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I was not entirely alone and the person making the fire was indeed a friend. I might signal to him and he would come and sit with me through the long night, helping Wysteria breathe until the sun rose.
    Though I kept a light burning to guide others safely in off the water, I had never signaled distress from the Manor itself. Tentatively, I moved my hand in front of the lantern’s flame, blocking the light from view and then bringing it back again. I did this several times, deliberately altering the rhythm and duration of light and darkness. I had no idea what I was doing, only hoping the tender of the fire might see my signal and possibly inquire as to its meaning. I waited for a response, but none came.
    Gradually the fire on the beach died down and the wind came up, surrounding me in that little see-through house so far away from the world, so far from any kind of human warmth and comfort. As the growing darkness moved across the lake, I slowly closed the latch on the lantern and descended back into the Manor.

7
    F arley did not return and Wysteria grew worse. There was no indication that anyone had seen my signal or if they had any idea how to interpret it. Every morning I ran to the walk, looking for Farley’s red cap along the beach. I even checked the tops of all the trees about the Manor in hopes that I would spot him hanging out of one, but the days passed and still he did not come. Perhaps he’d heard the stories about the Manor and had had a change of heart. Perhaps he had learned something more about Wysteria or myself and now felt it too dangerous or foolish to set foot on the property.
    I was accustomed to isolation and solitude, to spending hours with only my thoughts and the nets to occupy me. But since the day Farley had returned the kite, I had experienced a new and strange feeling I could only define as loneliness. I felt it everywhere I went. I grew listless and uneasy, and even found myself missing Wysteria’s nagging and sour disposition, though it was not her company I craved.
    One morning in early May, Wysteria’s condition turned grave. She was unable to rise from her bed, even to lift her head from the pillow to drink. She was delirious with fever and called out bizarre commands to me. “Get my bannock!” she yelled. “Fill the lake water with tide!”
    “Wysteria,” I pleaded, trying to settle her, “you’re not yourself. Please, lie back and rest and I will bring you a cool cloth.”
    It became clear to me as I placed the cloth on her burning forehead that I must do something, for it was evident that I could no longer continue to care for her on my own.
    “I must find a doctor,” I said, pouring a glass of water and urging her to drink.
    She pushed it away from her parched lips. “No! No!” she protested. “No doctor. He won’t come. The doctor was called, but the lady wasn’t home. Fill the water. Fill the tide,” she raved.
    I placed the glass back on the nightstand and held her firmly by the shoulders, looking intently into her watery gray eyes. “Wysteria.” She stared back, hot with fever. “Wysteria, look at me!”
    “Who are you?”
    “I’m Miranda.”
    “Where have you come from? What are you doing here?” Her raving frightened me.
    “I live here, Wysteria. You found me. Remember?” She looked at me blankly.
    “I must go to town for help. Do you understand?” She did not. “I will leave you for only a short while and return as quickly as I am able. Two of the Hounds will remain here with you and two will come with me.” I did not wish to abandon her in such a state, but she needed a doctor, that was certain. She should have seen one days earlier. I had put off taking any action in hopes that she would recover. I feared now that she would suffer from my delay.
    I made her drink from the glass of water and laid an extra blanket over her. “Hush now,” I said, as if to a small, unruly child. “Do not fret, I will return with help.” She settled back into