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nursed, perhaps…maybe heard you were staying here, and came along to see…something like that.”
    “In that case,” I said practically, “why wouldn’t he come in and ask to see me?”
    “Well,” Frank’s voice was very casual, “maybe he didn’t want particularly to run into me.”
    I pushed up onto one elbow, staring at him. We had left one candle burning, and I could see him well enough. He had turned his head, and was looking oh-so-casually off toward the chromolithograph of Bonnie Prince Charlie with which Mrs. Baird had seen fit to decorate our wall.
    I grabbed his chin and turned his head to face me. He widened his eyes in simulated surprise.
    “Are you implying,” I demanded, “that the man you saw outside was some sort of, of…” I hesitated, looking for the proper word.
    “Liaison?” he suggested helpfully.
    “Romantic interest of mine?” I finished.
    “No, no, certainly not,” he said unconvincingly. He took my hands away from his face, and tried to kiss me, but now it was my turn for head-turning. He settled for pressing me back down to lie beside him.
    “It’s only.…” he began. “Well, you know, Claire, it
was
six years. And we saw each other only three times, and only just for the day that last time. It wouldn’t be unusual if…I mean, everyone knows doctors and nurses are under tremendous stress during emergencies, and…well, I…it’s just that…well, I’d understand, you know, if anything, er, of a spontaneous nature…”
    I interrupted this rambling by jerking free and exploding out of bed.
    “Do you think I’ve been unfaithful to you?” I demanded. “Do you? Because if so, you can leave this room this instant. Leave the house altogether! How dare you imply such a thing?” I was seething, and Frank, sitting up, reached out to try to soothe me.
    “Don’t you touch me!” I snapped. “Just tell me—
do
you think, on the evidence of a strange man happening to glance up at my window, that I’ve had some flaming affair with one of my patients?”
    Frank got out of bed and wrapped his arms around me. I stayed stiff as Lot’s wife, but he persisted, caressing my hair and rubbing my shoulders in the way he knew I liked.
    “No, I don’t think any such thing,” he said firmly. He pulled me closer, and I relaxed slightly, though not enough to put my arms around him.
    After a long time, he murmured into my hair, “No, I know you’d never do such a thing. I only meant to say that even if you ever did…Claire, it would make no difference to me. I love you so. Nothing you ever did could stop my loving you.” He took my face between his hands—only four inches taller than I, he could look directly into my eyes without trouble—and said softly, “Forgive me?” His breath, barely scented with the tang of Glenfiddich, was warm on my face, and his lips, full and inviting, were disturbingly close.
    Another flash from outside heralded the sudden breaking of the storm, and a thundering rain smashed down on the slates of the roof.
    I slowly put my arms around his waist.
    “ ‘The quality of mercy is not strained,’ ” I quoted. “ ‘It droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven…’ ”
    Frank laughed and looked upward; the overlapping stains on the ceiling boded ill for the prospects of our sleeping dry all night.
    “If that’s a sample of your mercy,” he said, “I’d hate to see your vengeance.” The thunder went off like a mortar attack, as though in answer to his words, and we both laughed, at ease again.
    It was only later, listening to his regular deep breathing beside me, that I began to wonder. As I had said, there was no evidence whatsoever to imply unfaithfulness on my part.
My
part. But six years, as he’d said, was a long time.

2
    STANDING STONES
    M r. Crook called for me, as arranged, promptly at seven the next morning.
    “So as we’ll catch the dew on the buttercups, eh, lass?” he said, twinkling with elderly gallantry. He had brought a