With a sudden pang of sorrow and exhaustion, he remembered who that man had been, and to what end he had come. The unfairness of life, the endless cruelty..... No. He could not give in. Whatever happened this night, to himself and the ones he loved, rested squarely on his shoulders. He must act. He must find a way. As he finished, and led the mare toward the hut, Stephen stepped out of it. "You're coming?" Michael asked him, as calmly as he could. "Nothing has changed," replied Purceville stiffly. "We've got to get her out. All else comes after." "Good," said Michael thickly. "Good..... Will you hold her while I fetch the rope?" The other nodded. Once inside, Michael slung the long, heavy coil across his neck and shoulder, then reemerged into the still, expectant air. The time had come. He bowed his head in silence, but no words of prayer would come to him. Instead he took a deep breath, and opened his eyes to the task that lay ahead. He nodded tersely to his companion. Then began to descend, with Stephen leading the animal behind. Upon reaching the branching of ways, it was agreed that neither would ride until they came down from the rough mountain paths, onto smoother, more tractable ground. They walked, as distance and Night closed around them. * * * "What is it, Anne? What's wrong?" "I don't know, Mary. A premonition. . .something." She stood up and shook herself against the cold, but the feeling remained. At first she thought to keep it to herself, out of habit, and to protect the girl. But they had grown so close these long, empty days in the cell, with little to eat and only the shelter of each other's bodies to keep them from despair. All barriers had fallen away, leaving them what in fact they were: two frail and frightened human beings, surviving both physically and emotionally by sharing the same warmth, the same breath, the same meager sustenance. She could not hide anything from her now. "I feel," she went on, "as if something terrible is going to happen." "To Michael?" Both understood so many things without words. "No, Mary, I don't think so. Perhaps to us..... Someone is going to be murdered, and it will happen in this room." * * * The banquet hall was again nearly full, though the air was far from festive. Both camps seemed to realize that something major had occurred in the battle between their respective leaders, and to sense that something further would happen that night. Only Purceville himself, and the large, rough-looking officer to his right, appeared unconcerned. The meal proceeded, largely in silence. Then, as the cloth was drawn, the Governor rose and began to propose a series of toasts. There was nothing unusual in this. Rather, it seemed the act of a genial host, trying to smooth over the obvious tension of his guests. "Gentlemen, I give you the health of the King. "Gentlemen, to a strong and united Britain." And so forth.