scabbard wherewith to cut him through the heart. Her hand stole to her throat and pressed hard. Then she lifted it high above her head and held it, as if in an instant more one might see the invisible sword flash forth and strike him. Frale cried out then, “Don’t, don’t curse me, Cass,” and lifted his arm to shield his face, while great beads of moisture stood out on his face.

“It’s not for me to curse, Frale.” Her voice was low and clear. “Curses come from hell, like what you been carrying in your heart that made you do this.” Her voice grew louder, and her hand trembled and shut as if it grasped something. “I take it back — back from God — the promise I gave you there by the fall.” Then, looking up, her voice grew low again, though still distinct.