She would croon to herself and Kurt told us that she lived in the past and seemed to be there more often than in the present.

His parents were constantly working. The father was often in the forest. I had seen him felling trees, and logs were brought into the schloss from time to time on a long carriage-like contraption used for that purpose.

There was a great deal to do in the schloss, and I guessed they could not afford much help.

Helmut, that very serious young man, continued to be a disappointment to Dorabella. He showed no more interest in her than in Edward or me, though he was meticulously polite and considerate to us all, but equally so, and clearly he was unaware of Dorabella’s special charms—and that did not endear him to her.

Gretchen was a charming girl—dark-haired, dark-eyed like the rest of the family—and I noticed that Edward’s eyes were often on her. I mentioned this to Dorabella; she shrugged her shoulders; she was not really interested in the romances of others.

In a few days I felt we had been at the schloss for weeks. Kurt had driven us round so that we could see something of the countryside. Sometimes we descended to the lower slopes and walked among the spruce, silver fir, and beech; then we would make our way up to where the firs grew in abundance.

We walked a great deal which meant much climbing, but it was the best way of seeing the country. It was delightful to visit the small hamlets. They were different from those at home and most seemed to have that Grimm-like quality. I always felt that there was something a little frightening about them. I was reminded of children lost among the trees and finding a gingerbread house or giants lurking in the undergrowth.

I think these feelings were engendered by something I did not understand at the time. It was there in the schloss.

What was it? Beneath all the bonhomie, the laughter, the merriment of the Beer Garden…and often in the bar where people came in from the villages around, sitting at tables drinking, often singing songs with beautifully haunting tunes, usually extolling the Fatherland.

If I mentioned this to Edward and Dorabella I felt they would have laughed at me. They would say wasn’t I always fancying something? I told myself they were right. It was the forest atmosphere which moved me in some way.

Dorabella and I quite often went out alone. We had taken to walking into the town and we found it particularly enjoyable to sit outside one of the coffee shops, drink our coffee, and partake in one of the fancy pastries which were really delicious. The waiter now knew us as “The English Young Ladies,” and he would chat a little to us when he served us. We used our boarding-school German with him which he seemed to like. Then we would watch the people walking by; and after an hour or so of this pleasant occupation, we would stroll back to the schloss.

It was the beginning of our second week. It was a lovely day, slightly less warm than it had been, with the faintest touch of autumn in the air.

As we sat there, a young man strolled past. He was tall and fair, with a marked jaunty air, so different from the rather earnest people we met so often. He had a very pleasant face and, as he went past, he glanced at us. It was not exactly a stare, but he certainly did not look away immediately. I was aware of Dorabella’s interest.

He went on into the town.

Dorabella said: “He looked different somehow.”

“I think he is a visitor…I mean, not a local.”

“I thought for a moment he was going to stop.”

“Why on earth did you think that?”

“He might have thought we were someone he knew.”

“I am sure he thought nothing of the sort. In any case, he’s gone now.”

“A pity. He was quite good-looking.”

“Would you like another pastry?”

“No, I don’t think so. Violetta, do you realize we shall soon be going home?”

“We’ve another week.”

“By the way the time flies, we shall soon be there.”

“It has been fun, hasn’t it?”

“H’m,” she said. She was alert suddenly.

She was facing the street and I had my back to it. Her face creased into smiles.

“What is it?” I demanded.

“Don’t look round. He’s coming back.”

“Who?”

“That man.”

“You mean…?”

“The one who just went by.”

She appeared to become very interested in her coffee cup. And then I saw him, for he had seated himself at a table close by.

“Yes,” went on Dorabella, as though there had been no interruption. “It won’t be long now. I expect the parents will be thinking that two weeks away from their beloved daughters is long enough.”

As she talked it was clear to me that her attention was on that other table.

Then suddenly the man rose and came toward us.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I couldn’t help hearing you were speaking English. It’s such a pleasure to meet one’s fellow countrymen in foreign lands, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes, I do,” said Dorabella.

