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fortress of rock against the resentment of the local people, for they had moved into the valley from another and strangers were not, as now, welcome, especially when they backed their claim to the land with more money than seemed right to the much poorer village people.
    The quarries had been a source of income, the only one, to them for years, and when they had realized that their hard and dangerous labour was helping to fill the already heavy purses of the mistrusted ‘foreigners' the resentment had been bitter and often vicious, with lives sometimes lost. No one knew just where the Davies had come from and it was inconceivable that anyone would ask, for the men of the invading family were dark and savage-looking and would brook no breach of their privacy.
    The house had stood for generations now and the bitterness and feuding had long since died, although there was still an element of mistrust, particularly among the older people and it was always, rather scathingly, referred to as ‘the big house'.
    It was on this loveliest of mornings in July that Evan Davies sat at his solitary breakfast, a frown between his straight black brows as he pushed his tea cup away from him and left the table to walk across the room. The sun shining on to his face as it did through the high mullioned window gave him an almost sinister look. High cheekbones were emphasized by the harsh light, leaving shadows along the jaw and beside the arrogant nose. The eyes, downcast for a moment against the glare of the sun, lifted to gaze through the window at the mountain which seemed almost to rise from the foot of the long, neat gardens, dominating everything around it.
    He was so deep in his own thoughts that he failed for a moment to realize that the door of the room had opened behind him and someone had come in. A discreet cough recalled him and he turned swiftly as if automated by the sound. Evan Davies wasted no single movement, his actions were quick and seemed at first sight to be prompted by nervousness, but nothing was further from the truth; there was nothing nervous or uncertain about him, in fact he was a man in complete control of himself.
    The woman who had disturbed him carried a huge tray on to which she began to stack the used dishes from the table and for a moment the man watched her in silence. 'You haven't forgotten that Doctor Neath is bringing the nurse this morning have you, Mrs Beeley ?' He spoke quietly, his voice barely accented. 'Is Emlyn ready for her?'
    ' Oh, yes, Mr Evan, don’t you fret about anything; and her room is ready too; Mr Emlyn is all spruce and tidy, and a bit excited too, I think.' She was busy with the breakfast things as she spoke, her round homely face a cheerful contrast to his own sombre features. 'It will be nice to have another woman around the house, I won't deny it, but I wish we knew a bit more about her.'
    Almost lifelong proximity had given Mrs Beeley the ability to talk to her employer with perhaps more familiarity than was usual, but even she would never have been too familiar. He turned back to his study of the mountain, with only a trace of a smile on his lips. 'You'll find out soon enough,' he told. her. 'She's coming on the half past nine train and Doctor Neath is bringing her straight here.'
    He stood before the window for some time after the woman had left the room. It was his favourite view and he never grew tired of looking at it, even after a lifetime spent under its shadow. It was ever-changing and offered a never-ending variety of faces that altered with season and weather and even with the passing of a cloud over its peak.
    He took a pipe from his jacket and reached for a jar of tobacco standing on a low table beside the window. Everything in this room, indeed everything in the house was geared to Evan Davies' wants; he had only to reach out a hand to find what he wanted. He was never surprised when things just happened to be where he wanted them, he was used to it and took it for