Legend of the Seventh Virgin by Victoria Holt Page B

had with her father about the antiquities of Cornwall. I listened intently and I was proud of belonging to a people who had inhabited this island longer than the English and who had left these oddly disturbing monuments to their dead.
    “We can’t be far from the Derrise country,” said Mellyora at length, rising to indicate that she wanted to mount. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Derrises. They’re the richest people in the neighborhood; they own acres and acres.”
    “More than the St. Larnstons?”
    “Much more. Let’s go. Let’s get lost. It’s always such fun to get lost and find your way after.”
    She mounted her pony and we were off, she leading.
    “It’s rather dangerous,” she called over her shoulder, more concerned for me, who was not so expert, than for herself, and brought her pony to a standstill. I came up beside her and we walked our ponies over the grass.
    “You can easily get lost on the moor because there is so much that looks alike. You have to find a landmark … like that tor over there. I think it’s Derrise Tor and if it is I know where we are.”
    “How can you know where you are if you’re not sure it’s Derrise Tor?”
    She laughed at me and said: “Come on.”
    We were climbing as we made our way to the tor; it was stony country now and the tor itself was on a hillock; a strange, twisted shape in gray stone that, from a distance, could be mistaken for a man of giant proportions.
    We dismounted once more, tethered the ponies to a thick bush, and together we scrambled up the hillock to the tor. It was steeper than we had thought and when we reached the top Mellyora, looking like a dwarf beside a giant, leaned against the stone and cried excitedly that she was right. This was the Derrise country.
    “Look!” she cried; and following her gaze I saw the great mansion. Gray stone walls, battlemented towers, a massive fortress looking like an oasis in a desert, for the house was surrounded by gardens; I glimpsed trees laden with fruit blossom, and the green of lawns. “Derrise Manor,” she informed me.
    “It’s like a castle.”
    “It is, and though the Derrises are said to be the richest people in East Cornwall, they’re doomed, some say.”
    “Doomed with a house like that and all those riches?”
    “Ah, Kerensa. You always think in terms of worldly possessions. Don’t you ever listen to Papa’s sermons?”
    “No, do you?”
    “No, but I know without listening about treasures on earth and all that. In any case, for all their money the Derrises are doomed.”
    “What sort of doom?”
    “Madness. There’s madness in the family. It comes out every now and then. People say that it’s a good thing there aren’t any sons to carry on the line and that this generation will see the end of the Derrises and their curse.”
    “Well, that’s a good thing.”
    “They don’t think so. They want their name carried on and all that. People always do. I wonder why?”
    “It’s a sort of pride,” I said. “It’s like never dying, because there’s always a part of you living on through your children.”
    “Why shouldn’t daughters do as well as sons?”
    “Because they don’t have the same name. When they marry they belong to a different family and the line is lost.”
    Mellyora was thoughtful. Then she said, “The Martins will die with me. Think of that. At least the Carlees have your brother — the one who hurt his leg falling off a tree.”
    Because we had become close now and I knew I could trust her, I told her the truth of that incident. She listened intently. Then she said: “I’m glad you saved him. I’m glad Kim helped.”
    “You’ll not tell anyone?”
    “Of course not. But no one could do much about it now in any case. Isn’t it strange, Kerensa? We live here in this quiet country place and tremendous things happen round us just as though we lived in a big city … perhaps more so. Just think of the Derrises.”
    “I’d never heard of