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had already succeeded in ripping her gown, her hands clawing at her throat now, leaving long red scratches. Briefly he lowered his head, feeling responsible for the disintegration. If someone didn't come soon . . .
    Then behind him he heard movement and looked over his shoulder to see the servants parting and in spite of the dimness of the corridor he saw what appeared to be a giant moving toward him, a giant in skirts with an enormous expanse of white apron, coming still closer, a woman he saw now, though a monstrous woman, approaching seven feet was his guess. Her dark hair was pulled back into a

    rigid knot. There was something confident and solid about her as she stood in the doorway.
    As she stepped into the room, John saw more clearly the field of her apron, blood-splotched, and saw in her massive hand a large butcher knife, still glistening with blood.
    Then the mountainous woman started forward. As she passed by John, he noticed her bulbous nose, and he noticed too her ears, pendulous scarlet ears that showed up like large drops of sealing wax.
    As she approached Jennifer, he saw her toss the butcher knife onto the cot, where it bounced once and left two red stains of fresh blood. Without a trace of a smile she stood directly before Jennifer and commanded, "Stop it!"
    When the command seemed to make no difference, the giant woman shouted again, "I say, stop it!"
    For the first time in several long minutes the ear-shattering screams ceased. Jennifer looked up at her as though weighing the wisdom or folly of disobeying that strong command.
    A moment later the decision to disobey was clearly made, and as the screams started again, the woman stepped forward, grabbed Jennifer by the shoulders, guided her to the edge of the cot and sat her down. Apparently taken by surprise, Jennifer fell silent, though now the room was filled with the sound of her breathing.
    John could not see her face, which he considered a blessing. He looked quickly up to see the old woman staring directly at him, the look of condemnation clear on her face.
    "You the cause of this?" she demanded, pointing to the collapsed Jennifer.
    John discovered that he could not answer the direct question. Was he the cause of it? In truth, no. In essence, perhaps yes. Vaguely he nodded.
    "Well, if you was the cause, you could have been the cure," she snapped, wiping her bloodied hands on her apron. She seemed on the verge of saying more, when abruptly she focused her attention on Jennifer. With what appeared to be considerable effort, she got down on her knees and enclosed Jennifer's hands in her own. Her voice, when she spoke, took John by surprise. It was musical now, and soft. "Look at you, lassie." She smiled. "A fine picture to be presentin' to your brother. Why, I couldn't believe my ears, I couldn't. There I was, butchering me a nice side of beef, when I heard screams to wake the dead. Then someone come and said it's Miss Jennifer, having a terrible row with her brother, and I thought,

    now, why are those two quarreling, and since nobody would tell me, I said, Aggie, you'd better go find out. . . ."
    The voice, the tone that implied that nothing unusual had occurred, seemed to be effective medicine. John had the feeling that everyone was listening carefully, as though to a master storyteller. From where he stood now, he saw Jennifer, not at peace, but certainly quiet. And when the woman posed a direct question, "Now, tell Aggie what happened?" he saw Jennifer lean forward and whisper something in her ear, the bond of trust between the two women impressive.
    Then he saw Aggie struggling to her feet. Once up, her mouth started working again, this time the torrent of words aimed at John.
    "Edward, I'm ashamed of you," she scolded, "upsetting your sister like that."
    He leaned wearily against the wall, debating with himself whether to resist the old woman's madness or to join it.
    In the next instant he had his answer, as sternly she summoned him forward.