“It is late and dark to be on such a road alone, madam,” I said. “Do not be afraid but mount up here, and I will take you to your home. It is a strong horse, and will not mind.”

It was Sarah, of course, and when I saw the moon on her face, I was suddenly afraid of her. But instead, she held out her hand, and allowed me to pull her up, and she sat comfortably behind me, her arms around my waist to avoid slipping.

She said nothing, and I did not know what to say; I felt like telling her that I had been at the meeting, but feared to come out with some foolishness, or have my words taken as a mark of deceit and mistrust. So instead we went along in silence for a half hour, before she began to talk herself.

“I do not know what it is,” she said in my ear, so quietly that a man not three paces away would not have heard. “There is no point wondering, as I am sure you do. I have no recollection of what I say or why I say it.”

“You saw me?”

“I knew you were there.”

“You did not object?”

“I think that what I have to say is for anyone who wishes to listen. It is for them to judge whether it is worth the effort.”

“But you keep it secret.”

“Not for myself; that does not matter. But those who listen to me would be punished as well, and I cannot ask for that.”

“You have always done this? Your mother, too?”

“No. She is wise, but has nothing of this; her husband neither. As for myself, it started shortly after his death. I was at a meeting of simple people, and remember standing up to say something. I recollect nothing more until I found myself lying on the floor, with them all gathered around me. They said I had spoken the most extraordinary words. It happened again a few months later, and after a while people came to hear me. It was too dangerous in Oxford, so now I go to places like Abingdon. I often disappoint them, as I stand there and nothing comes over me. You heard me this evening. What did I say?”

She listened as though I was reporting a conversation which she did not hear, then shrugged when I was finished. “Strange,” she said. “What do you think? Am I cursed or mad? Perhaps you think I am both.”

“There is no harshness or cruelty in what you say; no threats or warnings. Nothing but gentleness and love. I think you are blessed, not cursed. But blessings can be even heavier burdens, as many people in the past have discovered.” I found that I was talking as quietly as she, so that I might have been talking only to myself.

“Thank you,” she said. “I did not want you of all people to scorn me.”

“You really have no idea what you say? There is no preparation?”

“None. The spirit moves in me, and I become its vessel. And when I awake, it is like coming out of the most gentle dream.”

“Your mother knows of all this?”

“Yes, of course. At first she thought it was just a prank, because I had always been scornful of fanatics and all those who run around pretending to be possessed to get money from people. I still am, and that makes it worse to have become one myself. So when I stood that first time, and she heard of it, she was shocked by my impiety; they were not our people in the conventicle, but they were good and kind and she was distressed I might make fun of them. It took quite a lot to convince her that I had not been deliberately offensive. She was unhappy about it, and still is. She thinks that sooner or later it will lead me into trouble with the law.”

“She is right.”

“I know. A few months back it nearly did; I was at Tid-marsh’s, and there was a raid by the watch. I only just got away. But there is not a great deal I can do about it. Whatever is sent me, I must accept. There is no point in doing anything other. Do you think I am mad?”

“If I went to someone like Lower, and told them what I have just witnessed, he would do his very best to cure you.”

“When I left that hall this evening, a woman came up to me, fell down on her knees in the ice and kissed the hem of my dress. She said that her baby had been dying, the last time I came to Abingdon. I walked past the door and it was instantly well.”

“Do you believe her?”

“She believes it. Your mother believes it. Many others in the past few years have held me responsible for such deeds. Mr. Boyle heard of it as well.”

“My mother?”

“She was wracked with pain with a swollen ankle; it made her very ill-tempered, and she tried to beat me. I held her hand to make her stop, and she swore that at that moment the pain and the swelling went.”

“She never mentioned it to me.”

“I begged her not to. It is a terrible reputation to have.”

“And Boyle?”

“He heard something, and thought I must have knowledge of herbs and potions, so asked for my recipe book. It was difficult to refuse him, as I could hardly tell him the truth.”

There was a long silence broken only by the sound of the horse’s hooves on the road, and the snuffle of its breath in the cold night air. “I do not want this, Anthony,” she said quietly, and I could hear the fear in her voice.

“What?”

“Whatever this is. I don’t want to be a prophet, I don’t want to cure people, I don’t want them coming to me, and I don’t want to be punished for something I cannot prevent and do not will. I am a woman, and I want to marry and grow old and be happy. I don’t want humiliation and imprisonment. And I don’t want what will happen next.”

“What do you mean?”

“An Irishman came to see me; an astrologer. He said he had seen me in his charts, and came to warn me. He said I will die, that everyone will want me dead. Anthony, why would that be? What could I have done?”

“I’m sure he’s wrong. Who believes people like that?”

She was silent.

“Leave, then, if it worries you,” I said. “Go away.”

“I cannot. Nothing can be changed.”

“You will have to hope this Irishman is wrong and you are mad, then.”

“I do hope so. I am frightened.”

“Oh, I am sure there is nothing to worry about, really,” I said. I shook myself to cast off the atmosphere of ominous terror that had grown around us, and when I did so, I saw more clearly the foolishness of our conversation. Set down here, I suppose it seems even more so. “I don’t hold with Irishmen or astrologers and from my limited experience, prophets and Messiahs these days tend to rush around telling all the world of their powers. It is most unusual to hope that the cup be taken from you.”

She laughed, at least, but noticed my allusion, for she knew her Bible well, and looked curiously at me when I spoke it. For my part, I swear I did not notice till later what I had said, and it passed from my mind easily as we plodded on.

As I look back, I think that time on the horse was the happiest in my life. The return of the easy intimacy which I had so wantonly destroyed through my jealousy was such a blessing that, had it been possible, I would have continued on to Carlisle simply to preserve and lengthen our time together, the conversation of perfect amity and the feel of her arms around my waist. Despite the freezing chill in the air, I felt no cold at all, and might have been in the most commodious parlor, not on a muddy, wet road near midnight. I suppose the tumultuous events of that evening and night had fuddled my mind, and so shocked me out of my normal caution that I did not set her down on the outskirts of town so that we were not seen together in such a fashion. Rather, I kept her with me all the way back to my cousin’s tavern, and even then could not let her go.

“How is your mother?”

“She is in comfort.”

“You can do nothing for her?”

She shook her head. “It is the only thing I have ever wished for myself, and I cannot have it.”

“You’d best go and tend her, then.”

“She is in no need of me. A friend who knows me well offered to spend time with her, and only leave when she was sure she was asleep so I could attend that meeting. She will die soon, but not yet.”