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eyes.
    When at last she awoke more fully, clear-headed and with the realization that she was well again, she turned her head in search of her guardian. He was there, asleep himself now, his head on the floor on one of the leather cushions and his feet up on the first rung of the ladder that led to the deck. The chair in which he and then the old woman had sat earlier now hung from the wall above him.
    Sabina raised herself a little and shifted to one side, crooking her elbow and resting her head on her hand. She could feel a large bump just behind her right ear, but it did not pain her, so she ignored it, being much more interested in the man on the floor.
    Seeing him now more clearly, Sabina realized that it was not just the tiny room that made him seem so large—he was very tall, although very graceful too, even in sleep. His hand rested on the book he had been reading, which lay open on his broad chest; he no longer had on the signet ring Sabina had noticed earlier, but his unadorned hands were large and competent-looking, as if he did manual work with them, yet kept them scrubbed and presentable when he could.
    She sat up a little more to be able to see him better and was almost disappointed when her slight movement woke him. His eyes met hers, and something seemed to pass between them in the moment before they spoke or moved, something that made Sabina feel that nothing that existed before this moment had any importance. Who he was or who she was—or said she was—was no longer of any consequence. Only the future mattered.
    But that future was still uncertain.
    “What is your name?” she said first.
    He hesitated for a moment before answering, “James Owen.”
    She savored the sound of it for a moment, then asked, “Where are we?”
    “Tied up on the Welford Arm, not far from the junction. It was quieter here.”
    “How long have we been here?” Sabina said “we,” but felt as if she were an observer of some little drama playing itself out on the Welford Arm of the Grand Union Canal, “not far from the junction.” She knew she was the cause of any interruption of their quiet life that this man and the old woman might have suffered. She ought to make amends for that.
    “What happened to me?”
    He moved to a sitting position on the floor, folding his long legs over a rag rug and resting his elbows on his knees, from which posture he looked thoughtfully up at her.
    “You had an accident Tuesday afternoon,” he said finally. “You were standing on the deck when the boat was moving and looked back for a moment, so that you didn’t see a low branch coming up. It knocked you into the water.”
    Sabina sat up, astonished. She remembered nothing beyond riding her horse along the canal bank. How had she come to be on board the boat in order to fall off it? It seemed incredible that she had done so.
    “What is today?”
    “Thursday.”
    It must be late morning now—nearly two days later! She must have suffered a severe blow to have rendered her insensible for so long. Of course, the old woman had given her something—a sleeping draught of some kind—which must have prolonged her rest to allow her to recover fully. She felt recovered now—if not precisely her old self. She wished she could see what she looked like, but James Owen had uncoiled himself from the rug and stood up, obscuring the little mirror.
    “Who—?” she began.
    “Not now,” he interrupted her. “You must be hungry after your long rest. Come outside for some breakfast, and I’ll tell you more while you eat.”
    Hungry. Sabina suddenly realized that she was ravenous. Three days! What must her family be thinking! She must find some way to get word to them without revealing that she knew who she was. But she could not concern herself with that yet. She must learn what had brought her to this pass before she could decide on her next course of action.
    Furthermore, she could happily devour breakfast, dinner, supper, and quarts of lemonade