The single room was dark and low-ceilinged, with no light but the
hearth fire, which played strange shadows across the rough stones and
wooden bracings. Herbs, tools and utensils, bizarre talismans hung
from the walls. The floor was of solid earth. A wooden table and
chair, two frameless beds, an ancient rocking chair---there were no
other furnishings.
"Sit by the fire, child, and wrap a blanket around you. I'll have the
tea....." But studying her face more closely, the old woman put a hand
to her forehead, and could not entirely suppress a look of concern.
"Into bed with you, Mary, you're burning with fever." And she quickly
arranged warm coverings for the thin, down mattress, which lay on a
jutting shelf of stone covered with straw, and threw more wood on the
fire.
Soon the room was warm, and in its primitive way, quite comfortable.
Mary lay in the bed, her shivering stopped, and the herb tea that her
aunt had given her calming her nerves. But still there were the
questions that would not rest.
"Aunt Margaret," she began pensively, eyes glittering.
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