Dearest Millie,

I know I shall never send this letter, but I simply must write in an attempt to sort out those things which seem unable to settle within my head but rather force me into a state of general agitation. I cannot but sit down before I find myself up once again pacing for some activity to occupy me and, when one is found, I just as soon abandon it to walk the floor yet again. The reason for this? Oh, you would laugh at me! I should have no peace were I to ever confess it to you! My Uncle surely is to blame for it - it was his doing afterall. I should have been happy to shut myself up in my room for the remainder of the season but he implored me to merely allow Mr. Nicholas Martin to call and now I find myself in such a State I am not sure whether I regret allowing my Uncle to sway me or if I am glad of it; though I am certain you will be less enthusiastic of what has come of it. But I suppose if I am to unravel the thing I must start at the beginning.

Four days past Uncle Richard reported to me that Mr. Martin wished to call on me. I cannot even begin to convey my surprise on the subject, for I hardly possess any qualities to entice a man's attentions - I can already hear you objecting to my assessment but you know it to be true - beyond my family's fortune and connection. Despite my Uncle's protestations to the contrary I could not help but believe the man to simply be a common fortune hunter. And were my suspicions to prove true (as I was certain they would) I could readily extricate myself from this silly practice for at least the next week or two claiming a broken heart. I will admit to you - and only to you, Millie - that I was somewhat disappointed that it was Mr. Martin and not Mr. Underhill who requested to call. While I know he stood staunchly against the prospect of marrying I suppose I had hoped... Well what did I hope? That it was all for show? That I had somehow impressed him enough to change that ever-whirring mind? I suspect I allowed your own optimism to get the better of my senses. But that is neither here nor there for it was Mr. Martin who called and I confess now that I am glad it was he who did. I have spent every hour of the evening replaying each moment, every piece of conversation. But I am getting ahead of myself.

The meeting began rather poorly by any standard. I arrived well past the appointed time. This I am entirely to blame for as I had found a patch of blackberries growing fat and dark in the copse by the giant oak and - well, you are well aware of my weakness for blackberries - I could not be sated until I had picked and consumed every last ripe morsel. This alone would not have caused me to be terribly late only then, when I had finished and the exultation of my triumph had diminished, did I realize my hands were not only stained by the berries juice but that they had been terrifically scratched by the bush's thorns leaving unnumbered small red trails across my skin. To make the matter all the more ridiculous the thorns snagging my gloves was the very reason I opted to pick bare-handed. I don't know what I thought would happen to my skin if my gloves could not even stand up to those briers but apparently my logic failed me. Of course the full extent of the disgrace I had made of myself would not be revealed until I met Sarah at my doorway.

"My word!" she exclaimed. "What a fright you are!"

"Is it really all that bad?" I had asked. She didn't say another word but led me to the mirror where I saw myself: my lips were stained a deep purple hue with further smudges spotting my cheeks, nose, and even one that I could not begin to account for across my forehead. Sarah left me for quite a few minutes staring at the overgrown child in the mirror but returned with a bowl of cold water and a strange citrus smelling paste. "What is that?" I asked.

"It's lemon juice and salt - it's an old remedy my mother used to use. Now hold still, Mr. Martin is already waiting for you in the Library."

"Well, I suppose, at least he has something to occupy his time." I tried to laugh but Sarah's look warned me that such was not the time for levity. I daresay I think she enjoyed putting that horrible concoction on my poor tortured hands - never have I felt such a concentrated amount of pain. I winced and tried to pull away but she held me fast, washing as best she could around my wounds. I watched much of the light purple liquid slough off into the bowl. Then she went for my face scrubbing every inch raw. She stepped back to admire her handiwork - I was afraid to look in the mirror to see the reddened, raw creature she had wrought.

"A little powder should hide the redness until it fades, but I'm afraid there is nothing more I can do for your hands without making the cuts worse." I looked down at those spindly appendages: the cuts glowed brightly from the pale skin splotched with faded purple. "You'll just have to wear gloves until it disappears." I can't even begin to convey to you how foolish I felt as Sarah powdered me and slipped on the opaque gloves we hoped to hide my condition with. Finally, Sarah threw up her hands exasperated, "It will just have to do." I braved a glance in the mirror. She had once again worked her magic - I looked almost good though something in my countenance suggested the disheveled state I had arrived in, though what I could not exactly pinpoint. My Uncle, near fuming at the rudeness with which my guest had been treated, veritably shoved me through the Library door. There I stood, lanky and awkward. Nicholas looked up from the book he had lain on the low table in front of him.

