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those lovely eyes widened with surprise when she saw me sitting up.
    "Are you feeling better?" she inquired in careful English.
    "I-I don't know-"
    "I have very little English. Do you speak French?"
    I nodded, shivering. The girl frowned.
    "Oh, dear," she exclaimed in French. "The fire has gone out. The room is freezing. You'll catch a chill."
    Setting the tray down on the table beside the bowl of flowers, she hurried over to the fireplace. Although she was clearly aristocratic and had undoubtedly been pampered by servants all her life, she lighted the fire with a brisk efficiency, poking the logs until the flames were crackling nicely. I shivered, pulling the linen sheets and heavy lilac counterpane around me, resting my shoulders against the soft pillows.
    "Where-where am I?" I asked.
    My voice sounded weak and faint. Although my French was fluent, it took a great effort to enunciate the words properly. The girl turned, putting the heavy iron poker aside.
    "You're in an inn," she replied. "My uncle and I found you after-just after the accident. We heard the noise of the crash, heard the driver yell. There was a curve in the road, so we couldn't see, and by the time our coach got there the-your coach was demolished and the horses were running wild. They had broken free, and one-one of them-"
    The girl hesitated, eyes dark as she remembered. "One ofthem was badly injured," she continued. "My uncle had to shoot it. The other three were unharmed."
    "Ogilvy?" I whispered.

    "The driver was apparently thrown clear of the wreck age. He-his neck was broken. He is dead. I.,-I'm very sorry, miss."
    My eyes were damp. I could feel salty tears. The girl came over to me and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
    "You must try to-try not to be upset," she said quietly.
    "It was my fault. I-I wanted him to hurry. I wanted to-"
    I couldn't finish the sentence. The girl squeezed my hand again and then wiped my tears away. I sighed, trying to control the emotions welling up inside.
    "You had been thrown out of the coach. You were crumpled up on the road, completely unconscious. Two of our servants put you into our coach, and then we brought you here and summoned a doctor. He examined you carefully and determined that there were no broken bones. He-he wasn't sure there weren't other injuries. He's been returning to check on you every day."
    "How-how long have I been here?"
    "A week and three days," she replied. "I've been taking care of you, giving you soup and water, changing your bedclothes.
    I-my uncle wanted to go on to London, but I felt responsible for you."
    "A week-I've been here a week and three days?"
    "You've been very, very ill, miss. The doctor made his last call yesterday. There are no internal injuries, he said, there would have been symptoms by this time, but he told us you would need several more days of rest before it would be safe for you to travel."
    Jeremy. Jeremy. I had to get to Jeremy. Panic rose and I tried to get out of bed. Scalding waves of pain swept over me. My whole body seemed to shriek in agony. The girl eased me back down onto the pillows, alarmed, and I sobbed as the black clouds enveloped me once more. I heard her speaking to me, her voice a distant murmur, and I felt something warm passing my lips, gliding down my throat. I knew nothing more for a very long time.
    The pigeon was cooing loudly, a pleasant, peaceful sound that gradually penetrated the silent darkness. I stirred, and when I opened my eyes I could see him prancing on the window sill outside, pearl gray feathers silver in the early morning light. I knew that it was morning, but I had no idea how many days might have passed.
    My body felt stiff and ached all over, but the ache was dull and there was no real pain, not even when I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I stood up. A wave of dizziness besieged me. I gripped the headboard, closing my eyes as a million tiny needles seemed to jab my skin.
    The sensation passed. My