"Amy, darling. Amy, it's Mum. I'm right here, love, and so is Da. We're right here, lass."

Morgan sipped her tea. There was nothing more she could do. Amy had to choose to come back.

In the hospital bed the pale, still figure seemed small and fragile. She was breathing more regularly now, with only the occasional cough. Suddenly her eyelids fluttered open for a moment, revealing a pair of green eyes just like her mum's. Her parents gasped and leaned closer.

"Amy!" Irene cried as a doctor strode quickly toward them. "Amy! Love!"

Amy licked her lips slightly, and her eyes fluttered again. Her mouth seemed to form the word Mum, and her pinkie finger on her left hand raised slightly.

"Good Lord," the doctor breathed.

Irene was crying now, kissing Amy's hand, and Andrew was sniffing, his worn face crinkled into a leathery smile. Morgan finished her tea and got to her feet. Very quietly she picked up her canvas bag. It seemed to weigh three times as much as it had that morning. And she still had an hour's drive to Wicklow. She was suffused with the happiness that always came from healing, an intense feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction. But the happiness was tinged bittersweet, as it had been every time she'd healed someone since Colm's death-because when her husband had needed her most, she hadn't been there to heal him.

She was almost out the door when Irene noticed she was leaving. "Wait!" she cried, and hurried over to Morgan. Her face was wet with tears, her smile seeming like a rainbow. "I don't know what you did," she said in barely more than a whisper. "I told the nurses you were praying for her. But it's a miracle you've done here, and as long as I live, I'll never be able to thank you enough."