He pulled her close and for a few blissful moments they embraced. Then, again, Deborah pushed him away. He looked at her, said, "What's wrong?" "Ye must leave quickly," she replied. "I have something to attend to and with ye around I cannot." "Is it your mission from Ortine?" he asked her. "If that were all," she replied, "I'd willingly defy Ortine and all the de'ils in hell for ye, Darling Charles--but there is far too much involved." He argued but to no avail, reluctantly took his leave. By a steeple clock he saw that the afternoon was still young. He might as well, he thought, put his time along to good use. So he made his way directly to the ramshackle doorway of Sam Adams' ramshackled old house. An immense shaggy Irishman, his face pitted by the universal pockmarks of the era, opened the door to his knock. His free fist was clenched about the handle of a large pewter mug and his accents were slurred as he said, "What have we here?" "I'd like to speak to Mr. Adams," Justin said. The giant roared, "_Sam!_ A peasant to see ye--with the voice of a man fro' the moon!" There was a murmur from within and Justin entered a house whose interior looked as threadbare and ramshackled as its facade. He was taken to a disorderly looking study where a tall red-faced genial-looking man, whose coat was glossy with gravy stains, regarded Justin not unpleasantly and said, "Ye wish to see me?" "I do," replied Justin, his knees weak. Glancing at the glowering Irishman behind him, he added, "On a matter of some confidence, Mr. Adams." Adams glanced at his companion and said, "I doubt me much that this honest-looking stranger wishes me ill. Outside, Will." Memory rang another gong within Justin's head. Will--that could mean only Will Molineux, tough rugged South End mob leader and soon-to-be captain of the town's Liberty Boys, a vital lower-bracket cog in the machinery that ultimately set up revolt against the Crown in Boston. "Now, Master...?" said Adams inquiringly. "Justin--Charles Justin," he said. "I must ask you to accept some of my story on its face--otherwise I fear you will find it incredible. However, I think I may be of use to you." "I'll be glad to hear ye out--if ye take not too long," said Adams, indicating the papers on his desk. Justin decided to plunge directly into his proposition. He said, "To what use would you be able to put a man who could foretell the future in your behalf?" Adams' face became hard as flint. He said, "I know not who ye be or whence ye come--but I ha' not the time to sit and listen to such childish prattle." "Please, Mr. Adams--I shan't take long," Justin put in desperately. "I'm a Bostonian like yourself but I come from a different time--from two centuries in the future to be exact."