"Ah, so you made it." he observed with a disarming smile. I don't think I have given enough credit to the man's looks for at the party he seemed a rather dark character, but seeing him with the sun gleaming on that dark chestnut hair and lighting that open face smiling at me as though there were nothing amiss in the world (and this despite being an hour late) - I must admit when my eyes were caught by his, soft and deep brown, my heart fluttered a moment. "Will you join me?" he gestured to the chair across the table. I tried to smile but only half of my mouth would obey me directives. Fortunately, my Uncle, impatient to get the meeting started pushed me forward into the room as he made to light the candle. I managed to catch myself before I lost all balance and fell to the floor. Nicholas rose to assist me (though he was far too distant to provide any substantive assistance. "Here, let me help you." he said, taking my hand as I sat. I was never so thankful to be powdered as I was then for it hid the blush that rose as soon as his hand made contact with mine.

"Thank you." I managed to murmur, staring at my knees.

"If you need me, I will be in the study." my Uncle announced, jolly now that the plot was in motion. So certain was he of its success I was tempted to feign a fainting spell right at that moment and thus put an end to it just for spite - but my own wish to not yet abandon that hopeful, handsome face managed to subdue my desire for revenge on my Uncle for putting me in this situation. He closed the book - I suppose he expected that I should create conversation as a matter of course but I remained silent, tugging absently at my gloves. My hands itched terrifically from the course fabric against my wounds! Mr. Martin shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So, how are you finding London?" he tried. I scarcely looked up from my manual occupation,

"I find it quite well." I lied politely - for if one must lie at least one should be proper about it Mother was always fond of admonishing.

"Have you had a chance to get acquainted with any of the sights?"

"Only from the view of the carriage."

"Your Aunt has not taken you out to the parks or the Art Museum?"

"No, we have only had time to visit her friends thus far." and, I suspect, that is all we will ever have time for - Millie it is remarkable how many friends a woman may have and how many times she can see them! Could we not go one week without seeing Mrs. Grey who will only talk of who spoke to who at church on Sunday - I never dreamed how very imperative a nod of the head could be! All that a simple greeting can say to those who know how to interpret its language! But I do digress.

"Are you finding them agreeable?

"In their way." I replied. He seemed lost at what to follow this with and we fell into silence. I glanced from my hands a few times to see him examining me closely - in the same way he had been the room that day we met. Even so, there was a friendliness in that gaze that made it feel less invasive - simply it was inquiring: attempting to search out what I would not easily provide.

"Your Uncle tells me your Father is in South Africa, then?" I certainly could not fault him for lack of persistence.

"Yes, he has business there."

"Shipping if I recall correctly." Clearly my Uncle had been busy attempting to sell Mr. Martin on the merits of my family.

"That is correct. I'm sorry, you find me at a disadvantage for I do not know what business your family is in."

"Clothing, my Father owns a mill in the city and a textile mill in Yorkshire as well."

"Woolens?"

"We have lately branched into cotton as well." he supplied. "It was scarce due to the war in the States but the supply seems to have stabilized now." Ah yes, a clothing manufacturer looking to expand into importing cotton from the Americas and the daughter of a shipping baron; I could now see very clearly the economic enticement of such an advantages union as clearly as the young man in front of me must have when he asked permission to call. "I wish I could say more about it but, to be frank, my trip to the Americas has greatly soured me to the subject."

"Oh? And how is that?" I dug. His demeanor instantly blackened, his eyes and mouth hardened, he looked away from me as though ashamed:

"Slavery." he spat.

"I thought that savage practice had been abolished after the war?" I responded. I was quite surprised to hear such a thing might still exist.

"You know American politics then?"

"Only that it is a brutish sport practiced by so-called gentlemen and generals that often results in grave misfortune for all involved."

"Aye," He replied sheepishly. "You are not one to hide your opinion, are you?"

"Not when it is so asked for."

"Well, it is Generals who are to blame for this grave misfortune. Slavery is dead and yet it lives on. They call it 'sharecropping' and 'apprenticeships' - where the people are forced to toil and pay more for their labor than they could ever earn thus they live in perpetual debt to their 'employers'."

