Like Suzanna, all those years before, she had passed the night in ‘a foment of indecision’, her head telling her one thing and her heart another. But as Suzanna would have observed, ruled by her heart, she had risen early and on the pretence of taking a ride before breakfast, had stepped onto the precipice. Paul rose to his feet and they stood facing each other for a long moment without speaking. “You came,” he said at last. “I came,” she agreed, as she tied the reins of the Wellmore hunter to a tree. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “As you know my memory of that day in ‘17 is...has been...a little sketchy. I only remembered recently that before the attack, Charlie gave me this.” He handed her an envelope. She gave an involuntary gasp as she recognized Charlie’s handwriting. She looked up at Paul. “What does it say?” He shook his head. “I’ve no idea. It’s not addressed to me. He gave it to me before he left on the sortie.” Helen turned it over in her hand.
