'I shall always blame myself for the accident,' she said, 'it was my fault for being out that evening.
I had gone into Kerrith for the afternoon and stayed there late, as Mrs de Winter was up in London and not expected back until much later.
That's why I did not hurry back.
When I came in, about half past nine, I heard she had returned just before seven, had her dinner, and then went out again.
Down to the beach of course.
I felt worried then.
It was blowing from the south-west.
She would never have gone if I'd been in.
She always listened to me.
"I wouldn't go out this evening, it's not fit," I should have said, and she would have answered me
"All right, Danny, you old fuss-pot."
And we would have sat up here talking no doubt, she telling me all she had done in London, like she always did.'
My arm was bruised and numb from the pressure of her fingers.
I could see how tightly the skin was stretched across her face, showing the cheekbones.
There were little patches of yellow beneath her ears.
'Mr de Winter had been dining with Mr Crawley down at his house,' she went on.
'I don't know what time he got back, I dare say it was after eleven.
But it began to blow quite hard just before midnight, and she had not come back.
I went downstairs, but there were no lights under the library door.
I came upstairs again and knocked on the dressing-room door.
Mr de Winter answered at once,
"Who is it, what do you want?" he said.
I told him I was worried about Mrs de Winter not being back.
He waited a moment, and then he came and opened the door in his dressing-gown.
"She's spending the night down at the cottage I expect," he said.
"I should go to bed if I were you.
She won't come back here to sleep if it goes on like this."
He looked tired, and I did not like to disturb him.
After all, she spent many nights at the cottage, and had sailed in every sort of weather.
She might not even have gone for a sail, but just wanted the night at the cottage as a change after London.
I said good night to Mr de Winter and went back to my room.
I did not sleep though.
I kept wondering what she was doing.'
She paused again.
I did not want to hear any more.
I wanted to get away from her, away from the room.
'I sat on my bed until half past five,' she said, 'then I couldn't wait there any longer.
I got up and put on my coat and went down through the woods to the beach.
It was getting light, but there was still a misty sort of rain falling, although the wind had dropped.
When I got to the beach I saw the buoy there in the water and the dinghy, but the boat had gone…' It seemed to me that I could see the cove in the grey morning light, feel the thin drizzle on my face, and peering through the mist could make out, shadowy and indistinct, the low dark outline of the buoy.
Mrs Danvers loosened the pressure on my arm.
Her hand fell back again to her side.
Her voice lost all expression, became the hard mechanical voice of every day.
'One of the life-buoys was washed up at Kerrith in the afternoon,' she said, 'and another was found the next day by some crabbers on the rocks below the headland.
Bits and pieces of rigging too would come in with the tide.'
She turned away from me, and closed the chest of drawers.
She straightened one of the pictures on the wall.
She picked up a piece of fluff from the carpet.
I stood watching her, not knowing what to do.
'You know now', she said, 'why Mr de Winter does not use these rooms any more.