So he prepared to pass the dark hours as he had passed those previous.
Leaving the fire to burn itself out, he took the stones that had been
heating before it, wrapped them in a sling, and carried them up the
ladder-stair to Mary's bed, where he would sleep. In the loft he would
at least have some warning in the event of a sudden search, as well as
the advantage of height in a struggle. There was, perhaps, no reason
for the English to return to the cottage.....
Still, he could take nothing for granted. The evening fire was a
necessary evil, now smoldering to ash. All else must be patience and
concealment, until the morning light brought clearer counsel, or dealt
him some new card unforeseen. Until then, patience and hiding.
Patience and hiding.....
He fell asleep.
Twenty-Five
Clear your mind, begin again
All that came before is gone;
There is no truth, there is no past
The day is gone, the light is lost.
The long fought hours slip away
To whited stones;
The stones are ground to dust
Dust blows in the wind,
then the song begins again.
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