"I was trying to protect you, Mary, and was far too devastated to
think clearly, or to search for further proofs. His hair and features,
what could still be seen of them, were enough to complete the
illusion. I suppose that in after times some doubt of it crept back to
me. But as the months turned into years, and brought no word, I
despaired. The only defense I can make, is that the pain of not
knowing was greater still..... I could not ask myself, or those around
me, to bear it any longer."
There was silence. And then, without prompting, the young woman knew
that the time had come to tell her tale. The spirits of the Night, and
the shadows of Fear, must not be allowed to dwell inside her, but must
be held forth in the hard light of day. She was afraid, and many times
in the telling felt the pain of it too great to bear. But as Michael
had done in the hearing of a wise man of the sea, so Mary now poured
out the cup of her grief, not asking for pity, or answers, but only
speaking the words that would not lie still.
And when she had finished, Michael was there beside her, and her own
flesh still lived.
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