,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Why must you always question?” he demanded with a touch of irritation. “Why cannot you obey me like a good wife?”

“But why should I not go out?”

“The ground is slippery. I’d never forgive you if aught happened to the child.”

That afternoon Colum went away for a day or two. I watched him go and then because the sun was shining and the sea was calm—only a slightly muddy colour to suggest last night’s trouble—I felt the urge to go out was irresistible.

I would walk with care but I must go out into the sunshine. I would not take the cliff path which could be treacherous but I would just walk in the precincts of the castle.

Thus I came to the cobbled courtyard before Ysella’s Tower. I looked up at it remembering the story and asking myself how it was possible for a man to keep two women in the same dwelling and one not know the other was there. “Preposterous!” I said aloud. But if they were meek women who obeyed without question the husband they shared, it might have been managed. No, I could not believe it. Although with the forceful Casvellyns perhaps anything was possible. Colum would like me to be as docile as Ysella and Nonna must have been.

Then I noticed the sand among the cobbles. There was a good deal of it. I wondered idly how it could have got there. Could it have been blown up in the storm? Impossible. It would have to come right over the top of the tower to get there. The only answer was that people who had been on the beach had been walking here. Strangely enough, I had been here the day before and not noticed it.

I was there on the stone step close to the iron-studded door, so whoever had brought it in had stood on that stone step.

As I stood there I saw a glittering object and stooping to pick it up I saw that it was an amulet. It glittered like gold.

I examined it. It was oval in shape, about an inch wide and two inches long. It was beautifully engraved and what was depicted fascinated me. It was the figure of a beautiful youth about whose head was a halo, and at his feet lay a horned goat; one of the youth’s feet was resting on the goat as though he had vanquished it. There was a name engraved on it in very small letters so that I could scarcely read it: I took it to my room and examined it and at last I made out the name to be VALDEZ. So it was Spanish. Someone must have dropped it. Someone who had been on the shore and brought the sand up on his boots.

I put the amulet in the drawer.

Colum returned two days later. I saw him riding towards the castle with the men and the pack-horses. They were unladen.

I went to the kitchen and ordered that the joints should be set on the spits immediately and that one of his favourite pies should be made without delay—squab perhaps as there was plenty of bacon and mutton and Colum had the Cornishman’s love of pastry.

We dined alone in the little room where we had our first meal together. Colum always wanted us to be there alone on occasions like this. It showed an unsuspected sentimentality.

I put on the diamond chain with the ruby locket and it was a very happy evening. It was when I put the chain and locket away that I opened it and looking at the space for a miniature inside it decided that I should like to have a picture of my son there after the custom.

I smiled, thinking of suggesting this to Colum and that he might be a little disappointed because I did not choose to have his picture. But would he ever allow himself to be painted? Then of course I might have other children and I should want pictures of them all. While I was thus idly thinking I was stroking the edge of the locket and to my amazement the layer in which was a space for a picture sprang up and I was looking into a woman’s face. She was beautiful, with clouds of dark hair, an olive skin and languorous dark eyes. So cleverly had it been painted that in spite of the fact that it was so small all this was apparent.

How strange that an unknown woman’s face should be depicted in a locket which was given to me by my husband. It could only mean that the locket had belonged to someone else before me.

Colum came into the room while I sat there holding it in my hand.

“Look at this, Colum,” I said, and I gave it to him.

He took it and looked down at the woman’s face.

I could see that he was taken aback.

“This is very strange,” he said.

“Clearly it once belonged to someone else. Where did you get it?”

I saw that for the moment he was nonplussed. Then he recovered himself.

“It could not have been the one I wished made for you. The goldsmith has lied to me. People dispose of their valuables and articles of gold, silver and precious stones are sold as new, for how could one be sure whether such articles had been freshly wrought or not?”

“So the goldsmith sold you the locket as new.”

“And,” said Colum, “it was not. I must take the fellow to task. How do you feel about it now; Can you wear something that was not made especially for you?”

I said: “I don’t want to part with the locket. Perhaps some day I might meet this mysterious lady. It is exquisitely done. The painter must have been a man of talent.”

“Give it to me,” said Colum. “The miniature shall be removed. You can put in something of your own family. I shall have your initials engraved on it. That goldsmith must do this, since he has sold me a secondhand article for a new one.”

Later on I said: “I’ll keep it as it is. Perhaps I could have pictures of my babies in it. That reminds me.” I opened a drawer and took out the amulet. “I found this, Colum,” I told him.

He frowned and almost snatched it from me.

“Where?”

“In the courtyard.”

He examined it in silence and I wondered whether he was as interested in the article or just trying to control his annoyance.

“Which courtyard?” he snapped.

“The one before Ysella.”

“I told you not to go there.”

“It was perfectly safe and I must walk somewhere since I can’t ride. What is it? I thought it looked like an amulet.”

“It is an amulet. I’d say this belonged to a Catharist. I have seen them before.”

“What sort of people are they?”

“It is a sect that has been in existence for many years, and has its roots in pre-Christian times. These people, though, profess to believe in two gods, the good one and the evil one.”