"Seamus should be told to put those steps right.

 

Certainly before these gentlemen start arriving from Europe."

 

"Indeed. Well, Father, good morning."

 

That summer evening referred to by Miss Kenton in her letter came very soon

after that encounter - indeed, it may have been the evening of that same day. I

cannot remember just what purpose had taken me up on to the top floor of the

house to where the row of guest bedrooms line the corridor. But as I think I

have said already, I can recall vividly the way the last of the daylight was

coming through each open doorway and falling across the corridor in orange

shafts. And as I walked on past those unused bedrooms, Miss Kenton's figure, a

silhouette against a window within one of them, had called to me.

 

When one thinks about it, when one remembers the way Miss Kenton had repeatedly

spoken to me of my father during those early days of her time at Darlington

Hall, it is little wonder that the memory of that evening should have stayed

with her all of these years. No doubt, she was feeling a certain sense of guilt

as the two of us watched from our window my father's figure down below. The

shadows of the poplar trees had fallen across much of the lawn, but the sun was

still lighting up the far corner where the grass sloped up to the Summerhouse.

My father could be seen standing by those four stone steps, deep in thought. A

breeze was slightly disturbing his hair. Then, as we watched, he walked very

slowly up the steps. At the top, he turned and came back down, a little faster.