“May I join you? One can’t shout across the tables. Are you on holiday?”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you?”

He nodded. “Walking,” he said.

“Alone?” asked Dorabella.

“I had a friend who was with me. He had to go back. I hesitated whether to go with him, but it was only for another week, so I thought I would stick it out.”

“Have you walked far?”

“Miles.”

“And you have just arrived in this place?” asked Dorabella.

“Three days ago. I thought I saw you before…having coffee here.”

The waiter had approached and the young man ordered coffee, suggesting that we have another with him. Dorabella agreed at once.

“This is a fascinating place,” I said. “And walking, you see the best of it.”

“That’s true,” he agreed. “Have you walked much?”

“A little.”

“Are you staying in this town?”

“No,” Dorabella told him. “In a little schloss about a quarter of a mile away…not exactly a hotel, but a sort of inn.” She waved her hand in the direction of the schloss.

“I know it. Charming surroundings. How long have you been here?”

“We are going at the end of the week. Then we shall have been here about fourteen days.”

The coffee had arrived and the waiter smiled benignly to see us chatting together.

“It is so good to be able to talk in English,” said the young man. “My German is somewhat inadequate.”

“And so is ours,” said Dorabella. “But we have someone with us who is quite good.”

“A friend?”

“Well, a friend of the family. He is like a brother…only not really.”

He waited for us to explain, but as neither of us went any further there was a brief silence. Then Dorabella said: “We are visiting a friend, really. He came to England and suggested we come here for a visit. That’s how it was.”

“I’m very glad you did. It’s comforting to meet someone English…although I’m not exactly English.”

“Oh?” we both said in surprise.

“Cornish,” he said with a grimace.

“But…”

“A little quibble. The Tamar divides us and we always maintain that we are a race apart from those people on the other side of it.”

“Like the Scottish and the Welsh,” I said.

“Celtic pride,” he replied. “We think we are as good as…no, better than…those Anglo-Saxons…as we call you foreigners.”

“Oh dear,” said Dorabella in mock dismay. “And I was thinking what fun it was to meet someone of our own race.”

He looked at her earnestly. “It is,” he said. “It has made this a most interesting day for me.”

“Tell us about Cornwall,” I said. “Do you live near the sea?”

“Sometimes it seems too near…almost in it, in fact.”

“That must be fascinating.”

“I love the old place. Where is your home?”

“Hampshire.”

“Some distance from Cornwall.”

“Are you looking forward to going home?” asked Dorabella.

“Not at this moment.”

“Shall you be walking tomorrow?”

“I let each day take care of itself.”

I could see that Dorabella was enjoying this encounter. Her eyes were shining; she looked very attractive and I noticed how his gaze kept straying to her. It did not surprise me. I had seen it so many times before.

She was telling him, in her animated fashion, about Caddington, and he responded with some details of his home in Cornwall.

He told us his name was Dermot Tregarland. “An old Cornish name,” he pointed out. “We seem to be either Tre, Pol, or Pen. It is like a label. ‘Where e’er you hear Tre, Pol, and Pen, you’ll always know ’tis Cornishmen.’ It’s an old saying I heard somewhere and it is true.”

And so the talk went on until I said—although I was aware of Dorabella’s displeasure—that it was time we returned to the schloss.

We said goodbye and started back.

Dorabella said angrily: “Why did you want to leave as abruptly as that?”

“Look at the time! They would be wondering where we were. Don’t forget we were about to leave when he came up.”

“What did it matter?” There was a pause and she added: “He didn’t say anything about seeing us again.”

“Why should he?”

“I thought he might.”

“Oh, Dorabella,” I said. “It was a chance encounter. ‘Ships that pass in the night.’ It was only because he heard that we were speaking English that he stopped.”

“Was that all, do you think?” She was smiling now…secretly.

The next day the weather had changed and there was a distinctly definite touch of autumn in the air. Kurt and Edward had planned an excursion to one of the mountain villages, and it had naturally been taken for granted that we would accompany them.