” Yes. I should like to rest awhile,” I said.

All that day I lay on my bed and thought about the events which had led up to my discovery of the robe. I went over everything, beginning with my meeting with Gabriel and Friday. Gabriel knew there had been an attempt on his life in the ruins, and he was afraid. He had hoped that I would be able to help him—at least there would be two of us to fight whatever threatened him. Then there was the night before he died, when Friday had heard someone in the corridor. It would have been that night when Gabriel met his death, but for Friday.

Friday had obviously been killed so that he could not again give the warning. Sarah knew this and had conveyed it on her tapestry. How much more did she know? So Gabriel had died and I had been of little interest to the murderer until it was disclosed that I was to have a child. The idea to make me seem mad must have come when Dr. Smith thought it his duty to tell the family that there was a Catherine Corder in Worstwhistle.

What a diabolical mind was behind that plot! I did not believe the idea was to send me to Worstwhistle, but to build up a case of insanity against me and then possibly stage my suicide before the child was born.

Why was I thinking of the plot in the past tense? It still existed.

And when my would-be murderer discovered that his robe was missing, what would he do? Perhaps he would think there was need for prompt action.

I was undecided. Perhaps I should go back to Glen House. But how could I do this in secret? If I announced my intention I could expect immediate action. I was certain that I should not be allowed to leave this house.

I thought of them . Luke and Simon. I tried not to think of Simon.

It was Luke, I told myself. It must be Luke. And Damaris was helping them.

Damaris! But had I not learned something last night of the relationship between Damaris and Simoni My thoughts went round and round like a mouse in a cage. I had the robe; I should have been triumphant if I could have shared my knowledge with Simon.

But what could I ever share with Simon now?

I was wishing again, as I had wished when I let the water from the Knaresborough Well trickle on my hands: ” Not Simon. Oh, please, not Simon!”

I joined the family at dinner. Simon was attentive and appeared anxious on my behalf and, although I had told myself that I would give no sign of my changed feelings towards him, I could not help a coolness creeping into my manner.

He was next to me at dinner, which we took in the hall as we had on the previous night.

” I am disappointed,” he told me, ” that I’ve had no opportunity of being with you to-day. I had planned that we should take a drive together … you, my grandmother and myself.”

“Would not the weather have been too cold for her?”

” Perhaps, but she would not admit it. She, too, was disappointed.”

” You should have made up a party with the others.”

” You know that would not have been the same thing at all.”

” Perhaps Damaris would have accompanied you.”

He laughed, and lowered his voice. ” I have something to tell you about that.”

I looked at him interrogatively.

” Because,” he added, ” you obviously noticed. It is often necessary to go by devious ways to reach a certain goal.”

” You are talking in riddles.”

“Which is not inappropriate. We have a riddle to solve.”

I tamed away because I fancied Luke was trying to listen to our conversation; but fortunately Aunt Sarah was talking loudly about Christmases of the past, and although she was repeating what she had said yesterday she seemed determined that no one should miss a word.

After dinner we retired to the first-floor drawing-room, and there were no other visitors that night. I talked to Sir Matthew and would not leave his side, although I could see that Simon was growing exasperated with me.

I left the company early and had not been in my room more than five minutes when there was a knock on the door.

” Come in,” I called, and Sarah entered.

She smiled at me conspiratorially and whispered as though to excuse the intrusion: “Well, you were interested. That’s why …”

” What do you mean?” I asked.

” I’ve started to fill it in.”

My thoughts immediately went to the half-finished piece of tapestry which she had showed me when I was last in her room. She was watching me and her face seemed suddenly full of knowledge.

” Can I see it?” y^ ” Of course. That’s why I came. Will you come back with me?”

I rose eagerly and when we were in the corridor she put her fingers to her lips. ” Don’t want anyone to hear us,” she said.

“They’re still in the first-floor drawing-room. It’s early yet … for a Boxing night.

