He remains a moment longer, then climbs the back stairs, turning lights on as he goes. In the bedroom that is fusty with the odour of death he folds back the edge of the sheet and gazes into the pallid face. Already it is not Sarah Pollexfen’s, but in the presence of the dwindling likeness he is grateful that she made the contribution of a poor relation to a family’s epitaph. Carriglas will be a place to stroll to on a summer’s afternoon, the tidy script asserts, as we have strolled to the fallen abbey and the burial mound. Absence has gathered in the rooms, and silence in the garden. They have returned Carriglas to its clay. He covers again the still remains and moves to extinguish the light. As he descends through the house those last words echo, lightening his bewilderment: their punishment of themselves seems terrible, yet a marvel also.

About the Author

William Trevor KBE was an Irish novelist, playwright, and short story writer. One of the elder statesmen of the Irish literary world, he is widely regarded as one of the greatest contemporary writers of short stories in the English language.

WILLIAM TREVOR

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