"I don't understand, they cannot leave and find another position? Or buy their own property?"

"No, that is the supposed beauty of the system. The law states that they must have an employer at all times or they are considered vagrants, they cannot own unincorporated land (which is already owned and thus must be rented from an employer), and were they to try and leave they can be forcibly hauled back to their employer and docked a years wages and still will owe rent. Now they charge the slaves money to be slaves - slavery was never so profitable as this!"

"That is horrifying!" Millie I had never heard of such a thing before - even peasants had a better lot than what he was describing!

"It was even worse than that for in the town we visited they enjoyed terrorizing these people by riding out at night and swooping down to punish those who had broken any of their social codes. I saw it once: we were in town late one evening when a group of men rode down screaming and hollering as though to wake the dead and they drug a black man from a shack and whipped him before everybody - for what reason they never told us. It was an unabashadly barbaric display but my father found it so very amusing - particularly the man with the white sheet over his face who led the party - he still laughs when he tells of it." His eyes darkened with burning hatred - for which I could not be sure: the nightmarish happening or his father's enjoyment of it. I listened in silence.

"Following that we went to New York City to see the textile factories as father believed it might be cheaper to have the cloth manufactured there and then transport the finished product rather than making them in England. Philomena," the sound of my name on his lips sent a shock through me. "it is horrible in a way I have never dreamed. Yes, I know the factory towns of England - I am almost ashamed of my part in them - but New York is every sin of the factory on an infinite scale. The stench of human and animal, of slaughterhouse and burning fat, of waste and decay permeated to the very soul of a person choking the humanity out of them. To know that there are people who live in die in that never knowing a breath of fresh air! They boast about the 'great advances' made to improve the conditions for the workers - what great advances! I could barely breath for the cotton dust; I saw children - tiny children! - working the shuttles from when I arrived in the morning until I left that night with no sign of an end; their mothers and fathers not far from them. Not that England is without blame in this but at least they do not practically rob the infant from the pram! The sound of wheezing was like a continuous death rattle, no place on the floor was without it. The overseers had no sympathy for the plight of their workers. When I questioned the owner about the children's schooling he laughed as though I had said the funniest thing he had heard in months. My father questioned him about the stability of the operation - was it insured against strikes? And once again the owner laughed for it seemed any person even breathing a word about unionizing would find themselves and any of their family without employ and unable find a position at any other factory. Such control delighted my father but thankfully the quality of the product did not for I do not think I could bear to work under my father knowing the practices I was supporting. Philomena, the people are treated as less than the machines - a machine, were it to break, would be repaired but a broken man is merely tossed aside like so much garbage!"

"But that is they way of things, is it not? I do not mean to sound cruel but factories do need workers and strikes may be ruinous to employers - what good is a factory with no workers to work it and no owner to oversee it?"

"But they should feel no need to strike to begin with!" he returned passionately. "A strike is only the working man asserting his need to survive - if they were provided for adequately, paid a fair wage for their work and given a safe place to labor in, then they would see no reason to strike. Unions are merely the voice of the worker and that is a voice that, as the owner, I should want to hear; not silence."

"But would that not increase the expense?"

"Perhaps, but well-off workers tend to be more productive and less often absent. Not only that but they can afford to buy the products themselves which increases sales. Instead of a weary, ill, starving workforce I would possess one that was the envy of all others. It would come at some cost but the gains would be substantial. But I'm sorry, you probably do not want to discuss such matters do you? I suppose once I begin on the subject I tend to get carried away." there was that boyish smile.

"No, I find it fascinating. I don't believe I've ever heard a man of business speak of such things. Please do continue." I urged him. And it was true: not only was I eager to hear more for the content but also I desired to feel the conviction with which he spoke it. All disappointment that may have remained melted away banished forever by the quick motions of his hands as he elaborated upon his hopes for the future of industry. My belief in his desire for an advantageous marriage to improve his own holdings unwarranted cynicism. His passion for the plight of the worker was intoxicating. It was everything about him when he spoke: the way his eyes flashed, the strength of his voice, the flush of his cheeks - I could have listened to him rhapsodize for hours about it and never been bored a moment! Finding a willing audience he continued; outlining the need for the working man to work together towards better wages and conditions, the need for the current system of exploitative factories to be abandoned and the need for employers to change their focus from merely production to those who produce. I believe at some point Uncle Richard came in to check the candle and, finding us thus deeply embroiled in conversation, adjusted it and left beaming with the assurance of success. "So then, what do you intend to do about your own holdings - I am correct that you are the elder brother, am I not?"

