Abigail murmured, “Only God knows what was in his heart.”

“That’s no answer.” Her brown eyes blazed with anger, with helplessness—with a passion, Abigail thought, that would never let her rest.

“No more than ’tis to say, The man was born a monster, for reasons no one knows. But ’tis the only answer God gave Job, when he spoke to him out of the whirlwind. And poor Orion was not the worst monster in the case.”

She looked up as John walked into the kitchen, passed through it catching up his hat and greatcoat, and on out into the yard. “I see Lieutenant Coldstone has come to call,” she remarked.

An instant later, Thaxter appeared in the hall doorway. “Mrs. Adams? Lieutenant Coldstone is here.”

“Is there a fire in the parlor?” She tidied up the legal notes, the morning papers with their account of the drowning of the East India Company’s precious tea. “Well, I suppose ’twill warm up soon—Pattie, would you bring us some coffee? Lieutenant,” she greeted him, as she and Rebecca entered the small—and icily cold—chamber where the officer was trying to warm his hands before the newly kindled hearth. “I’m sorry Mr. Adams is away—”

“You astonish me, Madame,” said Coldstone drily. “Your servant, Mrs. Malvern. I hope you are recovered? And yourself, Mrs. Adams—”

“Have you come to question me instead, about the events of last night? I assure you I’ve only just finished reading the Gazette’s account of them—”

Somberly, the young man replied, “My business is justice, m’am, and the law. What took place last night was an act of insurrection, nothing less. I came only to see how you go on. And I must say,” he added, with a bow that took in both women, “I am extremely pleased to see you looking well. You especially, Mrs. Malvern. And I came to inform you,” he went on quietly, “that the body of Orion Hazlitt was found yesterday evening, in a wood not far from Salem. He had been dead about a week, shot through the head.”

“God have mercy on him.” Rebecca put her hand again, briefly, to her lips. “He had to be stopped—and I think that only death could have stopped him—but he did save my life. And yours, Abigail. It should count for something.”

“Were the world just,” replied Abigail softly, “it might. Thank you, Lieutenant. How is Sergeant Muldoon?”