Ben blinked and yawned. Looking up, he spotted Luke hovering anxiously in the doorway.

"How long has it been?" asked Ben.

"Two days," said Luke. "Can I come in?"

"You may," replied Ben.

Luke tiptoed into the room and stopped a few feet away from the bed. He looked well-fed enough, Ben observed, but his hair was in need of a good combing.

"Is she better?" asked Luke.

Ben considered the sleeping woman on the bed. Already the swelling had reduced noticeably, and her color and breathing were much improved. The Force had done its job.

"Yes," he said to Luke, "and she will be better still in a few days. Why don't you get her something to eat? I'm sure she will be hungry when she wakes."

Luke nodded, eyes bright, and tiptoed out of the room as quickly as he could.

Ben sighed in relief and settled himself in the bedside chair. The Jedi healing process was exhausting for the healer, especially a case as extended as this. Perhaps one of the Temple healers would have handled it better—but then, he reflected with a pang, there were no Temple healers left in the galaxy.

Movement from the bed ended that sober line of thought. Beru's blue eyes blinked open and looked about hazily.

"Owen? Luke?" she whispered.

"Luke is fixing you something to eat," replied Ben, leaning over the bed so she could see him. "Your husband is still away from home."

Her eyes widened.

"Mister Kenobi?" she whispered. "How—why?"

"You were very ill," said Ben. "Young Luke had the presence of mind to fetch me rather than trying to walk to Anchorhead. Someone had told him I was a wizard," he added wryly.

Beru smiled weakly at that. "Owen—we had to explain what happened in town somehow."

"Of course." Wizards were not unheard of. He had met one or two in his time. They were usually Force-sensitive to a degree, and self-trained, because they had no allegiance to the Jedi Order. He would not be surprised if several had survived the Purges for that reason.

I should have thought of that long ago. Why didn't I?

Because you were too proud to call yourself a wizard rather than a Jedi, said the voice that was his own, yet not his own.

Can I really have been so foolish? asked Ben.

There was no answer, only a smug silence in the Force that was an answer in itself.

Beru struggled to sit up. Ben lent a steady hand to help her into position.

"Thank you," she sighed.

"Don't overexert yourself," he told her. "You are still recovering. You were in a rather precarious position—alone with no means of transportation or communication."

Beru smiled ruefully.

"Owen tried to tell me that," she admitted. "He wanted to take Luke and me along with him. I wouldn't have it. I told him it was nonsense to leave the farm unattended for so long. I told him Luke and I would take care of each other."

"And so you have." Ben smiled. "All the same, I wouldn't risk it again."

"I won't." She took his right hand in her own and pressed it to her heart. "You were very kind to come. Thank you very much."

The wizened wizard and the young farm wife sat in companionable silence for several moments. It was broken by a voice from the center court.

"Who's been cleaning the vaporators? They're covered in mushrooms! Luke, where's your aunt?"

Luke's reply was inaudible.

A long shadow fell across the bed as Owen appeared in the doorway. He took in the scene in a blink.

For a moment, Ben hoped that all would at last be well between him and Owen Lars. The Force had guided him this far. Surely it would help him now.

Owen drew in a deep breath.

"Kenobi," he growled, obviously struggling to keep his voice low for the sake of Luke, who was peering around his knee, "I told you never to set foot in my house. This is your last reminder. Get out."

The flicker of hope died swiftly.

Ben rose and bowed stiffly even as Beru began,

"Owen, let me explain—"

Before she could finish, Ben was out of the room and up the stairs.