"No, Darby has three years on me." he answered, much to my surprise for Darby is such a skinny, smallish thing who scarcely looks in his twentieth year - certainly you recall him (how could anyone forget his nattering!); he's barely a slip of a man. Nicholas must have read my shock for he continued. "I know it is hard to believe but he is the older of us two and thus he will inherit. However, he has no taste for business - as father has noted on many occasions - so while the holdings may go to him the running of the company will fall to me."

"So what is the answer to my question?" I pressed him. He made to answer but then withdrew into the chair, hand to his chin, formulating his response.

"I suppose cotton, by its very nature, is exploitative. Even if I could improve the lives of my own workers I could never rest easily knowing the abuses of my suppliers. To be perfectly honest, if I cannot find a better alternative I believe I would refuse the position. I would rather live out the rest of my days as a pauper who's labor is honest and harms none but himself than have all the wealth of a prince borne to him on the broken backs of the lower classes."

"But for all the nobility of that statement, in truth, would it not be better to improve the working conditions of your own employees even if it meant continuing to support cruel suppliers? Is not half a victory worth anything at all?" I felt less like I was arguing than that I was attempting to determine his sincerity. Lovely words they were, but few men would consign themselves to poverty for any cause let alone that which he proposed particularly when wealth and comfort were assured.

"It is not half a victory if a man may be beaten for the crime of existing! Darby can run it on my recommendations - he has not seen that which I have; his conscience will not scream for justice at every received shipment. I am sorry Miss Moore, I hope I have not distressed you too greatly with my words but I would rather speak the plain truth and lose your favor for it than attempt to conceal my feelings."

"No!" I objected. "I find them fascinating."

"Regardless, I believe it is time we find a topic of less weight for there is so little of it left." At his cue I glanced away from his visage to the window - when had it become so dark? "And you still owe me an explanation for your tardiness." he spoke the words with a half-smile that gave me to know the teasing was good-natured in intent.

"A lady needs never to explain her comings and goings. Besides, you said you wished to away from weighty matters." I laughed.

"Well, if it is truly as serious as all that than I shan't press you to reveal." the lone upward curl of his lips was met with its mirror on the opposite side.

"It is very serious indeed, but to you I shall reveal it." I answered tenderly tugging my glove off. I displayed for him the violet mottled, ruined hand, "There was a patch of blackberries in the garden and, I confess, I may have gotten carried away. He broke into laughter, I felt his finger under my hand as he guided it towards himself for closer examination. His touch was light and soft, almost as if it were not there at all. My stomach seemed to clench and flutter up into my very chest, my head swirled to the risk of faint as though in illness though what sickness could cause such a sensation I could not dare to say. Oh Millie! I cannot even begin to convey how much I ached for him to press those lips against my hand cradled so gently in his! And how very shocked I was by the sudden onrushing tide of that desire the like of which I had never known until that very moment! I cannot even begin to confess my embarrassment that such thoughts even exist in my head and yet the image keeps replaying though he is long gone and each time I am afflicted by the same delicious fog clouding all other things from my brain but those things which are his. My mind is swimming even as I write about it.

But he did not kiss me as I so desperately wished. Perhaps he might have had my Uncle not arrived to snuff out the candle. "I am sorry to interrupt you two but it is getting quite late." it was humiliating the knowing grin he sent us - I instantly withdrew my hand, mortified that he had witnessed me in such an unguarded moment. "It is time for Mr. Martin to be getting home now, do you not agree Philomena?" I nodded, unable to force myself to face him, I stared at the ungloved hand folded beneath the other in my lap. "Mr. Martin, I hope your visit was a pleasant one." I glanced at Mr. Martin who had not moved his gaze from me the entire time. I ducked my eyes; I felt my face to the very tips of my ears, the very back of my neck, reddening - I am certain no amount of powder could conceal so deep a blush - but, almost as quickly I found them drawn back to his, clear and brown and open.

"Yes, it was very pleasant. If I may be so bold to request but another moment of your niece's time?" he asked never breaking our connection.

