Father Daniel admitted it freely, for there was no other way to describe his abrupt leave-taking just hours ago when August Justinian had approached him, when his memory had returned, when he'd remembered what she had said to him thirty years before. There is a bond between us, . . . and that is why I have saved you for the last. You'll find that I am a patient woman. Sooner or later I will have you, whether you want it or not. Those were the words of August Hamilton, as she had been called then, that night, November 1, 1859, the day before he learned of Henry's death, the night after Dr. Napier's death. He had fled then to save his life, and tonight he had fled again. But he didn't know if fleeing this time would save his life. He had run away before, but hadn't she found him after all this time? Surely, it was coincidence, he told himself. Surely. But he knew it wasn't. Nothing that had happened to him was coincidence.
