Surprisingly, it was the widow Scott who shed light on this first part of the mystery. "I've heard it said that twins, or merely siblings who have been close since childhood, can be miles apart, after a separations of years, and suddenly know when the other is ill or in danger. The two of you, growing up as brother and sister, were every bit as close. And in some ways you shared a bond that was closer still, because you were in love. "I once heard you, Mary, cry out `Wolf!' in your sleep, only to learn the next day that Michael had had a terrible dream, in which he was being torn apart by wolves. I thought it unnatural, and an ill omen, at the time. Now I do not. There is obviously a deep spiritual link between you, such as I felt at times with my own husband. It is not for us to question God's gifts," she concluded, "but only to use them as well and honestly as we can." "That is why I came when I did," the man confirmed. "I knew that you were hurting and afraid. Somehow I knew." "But the man in your grave," Mary persisted. "You gave another man your coat. . .I remember they would not let me see the body. But surely that was not enough, of itself, to mistake him for you." "I'm afraid I must take the blame for that," said the woman sadly. "The body, when it was brought to me for identification, was so mangled by grapeshot. . .the face nothing but a bloody pulp. . .that I'm ashamed to say I lost my self-control. Knowing that Michael's papers had been found on him, I went into such a swoon of grief..... Our poor countrymen who brought him could only assume that he was, in fact, my son. The coffin was brought and sealed, and the next day we buried him, along with all my hopes. "I was trying to protect you, Mary, and was far too devastated to think clearly, or to search for further proofs. His hair and features, what could still be seen of them, were enough to complete the illusion. I suppose that in after times some doubt of it crept back to me. But as the months turned into years, and brought no word, I despaired. The only defense I can make, is that the pain of not knowing was greater still..... I could not ask myself, or those around me, to bear it any longer." There was silence. And then, without prompting, the young woman knew that the time had come to tell her tale. The spirits of the Night, and the shadows of Fear, must not be allowed to dwell inside her, but must be held forth in the hard light of day. She was afraid, and many times in the telling felt the pain of it too great to bear. But as Michael had done in the hearing of a wise man of the sea, so Mary now poured out the cup of her grief, not asking for pity, or answers, but only speaking the words that would not lie still.