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a long, tired sigh and looked at his friend. "As you said, 'tis been twenty long years. Years of backbreaking work in the tobacco fields of
Maryland
. Years of honing our skills and hoarding our money to be able to take on the beast who has made every day of our lives a living hell. Any reason I can find to end this charade will be well worth the cost. I am tired, my friend."
    "Yes, I'm tired also. I shan't oppose you, Slane." Cumberland shook his head wearily. "We've been through too much together, and I feel for you what I would feel for a son. But I tell you now, I'll not be a part of it. I'll not aid you in the lass's downfall."
    Avenel looked at his oldest friend. It was obvious he felt betrayed. "Already she has won you over?"
    "It's not just beauty she has, Slane. She has a kind spirit. She's innocent of her father's wrongdoing."
    "She's a Morrow." Avenel turned to watch the doe make its way closer to the house.
    "She has a good heart."
    "Yes," he retorted cynically, "and if we were able to cut it out, you would see that it is as mad and wicked as her father's."
    In the background there was a loud banging of pots. A man's voice was heard shouting Gaelic profanities at the doe from the ground-floor kitchen. Both men watched as the doe pricked her fine buff ears. There was further cursing, and she wasted no more time. She disappeared in an instant, leaving only the memory of a twitching white puffed tail.
    Cumberland smoothed his vest and stuffed the damp linen handkerchief under his sleeve. "Where is she now?"
    "Packing to leave, no doubt." Avenel still stared out the window after the doe.
    "I see. I suppose that doesn't mean you've had a change of heart and will let her go?" He looked at Avenel but did not' expect an answer. When there was none, he walked to the door of the gallery, saying, "I won't cross you on this, Slane. You've been right so many times, I dare not act on my own judgment. But I will not participate. I want to make that clear.
    There's going to be a time when you are wrong, and I pray to God this is not the day."
    He paused by the door and looked at his friend. Avenel stood silently at the window; his tall frame was rigid with repressed anger.
    Shuddering to think that the sweet, violet-eyed beauty upstairs would be the recipient of his rage, Cumberland left a parting comment. "Would that she could outrun you, my friend." But Avenel only stared out the window at the bleak, darkening grounds.
    Furiously, Brienne threw her possessions into the woven bag, not .caring about their disarray. Her extra shifts and stockings were balled up and tossed with no regard for their expense into her sack. She swung around to the honey-colored wardrobe and threw open the doors to gather her sparse apparel and be out within the hour.
    But she stopped dead in her tracks. She saw only one dress standing out from the rest. The pink polonaise hung wretchedly on its hook; its strange new form was limp and tattered. Slowly she pulled it down from the large wardrobe and examined the rips and tears in the soft pink silk. She knew without a doubt who had ruined it. Annie had feared her too much to steal the dress but not enough to make sure she never wore it again. She threw the dress onto the yellow taffeta coverlet of the bed.
    Sadly Brienne thought of the day she had first worn the gown. She and her mother had gone to the fair in the center of Tenby. They had sipped a drink made of lemon juice and sugar and had chatted gaily with their elderly neighbors, the Thomases. The day had ended with a walk down to the ancient walls of the small town, where swimmers dove into the blue sea from the battlements of the old ruined Castle. With innocent eyes, she had stared at the naked, sun-bronzed boys until her mother bade her look away.
    With reborn fury, Brienne stuffed her belongings into the bag and then went to retrieve her valuables. Opening the third drawer of the satinwood commode, she saw the small hinge in the back that she had