They go on to toast his father and Johns and Maisie and the dummy and each other and anyone else they can think of, and they kiss once, he with an arm like a girder around her waist, and then they laugh and start all over again with the toasts, and by the time they are done shes not exactly drunk but her thoughts are thick and soupy. And once inside her room she feels like she could lie down and get an hours sleep, but she knows if she did she might not wake up till its too late, so she goes to the bathroom sink and splashes some water on her face and opens the window and walks around the room a few times, and waits for time to speed back up to where it should be.

*

Except half an hour later when shes getting ready to make her escape, theres a knock on her door and its James Grierson, leaning against the jamb looking wretched and holding a highball in one hand and a revolver in the other.

Need a favour, he says, his words slurring together. You know what? I dont think Sarah Mary Williams is your real name. Am I right? It doesnt matter. Youve got secrets, but it doesnt matter. Will you do me a favour?

What you doin here, James? You oughta be layin down before the floor flies up and hits you in the face.

It doesnt matter, he says again. The road is long. Youll leave. The Griersons will hold sway over the valley and the mead.

Come on now, I aint feelin so hot myself. What you aiming to do with that gun?

Gun?

He looks surprised to find the pistol in his hand. Then it comes back to him.

Oh this is for you. I want you to kill my father.

She looks at him, tottering in the doorway, lamely offering her the pistol.

Come on, she says, taking his arm and leading him back down the hall to the library, where she lets him fall back on the couch. She takes the bourbon and the pistol and sets them both on the end table.

You gotta get some sleep, she says.

Youre going to do it, arent you? he says. You have to do it. Youre the only one. Its spite and shamefulness keeping him penned up like that. He was a good man . . . anyway, a decent man. Its shamefulness. He doesnt deserve it.

I dont reckon he cares much either way, truth be told. But if you want to put him down so bad, why dont you do it yourself?

He looks at her, his face contorted, his eyes blasted they have witnessed the worst kind of ignominy. He tries to raise himself up, but sways and falls backwards again.

He says finally, Hes my father.