This done, he staggered
toward the cold hearth as if for shelter, arms crossed before him to
block out the world.
But the world would not go away. Almost as soon as he entered the main
room he heard a muffled gasp, and the scrape of a wooden chair being
pushed back in alarm.
Michael lowered his arms in dismay, not remembering. He saw before him
an English officer, bound tightly to a stiff upright chair, and gagged
with a twisted length of black cloth. His senses told him he was
looking at Stephen Purceville, but his mind was too dazed to take it
in. In that moment he only knew that it was a man, like himself.
"I didn't mean to kill him," he choked. "I just wanted to knock him
out, and take his weapon."
Having said this Michael steadied somewhat, and tried to force himself
back to the present. With no clearer motive than to relieve the
discomfort of the other---his enemy, he knew---he loosened and removed
the gag.
Still Purceville could not gather himself to speak. All his life, he
had been the one to hold another powerless before him.
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