She awoke gasping for air as though she were drowning, flailing against an unseen enemy. It had tried to grasp her feet! She looked down wildly, saw the blood on her loins--

The blackness was here! . . . it was-

"It's all right! It's all right! You're having a nightmare! Please, . . . wake up! You're safe here."

It seemed to take her a moment to recognize Anest; but at last she was encircled in the safety of his arms, sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

As he held her, rocking her gently and making soothing sounds to comfort her, he reached over to the nightstand and turned up the oil lamp a bit. It was then that he saw the red stain on the sheets. On her. Choking back an angry sob, he grabbed a fistful of the blood-encrusted linen and held her to him, tightly. Cursing himself, he ached, "When am I going to stop hurting you?"

When she was quiet, he got up and fetched a small white-enameled tub of water, some towels and some clean linen. To his eyes she appeared as lorn and abused as a battered child as he cleaned her gently and changed the sheets. When they were settled in once again, she clung to him without reservation.




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