“Give me your hand, Mary.” She did. “With this ring, on the day of November 2, 1749, I pledge to you my life, in the eyes of God and man. Mary. Will you have me as your husband?”
She nodded fiercely, then all at once burst into tears.
“You remember then,” he added gently, “that this is your seventeenth birthday as well? I have not forgotten. It is the date I set long ago, when you were but a child, to speak openly of my love for you. I tell you now, if you did not already know it, that you have been my beacon and guiding star, the hope which I held fast to my heart, when all others deserted me. I love you, Mary, with every drop of my mortal blood. I’ll love you in this world, and if there is a God, then surely I will love you in the next.”
He kissed her, long and full. Then began to pace, as if to master his own emotions.
“All right then,” he said, moving still. “Our safety.
“The immediate danger---that of a sudden search---has already been addressed by my mother and myself. Our good steward, as the times grew dark, had the foresight to install a trap door with a small, stone-lined cellar beneath it. It has been checked, and with minor repairs, put in good working order. The cellar itself has been furnished with blankets, food and water. This occupied the better part of yesterday afternoon, the first of my return. I had determined to go in search of you this morning, when fortunately for both of us (I am still far from well, and had risked the daylight once already), you came to me first.
“So far, until we’ve heard your story, I remain the principal danger to us all. If trouble does come, I can be hidden away in thirty seconds time. The door is here.” He rolled back the threadbare carpet. “And the latch, here.” He bent down and lifted the square trap on its hinges. When he let it down again, except by close scrutiny the wooden floor seemed of a piece, the door itself invisible. He replaced the carpet and came towards her, seeming calmer.
“You see, my girl, Anne and I have already had a chance to talk. From what she told me of her meeting with young Purceville---and I expect that for my sake she did not tell all---I wonder if you are not in danger as well. We need to know fully who our enemies are, or are likely to be, and who can be trusted to come to our aid. I have one ally, a fisherman from the village of Kroe, and the beginnings of a plan, though it is still far from ripe. The first step, as it must always be, is survival. Can you tell us then, in as much detail as possible, what has happened in the time since you left the cottage?”
“Will you tell me one thing first?” she asked. “Forgive me, Michael, but after all I’ve been through, as you will soon hear..... It would put my mind very much at rest, if you would tell me.....” Her face betrayed a deep, lingering fear of the Night. “Who, if not yourself, lies in the grave beneath your stone?”
“It is you who must forgive me. I should have told you sooner.” He