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when he turned back to where isabelle had been； she was already gone。 only her laughter came back to him from the darkness； her laughter and the low rumble of roland’s voice。 he would get his own back later。 he would。 time and time again she would pay for this。
in the meantime he had to vent his feelings somehow。
he turned to sybilla。
the summer was full of picnics。 and for charlie； it was full of sybillas。 but for isabelle there was only one roland。 every day she slipped out of charlie’s sight； escaped his grasp and disappeared on her bicycle。 charlie could never find out where the pair met； was too slow to follow her as she took flight； the bicycle wheels spinning beneath her； hair flying behind。 sometimes she would not return until darkness had fallen； sometimes not even then。 when he scolded her； she laughed at him and turned her back as though he simply wasn’t there。 he tried to hurt her； to maim her； but as she eluded him time after time； slipping through his fingers like water； he realized how much their games had been dependent on her willingness。 however great his strength； her quickness and cleverness meant she got away from him every time。 like a boar enraged by a bee； he was powerless。
once in a while； placatory； she gave in to his entreaties。 for an hour or two she lent herself to his will； allowing him to enjoy the illusion that she was back for good and that everything between them was as it always had been。 but it was an illusion； as charlie soon learned； and her renewed absence after these interludes was all the more agonizing。
charlie forgot his pain only momentarily with the sybillas。 for a time his sister prepared the way for him； then as she became more and more delighted with roland； charlie was left to make his own arrangements。 he lacked his sister’s subtlety； there was an incident that could lave been a scandal； and a vexed isabelle told him that if that was how he intended to go about things then he would have to choose a different sort of woman。 he turned from the daughters of minor aristocrats to those of farriers； farmers and foresters。 personally he couldn’t tell the difference； yet the world seemed to mind less。
frequent though they were； these instances of forgetfulness were fleeting。 the shocked eyes； the bruised arms； the bloodied thighs were erased from memory the moment he turned away from them。 nothing could touch the great passion in his life： his feelings for isabelle。
one morning toward the end of the summer； isabelle turned the blank pages in her diary and counted the days。 she closed the book and replaced it in the drawer thoughtfully。 when she had decided； she went downstairs to her father’s study。
her father looked up。 “isabelle！” he was pleased to see her。 since she had taken to going out more he was especially gratified when she came to seek him out like this。
‘darling pa！“ she smiled at him。
he caught a glint of something in her eye。 “is there something afoot？”
her eyes traveled to a corner of the ceiling and she smiled。 without lifting her gaze from the dark corner； she told him she was leaving。
at first he hardly understood what she had said。 he felt a pulse beat his ears。 his vision blurred。 he closed his eyes； but inside his head there were volcanoes； meteorite strikes and explosions。 when the flames died down and there was nothing left in his inner world but a silent； devastated landscape； he opened his eyes。
what had he done？
in his hand was a lock of hair； with a bloodied clod of skin attached at one end。 isabelle was there； her back to the door； her hands behind her。 one beautiful green eye was bloodshot； one cheek looked red and slightly swollen。 a trickle of blood crept from her scalp； reached her eyebrow and was diverted away from her eye。
he was aghast at himself and at her。 he turned away from her in silence and she left the room。
afterward he sat for hours； twisting the auburn hair that he had found in his hand； twisting and twisting； tighter and tighter around his finger； until it dug deep into his skin； until it was so matted that it could not be unwound。 and finally； when the sensation of pain had at last pleted its slow journey from his finger to his consciousness； he cried。
charlie was absent that day and did not return home until midnight。 finding isabelle’s room empty he wandered through the house； knowing by some sixth sense that disaster had struck。 not finding his sister； he went to his father’s study。 one look at the gray…faced man told him everything。 father and son regarded each other for a moment； but the fact that their loss was shared did not unite them。 there was nothing they could do for each other。
in his room charlie sat on the chair next to the window； sat there for hours； a silhouette against a rectangle of moonlight。 at some point he opened a drawer and removed the gun he had obtained by extortion from a local poacher； and two or three times he raised it to his temple。 each time the force of gravity soon returned it to his lap。
at four o’clock in the morning he put the gun away； and took up instead the long needle that he had pilfered from the missus’s sewing box a decade before and which had since seen much use。 he pulled up his trouser leg； pushed his sock down and made a new puncture mark in his skin。 his shoulders shook； but his hand was steady as on his shinbone he scored a single word： isabelle。
isabelle by this time was long gone。 she had returned to her room for a few minutes and then left it again； taking the back stairs to the kitchen。 here she had given the missus a strange； hard hug； which was quite unlike her； and then she slipped out of the side door and darted through the kitchen garden toward the garden door； set in a stone wall。 the missus’s sight had been fading for a very long time； but she had developed the ability to judge people’s movements by sensing vibrations in the air； and she had the impression that isabelle hesitated； for the briefest of moments； before she closed the garden door behind her。
when it became apparent to george angelfield that isabelle was gone； he went into his library and locked the door。 he refused food； he refused vi