“The woman had a cup of wine waiting when I returned, and a bowl of broth. I sat down, Claudia on my knee, her head turned away from the fire towards that mysterious door. All eyes were fixed on us as before, except for the foreigner. I could see his profile now clearly. He was much younger than I’d thought, his haggard appearance stemming from emotion. He had a lean but very pleasant face actually, his light, freckled skin making him seem like a boy. His wide, blue eyes were fixed on the fire as though he were talking to it, and his eyelashes and eyebrows were golden in the light, which gave him a very innocent, open expression. But he was miserable, disturbed, drunk. Suddenly he turned to me, and I saw he’d been crying. ‘Do you speak English?’ he said, his voice booming in the silence.

“ ‘Yes, I do,’ I said to him. And he glanced at the others, triumphantly. They stared at him stonily.

“ ‘You speak English!’ he cried, his lips stretching into a bitter smile, his eyes moving around the ceiling and then fixing on mine. ‘Get out of this country,’ he said. ‘Get out of it now. Take your carriage, your horses, drive them till they drop, but get out of it!’ Then his shoulders convulsed as if he were sick. He put his hand to his mouth. The woman who stood against the wall now, her arms folded over her soiled apron, said calmly in German, ‘At dawn you can go. At dawn.’

“ ‘But what is it?’ I whispered to her; and then I looked to him. He was watching me, his eyes glassy and red. No one spoke. A log fell heavily in the fire.

“ ‘Won’t you tell me?’ I asked the Englishman gently. He stood up. For a moment I thought he was going to fall. He loomed over me, a much taller man than myself, his head pitching forward, then backward, before he righted himself and put his hands on the edge of the table. His black coat was stained with wine, and so was his shirt cuff. ‘You want to see?’ he gasped as he peered into my eyes. ‘Do you want to see for yourself?’ There was a soft, pathetic tone to his voice as he spoke these words.

“ ‘Leave the child!’ said the woman abruptly, with a quick, imperious gesture.

“ ‘She’s sleeping,’ I said. And, rising, I followed the Englishman to the door at the foot of the stairs.

“There was a slight commotion as those nearest the door moved away from it. And we entered a small parlor together.

“Only one candle burned on the sideboard, and the first thing I saw was a row of delicately painted plates on a shelf. There were curtains on the small window, and a gleaming picture of the Virgin Mary and Christ child on the wall. But the walls and chairs barely enclosed a great oak table, and on that table lay the body of a young woman, her white hands folded on her breast, her auburn hair mussed and tucked about her thin, white throat and under her shoulders. Her pretty face was already hard with death. Amber rosary beads gleamed around her wrist and down the side of her dark wool skirt. And beside her lay a very pretty red felt hat with a wide, soft brim and a veil, and a pair of dark gloves. It was all laid there as if she would very soon rise and put these things on. And the Englishman patted the hat carefully now as he drew close to her. He was on the verge of breaking down altogether. He’d drawn a large handkerchief out of his coat, and he had put it to his face. ‘Do you know what they want to do with her?’ he whispered as he looked at me. ‘Do you have any idea?’

“The woman came in behind us and reached for his arm, but he roughly shook her off. ‘Do you know?’ he demanded of me with his eyes fierce. ‘Savages!’

“ ‘You stop now! she said under her breath.

“He clenched his teeth and shook his head, so that a shock of his red hair loosened in his eyes. ‘You get away from me,’ he said to the woman in German. ‘Get away from me.’ Someone was whispering in the other room. The Englishman looked again at the young woman, and his eyes filled with tears. ‘So innocent,’ he said softly; and then he glanced at the ceiling and, making a fist with his right hand, he gasped, ‘Damn you… God! Damn you!’

“ ‘Lord,’ the woman whispered, and quickly she made the Sign of the Cross.

“ ‘Do you see this?’ he asked me. And he pried very carefully at the lace of the dead woman’s throat, as though he could not, did not wish to actually touch the hardening flesh. Thereon her throat, unmistakable, were the two puncture wounds, as I’d seen them a thousand times upon a thousand, engraved in the yellowing skin. The man drew his hands up to his face, his tall, lean body rocking on the balls of his feet. ‘I think I’m going mad!’ he said.

“ ‘Come now,’ said the woman, holding onto him as he struggled, her face suddenly flushed.

“ ‘Let him be,’ I said to her. ‘Just let him be. I’ll take care of him.’

“Her mouth contorted. ‘I’ll throw you all out of here, out into that dark, if you don’t stop.’ She was too weary for this, too close to some breaking point herself. But then she turned her back on us, drawing her shawl tight around her, and padded softly out, the men who’d gathered at the door making way for her.

“The Englishman was crying.

“I could see what I must do, but it wasn’t only that I wanted so much to learn from him, my heart pounding with silent excitement. It was heartrending to see him this way. Fate brought me too mercilessly close to him.

“ ‘I’ll stay with you,’ I offered. And I brought two chairs up beside the table. He sat down heavily, his eyes on the flickering candle at his side. I shut the door, and the walls seemed to recede and the circle of the candle to grow brighter around his bowed head. He leaned back against the sideboard and wiped his face with his handkerchief. Then he drew a leatherbound flask from his pocket and offered it to me, and I said no.

“ ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

“He nodded. ‘Perhaps you can bring some sanity to this place,’ he said. ‘You’re a Frenchman, aren’t you? You know, I’m English.’

“ ‘Yes,’ I nodded.

“And then, pressing my hand fervently, the liquor so dulling his senses that he never felt the coldness of it, he told me his name was Morgan and he needed me desperately, more than he’d ever needed anyone in his life. And at that moment, holding that hand, feeling the fever of it, I did a strange thing. I told him my name, which I confided to almost no one. But he was looking at the dead woman as if he hadn’t heard me, his lips forming what appeared to be the faintest smile, the tears standing in his eyes. His expression would have moved any human being; it might have been more than some could bear.

“ ‘I did this,’ he said, nodding. ‘I brought her here.’ And he raised his eyebrows as if wondering at it.

“ ‘No,’ I said quickly. ‘You didn’t do it. Tell me who did.’

“But then he seemed confused, lost in thought. ‘I’d never been out of England,’ he started. ‘I was painting, you see… as if it mattered now… the paintings, the book! I thought it all so quaint! So picturesque!’ His eyes moved over the room, his voice trailing off. For a long time he looked at her again, and then softly he said to her, ‘Emily,’ and I felt I’d glimpsed something precious he held to his heart.

“Gradually, then, the story began to come. A honeymoon journey, through Germany, into this country, wherever the regular coaches would carry them, wherever Morgan found scenes to paint. And they’d come to this remote place finally because there was a ruined monastery nearby which was said to be a very well reserved place.

“But Morgan and Emily had never reached that monastery. Tragedy had been waiting for them here.

“It turned out the regular coaches did not come this way, and Morgan had paid a farmer to bring them by cart. But the afternoon they arrived, there was a great commotion in the cemetery outside of town. The farmer, taking one look, refused to leave his cart to see further.

“ ‘It was some kind of procession, it seemed,’ Morgan said, ‘with all the people outfitted in their best, and some with flowers; and the truth was I thought it quite fascinating. I wanted to see it. I was so eager I had the fellow leave us, bags and all. We could see the village just up ahead. Actually it was I more than Emily, of course, but she was so agreeable, you see. I left her, finally, seated on our suitcases, and I went on up the hill without her. Did you see it when you were coming, the cemetery? No, of course you didn’t. Thank God that carriage of yours brought you here safe and sound. Though, if you’d driven on, no matter how bad off your horses were…’ He stopped.