interlaced fingers under his chin and drew his face backward until she could see it, white in the dusk, beneath her eyes.

“You have come back to explain?”

“If I can, David. It’s hard for me to put in words what is so dim — what I see. It’s all just love for you, David. The love burns and blazes up in me like the fire when it’s fiercest on the hearth, when the day is cold outside. You’ve seen it so. In the little books my father used to read, there was a tale of a woman who had my name. She foretold the sorrows to come. Perhaps she saw as I see things in the dim pictures, only more clearly, and wisdom was given her to interpret them.

“Often and often I’ve felt that in me — that strange seeing and knowing before, and I don’t