He was still a handsome, well-made man. He conversed little and liked to be alone, but there was always about him an air of quiet serenity.

Only once, for a matter of a few days some eighteen months after his return, did something occur within him that seemed to distract his mind. Several times he became lost, or bumped into things. After a week, during which the abbot was rather worried about him, he seemed to recover his equanimity and balance, and never bumped into anything again. No one knew why this brief interlude had occurred. Except Brother Luke.

It had been a warm summer afternoon when the lay brother had offered to escort him along his favourite path down along the river.

'I shall not see the river, but I shall smell it,' Adam had replied. 'By all means, then.'

It had been necessary, in this instance, for Luke to take his arm, but with an occasional warning about any small obstacles along the path, they had been able to stride along quite easily through the woods, emerging finally on to the open marsh by the river bend where, to his delight, the monk had heard the sound of a party of swans, rising off the water on the wing.

And they had been standing in the afternoon silence for a little while, feeling the sun on their faces very pleasantly, when Brother Adam heard light footsteps on the path. 'Who's that?' he asked Luke.

'Someone to see you,' the lay brother replied. 'I'm walking off a little way now,' he added. And it was with a slight shock of surprise, a moment or two later, that Adam realized who it must be.

She was standing in front of him. He could smell her. He was, as only the blind can be, aware of her whole presence. He wanted to reach out to touch her, but hesitated. It seemed to him that she was not alone.

'Brother Adam.' Her voice. She spoke calmly, softly. 'I have brought someone to see you.'

'Oh. Who is that?'

'My youngest child. A little boy.'

'I see.'

'Will you give him your blessing?'

'My blessing?' He was almost surprised. It was a natural thing to ask of a monk, but, knowing what she did about him ... 'For what my blessing is worth,' he said. 'How old is the boy?'

'He is five.'

'Ah. A nice age.' He smiled. 'His name?'

'I called him Adam.'

'Oh. My name.'

He felt her move very close, her body almost touching, but so that she could whisper, close in his ear. 'He is your son.'

'My son?' The revelation hit him so that he almost staggered back. It was as if, in his world of darkness, there had been a great flash of golden light.

'He doesn't know.'