"Mary!"
He stripped off his soaking clothes and draped them across driftwood
stands to dry. Lying naked now in the growing warmth of the chamber,
he said a defiant prayer of thanks, and with her image before him
still, drifted at last into sleep.
Eight
The rain beat against the single window; the door trembled beneath the
force of the wind. But for the dry heat that emanated from the blazing
hearth fire, Mary would have thought herself in a dank and dripping
cave. The night aura of the place had returned as well, with strange
shadows playing once more across everything she saw. Half fearfully
now she asked her mother to keep her promise, and speak of the hard
life which had led her to the present. She herself sat in the rocker,
warmly wrapped and with the steaming kettle close at hand, while true
to her nature, the old woman sat stiffly and without comforts in the
plain unmoving wooden chair.
"All right, Mary, I'll tell you. And you've a bit of salt, no denying,
to parry with an old she-wolf in the den. But if the words I speak
begin to feel too harsh, like sack-cloth against your delicate skin,
I'll understand if you stop me.
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