"Certainly, but only a moment." My Uncle disappeared behind the door as jolly as could be. Mr. Martin leaned forward, those orbs taking on a new intensity,

"Miss Moore, if I may be so bold to ask, Darby and I intend to go riding on Saturday - I know you may have other plans, but if you would find it agreeable, I would like it if you would accompany us. Would you like to join our party?" Millie, I swear to you it was as though I were a woman possessed at that moment! My mouth moved but the words did not seem my own!

"Yes. Yes, I would like to very much."

Millie, I don't know what to make of all of thi-

At that moment Sarah knocked on the door causing my startled hand to slip and ruining the "s" - when had I come to recognize that soft, timid knock as her own? Had I been in exile so long that even the comings and goings of the staff were now familiar to me? I turned the letter over so the writing could not be seen. "Yes, come in." I called. Opening the door, Sarah slipped in so carefully one would think she were afraid here mere presence might cause offense - like a dog who had found himself on the receiving end of his master's boot once too often. It was my fault, of course, I felt a great deal of guilt for the way I had treated her those first weeks. Afterall, none of my discomforts had been her doing, she was only doing her job to the best of her abilities - and certainly she excelled at it despite my constant stubborn protestations. I resolved that I should be more gracious to her from this time forward.

"Good Evening Miss. I've come to get you ready for bed." she whispered.

"Yes, thank you Sarah." I said with what I hoped was a disarmingly warm smile. She affixed me with a curious look - I guessed perhaps I failed to properly execute that expression. She settled down to undo the endless trail of buttons that run down my back. For once I was grateful for her assistance - my fingers were still sore from where the blackberry thorns had pricked them. I stared at myself in the mirror, a young woman stared back: blackberry picking? Really? Was this the behavior of an eighteen year old woman? Why had I been so content to pick blackberries at the expense of everything else? Even had my appearance no been so unsightly I would have been late. Yet, I had seemed positively determined to make a positive mess of myself - a blackberry smear across my forehead! Had I merely been careless? No! I had done everything in my power to assure the visit would fail before it even began even if I did it without being fully aware of my intention. And because of my own stubbornness I had almost missed him! That passionate, enigmatic man who knew his own mind and did not fear to live by or defend its determinations! In my mind I replayed the encounter - the way his lips moved when he spoke, the way his eyes burned with conviction, the strength of his voice, that moment when he drew my hand towards him - Oh that moment! And my own personal prejudices had almost kept me from him! Suddenly I became aware of Sarah's face peering over my shoulder, a gentle smile across her lips.

"Do doubt about it Miss, you are in love."

"What do you mean?" I cried out in shock; she quailed.

"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't mean to speak out of turn."

"No, no, it's not that." I attempted to ameliorate my chastisement, though she was far beyond merely out of turn - she had been positively impudent! Yet I was so much more interested in the words she had spoken that I was willing to overlook this behavior. "But how do you know?" I hissed urgently. I must know! Was this love? I had never even been vaguely acquainted with that most famous of emotions. In my youth I may have held a childish fancy for a boy but as soon as Arthur began spreading the rumor of my madness I quickly found the only reason a boy might lavish any interest on me was a dare - I learned early to guard myself against any such attentions. I now wondered how often had I rebuffed the sincere mistaking it for the sinister? Had I not, only today, attempted such sabotage? Was this roiling inside of me truly love? Does it really come on so very fast? I had to know!

"Well Miss, it's really very simple: anyone who has ever truly been in love knows the look of it." she explained.

"So then, you can tell I am in love because you have been in love?"

"Yes Miss, only once, but it was the grandest time of my life!"

"What became of the man?"

"Oh Miss, I don't want to waste your time with my prattling on." she hemmed, pulling off my dress she focused her attention on unlacing my bodice. The fast, forceful pull of her fingers gave me to know this was something she very much wished to discuss but felt she must conceal.

"Please waste my time, in fact, I command you to do so." I ordered with the first real smile she had ever seen grace my mouth. She laughed,

"I will tell you but..." her voice dropped. "But you must promise to never tell another soul what I say here. I don't want to get sacked."

"I shan't tell a soul, you have my word as a Lady." Sarah regarded me dubiously; the incident with the blackberries only hours before clearly fresh in her mind. "Then my word as a woman, if you prefer." we both laughed at this. I was glad she was finally able to overcome her terror of me enough to laugh some - it made the house seem worlds friendlier to hear the sound of another young woman's laugh.

