Now that her eyes had become accustomed to the gloom she could see a faint glow from the great fire, then she saw Bolitho. He was sitting on the rug with one arm supporting himself against a chair, the chair where his father had used to sit and read to him. As if he could not bear to look beyond the window, to be reminded that the sea was out there. Waiting, always waiting for the next Bolitho. A goblet of brandy stood by the hearth, catching the dying embers like a magnifying glass.

Bolitho opened his eyes and stared at her, and she imagined he thought he was caught in a dream.

He made to rise but she slipped down to his side and raked the embers until there was a lively flicker again.

Bolitho dragged off his coat and threw it over her shoulders. "Forgive me, Kate, I fell asleep! I had no idea…"

She touched his mouth with her fingers. "It is nothing. I’m glad I woke."

Catherine watched his profile, his emotions clear in spite of the shadows. So many times they had sat here like this, talking, listening, needing one another. He was never impatient with her, even when they had discussed her purchase of the collier brig, Maria Josй. Another man, another sailor might have thought it rash. He had merely said, "We shall have to see when the season begins. It is a bold venture but, even if we fail, the vessel will increase in value." Always we. Even when they were parted, they were always together.

He said suddenly, "Adam told me."

She waited, feeling his pain as her own, but she said nothing.

Bolitho continued, "He is in hell because of it, and because of what he believes it may do to me."

"Will it?"

He held her more tightly around the shoulders. "Who am I to rebuke him? I took you from another, as I took Cheney." He looked at her, startled at hearing the name again from his own mouth. "He wanted to leave immediately. In his condition he would have killed himself on those damned roads."