"But, if I do not avenge her. . .then her story is truly ended. She lived, and died, for nothing. Oh, it is too terrible." "No, Mary. Her life, and broken love, brought about your life, and a love that is real. You must never forget that." The widow paused, understanding at last. "Listen to me, girl. You carry a part of her in yourself: in your flesh, and in your seed. The story never ends, it only changes characters. And those who have left something beautiful behind them, never die. They live on in the thoughts, the hearts, the very lives of those who loved them." And the woman found that she too was crying, the most profound tears of her life. For in this, most unlikely of moments, she had seen beyond the grave, and touched the face of God. "When you bear a child of your own, you will understand just how very much that means. For now, my sad Mary, just cry. Cry, and love her." "Oh, Anne, I'm so cold." And she began to shiver, her trembling flesh once more asserting its will to live. Anne Scott took their two blankets, joined them together, and sat with her closely huddled in the straw. Both wept, and held each other, knowing fully and without illusion, what it was to be a woman. Twenty-Eight Life would not go away. There was no room for fatalism or self-pity, and he knew it. Nothing else mattered, nothing was real, until Mary and his mother were set free. Michael put on his coat, and climbed down from the loft. Going to his mother's room, he unbuckled the fallen officer's sword, and put it about his own waist. Then he took the man's pistol and slipped it under his belt. Moving to the kitchen, he filled a dipper with water from the urn, and walked with it into the main room. By now the morning was full, and sunlight pushed against the heavy curtains. The two men saw each other clearly. "I thought you might be wanting this," said the Highlander. Stephen Purceville eyed the dipper, then the man, suspiciously. "I'm not going to poison you, Purceville." Stephen's eyes then shifted to the pistol. "I'm not going to shoot you, either. If you'll drink this, and promise not to try anything foolish, I'll untie you as well. We've got to come to an understanding." "First tell me who you are," said the Englishman. "And what you're doing here." "My name doesn't matter. All you need know is that I'm a friend to Mary, and the widow Scott. My one concern now is to get them out of your father's prison. Here, drink." And again he held forward the dipper. "Why is that so important to you?" "Because I want you to know where your sustenance is coming from. And your freedom, if you'll help me." "But why---" "For the love of God, man, drink! I cannot untie you while I am holding this. Time enough for talk while we dig the grave..... For your comrade , Purceville. I don't intend to kill you. Just remember I've a gun and sword both, and know how to use them." Reluctantly Stephen drank, then followed the Highlander's every move as he untied him.