* * *
“What is it, Anne? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know, Mary. A premonition. . .something.” She stood up and shook herself against the cold, but the feeling remained.
At first she thought to keep it to herself, out of habit, and to protect the girl. But they had grown so close these long, empty days in the cell, with little to eat and only the shelter of each other’s bodies to keep them from despair. All barriers had fallen away, leaving them what in fact they were: two frail and frightened human beings, surviving both physically and emotionally by sharing the same warmth, the same breath, the same meager sustenance. She could not hide anything from her now.
“I feel,” she went on, “as if something terrible is going to happen.”
“To Michael?” Both understood so many things without words.
“No, Mary, I don’t think so. Perhaps to us..... Someone is going to be murdered, and it will happen in this room.”
* * *
The banquet hall was again nearly full, though the air was far from festive. Both camps seemed to realize that something major had occurred in the battle between their respective leaders, and to sense that something further would happen that night. Only Purceville himself, and the large, rough-looking officer to his right, appeared unconcerned.
The meal proceeded, largely in silence. Then, as the cloth was drawn, the Governor rose and began to propose a series of toasts.