his own, and her heavy bronze hair so close, and he closed his eyes once more to shut out all else, for the room was strange to him — this raftered place all whitewashed from ceiling to floor.

He had forgotten what had happened, but Cassandra was there, and he was content. Something had touched his lips and brought him back, he was sure of that, and his weakly beating heart stirred to more vigorous action. He turned his head a little, a very little, toward her, and his fingers closed about her hand to hold it there. She lifted her head then, and they looked into each other’s eyes, a long, deep look. Later, when Azalea entered, she found them both sleeping, Cassandra’s hand still beneath his head, his face pressed to her soft hair and his free arm flung about her.