"I met him only just six months ago when he called on your Uncle for tea."
"I see, so he was a gentleman. That is why you swore me to secrecy."
"Oh Miss, I know it was terrible of me to even think such things but he was so goodly handsome I could not help but wish that he might look twice at me! I thought I caught a glance while I was serving the tea, but I could never believe such a thing possible. Still, he came twice more and on that third time he managed to corner me in the hall. He told me he had seen me serving the tea and that he was in love with me." I raised my eyebrows, such a blunt confession! I scanned Sarah for any trace of the type of beauty that might inspire a gentleman to make such an unrestrained claim but none presented itself - she was a simple, plain-faced woman with hair the color of sand. She seemed to guess my thinking for she continued: "I know there are many gentlemen who view maids as objects to serve their every whim - no matter what that might be - and at first that is what I thought he must be about for there are far handsomer maids, even in this household. I asked that he not trouble himself on my account but he begged me that he might see me again and finally I gave in. We came up with a plan that he would hang an old fishhook over the garden gate when he was able to call and, when I took the laundry out to dry if I saw the hook I would leave the gate unlocked when I collected the clothes in the evening. Then he would come in and wait on the bench near the back wall under the great weeping willow until I was able to sneak off after all my work was done and bed checks completed. It was such a bold plan! I thought for sure he would see sense and never come. I don't know what compelled me to check the gate every day but I swear to you that very next week I saw the rusted hook hanging from the door. Oh! I can't even begin to tell you how very nervous I was that first time we were to meet! I was afraid to eat because my stomach felt like I had swallowed a whole nest of bees." At the moment I could entirely relate. "I could barely do my work - I kept forgetting what I was doing and looking over at that willow tree from every window I came by. I tried to tell myself he would not be there, that this was only his way of amusing himself, that when I snuck out during bed checks I would find the hollow under the tree's leafy cascade empty and he would be having a good laugh at my expense. I told myself this even as I crept down the hall in the pitch dark to our meeting place. And even then as I approached the tree - I told myself 'You foolish girl, see, it's empty and you have made a joke of yourself.' And then he stood up from the bench as glorious tall and handsome as ever a man was. My heart just about stopped! I don't know what carried me to him - it was like I must have floated for I don't recall walking. He embraced me - should I never feel the embrace of a man from this time until my dying day his would have been enough." I blushed at the thought of what words might be next to come. "Oh, now don't you worry Miss, he was a true gentleman. All we did that night was sit and talk on the bench until the moon was disappearing from the sky. And then he bid me go that I would not be discovered and he kissed me and I left. And it went on in just that way for the next three months. He told me how much he loved me; how he wanted to marry me - oh don't think me the type of fool girl who would believe such a thing, but it felt so wonderful to hear him say the words! He was such a good man: I would have given him my everything by the end, but he was too good a man to take it. And then one day I saw the hook at the door but when I came to our place under the tree that night he wasn't there. I waited for hours believing he might have somehow been delayed but he never came. Weeks went by and still there was no hook hung from the gate."

"Did you ever see him again?" I asked.

"No." Sarah answered.

"Oh Sarah!" I cried. "I am so sorry!" I cannot say why for certain but I felt a certain kinship for this maid who had lost her love - perhaps it sprung from my own fear of being likewise injured or else some deep well of those most ancient relations that connected us all, through the condition of humanity, back to the very first man and woman who ever knew love and heartache.

"It is no matter Miss." Sarah answered calmly, fluffing my nightgown and pulling it over my head.

"No-no matter!" I exclaimed as my head emerged from the hole in the gown. "It is a great matter indeed! Does it truly not trouble you?"

"I suppose it does a little, but then I knew from the beginning it could never survive. The brightest blooms were never meant to last, only to be enjoyed and remembered. I prefer to think he found a woman more properly suited to him. The image of them going to balls in all their finery and dancing till the dawn gives me some consoling happiness."

"I truly admire your equanimity - were I in your position I cannot belief I would be so generous." Sarah's eyes flew open and she grasped my hands,

"Oh, don't say that Miss! You tempt the evil one!" I could not help but smile at the sincerity of her fear for me.

"Don't be afraid, we will both pray that my words will fall silent before they might reach his awful brow." I answered. With that, Sarah pulled aside the covers and tucked me into bed.

"May God bless and protect you." she whispered from the door just before the thin band of light from the hall disappeared.

"May God bless you as well." I answered to the lonesome darkness.