There was a grandfather clock in the front hall of Jeremias’ house, right by the telephone. I could see it in my mind’s eye, the arms at seven o’clock, as he went to answer the phone.

Day was breaking when I finally left Amelia, who assured me that, on my advice, she would go spend some time in the country, and leave right away. She refused my assistance in making the arrangements, assuring me she would be gone before noon and promising to write to me the moment she arrived. Business kept me fully occupied for several days ensuing, but I did not fail to notice that her promised letter had not come. This worried me. It wasn’t like her to forget or to postpone. She had no family I could ask, and I had no idea where I might write or call to find out about her.

The only personal message of any kind that I received in those days came nearly at dawn on an aridly sunny Monday morning, in the form of a note to me from Jeremias, asking if I might be able to meet Sylvia and her friends later that day. She was attending a baptism; the child belonged to one of their many cousins. Jeremias could accompany her to the church, but pressing affairs would require him to leave immediately, and he wanted to know if I would see her safely home again in the customary way. My own business having been discharged for the moment, I sent word that I would be there.