All very well for you to retire early. That’s on account of your condition. But the others . “

We mounted the stairs and went through to her wing. It was very silent in this part of the house and I shivered whether with cold or apprehension, I was not sure.

She led the way to her tapestry room, and she was now as excited as a child with a new toy which she wants to show off. She lighted several candles from the one she was carrying; then, setting that one down, she ran to the cupboard. She took out the canvas and held it in front of her as she had on another occasion. I could not see very clearly although it was obvious that the blank side had now been filled in with some thing. I picked up a candle and held it close to the canvas. Then I saw the outline of a drawing.

I looked closer. On one side were the dead bodies of Gabriel and Friday, and on the other a faint pencil drawing This was of another building, and the effect was that of looking through barred windows into a room which was like a prison cell. In that cell was the vague outline of a woman who held something in her arms. I felt a thrill of horror as I realised this was meant to be a baby.

I looked into Sarah’s face. Illumined as it was by the light of the candles, all shadows and lines seemed to be eliminated ; she was rejuvenated more than that; she seemed not quite human. I longed to know what secrets, what motives lay behind those calm eyes which could at times seem so simple, at others so wise.

” I suppose that figure is myself?” I said.

She nodded. ” You saw the baby, did you? You see, the baby is born.”

” But we seem to be in a sort of prison.”

” I think it would feel like being in prison.”

” Aunt Sarah, what would feel like being in prison?”

” There,” she said. ” That place.”

I understood. ” That’s all cleared up,” I explained. ” II was all a mistake. The doctor made a mistake. There is no need to think of that any more.”

” But it’s here.” she insisted. ” It’s here in the picture.”

“ That’s because you don’t know all that’s happened.”

She shook her head almost petulantly, and my apprehension increased. I knew she moved quietly about the house. listening from secret places; and then quietly in this room she recorded the family’s history. The history of the Rockwells was the most important thing in her life.

That was why she spent hours over her exquisite tapestry. Here in this room she was supreme, a sort of goddess looking on at the follies of her creatures; elsewhere she was of no account—merely poor Sarah, who was a little simple.

I was foolish to allow myself to be upset by the vague ideas which circulated in her wandering mind.

” In a prison,” she murmured, ” there has to be a jail or I can see him. He’s all in black, but he has his back to me and his hood makes it impossible to recognise him.”

“The monki” I spoke lightly for I could think of that creature without fear now.

She came up to me and looked into my face. ” The monk is very near you, Catherine,” she said. ” The monk is waiting for you, waiting to catch you. You should not think the monk is not near … and coming nearer.”

” You know who it is!” I accused her.

” It’s a lovely night,” she answered. ” The stars are wonderful.

There is frost in the air, and, Catherine, the view is beautiful from the balcony.”

I drew away from her.

” You’re right,” I said. ” It is cold here. I think I should go back to my room.”

“Wait awhile, Catherine.”

” I think I should go.”

I went to the door but she had caught my robe and was clinging to it.

I had begun to shiver again, but this time not with cold.

“The candle,” she said.

“You’ll need one. Take mine.”

Still holding my robe, she drew me into the room. She picked up one of the lighted candles and thrust it into my hand. I grasped it and, disengaging myself, hurried along the corridor, ‘half expecting her to pursue me.

I was breathless when I reached the sanctuary of my room and my apprehension remained with me. I could not dismiss Sarah’s ramblings from my mind because I was certain that there was some meaning hidden within them.

How uncertain I was on that night I longed to confide in someone.

When I was with Simon I could not help but trust him and I doubted my ability to resist him; I believed that if I told him what I had discovered and he gave me a plausible explanation, I should be only too glad to meet him half-way. Readily would I believe any story he could tell me if only it would exonerate him from the murder of Gabriel and from the attempted murder of me and my child.

I believed that night that I dared not listen to Simon. I had to remain aloof. For the first time I could not trust my own good sense.