Adam shrugged. “I can’t take matters lightly. I wish I could, but I can’t. And I can’t take tragedy easily, at least not this tragedy.” He waved toward the cows, evidently intending those innocent and motionless beasts to stand for the spectacle of America rushing headlong into warfare. “But what about you?” He turned to Starbuck. “I hear you’ve been in trouble.”

“Who told you?” Starbuck was instantly embarrassed. He stared up at the clouds, unable to meet his friend’s gaze.

“My father wrote to me, of course. He wanted me to go to Boston and plead with your father.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

“But I did. Except your father wouldn’t receive me. I heard him preach though. He was formidable.”

“He usually is,” Starbuck said, though inwardly he was wondering why Washington Faulconer could possibly want Adam to plead with the Reverend Elial. Was Faulconer wanting to be rid of him?

Adam plucked a blade of grass and shredded it between his square, capable fingers. “Why did you do it?”

Starbuck, who had been lying on his back, suddenly felt ashamed of his nakedness and so rolled onto his belly and stared down at the clover and grass. “Dominique? Lust, I suppose.”

Adam frowned, as if the concept was unknown to him. “Lust?”

“I wish I could describe it. Except that it’s overwhelming. One moment everything is normal, like a ship in a calm sea, then suddenly this enormous wind comes from nowhere, this enormous, exciting, howling wind and you can’t help it, but just sail madly off with it.” He stopped, dissatisfied with his imagery. “It’s the sirens’ song, Adam. I know it’s wrong, but you can’t help it.” Starbuck suddenly thought of Sally Truslow and the memory of her beauty hurt so much that he flinched.

Adam took the flinch as evidence of remorse. “You have to pay back the man Trabell, don’t you?”

“Oh, yes. Of course I do.” That necessity weighed heavily on Starbuck’s conscience, at least when he allowed himself to remember the theft of Major Trabell’s money. Until a few hours ago, when he had still been planning his return north, he had convinced himself that he wanted nothing more than to repay Trabell, but now, with Adam home, Starbuck wanted nothing more than to stay in Virginia. “I wish I knew how,” he said vaguely.

“I think you should go home,” Adam suggested firmly, “and put things straight with your family.”

Starbuck had spent the last two days thinking precisely the same thing, though now he demurred from that sensible plan. “You don’t know my father.”

“How can a man be scared of his own father, yet contemplate going into battle without fear?”

Starbuck smiled quickly to acknowledge the point, then shook his head. “I don’t want to go home.”

“Must we always do what we want? There is duty and obligation.”