"Thank you," said the woman. "If you will truly act as the friend and benefactor of my niece..... You will not only have my forgiveness, but my gratitude as well." Stephen nodded with an unreadable expression, and left the house. As soon as his horse's hooves could no longer be heard, she went to the trap. Despite all Michael's objections, when she learned the chance existed to free him from the pursuit and persecution of the English, Mary too insisted that it must be taken, the plan tried. And his mother told him plainly: "You are unwell, and a wanted man. If nothing else, this buys you time to recover from the harrows of your affliction. You are the one among us most in danger, and most in need. We are going to do this for you; there is no time for pride and fear!" He would never have consented, no matter how great the pressure, if he knew that Stephen Purceville himself had assaulted Mary, and that his father had violated the grave of James Talbert, to obtain for him this `chance'. But he did not know. And it soon became clear that the only way to stop the two from going---Anne Scott accompanying her as a guardian---would be to try to restrain them physically, to the possible undoing of them all. For at irregular intervals they heard the hoofbeats of Stephen's horse, now nearer, now farther away. And the hour was nearly expired. As it was he was far from pacified, and had nearly to be forced down the steps as Purceville drew rein, and approached the door. And when two more hours had passed, and he forced open the trap door beneath the added weight and resistance of the carpet..... They were gone. The house was dark and empty. Purceville had ridden ahead to send a carriage back to meet them, as the two women he loved more than his own life, advanced slowly north along the road to MacPherson Castle. Twenty When the carriage at last arrived for them, looming up out of the fog like a great floating skull, it was full Night, and the shadows had again grown long across the young girl's heart. Walking beside her like a wraith in the gloom, explaining to her the `details' which she withheld from Michael, Anne Scott had seemed less and less a loving guardian, more and more the whispering narrator of the black comedy into which she had so suddenly returned, after a brief and unreal respite of light and hope. But of all the things the woman said, only one would take solid hold in her mind, dimming and obscuring all others like the wreathing mists that had engulfed her fated cousin upon the margins of Death's Kingdom: Her mother, who in her short-lived happiness she had all but forgotten, had joined him there. She was dead. Dead. Her mother, who had suffered so much, whom she had promised both in thought and word to restore, if not avenge..... Gone forever. Small voices, peeping like crickets in the dark silent halls of Damnation, told her she had done everything she could, and must now surrender her to memory.