Again Mary felt hostility rising inside her. She wanted to love this woman, and help her if she could. But not as a puppet, and not in that way. "Nature's course! Are you suggesting that I---" "Easy, lass. I'm suggesting no such thing." Her voice was cool and soothing. "Just get to know him. Do what you feel. Nay, child, that's not what I mean. I think you'll find he has a certain charm. You may even like him." Mary rested her chin on her fists, and let out a deep breath, bewildered. Of all the strange fates and traps: to be given a set of natural parents after feeling she had none, only to find that one was detestable, and the other wanted him dead. But the son, her half-brother. . .here was a mystery. What was his guilt, or innocence, and what would he feel towards her? Whereas Michael had known all along that she was not his sister, Stephen would have no notion that she was. Of one thing only was she certain: she had had enough of violence and hatred. She decided she would judge this man by himself alone. And if he turned out to be a friend, so much the better. Whatever the case, she would not take part in any scheme to hurt him. And perhaps..... As if divining the thought, the old woman broke in upon her reverie. "Just remember this. You must not tell him that he is your brother, and you must not use my name." "But why?" "Why? Because if his father learns of it he will kill us both." "I'm sorry, but I don't believe that." "Believe it!" Again the harsh voice was edged in steel. "By the god, girl, haven't you been listening? Don't you know yet what kind of man he is?" "But to kill two women without pretext? Even a Governor---" "Oh, he would find a pretext. Harboring a fugitive, spying..... Witch craft." Mary was silent. And though she reproached herself for it, her one desire in that moment was to get as far away from the hate-filled old woman as possible. She longed to escape from the smouldering darkness of that place, to find some quiet hillside where she could think it all through, and decide what must be done. What must be done..... But at the same time she felt the need, far stronger than she cared to admit, for some strong and reassuring male presence. At that moment she heard hoofbeats outside the door. Not waiting to ask, or consider whether it was right or wrong, she rose from her place and went to the door. The old woman did not try to stop her. She went outside. Stephen Purceville stopped short in the saddle, and for the space of several seconds, did not move or breathe. Then with an effort to remain calm he dismounted, for that brief instant losing sight of her, and telling himself it had not happened. But when he moved forward around the horse, holding tight the reins as if trying to keep a dream from fading, he felt again the strange and forbidding shock of her presence.