"I'd like to talk to you about Annabelle Leigh," Drake went on "It was on my ship that she--" "I know," Estevan interrupted. "Penelope told me. Nathaniel Drake, is it not?" "Yes. I--" "Why are you interested in a dead woman?" For a moment, Drake was disconcerted. Then, "I--I feel responsible for her death in a way." "And you think that knowing more about her will make you feel less responsible?" "It might. Will you tell me about her?" Estevan sighed. "I sometimes wonder if I really knew her myself. But come, I will tell you what I thought I knew. We will walk down the road--this is not for my wife's ears." Beneath the stars, Drake said, "I talked with the saint who indoctrinated her. He thought very highly of her." "He could hardly have thought otherwise." Estevan turned off the road and started walking between two starlit rows of grapevines. Disappointed, Drake followed. Had Annabelle Leigh never done anything wrong? It would seem that she had not. For some time the two men walked in silence, then Estevan said, "I wanted you to see this place. She used to come here often." They had emerged from the vineyard and were climbing a small slope. At the top of it, Estevan paused, and Drake paused beside him. At their feet, the ground fell gradually away to the wooded shore of a small lake. "She used to swim there naked in the starlight," Estevan said. "Often I came here to watch her, but I never let on that I knew. Come." Heartened, Drake followed the Polysirian down the slope and through the trees to the water's edge. Drake knelt, and felt the water. It was ice-cold. A granite outcropping caught his eye. Nature had so shaped it that it brought to mind a stone bench, and approaching it more closely, he saw that someone had sculptured it into an even greater semblance. "I did that," Estevan said from behind him. "Shall we sit down?" * * * * * Seated, Drake said, "I find it difficult to picture her here. I suppose that's because I associate saints with cold corridors and cramped little rooms. There's something pagan about this place." Estevan did not seem to hear him. "We would bring our lunch here from the vineyards sometimes," he said. "We would sit here on this bench and eat and talk. We were very much in love--at least everybody said we were. Certainly, I was. Her, I don't know." "But she must have loved you. You were going to be married, weren't you?"